It was all very opaque and blurry, but Sawyer somehow could remember everything. Beary, in his arms, bawling his eyes out. Him and Dury traversing the Badlands, starving to death. On the porch with Lavernia on their honeymoon, as he kisses her and ran his large, beat-up hands through her beautiful dirty-blonde locks, looking into Lavernia's blue eyes. Not Sawyer's blue eyes, which were cold like ice, but mellow like the ocean. Lavernia's white, sun-kissed skin that didn't need makeup to be perfect, like the Autumn evening that night. Then children, four of them. Running around Sawyer's feet while he sat in the old rocking chair, reading a nursery rhyme. The tikes, three beautiful daughters and one son, were small, but the son was the largest; a troublemaker who strutted around the modest house Sawyer and Lavernia had just barely afforded with a goofy grin and an overbite. Then the Weapon of Destruction. The fury in Sawyer's eyes and heart. Crow and Cane were evaporated, Equinox in small pieces from the Gatling gun, and Bard laying in the snow with a shot in the back of his head and a gun in his hand. Sawyer destroyed that thing with pure rage and anguish, and it collapses into a mess of gears, screws and oil. The Viral Death had been won. He remembered Val, and Damien, and Malform. The Man and Jack. Felicia Green. Jakob. Raidrair. Polar. Beary. How could he forget? [spoiler]Closed[/spoiler]