Chapter Text
Freedom.
That’s all M ever wanted.
He didn’t care that he didn’t know his real name. He didn’t care that he had no memories. All he wanted was to break the confines of the white building which was all he ever knew.
When he had been first brought there he had woken up in a white, bleached room, all alone, with no memory of how he had gotten there. He had tried to remember, he had tried so damn hard but it didn’t work. His memories were a blank, impeccable canvas, which would soon be filled up with inky black lies fed to him through the guards and superiors of Better Living Industries. What he did know was the overwhelming feeling of needing to be free, which felt like it was going to tear him to pieces if he didn’t do anything about it.
He had that feeling for a long time.
He carried it everywhere, and never stopped feeling it until he finally broke free. Taking a moment to catch his breath after he had run from where he had left his stolen motorbike after escaping, he looked up at the night sky, seeing the stars for the first time. There, taking in the beauty of the constellations, he felt the horrible weight of his desire for freedom lift, and sighed from relief, that emotion having been eating him from the inside out. He turned around and listened, wanting to make sure that the Scarecrows who were sent to hunt him down weren’t catching up to him, and was greeted, thankfully, with silence. Trudging through the sand, he got further and further from the road he had driven on, walking without a direction. He had enough sense to wipe his tracks, taking off his shirt and dragging it through the sand, trying to make it look natural. Sure, he was cold, but he was safe, and had never felt more alive. M walked until he couldn’t anymore, and dug a shallow hole behind a small dune to sleep in, protected from the wind, as well as staying hidden at his most vulnerable state.
The bright, blazing sun was like a slap to the face when he awoke, and he felt the heat beating down on his bare back. He tried to swallow, sitting up, and found his throat completely dry, so he kept trying, a little freaked out about it before it was back to normal. Giving the sun a quick glance, he sighed when he realised he had absolutely nothing, not even water, and knew he’d probably die soon under those conditions. At this point, death didn’t scare him, instead finding comfort that when he did pass away, his last days had been lived in complete freedom.
M shook out the sand from his shirt, slipped it on, and did the only thing he knew he could do at that moment. He walked.