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[color=gray]August, 1904...

"God Almighty..."

Over the course of only a few hours, the street had been turned into a battlefield. And it turned out to happen right on their tenth anniversary of the young couple and their small young child, right when they decided to escape the dull and unchanging background of their mansions for a while as they decided to book a ship to Gallia, in the city that they would lovingly call the city of love. Yes. Right in the very heart of this city occurred this massive riot of men and women. They weren't any subversives or protestors. They were gangs. Those thrown out into the sewer worthlessly by those who dared to take the audacity to be their carer, whilst society kept drowning them into the depths of the abyss. One could argue otherwise that they were just unsatisfied and spoilt children. Perhaps a few of them were, but would that dismantle the claim? Dissatisfaction firstly came from the inability to provide sufficiently. And that statement in itself could go a long way. 

"Honey, don't look that way." 

Anyhow, back and forth, these guys somehow thought they could stand up to the police forces. Whoever thought up of that idea would probably be shot by now, if he did not go down with these men. But nevertheless they decided a clash with the police right in broad daylight. And how horribly they were proven wrong. At the very end of the day, multiples of bodies lay on the street, while the rest were beaten into submission and was probably rotting in some prison right now. 

It was a reality so common to a normal person who did not spend their entire time locking themselves in the loots that they did not actually work for themselves. But to become common to a person, he or she must have a time of stranger to that. And that was exactly what this eight years old child was seeing in front of his eyes. People killing people? Stabbing and clubbing each other to death? How could anyone do such a thing to another human being like that, especially that person was no more or less than he himself. He could not understand or even fathom such an idea...

"These guys..." He suddenly spoke, regardless of the blind of the eyes by his mother. "Are they evil?"

The question was as innocent as it could get. In his world right now, it was all black and white, good and evil. A gutted feeling knotted his stomach. But nevertheless, he remained still as a rock, yet his hand gently ran through the young boy's scruffy black hair as he answered.

"It's arguable, my son. But they did commit a great sin."
 
"A great sin?" The boy asked with round eyes. "Would they be going to hell father?"

"If they don't repent, my son."

"I'm afraid, father. I could see them from the balcony, trying to hurt bystanders." He said, his words seemingly normal at first. "I think they deserve it."

And his lips slowly changed. His firm, rock-solid smile ceased, and now facing his very own child was a hand grabbing so tightly by the wrist that even his wife was a little concerned.

"Whatever you're saying, my son, I do not want to hear that from you again." He said. Every words that came out felt like a bullet pinning him down at every limbs and corners. He knew his father could be a little austere, but to say he was adequately prepared for each was like saying a man was prepared for anything that may be thrown at him in his entire life. Instinctively, he wanted to look away, but the way he looked at him, a pair of eyes that penetrated, that locked his in its very track, ensuing that he had to heed what he said regardless.

"W-Why?" He meekly replied, a squeak uttered into the chilly autumn air. 

"Because you would be there as well." Instead of a frontal shout, the father calmly replied. Only then would he let go of his son's arm. He stood up upright, straightening his shirt before giving out a breathe of air. 

"Remember, no one deserves to be given a judgement by an akin figure..."

With that said, he knew the family had no more place here, as they was determined to not let a bad apple spoils a bunch. 

But that moment was the beginning...[/color][hr]
Michael had been looking at his own hand for a while now. It seemed to have no hope. He was just the same as he had been up that trench. Would shock be an explanation this time? He had been given time to think, time that he did not have to worry about being blasted into pieces at any moment. And yet it did not come. How come? Had he gone too emotionally numb for such a thing anymore? 

[color=bf00ff]"No hope..."[/color] He muttered gently to himself. Though in the small room, it may have been a little loud. He quickly looked over to the sleeping Lucia on the other bed, a little scared if he had woken her up. It didn't look like so. She didn't move. Good. 

Yet again, he let out a sigh as he laid his back onto the wooden wall behind him. His eyes felt heavy right now. His eyes had been so tired right now. They served him when they should not be, and went through hell with him, going through smoke, fire, blood and mud. Perhaps it needed a bit of rest, now that he was given permission to. 

Just as he was about to lie down, however, from the door emerged Franz. Not the Franz that he knew though. The more recent Franz. He wanted a talk. He could hear the forcibility in the way he speaks. It was definitely not the Franz he knew up that hill. This was only a shadow of his former self. But now that he wanted a talk, he'd have no qualm taking him as guests. Even if he could feel himself passing out at any moment. 

[color=bf00ff]"I don't know if I could be of any help, but..."[/color] He sat up straight, rubbing his hand on the bed, gesturing him to take a seat right next to him. [color=bf00ff]"Mila...if I'm not wrong, she was 'that girl', right?"[/color]

He would know who he was talking about. The funny and ironic thing about this is that despite being a person expected to give out sympathy, love and advices, he was the one who couldn't take in all what he told others to do.
[@CFProxy]