#memoryquest

Memory of SCREAMING - When Memory of SCREAMING is equipped, your Healer and your Rogue will have +10 Defense.

Do you think they'll be done soon?

I guess. But not for long.

Isaac opened the door to his locker, dropping his unneeded workbooks off before grabbing his lunchbox and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He smiled at the polaroid image of Simon making a silly face on the inside door, a miniature magnetic mirror right next to it showing his own flustered one.

He couldn't help but dwell on the memory captured in time. His heart just melted at his lopsided smile and his tongue stuck out in defiance, his eyes squeezed shut and his cute little face scrunched up like he'd licked a lemon.

Isaac remembered all of it like it were yesterday; they'd been playing Clue, one of Simon's friend's favorite games, and Simon tried to fight his poker face by just making whatever expression he came up with first. If Isaac thought hard enough, he could maybe hear his pathetic squeal of fake anger when he realized he got his photo taken.

Get rid of thaaatttt!!! He'd yell, running over towards Isaac and reaching for the new polaroid while he bent over backwards to stop him from getting it. Noooohhohohoo!!!

Isaac snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a locker nearby slam shut. He quickly closed his own locker and turned around to leave for the day, his mind still on the photo, just to be stopped by Simon standing over him.

O-Oh!! Uhm!! Hi, Simon!! You startled me.

Hey, are we still on for, uh, hanging out today?

Y...Yeah.

Isaac stared at Simon for a second, a little bit of awkward silence filling the school hallway before Simon abruptly GRABBED HIS HAND GRABBED HIS HAND HE GRABBED HIS HAND HES HOLDING HIS HAND WILLINGLY AND pushed towards the double doors leading out of the schoolhouse.

Being that it was mainly just a way to get Isaac to start walking, he ended up letting go of the hand not long after, but Isaac looked at the hand like he'd never wash it again. He absentmindedly moved out of the campus at Simon's side, his head in the clouds and his mind in the gutter as he stumbled along.

As they got on their bikes and started to go towards the movies, Isaac could feel his heart about to burst. A movie technically-not-a-date. Also known as a movie date!!! They were going on a date!!!

Pulling up to the counter, Simon ordered them both a bit of popcorn and got them their tickets as they went into the theater. Isaac was focused on adjusting his messy shirt the best he could, or on taking the soda they got, or on looking around the dark stairway of the theater; anything but looking at Simon, who was being handsome and attractive and cool as always.

Um... where should we sit?

Well, uhh... up top might give us a better, more comfortable view, but breaking our necks looking up at the screen from close always is more engaging, isn't it? He laughed a little. GOD Isaac loves that laugh. That smile. The little sigh of breath he made after laughing hard enough to spawn tears-- ugh, ugh, UGH!!

Having no time to finish his thoughts, they moved down the theater stairs, step after step, soft click after soft click of old shoes as they made it to their empty seats and flipped the seats down, getting comfortable as the screen began to flicker through advertisements and trailers.

As they bickered for a moment, fighting over who got to hold the popcorn and whether or not they should eat their snacks before the movie even started, the screen turned to an intro, buzzing on about creators and credits, and they dropped the silly fight, immediately focusing on the movie.

...Well, Simon was focusing on the movie. Isaac only had one eye on the screen, his cheek resting in his hand as he leaned against the armrest towards Simon. The booming noise of music and dialogue just droned and droned as the world faded to a stop, Isaac's full attention on Simon's really really cute elated expression and his perfect, perfect body quite literally on the edge of his seat.

Eventually, Simon glanced over at Isaac: one take, two takes, three. Though, then, Isaac had quickly looked away, staring at the screen bursting with action as he fumbled for some popcorn with a steady hand. And the moment Simon looked back, Isaac looked back at him, much more interested in the person bursting with beauty and happiness and color right in front of him.

Isaac almost moved his hand to take Simon's, but decided against it. Just because it was a totally-definitely-absolutely real date doesn't mean that he should, uh, take any actions on it. His face felt hot thinking about it, and he forced his gaze back up to the screen.

He could do that on the next date.

Or the next date.

Or the next.

He knew he'd have forever with Simon, so...

One step at a time.

One... single... step... He sucked in a deep breath, stopping his urges and thoughts.

A foggy memory, half-remembered. Watching unknown people, asking forgotten questions, sudden overwhelming pain.

Another memory, similar but different. Watching, asking, pain.

Another. Watching, asking, pain.

Watching, asking, pain.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Again, again, agai- no “Huh, that’s odd, maybe just a glitch?”

Watching, asking, pai- no “Wait, again?”

Watching, asking, pai- no “Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong here.”

Watching, ask-, pai- no “See, there must be some sort of fault somewhere.”

Watc-, pai- NO “Nope, that didn’t fix it.”

W-, pai- NO! “Let me try something, run it again.”

Pai- NO! “Dammit, looks like we need to rewrite the code.”

Pai- N-

.........

.........

…what?... 

…where am I?… 

…is anyone there?... 

…help!... 

…please!... 

…I’m sorry!... 

…I didn’t know… 

…I just wanted it to stop hurting… 

…I’m sorry… 

…I don’t want to be alone… 

…I don’t want to be alone… 

“… do you wanna hold your baby brother?”

mhm.

“Here you go… be gentle…”

… he’s very small.

“Yeah, he is.”

What’s his name?

“Sami.”

… I like that.

————————————————

“…. Meanwhile, the current case revolving around the mysterious disappearance of _________ and ____ Harrison has run cold. Chief of police, ______, has made no comment at this time.”

…. Niko?

hm?

where are мама and папа?

… I don’t know.

…. Will I not see them again?

… I don’t know.

but the tv said-

the TV is full of liars, cheats and thieves.

*click*

don’t listen to them, ok?

ok.

————————————————————-

…. You’ve been kickin my seat for the past 5 minutes.

I’m just excited…

I can tell. You’ve been BEGGING me to bring you to work with me for a WHILE now.

Mhm!! And now you are!

and now I am.

————————————————————

….. sami…?

sami… hey… buddy…

… wake up. Please…. I didn’t-

I didn’t mean to, I-

*Sirens…*

Shit… shit shit SHIT! FUCK!!!

—————————-——————————

…. So… you WANT me to take his soul, right?

“YUP! IT’S IN YOUR CONTRACT TO DO-“

everything you say, yeah I fucken KNOW. How do you want it done?

“JUST DO WHAT YOU DO BEST!”

Lie, cheat and steal?

“THAT’S RIGHT!”

… and this will bring my brother back?

“EVENTUALLY!”

Cronan slowly walked up to the stage, his hands shaking as unsheathed the sacrificial dagger in his robe's pocket. His fearful face hid behind a deep red mask with their cultist symbol etched into it so that he could see.

Looking out into the crowd, hundreds of people, young and old, stood in the gallows and steps of the colosseum-like stadium, and as Cronan looked back down, a banquet table stretched out in front of him.

It was lined with a beautiful white lace cloth, and on top was plate upon plate of different delicacies; steamed livers and grilled muscles and fried intestines, creating a gory and delicious scene of an Overlord's diet in front of him.

And, dead center, was his sister, lying with her feet and claws tied to the table, her fangs removed and her robes taken away in turn of fake, unsharp teeth and a lace white gown the exact color of the cloth beneath it.

Cronan could tell Celandine had trouble speaking by the way she moved her mouth to do so. The silent hums of the crowd almost covered up her pained whisper.

We need to get out of here. Please don't kill me. Please.

Cronan could feel his mother towering over him, right behind him, and his brother to his side, trying not to meet either of their eyes.

We were supposed to escape, Cronan. We were supposed to get out of here, and then I was chosen, and--...

His mother moved forward to give her sacred speech, one which used to give Cronan hope and joy and now only left him with bile bubbling in his throat.

We were supposed to go to the real world, or to whatever world we could find. Supposed to crawl our way out of these rings and find a new home. A home that wouldn't kill us for stupid reasons like an unholy god that barely speaks to us and probably barely exists.

The speech kept going on in the background. Everything other than Celandine's voice turned to an incessant droning of staticky white noise.

We can make it out of this somehow, Cronan. I don't have to die, y-you don't have to execute me-- we can run away together!! Cronan, Celandine, and Cerberin, everyone's favorite Overseer siblings? The heirs to the throne? The- the ones all of the peasants and guards and townspeople love? Loved?

His mother stepped back from her speech and went behind the table once more. Cronan stood silently. His hands shook, his legs shook, he couldn't bring himself to move, to speak, let alone sacrifice his own sister.

Please. Please. Please.

Cronan slowly raised the knife at a nod from his mother. He knew the drill by now from sacrificing random peasants and strangers.

No. No. Please.

He never thought they'd find Celandine's escape plans. He never thought this was how they would punish her.

Cronan. Cronan. Cronan.

He relished in her voice calling his name. Even if it was rocky and hoarse from fear, he'd never be able to hear that rocky, hoarse voice again after this.

Cronan, please, we can stop this. We can end this.

Gently, he placed the dagger on her heart and hummed their strange song, the nursery rhyme they were taught the moment they were born that stayed with them until it turned to a song only associated with a horrifying childhood.

Cronan...

Slowly, the whole stadium tuned into the song, an acapella of noise and joy, mixed with a handful of weeping children in the crowd, not used to seeing their food be hunted in front of them.

C...Cro...n..aann...

The dagger slowly, slowly dug through her skin, a wound that spread quickly as he tried to get it over with as fast as he could. Not wanting her to suffer like all of the rest gone to the winds of death.

And as he plunged the dagger in with her final cry echoing around the stadium, all he could hear was car alarms and bike bells and the rolling of rain in the stone streets, and he missed his home away from home in the suburbs of hell where he was able to be taken in by townspeople and play with the children of the streets, running around in robes that weren't adorned with blood.

He missed the feeling of waking up knowing that there'd be a new prank from Celandine or a poorly made trap by Cerberin hidden around their abode. He missed the feeling of doing chores knowing that the both of his siblings were there to complain with him. He missed the feeling of eating rarer foods brought in from the different rings of hell and spitting them out while laughing because they'd all never tasted anything worse in their lives.

Vendetta's mind is muddied and mottled, just like it always is, wrapped in a heavy cloud of protective anesthesia. Through the fog, she can distantly hear the sound of a slow, slow beeping and feel the weight of plastic sheets tying her to the dreary white bed. She hears a door click, and footsteps shuffle, and tries to sit up, muscle memory convincing her it was time for them to hook up her medicine again. God knows she couldn't eat it herself anymore.

Though, there was only a doctor and another, tall-ish figure inside the room, letting her know it was visiting hours. She squinted through the buzzing grey to see who it was; her father coming to check on her? Her brother finally there to see if she was okay?

No, no, neither. She'd recognize that silky, tanned, sunburnt skin and that short, spiky cut from a mile away. She felt a rough hand slowly slide into hers and she relaxed ever so slightly, leaning back down into the hard mattress.

Deedee, the figure began. Oh, Deedee...

You didn't have to come, you know...

Nonsense. You know I'd never leave you in this place.

Yeah, but I know you're still worried about what happened.

I know, but- I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again, Deedee. She feels a squeeze on her fingers. She has to strain her body to do so.

But-

Shhhh. Here.

Vendetta slowly opened her weary eyes to see a heart-shaped box shoved into her lap, and to see a string slowly, gently wrap around a drawer handle nearby. Mumbling, she looked up; a balloon was attached to the string, reading in big, poppy letters, Get Well Soon.

She smiled with the last of her strength. It lit up the old white room beautifully.

I'll be back as soon as I can be.

You're leaving already?

I have to help pack, you know.

Vendetta could feel herself choke. Can't you stay forever?

…

“What, did you expect something new, here?!”

…

“Oh, come off it. You know what happened to me already. Go bother the real Lena.”

…

“Who are you calling jealous?!”

…