His consciousness waded between realities until it settled, drifting through layers of existence before finally anchoring. It happened too fast for him to provide an ample description of what he'd just experienced, the sensations blurring together in a chaotic rush. But there was one word that brought certainty to the scenario, one feeling that cut through the confusion.

  A sense of "Concussion."

  Like a hammer slamming on both sides of his temples repeatedly, battering as if the wielder held little remorse for who he was hitting. It felt longer than he expected, stretching out endlessly.

  Too long that by the time he could recite his ABCs in his mind, there were already full sentences waiting in line to pierce his thoughts, crowding his consciousness.

  His vision was darkened at first, a void of black. Soon it turned blurry, shapes without definition, until his eyes gradually readjusted to the warm glow that veiled the left side of his face while he lay flat on his back on the dusted concrete, the rough surface digging into his shoulder blades.

  Then there was a voice, a familiar one , calling out to him as if he was distant, miles away.

  "Wak… u… Wake… p," the words intoned, muffled and distorted. Stellan felt a stern shoving of his shoulder that aimed to shake him back to composure, rough hands gripping him. But the shaking only helped so little with his disorientation, his mind still swimming in fog.

  "Wake the… f… up… man," the voice continued, persistence ringing deep alongside the shaking, more urgent now. Stellan was still struggling to understand what the voice wanted, unable to shake off the disorientation clouding his thoughts until a splash made its cold entrance.

  "Wha– WHAT!" he sputtered, coughing and gasping, his face suddenly drenched from the emptied plastic bottle the man used to wake him up. The shock of room temperature water cut through the haze. His thoughts were almost there; almost enough to picture where he was. And soon enough his eyes followed suit, vision sharpening.

  The building was rusted, decayed from a time which he wasn't knowledgeable enough to identify, ancient and forgotten. Greenery branched wildly from the glassless windows, vines and leaves stemming from every opening the aged structure provided, nature reclaiming what humanity had abandoned. Cracks spiderwebbed across the dusted floor, allowing the growth of some stubborn flora that thrived in darkness, while the warm rays of the sun seeped through every opening it could find, creating columns of light in the gloom.

  In front of Stellan was a man who contrasted sharply with his own attire. Castellan still wore his work apparel; a suit jacket, a tie now hanging loose, pants that were sharp yet casual enough to allow movement, and his black leather shoes which he swore he'd shined right before he went to work. They were now host to a thick layer of dust and grime, coating what should have been a slick shine.

  The man that had awoken him from his disorientation had auburn hair which was unkempt from a severe lack of proper grooming, falling across the corner of his weathered face and blending into an unfashionable beard that showed no sign of trimming, wild and scraggly. A worn leather vest covered a blue Hawaiian shirt that had dark blots of red splattered from the chest down, whether blood or something else, Stellan couldn't tell. Multipocketed denim jeans that looked uncomfortable to wear completed the rough ensemble.

  "Stellan… bro, I didn't know if you would make it," the man spoke, his voice carrying a tone of familiarity; an irritating, nagging familiarity, until Stellan, whose face was still dripping wet, turned toward him and squinted, trying to focus on the man's features. Droplets of water fell from his brow and chin, pattering onto his suit.

  "Terry? Is that you?" he asked, voice hoarse, unsure if his assumption was correct while squinting his eyes harder, trying to reconcile this rough stranger with the man he knew.

  "The one and only," the man answered cheekily, outstretching his arms wide as if angling for a hug, a grin splitting his bearded face. But the gesture went unanswered, Stellan too stunned to respond.

  "Where the FUCK have you been man?!" Stellan shot back, frustration and confusion boiling over as he scrambled to his feet, wiping his soaked face roughly with his suit's forearm, the fabric coming away damp.

  "Didn't you read my emails? My texts?" Terry asked with an expression faltering slightly, searching Stellan's face for some sign of understanding.

  "A text!? You were this close to being put on a missing poster!" Stellan declared, pinching his fingers together mere millimeters apart to exaggerate the gesture, his voice rising. "Your landlord couldn't even tell if you were dead or alive!" he added, jabbing a finger toward Terry accusingly.

  "You called the apartment?" Terry asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice, eyebrows raising.

  "Dude…" Stellan raised a disappointed eyebrow, still unsure how to proceed with this surreal reunion, his mind reeling. "You were gone for a month… I had to cover for your sorry ass," he said, running a hand through his damp hair in exasperation.

  Terry looked dejected, his shoulders sagging as if there were other things weighing heavily on his mind, things that were more important in his life currently. Before he could speak and apologize, their short-lived reunion ended abruptly when suddenly –

  Sounds of gunshots echoed in the distance, not far from where they were conversing, sharp cracks that split the air.

  Castellan reacted instinctively, flinching from the abrupt noise, his whole body tensing. But before he could voice his alarm, Terry moved swiftly, covering his mouth with his rather rough palm that still had small bits of earth clinging to it, calloused and firm. Stellan had no qualms whatsoever after seeing the facial expression of his workmate. Terry's demeanor was rather dark and serious, deadly focused, compared to how he knew him as the cheeky jester at work.

  The distant shouts continued, muffled echoes. Terry then looked at Castellan with dread in his eyes, wide and alert, gesturing him to shush while pressing one of his coarse fingers firmly against his own cracked lips. He then looked up at the cracked ceiling above them. For some reason, Stellan felt that Terry could see something through the weathered debris and broken concrete despite him only seeing rubble and shadows, as if he had some sixth sense. A short while passed in tense silence, and then the gunfire stopped, followed immediately by the pleading, desperate scream of a woman; high-pitched and terrified.

  Stellan's eyes widened from what he heard, his pupils dilating, his expression shifting to deep concern. But Terry never moved his palm from his mouth, keeping it clamped there firmly. Instead of heading toward the source of the distress to help, he looked directly at Stellan and urged him with his eyes not to move or make a single noise, a tense conversation with no words exchanged, pure silent communication. This continued for a long while, the pleading of the desperate woman becoming lower and lower, fading as it drifted farther away in the distance, until it was gone completely.

  When the sounds that had projected such a dire dilemma were replaced by the gentle swaying of the trees outside and the chirping of birds that were unaffected by the conflict, Stellan shoved Terry's palm forcefully to the side, breaking free, which garnered an unsettled reaction from the grizzled man, his eyes flashing with warning.

  "What the fuck?! Who was that!?" Stellan shouted, his voice cracked, struggling to his feet before shoving hard at the chest of the man in front of him, trying to push him back. Terry stood as well, his demeanor souring, jaw clenching.

  "Lower your voice dude! Do you want to get us killed?!" Terry hissed back, keeping his own voice as low as possible, barely above a whisper, eyes darting toward the windows.

  Castellan was still in disbelief from what had just transpired, shaking his head in denial. His reaction was warranted; a genuine worry for whatever victim had to suffer out there. His mind was still fixated on the unknown woman who'd screamed, the sound burned into his memory. It was the first time in his life where he'd heard such a soul-rending scream, raw and primal. But unfortunately, his worries were yet to fully set in, overtaken by a new realization.

  He soon became aware of where he actually was, his disorientation from earlier no longer able to hide the truth. And quickly, he realized that he wasn't in the air-conditioned office where his work was still waiting to be finished, where the familiar sound of gossip and ringing phone calls blended into comfortable background noise. Rather, where he was now was primal, wild, a sort of place that he had no business being in, that didn't make any sense.

  He scanned the surroundings with his eyes, turning slowly in place. Oddly enough, his vision was clearer than it had ever been, sharper and more focused, a sensation that was unnatural to him, almost superhuman. He traced the decrepit building's interior where there was a small space near them that held a bedroll, well-worn and threadbare, and a small campfire that had served its purpose, the branches that had fueled it now reduced to a smolder of ash and coal, wisps of smoke still rising.

  He then looked back at Terry, studying him carefully. The same man who had a reputation that was bad, if not even worse than Ford , with his crude remarks and obvious lecherousness around the office.

  But this man he was currently with was foreign, almost unrecognizable. He looked like he'd aged five years based on his appearance alone, lines etched deep in his face. No one could age that much in just a month, he thought, but the truth was right in front of him; present and undeniable, impossible to ignore.

  "What is this Terry? What the hell's happening…" Stellan asked, the deepness in his voice faltering, cracking, as if the tension was a rubber band pulled to its absolute limits. An evident sign of a man about to break down completely.

  Terry's hard expression softened slightly, either by guilt or worry, no one would know which. He then raised his arm slowly in a sort of yielding gesture, palms out, as if to confirm that he was no threat.

  "Look man, I'll tell you everything… But I need you to do something for me," said Terry, his face becoming mellow, vulnerable, which made Stellan marginally open to discussion, seeing that this was the familiar expression they both used to share back in their office during better times.

  But it wasn't enough reassurance. Stellan was still panicking, his breath coming quick and shallow, an understandable predicament given the circumstances. Most would feel dread if their logic did not align with reality. He was yet to understand how he came to be in this impossible position. How could he explain to himself how, at one point he was sitting in the office, and in the very next instant, he was somewhere completely unknown, somewhere that defied explanation? But the unkempt man in front of him persisted in asking as if it was his right, pressing forward, while Stellan felt he had no choice but to listen, trapped.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "Hey… As long as you're with me you're fine, but we have to be able to trust one another. You feel me?" Terry inquired, his voice earnest, trying to provoke a calm reaction from the panicking man with a steady and measured tone.

  "Look man… I'm deep in this just like you, so we got to help one another," he added, taking a small step closer, hands still raised.

  "H–How can I even help? T–The hell is this? " Stellan answered with a stutter, his voice shaking, shuddering from the lack of knowledge, feeling utterly lost.

  Terry then inched a bit closer, which made Stellan falter, instinctively taking a step back, shoes scraping on concrete. But when Terry noticed this defensive reaction he slowed his approach, moving carefully until he gently patted Stellan's shoulder as a sign of security, trying to ground him.

  It didn't help Stellan's racing thoughts much, but for now he had questions that desperately needed to be answered, matters that held more importance than his fear.

  "You saw the email right? The one with the dragon and snake?" Terry asked, his palm remaining firm on Stellan's shoulder, thinking that it might reassure him, but it didn't quite work.

  "What did you see after?" he added, leaning in slightly.

  "I… I don't… Something about integrating?" Stellan stuttered again, but his eyes remained determined despite his body's cowering, standing his ground.

  "And?"

  "And everything went… I don't know man… it all slowed down, like time stopped," he said, his voice distant.

  "So… you're a candidate?" Terry asked sternly, seriously, like it absolutely needed to be answered, his grip tightening slightly on Stellan's shoulder.

  "A candidate? You mean the one where I had to write my name?"

  "Basically yeah, which means you're a part of this whether you like it or not…" Terry then removed his palm, his expression taking on a deeper meaning, forming a sort of aggression with his brows furrowed before continuing with his questions, tone slightly shifting.

  "Is there anything else? Like an item that you got or a treasure?" he inquired, this time with a more foreboding, probing tone, eyes searching Stellan's face intently.

  Stellan was not fond of the interrogation, feeling pressured, but something told him that the best course was to cooperate, to give Terry what he wanted. But truthfully, the stream of questions that were being presented barely connected to his already limited knowledge of what was happening.

  "Items? Treasure?" Stellan questioned, confusion clear in his voice, which seemed to irritate Terry by the looks of it, his jaw tightening.

  "Items man… They didn't give you one?" Terry pressed.

  "What items are you talking about? I woke up after you splashed me with that… with that fucking water bottle," Stellan answered, gesturing toward the crumpled plastic bottle lying nearby to provide as evidence, pointing.

  Terry was unamused, his expression flat, but his lack of a follow-up meant that he was convinced of the answer, accepting it. He then stroked his chin thoughtfully, scratching at his beard, contemplating what he'd ask next. Soon he found one.

  "Your Panel… The Character Panel yeah, tell me what it says?"

  Stellan once more was not privy to the question, completely lost, answering with the same limited knowledge he had. "Panel? What panel?" he asked, almost as if mockingly despite him not actually knowing what it meant, thrown off.

  Upon hearing this lack of a proper answer, as if a switch had been flipped, Terry's inquiry became infuriated, shifting to something more like a threatening demand for information rather than the earlier calm questioning, his voice rising.

  "THE PANEL! Are you FUCKING with me right now?!" he shouted, stepping closer aggressively.

  "I don't know what bloody panel you're talking about… I just fucking woke up!" Stellan shot back defensively, hands raised.

  Terry, who then realized his odd switch of demeanor had been noticed by Stellan, hurriedly recomposed himself almost too quickly, as if it was theatrics that he'd just pulled, forcing his expression to soften.

  "I– I'm sorry man… It's just been so hard with the–" He sighed heavily, like a disappointed sibling caught in a lie, running a hand over his face. Then once more he addressed Castellan, who was clinging to his wit's end, barely holding it together. "The character panel man… the one where you can see your stats, like in a game," he explained more calmly.

  "Stats? What stats?"

  Noticing that Castellan was actually telling the truth. Terry then assumed responsibility and took a deep breath before proceeding, composing himself. "Look… Close your eyes… I don't know how to put it… Just… Think of the word panel or stats."

  "What? Why should I–"

  "Just do it…" Terry cut him off, voice firm but not unkind.

  Dejected despite wondering why his workmate would make him do such an odd thing, he still followed the instruction, deciding to trust. He took deep breaths; three of them to be sure, filling his lungs.

  It was quaint, almost too peaceful in his thoughts, a sharp contrast to where he actually was. Despite the drama from moments earlier, there was a sense of tranquility flooding his mind, one that he'd never experienced in his entire life, a deep calm. And as this strange recollection continued, he then proceeded to think of the word, focusing.

  Panel.

  Another sensation that was unexplainable washed over him, like a dream showing on command in his mind, vivid and clear, yet he was still awake, still conscious and in control. Numbers and words piled up rapidly, a jungle of data that he could not understand at first. But shortly he managed to sort them in a manner which he could now comprehend, the information organizing itself.

  Candidate Name: Castellan Moss/_Dandy628

  Insignia: Smoke

  Skills: Claim < Passive Skill > [Insignia]

  Clan: None

  Deity: None

  Grade: Gray 1-Star ★

  Genus: Incorporeal

  Health: 50/50

  Mana: 25/25

  Essence: 0/100

  Experience: 0/100

  Token: 0

  It took enough time for his thoughts to adapt as the necessary processing of information went smoothly than expected. He wanted to continue deciphering them, to understand what it all meant, but a voice from outside his mind shook his focus, pulling him back.

  "What do you see?" Terry asked, invading Stellan's thoughts while his eyes remained closed, voice eager.

  "Numbers…" Stellan answered simply, who was still processing.

  "Good, and what else?"

  "Zeroes?" he offered.

  "No man… your skills, what can you tell me about your skills?"

  "I… I don't have one… I think?" Stellan said uncertainly.

  A click of the tongue from Terry could be heard.

  It was subtle and disappointing. Stellan ignored it while he tried to retain his focus on the panel floating in his mind.

  "Is there like… something you could work on?" Terry pressed, leaning in.

  "Yeah, it says I can claim a skill…"

  "Okay, and what does it say?" Terry continued to question, eagerly waiting for the information, practically vibrating with anticipation.

  "I… It says something about an insignia? … and that it's passive?"

  Terry clicked his tongue once more with a bit of irritation, but again, Stellan couldn't catch the full meaning due to maintaining his focus.

  "Your grade? What does it say?" Terry asked.

  "My what?"

  "The orb thing… the one that has stars," he clarified, gesturing even though Stellan's eyes were closed.

  "It looks to be…"

  "Yeah?" Terry waited, eagerly once more, holding his breath.

  "Gray… With a single star."

  "Shit." The word left Terry's mouth the moment Stellan confirmed it. This one was too loud for him to ignore, cutting through his concentration, so Stellan asked in kind, opening his eyes.

  "What do you mean shit? Is it that bad?" Stellan inquired, concern creeping into his voice.

  It took a while before Terry could answer. A few seconds passed as if to recompose himself, jaw working, and he answered with a deeper tone than earlier, more controlled.

  "Nah, it's… That's normal for a rookie that’s… just starting out."

  Not wanting to linger more on that topic, Terry then asked another question. But this one felt different from earlier. Tt carried a sensation that warned Castellan not to continue with his sharing with a prickling at the back of his neck.

  "Your insignia… At the very top, what does it say?" Terry asked carefully, watching him closely.

  "Insignia?"

  Catching on to the shift in tone, Terry then noticed in Castellan's expression that he didn't want to share any more information than he needed to, his jaw setting. Sensing this resistance, he pried further, pressing.

  "You just need to tell me what it says Stellan, then I'll tell you everything you need to know…" he said, voice almost pleading.

  Stellan sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. He weighed his options once again while his mind raced. He held ground that was riddled with disadvantages; he didn't know how things worked in this place, so he had to compromise and had to give something to get something. He had no cards to deal for a proper barter, nor did he have anything to exchange, no leverage.

  Considering this, he decided to ignore his gut feeling this time, pushing down the warning, before focusing on identifying what he was being asked once more.

  "It says, "

  Yet before he could speak the answer, his focus was interrupted by yet another different yet similar tone, another shout of desperation, a cry for help that continued to bellow from a few floors above them, and it was alarmingly loud, echoing through the building.

  "SHIT!" Terry shouted angrily, his composure breaking as Stellan flinched from the raging curse, startled.

  "What is it?!" Stellan asked, his worries steadily increasing, heart beginning to race again.

  "Two latecomers in one day? Are you shitting me?…" Terry cursed again, frustration clear. "That fucker just had to spawn here," he muttered darkly.

  He then moved swiftly, rolling up his bedroll that was already halfway packed, moving with practiced efficiency. He hurriedly rushed to one of the columns that was hiding a travel bag, slinging it onto his back with one smooth motion before stomping hard on the doused campfire he'd made, spreading the dust and soot with his boots, erasing evidence of their presence.

  He shot an uninviting stare at Castellan, who was yet to understand what was happening, still processing. Then he clenched his right rough fist, the one that had a silver ring emitting a faint glow, pulsing with energy. Out of nowhere, seemingly materializing from thin air, two guns appeared, which Terry caught smoothly with both of his hands. Nine-round revolvers, two of them, polished as if they were in mint condition, gleaming. Terry threw the other gun to Stellan in a quick underhand toss, who was almost unable to catch it from the sudden wave of things that were happening, fumbling it before gripping it properly.

  And right after that poor spectacle of a catch, Terry then gestured to Stellan with a rather serious expression, his face grim, beckoning him closer before he commanded in a low, deadly voice.

  " Follow me and don’t make a sound… if you want to live…"

  An instruction or a command? Castellan was not sure which one it was, his hands tightened on the unfamiliar weight of the revolver.