You stand in a tiny living room. The flower pattern on the couch, the poppies on the curtains, hit you with a blow of familiarity. You have stared at this pattern a thousand times trying to find where it began and where it ended. The television is old and dusty, seldom used. A brass piece sits regally on the centre table. This is your childhood home. You hear tiny footsteps and you close your eyes. You have been through this exact sequence before, long ago, before you conquered drinking. You know what this is and how it ends, and still you cannot look away. A twelve-year-old version of you dashes into the room, another boy close behind. Neither pays you any mind; to them you are not here. "John, John," the boy who is you calls. "Watch this." The room shakes. Your head spins. You stub your toe reaching for something to steady you, and when you look up the house is gone. You stand in a cemetery. A small group has gathered around a casket being lowered into the ground. Beside it, propped on a stand, is the photograph of a girl no older than fifteen. No one sees you. It takes you a while to find the twelve-year-old you, standing beside John, both of them too young to hold a shape for what this is. John's eyes are full and will not spill. "I swear this to you, John," the boy who is you whispers, barely within earshot, though you hear it perfectly, because this is memory and not sound. "I'll find whoever did this to your sister." A woman's scream pulls you around, and you are at John's house. The rooms are full of the particular silence that arrives after. You understand, the way you understand things in dreams, that John is gone, that he did not survive his own grief, that the boy who is you is standing in a doorway learning how to say nothing for years at a time. You run for the door and come out into a classroom. College. An older, harder you bent over a laptop, fingers moving. A sticker on the lid reads: *for those who are ignorant.* "Price." The voice is behind you, familiar, and wrong for this timeline. You turn and you are back in the cemetery, at night, and John stands facing you, looking you dead in the eye. "You said you'd fight for us. Or have you forgotten? *For those who are ignorant.*" You step back. He takes two steps closer. "John? John?" is all you manage before he breaks into a run, straight at you. "JOHN, NO!" [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/Snap back!|Fight your way back to the surface]]