After being thrown in on his ass Emmanuel wasn't sure what to do. After all, there really wasn't much to do alone in the cell. He couldn't train. He had nothing to fiddle with. So he just sat there. The lack of action led his mind to his captors. What could the Greenies possibly want with him? Judging by the number of troops he counted, they would use him for military purposes. And thinking about it for them led to no epiphany. So instead of constantly pondering his fate he decided to do the logical thing and get some shut-eye.

Before he knew it, he was awoken by the pleasant chime of keys clattering together. The door creaked open and in came one of the bigger Greenies. This greenie seemed to be wearing civilian clothes. It had on a tightly fitted linen shirt and most likely woolen or wool-adjacent pants, as well as some decent-looking boots. Looking at his own feet in comparison, his boots were already torn and had scuff marks from the Buffalo. Frankly, he was very disappointed with the boots. After only a day of them on his feet they had already deteriorated to a less-than-desirable state.

The Greenies' footfalls snapped Emanual out of his boot fantasy. Without saying a word the Greenie loomed over him. Looking up at the thing, he saw a rather large hammer in its hands. Upon spotting the hammer, he immediately knew what the Greenie wanted to do. Just as he started to let out a muffled cry, the hammer swung down. His vision faded to black

He awoke and found himself dangling from his arms. Unfortunately for him, the Greenies seem to have shackled his arm in the normal manner. But, since the missing centimeter on his left arm prevented normal restraints, he had a rather strange,

slanted

posture.

On top of that, looking down into his torso, he noticed that his armor had been removed along with his scabbard, but the boots were still there, though.

Looking around from his new, higher vantage point, he saw the same Greenie that knocked him still stood in his cell. The only difference from before was the hammer was replaced with what looked to be a whip. Noticing Emmanuel had awoken from his slumber, the Greenie’s expression morphed into a wide grin.

The hope of ever getting out of the cell sank into the pit of Emmanuel’s stomach. Then, the Greenie twisted his wrist and pain erupted across his body. The Greenie seemed to pause for a moment before flicking his wrist repeatedly. The searing pain from the lashes felt like fire across his skin. It felt like, with each lash, piles of dry timber were added to the fire.

The Greenie never stopped to ask questions. It never stopped to look at its work. It just continued to flick its wrist. It got to the point where his torso was more red lines than his normal creamy complexion.

After tens, scores, hundreds of lashes at least, the Greenie finally stopped. At this point, Emmanuel's mind had completely gone blank from the pain.

There were no thoughts.

No feelings.

Only pain.

That pain had swallowed all those other fleeting things long ago. The Greenie seemed to hesitate for a moment but then seemed to make up its mind. With a shimmer in the air, a small bottle filled with a red liquid appeared in the Greenies' hands.

The Greenie uncorked the bottle and walked over to Emmanuel. Due to the Greenies' height and his suspended frame, it had to raise on its tiptoes to reach Emmaneul’s mouth but it managed and it poured the Elixir down his throat.

Emmanuel's body immediately began to hum with energy as his wounds knit back together.

The burning pain from the wounds stitching themselves whole again snapped him out of his trance-like state. When the Elixir had run its course the Greenie brandished the whip once more and continued to flick its wrist.

The lashes continued, building until they stopped and the sweet taste of an Elixir would touch his lips. The elixir provided a brief break from the eternal pain for a moment before the pain started once more and he slipped into nothingness. This process of whipping him to an inch of his life and then force-feeding him an Elixir continued. It happened over and over and the pain persisted through it all.

Through the slow, all-encompassing expansion of the pain, his body effectively rejected him. His mind failed and all he saw was black. But in that blackness, there was something that shifted. He reached for it but his hands didn't respond. He tried to feel his body, but again felt nothing. Then he tried to reach for it with his mind. He strained to push his mental faculties, but nothing would work.

So he floated there without a mind to command and without a body to react to that mind, even if it wanted to.

Nothing to do but float.

The seconds seemed to flow like years, the years like months; the days seem to flow like eternities and the eternity seemed to flow like seconds. It was as if time was beholden to the blackness. It was as though he had spent a time greater than the entire sum of the human consciousness in the blackness. But also, simultaneously, the time it takes for light from a flame to reach the eye. The moment that occurred trillions of nanoseconds earlier was forgotten.

Yet something deep within him remembered that moment and it reached out. When his body and mind failed, still, it reached out. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the thing moved towards him and then he saw.

A door.

Not some great granite monolith, a beautifully engraved piece of art noting great achievements. Nothing that would adorn the halls of a manor. It was just

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a door.

A dark, brown, stained door. Its handle was just a knob with a little place below it for a key.

As he concentrated on the door, his mind suddenly snapped into focus.

He felt a presence behind the door.

Somehow he knew that this presence, whatever it was, was far greater than its non-disclosed appearance would indicate. It's as if the door guarded some invaluable treasure behind its facade of normalcy. And that thing deep inside of him reached for it. It found the handle and opened the door and upon its opening, the blackness faded into reality, transporting him into its present.

Around the frame of the door was a simple white wall adorned with posters that looked like they were pulled from the 80s or 90s, and family photos, and so much more. On the other side of that room was a room that looked like a sunny afternoon: summer with fluffy, white clouds.

His vision slowly adjusted as he surveyed the room. There was a single piece of furniture, a small crib. Inside the crib lay a tiny child. It couldn't have been more than 3 months old. The child had a shock of black hair, if you could even call it that, on its head. The babe possessed steel blue eyes the color of a blade.

Unlike most children, this little one didn't cry out of fear, or anger; the child just stared up at the ceiling, silent as a stone. The child lay there, eyes wide open for minutes, without a sound.

Eventually, Emmanuel’s vision panned back upwards and out of the room.

But even as his vision left the room and went down the stairs, the behavior of the child stuck with him. The child looked identical to him but more importantly, were its mannerisms. If that child was him, it completely defied everything his grandfather ever told him. According to his grandfather, he was a nuisance to deal with as a toddler. Constantly moving around, getting into things. and always crying.

The child he just saw was the exact opposite of that, almost to the point where he was concerned for the physical and mental health of it.

But before he could ponder that, a voice pierced the silence.

“Honey, I'm worried about Manny.”

Looking up he saw a man and a woman probably in their early 30s or late 20s. Judging from the high pitch of the voice and generally feminine sound,he guessed the first voice came from the woman.

She was tall, maybe 180cm, with strawberry-blonde hair and baby-blue eyes.

“I know, but what would you have us do?”

The second voice itself was as rich and smooth as dark chocolate.

The man it originated from was truly massive. If Emmanuel stood before him, he wouldn't even reach the giant’s shoulders. The man was well over 200cm if not 220 cm tall. And this was no string bean; he was built like a brick house.

The man's hair was jet black and cut fairly short. It was just enough to be able to tie up but not enough to get into the man's eyes. The eyes themselves were bright emerald green, like a forest in summer.

“He is not normal; he doesn't cry or make a noise; he just sits there,” said the woman. as if she didn't hear him.

“I know, but we already took him to the doctor and he said he was perfectly healthy,” replied the man

He walked over and hugged the woman tightly to his chest.

“I know you were worried; but it will be fine, everything will work out” he sniffed.

“I know, but he's our son!” croaked the woman.

The man and woman seem to stand there, comforting each other for a long moment before breaking apart and walking up the stairs.

Left alone, he wasn't sure what to do.

Looking around he saw a relatively comfy-looking chair and his vision shifted over to it.

He didn't sit down, for he had nobody to sit with,but his Consciousness loomed over the chair as if he was sitting.

He wondered how he got into this house.

The last thing he remembered was the Greenie torturing him and then the door, and the child. He was fairly certain that his mind had taken him someplace to protect him from the pain. Otherwise he wasn't sure if this place was real or a figment of his imagination. However, the couple seemed shockingly real.

Thinking back to the interaction between the two, it was clear how much they loved each other -- and the child. He also understood where the woman was coming from: there was definitely something wrong with the child. After all, children don't have almost any form of movement. If they are completely still, something is wrong. It never seemed to cry out. These are behaviors that would worry any parent, let alone two who were both young and unprepared for such a heavy responsibility.

The young couple made him think back to his childhood. He wondered what it would have been like to have been raised by two people like that. Not to say that his grandfather didn't do a good job raising him, or didn't love him, but from the small glimpse he was given, it seemed a very different relationship from what he had known.

He Reawakened to the now, he remembered he was in the house. He began to investigate.

The first thing he inspected was the kitchen. The kitchen looked pretty nice at least in comparison to the shit show of the kitchen of his own apartment. Although some of the appliances and the cabinets did look a little bit outdated, it was clean; and it even had one of those bougie pot fillers.

The living room was similar to the kitchen -- outdated but impeccably clean, with a couple of seemingly expensive pieces. This trend continued throughout the entirety of the house. Deciding that he had done enough investigation for the day, he headed towards the front door. But, before he could reach the door, his mind seemed to sense something.

Looking around the house he saw no change, but a couple of seconds later it became apparent.

He heard an alarm that could wake the dead. Looking around for what caused that dreadful noise he quickly found the culprit. Resting on the ceiling of the main space was a fire alarm emitting the sound along with red flashing lights.

Suddenly his vision snapped to another location.

Instead of the baby's room or someplace in the house he now looked up at the outside of the building. The building was two stories and was painted a dark red, with accents of rich brown.

It looked like any childhood home from a stereotypical movie. That illusion of a child at home quickly broke and smoke started to pour through the windows. On the heels of the smoke flames consumed the house like timber left to sit in the desert.

Before he could even blink the house was completely engulfed in flames. The woman with the baby in her arms rushed across the street. Placing the child on the ground she brushed away a loose strand of hair from the baby's eyes.

“Mommy will be right back.” Giving the babe one last look, the woman turned around and rushed back into the burning house.

Minutes ticked by and the house continued to smolder.

Emmanuel was confused by the situation. He had always been raised with the idea that you never went back into a burning house. But the woman had run back in. He wondered if it was to her husband or for another reason.

But this pondering too was put to rest as one last creak came from the house as the roof caved in and the house collapsed.

Throughout it all the baby didn't make a sound. It didn't wander. It didn't cry. It just sat there, watching the house burn, with both of his parents inside it.

The scene of the babe with a backdrop of the burning house slowly faded.

And then suddenly the door closed and everything returned to blackness leaving no memory of the house or the small family that resided within it.