Chapter Text
[CHRONICLES OF YESTERDAY]
Arc 0: The First Shelf
[0-0: Begin]
Introduction
(Source: https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/reverse1999/images/f/f7/Laplace_Chief_of_Staff_Office_BG.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/1000?cb=20251201011017)
The 'Storm' was an enigma.
Neither science nor Arcane theory could explain its true origins. Seven times it had occurred, and no one, not even the scientific palaces of Laplace nor the most prestigious of Arcane organizations could present any coherent theory regarding it.
The year was 2007, but the outside world knew it as 1966.
Within the myriads of offices in Saint Pavlov Foundation headquarters, a committee member poured over the latest proposals and theories of what the Storm phenomenon consisted of. None of them were convincing, essentially being more guesses based on limited data. Aside from the safe rooms and areas miraculously based on a few existing places, they didn't even have a way to protect field agents from the effects of the Storm outside of established safe zones.
The Foundation learned the hard way that no arcane or scientific rituals could protect oneself from the storm, paid for by the lives of brave individuals. Sacrifice, in no uncertain terms, but their current progress was making their loss seem worthless.
Knock Knock
"Excuse me, Madam Z? I have an intelligence report from the Vigiles Bureau."
The door to Madam Z's office swung open, a Foundation secretary coming in with a single binder. As she received the file, there was something off about it which came to her mind.
"The Vigiles Bureau? Should this not be given to the Field Investigators?"
"I did bring it up to the courier, but the note said that you should take a look at it, erm, from someone called Black Ibis, ma'am."
Madam Z nodded, the mystery behind this file clearing up immensely.
"I see. Thank you, Melina. I will take it from here."
Quickly leaving her alone once more, the committee member untied the rope binding the file together, finding a note waiting for her on the first page of the collection. Picking it up, she read it in her native language…
'Zhizhi,
Came across these three POIs during inspections of other branches. With the Vigiles database now synced together, some investigators noticed they were getting multiple files. After some double checking, we realized each report came from a different year. Most likely Manus agents, but their activities are not clear to us. Perhaps you and that Timekeeper of yours could take a look instead.
You owe me another hotpot meal for this,
B.I.'
Madam Z looked at the message from her friend and smiled. Hopefully the next era would bring them closer to the 90s for some decent food. Reviewing her note however, did make one thing clear. To their knowledge, the only other group who could safely traverse from one Storm to the next were members of the Manus Vindictae. Were they responsible for the Storm in the first place? Arcanists taking advantage of it?
They had little intelligence on them, but it was clear that they were an increasing threat to the continued proper history of mankind. Opening the folders, perhaps the contents inside could lead to an actual capture of their agents, and in turn, reveal their true goals.
"Hm…a psychiatrist, the Foundation could use more of them these days." Opening the first file, she noted the first person of interest. First seen in Manila right after the third Storm, the subject was noted to be entirely out of place and stumbling around. Reports of shootouts in the city may or may not be traced to him, with further sightings in the fifth and sixth storms moving from Africa to the Levant. Though, noted to describe himself as a 'real psychologist' according to interviews conducted later. He gave his name out as Villamor, almost certainly a pseudonym.
Closing that file, nothing immediately stood out to her. Opening the second file, she found that this subject actually had a name attached to her.
"Rozhanitsa…an orphanage director?"
First appearing in Moscow after the second Storm, she came under suspicion by local authorities due to running an unlicensed orphanage. Foundation investigators on her case in the local branch were stopped abruptly after the third Storm. Found again to be in the Ottoman Balkans taking care of orphans as a result of the First Balkan War. Field Investigator Semmelweiss noted meeting her in reports, but due to her not being high priority, it was only realised after the mission had been completed. Later follow-ups by investigators revealed former orphanage sites were completely abandoned after the next Storm.
Too many children had been orphaned as a result of the Storm, the SPDM certainly knew that very well. Sighing, Madam Z turned to the last page, finding that there was an actual image.
"…no name, multiple recorded identities…but a Feng Shui master? My parents would have hired one when building their house…"
One of her fellow countrywomen, she was first seen in Hong Kong right after the first Storm. Soon appeared on the Vigiles radar after several high profile complaints and property disputes which linked back to her. Contact lost between the second and third Storms. Suspected appearance in Shanghai before the fourth Storm amidst rampant property speculation in the local market. Noted to always appear in a different name and clothing, the sole thing binding them all was her Feng Shui master persona. The Vigiles local branch also found evidence of an ancient beast in her Arcane skills, but evidence of which one exactly has not yet surfaced.
Closing the last file, Madam Z was left with more questions than answers. So far, evidence pointed to people who survived the Storm without any outside help. Therefore, the first knee-jerk reaction may have been to rightly suspect Manus Vindictae involvement...
"But…they don't seem like one of them."
Their modus operandi, if the Manus even had one, did not quite apply to them. A psychologist, orphanage director and Feng Shui master, even if the latter one was self claimed. Those factors did not immediately mean being one of them, some shambling monster or agent of chaos as most Manus they encountered were. Yet, the fact remained they not only survived on their own, but were likely still out there, somewhere.
Just three random strangers with no evidence of working together, yet their pattern was something she could not ignore. In this unprecedented time, who could scarcely afford to let any lingering thread go?
Madam Z prepared a message to be sent out, these three would become high value targets, to be discovered by not just the Foundation but by their allies in arms. With Laplace and Zeno on their side, they could not hide from them for long even in an ever-changing world. The message was sent to all branches in the next half hour, alongside all the information available regarding these three Storm ‘walkers’. It wasn’t a treasure trove of information, but enough for any decent investigator to work off, and the Foundation still had many of them in play.
She sighed again, for that line of thinking was awfully like Constantine just now.
"Apologies, but the peace of mankind comes first.”
For their sake, she hoped the Timekeeper would find them first. Though considering how far apart these three strangers were…it didn't seem likely.
》Vienna, Austria
》August 7, 1960
The city of Vienna was a city in transition.
The conservative, quiet post-war atmosphere had begun to mingle with the sudden influx of swinging pop culture—the beginning of the “Swinging Sixties.”
The air was dusty and gray, with traffic from various classic vehicles such as the old German Volkswagen Beetle and the Austrian “Pucherl” filling nearly every street. People walked along the sidewalks without their eyes cast down; some watched the windows of old and rebuilt shops, while others moved with purpose toward destinations known only to themselves.
It was a peaceful city in the midst of a changing world.
Of course, there were minor problems here and there.
Some roads still bore the scars of a war that had engulfed the entire globe for a second time. Construction efforts were underway, but it would take another two decades before all of them had healed.
In a dingy yet cozy coffee house on a street with minimal traffic, words were exchanged quietly. Some conversations were casual. Others were hushed. And there were those that seemed a little too casual.
Nothing appeared alarming. The patrons wore appropriate clothing, blended naturally into the atmosphere, and quietly enjoyed their breakfast with companions or in solitude.
One of them, a man who looked no older than thirty, quietly watched the scenery outside the coffee house with a silent gaze, as though what he witnessed was worth capturing in a photograph.
But that was not why he was there. After all, he did not belong there.
A waitress approached his table, smiling pleasantly before asking the seated man, who turned toward her the moment she drew near.
“What would you like to order, Herr?” she asked. The moment she took one look at his skin, her smile became noticeably more plastic.
The man showed no reaction to the sudden change. “Caffè latte and Sachertorte, please,” he replied with a flawless Austrian accent.
The waitress's face flushed. “Very well, mein Herr.”
The man watched the woman beat a hasty retreat before shaking his head.
“Ugh, why did I have to do this?” he muttered quietly in exasperation, the Austrian accent gone and replaced by a distinctly Asian one.
He was there to await his companion, listen to the conversations around the coffee house, and see if he could trace his target before the next “Storm.”
A black-haired boy, no older than eight, took a step forward onto the bustling street, his small frame barely noticeable amid the surrounding tourists.
Just as he took his first step–
“Hey there, kiddo! Didn’t anyone remind you to look left and right before crossing the road?” A thick Russian-accented voice called out, playful yet tinged with concern. Before he could respond or realize the danger, his wrist was grabbed tightly as a WD Denzel 1300 sped past them.
The boy stammered. “A-ah… Thank you, uhm, Frau?”
She loosened her grip around the boy's wrist. “No need to know my name, just call me Frau, or Fraulein.” She dusted her shirt off.
“Say, Kiddo, where is… that one cafe… or would it be a coffee house?” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. ‘Cafe… Ha…’
“... Can you specify, Frau?” The kid tilted his head.
“Café Hawelka?” The lady leaned with a grin on her face. “I was hoping to find it. Do you know the way?”
The kid looked thoughtfully for a second, tapping his shoes. “Ah!” Then, the boy's eyes lit up. “Uh-huh! Just follow me!” He turned and began walking, pointing excitedly at the building to her left. “We go this way."
As they walked, the boy glanced up at her, curious. “Are you a tourist too, Frau?”
“Ah, yes,” she replied, “But I’m also here on a little adventure. I love exploring new places and meeting new friends, like you~.”
The boy smiled shyly. “I’m not really a tourist. I live here. I just came out to explore a bit by myself.”
“A brave little explorer, then,” she said, chuckling. “Just remember, even brave explorers need to stay safe!”
He nodded, puffing his chest. “I’ll be careful! I promise.”
As they approached the shop, she asked him a particular question. “Mhm, do you have parents?”
The kid shook his head, “Nope… Orphan… I don't wanna talk about it,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the ground.
“Ah… How about I treat you with Sachertorte, kiddo~” she purred, her Russian accent curling around the words like smoke. Her eyes, a striking shade of amber.
“Okay!” The boy grinned as they continued on their way, weaving through the crowd.
The coffee house felt stuffed.
The man in light brown clothes ate his pastry while drinking his coffee, sipping lightly as his ears kept every conversation on track.
One spoke about the growing movement of a radical underground art movement known as Vienna Actionism. He mentally noted it as a “Later” investigation.
Rebuilding efforts are underway, but numerous construction sites and providers found their supplies replaced with counterfeit ones or stolen. He marked it as “Possible Inflection Point”.
There’s one who was talking about birds. Even exotic ones like the extinct Spix’s Macaw and the Shoebill. He noted that as “Coded”.
And then there’s one who is looking at the newspaper too closely.
Arcanists are people too! The paper is boldly titled.
The Reform Act of 1959 is the key to control standardized Arcane use!
Manus Vindictae: Friend or Foe?
The Foundation declares an emergency meeting!
St. Pavlov’s call for the homeless!
He sighed. There’s almost nothing worth delving on–
The door of the coffee house opens with a ring of its bells.
His eyes looked up and his expression turned sour.
Two men from the Bundessicherheitswachekorps, or the Federal Safety Guard Corps, entered the establishment at a slow pace. Their highly identifiable distinct post-1955 light green, four-pocket military-style jackets with a traditional, robust black Tschako stood out among the classic colors of brown, black, white, and gray.
Their eyes scanned the surroundings. No, not the surroundings.
They’re looking at faces.
One of them stepped up, “Who among you were arcanists? Please raise your hand and prepare your designated passes. This will be a routine check, nothing more.”
Bullshit.
Some hesitated, others willingly raised their hands with their passes held high in their fingers.
There were only 7 arcanists in the room. 8 if it's technical.
He kept his hand down but the man with the newspaper in front of him huddled closer.
The attempt didn’t make him less conspicuous.
The officers honed into that simple fact with sharp precision. “Hey, you. The one with the newspaper.”
The aforementioned guy froze, his hands trembled as he gripped the paper like a lifeline.
The police were incensed, “Hey, I said–”
“Down with the supremacists!”
Time slowed.
A cup flew into the air.
It sailed over a short distance before the mug hit the rising volatile man to the face.
The ceramic broke, disgorging its hot payload of caffe latte directly to the man’s nose bridge.
The blow knocked him backwards, but it was too late.
The arcanum is already firing.
It flew towards him with a flash.
“Ah, bugger–”
The quiet morning of Vienna’s street was suddenly interrupted by an explosion that happened inside of one of the coffee houses. The force of it is enough to knock everyone nearby down to the ground as smoke and dust kicked up a storm, obscuring sight and hiding the figure of a man who was cursing under his breath as he stepped out of the shop with little soot on his brown clothes.
“Why does this always happen to me?” He bemoaned as he tried to blend into the crowd, only for him to bump into someone hard.
“Ack!” He was knocked back a few steps back, “Sorry, excuse–”
His mouth clicked shut when he saw who he had just stumbled into.
Dark blue colors with black and gray were certainly a fashion choice, even for Vienna standards. They’re not really trying to blend in, after all. They had been scouring for their own target for the past hour.
Until now.
“You.” One spoke with a tone bordered to a bark, “With us. Now.”
Before the man in light brown clothes could reply, an army of footsteps was heard behind him in numbers.
“You! You are under rest! All of you!” It was the Bundessicherheitswachekorps who brandished their batons and pistols towards the man and the people he bumped into.
The said man did not hesitate. He picked a direction that is not forward or backward and legged it.
“He’s getting away!”
“After him!”
“Detain these arcanists!”
“Fuck off, human scum!”
Then Vienna’s street became a cacophony of battle.
For the man, it’s not his monkeys, and definitely not his business either.
It didn’t take long for him to meet his companion on their designated retreat point, where he saw her waiting there without a care in the world.
“You fucking knew that my cover will be blown.” The man growled in anger at the waiting woman, walking past her and heading towards a Kubewagen parked on the side of the street.
“Yes, I did.” Her tone smug and lithe with a french accent, “And I suppose you found your target, yes?”
“More like they found me.” The man didn’t waste any more time as he entered the vehicle and began the laborious procedure of turning it on.
He never knew how much he missed things until it was gone.
And to make matters worse, hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of the Bundessicherheitswachekorps.
“Freeze! Both of you, stop what you’re doing and step out of the vehi–”
The policeman’s words were drowned out by the roar of the Volkswagen's engines.
The man did not hesitate and threw the car in reverse, the policemen barely avoiding the speeding car as it drove out of the street and into another.
A moment passed. “Get to the cars!”
(Source: https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/reverse1999/images/0/0d/Clinic_BG.png/revision/latest?cb=20241217074209)
The swinging sixties was an age caught between the old and the new. It was right when the historic buildings built at the height of European power began to really show their age, resulting in issues of maintenance, relevance and questions of worth. Though Vienna was a city that prided itself on tradition, the forces of modernity meant it couldn't just sit idly by.
"…and this attic in particular! For decades it has been left alone, probably used as storage until a local historian rediscovered that this is where one of the first psychiatrists of Vienna worked! A woman too, in a time when the field was burgeoning and dominated by men, though I guess everything was dominated by men everywhere during the 1910s."
The old owners of buildings in Vienna saw their aging properties as objects of concern more than a valuable asset. With buyers often unwilling to purchase an aging building with all the necessary baggage it came with, from maintenance, renovation to new safety standards that did not exist when these buildings were built. Thus, alternative ways of increasing its 'value' were sought out.
"Hm…I am unsure…the Sha Chi energy, what we in the business term evil energy, is quite abundant in this attic, it may in fact reduce the overall value to buyers…"
In this era of swinging freedom, the old ideas that governed Viennese society were loosened greatly. What was in vogue were the new ideas brought forth from other parts of the world once ignored as inferior beliefs. Yet, after the carnage of two World Wars the city no longer had the deep influence of its old aristocracy or the restrictive governments influenced from its much larger neighbour to their north. To be in Vienna now was to participate in a changing metropolis, one where out with old, and in with the new was the order of the day.
The old owner of this building, herself a former Aristocrat now just as common as anyone else, had a look of horror on her aged face. This news was not what she expected whatsoever.
Hook, line and sinker. The other person in the room was a young woman in her 20s, her appearance was exotic for 1966 in the city. After all, few 'orientals' made their way across Europe on any regular basis in this era; airlines were not quite up to the ease of access compared to decades later. Still, she had to look the part, and thus wore a silk Qipao alongside a western-style leather coat purely to lure in potential…customers.
"But…t-the building itself has been well kept! And in this age, is there no value in its history? Surely that fact alone could…"
"Ah…but you see, in the view of Feng Shui, aside from location, shape and atmosphere, history plays a huge part as well. You just said this was used by a psychiatrist, meaning, it was likely a place where people came in with negative emotions, no?"
To the inhabitants of the city, Feng Shui was an entirely novel and new practice, perfect for the gullible and interested. Doing this here was way easier than in her home city, for they had little prior knowledge and thus needed much less effort to be convincing.
"Y-Yes…but that is guaranteed, is it not? A psychiatrist helps people who have those negative emotions. The one for this building, a Lady Vingler said as much in the notes she left here. I was planning on having them framed as an extra attraction for-"
The Feng Shui master, the only one in this city, shook her head with dramatic poise.
"No…no, if the person was famous and we had records of her full life, then the negative energy of this place would be…mou mantai. However, you said it yourself, this 'Vingler' disappeared around, what? The start of the Great War? We do not know what happened to her, it could be something terrible, and what about her patients who were still seeing her? All of those mean that this attic in particular is a harbor for evil energies!"
From a hidden pouch in her dress, a pre-prepared spray of red crimsonroot powder was flung out as she pointed to the center of the room. Thrown at the same time as a Fulu, a talisman with gibberish written on it floated to the ground. After a few seconds, the powder reacted with the air, making it seem like a dark red miasma had appeared right on top of the talisman…
"Mein gott! Was is das?! I was living underneath that the entire time?!"
"Do not worry! This miasma only affects those who spend considerable time in here, which is why you did not notice any bad fortune. My…Arcane skill simply exposed it to your regular human gaze. It is best that you do not approach, for they can cause bad fortune to increase ten-fold."
As the old owner stepped back, she too pretended to not breathe in the 'miasma'. Not because it was actually miasma, but solely because crimsonroot power in this era was still quite spicy, nothing like the industrially processed version that removed it decades later.
"As you can see, that is only one spot of this room. Who knows where else this evil energy may lie? Aside from the dangers of being inside, you also might bear legal liability here. If a visitor comes and gets sick, or worse from this miasma, the authorities may decide you were responsible due to negligence. I am sure you don't want to defend yourself in court later on, hai ma?"
The older woman was even more scared at the mention of legal liability, exactly as it was back home. People were less scared of ghosts and the like, for those could be avoided given proper payment to priests who knew what they were doing. Legal liability on the other hand needed a good lawyer to avoid, and even then there could be blind spots coming out of nowhere to bite them.
"O-Of course not! Thank you, Miss Ying…those property developers from last week, did they perhaps know it immediately? No wonder they gave me such a low offer…"
"Hm…then in that case, it might be the only offer you can get. If I found it, so can the local priests here, even the ones that follow your God. I would consider that offer if I were you, for good fortune like that may not come your way anytime soon."
Ying, self-advertised Feng Shui master in Vienna, put on her most serious expression. This part was always the hardest, as she had to fight down the urge to fall to the ground…laughing.
"I-I see…ah, your payment. But before then, can we discuss ways to remove this miasma? I know it is not within your duties, but I am willing to pay extra for such a service."
"Of course! I shall be right here waiting. Experience tells me that this miasma is not too strong, there may be ways to keep it at bay, or even expel it entirely."
For good measure, she discretely sprayed more powder on top of the Talisman, continuing the 'miasma' sighting in the room. It only prompted the old woman to leave quicker, who knew someone her age could still move so quickly?
"…and that is another mark down. I should have done this earlier if I'd known the people here were so easy to trick!" Speaking in her native Cantonese, the Feng Shui master let herself fall on the aged leather sofa. Waving her hands to dispel the powder, she let herself sigh for a job well done.
"I just need to phone those developers and I'll get paid twice…ah, this city's better than Tokyo. I thought their companies were on the rise, who knew they were so stingy about money?"
After the…sixth, maybe seventh time she got caught in rain, Ying decided to leave East Asia in general and explore the big wide world out there. How long had it been since it started? More than half a decade for sure, but with time itself being fluid and constantly reversing, it was hard to keep track of exactly how long this had been happening to her.
'Ying' wasn't even her real name, just a fake one made for this…era so that the Viennese could pronounce her name. She had a new one each time the years reversed, as any prior identity she made for herself was swept away at the start of each new era. Why bother putting so much effort into it when there would be no record of her existence a decade past…maybe even more the next time she found herself in the rain?
As she tried to get up from the sofa however, she was immediately assaulted by a mind numbing migraine, forcing her to collapse back down.
"Ugh…diu, I ran out of medicine from the last era…" The painkillers from the 70s helped it during these episodes, but the last two…reversals put her into the 1930s and 1910s respectively. She was eager to try new things, but trying medicine from those eras specifically was not on her to-do list.
"If the next one goes forward, I'm stocking a decade's worth of them."
If it did, as it was for the most recent one. Jumping a huge half a century from where she was in 1912.
And like each time before, she was the only one who had this…nightmare keep happening without end. Everyone else, no matter which era she was in, thought her to be crazy. The first time Ying experienced it, she was nearly thrown into an asylum for frantically asking why they had gone back three years into the past, only to be told they were in the present.
Then, it happened again, and again, and…
"Tch…what medicine do they even have in this era for migraines? Morphine? I'd hate to get an injection for it…"
She survived, the only survivor from her time. Taking out her Luo Pan, a tool that all Feng Shui diviners used, it continued as normal. Which was doing nothing…until the years started to reverse, it only activated then, and never any other time. If she had legitimate training of Arcane skill, perhaps its secrets could be discovered. Though, no real Feng Shui master would take in a child with the barest of Arcane blood, barely able to sense Arcanum let alone do any incantations.
“Is it so different now…?”
Ying survived in her time, the year of 1999 exactly as she was doing now. No matter which era, there were always those wishing to hear the right answers…for a price. Before she could close her eyes…some bastard outside ripped through the streets of Vienna, screeching rubber and a terribly loud engine assaulting her hearing. Lately, her hearing had become more and more sensitive as the eras shifted. What were once distant sounds that didn’t bother her were now coming from essentially right beside her.
Getting up, she went to the open window and found…some idiot barreling through the streets of Vienna in a car, itself being chased by numerous other ones at high speed. Was crime a huge issue in this era of the city too? If so, then it was more like home than initially thought.
“Vienna is quite rowdy too…that only makes it all the easier for me.”
Closing the window, the chase was not her problem. Besides, she had two more potential marks today. In this city with so much history, she only cared about how to extract as much gold as possible before the rain came once more.
As they approached the café, its old wooden sign, ‘Café Hawelka’, creaking gently in the breeze, the tall lady leaned closer to the orphan. Her movement was languid.
“So, kiddo~,” she purred, once more. “Tell me more about Vienna~. Not the boring stuff from guidebooks. Tell me what it’s really like.” her eyes gleaming.
The boy, still puffing his chest with the pride of a successful guide, looked up at her. The morning sun caught the dust motes in the air between them. He thought for a moment, scuffing the worn toe of his shoe against the cobblestone.
“Well, I’m… not really a historian, Frau,” he admitted, his voice losing a little of its bravado. He glanced at the cracked paving stones, a sudden shyness taking over. “But I could tell you some folk stories that die Betreuerin used to tell us! They’re much better than history.”
The tall lady’s smile widened, a slow, encouraging curve of her lips. She tilted her head, a stray lock of her white hair falling across her cheek. “Hmm, go on~. I adore a good story. A story is a window to a place’s soul, don’t you think?” Her gaze was intense, but not unkind, making him feel as if his words were the most important thing in the world at that moment.
Emboldened, the boy stopped just a few steps from the café’s door and turned to face her fully, his small hands gesturing with the seriousness of a seasoned performer. “Okay! There was a boy named Toni. He lived right here in Vienna. But he had no family, just like…”
He faltered, then swallowed and pushed on, “and he was living on the streets. It was very cold, and he was always hungry. But then, one day, he was hiding in an alley near St. Stephen's Cathedral, and a kind musician found him. He gave him a warm roll and took him in. He wasn’t just any musician; he had a whole choir, and he taught Toni how to sing!”
Before he could finish, the tall lady’s amber eyes flew wide open with a spark of pure, unadulterated delight. “Oh! Singende Jugend!”
The boy’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. His carefully rehearsed story came to a screeching halt. “You… you know that story, Frau?” he asked, his voice a mixture of shock and awe. None of the other tourists he’d ever spoken to had known it.
“Of course I do!” she beamed down at him, her entire demeanor softening into something warm and almost nostalgic. She reached out and gently tapped the tip of his nose with her gloved finger. “It’s a story that’s very dear to me.”
She then straightened the collar of his worn jacket with a tender, almost maternal touch. “I promised you something, didn't I? So let's enjoy it while it lasts, m’kay?”
The Volkswagen Type 82 Kubelwagen was one of Germany's most mass-produced utility vehicles back in WW2. From SS patrol groups to Command groups, it’s a vehicle that served the war alongside its contemporaries like the Willy’s jeep. Nearly 50,000 to 52,000 were made by the end of 1945.
It was light, mobile, and very easy to drive around corners.
It’s still a terrible vehicle to use for the driver’s standards.
“Punyeta, they’re catching up!” Normally, the man in light brown clothes could leave anyone behind biting dust trails in his wake. He after all liked to drive wildly and his teen age days were equally similar.
The Kubelwagen is good, yes. But it can’t drift around the corner without oversteering.
Coupled with the fact that E-brakes wouldn’t be a thing until a few decades later, it means he’s stuck at gripping the entire wheel and bodily throwing the car in every corner just to add distance away from his pursuers.
But as he suspected, he’s running out of space and time.
“Well, that was fun and all but I’m not trying to get arrested today.” His companion remarked lazily, not minding her long platinum blonde hair whipping erratically in the wind behind her, “Good luck finding yourself out here, Villamor.”
“Wait, wha–?!” Before the man could protest, the woman hopped out of the vehicle and into a nearby window which conveniently shut before the Bundessicherheitswachekorps’ police cars came rounding around the corner.
“PUTAKTE!” He cursed loudly, “Punyetang babaetang–”
While he indeed lost his chasers, and his companion, temporarily, he lost control of the kubelwagen.
One hard turn was enough to overthrow the entire small vehicle into a roll.
The man jumped out before it could topple over on its top, controlling his fall by dropping into a roll.
Stopping before the overturned vehicle, he quickly ran towards the trunk and popped it open, taking several clothes within before closing it and ran towards a small back alley.
Without pausing, he removed his light brown coat and threw aside his hat, ripping off his buttoned-up suit in favor of a new one with gray and white colors. He then changed his shoes from brown to black, removing all his clothing and promptly (and sometimes awkwardly) putting on his backup clothes.
By the time he left the alleyway, he was an entirely different person in different clothes.
Less noble, subtle, and simple. Just what he likes.
And as smoothly, he entered a nearby coffeehouse named Café Hawelka.
The doorbell rang as the man entered. Not hurried nor hesitated.
A key to being conspicuous is to be like a citizen or person within the environment you’re trying to blend in.
It’s not easy to do it either. Being lost to the world so much, he learned how to conceal his uncertainty in his surroundings.
The cafe was quaint. Quiet, peaceful, and cozy.
He didn’t let his inner guard down, of course. He lost count how many times a seemingly passive area suddenly turned violent the moment he stepped in or stayed for too long there.
There’s not much that's noteworthy, save for a very tall woman and a boy in a lively conversation on the counter front.
He paid them no mind and sat beside the tall woman, “A cup of Wiener Melange, please.”
He placed the payment on the counter before sighing softly, “What would I give for a signal or two here?”
As if there’s something like that in this era. Everything here is painfully modern. Not like his original era, per se.
He sighed tiredly, digging through his pocket to feel the weight of one of the only things that connected him to his real world. Where he didn’t have to stumble unto every precinct in history or simply just do his work as a psychologist.
“Heh, as if that makes it easier. Punyetang Bagyo.” The curse went through so smoothly that he didn’t realize that his accent switched mid-thought.
A clink on the table shook his thoughts, snapping him back at the present.
“Your order, Mein Herr.” The Cafe tender said.
The man in a gray coat smiled, “Danke.”
The cafe tender gave him a nod before he went back to his station.
Taking a sip of his order, he procured something that had been his trusty ration whenever he was hungry.
A box of brown biscuits. Graham biscuits.
It was fitted inside his coat or bag if he’s on the road, plus he only needs water to offset the bitter and cardboardy taste of the snack.
A dip into the cup solved that problem. He bit the biscuit and savored its taste, bringing him back to his young days sneaking off to gather mangoes, condensed milk, and whipped cream to make his own graham cake dessert.
He can still do it, of course. But there hadn’t been a good opportunity to use it.
Dipping the brown biscuit into the coffee again, he began to hum a song that was stuck inside his mind a few eras ago.
“I was made for lovin' you, baby. You were made for lovin' me~. Hmm, hm, hmm humu hm, baby, can you get enough of me~.”
His humming was soft, akin to a mindless and unconscious move that can only be heard if you’re near enough. He learned to do things quietly, lest he get accused of being insane, or an arcanist, or both.
It’s still a pain in the ass, but moments like these made it worth it.
“So… Kiddo, tell me, do you think the world is a scary place?” The question hung in the air for a moment.
The man in the gray coat couldn’t help it. His ears honed in towards the conversation on his right, idly dipping his biscuit in the cup and into his mouth.
“Hmm…” The kid beside her hummed in thought, brows furrowed as he put down his slice of cake back on his plate. "It can be scary, sometimes," he admitted, "When the big kids throw stones near the shelter. When it's cold and you can't feel your toes. When the policemen look at you too long."
He paused, and then his face brightened, "But! But it's also nice. Like when the bakery lady gives you the broken cookies for free. Or when it's summer and the whole city smells like flowers from the Prater."
The tall lady said nothing, merely tilting her head, waiting.
The boy's smile turned philosophical, far too wise for his eight years. "It could definitely get better! Isn't it always the case? Those things can be scary and nice all mixed up, but that means they can get better too?" He looked down at the table, tracing a whorl in the marble with his fingertip. "Die Betreuerin used to say that the world is like a Sachertorte. A little bitter, mostly sweet, and you have to share it with someone else for it to taste right."
"Hmm… I see~.” she stretched, her hands high up, before grabbing her cup of coffee. "Your Betreuerin was a very wise woman. You hold onto that, little Toni. That way of seeing things."
Before she took a small sip, she added almost to herself. "Some people go their whole lives without learning what you just told me. And some... forget it along the way."
The eavesdropping man hummed in approval. Deep, quite insightful, really.
Was the world a scary place? True, he can admit it. But where’s the joy of finding yourself if you already know what’s ahead of you? That’s not an experience, in his opinion. That’s just Determinism.
She nudged the kid before whispering something in his ear.
As she finished, she turned to her left side. “Also, shouldn't you stop acting naive? It's not nice to eavesdrop on our conversation.”
The man choked on his soaked biscuit, the soppy grains of cardboard taste went to his nose and clogged his throat for a moment.
“Ah, gaugh! Cugfh, I- srry, fudhe.” He mumbled, inhaling a few times to unstuck the clog in his nose, snorting loudly before finally swallowing it, “Cagh. Hesus, Maria, Josep, you can’t just do that.”
“... Are you an arcanist?” the lady poked.
His expression went deadpan, “Excuse me, what the actual fuuu…”
His eyes went to the kid staring at him with an innocent yet guarded look.
“..uuuudge I don’t know what you meant by that.”
He really, really should’ve expected this. Why can’t his life be a bit less exciting?!
“It's pretty obvious when you speak about certain… terms.”
“What.” The man just stared at her, baffled.
What kind of jump of logic is that?! “Ma’am, do I look like I’m questionably sane?”
“Yes.” The lady gave a deadpan stare.
“Ayup!”
The man felt a part of his soul died at the one-two combo, “What makes you say that? Actually, hang on, why did you even talk to me in the first place? Do I know you?”
“No.”
“Nope.”
“Then why are we even having this conversation?” He fought his tone down to sound less incredulous than he actually was feeling.
Both the lady and the child gave him a thoughtful pose. “It's… Fun!” both answered.
“Fun.” The man in the gray coat repeated with an exasperated tone. “Are you- did you really just accuse me of being one of those guys under the premise of fun?”
“Should've seen this arcanist’s face, priceless, am I right, kiddo?”
“Mhm!”
The man wanted to die on that spot, “Ok, ok, let’s- let’s calm down for a second, ok? How can I prove myself as not an arcanist then? There’s just no way I’m one. Believe me, I checked.”
The last time he held an arcane medium with his left, he was full of black soot as a result.
The kiddo turned towards the tall lady, “That’s what all arcanists would say.”
“So suspicious~” she said with a mocking tone.
“Gah!” The man threw up his arms, “You both are impossible. Infuriating even.” He huffed as he drank his cup of Wiener Melange.
“Wow, be careful, kid, he might cast a spell with that coffee~.”
“I'm so scared, Frau protect me~”
He set the cup down before covering his face with his palm, “Why are you both like this? Why? Why every time I meet a girl or a woman, they have to be either smug, biiieenches, manipulative, or all of the above?!”
“So scary~. Be careful, kiddo, he might be able to mind control you with words alone~.”
The kid began to have a fit of laughter. “S-so, *Snickers* scary~.”
Before the man could retort, the doors of the cafe opened with a ring.
Two men from the Bundessicherheitswachekorps.
The man in the gray coat went quiet and assumed a casual stance, leaning on the counter with both of his arms.
“Everyone, please be calm. This will be a routine check. All arcanists, please present your cards.”
The men started going through the cafe, finding only two arcanists who gave their cards and eventually returned back.
He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when one of the men suddenly spoke.
“You there, on the counter.”
Great. Juuuust great.
He heard the policeman move forward towards them, “You, are you both arcanists?”
He took a peek.
The uniformed man was speaking to the tall woman and the boy.
“None here.” The tall lady shook her head.
“Nope!” the kid responded, before finally taking another bite of his chocolate cake.
He mentally sighed in relief.
“Hm. Very well.” The policemen gave them a tip of their hats, “Have a good day, Frau.”
Soon enough, they left with the jingle of the cafe doors.
The man in the gray coat deflated, “Ugh, finally. The pattern broke~. I ain’t going to jail this time~.”
“Hmm, so were you actually an arcanist?”
“Lady, I will find your mother and ask how she could let a heartless woman grow like this.”