Archive of Our Own ^beta

'What if you were dropped into Spy x Family?'

I chuckle, wondering why on earth I thought it would be a good prompt. People don't have the same sense of familiarity towards an OC, like they do towards well established characters of the fiction in question. It is ironic, in retrospect, because reading self–insert fics never came quite naturally to me.

A fleeting thought crosses my mind, that perhaps the 'you' should be changed to an 'I', but is quickly dismissed. I mean to give the readers a challenge, a trial to see who shall prevail truly in the world of Ostania, as they are.

Words of English fly out of the screen and poke my irises, taunting me. In the fic, the people of Ostania and Westalis spoke English, even though they were based on East and West Germany during the Cold War. Would this be disengaging? It would be difficult to write a story if there is a continuous language barrier.

Alas, that is the unfortunate fate of artists, wanting to describe a world so different and vivid from our own, yet bounded by the differences in our own culture.

So yes, in a true sense, I or the character representation of me would not last even a week in such a world. I know not Polish nor German, and even by trace association if the language that Loid and Anya and Yor speak is Japanese; I fail at that too. Of what use is a man in a society, where he cannot speak the tongue nor point to his ancestry, nor have a build capable of manual labor or conscription? In such a world, survival is impossible.

A bit of artistic liberty, for the sake of writing something that isn't instantly depressing.

I weigh the outcomes. At best, no one might read it. At worst, a few unsavory comments might come my way.

But criticism for a literary work wouldn't affect the life of a Computer Engineering student as much. This is purely to get the image, the idea, the bubbling stream of imagination out of my head, I tell myself.

It is an archive, after all. A repository. A collection. A place of refugee for the stories littered across the vast expanse of the internet. Someplace to store the multiple timelines and scenarios I make up in my head. I should not care too much, for AO3 does not judge.
I glance over the tags again, because that is the system that makes this possible.

When did I start overthinking this much? I have no tragic backstory. No one has died, nor have I lost anything due to carelessness. Then why this nauseating feeling of emptiness and shame when I don't deliver perfection? How does that even work on a human with a lethargic schedule? Truly a dysfunctional dysphoria. I want to simultaneously laze away yet deliver nothing but absolute quality.

My fingers twitch over the mouse buttons.

Post. Out of sight, out of mind.

The right-hand corner of the screen says 00:24 AM. Have I been too obsessed with Spy x Family? I barely read the entire manga twice. Begrudgingly, I turn down the electronics on the work desk, make the bed, wash my face and turn off the lights.

I lay on my bed and grab my phone, but then chuck it away. Too many sleepless nights. How did fictional worlds sap away so much time from me? My back aches a little. Perhaps being a CS student and avid reader was beginning to take its toll on me. I roll over. Thoughts of the story I just wrote fill my mind. To be dropped off somewhere in between. Have all the knowledge of the future. To outsmart everyone. To be a know-it-all... In hindsight, it is quite cringy.

But this was not an attempt to write a compelling story. Just something to get off my mind. To get it off my mind... get it off the mind...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It is a bit chilly.

My face and hands are hit by a cold breeze. My body opens itself gingerly. I had been hunched over. My head hits something solid. A bark of a tree. My fingers touch grass. Huh. It takes a few tries to avoid falling asleep again.

Something crawls on my ear. My body yanks away from the bark. Sleepy or not, I still am afraid of insects. I dust my ear feverishly. Please, please don't be in my ear. I ruffle my hair, hoping to get rid of whatever critters decided to fall on me. I pat my 2-piece suit, getting rid of leaves and potentially more little insects. It was a nice black jacket, with a white shirt and black trousers. The red tie, a little too thick for my taste, tucked neatly inside. I cracked my neck, looking around.

Then it clicks.

Where... am I? This place does not look remotely familiar. I remember going to bed, at my apartment. Then I end up... in a park?

The sun is not in view yet, and it's probably still the early hours of morning. I reach over to a bush and look around. There are relatively few people, and none look like they belong. Granted, that is strange coming from the person who rarely went to parks in the last few years, but no one is wearing tracksuits. Or branded shoes, or earphones. It looks like I stepped into the golden years, as people called them — when there were no fancy electronic gadgets, or splashes of color. There are no kids. Kids would not be about, since it was a school day.

Wait, was it a school day?

A discontinuous jump in memories. A start without background. This must be a dream.

A chuckle escapes my lips. Is it one of those dreams when it is my farewell from university and I have no clothes to wear? I seem to be wearing a suit now, but perhaps something will cause me to lose them. I grin, having had my fair share of being embarrassed in such dreams. At school. At uni. At my wedding. The setting changed, but the embarrassment is real every time.

Perhaps I have to wait for something, or someone, to interact with me. This is a lucid dream. Maybe I can even change it, thinking of myself at a pool.

The swimming pool. Circular. Boys in swimming trunks. Girls in revealing bikinis. Beach balls. Floaties.

A frown creeps up my forehead. I can imagine the pool. Clearly. But I am still in that park. As if the park and the pool were completely different thoughts. Usually, a dream is difficult to change. Often you feel dizzy or your subconscious fights your change. But here I can imagine a pool clearly. Separately. Almost as if — almost as one imagines stuff in the real world.

Spotting a park bench, I make my way towards it. Skip. Hop. Step. Jump. I can't seem to glide across the air, like I usually do in my dreams.

Every step feels heavy. Every step has a weight. The handle of the bench is cold, and the texture of the handle digs into my palm. Detailed. The feeling of wood on my back is hard.

I shake my head. I have fooled myself before, thinking a dream was too detailed, and mistaking it for reality.

'This wall exterior is so detailed, it cannot be a dream!'

It is unusual. How often does our brain fool us? Lucid dreams where you think you have woken up, and you go through the motions of the morning — brushing, showering, breakfast; before realizing your lethargic body never left the bed in the first place. Sometimes they would layer upon themselves, each time fooling you into thinking you have woken up for real this time, but always keeping you one interface separated from reality.

My mind harks back to that dream. The wall had been detailed, yes, but the elevator door was half as high, a fact I had not contested until after waking up. Perhaps I should have read the Interpretations of Dreams by Sigmund Freud, a fond gift given to me by a close person. A former one.

What separates a dream from reality? Since I can't tell if a dream is reality, I must check the opposite. Does reality get mistaken for a dream? I think back. A discontinuous jump in memories. Reality is continuous. You generally remember where you were before you slept.

There are a few more people out in the park now. Some are strolling, others are walking their dogs. The sun has risen a wee bit, and one could hear the soft chirping of birds from afar.

It comes to me slowly. Dreams don't have a background, but neither do we question it. We accept the premise of a dream, like a plotless opening scene of a movie. We don't think how we came there, we just try to fit ourselves in. And we certainly don't overthink.

I bury my face in my hands. I'm thinking a lot. A lot more critically. Like I always do when I am alone. Alone in the real world, that is. Distant voices of a Philosophy YouTube video play in my mind.

Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

My hands rub my face as I look around again. Perhaps this is not a dream. How do I test? I could go and try to kiss some cute girl, or grab her. Like I do when I have a slightly horny dream. That would not work in the real world, would it? But what if it is the real world? Wouldn't want to get charged for harassment.

I breathe in. I am thinking of consequences. In a dream, I wouldn't be. I would have tried molestation eight times already. I stretch my arms.

"Aaargh — Ow! Ooof!"

Should not have pulled back. Should not have pulled back! I cradle my funny bone near my elbow, now in pain from getting whacked against the bench.

Well, the pain is real enough.

I am 80% convinced this was not a dream. Once in a dream I had 'hurt' myself and convinced myself I was in 'pain', and concluded it was reality.

The searing pain in my elbow was slowly increasing that percentage, though.

Time heals all wounds, they say.

My elbow is still nestled into my body, the pain making it difficult to move now. And all this time sitting on the bench led my brain to think more. Even more than I already had.

From the darkest recesses of my mind another quote surfaces, as if summoned by the previous one, 'And most importantly, to do all this, the earth has given us one very important thing — Time.'

Perhaps thinking about time is what made me realize I had no watch. No idea what hour or minute it was. Does this planet even have a 24-hour day cycle? Do I need special sunscreen or gear? What sort of language and numerical structure is being used here? Do they follow the same moral and ethical code?

Wait, you've jumped ahead, I tell my brain. Start from the beginning.

The Philosophy YouTube video comes back to me. Philosophy. Didn't those guys have a method for dealing with situations and stuff? Make a table... or something. The name eludes me, but for some reason Punkett Squares seems to ring in my mind.

The terminology does not matter anymore, though. Two columns : Dream or Not dream.
Two rows: Careless or Careful.

If I am dreaming, being careless or careful does not matter. I will wake up in my bed anyway. But if I am not, being careless could be dangerous. No one would punish me for being careful in a dream. No one would know.

I sigh. How do I conclusively prove I am not in a dream? Monitoring a clock for 11 hours should be fine. Mom wakes up in 8 hours, and wouldn't let me sleep till noon.

With that out of the way, it is time to assess my instantaneous situation. If someone attacked me at this very moment, I will be completely unprepared. I have just a suit on and recently banged my elbow. A situation far from ideal. Better to change my posture to a sitting one. At least I can see what would kill me.

The park is not too crowded. A snacks stall stands at the far edge, with a few customers. There are some children, too young to be in school.

I... don't recognize this place.

Having resolved that this was reality, a new feeling was slowly creeping up my spine. As if it had been standing behind me all this time, judging what I would do next. A cold, blue tinted skull. A chilly aura. Its hands frail, the fingers long, the nails longer still. It puts a hand on my shoulder, the nails like sharp claws, digging into me. The cold breath on my neck.

Fear.

I don't know where I am. I have no recollection of what happened after I slept. Fear takes hold of my throat as I gulp. Think. Form a Hypothesis. How did this happen? What could have happened?

Drugs. I might have been drugged. Someone must have drugged me in my sleep and then dressed me, then carried me here. They might be still around. Panic replaces Fear and I whip my head around. My hands grip the armrest. Is this some sort of test? Like the ones in movies? Did they take other people?

Webcomics, Web series, Mangas, Manhwas flash through my mind. Something is probably expected of me. I can't sit here forever. Perhaps thinking this was a dream is better. No, no, this is a dream. It has to be.

An elderly gentleman sits on the bench beside me. Is he a game official? Is he going to test me? He opens a newspaper and begins reading it.

Daily OST. Is that a code? I close my eyes, trying to remember where I had seen or heard OST. What can I deduce from two words?

English. The words, at least the first one, are English. My eyes shoot open, scanning the rest of the paper. The paper was in English. The words 'Daily OST' were in red, but everything else was in black and white. Even the photos.

I was... in the past?

I tried, as subtly as I could, to read the date. Perhaps I wasn't in the past and the date was a code. The print was rather small. The elderly gentleman looked over. "If you're so interested, then maybe you should have bought your own copy." It was not impolite. I look away.

"Ah, sorry, I was just interested in a particular article. I'll be going now anyway.", I said, standing up. It was not worth to pursue conversation when I didn't know where I was. But it was worth priming some information. "Anything of note?"
"It's just the same old news. Tensions rising, politicians holding meetings, propaganda against Westalis, the usual."

I freeze.

Then, like a gate of a water dam, it all comes crashing down on me.

Westalis!? Westalis!! That means — that means 'Daily OST' is the Ostanian newspaper! That means I'm in Ostania. I'm in Ostania!? Ostania? My mind whirred. I was transported to a world that shouldn't even exist! How did this... HOW DID THIS HAPP —

"Are you fine, son?"
I refocus. I had to get away from this man before I faint.
"Y — yes. Thank you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My feet carry me as fast as I could.

It was back. The shadowy figure chases me as I briskly walk along the park path. The cold, black claws dig into my lungs, and I can feel the coldness. It takes the air out of my lungs. Fear is hugging me, my body encased in its chilly, unforgiving hands.

Somehow, the fantasies of my naivety have turned into a nightmare. A real, living nightmare.

I exit the park. The sight of the road and the buildings weakens my legs. The place looks like the 1970s. The cars are older in design. Trends long forgotten, exhaust concentrations long banned. The buildings speak of a reminiscent era. I have never been to Europe, so I am unaware if the style of architecture still remains.

But it doesn't matter, since I am not from Europe. Even if I was not in some fictional world, I am definitely not back home. Not in my home country.

This is the world of Spy x Family. Fear has dragged its claws across my lungs. Those buildings are unfamiliar. Yet they feel familiar. As if I have seen them before.

I am painfully aware of Fear gripping me. I will surely faint any moment now. Another bench. I need to find somewhere to sit.

I find one near a bookstall. Breathe using techniques that I remember from nowhere.

Calm down. You're thinking like [NAME REDACTED]. Think like The Brahmnic Boy. Think like your supernatural persona. Multiple scenarios. Multiple branches of timelines.

One. This is, in fact, some twisted reality show where they drug participants and make them fight to the death. They are extremely smart and must have been keeping track of my browsing to find I was obsessed with Spy x Family. It would explain why everything is in English.

Two. This is Ostania. The Omniverse is real, and worlds that we consider fiction in our world exist. Just like infinite permutations of 11 dimensions. There might be an actual Marvel Multiverse then. There might be a DC Multiverse, and a —

Calm Down.

Three. This is a dream. I must have gotten hit on my bed stand or side table. That's why my elbow hurts.

A boy wearing a mask similar to Bondman races along the road. I steel myself to continue.

Four. Aliens invaded earth while I was asleep and put everyone in a simulation. It was always a good idea to have multiple possible things. I had always told myself, 'No matter how skeptic you become, never rule out the supernatural.'

The bookstall, near which I sat, is quite close to the bench. I suppose this bench must be used by the patrons to read. My eyes glimpse the copies of the Daily OST. The date. The year 1963.

I can't even make the fifth hypothesis.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My feet carry me through the streets of the city, hoping to break the illusion. This is a simulation. There is an awfully low chance I was transported to a fictional world I know. So I have to either escape by finding some kind of core or backdoor, or I have to complete whatever objective I am supposed to complete.

But what if it is not? Do I actually die if I die?

I come to a stop. All my life, I had prepared myself to not freak out if something unnatural happens. I had always envisioned myself as being nonchalant.

I know you're not trained for this, but at least pretend to act like the overpowered, calm character you think of yourself as! Think of the present, the immediate! Air, food, water, clothing and shelter. I need to secure these.

I look around as I imagine the camera trucked around me.

Let's assume this is real and move on.

I start walking again.

Am I too early, or too late? My mind tries to recall images from the manga, but I am hardly Loid Forger. Yor had the date 1963 on her profile. Is that her birthdate, her date of joining the city hall, or is it her end of tenure? Also, that was an anime only date, so am I in the anime or the manga continuity?

I had always assumed the year was 1970, so I'm probably a bit too early.

My thoughts go back to the elderly man from before. If tensions are rising, it means there is no war. But is it before the war, or during the timeline of the manga?

After walking for a while, I realize I am in Berlint, if the billboards and shop addresses had anything to say. Okay, I'm going to go with the second hypothesis for now, since it seems to have the highest odds.

Now, if I could only confirm the timeline, I could have some sort of plan.

Wait, what about the language? It's still English!

Fear still tails me. At an arm's length, but it is ever present. I have no food, no water, or any other piece of clothing. I have no money either. The name of the currency eludes me. Was it Draco? No, that was one of the fan fictions. Sigh. With no money, I could die by the end of the day, perhaps 3 days at best.

I put the language discrepancy at the back of my mind, holding onto it in case the first or fourth Hypothesis is true.

The chilling hand with the sharp claws slightly grazes my cheek.

I don't want to have a nervous breakdown for the third time since coming here.
You have an advantage, though, [NAME REDACTED]. You just wrote a complete plan on how you would survive if you were transported to Berlint.

I turn around. I know it is my own voice encouraging me, yet it is said with a cold voice. A coldness which wasn't there anymore.

It has been an hour since I decided to follow the plan 'I' used in my fanfic. My steps took me halfway across East Berlint. I didn't know if I was in the right place, let alone the right timeline. Yor, and by proxy Loid, could be only 7 years old, or a 1-year-old. He wouldn't even be Loid. Not even Twilight. He would be only known as Advisor, perhaps. Perhaps not even that.

I shall proceed with the plan that my character had used, and make changes on the fly.

But my plan hinges on the existence of Anya. Any other timeframe, and it would be impossible to convince any intelligence that I was not a spy or a deserter. I have no identification, no history. Even if I screamed my name, [NAME REDACTED] into the sky, no one could trace me.

Could I take another plan? Certainly, if I want to die.

With the SSS making arrests on suspicious behavior, I can trust no adult here. I have no documentation, at all. I try to get help from anywhere else, and I will end up in an SSS interrogation cell by evening.

So what am I doing? I'm making my way to West Berlint, after finding East Berlint doesn't have a Park Avenue. Already an hour had been wasted. I couldn't believe I had forgotten that piece of trivia.

Park Avenue. 128. I can clearly remember the address. Anya was too cute when she had said that. There are no maps of the city around.

"Excuse me, can you direct me to Park Avenue?", I ask a passerby, hoping everyone knew English, and the gentleman from before wasn't just from the England equivalent of this world. Although, I suppose the newspaper was in English too.
"Walk 3 blocks out and take the left."
"Thank you, kind sir. Could you also tell me the time?"
"Ah, it's about 7."

I nod, but I have no idea if the time is a good omen or not. Assumptions can be made in fan fiction works, but the manga author never specified when Eden began its day. The uncertainty with the year also remains. I walk briskly.

This could still be the drugged hunger games world. I must be careful.

After taking the left, I glimpse a little girl dressed in black clothing with her parents. My heart pounds. Closer. Closer. Pink hair peeks out from the gold and black hat. Yes! That's Anya! And that's Loid! Simply unmistakable! Yor is there too! Hope brushes her lips against my neck, because this confirms the timeline and Eden's schedule together.

Wait, so the year is 1963 in the manga. Did I miss something?

They are likely waiting for the bus.

They could be cosplayers, but I have one surefire way to confirm. Just look at Anya's reactions and —

I stop in my tracks. Wait. I must get my thoughts in order. Clear, to the point. Can't have Anya thinking I am a bad guy and get Loid to injure me or Yor to kill me. I look at the road. No bus yet.

I recite the script I had written all this time ago. Anya knows what kidnapping is. She was kidnapped. She knows what teleportation is, because she asked Becky once. There might be confusion as to what a dimension is, so I must avoid it. Okay, this is your one and your only chance. Fail, and you die, [NAME REDACTED].

Wait. This could be the alien invasion and simulation universe. In that case, my brain could be hooked up to the system.

Images of Artificial intelligence like Cortana and those from Xeelee fictions come to my mind. They can easily replicate Anya's behavior. Although, I would be penalized or killed for figuring out I was in a simulation.

But it doesn't matter, does it? Beyond the reality layer, everything else is still the same. My actions and reactions should be the same.

I walk closer, slowly. Another family also arrives at the bus stop. But it is too late.

'Anya. Anya! I need your help.'
The girl in question flinches and looks around.
'I am the guy with the Black suit and red tie.'
She focuses on me. Her eyes widen. Bingo.
'Don't panic. I am just as confused as you are. You have to help me, Anya.'
She clutches Loid's pants.
'I was teleported, against my will, to this world. I don't know how I came here. I want to see my family again... I don't want to be stuck here, in a strange world. Please, Anya, you're the only one who can help me.'

She stares at me, her face in a frown.
'Don't stare at me. It's suspicious. Your parents will ask. Keep listening.'
She doesn't look away.
'You believe in superpowers, right? So you can believe this too. I was kidnapped from my world and dropped in yours. Someone must have used a superpower on me. I don't know. I might have superpowers myself?'

Honestly, I don't know. I take a mental note to test later.

The faintest of excitement shines in her eyes.
'I will attempt to talk to your father. Please help me to not die. I know they are both capable of killing me instantly.'

Anya's mouth drops. It is annoying how I cannot hear anyone's thoughts, at all. The fate of a protagonist stuck in first person view.

There are 3 more kids, and their parents, waiting for the bus from Eden. It did not occur to me at all that there would be more kids at this stop. Tch. Now I have to abandon my original plan. Time to improvise a little.

Anya looks at me curiously.

"Good morning, Mr. Forger."

Loid Forger looks at me with a slight smile and a scrutinizing gaze. Years of perception are hidden behind a seemingly cordial smile. Yor Forger flashes at the edge of my vision, a bit more relaxed than the man in front of me.

"I need your help, Dr. Forger. I... need an appointment with you. I... have some problems. Sometimes, I feel as if I don't even belong in this world."

Beat.

Did my impression work? Maybe the eyes were a bit exaggerated. The tone was crafted to sound a bit insane. Loid was taken aback. Twilight... not so sure.

'If he does not believe in the truth, help me convince him that I am crazy. Tell him to take me as one of his patients.'

"Perhaps that was a bit too desperate. But it is true, Mr. Forger. I do not belong to this world. I was taken against my will to this world."

A smooth transition to being a normal gentleman. Don't want him to perform concussive therapy on me to protect his family.

A 'hihii' can be from a certain pink haired girl.

"Ah, Good Morning. You see, I don't generally attend to patients outside the hospital. Would you mind waiting for a while? I will speak with you once my daughter gets to school. Perhaps I can arrange for someone at my work to attend to you." It seems the initial shock has worn off and Twilight mode has been engaged.

"You fail to understand my urgency, Doctor. I am truly from another world. I don't know how, but I was transported to this world by unknown means. I... need to go back. This world is too dangerous."

A long pause follows. However, it seems that Anya read something in Loid's mind, because she blurted out,"Papa! Maybe he has tro–ma about something. You should take him to your hospital! You are a feelings doctor, right? Make him play with the sandbox."

'Thanks.'

The rumbling of a school bus can be heard from far away.
"Mr. Forger. You may not believe me, but I think it is imperative that we speak. If not as a doctor and patient, then at least as gentlemen."

The bus stopped near us. Anya hops on.
"Help him, Papa! He seems like a good guy. Help him please. And don't hit him like your other patients!"

The other students and parents look shocked.

'Too direct, Anya.'
"Where does she learn to speak like this...", mutters Loid.

The bus rumbles off.

'I'll explain later, Anya.'

"Wait at Berlint General Hospital. I will be there shortly."
Thank you, Mr. Forger, but...", I scratch the back of my head. "Where is it?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fear is back again. Loid — no, Twilight definitely has someone tailing me. I acted suspicious. But I couldn't risk him handing me off to someone else. I have no documentation or money. He is probably taking some precaution before approaching me. Maybe Franky is around. I can't look around, though. If I seem too suspicious, the SSS will be on my neck in a matter of minutes.

It's a gamble. I might be fine, but then again, I might be sniped from 150 meters away. He didn't touch me, so I am probably not bugged. Perhaps he did bug me somehow anyway. I shouldn't check. Me knowing the existence of bugs might be the trigger that allows him to kill me without remorse.

The buildings are not quite what I expected from an East German setting. They look more... British. Or French. I've never been to Europe, but from what I know of East Berlin from back home, it did not look this prestigious. The people are... happy. And there is no wall. Wait, was the wall constructed before or after 1970? Should have paid more attention.

This world is not like my own. Not even a past one.

Berlint General Hospital is quite large. 7 floors of windows I can count, plus a couple more.
I vaguely recall images of the inside from memory, but it is quite grand in person. A row of trees line the road, and the smell of disinfectant wafts, even here. People of all ages mill about, some coughing uncontrollably, while others walking slowly.

There are a few benches nearby, so I take a seat. Loid will find me.

This gives me time to reflect on my thoughts. This is the world of Spy x Family. I am terribly far removed from any family or friend. The way Anya acted is proof that this is either real or a simulation, and not drugs. I'm way too sane for it to be drugs or dreams.

Simulation. I don't believe the government had the technology to perform a technological feat.
I wrap my face in my palms. It is possible, however. I must not rule out any scenario. However, the alien invasion theory is more plausible.

I sit up straight, looking grimly at the road in front of me. I attach the simulation theory as a note, and go ahead with the Omniverse theory. Yes, perhaps that is the best course of action.

What next?

As much as I said I did not belong in my Earth, always a disconnected individual, I did like it there. There were quite a few technological miracles I was anticipating.

A disconnection may have existed between me and my family, but we weren't at odds. A normal nuclear family, with me trying to complete University as a Computer Engineer. But even then, I can't bring myself to cry. I was never that deeply embedded in social circles. I am sad, but I cannot dwell too long on where I came from.

If I was safe, perhaps I would. But not here. Not in this world. The SSS. Garden. WISE. Tensions between Ostania and Westalis. Threat of War. Everything can kill me.

Have these people invented nukes? Would they be willing to use them?

There is a certain sense of reality check that tugs at my soul. Things are real. I might be dead... or missing... in my world.

But I gulp it thickly, as it seems Loid's observation of me is satisfactory. He approaches me like he didn't spend the last few minutes observing me. I stand up.

"Good morning, or should I say, Good evening, Dr. Forger. I wish you do not send me to another psychiatrist. It is important that I speak to you. And I assume you want to speak with me too, now."

It took noticeably longer for my handshake to be reciprocated.

It was an uncomfortable walk to the psychiatric ward, with the subtle glances of hospital workers — which I presume were WISE agents — towards me. I must have thrown them a bit off guard. Was I interrupting something on Twilight's agenda?

I think back on my actions while meeting Anya. The presence of those unexpected Eden children had completely thrown me off. It seems my lack of normal socializing with people back in my own world affected my performance a lot.

What in the world was I even doing? If it had not been for Anya, I would have surely died.

Reading stories cannot truly replace actual training and experience.

But in hindsight, I must thank my luck those civilians were present. I like to think that stopped Loid or Yor from immediately attacking a lunatic like me.

I hate how I can't peer into the thoughts of the silent but dangerous man in front of me. As a reader, I had happily giggled while flitting through pages of fan fictions, chuckling heartily at the reactions of Twilight. But to be locked behind a wall where you cannot anticipate what he is thinking is truly terrifying.

He opens the door to one of the consultation rooms, and we enter. My eyes automatically roam over to the sandpit and the place where the hidden ladder is supposed to be, but manage to quickly look away before he turns around. It is the same room.

A feeling of dread overcomes me.

On the far couch sits a lady, shrouded in blacks and reds. Her eyes are hidden, perhaps she doesn't have any. Flawless white skin encases her aura. So white, like porcelain. A black aura surrounds her, and a smile plays on her lips. Something otherworldly.

Twilight rests his bag on a table and turns to me. I instantly stretch my hands and stand still. "Go ahead. Pat me down. I have nothing."

He says nothing, but moves closer, his hands feeling my body for weapons. If I was the one doing that to him, I would surely find more than a dozen objects capable of... capable of killing me.

She stretches her legs, beckoning me. Calling me to her. Promising me that her side is truly the sweetest of places.

"How do you know?", a simple question, brushes my ear. It is said with so much simplicity that it is almost eerie.

'This was the right choice. This is the right choice. I have to take this chance. If I don't, I will not have a place to sleep. I will either die in an SSS prison, badly beaten and bruised, or in a dark alleyway, dying of hunger and thrust. Fuck, this better be the right choice.'

"Imagine," the word barely escaping my lips, "Imagine if, in another world, whatever happens in Bondman, err — Spy Wars is actually real. You would know all of his secrets. All the enemies. His secret hideout. And he would be just as confused as to why you know."

Twilight's hands move very slightly. Unnoticeable to someone unaware of his profession, but to me, who knows what lies ahead, it is a clear adjustment of posture. For better access.

Her arms stretch out, as if a mother calling her sweet boy home.

"The same has happened to me with your world."

He steps back, slightly. Every millimeter of movement is measured.
"You expect me to believe that."

It's a statement. Not a question.

I open my palms, hoping to drive home the point that my arms are not near any weapon. "A rival spy would not know that your daughter wished for a skeleton keychain, and then promptly changed her mind after a while, seemingly out of the blue. While you were on the — abroad, a cruise. Pardon me. I've forgotten the name."

His eyes narrow. "The Princess Lorelei."

"Ahm, yes. There are other things — things that only a reader reading your world like a piece of fiction — would know. I am prepared to... die," the word bitter in my mouth, "if you are not convinced by the end of this."

She shakes her head while laughing. 'Quite the bold one, aren't you?'

I prepare what I am going to say. What examples I will provide. How I can convince him. Then it hits me.

Wait, is this before or after the cruise arc? Oh no, I might have made a blunder here.

I look at Loid.

Except there is no Loid. The man staring at me is Twilight — a cold, calculating spy who wouldn't think twice before eliminating any threats to his mission. I can imagine at least 5 different thoughts whirring in his mind all at once.

"Proceed."

Lady Death looks at me for one last time. 'Some other day, you're coming with me.' She flashes the most seductive of smiles.

"Do the walls have ears?", I ask, unsure.

He gestures to the couch and then does a quick inspection of the room, including the secret ladder. Then he turns to me and nods curtly. I release a sigh.

"I need a map."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The map isn't as colorful as the ones I'm used to, since inkjets aren't common office items yet. But it is quite detailed, like the ones only seen in libraries or museums, the ones where each and every important town was marked in excruciating detail.

"I wonder how many of them are real, or even misplaced, considering that's what the Americans and Soviets did back in my world. I remember a map of Berlin, with the West Berlin part blank, since Berlin was divided in two back in my world."

Twilight's gaze hasn't changed much from when he asked me to proceed. "And I assume Berlin is... your world's equivalent of Berlint?"

"Yes", I reply, tracing the border between Ostania and Westalis. "Westalis and Ostania weren't always separate countries. This entire region was called Germany. Westalis was simply West Germany. Ostania was East Germany. Of course, they had different official names."

"Westalis and Ostania have shared a common history in the Middle Ages. But it has been long since we were a single nation."

"I see Austria simply does not exist. Or has it united with Hungary to form Hugaria?"

"You've given this facade quite the thought, I see."

It would be unwise to comment on that. It is best that he indulges me for quite a while.

"I see not all cities have similar names. The capital of Hungary, back in my world, is Budapest, not Obda, like I see here. The restaurant is also called Karpatia instead of Kalpatia."

I silently thank my past self for researching so much before writing the (original?) fanfic.

"I fail to see how mentioning poorly imitated names will convince me of your story."

"I haven't tried to, yet. I simply want to see the situation I am in. Do you have a larger world map?"

The larger map has fewer details, but there are certainly lots of similarities between our world and this one. I wonder where the cruise had gone, but I'd rather not test Twilight's patience any longer. I must offer an explanation.

"Let me recount how I came here, Dr. Forger."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"— and that is why I have no identification or a place to stay. I am afraid the SSS will interrogate me in 3 days if I don't get one."

Twilight rests his chin on interleaved fingers as he contemplates my explanation.
I silently curse my inability to read minds, again. But it is necessary to keep Anya removed from this conversation.

"Suppose what you say is true. Then why tell me this? Certainly you know my profession. Then what made you think this was a safe choice? I can get rid of you, here, now."

I chuckle nervously. "Dr. Forger. I know certain things — important things — that you don't."

Twilight's eyebrow arches. It is nerve wracking to negotiate with a master spy.

"I assure you, this approach gives me the highest chances of survival, even if they are low to begin with."

"I see."

"The primary fictional piece is a manga, just like Bondman has one. There is also an accompanying animated series, a bit behind on the timeline. The primary focus of the work is the Forger family, their adventures and their secrets."

An uncomfortable silence passes over us.

"How much do you know?"

Twilight's voice is thin, like a needle, piercing the thick, heavy silence.

"How much do you think a fictional work will tell me? I have read your thoughts like thought bubbles. I have seen sections of places I'm not supposed to see. However, I cannot mark any of the places on a map, since a map is rarely used as a literary device. Funnily enough, I didn't know what the year was, or when Eden starts its school day."

"Then tell me, who am I?", Twilight says, baring me to reveal his code-name.

An eerie silence washes over us. Some words are best not spoken.

"I am afraid... saying the world out loud would trigger you. I don't want to hurt myself. I suppose my greeting was enough of a clue to my knowledge of your code-name, agent."

A micromovement of his fingers is almost missed by me.

I give him time to think. After all, this must have thrown all of his plans off course. Perhaps he still thinks I am some sort of counterintelligence.

At this point I'm just catcalling Death after she already left.

"I understand that my revelation has made your operation more difficult, Dr. Forger. But I need to know one more thing."

He moves his neck, almost mechanically, towards me, and raises an eyebrow.

"How long ago did Anya get her second Tonitrus Bolt?"

Pause. "Yesterday, actually. How is that relevant —"

I can't process the rest of the sentence, having already lost half my advantage.

So not only I do not have strength, power or genius level intellect, but I also don't have luck?

I close my eyes and frown. Twilight must have noticed, because he asks, "Something the matter?"

I look at him wearily. I cannot reveal my position. A partial lie should suffice.

"A lot of the manga content has elapsed behind us. I've lost one of the ways in which I could prove my credibility. I cannot predict the future."

His eyes and lips draw to a thin line. "How convenient for you."

A sweat trickles down my forehead. Okay, time to feed this spy a little bit of truth.

"Alright, Dr. Forger. My name is Raghav Boduck."

"My name is Raghav Boduck."

Because the most well crafted lies have a hint of truth.

It is important to bare myself, to show that I am indeed in desperate need of help. I remember one fanfic where Loid ponders on the concept of trust, how he can gain the trust of his targets easily, but has a hard time trusting others. There is no doubt this Twilight is the same.

"That's a peculiar name."

"It is not Ostanian, or Hugarian, or any country you might be familiar with. Because it is my name, from my world, from a country wholly different in culture and architecture than Ostania is."

I move over to grab a paper from a desk, and a writing instrument. A fountain pen. It has been quite some time since I used one of these — I wonder if ball-point pens are invented yet. I hope it does not leak.

"You can comb the files of any country on this planet, you cannot trace my origins, because I don't belong on this planet — this version of my planet."

I scribble 'Do you want to check for bugs or listeners again?' and slide it to him.

His eyebrows draw only slightly closer, but he stands and inspects the walls again, intently listening for eavesdroppers.

As soon as he rests and nods, I know I have to drive this home.

"Berlint Aqualand. Retrieve a film containing plans for a chemical weapon. It was inside Parlie the Emperor Penguin. Tell me, why would an enemy spy know the name of the penguin it was inside?"

A beat. A moment to think and process. But not too much. I can't let him come to a decision.

"The cruise, again. You disguised yourself as an officer in the marines, excelling at bomb disposal. The bombs were merely designed to look Westalian. As far as I am aware, you did not report this to your... Handler. How would I know the exact disguise you took, if I had not been reading it in a manga?"

He visibly shifts forward. Esper or not, the thoughts of his head are clearly visible on his face. Only a thin line prevents him from eliminating me right away.

"The fact that you called your Handler to tell her that the only progress on Operation Strix (a visible flinch) — has been that your daughter can skip rope 5 times in a row and that she can jump over 2 vaulting boxes, even if that was a useless report."

"It wasn't useless —"

"Why would I know that Bond was the one who tore the penguin doll, Mrs. Forger made it worse, and you fixed it? A spy has no business in something trifle that goes on in the Forger household. Or that one time when you took Mrs. Forger out on a date and she kicked you so hard that you had a swollen chin, that Anya called a monster chin?"

"Okay, that was unnecessary —"

"And yesterday", I pause, waiting for him to catch up, "you fainted after hearing Anya got a Tonitrus Bolt. In your dream, you saw yourself back in Westalis, reminiscing the time you had with your friends."

His eyes widen. I lean forward, shifting my hands slightly.

"There is no way I would have known that through simple intel gathering. You've hidden that from everyone, even yourself. Take time to think, Advisor", I show my open palms, "I cannot harm you."

Twilight leans back and massages his temples. He looks more stressed than ever depicted through any medium.

As he processes my existence, I think what my next moves should be. Like a skilled seafarer, bracing the waves that tussle against my vessel. A wrong move, a misstep, and the storm gulps the boat and its occupants into the deep throat of the sea — never to be seen again.

Suddenly, he reaches forward. His voice is barely a whisper. "What is my real name, Mr. Boduck?"

The one thing that would prove my credibility. Alas, I do not possess it.

"It... It's an action and comedy manga, Dr. Forger. The secret of your name is a mystery. It's used as a literary device —"

"Their secrets.", he cuts me in, "You said 'The Forger family and their secrets.' The implication being..."

"That your supposed wife, child and dog have secrets of their own? I cannot tell you, Dr. Forger. Revealing all my cards will make me disposable. I have to make you believe I have some intel worth recovering, so that I survive longer than 3 days."

Twilight reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a gun.

"What if you only live for 30 more minutes?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sweat trickles down my face. This is expected, but a gun is a gun. Fear is embedded in the minds of human beings. Fear of Death. One cannot escape years of evolution embedded in the brains of humans — that which has helped us live another day.

But my date with death has already concluded. I cannot catcall her now. I have to be the best sailor of the seas if I have to overcome this storm.

"The manga exaggerates the mishaps for comedic effect, Dr. Forger,"

My heart starts beating rapidly.

"But from a technical standpoint, your operation stands to be compromised at every turn. You may extort information from me, and I could lie. Yes, I can be eliminated quickly, but you can't ensure the safety of the mission."

He removes the safety on the gun, hoping to intimidate me. It works.

"I-I am not trained as a spy, or even as a soldier, Doctor-Dr. Forger.", my voice wavers a bit, "This is a bit... nerve wracking. B-but. My appearance in this world might only be an experiment of teleportation."

I sink further into the seat. I am not prepared for this, in the slightest.
"Who-who knows? Maybe whoever is doing this will weaponize it in the —"

Click.

Silence.

An unloaded gun.

I breathe heavily, trying to gulp air into my lungs. It requires a trained body to keep your composure. A random civilian like me cannot pull this off. Twilight offers me a glass of water.

I stare at it. A thin curve appears on his lips. He drinks some from above, then hands me it again.

Trembling hands hold the glass of water, then clutch it tightly. "Y-You...you know, spies and assassins have a higher tolerance for poisons than civilians."

He chuckles softly. "You're obviously smarter than a civilian."

I smile nervously. "I'm just from the year 2022. People are slightly more aware."

I drink the water, prepared to die. Maybe it is a slow acting poison. I will be dead by the night.

He gets up. "I will be back, Mr. Boduck. Relax."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thirty minutes later, I finally recover enough to breathe normally again.

I look at the door. Twilight has left me. There might be someone at the door listening in on me, but certainly not Twilight. He has enough processing to do on his own. Taking a smoke break. I must have given him more stress than Anya ever did.

This experience was terrifying. I never expected to come face to face with a gun. But this will soon be a weekly occurrence. With the SSS, WISE, Garden harking around, I'm sure to get into more such situations. I silently resolve to begin exercising the next day.

I get up and inspect the sandbox. No dolls for me, but I even out the sand and draw a circle. Then another. Concentric circles. A clean slate with only zeros. Perhaps they represent ripples on the cosmic plane. A representation of Brahman.

Wait.

Is this even the normal timeline? What if this is an alternate timeline with role reversal — WAIT, IS LOID IN THE SSS HERE?

Panic lunges at my chest and thrusts hot red claws into my lungs, squeezing my very being. I had managed to completely forget this possibility. Regardless of whether I was in a simulation, this timeline could not even be the right one. Anya is a telepath, yes, but I did not confirm if Loid is Twilight from her!

Why did I decide to trust an adult! I should have confirmed if this is the same world first! And now I'm stuck in a helpless place in an information war. That water could have been a slow acting poison.

Every single character, every single teacher, every single book which said 'Information is power' rang through my mind. I have made a crucial mistake. An unforgivable error.

Is this why he is a spy, and I am a childish geek?

I look outside the window. I cannot survive the jump. Time to put all my chips in, then. I face the door, waiting for the worst. The actual worst.

Imagine a Dementor will come through and give you the kiss, Raghav.

The door clicks open. "Are you ready to continue the session, Mr. Boduck?", Twilight says as he closes the door behind him. He glances at the sand. He looks at it for a few seconds. "It seems you took some time to —"

"Drop the act, Dr. Forger. On a scale of 1 to 10, how much are you willing to believe me?
Because I have to confirm something."

His expression loosens, that of a tired father going to listen about complaints of his child.

"I cannot disregard that you know some things that many with levels of clearance higher than you don't. You are a source of intel, otherworldly or not."

"Your poison might kill me at the end of the day, Dr. Forger. But listen to what I have to say with the same seriousness with which you face a mission."

"You have a lot of confidence for someone who has no self-defense training. But I will humor you."

"Whom do you work for?"

He narrows his eyes. "Surely you already know."

I brace myself. "I need confirmation that I am in the situation I think I am in."

He smiles. It is distantly sinister. "You are asking a spy to do what they do best? I work at Berlint General Hospital."

A vein pops on my head. He is toying with me. Time to do a little toying of my own.

"Dr. Forger. It is imperative that I know whether you work for The Garden."

It is quite difficult to describe the expression on Twilight's face. He is amused, his eyes glint, and there is a certain sense of danger to it.

"Brave attempt, Mr. Boduck. But you already said I was in Westalis in my dream, and references that indicate I am from Westalis. It would have been easy for me to say I work for WISE, even though I didn't."

The comedic nature of the manga really hides how good of a spy Twilight is. He is leagues ahead of me.

"You could still be lying, Dr. Forger."

"And now we both have something to doubt the other man in the room. So, I will trust you as much as you trust me. Would you agree?".

His smile is the perfect example of a gentleman who wants to appear welcoming, but the indication that he won this exchange is not lost from it.

I sigh. This will be difficult. How much should I reveal?

Based on Anya's interaction with Twilight earlier this morning, it doesn't appear he has the same personality as that of an SSS agent. And if Anya was loyal to an SSS version of Loid, she would have outed me then. Twilight also flinched earlier when I mentioned Operation Strix.

Damn, that was stupid of me. I revealed a key piece of information without confirming who he was.

He had seemed to follow along with my explanations well, although that could just be his training that allows him to catch on any story quickly.

Let's go ahead with Anya's past, partially obscured. Even the SSS would be interested in finding out illegal child experimentation. Or the Garden, if Loid is in the Garden here.

"Anya was adopted. Do you know where she had been before the orphanage?"

He frowns, probably not expecting this direction to the conversation.

"No. She had been returned 4 times to the same place. Lack of background was the primary reason I took her."

"Franky ought to do a better job.", I say, shaking my head. "Don't flinch at every key mention, Dr. Forger. You make me nervous every time."

So is Franky an informant who works for money, or a man who is loyal to his home country and works for Twilight the SSS Agent?

"You're the one to say." he grins, only if a little. "A strange man shows up and jeopardizes my entire operation, revealing info that not even my Handler knows. What about Anya?"

"Sit down, Dr. Forger."

He looks skeptical, but obliges.

We take places across the small table. To an outsider, we look just like a pair of psychiatrist and patient.

I gather the pen and scribble on the paper, making notes for things that I wanted to say.

"Do you know Project Apple?"

"Yes, the one where they experimented on animals. I suppose this concerns Bond?"

"Ah, yes, you must have noticed he is more perceptive to commands than normal dogs. You could chalk it down to experimentation." He can also see the future, but I'm not telling you that. "But we will talk about Bond some other day. Let us address the glaring weakness your operation currently has. A blind spot."

Twilight leans in to see what I am writing down.

"Some of the people who experimented on animals also might have experimented on human children. Young children, maybe 3, 4 or 5 years."

I scribble, 'Investigate Project Apple more. Subject 007. Child experimentation.'

"Loid Forger, your daughter is Subject 007."

It takes quite a while for the information to sink in.

"What?"

"The manga does not give many details about her backstory. But Anya is a subject of human experimentation. There are no details about the project name. I'm only guessing that it is related to Project Apple, based on... other clues."

He clutches his forehead, trying to think.

"If what you say is true, then... Oh. Oh no."

There exists a wall. A wall between me, the supposed protagonist, stuck in the first-person perspective of reality, and the anguished man in front of me, his head wrapping around the repercussions of what he has done to a little child's psyche. I cannot hear him, but I can feel he is screaming. Screaming against the confines of his mind, wishing he had chosen a different path.

It is not my place, nor my authority, but I place a hand on his shoulder anyway. He flinches and glares.

"Anya does not mind, Dr. Forger. She has been the happiest at the Forger household. She wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

But Twilight is hardly listening. He shakes his head, murmuring incoherently.

"It makes sense. It all makes sense now! I introduced her to so much stress! No wonder she was doing so poorly in studies. She was still recovering from her trauma as an infant! I'm a terrible father, and a terrible spy. I should have investigated more. Goddammit Franky! Why didn't he look for more clues! I should have known something was up when she was returned 4 times."

"Agent Twilight. I have read her thoughts as the bubbles in a manga. I know she is happy with you. Please don't think you need to return her or pull her out of the operation."

His eyes shoot up, staring into mine.

"Don't pull her from the operation!? Are you crazy, you idiot! I cannot compromise her mental state any further! To include a child in the mission was already a stupid idea by HQ, and I managed to pick the one child with a traumatic past! Eden is a competitive place, and you expect her to be the best scholar among already competitive students? I cannot allow more damage to occur. If what you say is true, I have not only compromised my mission, but also ruined the life of a child!"

He grabs my shoulders tightly, daring me to say anything.

An unexpected outburst from an otherwise composed agent. He likely is from WISE and has some denied feelings towards Anya.

I attempt, bravely, to match the intensity of his eyes.

"Do you think I said that with no reason, Dr. Forger? I know the consequences. But there won't be any. Trust me. Restarting the operation will be costly. And you know better than me that I'm withholding important information. Also, removing Anya from her place in life now will damage her more. She has a family, Dr. Forger. She has friends at school. For the first time since she escaped from the lab... facility... whatever that was, she feels safe and at home. Where will you even send her after terminating the operation?"

Blue eyes stare into black ones for a long time. He finally drops his head. I can feel a different kind of emotion emanating from him.

"Where is the facility, the lab?"

"I told you. No details were given. The only illustration is one of Anya crying in front of people in lab-coats because they forced her to study. There is no map, no mention of a location."

He growls again.

"What are the effects of this experimentation?"

How much can I tell him? I still am not 100% sure he is the Twilight from WISE. Besides, I still have to establish trust with Anya. That is, justifiably, more crucial than this. If I tell him Anya can read minds, she will lose all trust in me. I cannot reveal everything. Only a quart of truth.

"One of the possible effects could be enhanced strength. You remember when she punched Damian Desmond? He was sent flying through the air, into a trash can. For an underdeveloped six (perhaps less?) year old, that was a strong punch."

I simply hoped my structuring of the sentence goes unnoticed by him in his agitated state.

"Who else knows?"

"In this world? To my knowledge, only Anya. At least by the current chapter in the manga, before I came here. As for who else? That's your job, Dr. Forger. The perpetrators of this crime could be tailing Anya, for all we know. They might compromise the operation by directly by kidnapping their test subject", the word bitter in my mouth," or indirectly by leaking this info to Eden or the SSS."

Loid Forger puts his head in his hands, and it takes a full minute for him to slowly engage into Twilight mode. Then he pulls an unexpected card.

"And Yor? What is her secret?"

"Ah. She is...strong."

Twilight, now Loid again, just blinks.

A simple tactic. Tell them what they already know.

"I mean, she and her brother had lived alone for quite a while. They had no money on certain days, and Yor — if I may call her that — had to hunt. Against wild animals. Small squirrels, foxes, Wild Boars. Blood is not new to her. Watch her skin an animal, and you'll be amazed at her efficiency. She has brutish strength, Dr. Forger. Also, her senses are quite heightened. She had to keep track of slithering snakes and stealthily moving targets and predators."

Only a quart of truth. Nothing more.

"Yor sure is amazing.", he smiles. "But I do hope to hear the rest of the story soon."

I smile thinly. Of course, he's not the best spy for no reason.

"About Bond —"

"Let me have one card to myself, Dr. Forger. And promise me — although a spy cannot promise — that you won't try to investigate members of your family too strictly."

"I will try."

He sure won't.

"And about my own survival. What do you think —"

A distinct, patterned knock sounds on the door. I look at Twilight wide-eyed. He motions for me to sit and act like a patient. Surprisingly easy. I look out the window. Don't want to accidentally see Nightfall and let her know that I know her.

...

"Do you want to have lunch?"

I look at the door. There seems to be nobody there aside from Loid Forger.

"By all means, Dr. Forger, if you have a meeting —"

He waves me off. "I think your intel is more important than any meeting I could have."

"I'm a vegetarian, Dr. Forger. I don't eat Meat, Fish, eggs or other non-plant food. Milk is fine, though."

Throw him off. I have already spent enough time in his presence. I need to remove myself from this location. Furthermore, I still don't know if Twilight is from WISE.

"We'll have a separate lunch."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Dr. Forger. You don't need to worry about your daughter's school life anymore. As her tutor, I will make sure she is comfortable with her subjects and see improvement in her grades."

He had been silently deciphering some cipher, likely on his food plate, for the last few minutes. When he finally dug in, I broke the ice with this prompt. Also buying myself some time to gauge if I am being poisoned again.

Loid Forger looks at me, apparently catching on. People are eavesdropping. Some are subtle, others are not so. We need to make some conversation.

"Ah, you see Mr. Boduck, I'm deeply concerned about Anya's grades. She doesn't seem to have an interest in studying at all. I wonder what happened", he almost bites his tongue, "for her to hate studying so much."

"Don't worry, Dr. Forger. I understand how to handle her. Sometimes they just need an individual who understands the little world they build for themselves. It can be hard to treat her not like a patient." Not like a mission.

His hand twitches.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to jab at you."

"No, I understand. Sometimes I get so caught up in my work that I forget she is my child, and not a patient or a research study. I... sometimes think if I am the right father for her."

"I believe you do an excellent job at being a father, Dr. Forger. But tutoring and parenting are slightly different jobs. Speaking of which, didn't you say that your brother-in-law tried to teach her once? I would love to meet him to understand his analysis of her capacity."

He looks at me questioningly. "Yes, I did say that he was a nice uncle to Anya."

Well, I wanted to get out of here, but Twilight doesn't want me to leave so easily after I revealed that I have state secrets. Fine, I'll play some more.

I push around the pieces with my fork. "But I dare say that Mr. Briar is quite a busy man. He does have a very demanding job."

Loid twitches as a pained expression comes over his face. "He's probably going to be rather hurt that I decided to hire a tutor than keep him around. But I'd rather not disturb a diplomat on his job. By the way, I assure you the food is perfectly fine. No meat or eggs, like you asked."

Well, not sure if I can trust him. But if this food is poisoned, I will set a record for dying the quickest after being isekai'd. Huh.

I gingerly put a morsel in my mouth. Let's hope I don't regret this.

"Yuri is concerned about his sister a lot. He often visits us unannounced."

'So I can't keep you at my home.' Hmm. I figured that. Yuri would never accept that a stranger is allowed to stay at the Forger residence when he is not.

"Ah, I'm sure he can help me with languages — my specialities are only Mathematics and Science, after all. I'll also be sure to instill discipline and elegance in Anya, so you can focus on your work."

"I will need to inform Yor about taking a tutor for Anya."

"Of course. I will also share my residence place and my contact with her, if any event or test is scheduled in Anya's school."

"Speaking of which, how much will you charge —"

"You needn't pay me much if you think I am not suitable, Dr. Forger. I just need enough for shelter and food. Perhaps a choice of clothing. You can adjust my fee when you think I deserve enough."

There is much of the discussion left, but we cannot have it here. It will be difficult to insert a backstory or documents into a lunch conversation.

"I have a visit to make after lunch, Mr. Boduck", Twilight says, "so I'll have to leave after. I'll accompany you outside."

The rest of the lunch was in silence.

When we get outside, he whispers, "Mr. Boduck, see you at The Ridgeman's Lodge", then, in a much normal voice, "I have to go buy some Juwels."

What is a Juwel? Damn, it might be some household item or some code word.

But before I can ask, he walks away. I decide it's better to stay away from him for a while. I walk around the city a little to find out where The Ridgeman's Lodge is.

It is highly likely I am being tailed or being spied on. But I must not look around, or they would know I am more cautious than the average citizen, which just makes me more suspicious.

"Good day, gentlemen, would you be kind enough to tell me where I can find The Ridgeman's Lodge?", I ask a group of men standing outside a shop.

While they answer, I look at their appearance. They look like upper middle class gentlemen, perhaps similar to Loid Forger. Although their habits and mannerisms don't indicate their children would be in Eden.

Anya was a special case, after all.

I thank them and move along. After moving for a while, I see a board advertising The Ridgeman's Lodge. Perhaps this is one of WISE's (or Garden or SSS's) safehouses. The area is quite removed from the city center.

Actually, in Hindsight, this place was never mentioned in the manga. WISE's quarters are below a photo booth. So taking me here means he doesn't know of WISE's actual location, and is actually a Garden or SSS agent? What timeline is this!? Arrghhh...

It is unlikely that he would take me directly to Sylvia though. This could be a safehouse specifically for Twilight. Maybe he comes here to change when he 'leaves for a patient' at night.

I look around, the area is quite deserted. Wives wouldn't walk here on their errands, and students wouldn't cross this area on their routes. It is by no means a broken place, nothing seems in disrepair. But the shops and buildings are of the kind only frequented by men — salons, bars, tobacco shops. A garage. Some plumbing and electrical stores.

It reminds me of fictional worlds where the author would use such a setting for the hero (or the villain) to gain information. Chatting up the barber, getting intel via gossip or hearsay. If I had a quest to complete, I would begin conversation with those NPCs.

A nervous chuckle escapes me. I shouldn't even try, because anyone here could be an SSS officer off duty. Perhaps a Garden agent. A smuggling ring. In a fictional world, this would the place to be to get info and upgrades on equipment.

Well, it is a fictional world, but I am physically in it. And I don't even have a weapon like a game character would. If I try to stir up something, I'll get ganged up. Damn, where is Twili —

"Hey, young man, you dropped this."

I turn around to see a very elderly man handing me a packet of sorts. Cigarettes. But I never smoked, even in my old world. Why would —

The packet reads 'Juwel'.

Oh. OH. This man is Twilight in disguise.

It is quite jarring to see Twilight in action. They do say Twilight is a master of impersonation, but he is truly a master. I cannot even remotely associate this hobbling old man to the refined and elegant Loid Forger. He would have walked past me all day and I wouldn't know.

"Thank you, Sir." I say while holding the packet from him. It is not sealed.

"Do you need to go somewhere ?", I say, looking at the road.

"Come to the Lodge, my cough cough —"

I follow him inside. It looks like the ones I saw in some movies. A smooth desk, with a bored looking man behind it, looking through some papers.

"Ah, Mr. Ridge — cough cough — I need a place to discuss."

Mr. Ridge looks at us apprehensively. Then, he gives the old man — Twilight — a key.

"Same room as always.", he says in a gruff voice.

Once inside, I speak.

"Never saw him in the manga. Is he wise or simply intelligent?"

Twilight sweeps a glance around the room. He checks some nooks and crannies. Then says in a very clear voice,

"That is none of your business, Mr. Boduck. Rest assured, he won't tell anything to the SSS."

"He doesn't have to if he already is in the SSS."

He chuckles. "We'll see about that. Anyway, you have given me quite some trouble, Mr. Boduck. It will be difficult to hide you or create a separate background for you."

"I agree. A lone man is much more likely to be investigated than a fake family. Which reminds me, what was your contingency plan in case Yuri Briar decided to verify your year-long marriage by checking for paper-trails across the city? Even if documents can be forged, the boutique lady would surely testify that you have been visiting her only recently."

He twitches so hard it's visible through the mask. "I was hoping I could sweep it under the rug and Yuri's distaste of his sister's relationship would keep him away." He rubs his forehead. "Does something happen regarding that?"

"No, it was simply an observation I made." Well, it was a fan fiction I once read, but I'm not telling Twilight that.

"Ugh. If a civilian like you can make such an observation, I guess Yuri would catch on sometime too." He moves around to sit down, then motions for me to sit as well. "But let me worry about that. Let us discuss a story you can use to tell my wife."

"Am I ethnically similar to any country or nation you can remember?"

He looks at me and ponders.

"Well... I've met some people like you, and they were all from outside Ostania. Perhaps they weren't from this continent either. I believe they were from Indusland."

"Hah. That sounds like a rip-off of my home country. So I'm not of a completely unknown origin."

"I am not quite familiar with happenings outside Ostania or Westalis. But I remember there was a civil war happening in that region."

"Somehow, I am not entirely surprised."

At some point, the tension was going to break out. It seems in this universe they couldn't quite manage to last even 20 years. Although, wasn't there a war with [REDACTED] in November 1962? I wonder what happened in this world.

"That means you can pose as a refugee from that nation. It would explain why you don't have record in Ostania. But... The Ostanian State does not simply allow an immigrant like you, especially from a country in a civil war. No, this will make it more likely to interrogate you."

"Is there some sort of Library where I could read about this civil war and about Indusland? I want to confirm that my experience matches the reality of this world. I don't want to accidentally refer to something that does not exist here."

He looks at me in surprise. "You're rather smart for a civilian."

"I'm battle mage, Dr. Forger. A mage's strength lies in his preparation."

Confusion is evident on his face.

"It's a reference to a thing from the future from another world. Forget it. Let's just focus on the story. So, I am a refugee who immigrated into Ostania, preferably legally, and have completed enough education to understand high level mathematics. I don't want an extensive paper trail, so let's say I completed my education outside Ostania."

I sit down on the chair and look at Twilight. He nods.

"Additionally, I come from a city near the coast, and lived a pretty middle class life, similar to yours. If I assume correctly, Yor did not pursue her schooling into specialized education, so she shouldn't ask or know about my school or city."

Unless The Garden operates on a multi-continental level, in which case I should confirm at least the names of a few cities. But I don't suppose an assassin like Yor should know intelligence details.

Twilight looks sharply at me, thinking of something.
"We need to explain away why I am appointing a patient of mine as Anya's tutor to Yor. She would surely have some questions. Why did you even act like a psychotic patient?", he says, frowning at me.

That was a stupid mistake, and now it's going to cause a lot of complications.

"I was scared", I admit, "I didn't quite know what to do when I found out there are more students at Anya's bus stop. If I had more formal training, I would have improvised and thought of a better plan, but I couldn't."

A moment of silence passes.

"Well, in any case, we need to make Yor believe you are normal enough to tutor Anya. This might not be possible instantly, however. "

"I understand. We must arrange chance meetings with Yor and Anya separately, like in parks or bakeries. It also gives me time to understand how this world is different from my own, create a paper trail. Might visit Eden and find out some schedules or something. Also, I have a plan for Anya. She would connect with me faster than Yor would."

Because I would be an alien with superpowers who also knows about her telepathy.

"That's for the best. Create an individual identity. Make sure Yor can hear about you from sources other than me. Be vigilant. Don't let the SSS intimidate you. If you're an innocent citizen, you have nothing to fear."

An alibi. A fake history. A web of lies.

He looks off into the distance, as if reminiscing of old times.

"Where will I live?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Not the Ridgeman's Lodge, apparently. It was a bit strange, having to rent a room all by myself, but Twilight had left me as soon as we had departed, with a few instructions.

What, is he testing my navigation skills?

After roaming around the city for a bit, I finally find 'Crane Lodge.' This was closer to the city center, and Eden, but far enough to be cheap. Reasonable enough for a young man to rent for a few days.

The Juwel cigarette box had some cash in it. Dalc, I remembered, is the currency, as the innkeeper told me the price per room for a week. I check in.

The room is not too shabby, adequate to move around. A smaller bed than I am used to, but I can manage. I sweep the room for any listening devices and look at the window. A 12-foot drop, but if I hang over the ledge and let go, then I might get away with a slight jolt.

Twilight asked me to remain around the Lodge for a few minutes after checking in, so I head out. I don't see anyone resembling Twilight, or anyone he could possibly impersonate, so I wander around a bit. The sun beams strongly in the afternoon.

A raven haired man approaches me with a few bags of books and accessories and a suitcase of sorts.

"Ah, sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Boduck. Here you go."

There is no reason why a civilian would approach me, so I assume it is Twilight.
He hands me a few bags, full of books. I glance at the suitcase.

"There is a 3-piece suit, and some other casual clothes. Also, you cannot take books from the Library unless you have some sort of identification. So I brought these."

"Thank you.", I say, while shaking his hand. His grip is strong, and his eyes sharp, as if telling me, 'Don't you dare leave the lodge until I tell you to.'

I walk to the Lodge, then look back at him. "Want to help me unpack?"

The man raises his eyebrow, but then decides to come in.

The innkeeper looks at the pair of us. I smile curtly. Twilight supports the tension by saying, "Don't worry, we'll look at possible apartments later, with cheap rent. You'll get some job soon!"

I doubt the innkeeper even wants me to leave. After all, if I don't get an apartment, wouldn't she get more money?

Once in the apartment, I look at the clothes. They seem to be the right size.
Years of impersonation really do help in estimating a stranger's size.

"I suppose I'm not getting paid this month.", I say, chuckling. "What time is it?"

"Five."

"Are you going to pick up Anya?"

"No, her bus is supposed to drop her —"

"Go and catch it as she gets off. Tell her you picked a new tutor. Trust me, I know you don't want her to see you after what you learned of her, but to delay the inevitable is not good. I'll be at Park Avenue."

He stares through me, trying to understand what plans I had.

"I am not going to talk to Anya. I will sit on the bench near the stop. Probably with a book. Don't worry, children have low attention spans. They won't recognize me, especially if I wear different clothes."

After he leaves, I shower and get ready in casual clothes. Don't want the other students recognizing me. This first impression will be truly the lasting one.

I skitter around town before coming back to Park Avenue, from a different direction than I did in the morning. The building they live in is quite peculiar. Each floor has a different style of windows. That's quite the architectural decision. It looks a bit strange. Well, it is for me, but to a European, it seems like a nice neighborhood.

I look around and see Loid Forger sitting on a bench. I won't go near unless I see the bus, since he is supposed to know me because I am his patient. Slight conversation would be essential, but if we start talking then he'll have to introduce me to Anya which would be inexpedient, especially if the other students recognize me.

I clutch the 'World Atlas' in my hand as I move along the street. I cannot move too quickly lest I move past Loid and then would have to awkwardly turn back for no reason. The Eden school bus rumbles in the distance, so I make my way over to the bench, sitting just as Loid stands up to greet Anya.

The correct course of action would be to focus on the book I brought with me, so that Anya doesn't recognize me at first. She's going to get washed away with a lot of emotion after meeting Loid.

I open the 'World Atlas' and flip until I find the map I was looking for. Various transport routes are given, and names of cities.

The other students get off, and then Anya does, and then sees Loid.

"Papa!"

Loid promptly kneels and hugs her in a tight embrace, which surprises her.

"Papa!? I love you too, Papa... Papa..."

Her face distorts from that of happiness to that of twisted realization. It seems Loid cannot keep his thoughts away from the experi—

Ah, so Indusland is quite similar in geography. There are a few highways here that Iead to Ostania's continent. Hmm. There are a few railroads too, I can mark those down. Also, are those mountains the same as —

Loid finally separates and stands up, leading Anya home.

Also, a sea voyage is impractical, since Ostania does not have any ports facing the southern border of — wait it looks like it does have a small strip of coast here, unlike Germany or Poland did —

They are quite far away from me when I decide it's time to strike.

'I'm sorry, Anya.'

The little girl whips her head around and looks at the source. She stares at me and her eyes go wide. Then she looks once at her father, then back at me. A horrified look comes on her face. I wince.

'Don't worry, Loid does not know of your power. I did not tell him. He does not know of Yor's real job. He does not know of Bond's power.'

She glares as tears form in her eyes.

'If you continue to look here, Loid is going to find out.'

She quickly looks away and balls up her fists.

'Read your Papa's mind. Ask him what happened at work today. You'll understand that I did not reveal anyone's secret. We'll talk later, okay?'

Loid pulls her across the road, her range of telepathy likely decreasing, so I'm unsure how much she heard, if at all. There's going to be quite some angst in the Forger household tonight. As he closes the door, he motions for me to go back to the lodge.

Sigh. I am probably too conspicuous with the casual attire, reading an Atlas on a street bench. Yor would probably notice something is amiss. Not to say if Yuri also decided to visit.

Anya is probably feeling betrayed that I told Loid about her past with the experiments. Loid might eventually stumble upon the project, and then find Anya's files. Although I am unsure if the Lab experimenters knew what Anya's power was.

I start walking along the road, glancing up at the second floor from the top. Anya's light (which I assume is hers) comes on. She's probably going to keep herself locked in for a few hours. I grit my teeth. I hope Loid can coax her out using Spy Wars and peanuts.

Children might not understand why adults do things the way they do, but as adults we are a little guilty of disregarding their feelings just to gain a little bit of control. I just hope Anya does not run away because she thinks her family won't accept her because she is an experiment.

I trudge back home.

The emotions of a little girl are not pieces of chess, that I may sacrifice them to gain an advantage.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"The Trans Continental Line here seems to be a possible route I may have come from. But how would I have gotten on that?", I mutter to myself, tracing the Line on the map, mapping a possible route from Indusland to Ostania.

There seems to be a highway across Bolstan, but I don't suppose that's a safe country to journey across anyway. And why would I even move northwards across a civil, warring nation?

My stomach grumbles. Loid did not arrange for my own dinner. Is he testing my patience or my resilience? Perhaps he simply forgot in the throes of angst in his household. I cannot imagine what must be happening there. I turn to my book again.

After having read much of the ongoing civil war and about the history of Indusland, I could see that it was close in nature and culture to where I came from. It was easy to replicate the experience when talking to someone.

Perhaps I would move via boat from Bayfront City to Al Shinat, and then via road to Dukhor, and then either via this route to the Trans Continental, or via this route to Obda and then across the southern border into Ostania.

This was annoying. Framing journeys in an almost fantastical world where I had no idea of the immigrant policies of those nations is difficult. An inquisitive person, or an impersonating spy is sure to dwell on the details and hardships I faced in those countries, and based on their knowledge, I could be found out — just like Loid found out about Yuri.

I also have no alibi from outside Ostania. Arrgh! Perhaps the best thing to do was to illegally get out of Ostania to one of those neighboring nations, find someone who was indeed fleeing the conflict into Ostania, and then travel with them. I would have some stories and an alibi.

I smack the book on my head.

That's implausible, and I don't know if I can even get back into Ostania that way. I would also have no one I could trust, given that Anya is the only one I can trust, and she is only 6 years old. Also, if this situation is anything like my world, then Westalis is probably seen as a freer country than Ostania is, and I would be questioned on why I came to Ostania instead. The SSS are proud of their country, but they know no one is coming into Ostania for no reason.

As I lay in bed in the room rented for the night, I ponder on my situation. Things had gone well, but also terribly wrong. I expected the time would be at least a few days before the current time in the manga. But to be here after everything happened? This was... very bad.

The ceiling fan center stares back at me. At least this room has a ceiling fan. Are air conditioners invented yet? My knowledge of the history of everyday items is severely destitute. Honestly, this room doesn't feel all that different from lodges back in my country, if I went to pilgrimages or the countryside. A ceiling fan, a few lamps, a cupboard, a single bed, a bed stand with 3 drawers, the usual fare. I was fortunate Loid suggested this Lodge with personal bathrooms. The Ridgeman didn't seem to have those. I toss over and look at the clock. 9:50 pm.

I am not even sure if it is exactly after the manga. Perhaps Chapter 63 is a different POV, a villain's POV. I wouldn't know of their plans. Suddenly, I felt really under prepared. What was Eden planning tomorrow? In a week? Two weeks? Something as sudden as the disciplinary committee could still happen.

Not to say if the SSS or Garden has something planned. If something like the peace talks scandal happens, then Twilight will be pulled away for duty, leaving me to fend for myself.

Then there's the problem with revealing everything to the Forgers. It has to be done, sometime in the near future, or I would perish with whatever unknown forces decide to befall them. Passing near misses as comedy is a great literary device, but now that I am physically in here, I am not sure Endo can even change the story to his will. This is a full-fledged universe (Or simulation, I remind myself.)

I close my books and put them in one of the drawers. I need to be out there, physically talking to refugees, not just reading book facts. An experienced SSS officer can easily sniff out a fabrication made from printed material. I need to speak to Franky, find out what the immigration policy is. Get more people in touch. It's going to be difficult to create a network in Ostania, of all places.

Maybe it is best to work on a smaller goal. Create a believable background. Then move on to something with Anya's life. I should focus on Eden. Get its schedule. Make sure Anya is always prepared for challenges in school. I... need to train her. Not physically, but enough to make sure I know what's happening.

My fingers run through my hair. I need to do a lot of preparation. This is not simply some college oral exam. Lack of preparation could lead to death.

I cannot afford to be surprised. Not with my lack of immediate action training. I'm going to need a lot of paper. Books. Charts. Oh, how I wish I was back home with my laptop! Powerful tools at my disposal. Obsidian. Inkscape. Photoshop. VS Code.

Thinking of laptops probably wasn't a good thing. Because someone had given me the laptop. And someone did give me the table. The sob that I had been holding back is coming to my throat again.

I sit up in bed. No one is nearby. I hold my head in my hands.

I'm lost... Lost in another world. With no one. No direction. No family. No friends.

A person can only act narcissistic for so long.

I am dead for them. They probably won't see me, ever.

Sob.

I have lost everything...everyone...!! There is nothing here! No going back. I didn't even say goodbye to anyone. I didn't even leave good memories the last time I spoke.

No matter how indifferent of a teen you make yourself, the loss of every single one and every thing you cherished is not a light event.

I thought I hated my parents. But for them to disappear completely —

I can't hold it in anymore. I jump into the pillow and scream.

I hated the government for being far right. But here the government police spies on you and arrests you for suspicious behavior. I'm probably going to die. I'm probably going to die. I'm probably going to die!

Not just lost my family. I've lost my earth. The moon, with the probes and the flag on it. There are no rovers on Mars here. No Voyagers or New Horizons. I've not only lost my family. I've lost an entire universe.

I allow myself to wallow in the loss of my old life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My eyes are red when I look up at the moon. It has been quite a while. The clock slides to 11. I have been crying for an hour.

I look solemnly back at the moon. One Punch Man's lore flashes in my mind. I was an atheist before I came here, but this experience means someone, someone, is pulling the strings on the cosmic plane.

It is not pure coincidence that I was transported via higher dimensions to this particular world. It highly likely that this is the work of an intelligent being. Probably not 'God' in the true sense, but perhaps a 5th or 6th dimensional entity. That entity is probably watching me now. Judging me. Observing me. Perceiving me.

A mantra I kept for myself flashes in my mind.

Be a skeptic all you want, but never rule out the supernatural.

Ruminating this thought in my head, I fall asleep.

My head throbs as I try to peel myself off the bed. Several attempts go by, in which I dream lucidly that I have woken up. One or two of them were actually in my own home back in my world, but I didn't realize that until after I woke up for real.

'For real.' Haha. Reality is but relegated to a science fiction terminology now. I had hoped to wake up 'for realz' with the continuous knocks — something I remember from Inception, the movie — but I end up back in the room of Crane Lodge.

The lines between fiction and reality have already been blurred by my experience, so there is no point in reminiscing what is and what is not real. In a reality — no, that word is invalid — in an omniverse where the concept of reality is not absolute, it is futile to consider one as real and the other as not.

I wake up gingerly, not wanting to get out of bed yet. My body may have changed worlds, but its constitution is still the same — I have to really get rid of this lethargy if I want to survive here.

Is this how Einstein felt? To see that 'time', something he and the physicists of his era considered to be absolute, wasn't absolute at all, but only a mere illusion of the underlying framework that makes up spacetime? Space and Time were not absolute, and were rather two halves of the same coin, so that no one could claim they were on the correct time?

And now, I discovered that even reality is not absolute. People take the distinction between what is real and what is fiction as an absolute truth. But, I am here now. In a world wholly different from my own, as if there exist millions of such multiverses of each fiction, with billions of universes, and each such universe having trillions of timelines, encoding each interaction possible.

I toss over in the bed again, not wishing to get up yet. My mind delves into lucid thoughts again. Aliens. Robots. The concept of multiple realities is not alien to me. After all, there was enough fiction back home to have a grasp on such a possibility.

However, it could still be a simulation. I must not rule out the possibility. Even Einstein had to prove his theories through rigorous mathematics. I need to confirm whether this is truly a different reality or not. And it is fallacious, considering the fact that only fictions from our world would be different worlds. It is not like authors are given ideas in dreams, and what about new pieces of fiction?

I feel uneasy. Lucid thoughts on an empty stomach are disorienting. Flashes of the room, then of a spaceship... my lungs feel restricted. I sit up and take a few deep breaths, clutching my heart.

Gastric Acidity. From being fussed over by mom to being ignored by Twilight. My stomach was expecting food, and it did not receive it.

I look outside the window. A bit cloudy. The clock says 10 am. My resolution to begin exercising had already failed, and I was already uneasy. But a young man cannot remain in bed forever. I have yet to do a lot, and I am but a stranger in a strange world. I grab the brush and move to get ready.

The tap water isn't the tastiest, but I don't exactly have anything to sate the burning stomach yet. The mirror reflects a familiar yet tired face. Lack of sleep accumulated over two years was evident in the eyes of the young man in front of me. I move to use the brush.

Huh. The brush is not that different from what one would use in 2022. I suppose brushes didn't need much changing. Yes, the Americans and the Japanese have much tried to introduce premium vibrator brushes into the market, but the middle class is content with the simple things.

The mirror, the basin, the tap and the water are technologies that I am familiar with. The rays of light strike exactly as expected, and water flows according to the laws of fluid dynamics.

I breathe deeply. Oxygen is still what keeps me alive. So I'm still a living being. Perhaps. Or maybe that means this planet has oxygen. I breathe again. Rapidly. The uneasiness has not gone away.

After bathing, I leave. Doors still open on a hinge. I look around like a child alien, looking at each object as if it was new to me. No objects clip between walls, and collision mechanics are perfect. If this is truly a simulation, then I commend the engineers who built this. A computer capable of simulating every little detail with absolute accuracy would be monstrous.

Perhaps the computer is only rendering objects around me, as the protagonist. But why would any intelligent being abduct me as the test subject? What specialty do I have that billions of other humans — or aliens or exotic beings — don't have?

But dwelling on the nature of reality is feckless. The objective in all cases is the same — I have to survive. That's the basic principle of Life — survive. There might be a lot of things happening in the background, but I think I should adopt an immediate worldview. Try to think of the immediate danger — the cosmic mysteries have to be put on the shelf for now.

My stomach roars. I have not eaten anything since Twilight gave me lunch yesterday. There were several eateries I saw on the way to this lodge, but I'm unsure if they are hotspots for espionage or other activities. Also, my stomach never agreed with something not homemade. If I get stomach pains in a different world, that would be quite the Isekai adventure. Also, Twilight would be angry if I accidentally compromise myself while choosing a seemingly random location.

Speaking of which, where is Twilight? It is almost 11 am, and he didn't check on me. Did something happen? I look out the window. People are milling about on the street, and it looks like there is quite a bit of people, actually. Something seems to be going on. It is probably better to not go outside.

Knock Knock Knock!

I turn to look at the door. A slight chill of fear comes to me, since I am not expecting anyone. But still, I manage to croak out, "Yes?"

"A certain Dr. Forger is here to see you."

Twilight? In his Loid Forger persona? Is it really right for him to simply drop by?

I get up and head to the front desk. Loid is standing there, looking concerned.
I raise an eyebrow, but he explains,

"Ah, Mr. Boduck! I was worried that you missed today's session. I thought —"

He looks at the innkeeper, as if not wanting to share details about his patient in public. The woman pretends to look disinterested.

"Come in, Doctor.", I tell him, coming inside my room. I shut the door softly. Meanwhile, Loid looks around and checks for any listening devices. I have to get an apartment soon or we would have to do this every time we meet.

He opens his suitcase and takes out some packed foods. "Here you go. I apologize for keeping you hungry all day, but I couldn't exactly leave my house without reason." He starts arranging them on the bedside table, and some on the bed, since there is not enough place.

"How's Anya?"

He flinches. "She's better. I had to promise her an outing because she had locked herself in her room. She told me that it was simply a bad day at school, but for some reason, I think she knew that I knew."

Oh no. Deflect. Redirect.

"Children are much more perceptive than we give them credit for. She must have known something was up when you embraced her and showed her a lot of affection, when she had seemingly done nothing. In fact, she has just gotten a bolt. Anya must have thought you're showing her affection because you'll be giving her away."

He looks up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Loid. She was returned from homes 4 times. She probably has some abandonment issues. Even if Yor thinks she is your daughter, Anya knows you adopted her. She must think you have found out about the experiments, and so are fooling her with excessive affection before giving her away."

A pained expression passes over his face, and I can tell what it is. He is probably thinking, "I was going to give her away after the mission."

"Yor would take care of her.", he replies bitterly.

"She would." She would also come after you to assassinate you once Anya reveals you were Twilight and left them.

I look at the boxes of food. "I cannot eat those right away. I think I have acid reflex. I need some antacids before I can eat anything."

A small silence follows us.

"I know what WISE requires from you. But at least until the operation is complete, you have to treat her like the child she is. Right now, you have to make her believe you are showering her with affection because of other reasons, not because you found out about her past."

I sit down on the bed and open one of the food boxes. It looked like some rich salad. "Did you put vinegar in this? It might make my condition worse."

Loid sighs. "I'll bring you some tablets. Come to Franky's shop once you are done. We'll see if we can get you something."

I pause in the middle of eating a fried roll of sorts. "Do you think they put in maps of Berlint city in the manga, Dr. Forger?"

His eyes narrow. He nods.

"Some water too, to chug down the tablets, please.", I say as he leaves.

Sigh. I hope I do get to meet Anya sooner. I cannot let her accidentally reveal secrets through her behavior.

A few minutes later, a man arrives with a package for Mr. Boduck. I head to the innkeeper and receive the bag. A few bottles of water and a folded packet containing some tablets. I glance at the man. Raven haired. The same persona Twilight used to give me the books and clothes. Was this going to be a recurring man in my forged background? I nod at him.

He laughs, transitioning to the personality he put on yesterday, as that of a close male friend. "You are too soft mate, a little change in atmosphere already has you under the weather? Come on, let's go take a couple of shots.", he says, smacking my shoulder.

I laugh along a little, like the immigrant friend of a native would. "You can head on, Royce. I'll join a bit later when I feel better."

'Royce' raises an eyebrow. Then smiles and leaves, saying, "You better come Raghav, staying cooped up like this won't do you any good."

I head back to my room and open the packet. There is a tablet, sure enough, and a map of the area showing me the directions to Franky's shop.

After devouring the rest of the meals, I feel full enough, so I dress into a shirt and pants. Not too formal, since I'm going to a tobacco shop, but good enough to pass as a decent working man, who is not very rich. Although I am not working, this would do.

Franky's shop is located rather well. Not on any main street, but not so far away from the main crowd to not seem conspicuous. Honestly, if you are not specifically looking for it, it looks like one of the many unnoticed and uninteresting corners of the city. Like a bunch of filler buildings a game developer put in to make the city look filled.

I am carrying the bag with the lunchboxes, since I have to return those, or Yor might notice their absence. She is rather particular about things being clean and in order. I smirk as I notice a few of the women take a longer route just to avoid this corner. Loid stands nonchalantly, chatting up with Franky. Not sure if a man with a child would be frequenting a tobacco shop like this.

"Good morning, gentlemen.", I say as I place the boxes of food on the counter. "A copy of the Daily OST, please." I pick up the paper and read through the headlines.

Westalis is holding a cultural event? Interesting. Even Ostanian performers are invited. This sounds like potential for danger. Although I presume Twilight won't be called for problems back home.

"So you're the new kid, huh? Are they running this low on manpower that they have to recruit people from other countries?" Franky looks at me, with a slight grin, the one I came to expect from him.

His face is not exactly a rectangle, of course, but is very similar in bone structure. His face is bright but rugged, His gaze cheerful. It is quite the contrast from Loid, whose eyes are sparkling yet speak of a harsh past.

"It's a mutually beneficial agreement. Quite useful in an uncertain world.", I say while smiling a little.

"Haha! Not giving out details, are ya? Seems like Loid has taught you something. I didn't know they were assigning you a new rookie.", He eyes and elbows Loid.

Loid simply sighs. Then he whispers, "Just do what I told you, Franky. We need to establish a good background for him. An identity card so that he can go the library and such. Some paper trails as to how he came here —"

"Hang on a minute," Franky interrupts, "you haven't even told me what he will be doing! What is his mission? What do I have to forge, exactly?"

Loid pauses. I wait to see if he will be including Franky in this. He glares at Franky. "Listen. I trust you. But there are certain things I cannot tell you. At least not in public. So you have to understand."

As they keep arguing back and forth, my eyes scan a magazine kept on the stand.

Weekly Unify. Huh. Special Feature? Someone named Jonas Wellman is accused of scandals.

I open the magazine, flipping through it. The language is rather... strong. What is this, the Twitter of the 1960s? I reach the special feature. Lots of scandals exposed about this man.

"Yeah, people are up in arms about Wellman being a player and a cheater. You should have seen the people near his office.", Franky says after he sees me reading the magazine intently.

"This piece sounds like it was written by someone who is not a journalist, but rather a grumpy man with a grudge. Who is this Wellman character anyway?", I reply, reading some pages.

"He is one of the former opera singers from Ostania.", Loid says, joining the conversation. "He seems to have a clean enough record, but I haven't had time to investigate someone not associated with Desmond."

He gazes at me, looking for... confirmation?

"Why do you even keep this crap in your store, Mr. Franklin? This does not deserve to be called journalism.", I look at Franky to steer the attention away.

"Hey, I don't take sides with money. If the NUP's propaganda sells well, I'm not going to say no to it!", he retorts. Ah, the classic guy who works for money. At least he is on Loid's side... at least for the moment. Who keeps staring at me for some reason.

I chuckle darkly.

"This is just textbook defamation. Some people probably want to reignite the flames of war between the East and the West. So as soon as some individual takes steps to relieve tension, those surprise scandals about them start popping up. Of course, the state and the agencies clear that up, sooner or later, via lawsuits and stuff. But the initial rumors are enough to stir the rather easily swayed populace. I don't think it is necessary —"

Wait. This is the 1960s. You are in a police state. The war ended only ten or so years ago. Which means...

"— to care about it... too... much."

Shit, does something happen in the manga regarding this? I thought the cultural event being held in Westalis was no issue to me or Twilight. But if John Wellman is in Ostania right now, then there might be an attempt to cause chaos.

I sweat a little. If Twilight was needed at the scene, and I distracted him, then this world might be already deviating from what is supposed to happen. But he wouldn't take a day off from WISE just for handling me. Would he?

Shit. I needed Bond here so that I would know what the hell would happen. Damn. I need to secure that front really quickly. Now I'm stuck wondering where Twilight is supposed to be during these riots.

Loid looks at me. He was probably expecting me to know this, since I said most of the manga content, instead of the truth. I don't know anything about the future, at all. If I tell him to be somewhere and it turns out he was needed somewhere else, this will jeopardize everything.

What the hell do I do?

This is an unexpected development.

My thumbs twiddle each other as I stare at the table in front of me in deep concentration. Franky brought me and Loid into his hideout to discuss what we could do with my background, but it is nearly impossible to pay attention.

Jonas Wellman — renowned Ostanian opera singer and possible culprit to a lot of scandals — this man is not important or influential enough to alleviate the concerns of war. But if he is injured or killed, then that would surely escalate the war. People in the 1960s are not that complacent with staying at home. Even on Earth, this period was filled with protests and movements.

"Anything you want to tell me, Mr. Boduck?", Loid asks while looking at me through scrutinizing eyes. Blue, piercing eyes. The same eyes as that of a headmaster trying to search the mind of a certain fated raven haired boy with round glasses, one who is trying to hide what he knows. For a brief moment, I wonder if Loid is secretly an accomplished legilimens.

"No, nothing in particular." I stretch backwards and relax a little. "Just wondering what possible valid reasons we could forge for me to be in Ostania."

He looks with the same piercing gaze. Anya might be able to read minds, but Twilight has been trained to read behaviors. While not exact, the father comes quite close to the abilities of his daughter. And while Anya can read minds, she cannot always read subtle intentions. Where is Franky? He's been out too long while keeping us waiting.

I look at him, battling out the staring match.

I cannot give away my advantage. As long as Loid thinks I know the future, I will have greater chances of survival. John Wellman is a problem, however. I can do nothing but trust that WISE is not so understaffed that they cannot handle this without Twilight.

I break eye contact.

The room is rather stuffy. Closed on all sides, with a door and no windows. Thankfully, there is a fan. This place does look like a gang's hideout, especially with the crate I am sitting on. Various contraptions litter the walls and shelves, and lots of rolls of blueprints sit in boxes.

Does Franky also work here? The air here is too stuffy to innovate or be creative. I'm 90% sure this place is a fire hazard. It might also be a biohazard, depending on what is inside some of those cases.

I hope this isn't where he lives.

I look back at Loid, trying to think of something to break the ice.

"About your... Royce persona —"

"Ah, sorry about that, Mr. Boduck. I didn't inform you what name I was going by in that disguise. But it does confirm you have good enough improvisation skills.". Loid smiles at me. "And I quite like the name."

I smile, remembering how Twilight always picked his names that sound with L or R. "I suppose Royce Hiders is going to be a recurring character in my backstory?"

"Hiders? I'm starting to think I might hire you to name my characters, Mr. Boduck.", he says, chuckling. I laugh along with him.

Franky comes back from a phone call. "My buddy says it is possible to create identification for you, but there is a significant risk in registering you as an Ostanian native. Your facial features are a giveaway that you're from elsewhere. You will need a convincing story to tell the SSS."

I turn to face Franky.

"What risks exist if I smuggle out of Ostania and back in?"

He looks at me with a deadpan. "You can't get back in, kid. The Ostanian border security does not allow refugees, especially those of your skin color, to just walk across the border."

"So a land or train route is out of the question. So a flight? Would it be suspicious if I travelled by air?"

"Unless you are on a business trip, or are wealthy, a flight is uncommon, but not unheard of. Usually, people arrive here by ship, and then take a train or travel by road inside Ostania.", Loid replies, this time.

Lines from 'Rusty goes to London' by Ruskin Bond resonate back in my head. Passenger liners are still the primary method of transport in these times. It is only after the 1970s that air transport became more favorable. And it is not until 2001 that air safety regulations were increased dramatically.

"Are there any Indusia refugees you know of? Ones I could speak to about common experiences. I would be able to understand how they came here."

"Indusili.", Loid corrects me. "There might not be many. Most that I know are wealthy men with aristocratic backgrounds. Some others are workers in factories, people who come to try their luck in foreign lands."

Franky thinks for a minute. "There might be a bloke I saw in District 6. He looked like he was from your country, I think."

It is probably not wise to get outside today. The rioters might do something. Or should we be outside? Is there something that Twilight needs to do with this situation? This is harder than a strategy game without a walkthrough.

"Probably not today, Mister Franklin. I'll ask you to get me there later. However, we need some immediate cover story. Some people have already seen me, and I don't look like an Ostanian or Westalian. People do and will notice that a strange man not ethnically similar to them was roaming the streets."

I lean forward and lay my hands on the table. Franky sits down.

"We cannot delay the explanation for long, since the innkeeper lady at your lodge will testify against our fabricated dates.", he says while looking at me.

My hands ruffle through my hair. "I know..."

I am but useless in this situation. I cannot move around because we can't let people see me. I cannot send Twilight anywhere because there's no reason he would listen to me, and I don't know where he's supposed to be. I can't send Yor anywhere because she would kill me first for knowing who she is. Anya is a child. Franky won't trust me. I don't know what the political situation is, I don't know what this Wellman business is about.

For a person claiming to be a fan of Spy x Family, I don't know shit about this world.

A low, uncomfortable silence suffocates me.

"I think it would be best if we fabricate travel by ship.", Loid finally speaks. "The paper trails on those are always unreliable, and even ordinary people lose track of their journeys or tickets."

Franky and I both look up at him. I straighten up.

"Which port though? And how would I travel from there to Berlint? I didn't see any ports on the southern coast of Ostania. Arriving anywhere else means travelling through the border, which means I would have been seen."

Franky rubs his chin. "Slaseve is a small town on the coast. It does not have a commercial port, only a few fishing hotspots. I'd been there once when I had to work on... let's say, one of my inventions (Loid raises an eyebrow). Of course, you can't get there directly, but there are smaller ferries from Dukhor to Slaseve. That's a possible route you could have taken."

"Alright, that settles the question of how I got to Slaseve. What means of travel exist from Slaseve to Berlint?", I continue the chain.

"Not sure. You might go via train, perhaps. I think there are two major train stations, but you might need to travel via road first."

"Well, I'll have to check if those routes are actually reasonable if I was planning to come here. What is the sentiment towards refugees in that area?"

Franky frowns at me. "Hey, I'm an informant, not a walking encyclopedia! I don't know everything that happens far away from me, dude. I might find out through some sources soon enough."

I sigh.

"Alright. We'll go with that basic outline. You can figure out the route depending on what you hear from your sources. Just be sure to tell me what it is, later."

All of us nod.

"Come on, I'll show you outside.", Franky gets up. "Once you get your basic identity card, you can go to the library yourself. I'm not sure how much Loid has taught you, but you're gonna need to be prepared with all the knowledge you can get."

He leads us through a maze of passageways. Different from the ones when he led us inside. I glance at Loid. He looks nonchalant. Likely has them all memorized. I try to tune out Franky.

As long as enough time passes, we can overlap people's memories of when I appeared. Ordinary people don't remember exact dates of events. They recall via visuals. I remember a regional movie I watched where the protagonist uses this psychological trick to make people believe events happened on the 2nd of June, even though they happened on the 3rd.

Before long, we come out into a bustling street where Franky's shop is not located. We didn't even enter from here. What sort of informant catacombs lie under this place?

Actually, as I look around, Franky is not even with us. When did he —

"No point looking for him. He's back at his shop already.", Loid says and motions me to move along, placing a hat on his head. I move to match his pace.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We walk for a few blocks in silence.

"Does something happen today?", he asks, short, sharp and direct.

John Wellman. I knew Twilight would notice how I react to the news. He likely knows of this on a surface level, but considering he didn't leave us to go for a debriefing at WISE, he must not be assigned anything for this situation.

"Nothing is supposed to happen", I say, carefully treading my words. He cannot know that I know nothing of this event. But I cannot leave this to probability. Twilight won't ignore a call from WISE, even if he is preoccupied with me. "Nothing is supposed to happen to John Wellman, but my existence may cause a ripple effect through spacetime."

"A ripple effect?", he inquires.

"Events could deviate from their course simply because I exist. I cannot confirm this, but it was one of the popular interpretations of dimensional travel in fiction. It was not confirmed by physicists, since we didn't have dimensional travel, but it's a possible hypothesis."

Well, events in the past may also change, since a ripple extends in a circular direction. Or in all directions. Well, all directions on a plane. 'All' directions on a timeline would just be future and past, since that's what a line —

"So should I intervene?"

I look at him and contemplate. "Do you believe in the scientific method?"

He cranes his neck around to raise an eyebrow at me. "What are you implying?"

"We could wait till tomorrow and see if Mr. Well — if the outcome is favorable or not. If it is negative, then we can be proactive. If not, we could let things play out for a while."

"You're asking me to gamble?"

Well, neither one of us has any idea as to what the enemy is doing. Their movements and machinations are obscured by the fog of war. I don't even know how many organizations and groups exist that have their own agendas in this conflict. What if, perhaps, one of them already knows about me being a traveler from across dimensions?

I sigh.

"We have to. Surely the organization is wise enough to put some precautionary measures in place."

"I don't like playing with odds in my profession, Mr. Boduck."

"But you do have to wait for the patient to reveal their inner structure slowly, don't you, Doctor Forger? There is always a fog between you and your subject. Some are by nature, others manufactured. Only after we clear the fog would we know what the subject is thinking."

He chuckles darkly. I become solemn. "Whatever you do, don't use a direct approach. We're not sure if it would be necessary, or might mess something up.", I add.

He will meddle in this for sure. I will have to distract him somehow.

"What day is it tomorrow, Dr. Forger?"

"It's Saturday, the thirteenth of July."

"Does Anya have school tomorrow?"

His mood suddenly becomes sour, that of a deadbeat father. "The other kids don't. Anya has remedial classes because of her low grades."

"Could you take Anya to a park tomorrow? Or anywhere in public where I can re-interact with them. If Yor tags along, that would be great too. We can get the tutor plan underway."

He stops. We reached 128 Park Avenue. "I'm not sure if you should start yet, Anya is still disturbed from yesterday."

"I know. This would just be a 'chance encounter' with your patient, who is brilliant and too preoccupied with physics; and hence has an existential crisis. But otherwise he is great at teaching others."

Loid's eyes gaze at me. "You sure you don't need an actual psychiatrist, Mr. Boduck?"

I look into the distance. "No, this is simply how my generation is, Doctor. You shall see for yourself in 60 years."

There's a subtle silence as the wind blows around us.

"See you later, Dr. Forger."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Berlint is quite expansive. I had never been to Berlin in my world before, so I didn't know how sprawling a capital city in Europe could be. Of course, we had cities in my country too, but Berlint is cleaner. Gives off the European vibe.

I had decided to stroll around the city, getting familiar with the times and news, gathering information.

I hadn't expected to run into Wellman's office. But here we are.

There is a large crowd around what I assume is Mr. John Wellman's office. I can see the signs and hear the shouts, so there's no doubt this is his place of work or place of residence.

There's quite a mob, and the police seem to be trying their best.

Do I wait here? It seems logical to gather more information about the incident, so I can be better prepared. But is it worthwhile to risk my life for a small square of vision? What can I gambit to gain visibility of a single square on the chessboard?

Maybe I should have brought Twilight with me. He would be able to assess the situation far better than me. He would also protect me, hopefully, from any attackers that might —

A mob of people. A celebrity. A riot. Tensions between East and West. There is a high possibility someone is planning to bomb this scene!

Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc.

I ran away. After being used to the safeness of life in the 21st century, the possibility that I can lose my life still shook my core.

My legs are still shaking.

Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc.

Yes, if I was observing this situation as an observer, I would have denigrated my character for being so unmindful of the situation. I had basically diverted Twilight's attention away from a possible accident that he could have prevented. The lives of those people were, in a sense, decided by me.

Every moment, every space I fill in this world changes its future.

Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc.

The clock says 1 hour and 50 minutes have passed since noon. Exactly 20 minutes since I ran away from a possible scene of horror.

The clock frowns at me, judging me for my actions.

Perhaps I could have let Twilight intervene. Tell him something was going to happen. Now I have no clues as to what happened.

Gingerly, I reach for one of the lunchboxes that Loid brought for me. Maybe eating would alleviate some fear.

Yes, eating is good. I have to keep eating, or I will lose too much strength and pass out - an event that can eventually escalate to background checks on me. Every step has to be calculated.

I keep steeling my resolve, and yet there's something horrifying that happens close to me. I cannot function in this world like this. I hope Mr. Wellman and those people around his office are safe.

In case something happens, Twilight is sure to come after me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Moving pieces around in a fog is dangerous.

I glance at the window. The streets are not yet in a rushed state of panic, so I can assume there hasn't been an incident yet. But only time will tell.

There's nothing in law that says I have to do something. I don't have an obligation to save anyone if I don't do anything to involve myself in it. There is no urgency yet to think of the big picture. Securing my survival tops everything else.

Wait, but this is Ostania. Maybe the law here says I do have to help people in danger. Maybe it does have the twisted version of a Good Samaritan law.

I run my hands through my hair. This is devolving into a philosophical discussion. First, it is important to know who this John Wellman character is and how he ties into the Ostanian landscape.

I reach for the books that Loid brought for me and try to gather more information on the political climate.

After all, how can I even take a decision, if I don't know how the pieces move?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It's about 6 in the evening when there's a call at the reception for me. I walk up to it, carefully avoiding the scrutinizing gaze of the innkeeper.

"Come to the photo booth at the intersection of Westward St. and Station St. It's Franky."

Is this phone encrypted? Why did he use his real name?

Before I can reply, he cuts the call. I guess he doesn't want too much of a trail. I wonder if it is actually a good idea to head out, since there was the incident. It's pretty unclear if the streets are calm yet, however.

Should I even go outside? Franky seems like he would know about any potential mishaps occurring, and he wouldn't want a rookie to be caught in the misfire, so maybe?

I ponder, looking out the glass window of the door into the street. The sun was quite low now, and the entire atmosphere had a tint of orange.

My eyes drift back to the telephone, and the innkeeper giving me a subtle glance. I notice a television behind her.

Wait, the innkeeper might know about the incident.

"Quite the ruckus this morning around Mr. Wellman. Quite the character.", I try to make conversation.

The woman perks up.

"Scoundrel he is! I can't believe such a filthy human is allowed to stay in our great nation. I bet he is a Westalian sympathizer. Hope something happens to him.", she retorts.

Ah, of course, the internet may not be around, but stigmatized hate still lingers in the minds of people. But this stigma doesn't help me.

"Well, we'll have to see what happens. I do hope there's no incident. Are people still protesting? I don't want to run into the mob again."

"Hmph, the police dispersed the people," she says, "Lapdogs, the lot of them. Always sticking for the rich and the elite."

"Are you sure you should be badmouthing the SSS?"

She eyes me sharply, as if questioning my authority to ask her such a question.

"Well, you're a brown kid from another country, so what do you care?"

I flinch. Yikes. Racism is still rooted in the 1960s.

"Ah, that is true. I heard the SSS takes immigrants very seriously. Anyway, I'll be heading out."

"Yeah yeah, whatever."

I excuse myself and head back into my room to check if I need anything before I head out. For some reason, I put on a coat and a tie. Maybe Franky is going to take my photo?

Stepping out of the inn, I find myself in the sprawling city of Berlint. It stretches out before me, a captivating blend of history and fiction. This alternate reality version of 1963 is a stew of sights and sounds. There is much less mob activity in the streets, although I see people around, gossiping about.

As I traverse the city, the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the streets. The ambiance seems to shift slightly, as if the city is preparing for the night's embrace. Despite the subdued atmosphere, the vastness of Berlint offers hope that I will find my destination without much difficulty. Buses and Trams rumble about, with people returning home after a hard day at work.

I reach the intersection and am greeted by the same photo booth from the manga panels. This is WISE's elevator hideout.

Hmm. Perhaps Twilight asked Franky to take my picture here so that he could also register me in the WISE database. Truly covering all his tracks.

While I stand pondering the implications of this, Franky taps me on the shoulder in disguise. Well, I hope it is Franky, I have no idea who it is. How do those people manage to creep up on me? I shudder at the thought of how Yor would be like.

"Hey, it's me.," Franky says, flashing his eyes. I nod. A bit strange to give yourselves away that easily, but I guess we don't need that much secrecy. He leads me into the booth and asks me to get some pictures.

As I sit staring at the lens of the camera, I wonder if there is an agent on the other side looking at me and jotting down notes based on my appearance. There might be, or there might not be. It unnerves me regardless.

Wait, doesn't this camera have an iris scanner? It is truly remarkable that they were able to invent reliable iris scanners in the 60s. Also, if this platform goes down, then what is it that replaces it? Surely they don't have magical technology like from the Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), so it doesn't come from above. Is there simply a vertical drop every time an agent uses it to go down? I'm surprised they haven't had any incidents —

"Hey, are you done?", Franky asks from outside, breaking my reverie.

I look at the dispenser to see it printed out a bunch of photographs. I grab those and hand them to Franky while walking outside.

"Why did you use your tobacco shop persona's name when calling me? That seems dangerous."

"Why yes, of course. That lodge's one of the uhm, places where I have isolated the signals from me. Well, not going to give you all the details, am I?". He winks.

"What happened to Mr. Wellman?"

Franky shrugs. "Heck if I know. WISE doesn't tell me everything, you know? I am just an informant for one of their spies. And why are you interested in this actor?"

So was the event prevented by me? Or was this always going to happen? For now, a quick lie.

"I ran into the mob earlier. I was reminded how it could be used to create public chaos," I say.

"I see."

"What now?", I ask, uncertain.

"I don't know what your mission is, kid. But I suggest you stay low and try to gather as much information as you can. The more you know, the better equipped you'll be to handle any potential dangers that come your way."

I nod, taking Franky's advice to heart. "Thanks for the tip. I'll make sure to keep a low profile and stay informed. But what about my identification? Is it still possible to get it?"

"Ah, right. I spoke to my contact, and we should be able to get you a fake ID. It'll cost a bit, but it's worth it to have a backup plan in case something goes wrong. I'll let you know when it's ready."

"Thanks, Franky. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, kid. Just be careful out there. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me or Loid. We'll do what we can to help you out."

I nod and bid Franky farewell, feeling a bit more at ease knowing that I have some support in this strange world. As I make my way back to the inn, I can't shake off the feeling that something big is about to happen. I just hope I'm prepared when it does.

It's a strange feeling, for sure.

So Wellman was a red herring? Did Loid intervene or not? Did I accidentally start a chain of events outside my control?

I find myself lost in thought, sitting on a park bench, contemplating the events that unfolded yesterday. The uncertainty weighs heavy on my mind as I try to make sense of it all. My gaze turns to the passing scenery, hoping to find solace in the tranquil surroundings.

"Hey, Raghav. How are you feeling today?"

I turn my head and my eyes meet the figure of Royce Hiders making his way towards me. Despite my inner turmoil, I manage to summon a smile and greet him. It's fascinating how effortlessly he embodies the persona of Royce Hiders, distinct from Loid Forger.

"I'm doing okay, thanks for asking. Just trying to process everything that's happened. Is this bench okay?"

Royce nods understandingly, taking a seat beside me on the bench. His presence carries a different aura compared to Loid. His voice resonates with the carefree spirit of a young man, and there's a subtle ease in his demeanour.

"It is alright, if a little cold," he replies. There are no bugs. When did he test for those?

"I heard Mr. Wellman reached Westalis," I bring up, hoping for some clarity. The rumours had been swirling, but I needed confirmation.

Royce (Twilight) lets out a sigh, "Yes, it appears so. I tried to check up what's happening, but was promptly ordered to keep my nose out and go rest at home."

I intertwine my fingers. "It appears what shouldn't have happened didn't happen. So there's no change to the timeline, it seems."

At least, I hope. There is no telling if this would silently cause a chain reaction that inadvertently does something.

"Did you make the ID card?", Royce (or Twilight) asks.

"He did call me up, yes. I suppose he has started the process. I have learned as much as I could about the ongoing civil war in Indusland – but I am unsure if it would be enough."

I sit up, glancing around the secluded area. The absence of people makes me ponder the level of caution required. While I trust Twilight's thoroughness in inspecting for bugs, one can never be too careful.

"Are you going to bring her? The one with the remedial classes, I mean. When does she get off?" I ask, feeling a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Ah, yes," Twilight responds, his voice momentarily slipping from the suave façade of Royce Hiders. In that fleeting instant, I catch a glimpse of the weary parent, Loid Forger, lurking beneath the surface. It vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving me to wonder if I imagined it.

"Yes, I will bring her on a stroll, yes. But you still haven't established what you intend to do..." he replies, his tone carrying a hint of anticipation.

His observation strikes a nerve, and I can feel the nervousness creeping into my voice.

That is true. But I cannot really tell him what it is that I specifically want to do.

"Well," I stammer, "I suppose it's a test of how well I can blend back into normalcy. If she remembers me as the peculiar patient, it indicates we have much work ahead. But if I can seamlessly fade into the background, it's a promising starting point, don't you think?"

Twilight ponders my words for a moment, his eyes distant. Then, a small nod breaks across his face. "Yes, it would be exceedingly challenging to explain why I would hire you otherwise."

"Exactly," I continue, my nerves beginning to settle. "Acting like an ordinary, everyday individual will help alleviate tension. It will make it easier for you to provide an explanation about my presence."

I rise from the bench, a surge of determination coursing through me. "And besides," I add, my voice wavering slightly, "I want to see how she's coping and if she's realized that you're aware of her past."

Twilight's demeanor stiffens, his eyes casting downward as he intertwines his fingers. The Royce persona starts to fade, allowing glimpses of Twilight's somber nature to seep through. "Her past, yes..." he mutters, his tone tinged with darkness.

Moved by an unspoken understanding, I place a trembling hand on Twilight's shoulder, offering a gesture of comfort and support.

"Not now, Hiders, not now.", I try to persuade him. I still didn't know what characters of the play were still out there, waiting to be introduced. "The comic had little to no details about this past. Even I don't know much about what she went through or what people are involved."

Twilight scoffs and begins to murmur silently.

"That's exactly why I should go search for it now – before it is lost or destroyed. Since there is no one actively protecting this info, they won't be expecting me.", he finishes.

Don't you do it, Twilight.

"Judging by the pace of the original manga, I don't think the arc was to be introduced any sooner. The knowledge is too unclear, even for me.". I grip his shoulder strongly. "Even me, with all the knowledge I have, don't know who is the instigator of her troubles. If it is someone really powerful, you could jeopardize your current operation."

He doesn't seem convinced.

I implore him, "I really request you to not shoot into the dark right now. Yes, it gives you the element of surprise, but you are operating on anger. I don't suppose someone from your profession wants to operate on emotions?"

Royce palms his face, thinking for a while. When he releases them, the cheerful face of Royce Hiders is back, and devoid of the guilt. "You're right. I cannot operate under such circumstances. Alright, I'll see you later." He stands up and straightens his jacket.

He hands me an envelope. "Here's some more sustenance."

I clutch the envelope as I see Royce Hiders walking away.

Man I sure do hope he doesn't break and go after someone. Especially when Yor doesn't know. And he doesn't know about Yor. I don't want to get into the climax of Anya's story when I just got here.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Strolling around Berlint is surprisingly easy. Contrary to my expectations, there is a distinct absence of SSS agents parading through the streets. A few police guards are stationed at regular intervals, but overall, the city exudes an air of normalcy befitting a capital.

Following a meandering path, I discover that the mob that had gathered outside the office yesterday has dissipated. The area appears unusually calm, even in the absence of Wellman.

There's no sign of protests. I had anticipated a stronger display of emotions within Ostania, but it seems things have quieted down.

Spotting a store adorned with an array of magazines, I decide to inquire about the recent developments. Additionally, I hope to uncover any other movements or occurrences that Twilight might not have informed me about.

"Hey there. Good afternoon," I greet the shopkeeper, my eyes drifting towards some delectable wrapped cakes (or was it bread?). I make a mental note to indulge in a meal or two without divulging the source to Loid. "I'll take three of those," I request, pointing to the tempting treats.

I should ask Loid for recommendations on trusted eateries where I can dine without raising suspicion.

As the shopkeeper carefully packs the cakes, I engage in casual conversation. "The situation seems to have settled down considerably since yesterday, doesn't it?"

"Oh, absolutely!" he replies with enthusiasm. "The latest edition of The Vanaka Weekly has dispelled all doubts about John Wellman. Turns out, he was simply framed." He eagerly grabs a copy of the publication and places it atop the cakes. "Take a copy with you! It's all in there."

Some things never change, and shopkeepers' eagerness to promote their wares is one of them.

After paying the amiable shopkeeper, I make my way back to Crane Lodge. Determined to blend into the background, I decide to work on refining my backstory while savoring the simple sponge cakes. They may lack fancy adornments like cream or fruit, but their sweetness is sufficient to satisfy my cravings.

I should also keep an eye out for a cozy coffee or tea shop in the near future.

As it nears sundown, I head to the designated meeting place.

I find myself back at the park, seated on a weathered wooden bench. The setting sun's warm rays gently caress my face as a light breeze rustles through the surrounding trees. I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly mowed grass and blooming flowers. It's a tranquil scene, one that evokes a sense of peace amidst the bustling city.

Well, until they arrive, I can read what's in this magazine.

The Vanaka Weekly is amusing. It brings back memories from my life when I used to read lifestyle magazines too. I never paid for subscriptions, but when I would get a chance to get my hands on one, I would read it cover to cover. The internet, and more importantly smartphones, took away from that experience so much.

Magazines are like the Instagram and the blogs of the paper world - albeit slow, but full of the same language and energy as media has in the future. And of course, the nostalgia-inducing aroma of ink and paper lingers with each turn of the page. In this alternate reality, where the internet is but a distant promise, the world of information and entertainment takes on a different form.

As I peruse the articles and features, I can't help but draw parallels between the Vanaka Weekly and the digital media landscape that I'm accustomed to. It's fascinating how the essence remains the same across different mediums, even if the means of delivery have evolved.

The Vanaka Weekly offer glimpses into the lives of the rich, famous, and influential. They share stories of triumph and adversity, fashion trends and beauty tips, and the latest happenings in the world of entertainment. The language, the energy, the allure—it's all there, encapsulated within the glossy pages.

Yet, there's a certain charm to the tangible nature of these magazines. The act of physically flipping through the pages, feeling the texture beneath my fingertips, and immersing myself in the carefully curated content is an experience in itself. It's a deliberate, intentional act, devoid of distractions and notifications vying for attention.

In this world, where the internet has yet to weave its intricate web, these magazines become a lifeline to the world beyond. They provide a window into a realm of aspirations and dreams, serving as a source of inspiration and entertainment.

"Heh, this magazine is like reading on Reddit all over again."

It's intriguing how these magazines embody similar dynamics to their digital counterparts, albeit with their own unique flavors.

The Weekly Unify, the self-proclaimed mouthpiece of the NUP, reminds me of Twitter in its relentless dissemination of opinions and outrage. Just like Twitter's character limit that forces brevity and concise expressions, the articles in the Weekly Unify seem to be filled with sharp and incendiary statements meant to evoke strong reactions. It's a breeding ground for hatred, dissent, and the spreading of sensationalized gossip—an echo chamber that amplifies division and fuels controversy.

Even a few minutes of reading it at Franky's shop had given me a good idea of what the magazine is like.

On the other hand, The Vanaka Weekly exudes an air of superiority reminiscent of Reddit. Like the vast array of subreddits catering to different interests and communities, this magazine presents itself as a bastion of facts and knowledge. Its articles, while not always entirely reliable, are delivered with a certain authoritative tone, evoking a sense of intellectualism and cultural refinement. It's a gathering place for enthusiasts and aficionados, discussing various topics with an air of confidence and expertise.

As I compare these magazines to their digital counterparts, I chuckle at the thought of how these worlds intertwine. In this alternate reality, where the internet remains a distant promise, these magazines serve as the primary means of information and entertainment. They encapsulate the essence of social media, albeit in a slower, more deliberate manner.

But while the comparisons amuse me, I also recognize the power that both mediums hold. Whether through printed pages or digital screens, they shape opinions, create connections, and influence the way we perceive the world around us. It's a reminder of the ever-evolving nature of media and its impact on society, regardless of the form it takes.

Just like yesterday. Simple magazines and TV caused much uproar in people. Regular, ordinary seeming citizens become aggressive and resort to protest.

The internet didn't cause anything. It was just another medium of communication for what always has been there, for centuries. For millennia.

I grin, amused at the human feeling that transcends time, space and fiction.

Folding the book, I look around at the park. Families frolic in the distance, parents chasing after their giggling children, their laughter filling the air like melodic notes. Couples stroll hand in hand, their love evident in their eyes and gentle touches. Pet owners, accompanied by their furry companions, revel in the joy of companionship and unconditional affection.

It's a symphony of life unfolding before me—a tapestry of shared moments and cherished bonds. I can't help but feel a pang of longing deep within my heart.

Oh how we lie to ourselves
In the chaos, love finds a place to dwell.
Beneath the surface of turmoil and strife,
Moments of life, the true essence of life.
Amidst the battles fought in words and deed,
A touch, a smile, the love we all need.
For in this symphony, despite the fray,
Humanity's heart still finds a way.

The people are so blissful, unaware of the daily battle that the intelligence agencies, the politicians, and the people in power are fighting. Some to protect their country, some to gain power, some to destroy others.

But the people, the animals and the trees laugh heartily, trying to steal some of those moments back from life, just for a little more.

Perhaps, perhaps this is what they do back home too, but I never went out to parks like these, so I have no recollections, aside from when I personally was young.

I wish I had a camera.