- Oh, where am I?

- London, sir.

- To hell with the details, what's the world like?

From the chronicles of an alcoholic.

The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes was a headache. Why the hell would I have a headache was an interesting question. I don't remember getting sick or drunk, especially since I rarely ever get drunk in the latter (even though I sometimes drink cold water in the morning). But the fact remained that my skull was aching. Also... why the hell do I have red bangs falling over my eyes!

The last question caused a new outbreak of headache, but along with the blows of unknown hammerheads directly on the brain, other impulses, much more useful... and much more unpleasant.

So, I was hit. And in the most stupid and shambolic way - I was hit by a damn truck with a sleeping mu... driver, when I was quietly and peacefully walking home from the university, where I had the honor to serve a labor duty in the form of a teacher, in order to get the coveted "hours of professorial activity" and close this issue in his PhD. "Work" is shitty, the team - one half of the nursing home, the other half - the same 'bonded' as me, that will work for a year or two for a tick and safely fled to where the normal pay, that is, in business, on the advice of our esteemed government. There were also a couple of enthusiastic idealists, but in my humble opinion, the words "idealist" and "idiot" have too many letters in common. There were only two positives in all of this. The first was the fact that I already had a normal job, and the connections I got at the department would make this job much easier in the future, and the second... as one wise man used to say: a wife grows old with time, but a third-year student always remains young and beautiful. Yes, not the most pious behavior, but what can you do? That's where the "routine" ended and the weirdness began. I'm no expert, of course, but shouldn't I be... well, a little hysterical right now? Or thrashing around the room screaming "take me back!" or something? Or is that what hysteria is? Hmm... but the fact that I just lay there and continued to squint with distaste at the bright red strand of hair trying to get in my eye was clearly not normal.

The answer came with a new bout of pain, revealing the memory of waking up after the momentous encounter with the truck as... fuck knows what. A ball of light, something vaguely reminiscent of a Warcraftian wisp, and this very ball was hovering in front of a face made of a strange, slightly purple darkness. A dragon face. Either the Apostle Peter had "changed a lot over the summer," or I was on the carpet with someone else. Considering that I was, to put it mildly, not a very religious creature in my life, but I was very interested in all sorts of "Swords and Magic" in my time, I shouldn't have been surprised. And I had a problem with surprise. It was absent, a little more than completely.

The dragon looked at me appraisingly. I was silent. What was there to say? He obviously knows much more about this place and what is going on here. Should I ask him something? Why? I was curious, of course, but if it's his job to meet the souls of fallen roleplayers and escort them to Valha... uh, where we should be escorted to, he'll tell me everything, if he decided to "steal" a soul from our world for his own purposes, he'll either tell me what he needs or eat it if he's just "hunting". Either way, nothing depended on me.

"A very sensible position. You're a good fit for me," his voice came in a deep bass that enveloped me from all sides. The fact that he could read my mind was no surprise, either.

" For what?" - I couldn't speak in the usual sense of the word, but I couldn't think straight.

"You're right, I have a proposition for you. A long-standing argument and a long-standing mistake. Pride and disappointment. Now my brother and I need an outside perspective. You're a good fit," even my equanimity was pierced.

There was clearly someone powerful in front of me. I don't know how powerful, but I was definitely powerful enough. And that someone wants me to settle some kind of dispute between this entity and a relative who is obviously as powerful as he is. I'm not Paris, who was invited to evaluate three goddesses with a very bad temper, but I have a suspicion that I won't end up any better. But then the dragon laughed:

" No, we don't need a judge, we will be the judges. All we need is someone to judge from the outside. No more, but no less."

"So what will I have to do? And why would I do that?"

"Just to live a new life in the world we want. And after that, I'll let you know what you think of it. As for your second question, you have nothing to lose. You don't belong to any of your gods, so you'll just forget everything and be born again. But... yes, any work must be paid for. In the past... long ago, people used to come to us with requests. My brother, mostly. But sometimes me, too. I never said no. You can ask for anything you want, too."

"Any wish? Even to become a God?"

"Mortals put too many and too contradictory meanings into that concept. But I understand what you want. I can give you the opportunity to evolve, but the rest will be up to you," he informed me with an easy and relaxed tone. I was taken aback. This wasn't just more than I'd hoped for, it was beyond anything I'd dared to imagine. Or one of them would give me a bun, and the other one would take offense and take it away. Or something. We'd better do it ourselves, quietly, according to the methodology provided. - "Live this life in an interesting way," the dragon's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, reading my thoughts again and seeing the conceptual agreement in them.

And I woke up. In an unknown place, in an unknown body, suffering from a hangover. And whether it's a consequence of such an omnipresence, or whether someone obviously had too much to drink last night. Who, by the way?

This thought caused a new flow of already habitual pain, and the hammerers in my head were joined by the drillers. But I got an answer. И...

" Fuc-k-k-k," my hand came over my face. My manicured hand with polished and manicured nails. I didn't just hit it, I really hit it. And, judging by my memory, if I didn't move, I'd have a year to live, which my employer wouldn't like - one, and I didn't want to die again so quickly - two. But the "armor of nonchalance" was shattered.

So, let me introduce myself, Roman Torchwick. A dandy, a misanthrope, a racist, a bit of a sadist, a man with an excellent (in his opinion) sense of humor and taste (again, exclusively in his opinion). He's also the most famous fucking thief in the four kingdoms. Oh, yes, yesterday he was made an "impossible to refuse offer" by a stunning beauty in a scarlet dress. Well, now I know with my own eyes that you can do more with a fireball and a good word than with a good word alone.

So, I'm on Remnant. This is an interesting world, about which I managed to watch three and a half seasons - thanks to the above-mentioned third-year students, I learned about all sorts of interesting in terms of entertainment and cultural leisure in time and in large volume. But the author of the original script died just at the end of the third season, and it immediately affected the quality of the plot and the series as a whole. The continuators could still pull out something based on his work, but still. The problem was that according to the "original" script my current body would be eaten by the local "evil spirits", Grimm called Grimm, right at the end of the third season. That's the role of supporting villains - to die ridiculously in passing somewhere. That's not much of a prospect. And I'm not going to be able to get out of it, not after that generous offer. That bitch Cinder will burn me if I make the slightest move toward the exit. And considering who she really works for, even the "disappear" option won't work. But let's get back to Remnant and what I know about him from Roman's memory, which has become mine. I didn't want to wonder where Roman had gone. If my employers are who I think they are, it wouldn't have cost them anything to rip his soul out of his body and shove it somewhere else. Or send it to be reborn, or... lots of options, really.

So, Remnant,that's a very good name. 

90-95% of the world is controlled by... and I don't know what the fuck to call them. Demons? Dark Spirits? The spawn of darkness? In general, the locals called them "Grimm creatures", their species are numerous, their number is incalculable, their strength varies from an almost harmless bird the size of a crow (or even a wavy parrot) to a goddamn Mumak from Lord of the Rings, a Kraken or even a Dragon. Nobody knows anything more about these creatures. After death their bodies evaporate very quickly, and if by some miracle you catch this creature, then in captivity it dies literally as soon as it loses hope to escape, and also evaporates. And yes, these creatures, despite the fact that almost all of them look like mutated animals with black flesh and bone growths on their bodies, are not brainless. They are monsters, and there are enough animal habits in them, but they are able to learn and analyze the situation, up to the manifestation of quite clear signs of a full-fledged mind.

All mankind lives in fortress cities, of which there are only four, one for each continent. Plus villages and small settlements within a day or two of each other, with the opportunity to quickly grease their heels with lard and get to help. There are a couple exceptions, but that's just within the statistical margin of error. The total population is a million and fifteen. Twenty at the most. And for as long as the locals can remember, they've been at war with these Grimm. From my knowledge, I also know of a certain "Queen" who runs this whole panopticon and seems to want to destroy mankind. And she's opposed by an immortal hero. To be exact, not immortal, you can kill him, but it will do almost nothing - he will be reborn in another suitable body, will absorb the memory of the victim and will go on being a hero. Very familiar mechanism, by the way. I myself just got shoved into Torchwick in the same way. But the version with the Grimm Queen wanting to kill all humans, for friends just Salem, looks weak, and "announced" it in the sixth season, or something... I do not know, only by ear. In any case, to machine guns, explosives and robots locals have developed quite recently, well rounded up, a hundred years ago. But they've been fighting Grimm for thousands of years! Yes, the locals can use the so-called Aura, a kind of trimmed magic for one ability and a general increase in physics on top, but what can it do against countless legions of creatures that do not know pain, fatigue, fear, capable of tearing steel with their claws? Even now, if the Grimm take people seriously, humanity is dead - just piled with bodies. I mean, it's confusing. But something is definitely wrong. And I'm probably gonna have to find out what it is.

But even that wasn't enough trouble for the humans. I've never doubted people, though - we can always find a way to fight among ourselves, no matter what. Here, it would seem, you - in a constant siege of monsters, which, among other things, also perfectly capture any negative emotions, are survivable and over time, if not grow a full brain, then a full set of animal cunning and even understanding of tactical schemes acquire. What should normal reasonable people do in such a situation? Unite and Prevail, but... no, let's find those who can be persecuted, because we have nothing else to do!

The thing is, some of the local population has animal traits. They are absolutely random, do not change the psyche and in general, in fact, in essence, nothing fundamentally different from a different color of skin or hair, although they can give more acute feelings in this or that area, but here such people until recently were considered untermenschen. "subhumans", 'animals' and other things on the list of classic Nazis. Yes, catgirls are abused here. while everyone else is about to be eaten by fucking demons. I just don't have the words. Not even profanity.

And the locals also found time and resources for the World War, the Faunus Revolution (those same cat, hare, monkey, fox, deer and other girls and boys) For Their Rights and other nice things. In general, they enjoyed massacres and bloodletting, and the level of negative emotions was such that I personally don't understand how the Grimms who got off the chopping block from such a thing didn't finish off everyone who experienced all of the above.

And so into all this splendid swamp I got with the task to live my life, so that my observations could participate in the resolution of the dispute. Yes, I was probably honored to see one of the Twins, aka the Dragon Gods. Legends say they were the creators and protectors of the world, and then they freaked out, blew up half the moon and left. But the Grimm came. I'm in deep. I can smell the scent of epic ass. And the person I'm in is in a really crappy time and position. And I want to live, and preferably live in warmth, eat good food and sleep softly. You can even with catgirls, unlike the past owner of this body, I have nothing against fauns. Unless, of course, it's a cuckoo-headed, red-haired, racist terrorist with bull horns and the same brain... Oh, did I fail to mention? To add to the fun, we have the local Alqaeda, which started out as a faunal protest movement for equality, then evolved into the equivalent of the IRA. Essentially the same terrorists, but they try not to touch civilians, concentrating their efforts on the military and police power of the "occupiers", who are considered to be the British. *The same terrorists, but they try to touch civilians, concentrating their efforts on the military and police power of the "occupiers", who are considered to be the British. I think that soon they will start cutting their relatives with "wrong" views, if they haven't already started....

My thoughts about the interestingness of the situation were interrupted by a glass of mineral water, which appeared in the zone of my perception. When I slightly shifted my gaze from the glass, I paid attention to the hand that held it. The hand was graceful and miniaturized. It was attached to a similarly petite, no taller than five feet fifty, girl with a cute face, long hair combining pink, brown and white colors, and multicolored eyes: the left brown and the right pink. *Morg.* I mean, left pink and right brown. *Morg.* I mean... a pain shot through my head.

"Neo, for God's sake, stop it. I'm already sick." - I begged, squinting painfully at the insidious punishment from the girl.

Neopolitan. A very... ambiguous person. The only person Roman Torchwick could call a friend and trusted unconditionally. Their relationship was extremely strange. She was always silent, he was always tongue-tied. He was a rather tall and trim man, but the power part of the operations was always taken over by this fragile girl. No one could ever tell what she was really thinking. Almost always smiling, as if she wasn't taking the world seriously. The story of their relationship with... now, it turns out, with me, began long ago, more than ten years ago. To be more precise, at the moment when a beggar and still not really able to do anything, a homeless boy of about twelve years old, who had already realized that the good things in life are not worth waiting for, and the way up is through the bodies and backs of others, with some excessive drinking gave his last piece of bread to a little hungry mute girl. And she smiled shyly back at him. 

Probably, it was the first and the last right thing Roman Torchwick did in his whole life. As time went on, the unknown boy grew into an angry and cynical man with a reputation for being able to get anything he wanted and in any quantity he wanted... if the customer had the money to pay for it, of course. New documents, industrial espionage, trivial theft on a large scale, and good old robbery and robbery are not worth mentioning at all. Except that contract murders were not on the "price list". And that was only because premeditated murder in this world was not the stamp of a bastard and an outcast, but a reason to look askance and stay away from such a person. And to reject the "client base" Roman did not want, so he killed only "in self-defense". And always with him was a silent shadow. Small, unnoticeable, but so useful... able to literally dissolve into thin air... and help another to dissolve. They could have been friends, they could have treated each other like brother and sister or father and daughter, they could even have been lovers, but... no. All Roman Torchwick was interested in was Roman Torchwick himself. And personally, I don't understand why the "ice cream girl" that the thief named his silent companion after is still following him. The past owner of this body didn't deserve such loyalty, even if he took it for granted. Well, I'll at least try to fix that. I don't want to remain the same freak whose memory I inherited.

" (-_-)..." - The illusion lover was silent as always, and as always I understood her by one look, gesture, facial expression. The girl cared for the unfortunate drunkard, but at the same time did not approve of his abuse and punished him a little at the first opportunity. Nevertheless, I took the water, and immediately felt better. And the Aura of the fully recovered Gifted began to repair my body, including the traces of intoxication. By the way, it does it too quickly, if memory serves me correctly, it used to happen twice or even three times slower.

"So, my dear maid!" - I began in the cheerful manner of the old Roman. The words flew off my tongue without the slightest effort. - "We have been offered a wonderful job, an opportunity to go down in legends, and the most generous pay! Hmmm, is it just me or does this business smell bad?"

" (-_о)..."

"No, I remember that we do bad-smelling business all the time, but this smell is the scent of very big trouble. Oh, and the hiring form didn't appeal to me."

" (v_V)?" - an ironic raised eyebrow.

" I'll take offense to that! Maybe I'll become a Hunter! I'll be a real hero! Like that funny suicide who wanted to enter Beacon without any training or even an open Aura." - I remembered a canon character who had been forged by my predecessor to apply to the local Grimm superhero academy. Of course, Torchwick could have told Mr. Ark a little more and even opened Aura, good for an experienced gifted it is not difficult, not particularly costly and generally a matter of half a minute, but the kid paid only for forged documents, so the redhead with him did not even deign to meet in person.

"(v_<)..." - And that gaze sweeping over me from head to toe.

"What do you mean heroes don't walk around in just their underwear?" - I look down. - "Hmm, yeah, a small oversight."

I'll get to it later.

"Alrighty," I get dressed and tidy up and go back to talking to Neo, "what are the plans for today?"

"(=_=)?.." - my appearance upon leaving the bathroom was subjected to a very wary look.

"Well yeah, we work for the tough guys now... or rather, a girl, but that's not the point! So we need to look more brutal. It definitely has nothing to do with my laziness and last night's celebration," this narcissist's bathroom had more creams and jars of lotions than some girls! At least in my world. But no... not just in my world, Neo's only shampoo... and it doesn't matter that she's a master of illusions. I understand that Roman, having almost literally climbed out of the cesspool, had a few things to say about his thirst for fame (albeit specific) and his obsession with his appearance, but eyelash liner with mascara is an overkill that I won't go along with under any circumstances! 

The illusionist rolled her eyes in response.

" Well, since you don't have any ideas, I suggest we continue where we left off yesterday, but this time it will be you who will be spiritually resting!"

"(O_O)????"

"How about some ice cream?" - Neo's fondness for this treat was hard to describe in words. Suffice it to say that she spent most of her savings at various cafes on this very dish. And the income of a professional thief-saboteur was, to put it mildly, not insignificant. Though it's not for a man who spends a shitload of money on cosmetics, expensive suits and cigars to talk about it.

" (*_*)!!!" - That's probably how a little dog that the owner called in for a walk and gave a yummy treat might look. But on my retracted elbow, the girl stared at me like an outlandish animal.

" (o_v)?" - That was from me.

" (O_O)????" - from her.

" (o_v)?" " - again from me.

"(o_o)... (<_<)? (-_~)," she shrugged and grasped.

In such a set, we walked out of our 'secret hideout'. Ahead were the streets of Vale, one of the four kingdoms of Remnant, where I was now to live. And I would have to try very hard to live to a ripe old age.