Adrian Wells was back—back to this bizarre and inexplicable city of "Boundary City."
Just a short while ago, this place had felt to him like a vast, eerie, and unsettling labyrinth. But now, as he gazed at the familiar streetlights and buildings, the dawn-lit streets and sky, an almost inexplicable sense of nostalgia welled up in his chest.
The harrowing experience of being trapped in that eternal night-shrouded valley made returning to Boundary City feel oddly like coming home.
Yet before he could dwell on this sentiment, the dull haze brought on by blood loss shattered his thoughts. Adrian glanced down sluggishly, noticing how crimson blood pooled steadily beneath him.
His body was pierced through—grievous wounds that would be fatal to most. Even with his newfound resilience and astounding regenerative capabilities, Adrian knew his time was running short. He was going to die. Again. And by now, the word "again" felt almost routine.
The cause of this mortal wound lay nearby. A severed, scaly tail from the monstrous creature in the valley had tumbled through the door alongside him. Incredibly, it still seemed to possess traces of vitality—perhaps even a form of rudimentary awareness. It writhed faintly in the pool of blood, struggling to slither away.
Strangely, Adrian could almost sense its fear.
Frowning, he staggered to his feet. He glanced toward the familiar door to his home and grabbed the writhing tail. With unsteady steps, he trudged forward.
"This isn't how it's supposed to go," he mumbled. "You make it out of the nightmare, there's supposed to be some happily-ever-after nonsense… not… this... post-level bleedout... God, it hurts."
The steady drain of his life force blurred his vision. Each step was agonizingly slow, every movement a monumental effort. By the time he reached his front door, he was practically moving on instinct alone. He wasn't sure why he felt so desperate to get home—perhaps to see Eileen one last time? Or to ensure no one found his body lying in the street?
Everything dimmed. The morning light took on a faint red hue as he stumbled through his fading consciousness.
A pair of golden-red eyes flashed in his mind—Focus's eyes. In their final moments, those eyes had been filled with a ravenous hunger, yet somewhere in their depths, a faint glimmer of humanity had struggled to persist.
The white fox… would she really survive, as she'd claimed?
Adrian's scattered thoughts circled back as he reached the door. He fumbled with the handle, managing to push it open, and stumbled inside.
There, directly across from the entrance, he spotted the dining room. Against the far wall hung the familiar oil painting. Inside it, Eileen's form stirred. She lifted her head, her expression changing from surprise to alarm.
Adrian forced a fleeting grin through his pain, a bitter shadow of triumph.
"Eileen," he rasped, "I'm home."
He could barely finish the sentence before the darkness claimed him. The world tilted as his legs gave out, and his body crumpled against the doorframe. Eileen's panicked scream rang in his ears just before it all faded away.
---
The faint hum of electric motors heralded the arrival of two mopeds as they rolled to a stop in the quiet depths of Sycamore Street. Two figures dismounted, taking in the aged, peaceful neighborhood.
The first was a sturdy, middle-aged man dressed in a brown trench coat. His tall, muscular frame was complemented by sun-kissed skin and close-cropped black hair. A jagged scar on his neck gave him an air of rugged authority. But the dark circles under his eyes betrayed an exhaustion that clashed with his otherwise imposing presence.
The other was a much younger man in his early twenties, slight and unremarkable in both build and appearance. His black hair was similarly short, and his demeanor suggested he was new to this line of work. He wore a navy and black uniform and carried himself with the nervous energy of someone desperate not to screw up.
They both surveyed the ordinary-looking buildings lining the street. Occasionally, a resident would pass by at the far end of the road, but few spared the duo a second glance.
"Looks normal," the younger man muttered. "Captain Hale, are you sure this is the spot?"
"There was a boundary alarm here earlier. The coordinates match," Captain Victor Hale replied evenly. "The signal vanished quickly, but it was definitely an otherworldly event."
"Well, whatever happened, we missed it," the younger man grumbled, glancing down at their mopeds. "Think we should've driven an actual car instead?"
"The department's cars are all out on other cases," Hale shot back dryly. "Unless you wanted to take Emily Grace's beat-up old car. That thing wouldn't make it halfway down the block."
The younger man chuckled awkwardly and changed the subject. "Uh… wasn't 'Red Riding Hood' poking around here last time? From the Fairy Tales division? Didn't she turn up empty-handed?"
"She found nothing," Hale confirmed grimly. "And that's what makes this place suspicious. I've worked with her before—her wolves can pick up even the faintest traces of anomalies in the environment. But here? Nothing. Not even a whiff of something out of place."
The young man blinked, puzzled.
"Too clean," Hale clarified. "Too normal. This part of the city is a crossover point—there's always some level of interference. The fact that her wolves found nothing? That's unnatural."
"So either this place is some kind of perfect neutral zone…" the younger man ventured.
"Or," Hale interrupted, "something big is lurking here, cloaking the entire area. And her wolves hit a boundary vacuum."
The younger man swallowed hard, his face growing visibly paler.
"Relax," Hale said, though his own tone was far from comforting. "I'm not transferring you to a desk job, and you're not getting reassigned to another team."
"I wasn't asking!" the younger man blurted, waving his hands in protest. "I'm here to serve, protect, and, uh, investigate mysterious phenomena!"
Their conversation was interrupted by a cheerful ringtone—an upbeat melody from a popular anime series.
The younger man gave Hale an incredulous look. "...You watch that?"
"It's my daughter's," Hale muttered, his expression stiff as he answered the phone. After a brief exchange, he hung up and sighed.
"Orders?" the younger man asked.
"Set up a surveillance post," Hale said curtly. "And get in touch with Fairy Tales—this might turn into a long-term operation."
Before either could continue, the younger man froze. "Captain Hale, over here!"
Hale followed his partner to a corner of the wall where a faint red stain marked the surface.
"Blood?" Hale murmured, his eyes narrowing as he pulled out a portable sampling kit.
"No," he corrected himself, "not blood. Take a sample before—"
The red stain hissed and vanished before the tool could even touch it.