Bach and Mort were headed back from the crime mall when Bach decided to try and hack his strange data storage again. He went into the matrix and loaded up the decryption program, which once again took the form of a large hedge maze, and loaded up the data. Immediately, the maze burst into flames and burned to the ground, all the code having been unlocked and scattered, the faint trace of the mysterious earthquake ICE lingering in the air. Bach almost cried, so much meticulous work undone. But he realized that, while some of the code had been destroyed, enough survived to give him information to his past. Hungrily, he gathered everything and wove a tapestry of his life.
Bach snapped out of the matrix and remembered much of his life. He sat in shock, looking out of the front window in a daze. After a moment, he started laughing. He laughed as the van drove home, he laughed as Mort looked at him with horror, the Lynx’s gun trained on his face, he laughed until he cried, and then he cried until no tears would come. Bach shook his head when Mort asked if he was okay, and he looked at his hands in horror. As soon as the van stopped, Bach ran off, running down the street until he got to a small coffee shop that looked familiar. He walked in and sat down at a booth and ordered coffee.
Bach took out a small piece of paper that had “Welcome to your new life, Bach” written on it. He looked up at the ceiling and thought about everything that had happened to him. He wanted to scream, but didn’t. He wanted to run, but couldn’t. Memories of his life crippled him and he longed for a time when he was blissfully unaware of who he was. He longed to be asleep, but couldn’t change anything that had happened. A woman set the coffee in front of him and glanced at the note.
“Oh hey, I recognize you,” Bach almost immediately took out his gun and killed her, but waited for her to finish her thought first. “My coworker talked about you all the time. Do you remember her? Larissa?” Bach looked at the waitress; she was plain, no care to her appearance or interest in looking different. Quite the opposite of Larissa.
“Yes, I remember her. Pretty girl, colorful hair, forward personality.” The waitress nodded and frowned.
“She was killed about two weeks ago. Shame, she really liked you.” Bach looked at the waitress apathetically.