Ephemera is lying on his back, shirtless, while someone applies a tattoo to his chest. It's not done, but the words have been outlined. Redemption. His eyes are red. It's clear he's been crying and the woman sitting by his side, blonde and striking, looks like she's been crying and only recently stops.

This Ephemera has no burn scars. He's much younger.

The woman holds his hand loosely.

"Chin up, kid," she tells him gently. "You know the drill. Feet first into hell."

"Feet first," Ephemera echoes, and closes his eyes.

The tattoo gun buzzes. And the memory ends.