Distortion

[Wesker]

//Credit to the actual dude who made it I really think this is an incredible work of art that deserves it.

Barracks Planet Toledo, Omicron Minor
10/22/814 AS, 13:00

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Days had passed and all the man could think about was his family, he recited to himself over and over in his his makeshift-barracks-room as if he was a patient in an insane asylum. The Doctor didn't go much further with questions beyond their original conversation, he thought it might be too traumatizing after it appeared the man had lost his family. Nothing seemed to calm him down, some hours he would be crying, others just pacing on and on - he was losing it slowly. The only requests he made from his room were requests for any art supplies. He told the guards he was a "respected artist" where he came from. Fortunately for him there were some lying around in some of the lounges in the other Barracks on the Outpost. He was able to drown his emotions, and concentration into his art, but eventually it came to an end. His guilt had managed to overcome him just as he finished the piece he was working on.

The poor man continued about over and over again, it was apparent he felt he had let them down. Whatever happened, he was immediately responsible in his own eyes; and that type of guilt was the most difficult kind for any man to overcome.

Nevermind if he was a father.

One of the Order psychologists on Planet Toledo had been tasked with helping the poor man who seemed too traumatized to speak to anyone about anything. Some of the Order personnel nearby thought it was trauma from contact with the nomads. Others thought he was literally insane, but it was time to get the "official" narrative on who he was and what was really wrong with him.

Hello? The doctor said with a soft tone as he opened the door slowly. He could see the man lying in his rack, tired, worn, mentally defeated - a man at the end of his last straw. On the floor just next to him though, was drawing, pieces of paper compiled to one image; it looked beautiful.

Hola. He said in response after giving the man a moment to take in his surroundings, he kept his head and eyes forward though.

That's some artwork, who is she? He said, opening the conversation in a way that might give him some insight. My wife. He responded.

She looks beautiful, do you know where she is now? The man saw his question as venturing a bit far, but the calm-attitude he brought with him elicited a more revealing response than he would have given to one of the guards. She died trying to help me. His response brought out a deep breath from the psychologist. He glanced down at the drawing one more time - one arm folded over the other in front of him - before he walked up closer to the man.

I'm so sorry, I didn't know... I never asked you your name. My name's James. He made a gesture with his hand, pointing to himself before he asked the obvious question while pointing at the man. What's yours? The man took a sharp breath in and out through his nose, glancing down at the drawing for a moment before finally revealing.

Luciano.

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