Europe, a certain city.
Wellington was a common office worker, who smoked, drank, and often set up enemies that kept him awake at night, but he was indeed just a common office worker.
After work, he went to a bar with his colleagues for some leisure time. After a few drinks, he walked home.
The spring fog enshrouded the Thames River, which had once been called the Misty City. However, those days belonged to the industrial age of the empire on which the sun never set; in modern times, aside from the continuous and damp rain, the city had lost its former splendor.
Wellington walked on the empty and gloomy streets, his ambitions dulled by the monotony of day-to-day work, to the point where he needed a boost from alcohol just to curse at his superiors a bit.
He was slightly tipsy, looking at the closed shops on the streetside, feeling a sense of desolation.
At that moment, Wellington suddenly noticed a half-open door between a jewelry store and a clothing store on the street.
