A/N (June 4, 2019): Added new mural scene.

A/N (November 26, 2018): Fixes and integration of Prologue.

A/N (June 15, 2018): Lots of fixes! Some details were changed. Also new formatting.

Old A/N: The portrayal of Remnant may not be accurate, as honestly… the show isn't consistent, especially with aura, and a lot isn't shown. It'll try to match the canon world as closely as possible. Still, no guarantees.

Feel free to ask me questions through reviews, and remember, leaving a review/follow/favorite encourages me to write more!

Disclaimer: Don't own RWBY. Don't own Earth.

Beta: Courtland, many thanks!

~The Path Most Traveled~

Fire and blood.

Flames licked at his skin as he crawled. The dark miasma of burning flesh swirled around him, choking him. Through the thick black smoke, his eyes spied misshapen bodies and ruins, all blended together in the rubble.

He tried to stay below the smoke, where air was supposed to be fresher. His body fought as hard as it could to stay alive. He was coughing, wheezing, his arms and legs struggling to push his body forward, his eyes darting for an escape. However, his mind wasn't really into it.

The young man felt numb. The sight of the inferno, once a town, wasn't new at all and invoked little emotion in him. Over the last five years, he had seen other areas become desolate overnight one too many times. He remembers the flames spreading through familiar locales. The screams of recent friendly acquaintances as their bodies relinquished their souls from their earthly shackles.

He chuckled softly to himself. Had he really become so used to life or death situations that he could now allow his mind to wander? Or was it that he couldn't care less that he died, skin melting away to ash with the rest? There was so much more to life, so much that he just didn't want to know about anymore. He loved it when he'd lived in his little corner of the world, where his greatest worry had been if his parents have found his stash of… questionables. And now, stuck on the other side of the planet, he was dying on both the outside and the inside.

On the days when nothing interesting had happened and the world slowed down, he would sit in a corner of their current hideout and ponder. He would think of some new outlandish way to escape from his bonds of servitude, think of his family that he'd accidentally abandoned, and maybe even what was for dinner. However, it was morbidly inevitable for him to end up wondering upon the ashes of the departed.

Death, had always been so close to him, intrigued him so much. Did the dead find peace in whatever came after? Was death a sweet embrace – a sense of endless tranquility that envelops you? This young man would have loved it. A place where there was no war, no death, no actions, and most importantly: No responsibility.

The heat around him was starting to become unbearable, but he didn't even notice. His thoughts trudged on, uncaring of his life.

Ah. Responsibility. He made a sound that was something between a wheeze and a dry laugh. The true weight of responsibility was not something to be taken lightly, especially when both your own and others' lives are at stake, he stated in his mind. But sometimes you just don't have the luxury to care. The dilemma between the two women came to mind. Nowadays, that memory merely made him feel uneasy, compared to the complete disgust and self-hatred he'd felt beforehand. He had condemned them to a life of such depraved degradation. It wasn't as if this young man had been ignorant of the repercussions when he had made his choice. He just chose to do it with full knowledge of the consequences.

If I was a good man, the choice would have been easy, and opposing to all my selfish deeds, he hummed to himself, unable to do much else because of the dryness of his ash-covered throat. Two lives for one. Two lives for my life. But he couldn't do it. It wasn't just any life. It was mine. He chose instead to save himself.

A flash of memory. Days later. Females. Unrecognizable. Naked. And wrong. Blood. Slashes. A knife – can'tseetheblade – imbedded. Parts… missing or misshapen. Still alive…? Mocking voice. "Where's the beauty you were so proud of now, fucking bitches?" Gruesome horrid disgusting; how can anyone do this to another human being -

A sneer forced itself onto his dirty, tired face, stopping the flashes of drained emotions. He coughed, and he tasted blood. It was a nice feeling, somehow, wet liquid in his dried throat, like some kind of twisted elixir of life.

There were so many chances for him to redeem himself, but he always ended up saving himself. Countless chances. Every single time he gave himself reasons, as if there was a good reason for standing by while such atrocities were committed. Please, oh God. Oh… God… just end it all. Please. He felt no pain, just a little guilt, anger, regret, and the list went on. The emotions were all muted by time.

He brought his attention back to his situation. Surrounded by flames, there was still one way he could go. Forwards. A little tunnel, empty of flames, leading straight to freedom. Freedom? No, more like slavery. A slave to his own mistakes. It looked so tempting to escape again, but he knew what it entailed. All miracles require a sacrifice, and oh, wasn't life the largest miracle of them all?

He found himself lying on the ground, face upwards, now still, his strength not yet fully exhausted. His body could still go on. However, his mind wanted to stop. He wanted to rest. The tired man didn't want to escape with his life again, only to come back to a life without life. He just wanted something, everything to stop.

His eyes blankly looked above, at the smoke, with flames dancing at the edges of his vision.

Then, as if God himself heard his prayers, an angel swooped in from above. It was in the form of a wooden beam, burning, having failed in its duty to stay upright and still. It burned like hellfire, but all this young man saw was its light, parting away the dark smoke as it fell. A fallen angel parting clouds of doubt.

There was no pain, with how quick it was.

This man's name was Chris. Just Chris.

~The Path Most Traveled~

"What lies within a human?" It was a female voice, that was for certain. But the scene was also dark. Very dark, dark enough that not even an outline of anything could be seen.

"There is, of course, the heart, the embodiment of love. Then the brain, the center of logic. But it is on the outside that we show something even more sophisticated. Through the eyes, one sees the soul."

There was a giggle.

"Or so the romantics say. How… pretty, for a lack of a better word. You know what I think lies within?"

She giggled again, but there was an edge to it.

"I believe that within every human is filled at the very center with the vilest substance of all. The very enemy that binds science and religion together, that causes the worst wars, and that fells planetary ecosystems."

"This dark, insidious, cancerous thing… is called apathy."

"You see it in action on the television. You see it on the news. Come on, you even see it when walking down the streets. How many people in need do you know about, but still just don't care?"

"How can science stand by and further meaningless advancements of knowledge, when real problems strike the world? How can they empower humans to do more when it is revealed time and again we aren't responsible enough? How can religion strive for anything higher when their members can't even deal with what is below?"

"How can countries stand by while atrocities are committed by their neighbors just because they are worried for their own citizens?"

"Why isn't everyone worried about their planet dying a slow death just because they are not the ones getting poisoned at the moment?"

"How. Many. Reasons!" She emphasized each word as if they were poison. "Can there be as to why you can't help?"

A breath.

"An infinite amount, that's how many. That is the beauty of rationalization."

"Reason like – you are but one person. What can one person do?" Her voice became high pitched, echoing with the sing-song voice of a mocking sneer.

"But if everyone thinks that way, then nobody will stand out."

"Or maybe something more like – this is risky, I don't even know if I should help him."

"Ah, interesting that the center of your argument is all about yourself. You! YOU! You can't stop thinking about you!"

"The reasons go on. There is nothing a human to justify their selfish reasons to not help another… especially if the help comes at a cost to themselves."

"Ha! Are you really a good person just because you handed over ten bucks to a friend in need? Are you really a good person for extending a helping hand at almost no cost to yourself, and to a person you know personally? Are you a good person just because you were selfish enough to take advantage of your friend's situation to feel better about yourself?"

"Oh look! Now you've donated twenty dollars to charity! What a gracious move! You must be the personification of goodness. The world is distraught, hit by famine, slavery, destruction, and abuse, how nice of you to help out! Oh! Are you still thinking about the new state-of-the-art three-thousand dollar TV that you are buying tomorrow?"

"Hm…"

"Nevertheless, that's also just a pessimistic way to look at humans. They are complicated after all. So, let's play. I've thrown this one specimen into hell and back…" She chuckled darkly, but also bitterly. "Let's go further. Bound by your mortal coil, chained by your flaws, and encumbered by your mistakes… I am eager to see the places you'll go."

Maybe her eyes had been closed before, or maybe a window was opened to her soul, for suddenly, through the thawing darkness there came a pair of green-ish eyes glowing brightly - and the entire world changed.

"No Gods or Laws. Only man, and the wondrous depths of the human soul."

~The Path Most Traveled~

Chris felt himself slowly float back into consciousness.

Anyone else in this situation would have opened their eyes, stretched, yawned, and then examined their environment, as if awakening from a deep and restful sleep. Instead, this man kept himself calm and examined his surroundings using his senses. This was instinctual for him now, which was a must considering what he had to endure for the last few years.

There was pressure on the front of his body and the right side of his face, applied with something cool, hard, and dusty. He assumed that he was lying on the floor. His head was most likely tilted towards his left so that he could breathe. He could feel clothes on his body, but his left arm and side were… wet?

The smell in the air put him on edge. There was blood somewhere near him, he could tell. Fresh blood. Am I wounded? No, I don't feel anything, though the nerves could be damaged from the burn. Am I in a battle? Am I captured? His memory was a bit hazy.

He tried to listen for the distant sound of weapon fire, guards talking, anything to explain his current predicament without alerting anyone to his awakening. What he heard instead, was the distant chatter of a… store. No, it sounded like stand owners calling out their wares, a marketplace. It was far away from his position, but sounded close enough to be within walking distance. Strange. Whenever he was incapacitated, his brothers would bring him to an isolated shelter in case of pursuers. Never somewhere so close to civilization.

The situation was new. Unfamiliar. He decided to wait for his memory to come back.

Ah, right.

The successful attack. The failed defense. The napalm carpet. Then... his death?

How was he still alive? There was no way for him to have survived that. He considered the possibility of someone else stepping in. If someone knocked the beam off course, they could have rescued him, then positioned him into a safer area. That could be it. After all, he was in a completely new environment. A savior would be the most logical explanation, even if this mysterious savior hasn't saved much other than a man who deserved worse than death.

The man moved very slightly to determine if there was anything on him. He didn't feel any shackles nor binds. That didn't mean he was not a prisoner, he could still be in a cell. To decide what he should do, he needed more information.

Or do I, he asked himself. He was so tired of the struggle. There's only so much a man can take before resigning himself to his fate. Five years ago, he was full of hope. Three years ago, he was determined. Two years ago, he was furious. Now, he was just defeated. Still… he wanted to live. Really live for once. To have the life he never did get…

He opened his eyes.

From his prone perspective, he saw cobblestone and dirt. A long time ago, it might have been a nicely paved floor, but time has long worn the tiles, and earth has squeezed into the cracks. Small adventurous plants have found home in the dirt-filled crevices.

He now could confirmed that he was lying on his front, with his head tilted to the side to breathe in the cool, musty air. The man noted that his previous assumptions were correct. His breathing, now deeper, agitated the dust on the ground and he sneezed.

The man felt sluggish, as if he was just waking up from a coma. He tried to move his right arm, and he was still able to twitch his fingers. They grasped loosely upon something cool and hard, but dusty. He took another moment to gather his strength.

I must have been asleep for a long time to have become this weak, he thought.

He felt a bit stronger now and awkwardly stumbled into a kneeling position. He placed his hands on his knees to keep himself still. He still felt weak. Letting his body rest for a moment, he looked around.

He seemed to be in a run-down alleyway between two wooden buildings. Shadows covered everything, but a streak of light from the sky revealed that it was still day. The wooden walls on each side were worn and unpainted, either because the color was weathered away or it hadn't been painted to begin with. Looking backwards, he could see that the alleyway led into a street, more run down houses, and then even further away behind the houses, were a row of trees. He couldn't tell if it was just a few trees or a forest because of the distance. Not a person in sight. He turned his head to look forwards. It led outside, to where all the noise was.

The man was confused. It was a strange place to leave a person like him, especially since he had been on the verge of death. The distant memory of the smoke and dust, fire and blood, lingered.

On that note, why do I feel so fine? He inspected himself.

He was wearing dirty jeans and worn out boots. On his upper body, he had a plain, old, dark green shirt. It also had a massive dark spot – oh. He dumbly noted that there was a large cut in the shirt, about where his left lung was, and blood had soaked into the cloth around the wound. That explained the wet feeling and the puddle he was lying in. There was a small knife in the pool of blood, most likely the weapon that made the wound (?). He identified it as a kind of tactical knife. The man also noted that the pool of blood was large enough for him to have died from blood loss. Strangely, he felt no pain and when he inspected his wound, he found clear skin. Not even a scar. Chris decided that this situation was making less and less sense.

A little further away, there was the sheath for the knife. It had straps that allowed it be secured against the thigh. Chris has seen something like this before, but only for women who preferred to be armed while wearing certain less… conservative garments.

He grabbed the knife and tried to get as much blood as he could off it. Dirt was used to soak up whatever fluids that were left behind. A dirty knife was better than a bloody knife, as the latter would raise a lot of questions. Then, he sheathed it and placed it within his jean pockets, which were surprisingly large. It made a large lump, which was uncomfortable and most likely strange, but he wasn't in any situation to care.

Chris looked towards the exit and hesitated. He should probably be cautious. He should take a moment right before the doorway into the light and listen. Then, he must quickly peak out and back in so that he may bait out trigger happy enemies. Afterwards, he must turn and go the other –

No… I am so tired… so tired of it! Tired of all the paranoia, tired of the fake cheers…

He sneers at himself, ignores his instincts, and he walks forward into the light.

Sunshine blinds him for a moment and his muscles tense preemptively. He stands there, waiting for his eyes to adjust, but also for anything to happen. A gunshot? Knife in the stomach?

Nothing happens.

When his vision returns, he notices that he's in a little town. The buildings were old and worn - just as the walls from the alleyway had indicated - and they seemed to be only utilitarian. Signs and anything with color were poorly maintained. He could see the wilderness poking its head out from behind buildings, revealing just how untamed it was.

The children played on the streets and adults strolled around doing tasks. Most of the clothing they wore were grey and worn. There didn't seem to be many people out, even at such time of day. By comparing it to past towns he had visited, he guessed that there were around six thousand people living here, and about around a hundred were present.

Chris considered his priorities. Main mission: he must regroup with the rest of his… cell. Until then, survival and information. Right. Information. Let's talk to someone.

He walks up to a nearby man standing beside the door of a run-down bar, drinking from an old animal skin canteen. At first no one paid the boy much attention.

Oh man he's tall.

The man noticed his approach. He kept his gaze on Chris as the boy approached.

"Peace be upon you." He tried Arabic first, expecting himself to be in the same general area where he'd almost died. However, his voice surprised him. It's higher pitched and more boyish than his normal voice. "May I ask where I am?"

The man spat at his feet. "Get lost, kid. I know your kind." The stranger snapped at Chris, snarling in English. Chris was surprised at the rudeness.

"Sir, I don't want any tro – "

"Didn't you hear me, thief?" Everyone within the block turned; they were watching the exchange with weariness. "Get lost, or you'll be losing part of you." The man grabs at what Chris assumed was a yo-yo hanging from his belt and unclipped it. He pressed some kind of hidden switch. There was a snap-lock sound, and suddenly tiny blades snapped out.

Chris' eyes widened, and he quickly forced down his knee-jerk response to declare his innocence. "Sir, if you tell me what you think I've stolen, then I can – " He doesn't get to finish his sentence before the stranger's yo-yo flew at him. Combat experience allowed him to dodge to the side before the weapon was even close. He followed the maneuver with a few steps back to create some distance.

"You have combat training! Lying kids like you are always with those fucking bandits!"

Everyone around who had been staring now have formed distrust clear upon their faces. The mothers start pulling their children away, and not even the children were without wariness.

"Mommy, is that a stranger? Strangers are all bad, right?" Chris heard from within the retreating figures.

He has no idea why they seemed to hate him, which was a first for him. So when the armed stranger tried to make another move, he ran down the street and weaved between groups of glaring people.

"Look at that rascal go! Dirty thieves, running away from their due justice. As always." The stranger declared. "Ha! They thought we'd fall for their tricks twice. Men! Catch him! Show them our wrath!"

Others who were just standing and watching burst into action. Yelling their agreement with the first stranger, they charged to surround him.

Too bad for them, Chris was too fast. He darted between their legs and slipped through them like an eel.

"Fuck, this brat!"

The last two men trying to get him accidentally smashed into each other, and Chris used the opening to dart out of the crowd. Now that Chris was closer to the edge of the village, he could see that the area was enclosed in a thick wooden fence about as tall as the men.

The fence was composed of wooden planks jammed into the ground, but they were crudely cut. He scrambled onto a large wooden box against the wall, before quickly peeking behind himself. The men had disentangled themselves and were attempting to catch up to him. Focusing back onto the planks, he found large handholds. He took advantage of that and sent himself over to freedom before any of the men could do him harm.

"He got away!"

"Well at least that brat is out."

"We need to figure out how he got in. Guards! What have I said about CONSTANT VIGILAN – "

Chris blinked.

After going over the fence, he had landed in the circle of cleared land separating the inner circle and whatever that laid outside it. Now that there was nothing obstructing his view, he could see what the outer circle was.

What laid beyond was pure, unmoderated failure. He didn't know why, but that was the first thing that came to mind. A sense of loss and defeat that just stunk, hanging in the air and almost made Chris gag.

Ruined houses lay everywhere. Some looked to have been burned, some crushed. To Chris' horror, this little town must have been once a thriving community. Six thousand people? No, it must have been home to a million at least. He took a look behind him. The inner circle, from the size of it, and the population density that he had witnessed, he'd say only sheltered about only… a thous… No. Three hundred max. Ten thousand… to three hundred.

In the present, wilderness has overtaken the houses, and trees grew through roofs revealing just how early on this area had been abandoned. Past them, Chris saw an incredibly tall, possibly concrete, wall of about fifty meters in height that protected the city from enemies. Well, it should have, if the large section of rubble didn't show its failure of doing so.

A great city, turned to ruins.

Chris didn't know what to think. There were no cities on Earth that were protected by such walls. If there was, it would have been famous, especially one as old as this one seemed. Some woman would probably even marry it and make the news.

Random thoughts aside, Chris also knew that he shouldn't be out in the open in case the men had guns. While he was thinking, he did not stop running, and was now heading towards the closest building that had been overgrown, instead of the burned building where salvage was most likely destroyed.

He walked through a hole on the side where the wall had collapsed. To his dismay, it looked like it had already been looted. His eyes scanned every single inch to make sure, but they suddenly widened as they focused on what looked like a cyan piece of cloth in a corner and –

He gasped, his eyes wide, and stumbled backwards. Memories tried to jump to the forefront, but he forced them back like he had always done.

No. It wasn't what he thought it was, it was just a cyan piece of cloth. But the shade of color fit too much. His heart was pounding in his chest and he took deep breaths and calmed himself down. He let himself fall onto the floor.

It was strange for him to have such vivid recollections again. He thought he was over it. Chris had spent years coming to terms with it, and there was no way that such a color sparked a flashback.

Maybe…

He thought about his other mystery. The drinking man had called him a kid and Chris knew that he did not look like a kid. He thought it could have been just an older man referring to a much younger one. However, now that Chris has time to inspect himself, he notes that all his scars were gone. He was also much smaller, something he had not noticed before because of all the excitement. He had thought at first it was because everyone else were just tall. Ridiculously tall.

His hands grabbed a lock of his own hair and moved it so that he could see a little of the color. It was brown. Chris stilled. Then he hurriedly patted at his face. His jaw felt wrong. Wrongly shaped.

Everything is different!

Without looking at a mirror, he would not be able to determine for sure, but somehow he had grown younger, changed hair colors, and seemingly had plastic surgery on his facial bones too. Was it possible this enormous change had also affected his mind?

Did I get caught by the government and swapped into an android body? He tried to joke to himself. Hello, my name's Chris. I'm the Ghost in this Shell. Yeah the japs did this, they also made an invisibility suit that makes me look naked. Why? No idea. It was a weak attempt.

He gave a small, quick, forced chuckle that just as quickly died.

Plastic surgery is most likely, but I'll need to look at my own reflection first. If I explore more, maybe I can find the essentials for survival , which will likely involve reflective substances. Like water.

Chris exited the house and made his way to the next one, this one was located deeper within the outer circle. Still nothing useful. He rummaged through every drawer (that wasn't removed and taken) and even checked under loose rotten floorboards. Nothing, not even rotten food. There weren't even any broken pieces of good quality materials, as if thousands of salvagers had past though before him and taken every single scrap of recoverable material.

Then, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a glow. Tracking it, he saw that it was coming from another nearby room. Deciding to be cautious, he hid around the corner and peaked over.

It was a mural. A strange large mural, covered with drawings and glowing as if it was radioactive. On the very left was depicted two dragons, one yellow, one black, each circling what must be a planet. Next, was… calamity? One of the dragons were shown roaring and people were running away. The closer humans looked like they were disintegrating. Following that… was growth? Or maybe human evolution? It reminded him of those pictures in books showing how humans had evolved from apes by drawing each intermediary species. Then a…

Chris stilled, completely confused. He looked at the previous images, before looking back again. The previous pictures had given him the idea that this was a creation story. However, this last image was of… marriage?

A man stood wielding a staff and a… sling(?) stood before a woman with a sword and a… halo(?). The woman was on one knee, offering a heart to the man, while the man was touching the top of the woman's head with his staff.

Or maybe it was knighting? Confusing. He walked closer, believing it to be some kind of fluorescent paint.

Suddenly, a stone beneath the last carving lit up. It was amber colored and round like a gemstone. Chris jumped back and it disappeared. Did he activate a trap? He glanced around, making sure everything was the way it was supposed to be.

Whatever, he had to find necessities for his survival first. Murals can wait. Plus, who knows what kind of paint they used. Maybe it was poisonous. Strange though… why was the mural completely untouched?

As he left the building, he never saw the mural completely fading away as his distance grew, nor how it revealed a gaping hole in the wall. The paint had been floating in the air.

He decided to try for the houses that were a bit further, but then noticed a nice stone stairway winding around the side of a building up to its roof. It looked sturdy enough. He headed for that instead. The view from the high ground could reveal a lot about this new land.

After carefully testing the stones to make sure they didn't move away under him, he cautiously walked all the way onto the roof. The roof itself was empty. It was mostly flat cement, but the edges were curved up to prevent items from sliding off the roof. There were large holes in the protrusions, water drains whose edges had eroded away.

The view from the roof was as he expected. He was high up enough that he could tell for certain that everything in the outer circle was in ruins. The inner circle, the village, suddenly felt even smaller than before, surrounded by a sea of gray rubble and green vegetation.

He still couldn't look past the outer walls. Once upon a time, they must have been a wonder. They were just so incredibly tall. The side that Chris could see, the inner side, was holed with an immense number of embrasures. Their enemies must have been strong, Chris decided. Or monsters.

The wall's current defeated state invoked a deep melancholic feeling in Chris. It was strange seeing something so mighty be brought so low.

The stronger you are, the higher the pedestal you are put on, the further you have to fall…

Something caught his eye.

His head snapped to his right, where the stairs to the roof were. Someone or something had followed him up the stairs.

Then he resisted the urge to facepalm.

From his angle, he could see most of the way down until the stairway curved around the building. This means he had a clear view of a plain cardboard box inching towards him. There were two holes cut out from the front of the small-ish box, most likely acting as eye-holes. Having noticed that he or she was caught, the box stopped moving and plopped down onto the ground.

Chris really wanted to take out his knife, but was honestly bewildered at having this situation happen to him. It contrasted too hard with the life or death struggle he'd faced just a few minutes ago, and for the last five years of his life. He instead decided to just play cautious.

"…hello?" He tried.

The box stayed still.

Chris sighed, exasperated. "You are not fooling anyone."

It was still unmoving.

He suddenly had an idea. "Well, seeing as you are a completely inanimate object, I will ignore you like all the other inanimate objects around." He strolled casually towards it. "By the way, do you know if there is a water source around? Oh silly me, you are but an inanimate object." He stopped right by the box. "Oh my. I am certainly tired from the hard walking I just did." He then gasped loudly with fake surprise. "How convenient! There is just a box to sit on right here! I will – "

"Ah don't sit on me, I get it! I get it!" A figure hurriedly crawled out from underneath right before Chris turned the box flat. "So mean!"

It was a young girl, merely a child. Maybe around eight to ten years old. She was dressed in a worn little green dress, highlighted by white swirly designs. The bottom half seemed to have been torn off in what Chris guessed was an attempt to increase her own mobility. It revealed the white shorts she was wearing underneath, though it was most likely greyed out like the rest of her attire.

Chris' eyes didn't catch her footwear, which was just a pair of sneakers, before they noticed her very strange and out of place hair. Dyed hair normally looked fake, but her long straight hair looked so even that they had to be real. Or maybe a wig.

He looked into her red – Red?! – eyes. He voiced the obviously most pressing question.

"Why are you wearing a mint-colored wig?"

~The Path Most Traveled~

Updated: June 15, 2018

Old A/N: Ayyyyy. I've had the plan for this story written for about a month, but thought it made no sense. You tell me if it makes sense, especially when more of the plot is revealed. I think this is meta-fiction, lol, and no its not because of a dimensional traveled main character.

Warning! Adult themes! Warning! Yes there will be more gore, but it will be mostly only be in flashbacks and be sort of mild because of the protagonist's preference to forget the worst of it.

Also.

Any similarities to specific real life people is merely a coincidence. I need to say this here and will probably say it more, especially as more of his past is revealed.