After a long day of school or work, you enter your apartment to find the power non-functional. You struggle to see, to hear, to breathe. The air in the room is still and thin, carrying the stale hush of long confinement. A faint metallic smell stings your nose, accompanied by a deep chill practically freezing at around 34°F or 1°C with the dryness that accompanies low humidity, as if something was draining all of the warmth from the room. Your chest feels as if there's an enormous pressure weighing on you, your legs threatening to buckle.

You search blindly through the room, gasping for air. You try opening the door you just came through but it refuses to budge. As you're overcome by the feeling of suffocation, you reach the curtains, your hands rushing to open them and the window underneath.

The light from outside blinds the room as air rushes out of the high pressure room to the low pressure air outside. You turn around to find your room covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt that hangs on everything in the vicinity. In the center you find two rectangular capsules with a dust layer on the glass—one containing a woman with crimson-red hair in a bob, the other with long blonde hair.

On the floor are two swords: one is a large, jagged red blade with a warmth to it matching the red-haired woman, the other is white and gold, slender and crystalline—its pale golden edge glowing from the blinding sunlight.