You were in hell.

There was no way around it— you were stuck in the burning, blazing depths of the inferno. Sure, there have been situations where your will and fortitude have been tested. And yes, there have been times where where you’ve braced yourself to walk through eternal darkness, into both fire and ice, all while staring death right in its unsightly face…

… But of everything that you’ve faced, you haven’t felt quite as hopeless as you did in this current situation. It was true that you’ve long abandoned your hope just like ye passengers who dared to board this bus en route to hell, whom you’ve reexperienced both sorrow and joy with…

But in this situation, even if you’ve not died, it still feels as if you’ve lost life’s breath.

Here you stand, face to face with the wrathful glare of a man whose identity was clear as day to you. That short, blonde hair, those yellow eyes… It should be clear as day that he who stood in front of you was Sinclair. And yet, the scowl that adorns his face, the sheer disdain present on his typically reluctant face… Could this man before you really be Sinclair?

And, as life has it, your suspicions were immediately confirmed correct as ‘Sinclair’ in front of you clicks his tongue— a sound never heard before from the man whose emotions were both bottled and repressed. His eyes, already full of nothing but rage, only narrow further at the sight of your gaping, confuzzled expression. You don’t miss the way that his grip on his halberd, swung haphazardly over his shoulder, tightens, nor do you miss the slight swagger in his step as he draws close and closer to you.

“What? You gonna keep gawkin’ at me like a looney, or are you gonna get off your bloody arse?!”

… While his voice and appearance still remains the same, the sheer aggravation in his voice was enough to shake you out of any possible doubts that continued to linger in your mind. That couldn’t possibly be Sinclair. That was… Heathcliff?!