A/N: Welcome to the third story in the series! This one is very Tyrell-centric again, and I'm afraid it's another angsty one. Things will get better for him soon, I promise! ;-)

'Do you miss Sweden?' Elliot asked him one afternoon as they sat on the sofa lazily watching TV.

'No,' came the immediate reply, and Elliot looked at him in surprise.

'What I mean is I miss the food, and the lifestyle. And it's a certainly a beautiful country. But I don't miss it in the sense that I have any real desire to go back. There's nothing there for me anymore. It doesn't feel like home to me.' He said this simply, and without any hint of sadness.

'So you don't see yourself ever moving back?'

'No, my home is here now.' They both smiled at the implication of his words.

'What about you Elliot? Do you see yourself leaving New York?'

'Nah, I mean I don't see why I would. I'm happy here. I've never been very adventurous, or had much of an urge to travel or see more of the world. I like knowing where I am, and having familiar things close by…' he trailed off, feeling embarrassed. Surely someone as cultured as Tyrell would think him small-minded and simple for feeling this way. Instead, Tyrell just smiled and said, 'I can understand that. I think I've grown to want that too.'

Tyrell really did just want that. In the last few months he'd felt so happy with Elliot. They complemented each other, and spent most of their time together. He'd all but moved in with him, and though he knew Elliot had been self-conscious about his less-than-glamorous apartment, to Tyrell it was perfect.

He couldn't bring himself to spend time in the house he'd shared with Joanna, and in many ways he quite liked living somewhere more humble. He'd been surrounded by luxury and opulence for so long, and it was an unpleasant reminder of the life he'd been forced into. It conjured up memories of the pretence and the lies, the push he'd always felt to earn more and be better. His life had been about nothing more than competition and flash over substance. He was always trying to one-up someone else, and, as Scott Knowles had pointed out, he'd always fallen short, no matter how hard he tried. There was such falseness to it, and the glossy veneer he'd painted over his own life felt meaningless now as he watched it peel away at the edges.

No, he was far happier at Elliot's. The place was basic, sure, but it felt so much more lived-in than his house had ever done. It was humble and reminded him of where he came from.

Eventually he would probably sell his old house, and perhaps they would buy somewhere bigger together, but now was hardly the time. The economic climate hadn't really created a great market for grand Chelsea townhouses, or good-feeling towards those who owned them for that matter. Now was not a time for ostentation, but rather a time for modesty. Tyrell found that liberating.

It was the first time in many years that Tyrell could truly call himself happy. And not happy in a basic sense, happy in an all-consuming sort of contentment that made him smile for no reason and hum to himself without realising. He'd not felt this way since he and Joanna had been newlyweds. The early days of their relationship had been turbulent and he'd still been reeling from the loss of his parents. But she'd helped him through that, and by the time he'd gotten down on one knee and asked her to marry him, he'd felt like he could see a happy future for himself.

When he'd signed his marriage licence he knew his happy future had arrived. They were starting a life together, and he'd felt indestructible. By now they were living in America, and he had a promising career at one of the largest companies in the world. For a year or so things were almost perfect.

It didn't take him long to get sucked into the corporate world, but the higher up the ladder he climbed, the emptier he felt. By this point, Joanna had started to pull back too, and was growing more distant, so he'd begun his transformation into a cold, unfeeling corporate robot. He'd pretended to like that about himself, and it hadn't been until he met Elliot that he realised he really didn't. When they'd executed the hack, he'd not only liberated the world, but himself too.

Finding out he'd been a puppet for a vast, unseen power had been another blow that had knocked him sideways, but recently he'd started to feel like he was coming out the other side. Again, he felt like he'd been granted his freedom, and for the first time in his life could truly be who he wanted to be.

Smiling, he moved off the sofa and made his way towards the kitchen.

'What would you like for lunch?' he asked Elliot, but got no reply.

'Elliot?' he tried again.

'He killed himself!' Elliot exclaimed.

'What? Who did?' Tyrell made his way quickly over to Elliot, who gestured vaguely at the TV.

Yesterday, John Masters, an executive at E Corp's London office, had been interviewed by the business editor of BBC News for a special report about the current climate, and what the future held for both big business, and the general public alike.

Halfway through an answer to a particularly tough question he'd stopped and looked directly at the camera. He'd started to apologise for all the wrong in the world, the mistakes he'd made, and to all the people he'd stepped on, on his way to the top. The video had gone viral within minutes. Elliot had watched it- it made for pretty strange viewing- but Tyrell hadn't wanted to. E Corp was a sensitive subject for him, and a world he quite frankly wanted to leave behind.

Now though, as news broke that John Masters had hanged himself later that day, Tyrell sat transfixed, unable to take his eyes off the photo of the man they were showing at the top right-hand corner of the screen.

'Weird, right?' he could hear Elliot say to his left, but he couldn't think up a response.

He was too consumed with his own thoughts as they rushed through his mind, and the cold, clammy feelings of nausea that spread through him.

'Tyrell?' Elliot touched his arm. Tyrell leaped up, as if Elliot's hand was burning him.

'Tyrell, what's wrong? I thought you didn't know him.'

He didn't. Or at least he didn't know John Masters. But the face that stared back at him from the TV screen was someone else entirely, and he knew that person.

He didn't know how it was possible, but he knew he was right, without a shadow of a doubt.

There was no way he'd forget the face of the man who'd killed his parents.