Shadows of the Past
Ch. 2 – Ace, Sedusa, Snake
Ace Copular, leader of the notorious Gangreen Gang, was a product of his environment—a cunning, bullying rogue who thrived on chaos. His voice was unmistakable, marked by the harsh, nasally accent of a street-smart New Yorker. Growing up in the Bronx, his speech was thick with the influence of his neighborhood—sharp, biting, and dripping with disdain. When Ace spoke, it was with all the venom of a juvenile delinquent—mocking and disrespectful.
But Ace's story began long before he became the feared leader of the Gangreen Gang. His roots stretched deep into the poverty-stricken tenements of the Bronx, where his family struggled to survive. Ace was the third oldest of four children in a household that knew nothing but hardship. His parents, undocumented immigrants from Italy, had arrived in America dreaming of a better life. However, their hopes were crushed under the weight of their status—they were unable to find stable, legitimate work. His father and mother could never secure steady employment, their attempts thwarted by their lack of legal papers. As a result, the family lived in constant uncertainty, relying on government assistance just to get by.
The constant struggle to make ends meet weighed heavily on Ace. He watched his mother work tirelessly at whatever job she could find, only to be met with dead-end opportunities, and his father grew more distant with each failed attempt to provide for his children. Ace was left feeling like he was trapped in a world with no escape. The hardships at home fostered a deep resentment toward the system, toward everyone who had failed his family. As he entered his early teens, Ace felt a burning need to escape—not just his family's poverty, but everything he knew that kept him down.
When Ace was just 7 years old, a fateful encounter would forever change the trajectory of his life. HIM, the dark, manipulative figure, saw something in young Ace. HIM didn't just see a vulnerable child; he saw someone whose pain could be molded into something darker. HIM approached Ace in the shadows of the Bronx, offering him a glimpse into a world beyond the misery he knew. To a child desperate to escape his circumstances, HIM's words were like a promise—power, freedom, and a way out. It was a deal Ace couldn't resist.
For years, Ace wrestled with his inner demons, feeling both the pull of HIM's influence and the weight of his family's struggles. His childhood was a blur of anger, confusion, and deepening bitterness. He found himself growing more detached from his family as the years passed, ultimately being placed in foster care. His time in the system was nothing more than a continuation of his troubled life. His restlessness led him to run away when he was 14, unable to bear the suffocating grip of authority any longer.
It was during his trip from the system that he found a dilapidated shack by the Townsville Dump, a place to hide away from the world. Here, in the wreckage of his life, Ace thought he was alone. But he wasn't. It was Mr. Wednesday, a shadowy figure with hidden motives of his own, who found Ace and took him in. Unlike others, Mr. Wednesday didn't seek to "save" Ace. Instead, he recognized the potential for chaos and power within the young boy and offered him a temporary refuge—an opportunity to escape his isolation and grow into something greater.
At the brand-new residential treatment program, Ace Copular made an unforgettable entrance—but not for any of the right reasons. Handcuffed and wearing a white face mask, his long, greasy black hair hung in knotted strands down to his shoulders, carelessly slicked back as if he didn't care what anyone thought. His gray hooded sweatshirt, bearing the words "POTOMAC BASEBALL" on the front and "COPULAR" on the back, drooped around him like a dismal reminder of a past he wanted to leave behind. His red-and-black buffalo plaid pants clashed with his black Nike slides, an awkward rebellion against the uniformity of the place. The pointed black sunglasses perched on his nose, giving him an air of detachment, like someone who refused to be seen—or understood—by anyone.
As Ace stepped into the room, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn't just his presence that was heavy; it was the weight of his attitude. His eyes flicked between Dr. Kutz, the lead psychiatrist, and Dillon, who stood awkwardly clutching a bag that held Ace's few belongings, like it was some kind of lifeline. A queasy mix of anxiety and defiance churned in Ace's gut as he moved toward the table, each step a small battle against the walls he'd spent years building.
Dr. Kutz stood, unfazed, meeting his gaze with a calm but observant neutrality. There was no judgment in her eyes, no sense of threat—just a quiet, unspoken understanding. Dillon shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, glancing between Ace and the bag, his fingers tapping lightly against the strap, like he wasn't sure whether to offer it or let it drop.
"Ace Copular," Dr. Kutz's voice was calm but steady, "I'm Dr. Brenda Kutz. I'll be your psychiatrist while you're here."
Ace didn't respond at first. He just stared at her, his expression a stone wall. His gaze quickly moved to Dillon's hand, where the familiar Juul rested. The one thing they'd caught him with. The one thing they'd use as evidence to prove he had issues. The one thing that felt like the beginning of them taking everything from him.
Dillon, after a moment of hesitation, spoke up. "Ace, why've you been using this?"
Ace rolled his eyes, the all-too-familiar mask of indifference sliding back into place like it belonged there. "What's the big deal? It's just a Juul," he muttered, his voice flat, dismissive.
Dr. Kutz didn't flinch. She simply tilted her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his. "What have you been going through, Ace?"
The question was soft, but it landed hard. It wasn't accusatory. There was no judgment in her tone. It was... curious. And that made Ace feel vulnerable, in a way he hadn't been ready for. It wasn't what he'd been expecting. It wasn't like every other adult who'd either ignored him or tried to tell him what was wrong with him.
His first instinct was to brush it off, like he always did—to deflect, shut it down, keep everything buried where no one could reach it. But as he opened his mouth to deliver a biting retort, something in her calm gaze made him pause. His eyes flicked quickly to Dillon, who seemed to shrink a little under the tension, before returning to Dr. Kutz.
For the first time in a long while, Ace felt like he had no control. The walls he'd built to protect himself felt fragile, and the pressure to keep them standing was starting to wear him down.
"I don't know," Ace muttered after a long beat, his voice smaller than he intended. "Everything... it's just been crap, alright? Always has been."
Dr. Kutz didn't push. She allowed the silence to stretch between them, offering him space to breathe without feeling trapped.
"I'm just here 'cause they don't know what else to do with me," he added, the bitterness in his tone sharp. "Don't know why you're wasting your time."
She nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful but unshaken. "Sometimes, the hardest part isn't the situation itself, but how we choose to face it. You don't have to figure it all out right now, Ace. But I'm here. We'll talk when you're ready."
Her calmness felt like a challenge. She wasn't scared of him. She wasn't intimidated by his defenses. And in that moment, Ace couldn't help but feel like she was seeing something in him that he was desperately trying to keep hidden. Something he wasn't ready to face.
"I'm not ready," he snapped, the familiar bitterness rising in his chest like a tidal wave. His voice was loud, defensive. He turned away from her, his gaze locking onto the window as if the outside world might offer him some kind of escape, even if it was only temporary.
But Dr. Kutz didn't push him further. She simply waited, letting the silence settle around them. The ball was now in his court—he could keep running, or maybe, just maybe, he'd stop for once and take a look at what was waiting for him on the other side of that wall.
Dr. Kutz's voice broke through the silence again, softer but unwavering. "Why aren't you ready, Ace?"
The question hung in the air like an unspoken challenge, gentle but piercing. Ace flinched at the sound of it, like she had thrown a rock at a mirror he'd worked so hard to shatter.
He clenched his jaw and looked away, his gaze darting to the window again, as if the outside world could give him an answer. He didn't want to look at her. Didn't want to have to explain.
"It's just... I don't know," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly, betraying the mask he was desperately trying to keep in place. "I'm not gonna just open up to some stranger, alright? It's not like you'll fix anything. You're just gonna poke around in my head, dig up stuff I'm not ready to deal with."
He shook his head, his fingers tapping against his sleeve in a nervous rhythm. "I've been through enough of that already. People thinking they can fix me... like I'm some damn puzzle they need to solve. I'm not broken. I'm just tired of all the games."
Dr. Kutz didn't respond immediately, but her silence was different this time. It wasn't distant or detached. It was like she was giving him the space to process—to feel his way through the mess of emotions he was trying so hard to keep buried.
After a long pause, she said, "You don't have to do this all at once, Ace. It's okay to not have the answers. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
Ace's throat tightened, and for a moment, he almost felt something he hadn't in a long time: the slightest crack in the wall he'd built around himself. It scared him more than anything else.
"I'm not... I'm not ready to trust anyone," he finally muttered, almost to himself. "Not yet."
Her voice remained steady, unfazed by the deflection. "That's okay. You don't have to trust me right away. But when you're ready, I'll be here."
Ace glanced back at her, his expression hardening again, but there was something different in his eyes. Not surrender, but something close—an acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something different. Something better.
Dr. Kutz's tone shifted slightly, more matter-of-fact, as she moved through the next steps of their process. "I have to do an evaluation for you, Ace," she said, her eyes not leaving his as she spoke. "It's part of the intake. I'll get you a gray tee shirt, gray sweatpants, and white slides. I already have your medication for ADHD, so no need to worry about that."
Ace narrowed his eyes, trying to process her words through the fog of irritation and uncertainty that clouded his mind. He wasn't sure what he'd expected—maybe a more drawn-out discussion or a push to talk about his problems. But this? This felt clinical, like she was just another person trying to check boxes off a list.
He nodded stiffly, still feeling like he didn't quite belong here, like this was all some kind of mistake. But the truth was, part of him was starting to wonder if maybe this was exactly where he needed to be—even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it.
Dr. Kutz moved toward a small cabinet by the wall, pulling out the items she mentioned. The gray clothing felt like a uniform, a uniform for a life he didn't want to be a part of, but one that was becoming unavoidable.
As she handed him the clothes, she added, "When you're done changing, come back here. We'll start with some basic questions. Nothing too heavy. Just a way to get to know where you're at."
Ace took the clothes from her without saying a word, his fingers gripping the fabric a little tighter than necessary. He didn't want to feel vulnerable. Didn't want to feel like he was being reduced to a series of questions and answers. But here he was. And for better or worse, he knew he couldn't hide from it forever.
Dr. Kutz gave him a small, understanding nod before walking to the door. "I'll be right here when you're ready," she said softly before stepping out, giving him the privacy he seemed to need—whether he liked it or not.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Ace stood there for a moment, staring down at the gray tee and sweatpants in his hands. Something about the simplicity of it made everything feel more real—more permanent. He wasn't sure if he was ready for that.
But somehow, deep down, Ace knew that this was the first step. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to face what was ahead.
Sedusa, once known as Amanda Selker, was a master of disguise, a beautiful and cunning seductress who used her charm and quick thinking to bend men to her will. Her allure was almost hypnotic, her ability to manipulate others seemingly unmatched. But when her true identity was revealed, she fought back with a weapon unlike any other: her hair. Like a whip, it could lengthen, snap, and strike with precision, each movement carefully controlled, turning it into a deadly offensive force against those who crossed her path.
Nineteen years ago, while still a senior at Villanova University, Amanda was given an incredible opportunity: to study abroad in Greece. It was everything she had dreamed of—an immersion into ancient history, culture, and beauty that felt like a perfect alignment of fate. It was as if the universe was offering her everything she had longed for. But in the ruins of Delphi, where the past whispered in every stone, she crossed paths with HIM. At first, he was just a figure in the distance, an anomaly among the tourists—a strange presence that seemed out of place in the historical wonder.
But unlike others, he saw her. Not just saw her, but truly understood her. His words were honeyed, wrapping around her like an intoxicating spell. He introduced himself as a guide, a mentor—someone who could provide clarity amid her struggles, someone who knew the depth of her potential. He spoke of the ancient gods of Greek mythology, telling tales of their power, their manipulation of the world, and how they could change fate with just a thought. His voice carried the weight of centuries, and soon he offered her a vision—one that would shape the rest of her life.
He told her about Sedusa, a figure from ancient myth: a woman capable of seduction and manipulation, a creature who could use her power to control the minds of men. He claimed that she was destined to embody this mythical power, that she too could wield the gods' influence if she embraced it. At first, Amanda was skeptical. How could she—just a young woman trying to figure herself out—be like Sedusa? Yet, he pressed on, filling her with stories of power, of destiny, and the promise of becoming something more than she ever thought possible. He spoke of her strength, her beauty, and her ability to shape the world as she saw fit.
Caught up in the excitement of being abroad, surrounded by the myth and magic of Greece, Amanda was easily lured into his vision. She didn't see HIM for what he truly was. She didn't see the manipulative force beneath the surface, only the allure of a future where she could control everything. And so, the seeds were planted. Over the years, they grew into a darkness that would consume her.
Fast forward to the present, where Sedusa, her true persona fully formed, was now in captivity. She stood restrained, her face concealed by a white mask, her entire body encased in a red and black outfit—her signature look. A red leotard clung to her form, paired with red opera gloves and thigh-high boots. Fishnet stockings over black pantyhose completed the ensemble, a striking contrast to the sterile environment she now found herself in. Her once-beautiful hair, the very weapon she had used to control and seduce, was gone—shorn off completely by the Powerpuff Girls and Ms. Bellum in a moment of forced reckoning.
The woman now standing before her was Dr. Debra Ellis, a psychiatrist with an air of calm authority. Dr. Ellis wore a purple top and pants, gold flats, and a white coat. Her short, curvy frame exuded warmth, but there was a sharpness in her gray eyes, concealed behind her eyeglasses, that suggested she was not easily fooled. Her gray, permed curls framed her face, adding to her composed and professional appearance.
Dr. Ellis stood in front of Sedusa, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she spoke. "Amanda Selker," she began, her voice even but firm. "My name is Dr. Debra Ellis. I'll be your psychiatrist here."
For the first time in years, Sedusa's eyes hardened, a flicker of defiance in them as the reality of her fall from grace set in.
Dr. Ellis' voice cut through the air with a cold, clinical precision. "Why were you wearing this to the stripper clubs?"
Sedusa's eyes narrowed, her hands clenched into fists as she looked down at her attire—the same red and black ensemble that had once made her a feared figure in the underworld. She had always worn it with purpose, with power. But now, stripped of her control and her influence, the question felt like a pointed jab. She knew exactly what Dr. Ellis was insinuating.
"I wore this because it was who I was," Sedusa replied, her voice low, laced with defiance. "It was my power. My image. I didn't need to hide it. I didn't need to explain it to anyone."
Dr. Ellis raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused. "You were using it, weren't you? To manipulate, to control. Not just men, but everyone around you. Tell me, Amanda—what was it like, having that kind of power?"
Sedusa flinched at the use of her real name, but quickly recovered. She met Dr. Ellis's gaze, her eyes full of bitterness. "You think I didn't know what I was doing?" she shot back. "I knew what I was doing. I used my looks, my body, my hair—everything I had to make people bow to my will. And they did. Men, women, it didn't matter. They all fell in line."
She paused, a brief flicker of vulnerability crossing her face before it was quickly masked by her usual bravado. "That's how the world works, doesn't it? You either have power, or you get crushed."
Dr. Ellis folded her arms, her expression thoughtful but unwavering. "And now, where has that power gotten you?" she asked, her voice tinged with something like curiosity but also caution. "You're in a cage. Your hair is gone. Your influence has crumbled. So tell me, Amanda—what happens when the thing you used to define yourself is taken from you?"
Sedusa's jaw clenched, the weight of the question sinking in. The truth was undeniable, but it was one she wasn't yet ready to face.
Dr. Ellis' voice remained steady, but there was an underlying firmness as she continued, "I'll give you a gray t-shirt, sweatpants, and slides. Then, I'll do an evaluation for you."
Sedusa's eyes flickered momentarily with a mix of confusion and annoyance. A gray t-shirt and sweatpants? It seemed almost mocking—like she was being reduced to something so... ordinary. She had spent years carefully curating an image of power and elegance, and now she was being offered nothing more than the most basic of prison attire.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Sedusa's voice was a mixture of scorn and disbelief. "You think I'll just—" She gestured at herself, her bound hands the only movement she could manage. "—put on this uniform and suddenly everything will change? I was a goddess in my own right. Now you want me to wear this?"
Dr. Ellis, unfazed, looked down at her clipboard, as if reading from a script she had long memorized. "You'll wear them, Amanda, because the first step to moving forward is to let go of the image you've built around yourself. You're not Sedusa here. You're Amanda. You're human. And I'll help you remember that."
Sedusa's lips curled in a thin, sarcastic smile. "I was never just human," she muttered, but despite her defiance, the edge in her voice seemed to lose some of its conviction.
Dr. Ellis didn't respond immediately. She simply nodded and handed Sedusa the clothes, her eyes assessing her closely. "You'll wear these because it's a part of the process. You need to strip away the illusions before we can address what's underneath."
Sedusa glared at the clothes for a moment, her pride flaring up. But deep down, she knew she had no choice. She had been stripped of everything else—her powers, her image, her freedom. Maybe, just maybe, this was the only way to reclaim what she had lost.
She finally exhaled, a quiet surrender to the situation. "Fine," she muttered, her voice thick with resistance. "But don't think I'm going to let you break me that easily."
Dr. Ellis nodded, the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "It's not about breaking you, Amanda. It's about helping you find yourself again."
As Sedusa reluctantly changed into the plain clothes, Dr. Ellis stood to the side, watching her closely. When the transformation was complete, she took a seat across from her patient, ready for the evaluation to begin.
"Now," Dr. Ellis began, her voice calm but direct, "let's talk about what led you here."
As Sedusa sat there, her once imposing presence now reduced to the plain gray shirt and sweatpants, she couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of frustration and uncertainty. For years, she had relied on her image, her power, and the fear she inspired. But now, in this sterile room with nothing but Dr. Ellis's watchful gaze upon her, she was forced to confront the person she had buried beneath the masks. The journey ahead seemed daunting—one of self-discovery, of peeling away layers she had so carefully crafted. But perhaps, just perhaps, it was the first step toward something more than the seductress and manipulator she had once been. And though the path to redemption, or even understanding, was uncertain, there was a flicker of something deeper stirring within her—a faint glimmer of hope that she could finally be more than just the image she had created.
Soon to be 17 years old on March 21st, Sanford "Snake" Ingleberry had lived a life most people could only dream of. Born into a world of wealth and privilege in McLean, Virginia, Snake's life seemed like something out of a luxury catalog. His father was the powerful CEO of Ingle Bank Co., while his mother was a renowned fashion designer, constantly in the spotlight. Snake and his two older sisters were doted on, showered with lavish gifts and privileges. They attended extravagant parties every weekend, took private jets to exotic destinations, and wore designer clothes, shoes, and accessories—if it was high-end, they had it.
But despite the opulence that surrounded him, Snake hated it all. Beneath the shimmering surface of his gilded existence, he longed for something more—normalcy. He wanted to be just another kid, with regular friends, doing regular things. The pressure of living in a world where appearances mattered more than anything else weighed heavily on him, and he resented the life that had been handed to him.
Then came HIM. One ordinary day, at a time when Snake felt like he had been drowning in his family's wealth, HIM arrived, cleverly disguised as a janitor. He was just a regular guy cleaning the hallways of Snake's prestigious boarding school, blending in with the mundane tasks of everyday life. But beneath the janitor's disguise, HIM had far darker intentions. In an instant, a venomous snake was released, its bite sinking deep into Snake's skin. The venom caused gangrene to spread through his body, and though the physical damage was horrific, it was the psychological impact that truly scarred him. HIM had just marked Snake for something far worse than a bite—it was a trap. A way to ensnare him in a web of manipulation and fear, making Snake feel like he was always one step away from being trapped forever.
The experience led to Snake's expulsion from the boarding school after he and his best friend, Ace, had vandalized the property in a reckless act of defiance. With nowhere else to turn, Snake left McLean behind and moved to Townsville, Virginia, where Ace had recently relocated. There, in a residential treatment program designed to help troubled teens, Snake hoped to find the answers he needed—or at least some semblance of peace.
It was his first day at the program, and Snake was feeling every bit of the weight of his new reality. He was cuffed with a yellow face mask and dressed in a green "WAKEFIELD BASKETBALL" long-sleeve t-shirt, with "INGLEBERRY" printed across the back. His black sweatpants and Vans SK8-Hi sneakers did little to comfort him. He had left behind the designer clothes, the glamorous lifestyle, and was now surrounded by others who seemed just as lost as he was. The very thought of meeting Dr. Kutz made him nervous. What would she say? Would she see through the armor he'd built around himself?
The door to the small office opened, and in walked Dr. Kutz. Her voice was calm, yet firm, as she addressed him.
"Sanford Ingleberry," she said, her gaze steady but kind. "I'm Dr. Brenda Kutz. I'll be your psychiatrist here."
Snake met her eyes, unsure of what to expect, but in that moment, he realized something—maybe, just maybe, this was the first step toward finding the normal life he had always dreamed of. The life where he could finally feel free.
Dr. Kutz's voice was steady, yet there was a subtle hint of concern as she glanced at her notes. She looked up at Snake, her expression soft but searching.
"Sanford," she began, her tone measured, "Dillon told me that he found your vape..."
Snake froze for a moment, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He had hoped his secrets, the ones that clung to him like shadows, would stay hidden for a little while longer. But here, in this sterile, unfamiliar office, there was nowhere to hide. His throat tightened as he looked down at his hands, which were slightly trembling.
"Yeah, I guess you could say he did," Snake replied, his voice lower than he intended. He forced himself to meet her gaze, but the sharp, knowing look in her eyes made it harder than it should have been. "I—I wasssn't exactly hiding it, but I wasssn't trying to get caught, either."
Dr. Kutz nodded, jotting something down in her notebook. "And what was the reason, Sanford? Why did you feel the need to have it?"
Snake's mind raced for a moment, unsure of how to explain himself. Was it the stress? The numbness he felt when everything around him felt suffocating? The expectation that he always had to be perfect, always had to be someone else? It was easier to numb the feeling of being trapped.
"Sometimesss... it's just easssier, you know?" Snake's voice cracked, though he quickly cleared his throat. "Easssier than facing whatever it is I'm feeling. It's like... a way out, even if it's jussst for a sssecond."
Dr. Kutz didn't rush to respond. She allowed the silence to settle between them, her eyes studying him with an intensity that made Snake feel exposed, like she could see every thought he was trying to bury.
"I understand," she said after a beat, her voice calm. "But as you know, that 'easier' path isn't always the healthiest way to cope. We're here to find better ways for you to handle those feelings, Sanford. Ways that don't keep you trapped."
Snake's gaze dropped again, his mind turning over her words. He hadn't expected that—no harsh judgment, no disappointment in her eyes, just a quiet understanding.
"I'm not sssure how to do that," he muttered, barely audible.
"You don't have to know everything right now," Dr. Kutz said gently, her tone reassuring. "We'll figure it out together. One step at a time."
For the first time in a long while, Snake felt a faint flicker of hope—a small light in the darkness of everything he had been running from. Maybe this time, he'd find a way out, not through the smoke of a vape or the numbness of avoidance, but through something real. Something he had never allowed himself to truly experience before.
Dr. Kutz's voice remained calm and measured as she continued, flipping through the pages of her notes. "I'll give you a gray t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and white slides. Once you're done changing, we'll proceed with your evaluation."
Snake nodded, unsure if he was more nervous about the clothes or the evaluation itself. The gray set she mentioned felt like the uniform of the place—simple, neutral, and devoid of any personal touch, just like everything else here. It felt like a reminder that he wasn't special here, not like he was at home, where he had once stood out among his peers in tailored clothes and exclusive brands. He would just blend in with the others now.
Dr. Kutz paused for a moment, glancing at a file she held in her hands. "And I have your insulin case here," she continued. "I see that you're Type 1 Diabetic, which we'll need to manage closely during your stay. Another patient has also been assigned to monitor your intake schedule, just as a precaution. You can talk to them if you have any concerns, but we'll make sure you're comfortable and well taken care of."
Snake let out a slow breath, the mention of his diabetes oddly grounding him. Despite the whirlwind of chaos his life had become, there was something reassuring about the steady routine of managing his blood sugar, something predictable in the middle of everything else that felt out of control. It was the one thing he could rely on, even though it felt like the rest of his life had been spiraling.
"I'll be fine," Snake said softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty but also with a hint of reassurance, as if telling himself that it was all just part of the routine. "I can manage it."
Dr. Kutz gave a gentle nod, her eyes assessing but not judgmental. "I'm sure you can. We'll just keep a close eye on things here to make sure you stay on track. Once you've changed, meet me in the evaluation room."
As Snake got up to leave, he felt the weight of his circumstances settle on his shoulders once again. It wasn't just the clothes or the strange new place—it was the whole process of trying to untangle himself from the mess he had created. The evaluation, the daily routines, the new faces… it all felt like another mountain to climb. But maybe it was a climb he was finally ready to face, even if he didn't know how he was going to make it to the top.