Red's gaze lingered on his younger self, the small, determined boy shaking hands with the cleaner — the moment that had set his path in motion. His eyelids grew heavy, a strange pull weighing them down. And then, with a slow blink — the kind that always carried him somewhere unexpected — everything shifted.
The darkness returned — but this time it
wasn't the crushing, suffocating pain from before.
It was quiet.
Almost too quiet.
Then came the ticking.
A clock.
Slow, deliberate.
Each tick echoed across the void, heavy enough to make the air tremble. With every sound, something inside Red's chest tightened, as if time itself was trying to strangle him.
In front of him, his younger self stood.
Same crimson eyes.
But these burned with anger.
And behind that anger — a sadness so deep it hurt to look at.
The boy's voice cut through the ticking.
"Why did you say yes?"
His small hands trembled. "Look at you now."
Another tick.
"Why did you run?"
Another tick. Louder this time.
"Why? Why? Why?!"
With each word, chains erupted from the void — ancient, rusted metal slick with half-dried blood. The stench of iron filled the air. They wrapped around the boy, coiling tighter and tighter, until each drop of blood sliding from the links hit the ground with a hollow drip.
"What is this…?" Red muttered. "Chains? For what? I was just a kid."
The boy's eyes narrowed. "You chose. And you regret it."
The words hit harder than the chains. Red had always hated choices — preferred when paths were laid out for him, no decisions, no responsibility. But this memory… this moment… it was different.
The ticking grew faster. The boy's voice turned into a chant.
"All this… because of one mistake."
Pain flooded Red's chest. His stomach churned, his throat burned, as if he were drowning from the inside out. The chains kept wrapping, biting, suffocating the boy — and yet, with every link, Red felt them digging into himself as well.
And then…
The connection.
He remembered the doctor's words: Your mark is your true name.
He stared at the younger version — the same fear, the same defiance — and finally understood. He could not burn the chains away. He could not erase this. He had to accept it.
His fate.
His memories.
His mark.
The chains moved with his will now, drawn by his thoughts. The boy stopped struggling. The two stepped toward each other, the blood-soaked links between them tightening… then merging.
No more running from the past.
No more trying to change it.
The path was laid before him — and he would walk it.
When they touched, the chains bled one last time before collapsing into the void, pooling at their feet.
A blink — and the darkness shattered.
Light.
A sterile patient room. Blue walls. A shadowed figure stood at the edge of his vision.
It was Michael.
"You're awake," Michael said, leaning back in his chair, cigar smoke curling lazily around him. His eyes flicked over Red like a predator sizing up prey. "First test—done. Congratulations, I guess. Don't get too comfortable, though… we've got a problem."