Metallic fingers dance aggressively over the keyboard of the piano as memories swim through his mind with ease; nostalgia, sadness and anger washing over him in big and unavoidable waves. Slick remembers most of it. That night, killing every member of the Felt, and more importantly, opening that damn vault. It was something that had to be done, he tells himself. They'd taken down one of his favorite casinos, and he couldn't let it happen again. They were only four, but they managed to beat and murder every green torso that got in their way.

But as always, there were consequences to it.

The sole action of opening the vault took everything from him in a single moment. Everything he'd fought so hard for, leaving him alone in this world for once and for all. Now that he thinks back on t, he knows he should've been more careful. What had he been expecting? Of course something like that was bound to happen.

Everything went absolutely downhill after that.

He remembers how it felt like to raise his weapon and take the shot. How underneath her body slowly began appearing a pool of thick blue blood. He remembers the pain; it was nothing like he'd ever felt before. And then, nothing. He had nothing else to live for. So what was the point of it? To keep struggling, to keep fighting -- for once in his life, Spades Slick had given up. But even afterwards, life still mocked him.

He woke up in a strange place. He almost remembers how it used to feel like to touch someone, now. But his limbs were gone. His crew was gone. He was alone once again, and for what purpose was his heart still beating? He remembers grabbing the soft pillow pressing it into his face and screaming out in frustration. He couldn't cry. Both of his eyes were gone, and there was nothing left to do in order to let out all the pain he felt at that moment. He had nothing.

Fuck this. Fuck life. Fuck all of it.

Sharp teeth get bared as he plays, recollections of everything he'd felt right then swimming towards the surface abruptly.

But he realizes she gave him hope. Ms. Paint gave him strength and something new to finally live for. His current expression softens, and his music slows down, albeit slightly. It's been around seven years since then, but he still remembers how it all went like.

Now, however, what he feels is complicated. Almost everything is back to what it used to be. They're back to fighting, back to their old lives. He's got his crew back, and even more than what he would've ever hoped to have. They're getting a house soon, too -- leaving all this rocky business behind. And she's gonna be part of that life, of course. They're going to have all the pets they've ever wanted, and more. It fills him with a strange sense of calm. But boy, is he scared deep down, too. What is he supposed to do there? He's gonna be bored out of his mind often.

Slick is not used to this still. To the affection, to love. Shit's weird enough as it is. Most of his body is made out of fucking metal now, after all. But that's fine, too. Though he'd love to feel things again, he's glad to have this life. It seems the universe wasn't out to hurt him anymore.