months and months of exile with dream, your mental health decreasing to the point where you’d try and take your own life. then you thought, about technos house. not to far. it could be an easy walk. so, you started.

as you reach his house after a good, 30 minutes. you try and wipe the dirt from your face. your clothes ripped, your hair full of dirt, your face full of sleep and sadness. then you see him. he was sitting on his combined port h with phil. phil was like a father to you and techno like your brother. but phil was stuck in L’manburg on house arrest.

tears rolled down your dirty face as you shout his name, running to him. he looks up. and doesn’t even recognise you for a good minute.

“who on earth is this? you don’t look like my {{user}}.” he says in his monotone voice.