Another door; lonesome instead of part of a trio. This door was different, it was painful to look at it but he knew he wouldn't be able to turn away no matter how hard he tried. He could not wake up from this dream. The only way was forward and he touched the door handle and again memories flash - like a movie playing start to finish. Only it wasn't a movie; it was his life. Every moment up until now. This was what happened, wasn't it? Before you died - you saw your life. He had already come to terms with his mortality over the course of this.. whatever it was. Trying to survive.. Playing house.. They were only delaying the inevitable. It was time. He was ready.

A twinge. Something - one thing, many things - stirring. He was aware of himself - aware that he was no longer himself - he was a part of something larger now, a network. He was the virus. Did all others see this before him? They must have because they were all connected now - they were all one.

Who were they - who was he? He could see memories - pictures and movies from lives but they were not his. Or were they? He could no longer tell the difference. All he knew was that he was hungry.

But..

He feasted but nothing was ever enough. He consumed, he spread his legacy to others. They joined, their memories flashing in the vines, pulsating as they too were awoken. They forgot. He forgot. He wanted to show them all - to help them understand that it was okay. The virus remembered. It's okay.

Wait.. Stop. This isn't.. no..

The memories keep coming but there are always pieces missing - always more to be found. A missing scene that he's never certain of. But they were pulling him apart and he wanted to scream out. These were his memories. He had collected them all.

He snapped like a rubber band reaching its limit and he was freed. Was it just a bad dream? It had seemed so real. He wanted to rub the haze from his eyes until he realised he had none. Nothing. There was nothing solid about him anymore. He screamed - did he even make a sound or was he just remembering what a scream sounded like? Was it even his voice? He'd gone too far - done too much to go back to being human. He was a monster.

Images flashed into his mind - so familiar and so comforting. Laughter, sadness, anger, doubt, hope. Human feelings. He wanted to be human again - to be whole again. He reached out for anything and the vines slowly agreed, wrapping themselves around whatever he was. He did not know what shape they created - he fed them his memories but flashes of his legacy crept in and the vines twisted. His limbs were stretched, much longer than what was natural for a human, feet cloven and knees inwards. He was hunched, torso thin and elongated. His face was non-existent - just the shape of a head with a slit for a mouth. He was a monster.

The vines took him, guiding him forward. If he could find his remains, he could remember what he was supposed to be. Instead, he found something else and he knew it was not a coincidence. He was meant to find the face in the vines because he recognised this face. It was a face who looked down on him in his dream, reassuring him he would be okay. They fought for him and he pulled vines away, revealing a young face. She had tried to save him and had fallen. What memories did she feed to the tree?

The rest of the vines came away and he lifted her gently. He had to repay her; undo her sacrifice. He lifted her gently, brushing strands of hair from her face. He stood and walked away, past the memories, past where his new form was created. He carried his rescuer away from his legacy. The vines did not try to stop him, as he was afraid they might have. Instead, they retracted, giving him the path to follow. He took the stairs two at a time as he descended. The vines did not stop him but he felt himself breaking away. They could not keep up the mask so far away from the source.

He stumbled and he clutched her to his chest as he rolled down the last few stairs. He hit his head and her named blossomed into his mind - for she had greeted him even when she knew he would not respond. Sophie. He pulled himself up, pressing on - he could make out the exit now and he could see figures in the distance. He stretched as far as his sub-par form could stretch and they took her, carefully. They were friends. She would be safe. He retreated, picking up the small pieces of himself he had left.

He came to the realisation that this was where he would stay now. He was a a part of the legacy, the virus. Vines brushed against him and he realised he wasn't alone. How many of these were people he'd fought with, fought against? How many were people she knew before this virus took over. Eventually, he would succumb and he might have cried if he still had eyes. Instead he lumbered around, tasting memories of the others, vines brushing against vines. They shared and revelled. So long as they held onto their memories they were still them. As long as they remembered.