CHAPTER 52 — PAST MEMORIES: A NEW DAWN
The Egyptian desert stretched endlessly under the burning sky, a landscape of rolling dunes that looked like oceans frozen in time. H.I.M walked slowly across that vastness, a dark, tattered cloak wrapped around his body to shield him from the scorching winds. Every step felt heavy, not because of fatigue, but because of the weight of the memories he carried with him—memories that refused to stay buried.
The sun above him glowed like a molten crown, and the reflection of its heat shimmered across the sand. It should have been blinding. It should have forced him to look away.
But he didn't.
He simply raised his hand toward it, as if trying to grab hold of something he lost long ago.
The desert wind grew stronger. It howled around him, lifting strands of his cloak and scattering grains of gold across the open air. The wind almost sounded like a voice… a whisper… calling him by a name he hadn't heard in years.
The name he had carried before he became H.I.M.
He stopped walking.
Closed his eyes.
And the memories returned—slowly at first, like faint shadows, then suddenly, vividly, as if the past had awakened from its own slumber.
---
A CHILDHOOD STOLEN TOO SOON
He saw it clearly.
A small, cozy home in the old district of Liberty City.
A little boy laughing beside his father near a worn-out garage.
Grease smudges on their hands.
A bicycle flipped upside-down as they worked on it together.
His father always said:
> "If something's broken, son… fix it.
That's how we carry our strength."
H.I.M felt a warm ache in his heart.
He hadn't heard that voice in decades.
The memory shifted.
He saw the night his father didn't return.
He was too young to understand.
Too innocent to accept.
Adults walked into the house quietly, whispering softly as if afraid he would hear the truth.
But he heard the words anyway.
Words a child should never hear.
And then came the silence.
A silence so deep it felt like the whole house had stopped breathing.
His father's tools stayed untouched in the garage.
His favorite shirt hung behind the door.
The bicycle project stayed unfinished.
H.I.M remembered sitting on the doorstep for nights, waiting for footsteps that never came.
He remembered his mother crying… softly… thinking he didn't hear her.
He remembered how hard she tried to smile for him.
How she tried to cook his favorite meals.
How she hugged him tighter every night.
But grief buries itself slowly.
And hers was too heavy.
---
A MOTHER LOST TO HER OWN SADNESS
The desert wind grew colder as the next memory unfolded.
He saw his mother sitting by the window every evening, her eyes glazed, staring into the distance as if trying to see something far beyond the horizon.
Some nights she held his small hand so tightly that he could feel her trembling.
She whispered apologies he did not understand back then.
One morning…
She was gone.
No trace.
No sound.
The door slightly ajar.
The neighbors said she couldn't handle the pain, but no one knew where she went. They searched, but found nothing. In the end, the world simply moved on.
But the little boy she left behind… didn't.
H.I.M remembered sitting on the cold kitchen floor, waiting, refusing to eat, refusing to sleep, hoping she would come back.
But days turned to weeks.
Weeks turned to months.
And hope turned into emptiness.
---
THE YEARS OF BEING UNSEEN
The cloak around him fluttered. Sand swirled around his feet like a gentle storm.
He remembered wandering the streets alone, smaller than the world around him, weaker than the problems thrown at him. His relatives had taken him in briefly, but responsibility is heavy, and no one wanted to carry it long.
One by one, doors closed on him.
Friends' houses.
Neighbors.
Distant uncles who promised help, then disappeared behind excuses.
He learned independence because he had no choice.
He learned silence because no one listened.
He learned how to survive because the world didn't care.
He slept in abandoned buildings.
Sometimes on rooftops.
Sometimes under bridges when it rained.
He stole crumbs of bread when he had to.
Ran from older boys who bullied him.
Protected himself with fists too small to match those that struck him.
He grew tougher.
Sharper.
Colder.
But deep inside, parts of him remained that lonely boy searching for someone to hold onto.
And then…
One night changed everything.
---
THE NIGHT HE MET JACK STELLMAN
A storm rattled Liberty City. Rain poured violently, turning the roads into rivers. H.I.M—still a teenager then—was surrounded in an alley. A group of grown men cornered him, angry, aggressive, intimidating. He didn't know what he had done wrong. He only knew he was outnumbered.
Just before they rushed him…
A shadow stepped between them.
A tall man with a long coat, calm eyes, and a controlled presence.
No shouting.
No threats.
Just a quiet authority that froze the entire alley.
He looked at the boy—cold rain dripping from his hair—and for a moment, something softened in his expression.
Jack Stellman.
A name the city whispered about.
A name tied to the Mayor's secret forces.
A man with a past buried beneath layers of secrecy.
But that night, he didn't look like a weapon.
He looked like someone who understood what it meant to be alone.
He extended a hand to the boy shivering in rainwater.
> "Get up.
You're not done yet."
And for the first time in years…
Someone cared.
Jack sheltered him.
Fed him.
Trained him.
Taught him discipline, observation, awareness, emotional strength.
They worked missions as partners—quiet, strategic operations meant to protect Liberty City. Jack was strict, but fair. Tough, but loyal. To H.I.M, he became the father figure he thought he would never have again.
H.I.M grew stronger. Sharper. More confident.
He found belonging.
He found direction.
But life is cruel when things finally start making sense.
---
THE FRAGILE PEACE HE BUILT
H.I.M eventually found love—real love.
He left the shadows to build a new life.
He married.
He started working as a spy under peaceful agencies.
He created a home filled with smiles, warmth, and comfort he had never experienced before.
He was happy.
Truly happy.
Jack, however, saw it differently.
To Jack, H.I.M leaving the mission life felt like betrayal.
Abandoning the fight.
Abandoning him.
Their bond cracked.
But H.I.M didn't know how deep Jack's pain ran—
not until the night everything was taken from him.
---
THE NIGHT OF LOSS
H.I.M squeezed the edge of his cloak as the memory tightened his chest. Even now, he refused to let his mind relive the full scene. The details were blurry, scattered by trauma and time, but he remembered the sound—
the sound that broke his world.
He returned home one night…
to silence.
Too much silence.
And he knew something was wrong.
The world he built was shattered.
In an instant.
In a way he still couldn't describe without breaking.
He didn't want to relive the image here in the desert.
Not fully.
Not again.
He could only focus on one thing—
Jack.
The friend he trusted.
The partner he admired.
The man he once called brother.
No matter how complicated their past became…
H.I.M could not bring himself to hate him fully.
Even after everything.
---
BACK IN THE DESERT — TEARS RETURN
The scorching sun dimmed behind a drifting cloud, and the desert felt strangely cooler. H.I.M stood still, lost between the present and the past.
A single tear slipped from his darkened eyes and travelled down his cheek. It mixed with the dust on his skin, forming a trail that glistened briefly before drying.
He whispered into the wind:
> "Jack…
I'm sorry.
I should've understood you better."
His voice cracked.
The desert didn't echo his words.
It absorbed them.
Held them quietly.
Almost respectfully.
For a moment, everything was calm.
The wind stopped.
The sands stilled.
The whole world seemed to listen.
H.I.M inhaled deeply and pulled his hood over his head again.
He straightened his posture.
He looked ahead, toward the endless horizon.
There was no turning back.
Not for him.
Not anymore.
His past shaped him.
His grief forged him.
His loss defined him.
But his future was still unwritten.
The world believed he had disappeared.
But H.I.M was not gone.
He was simply beginning again.
A new dawn was rising.