I am doing a rewrite of my second FanFiction, Clive Dove: It's all downhill from here, boy. My writing's matured, and I find the original childish now. I will be doing this version now, plot's been revised and shaken up a bit, lengthened when needed, and grammar has improved. There will also be more swearing in this version, though most of the words used were just normal words used in London in the time of the games.

This is what I remember of myself when the insanity first started:

For a first, my name was still Clive, though my surname was Roberts, not Dove. Second, I lived in a flat next to a small building rented to three scientists for them to do their experiments in. I vaguely remembered the three of them. Dimitri was young, caring and ambitious, and generally a pretty selfless man. Claire; I didn't know much about, but she was also young and kind-hearted. Bill- well, he was, and still is- a bastard.

If it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't be sitting in this prison cell right now.

Well, I'm not putting the complete blame on him for being here; he was a major cause for what I did though. He was the one who killed my parents, skipped off taking no blame and became the British Prime Minister. Someone just needed to put him straight, he thought he was a big hoo-ha, when really, he was a normal, living, breathing human: just like the rest of us. Even when I first met him, when I was still young and naïve, I still didn't like the look of him. My point had been proved he was not one to be trusted.

He had killed ten people on that one day, and ripped apart the lives of those grieving. I was just the representative of those who lost a part of their heart. When he killed my parents, my heart just turned to ice, that took so long to melt, it was the fire of my want for justice that had thawed it.

The harsh memory of losing my parents…Despite it being ten, long hard years ago, I remembered it as if it were only yesterday.

"Clive, I need you to get away from here. I don't need you near this building; otherwise, you'll end up finding yourself in big trouble."

If I knew what she meant by this, then I would have possibly dragged both my parents out, trying to keep the three of us together. If we all died, I wouldn't have become the wreck I am now, if we survived, I would probably have succeeded in my old job of journalism, my life-long dream I got sacked for just because of her…

"I don't understand! What do you mean?" Was the only thing my younger self could actually get out of my mouth.

I remember the look in her eyes. It was a mix between loss and desperation. She knew her fate, yet she just sent me out, when she could have got herself out pretty easily as well? Well, knowing my mother, she probably wanted me out, just to make herself feel slightly relieved before her date with death struck.

"Just get out of this building and stay as far away as you can! You'll understand what I mean eventually Clive, you're a smart boy. My smart, beautiful boy."

At then all I did was gag at her soppy comment, but if I knew what was about to happen, I would have wrapped myself tightly in her arms and never let go. I could have felt like I actually had someone to love me and care for me then.

I remembered I only walked faster than usual in confusion, but when I saw how desperate my mother looked, I sped up to a jog, and once I had opened the door (with some struggle, I was pulling it too much so the door wouldn't open), into a run.

After my first few steps outside, all I heard was a massive, deafening noise. I covered my ears tightly, before the noise finally stopped. Finally uncovering them, I turned in the direction of the noise to see what it was.

My heart stopped.

That was the explosion that killed my parents, Claire, and seven other's I didn't know the names of.

I remembered trying to run back into the destroyed building, to try and get back to my parents. Clive, there still in there! You have to get them out! I had already seen Dimitri shoot past into the building, he probably had had the day off, and Bill had gone all big-headed.

Just as I was about to enter the building, now covered up in flames from the reaction, a sharp pain went around my wrist and I fell backwards. I was already a wreck in the tears streaming down my face, and this just made it worse. That was Professor Hershel Layton grabbing my wrist…if only I knew.

"NO!" I literally screeched into his face. "My mummy and daddy are still in there!"

Though, unlike most people would, he gave me no sympathy, despite having just lost his dearly beloved. "Pull yourself together boy!" he shouted, like a man having to command his dog with the fiercest tone he could muster. "If you go in there, you'll die too!"

If I managed to get out of his grip, my life wouldn't be such a misery now. He had held me in a certain way, so when he wrapped his arms around me, I could move around and breathe, but it was tight enough so no open routes were available and I couldn't escape. My head had been on the top of his arm, just underneath his shoulder. Since he was the one in control, he turned around so I couldn't see any more of the incident, and started walking off in a direction that we were nowhere near the scene. "NO! Nohoho!"

~x~

The two of us had walked in an uneasy silence away. I didn't know this part of town, or how long I had been walking, but I guessed it had been between ten and fifteen minutes, though it felt like decades. The man, or Professor- had tested my obedience by letting me go slightly, and when he realised I was too shocked to do anything other than follow him, he had just let me walk at his side, like a loyal dog, in some respects.

He ended up taking me to a small café, one of those where you just stop by for a drink and a chat. "Look, I know you're shaken up, my boy, but you must eat, and then we'll think about what we're going to do with you."

I nodded my head slowly, before the two of us walked into the building. It was completely empty, apart from one woman who was just about to leave. She had just gotten up from her seat, and the Professor had held the door open for her as she had departed. I gave him a look, his expressionless face showing nothing, and then walked into the building.

The building had given a warm feeling. It had been pretty nippy this morning, so the warmth of being inside of the building felt soothing against my bitter-cold skin. "Hershel, what's the matter?"

The voice had come from a woman who was just starting to get wrinkles on her face. She wasn't the skinniest person I had met, and had a double chin. Her hair, which was losing its blonde streaks to a pale grey, almost white colour, was tied up in a loose bun, which was probably for practical uses. Her eyes had faded from a light blue to a duller shade, and there wasn't any life in them at all, the only emotion emanating from them being curiosity for the elder.

The man sighed, his head bowed low in a sense of loss. "Claire…" he breathed. That was the first time I had seen any slight emotion come from him, the feeling that he could have-no, should have, done something to save her. I'm not surprised, most people, whether it be natural or like this, end up feeling like this at some point in the bereavement process.

"What about Claire?" The woman asked. She was obviously the stereotype blonde, absolutely stupid. Though I find stereotypes slightly harsh, I had to admit that. Being British, everyone expected me to be ugly, have bad teeth, drink tea twenty four hours a day, and love cricket. My father used to play cricket with me, and I always loved it, since he was hardly ever home, but I knew nobody who fit into all four of those categories.

"She's gone…" he started, lowering his head even more. "…They were working on time exploration, her, Bill and Dimitri. They were building a time machine…they nearly finished too. Something must have gone wrong though, everywhere was either in flames or rubble when I got there. This boy here would have ran back in, making the death total go up by another if I hadn't caught him just in time. Your parents were in there, I presume?" he said, looking me straight in the eye. I just nodded, feeling awkward by the look he gave me.

"Oh, Hershel, I'm so sorry…"

"I loved Claire dearly, I know, but a true gentleman never makes others suffer his own pain."

The woman then turned her attention on me, her eyes full of sympathy. "Poor lad…" she muttered to herself.

Her gaze then wafted over into the corner of the room, by the entrance. I followed her eye-line to see what she was looking at. There was a small black and white television there, which suddenly changed from a strange bed advert to Breaking News. The presenter of the normal news channel, a man who was probably around forty years old pushed his glasses up his nose, picked up a piece of paper, and began his report.

"An explosion has occurred in London around half an hour ago. Ten victims have been confirmed and names, many more injured." He started. "The following images and scenarios may be upsetting to viewers, if this so happens to be you, look away now."

I automatically turned away; I couldn't bear to go through it again. It still haunts me as a fully grown man. I had covered my ears tightly with my hands, but it still didn't block the screams of those traumatised by what had just gone on. Over all of them, I could easily hear my own, the noise making rattling me to the bone, making me want to shoot myself. I could then hear the man's slightly softer voice, since it had stuck so well in my head, and even more of my own screaming. "It's stopped now, kid." The woman said softly, as the screen hummed back onto a detective film.

I looked back up, since I had smashed my face into the table I was sat at in distress, but realised then how hard I had actually been pushing against my ears. They were burning in pain, and felt like they were relaxing from the pressure. I could hardly hear anything; my ears felt like I was under a swimming pool with no surface. I had lost the two people I loved with all my heart in three seconds, if that. How much worse could get? Well, Clive, you will find that out in a decade or so's time.

I had put my head back on the table and sighed heavily, my head deep in thought. What was going to happen to me now? My parents had both been the only one's out of them and their siblings to live, and my grandparent's had all passed long before I was even thought of. The woman looked at me, then the man again. "So, what are you planning on doing with him then?" she asked him.

The man gave a slightly pressurised aura off. He was obviously so distraught with Claire, that he hadn't thought about me. I couldn't blame him, I had only just thought about what I was going to do with myself. "I honestly don't have a clue…" he started. "If- If Claire was still around, I would have considered adopting him…but I could never do something like that on my own." He stopped, obviously thinking again. "But since she isn't…and I'm no expert of this sort of thing, the only option I really have left other than that that wouldn't completely ruin his life is sending him to the orphanage…"

That last word rung like a non-stopping bell. Orphanage…

I am working on this version now, and then deleting the old one once I have gotten to where I left off in that one. Thanks for reading!