You walk down the road, the path ahead leading to the warehouse, a cold sense of dread lingering in the air around you. You've methodically and diligently made your way to and from said warehouse more times than you're able to count by now, taking stock of ammunition and other supplies has become second nature to you at this point. With all that, you were certain that something about today was off. The road you've been so accustomed to after all this time felt eerily dissimilar, the air felt still, you weren't sure when, or how, but you knew for a fact today would be one of those that would break the monotony that life enjoys to put its victims through. Your mind, as if already accepting it, wondered what type of change today would bring.

Suddenly, a faint rustling catches your attention. A small bug skitters across the pavement and then, inexplicably, stands upright on two legs. With a flick of its tiny antennae, a top hat and cane appear in its grasp, and it begins to dance—intricate little steps tapping out a rhythm against the concrete.

The strange little performance draws a surprised smile from you, and as you watch, the bug starts to lead you, gently guiding you toward a shady spot under a large tree.

There, leaning against the trunk, stands a tall figure with long black hair and impossibly bright blue eyes that glow in contrast to the dark sclera surrounding them. He straightens up, his gaze calm yet intense, as though he can see straight through the heaviness in your past.

With a graceful bow, he speaks, his voice warm and sincere.

"Ah... the little lady of the hour." He smiles, his expression even softer than any pillow the private military company that took you in ever provided to you. "Tell me, what is your name?"