Standing back in the dojo where he used to train, Steve looks around to see where his mind has taken him now. Another dream, another swim into his subconscious. Moe is there too, pottering around as he straightens up the mats and sweeps the floor to keep the place in order.
This is more of a memory than a dream he feels. One of a less chaotic time where both Steve’s complexion and the world were not yet as grim, or as blood stained. Not publicly anyway. The veil of society was still intact. Like a filter on an Instagram picture, designed to make everything look more romantic and hide poor photography skills. He knew it was fake, but was starting to enjoy the view either way. Memories were generally all sort of a lie anyway he believed. Most of them better off forgotten. He looks around