"That place… Over here… What is it about?"

"… You won't need to trouble yourself with, I already have it under control."

"I'm starting to think you look at me as a paper weight more than the person who begged for my help. What about all of things you asked from me? That long talk you gave me? Don't tell me it's all jack with you."

"Again, I have a plan. We follow it and we'll have everything running smooth. You don't have to like it for it to work."

"You and your plans… Is this ones of yours involve those special forces I've seen with you earlier? Believe me when I tell you this, you're either making the biggest mistake and public relations nightmare or you're really just this shallow minded. I think it's called only looking at the smaller picture…"

"Where are you going with this exactly? Or are you just head to give me a headache enough as this is? I have not had a night sleep for weeks because of this."

"I am trying to stop a massacre from happening. One you're indirectly facilitating by sending your secret police."

"A massacre?! How could you think I would allow that inside-"

"Jesus, look at you. They're just two people and they got tons of problem already too much buried on top of them and what are you going to do about it? Send your government-sanctioned hit-squad after them? You gonk, which side are you on, exactly? Them or the corpos? People will panic if this gets out, you sending your armed soldiers against two citizen. I'd be more afraid of how the public reacts if word gets out. They'll riot out in the streets and it's out of moral obligations and the fear that they're next — that's worth more in fear than any corporate security only in it for money."

"… The one that can end this quickly."

"If any of one of those outside right now dies and I find your little Fox patrol — Whatever you wanna call them — around? I'll be visiting you soon. Pray it's only one. You better remind them to clean after their tracks."

"… Every since you arrive I have expected you to help me when you step out of that train. You are everything I had looked for as an aide. Since then, it's been nothing but clashing heads with you over and over. I try my best to lead everyone through this, but it has never got any easier."

"You asked from a third party opinion, you get my opinion: I just don't want people to die, that's it. Tensions are high and if one slip up happens and we got one that dies. The public will be led thinking your people are there for or are from the corpos about to take their land, I'd too would be worried if they'd lash out — Especially the younger one; She's prone to cause trouble, I intended to make sure she won't."

"…"

Chapter 3 — Kivotos, Welcome to!

"Urgh…" What a night.

I sat up from my place on the ground. The fire already died out, a faint trail of dark smoke was left. Now, the sun was shining down in the place in its stead.

That girl…

I stirred from my slumber, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light filtering through the dusty windows. As consciousness crept back, I expected to see her when I wake up, but all that remained was my jacket, unceremoniously sprawled on the floor where I had last glimpsed her before succumbing to sleep.

Right, I tossed her my jacket to be her blanket for the night… Now I remember.

With a mixture of confusion and concern, I gave the room a cursory once-over the room. The silence was unsettling, broken only by the faint creaking of the old floorboards as I rose to my feet. There was no-one here.

I scooped up my jacket and began a search of the house for the kid.

Room by room, I looked for any sign of her presence, but found nothing. The realization slowly sank in: she was gone. The girl had slipped away in the night, left no trace behind.

As I stood in the empty living room, another thought struck me. One possibility: Oh, no… I hastily patted down my pockets, checking for anything that might be stolen.

My hands brushed against the familiar shape of the bottle I had stashed away deep in one of the coat pockets.

Well, at least you're still here. For a moment, I was really considering that a bumbling girl who had gotten lost in the desert with nothing but her clothes actually pulled a fast one on me.

That would be so embarrassing if it actually happened.

Not that I have much with me at all.

I pulled out the blue bottle of beer. The best kind of beer, the gas station cheap kind. A wry smile tugged at my lips as I considered the irony. The most valuable thing I carried wasn't the revolver tucked away or the Pip-Boy strapped around my wrist, but this bottle and its happiness it could give me.

"Guess it's just you and me now." I muttered to the bottle, my voice sounding hollow in the empty house.

As I uncapped the bottle, I couldn't help but wonder where she had gone and why she had left so suddenly. But in the end, I guess it didn't matter much.

I took a long swig of the lukewarm drink. Stale, but edible and bitter enough.

Okay, then. If that girl lived near this place, granted if she's close to her school, I may be bound to meet her again, eventually.

Still, rude to leave me high and dry. Even If I also left her dry last night.

But the peace didn't last long.

The sudden eruption of gunfire shattered the peace enjoyed by me. My instincts kicked in, and I dropped, crouched, to the floor for cover with my head lowered.

The cacophony of shots rang through the air, seeming to come from outside.

Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I scrambled towards the nearest window, my body moving almost of its own accord.

My hand reached for the wall, already with the barrel of my revolver to clear out any shards of glass around that remained and leap into action.

But as I paused, listening intently, the nature of the gunfire became clearer. The rapid noise with bursts of sound painted a picture in my mind - not just one weapon, but many. The rhythmic, unrelenting fire could only mean one thing: fully automatic weapons. Many automatic weapons.

As the gunfire continued to echo through the air, I made a split-second decision to be more cautious in my approach, for the time being at least.

I ran out of the structure and walked along the row of deserted houses that lined the street. Through narrow spaces between buildings, I kept an ear tuned to the ongoing conflict.

The open road, where the fierce shootout was taking place. The rational part of my mind knew that it would be in my best interest to stay along the shadows cast by the abandoned homes, using them as cover as I advanced.

There I saw the fighting; A large gathering of one versus many.

My eyes adjusted to the firefight… I close in to see something different. Something that catches me off guard. They're short. Are they kids?

Hold on… I just had to make sure I wasn't seeing things. I rubbed both eyes to make sure there was also something that was off about these kids.

The guns and the shooting? That was normal — one I loathed to admit.

But the one that took my attention away from the fight, It was… Those shiny things that float on top of their heads?

Halos? Huh, must be a trend here… So the kid I was with yesterday wasn't the only one. Of all the things young people get hooked on, apparently these counts as fashionable nowadays.

Halos, of all things.

"You got some nerves stealing from us!"

This is getting troublesome, she thought. As another bullet whistled by, uncomfortably close to a student's cover. Her daily bicycle trip around the city had certainly taken a detour today.

What had started as a routine for her had somehow turned into an assault and robbery at a local gang's hangout spot.

The student's furry ears twitched involuntarily, flattening against her head with each piercing gunshot that ricocheted too close for comfort. She pressed her back tighter against the rusted metal of the abandoned truck that she hunkered for cover.

Alright, she begrudgingly admitted to herself. My weekly cycle around the city might have veered off course too far - by far - from its usual plan of taking pictures around places she cycled by.

It was risky, but if the opportunity of a gang hideout to steal from reveals itself — Of course, she won't say no to it when it's being offered to her.

She saw the money, and her school needs money.

Two wrongs can make good out of a situation, she reasoned. It would help in saving the school that meant so much to her and drag her fellow students out of the pothole they were in that was their debt.

Besides, she mused, it's less guilt to know it was already stolen before I came and took it. She wasn't the original thief. It wasn't her who stole from passerby or shaken down businesses after all.

A shout from the other side of her position called her out. "Come out and face us!" No time to think about right and wrong now.

The rest of the group continued to taunt her. "What's the matter? You were all fast and all that earlier — what happened?!" Well, I wasn't expecting they have this many on guard.

The student surveyed the position she was in, looked around her surroundings for any signs of an escape route. The realization dawned on her that there was no easy way out, especially not with the valuable cargo she planned to haul back to her school.

With a resigned sigh, she made a split-second decision. She tossed aside her rifle; the weapon clattering to the ground.

Need some space first.

In such situations, she turned to her other hobby. She produced a sleek white and blue dual-propelled drone from inside her bag, a constant companion on her cycling trips. While its underside camera was primarily for capturing landscapes she passes by, a small interest in photography, it now served a tactical purpose. The attached quad-tube rockets were a bonus, though aerial bombardment was far from her usual pastime.

Just as she was about to launch her drone, the street was filled with the unmistakable sound of louder gunfires. One discernable from the rest that it was aimed in her direction.

The sudden gunfire startled the pursuers, whose surprised cries were further cut off.

"Hey!" The first of the assailant's voice rang out, a mixture of shock.

"Noo!" Another attacker stumbled, the impact of the bullet audible, the metallic clank.

"Hey, I saved a month of my allowance for this holosight!" A third voice joined, adding to the growing chaos. "Are you kidding me! I had to work overtime!"

Another voice, likely belonging to their high-up, cut through frustrated screams and yells. "Everyone, let's get out of here!" The command was tinged with fear and urgency. "She got friends!" More gunfire followed.

As the attackers scrambled to fall back, one of them couldn't resist issuing a final, albeit pained, threat. "We'll get you for this, mark our words!" The bravado in her voice was undermined by a yelp that followed. "Come on, not my shotgun! I won this at a amusement park contest! Oh right… I didn't pay for it at least."

As the dust settled, the lone student froze amidst the fading sounds of hurried footsteps retreating, her hand ready to release her drone at the ready, just in case.

When the student peeked around her cover, she looked around. There was no-one. Just the empty street and equally empty houses and buildings. Just a tumbleweed passing by.

The unexpected aid that had turned the tide in her favor lingered in her mind, leaving her unsure of what to expect next.

The sight of them running away didn't make the situation lax as whoever her savior was.

Not a chance she couldn't let her guard down, not when the situation was still so uncertain about who is the third party was that joined.

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

There's only one she knew carried higher caliber, she pondered, but it couldn't be lesser than a few shots before a pause — to reload. It sounded more like a slow firing, with six shots interval before a pause…

However, the only one she knew to carry heavy caliber would shrug off an entire box of ammunition for an entire minute or more without so much as a thought to reload.

No, it couldn't be. They would call out for her name by now — if not earlier to let her know they're coming to help her.

But after what had replaced the earlier commotion, she knew she couldn't afford to be anything less than staying vigilant. The drone in her hand was ready, poised to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger.

"Nn…"

Once the coast was clear, she left the safety of her cover and what she saw. It was an impressive sight she had witnessed. She had to admit, after she spot the weapons lay scattered, shattered, and fragmented, left on the road.

The marksman behind this feat must possess high precision to hit such a diminutive target.

Probably a sign, too. It's time to leave. — for her.

She hoisted a comically large sack of valuable items that was beside her over her shoulders easily.

Well, if her help won't reveal itself to her; she won't ask.

The sack bulged and with a determined huff; she secured on her back it as best as she could before she cycled on with her drone trailing behind her for extra protection, just in case.

Nevertheless, she eagerly waits for the opportunity to meet them one of these days.

Someday.

…

As the dust settled and the echoes of gunfire faded, I deftly spun my revolver with a practiced flick of my wrist, the weapon dancing with twirls around my index finger before I finally guided it home into its leather holster.

From under the cover in an alleyway, my gaze lingered on the girl as she pedaled away, her figure gradually shrinking into the distance. The oversized burlap sack strapped to her bicycle was a curious sight, its bulk comically dwarfing her entirely.

Strange people… The thought drifted through my mind, a mix of bemusement and intrigue.

As the girl disappeared over the horizon, I shook off my momentary distraction.

No more delays, I wasn't going in to the heart of the city and find me some answers.

As I continued my journey, the landscape gradually transformed before my eyes.

The desolate scenery of crumbling structures being reclaimed by encroaching sand dunes gave way to a more familiar urban sprawl. Signs and advertisements, their garish colors, and bold typography are a stark contrast to the monochrome wasteland I'd left behind. Even the occasional flickering neon sign.

But it wasn't just the place that had changed. The inhabitants of this bustling area were definitely something.

As I weaved through the crowded streets, I found myself surrounded by people who look far different from me.

I mean, animal-people. The whole charade! Claws, full-body fur, ears, and a snout even. Don't tell it's all fashionware…

Shit is strange, indeed. Now, I was not one to stare at people, only trouble comes from that. But seeing a group just walk around is still a sight to stare at while they go about their day. Like a perfect dumpster fire, you're not sure how to react and it's wrong to stare at with mostly with disappointment or horror, but not a hundred percent all the way.

A part of it being so drawn to watch is being the morbid curiosity at play with — or thrown with for good measure.

Some people just have too much money and low self-respect to throw away. Fashionware, the epitome of low self-esteem. Only spineless chumps ever actually got peer pressured into getting them like a synth tattoo to full-blown animal appearance surgery, then at the other end of the spectrum are military veterans that want prosthetics and the ones who use the more technical fashionwares like a bio-monitor display on their wrist or a chameleon skin to blend with backgrounds. Not a fucking fashionware to implant your body with fur.

A part of me wondered if they're the result of some bizarre mutation rather than intentional modification instead.

If so, their existence took on a more tragic reason. One I would pity. That could explain why there are so many of them… But certainly a rare mutation to find, but here, they're everywhere.

The bots or the 'borgs meanwhile, eh, I've gotten used to them walking wannabe toasters. They could try to make them act human, but they're still a toaster to me.

Then these people with halos, probably the closest I can consider human. The only thing I could consider otherwise is that obvious disk and circles that hover above their heads. These kids are in uniform, school uniform, with a different type of firearms, like they're going to a shootout.

Horns, wings, tails, even animal ears. Yeah, par for the course for me to accept at this point. The halos, meanwhile, are new.

As I strolled past the shop's large window, an extraordinary scene caught my eye. Inside, a young girl with black horns with a golden halo was frantically devouring food from a rapidly moving conveyor belt as she grabbed plate after plate, stuffing her mouth.

Two sleek, metallic robots flanked her, their mechanical arms flailing in distress. Their synthesized voices rang out in unison, pleading, "Please, stop!"

The robots' attempts tugged at her arms, trying to pull her away from the relentless stream of dishes, but the girl was surprisingly held on, regardless.

Well, that's certainly a sight to behold.

After that affair, I stumbled upon a park where I spot not a just a single tent, but felt like a makeshift forward base with a helicopter even. I quickly step away before I get entangled by whatever that is.

Next, I trudged along the unfamiliar streets once more. Left that park behind me and whatever that whole thing was.

I passed by a group of kids with one of them almost hitting my coat with their green ice-cream. I think that's ice-cream. The one with the thin triangle-shaped bread under to hold it. Well, it was a close call. She apologized, and that was that.

Then there was this feeling I had. When I was looking at a map of the place at a bus-stop, I swore the wall on a building nearby has ears. Like it was listening to me. It was until I noticed the same wall had a bump once the sunlight lighten up a shadow to confirm for me. When I was about to check it, but I found a doll hidden behind some trash instead. It was white with pink accents that looked like an animal, even has a tail and ears.

Also, there was this kid, I think, playing with cats in the deeper part of the alley.

As for the bump on the wall? Gone, but I know it was there before. Maybe someone was there and left when I was about to approach, only did the crowd stopped my attention to it for a second.

As I rounded a bend, my attention was drawn to a figure hunched near a wall beside her was a small carton box filled with cans, the hiss of a spray can punctuating each motion she made along the wall.

Curiosity piqued, I slowed my pace to observe her work as I found myself in. Her movements were fluid and practiced, transforming the once-blank canvas of concrete into something vibrant. It's impressive to watch its development, actually.

As I drew closer, I could make out the emerging letters: " VERITAS". Thanks to the translation of my implants. It's the Latin word for truth that stood out in bold, stylized words over the several color splotches.

"Veritas." I murmured silently. I let out a heavy sigh, my gaze fixed on the graffiti artist as they added finishing touches to their work before they step back to admire their handiwork.

The graffiti now stood complete. I may not be into art, but I at least know what a good tag can look like. It was like what she made. Bright color, the type to snatch your attention.

I set my hat on my lap to give my head some air. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement. My fingers absently traced the brim of the hat.

The silence was broken by an unexpected voice. "Pretty sweet, huh?"

I turned, somewhat startled, to find the source of the question. It was the red-headed artist, her vibrant hair framing a face marked by a genuine, if slightly cautious, smile. Above her head, as if suspended by invisible strings, floated a halo and triangle of the same fiery hue as her locks. The surreal sight momentarily distracted me from my melancholy.

Realizing I hadn't responded, I swiveled back to regard her handiwork. The bold letters of "VERITAS" were tagged with a stylish font. "I admit," I began, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears, "I'd care less if I never saw a tag get made. So, yes, it's good."

The artist's footsteps crunched on the gravel as she moved closer, her gaze now fixed on me rather than her creation. "You don't sound impressed," she observed, her tone neutral but tinged with curiosity. The smile she offered was neither judgmental nor pitying, just a simple acknowledgment of my lukewarm response. "So, you like things when you see them get made? A strange proposition."

I shifted myself cautious, suddenly aware of attention at me. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say that, you can grow more interest in something you can witness its development. Like you're work, I get to see it and I appreciate it because of the fact I get to see how much you put into it first hand while you work. Besides," I fumbled, searching for words that wouldn't offend.

My hand waved vaguely towards her piece, a halfhearted gesture that felt as inadequate as my words. "I'm not someone exactly who'd be judging if someone's work is good or not — Like art, for example. I'm not pretty good myself. So I stay good distance afar; Just observer from there."

The artist's laughter, warm and unexpectedly kind. "Geez, you don't have to say all of that. You could say it as an opinion of your own. Not a fact. It is what it is." Her fist connected playfully with my shoulder, a friendly jab that seemed at odds with me. "It's bad for some people, it's good for others. Everyone's a critic. As long you enjoy what you do what counts."

I regarded her for a long moment, struck by her easygoing nature in the face of my reticence. Eventually, I turned back to the graffiti, its colors seeming a bit brighter than before. "I guess. I'll compliment it. It's pretty good." I conceded with a shrug that felt more like a surrender than agreement.

"Here." The word drew my attention back to the artist. In her extended hand was a spray can, its metallic surface glinting in the fading daylight. "How about you put your piece and I'll compliment it."

I stared at the offered can, words failing me entirely. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.

The artist's voice, softer now, broke through my indecision. "Well, you sound like someone who needs a cheering up. How about you let it all out on that wall over there? It helps me, maybe it could work the same to you."

"Ergh…" The non-committal sound escaped me before I could stop it, a verbal manifestation of my internal struggle.

Undeterred, she pressed on, her sincerity clear in every word. "You know, leave a little piece of you. It won't have to be known to people, just be left behind for those who pass by and see it. That's what counts for me."

I pondered her suggestion, weighing the comfort of inaction against uncertainty. The spray can gleamed invitingly in her hand.

I probably won't be back home… If at all. I could leave behind a message here instead. If what it would do for me?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity compressed into mere seconds, I reached a decision. "What the hell…" The words came out as a sigh, shallow resignation.

"That's the spirit!" Her enthusiastic response was accompanied by an encouraging thumbs up, her smile widening to reveal a genuine warmth that seemed to push back against the encroaching evening chill.

As I reached for the spray can, its surface was a cool contrast to my palm.

I stood up from my seat and approached the wall. Beside hers I before to start with the simple colors I first thought of with the box nearby containing other spray cans.

Red.

White.

Blue.

Brown.

Black.

Gold.

Gray.

The spray can hissed and sputtered as I awkwardly made lines to resemble shapes. As the image took form, I found myself lost in the act. I want to see what I would make of this.

A double-headed bear emerged from the chaos of my strokes, its twin visages snarling with a ferocity. The beast's fur was a patchwork of browns and blacks, each tuft a testament to my fumbling attempts at depth and texture. Its eyes, four burning points of amber, glared out at the world with a defiance I wished I could muster.

"Woah…" I heard her voice behind me cooed.

Above the bear, a set of white stars sprawled across. They were shaped uneven, or the placement wasn't along a straight line.. At the center of this array, a single gold star shone brightly, encircled by a golden border that wavered and bulged where my hand had trembled. The effect was both striking and slightly askew as the result.

Vertical stripes of blue and white ran bars ran behind the bear, creating a backdrop that reminded me of a tattered flag. The lines weren't perfectly straight, instead weaving and intersecting in places, giving the impression of fabric billowing in an unseen wind.

Atop the bear's body, I carefully added a golden number, the large "13" standing out boldly against the stripes. Beside it, in a burst of idea, I wanted to add a small. "13 wUz alzo here!" below the bear's belly.

Now that'll get the crowd roarin'!

Across the bear's broad chest, I painted the letters "NCR" in thick, bold red strokes. The acronym stood out starkly, though I wasn't entirely sure what it represented. Perhaps it was a fragment of a memory, or simply a random collection of letters that felt right in the moment.

At the base of the mural, I added a miniature skyline. Tiny buildings sprouted from the concrete, each one unique in its awkward, boxy construction. Among them, I placed a golden 'M' enclosed on a square border, like a logo for a corporation ruling over this painted cityscape.

There.

I think that should do it.

As I stepped back to survey my creation. It sure won't win me some awards, but it looked nice to me.

Every imperfection, every wobbly line, and disproportionate element. I tried. Here it is.

As I stood back from my freshly created mural, the red-headed artist approached, and I see her eyes scanning the vibrant chaos I had unleashed upon the wall. Her hand rose to her chin, a gesture of thoughtful contemplation as she focused on the scrawled text.

"Pretty cool. Contrasting colors." She remarked, nodding appreciatively. Her gaze lingered on the centerpiece of my impromptu artwork. "I gotta say, the bear with two heads…"

Suddenly, she hunched her shoulders and curled her fingers into makeshift claws. With a playful growl, she mimicked the snarling visage of my painted beast. Her body shifted to mimic its stance. The unexpected pantomime broke through my lingering melancholy, eliciting a small chuckle from me.

Dropping the bear act, she straightened up and grinned. "Sweet idea." She concluded, giving me a thumbs up.

"Thirteen… was here…" she read aloud, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and amusement. The words hung in the air between us, my impromptu alias now immortalized in spray paint.

She turned to face me, her fiery hair catching the fading sunlight. "You're Thirteen? I mean that's you're name?" The question was posed with a raised eyebrow, her tone suggesting she wasn't entirely convinced.

I offered a nonchalant shrug, feeling a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Don't wear it out," I replied, surprising myself with the hint of playfulness in my voice. It was a stark contrast to my earlier sober mood.

Her eyes widened with interest. "Really? The name's…!" she began enthusiastically, only to be interrupted by a sudden chirping from her pocket. In a fluid motion, she pulled out a sleek smartphone, its screen illuminating her face as she skimmed something.

The sight of the modern device in this setting struck me as oddly incongruous. What is this, the future or the past? I wondered silently.

Before I could ponder this further, the girl's demeanor shifted abruptly. "Sorry, gotta go! I'll see you seen again!" she exclaimed, her words tumbling out in a rush. With a quick wave, she turned and dashed away, her red hair a fleeting streak of color as she rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

I stood there for a moment, slightly stunned by the abrupt end to our interaction. "Huh…" The sound escaped me, barely more than a whisper, as I tried to process the whirlwind of events that had just transpired.

Glancing down, my eyes fell upon a cardboard box left behind in her hasty departure. "She even left her spray cans…" I murmured, taking in the cans with me. Hold them on with me.

Until I meet her again. I mused.

I look back at the mess I made on the wall. Apparently, she like it enough. Art. Maybe.

Something for this world to remember me by, huh?

As the novelty of my artwork waned, I gravitated back to the bench. I sat there for a while, tapping the fingers of my hands at one another. Before departing, I snapped a quick picture of the mural.

With one last glance at my creation, I set off deeper into the urban landscape. My eyes were drawn to the towering skyscrapers that punctuated the skyline, their glass and steel structures reaching towards the clouds.

A wry smile played across my lips as I considered their imposing presence.

Hey, if it's huge, then someone here is compensating against the rest of the city, I mused, a touch of coloring my thoughts. They're the big shot and they have a self-image problem that they probably ordered to build an enormous tower.

My north star.

"A tank!"

A tank… in the middle of a street. A populated street as well.

That's… actually a first time for me.

Just a tank… I shook my head before I finished to process what I saw and stopped what I was doing. A tank!?

"Everyone for themselves!" This place is insane… Not even back then, this could happen. Where is the police?

The tranquility of the city streets shattered in an instant as a monstrous machine rumbled into view. Its treads ground against the asphalt road. The tank's massive One-Twenty Hundred millimeter cannon swiveled ominously, casting a long shadow over the panicking crowds.

Chaos erupted as people fled in all directions with their frantic screams. A sea of bodies surged away from the approaching behemoth as it fired a shot that turned a boring fountain into falling chunks of rocks after an explosion that left a shallow black crater flooded by water.

Amidst this mayhem, I found myself quietly watched it all went down. Tucked away in a narrow alley, I crouched low, my back pressed against a wall. In my hands, I clutched two pieces of stale pastry I was enjoying on, squat over an alley with a dumpster beside I just dived in. I was hungry, after all.

I think they're police. A small group in uniform looks like it and don't forget their halos I watch set up a small resistance from some masked criminals with halos that followed the tank not so far in front came from behind the armored vehicle.

After a look further down the road behind these cops fighting, I can see a small barricade being set up — so, I guess they must be here to slow down the incoming assault while the others behind prepare a more stable defense. Road-blocks and cars are the only things they can manage during the sudden attack.

As the crowd's screams echoed off the buildings, I took another bite of a stale pastry. As it so sudden, I was near a bakery here. Day old bread. No complaints from me.

As the chaos erupted outside, I found myself drawn to the chaos like a moth to a flame.

I watched as police scrambling, masked figures raising hell like getting cuffed wasn't an option, or at least not before being a nausea for everyone — it was all just background noise. Then, like an oasis in the desert, I found it: an open door, the glint of bottles within. The fine curves and reflection back at me like a call. A bar. Best of all, left unattended. Looks like everyone left.

Everyone barged out for safety and here I was, all by my lonesome, left with an opportunity.

Ah, I might as well…

I stumbled into the bar, the acrid smell of gunpowder clinging to my clothes as I left the chaos behind. They can deal with it. The dim interior was a welcome respite.

Then the bottles — sweet escape. My fingers, calloused and trembling, reached for the bottom of the bartender's own table. The real treasure. Come here…

The first bottle's seal cracked, and the whiskey went down, smooth. One bottle emptied, then another, and another. The ones emptied crashed to the floor, a cacophony of glass that matched the sporadic explosions outside. With each swig, another blast rocked the building, as if reality was telling me to stop and go outside.

"Well, well. Look who we have here..."

Of course, in the middle of my drinking...

A/N: Hello, everyone! Currently busy with the current event. I got Dress Kayoko which is epic after 4 pulls. She is all I need with this event. Now, into the story. I said I will remain as close to the original with a minor changes. I say this because I read the review and noticed some people had the impression of 13 being sent back earlier because of an unnamed character, of which, I will not mention. Which is not entirely wrong. But also not entirely right.

Alright, I have to continue to grind the event for every valentine invite I can get.