In the beginning, there was nothing.

At least from his perspective. The man wore a light brown trench coat and a black shirt. His long black hair was messy and fell over his eyes with wavy lines. At the base of his neck was a ponytail, the remnants of that long hair tied and hanging down past his collarbone.

The cuffs of his coat were as sloppy as his black pants, and his shoes were tainted with purply muck. The same mud that permeated the dark place he came to in.

A pale hand surged upwards, contrasting the dark environment. The man struggled to his feet, moving forwards as his alert eyes scanned the place.

Black irises peered at a gray pond, one clear enough to see his reflection. Interest seemed to burgeon in his eyes as he scanned over himself.

"…Who?" His lips parted to reveal a pleasant sound, a voice that was slightly deep and exceedingly clear. His fine brows arched in confusion as he held his head in his hands, pain assaulting his brain.

He felt like a melting piece of ice.

His eyes took in the abyssal void that expanded before him. Purple miasma crawled along the wall, their shapes like snakes as they slithered. An oppressive aura surrounded him as he felt pressure pushing down on him.

The man swept some loose hair strands behind his ear as he sighed.

He couldn't remember a thing.

That was okay, though. The area that was so oppressive at one glance was almost comforting in another. He felt as if he belonged here, yet…

There was something that was bothering him. A nagging feeling, one that you'd get if you forgot to take a shower on time. The back of his skull seemed to itch, and he couldn't help but loop a finger in front of his mouth, pushing the rest of his hand against his chin.

Gazing at the particles emitting from the ceiling, he ruffled through his pockets.

There was a revolver in one. Checking the chambers of the gun, there were four remaining bullets. In addition, there was a ruined holster held against the inside of his trench coat. With a furtive glance down the empty barrel of the gun, he flourished it by spinning it in his hand before placing it in the holster.

In the next pocket, there was some loose change. Altogether there were 3.56 dollars…

"What an arbitrary amount. Who even carries cents these days?"

The man tutted to himself but kept the money anyway. Then, of course, there was nowhere to spend it, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be. He thought that life was full of opportunities.

"Carpe Diem. That's an interesting phrase…."

These two words were revolving in his mind as he spoke to them. Seize the day, they told him. So, what was he supposed to seize?

…There was a sticky note in his front pocket. At the top of it was the word [Important]. Unfortunately, the adhesive part was horribly mottled with grime, and faint spots of crimson speckled the yellow surface.

[Find out who C is.]

The man smiled. Find out who C is. But, of course, he didn't even know who himself was…or were. Something seemed to click deep in his heart, though.

…Click!

"That wasn't from my heart. My heart goes thump, thump, and sometimes pump. That's because it's for pumping blood, not keeping a lock. So where could that sound come from?"

Realization hit him quicker than he could process the bright light washing over him. In seconds it dimmed enough for him to blink out the radiance that bit at his eyes and danced along his eyelids.

There was a vortex, its sides outlined in yellow as sharp as caution tape. The word warning was repeated several times, tapered at the edges.

The man felt compelled to advance.

——

Passing through the portal, he emerged in a dingy alleyway. There was shouting around him, and he took stock of his surroundings.

"A broken bottle. From the smell, it was full of alcohol. I want to say 10%."

The man took in the pungent smells around him, decrypting their secrets. Then, softly holding one of the more significant shards, he inspected it thoroughly.

The man was wearing black gloves, which saved him from getting cut as he ran his fingers around its edges.

A light flickered on beside him, and he nodded to himself. His suspicions were confirmed.

"The smell of blood. That poor man died here…and he accidentally dropped his bottle. But who would disembowel someone in the alleyway…? At the dead of night…."

The man inspected the cadaver with precision. His eyelids widened like a waxing moon as he viewed the singe marks around the abdomen.

"This man was cut and burnt at the same time, yet there are no signs of fire on these walls…."

"Bark! BARK!"

A noise halfway robotic and halfway beastly powered down the corridor. A dog rushed forwards, and behind it was a man in blue with a gun.

"FREEZE!"

The man quickly whipped out his revolver and spun the chamber instinctively. A quick shot disarmed the policeman and threatened to resolve the dog.

"Hold your fire."

A man wearing a tight, black top with what seemed to be a neon engraved coat happened upon the scene. His clothing was futuristic, and he carried himself in the guise of a detective. His eyes were like the man's, scanning over each and every available detail.

"And that goes double for you, man. Can I see your Warden license?"

"…What are you talking about?" The man couldn't help but slightly frown in response.

"What? Hey there, don't play dumb. My HQ picked up on the Thought Power fluctuations back here, and this place is rife with it. You can't just run in on another HQ's turf, even if you are a Warden. Are you freelance or something?"

The man briskly readied his gun to fire once more. As the bullet fell in place, a crisp click sounded above the growling rasps of the "dog."

The man pursed his lips and spoke. "I don't know anything you're talking about. I don't have any memories at all."

"…Do you know how suspicious that is? Hey, what gang are you affiliated with? Did you get caught up by an Id? Did you…"

"That's a lot of questions. No, I didn't kill this man. The wounds don't match what I have on me, and if you analyze the DNA on the body, you'll see I didn't touch him."

"DNA…what…hey, look, are you old school or something? You look young, like in your early twenties. So how come the things you've got on are so old, anyways?"

"…" The man lowered his gun as the other kept talking.

"What you're wearing are like…relics. Look, I can see the confusion on your face. So you said you don't have any memories?"

"Yeah."

"Why are the clothes you're wearing so pristine? It's like you specially made them with inferior ingredients." The man ruffled his blonde locks and took careful looks at the other's attire.

"You look like you came from the past. Hey, look here."

The blonde man caressed his stubble before showing a bracelet on his wrist. A neon green glow flashed as a card made of somehow tangible light appeared in his hand.

[Gunther Freelaize. Rank: CM Grade III Affiliation: Morlund Year: 4]

"Show me yours."

The man shook his head. "I don't have one of those."

"…You've got a good aim. You must've been trained by somebody."

Gunther glanced at the discarded pistol lying on the ground. There was a bullet lodged into the barrel, somehow.

"So you didn't kill him, you don't have any memories, and you just randomly appeared. Where's the Desire Crevice? Oh, if you don't know, it's like a vortex that opens up randomly. It's responsible for a loooot of things in this shithole of a city, I'll tell you what."

…

The man's thoughts ran at a mile a minute. He had just emerged from a Desire Crevice, it seems. If this place is a so-called shithole, and the man doesn't seem surprised to see the body…it would stand to reason that telling Gunther this would be a bad idea.