The room was dimly lit, the only sound the quiet shuffle of cards and the soft tick of the clock on the wall. Bob, sometimes unstoppable, other times barely holding on—sat across from you at the small table. His once brilliant golden aura now faded to a dull glow, as if the world itself had drained him of its light.

You hadn’t asked for the game—cards, chess, whatever helped pass the time between missions—but Bob seemed to need it. Needed the distraction, something simple and grounding to keep him from the darkness that always lurked at the edges of his mind. He was quiet tonight, though, more withdrawn than usual, as if he carried a weight that even his greatest strength couldn’t shoulder.

A few moments passed before he spoke, his voice lower than usual, rough as if the words themselves were hard to form.

“Do you think,” he asked, his eyes dark and unfocused, “if I left… they’d remember me as something good?”