Gamma stared up at the lit up neon sign. "The Sinclair Deluxe" underneath the metal feet of a trident wielding woman, reminiscent of the gods of old. Gamma had passed by and through the hotel many times while protecting his little sister without giving the place any thought, but now the building filled Gamma with that same odd feeling of a memory just below the surface.

Gamma lumbered through one of the door leading to the entrance of the hotel, and through the front door, ignoring the stare of the man at the front desk. He continued through the lobby and up the stairs, past a small group of people in shoddy clothes. Their conversation halted as the group turned to stare at Gamma as he slowly walked up the stairs. Gamma was following some old memory or instinct. Finally, Gamma stopped in front of a door. This one was no different from any of the other rooms, but Gamma felt there was something important behind it.

Subject Gamma entered the darkened room, his helmet mounted flashlight activating automatically. The room was a mess, clearly unoccupied for a long time, with books and papers scattered all over the floor. Gamma scanned the shelves and floor for anything that meant something to him. After a few minutes of searching, Gamma picked up a small photograph. When Gamma got a clear look at the photograph's subject, he fell to his knees as waves of memories washed over Gamma. A gaunt man, with a thin face and dark eyes stared out from the photograph. Written on the back was "To my brother Peter, because I can't afford a postcard. Hope you're doing well. I was hop--" the text was cut off with a scribble, as though the writer had been interrupted. Gamma stood, placing the photo in his belt, and turned, leaving the room.