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Wolfgang Abernathy

"Yes... That is my name."

0 · 788 views · located in Crown City

a character in “Welcome To Crown City”, as played by mjolnir

Description

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F U L L 0 N A M E
Wolfgang Abernathy

N I C K N A M E
Wolf
The Werewolf


A G E
Twenty-five

G E N D E R
Male

S E X U A L I T Y
Heterosexual

S P E C I E S
Human

R O L E
Stranger

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H E I G H T
A rather large 6' 5"

W E I G H T
220 lbs Combination of stature and muscle

H A I R
Decent length shorter haircut for a male that is a dirty blonde into an auburn brunette. It has various stages from being perfectly coiffed to a disheveled mess. His facial hair follows a similar state of either cleaned shaved to a more rugged 5 o'clock shadow.

E Y E S
A warmer hazel tone on most occasions, but has a tendency to shift to either green or brown depending on lighting, attire and sometimes even his mood.

O D D I T I E S
More often then not he is seen with his knuckles and/or hands wrapped in bandages or tape to seal wounds from his extracurriculars. He also has various scars that cover his body. Some are quite minor the one on the left side of his bottom lip or one that runs diagonally along his right eyebrow. His more predominant scars are hidden by most clothing. They are an assortment of slashes along his abdomen and back.

A P P E A R A N C E
Wolfgang is, for lack of a better term, a giant. He towers over most others in height and muscle capacity. He seems to somehow have the more preppy, clean cut look to him while in the same breath having a more rugged and rough appearance. Although he may come off intimidating by his overbearing size, his more puppy dog like face makes him still give off a more approachable demeanor. He more often then not wears more casual clothing of plain long sleeve shirts, wife beaters or hoodies along with jeans and sneakers. But he is also no stranger to a well tailored suit with a tie and his hair slicked back. His appearance tends to reflect his personality, having a yin and yang tone that showing the contrasts of himself. But no matter what he wears, or how his appearance varies from day to day, it always seems to suit him and compliment his naturally handsome features.

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P E R S O N A L I T Y
Wolfgang has a very contradicting personality. It's not that he has a split personality or any mental disorders, but the way he was raised conflicted with the man he was so he grew up to have a more yin and yang type of personality instead of fitting into a more general category. On one side of the coin, he is a very well mannered young man who lives up to the true potential of what a gentleman should be. He is polite, poised and often tends to be well groomed while also being naturally handsome. He is charming without trying or meaning to be while also being very friendly and sweet.

On the other end of the spectrum, Wolfgang does tend to get angered rather quickly. He has a short temper much like his father. But the way he expresses his rage is much different. At first he'll just become very silent or leave, and then it can progress to shouting or even physical violence. He has never been one to allow people to walk all over him, but luckily for him his anger has not had the need to surface often because most are frightened by his size and height. Even though he is friendly and a gentleman, Wolfgang also tends to be more of a strong silent type. Most of this is due to him having issues when it comes to trusting others.

Although Wolfgang comes off as a very stoic and shut off man, he does actually feel quite deeply. He was taught at a very young age that men don't show their emotions, so even though it seems as though he never feels sad, or hurt, or love, the truth is the opposite. He tends to feel more deeply than most men he's encountered in his life. And even though he has yet to feel what it is like to be in love, he has deep wishes to know love. His love and caring for those close to him is one of his driving forces. He would do anything and everything within his power to protect those closest to him. Wolf often refers to himself as a cactus. He maybe sharp and rough on the outside, but once past that he is sweet and tender.

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S T R E N G T H S
Intelligent // He has slightly higher than average I.Q. and even attended Harvard.

Physically Strong // Due to his above average size he naturally is stronger to some extent, but he also spends much of his free time further strengthening himself.

Resilient // He can handle a large amount of pain without it hindering him immensely.

Combat // With being in underground fighting rings for years, he's grown highly proficient at melee combat.

W E A K N E S S E S
Social Skills // Being the more quiet type, when it comes to talking to others he sometimes has a difficult time saying exactly what he means.

Trusting // Throughout his life, trust has been broken more than it's been made which has made it difficult for him to trust others.

L I K E S
Fighting // Ever since he was a teen, fighting has been a way for him to let off steam and focus his aggression.

Chess // Considering he is also a rather intelligent man, he's always enjoyed strategic games, especially chess.

Movies & Books // Something about a movie or book takes him somewhere else and helps him escape reality for a short while.

D I S L I K E S
Snobs // He spent most of his time around those type of people and he would be happy never crossing paths with another one again.

Alcohol // Growing around alcoholics, he has grown to deeply hate alcohol and what it does to people, especially those close to him.

Dishonesty // One of the main reasons he has trust issues is because of the dishonesty of those closest to him, so he always strives to be as honest as he possibly can.

F E A R S
Betrayal // So much has plagued his life, that he always has the fear of being betrayed by those closest to him in the back of his mind.

Heights // One of his more unreasonable fears. He can't quite explain what it is about heights, but he generally tries to avoid them.
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H I S T O R Y
Wolfgang was born to a high class elite family in upstate New Hampshire. His father was a very high paid lawyer that graduate from Harvard, of course, and his mother, once married to his father became a stay at home wife. The pair, having a taste for only the best, decided to name their one and only child after Mozart, claiming that if they named their child after an accomplished man that hopefully their child would also be gifted with such traits.

Growing up, Wolfgang was a respectable young man until he was a young teen at his very well renown private school. Due to rather extreme height, children always seemed to enjoy bullying him. But what they didn't know was Wolfgang had a temper quite like his father. Throughout his teens he spent more time in the principle's office then in a classroom due to the large number of fights he'd get into. It wouldn't have been too much of a problem if it weren't for the fact that many of the boys he fought with often lost teeth. Wolfgang was lucky his father had an enormous amount of power because if not, his reputation would have been blackened for a majority of his life.

No doubt, after graduating High School he attended an Ivy league school like his parents and went to no less than Harvard. For his first year of classes he stayed low on the radar, doing his course work even though he had no desire in being there in the first place. It wasn't until his Sophomore year that Wolfgang got himself into more trouble and fought with another student over something apparently insignificant because he has long forgotten what it was about. But rumor of this fight spread which got him invitation to a highly secret underground fight club that many of the young Ivy League men partook in.

Being part of this fight club, Wolfgang quickly built up a reputation. He even started being called The Werewolf due to his 'night and day' personality, and how he was a sweet guy but terrifying mid fight. Finding what truly seemed to be what he enjoyed, his grades started slipping due to his lack of being in class. It got to the point where he flunked out of Harvard. This infuriated his Father and with no other choice, he packed up his things and headed West... But after that? He does not remember.
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F A C E C L A I M
Armie Hammer

H E X C O D E
#1D655F

C R E A T O R
Scar.-

So begins...

Wolfgang Abernathy's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandria Belmonte Character Portrait: Skylar Jenkins Character Portrait: Wolfgang Abernathy Character Portrait: Morgan Prescott Character Portrait: Aya Fujino Character Portrait: Charlotte BlackBourne Character Portrait: Alistair Prescott Character Portrait: Delilah Fairchild Character Portrait: Jack Weiland Character Portrait: Archer Hitchcock Character Portrait: H.A.V.E.N.
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Welcome To Crown City

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In The Chambers Of The City Council....


Light from the bay window cast shadows about the room, illuminating on the cobwebs and dust particles that swam freely through the air. It was clear that the room had not been used in some time. A central placed dining table covered in a fine layer of dust took up most of the room. Surface laden with a full set of finely cracked china and fake silver utensils. Opposite the table, against the mahogany wood panel wall rested a bookcase spanning the length of the room. Filled to the brim with book after book, each sporting its own signs of wear and tear. Among the most damaged a red leather journal, its spine painted with fine gold filigree. It was this book that Mayor Bourne promptly plucked from the shelf.

The man in question walked a wide arc around the table to the adjoining room, hidden in a place where the light didn't quite touch. He marched in solemn silence to the singular table in that room. A circular monstrosity that takes up nearly all of the available space. He sat at the head, King Arthur and his Court. He lays the journal heavy upon the table, setting his grim gaze to the occupants of the room. Men and Women alike, wearing masks to obscure every aspect of their identity. Not many of them actually needed to obscurity, but most opted for it as a tradition. For years now the masks, simple clay creations stretched tight over skin before molding just right to its wearer, have been an integral part of these meetings.

"So tell me," Bourne booms, his own masks lips pulling into a taut snarl. Emotion reflected over the surface, "Why it is nobody has stopped these broadcasts!?" His anger swept the room into stony silence. After a beat of timid silence an answer comes, from whispering lips. "We tried sir, its just -" "Its just nothing, we have the best goddamn tech in this forsaken city!" Bourne interrupts, seemingly more interested in causing a scene than discussing anything civilly. The members of the council would be lying had they said their meetings usually went better than this. Bourne was a force to be reckoned with, and this latest slip up was clearly stressing him out.

Bourne's hands slam against the table as he stands once more, crossing quickly to the far wall, where three large monitors hang haphazardly. Yet to be fully installed, or perhaps purposefully hung askew. He flicks on all three, gritting his teeth at the words emblazoned across every single damn one. The strangers are here.

"I want all agents working on this, who ever this message is intended for - no, whoever sent this message is going to be shackled. Do you hear me?!" Barking orders left and right, the Mayor calls the Council to a quick close. With his final words to find out what everything they could. With the extra bodies gone from the room he turns once more, and stares at the monitors listlessly. Turning to his journal from before, he flips through page after page until reaching the final. A page directly in the middle of the book, as if the author had never got the chance to finish.

He scans the page in grim silence, until finally, mercilessly his eyes settle on those damning words.

"The Strangers Are Here."





Welcome To The Den
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At the farthest point from the Council Building, in the slums of the City, there lies a place that has been home and haven for many of its wronged citizens. A looming tower, six floors made up of apartments, shops, and most notably a bar. Known as The Den, a place where anyone can go to have sanctuary or safe haven. Guarded by a plethora of wards. Its sprawling visage has been a sign of hope for many of the citizens for years now; Even more so at the founding of the Wicked Six - the Slums resident superheros (or police force if you will.)

Monday nights were rarely packed at the Den, its usual patrons either too tired from the beginning of the week or still hungover from the sunday night parties. Still, workers filed in like flies, buzzing around here and there to serve what little customers they did have. Others filtered down into the basement where their more secretive members liked to stay. All except for Tom, who stood tall and proud against the backdrop of a stage. Microphone in hand, his words garbled and slurred but just barely understandable. It was not unusual for him to be drunk so early, but nonetheless he was.

Many of the patrons in fact were...strangely drunk already. Yet the night had just barely started. It didn't make sense really, not until the workers began to slow down. Foggy brained, feeling sluggish, slumping down into the nearby booths and tables. Some falling to the floor where their heads would clack against the concrete, hard.

Slowly, slowly, and then all at once every single person within the bar collapsed. All except for one little girl, Sonny, neither a patron nor a worker. But a Poltergeist whom had taken up residence there for several millennia. No less than a few seconds later the power shuts down. Curious. Sonny steps through the bars threshold, out into the street. Darkness slowly enveloping the city, building by building. Sonny frowns, watching the pedestrians around her slow to a stop and pass out in much the same way as the bar patrons. Confusion turns to Panic when she notes that even the drivers, though few, have begun to lose control of their cars. Hitting each other, buildings, anything in their way. Sonny turns away, feeling sick at the sound of one car crunching over a fallen pedestrian.

She returns to the bar.



Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Wolfgang Abernathy Character Portrait: Morgan Prescott Character Portrait: Alistair Prescott Character Portrait: Archer Hitchcock Character Portrait: H.A.V.E.N.
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#, as written by mjolnir
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[ Robot ] [ #003663 ] [ Outfit ]

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Haven had been standing on her charging panels for the better part of 4 hours. Tedious task. Human's needed sleep to function as she needed to recharge her batteries. The gloominess of Crown City made it difficult for her to charge by solar power, which she generally preferred because she could still do anything she needed while charging. With twilight slowly creeping around the corner, Haven was of the impression better safe than sorry. She had no idea how long Morgan would keep her in the Den and that wasn't somewhere she'd want to run out of power. Haven wasn't entirely sure what they were going to do there, but she confident that it most likely had something to do with the broadcast. Maybe he wanted her there as his own personal lie detector, because she wasn't very good at the whole intimidation aspect.

When her charge reached 100%, Haven stepped off the charging panels. This should last her a good 24 hours, give or take. But she made sure to also charge extra battery packs, which she promptly shoved into a purse. Haven never quite understood the humanly obsession with handbags, but she supposed it'd be better than carrying around a tool kit and extra batteries in the open. That'd through up a red flag for any council member or supporter.

Moving about the silent apartment, the only thing that could be heard was the quiet mechanical sound of her joints moving. A sound more often unnoticed in the hustle and bustle of the outside world, but when in silence it preys on the ears similar to how most humans can hear their own heart beating and blood pumping with the absence of sound.

Haven didn't need a watch to know the time, she just knew similar to how she just knows many things due to her programming. No doubt soon Morgan would be done with his meeting soon and she wasn't fit to walk about the streets. She made her way to the sad excuse of a wardrobe that her and Alex shared in their closet sized apartment. Haven's fingers filed through the hanging clothes like some sort of sorting machine. She never seemed to care so much about the importance of physical appearance or matching clothing, but Alex had taught her at least the basics so she didn't seem completely out of the ordinary.

Grabbing a seemingly basic outfit that by definition matched, Haven wasted no time in getting dressed while making her way towards the bathroom. Haven open the small cabinet that sat across from the toilet to find an assortment of wings. She grabbed one of her more favorites, dark brunette and wavy, pulled back in a high ponytail. Haven placed the wig over the transparent cranium that contained what Archer once called her brain.

After making herself seemingly appear human, Haven grabbed the handbag containing back up batteries and emergency tools, and headed out of the apartment. It usually took her no time at all to reach the head shop, even when she decided to walk instead of taking faster transportation.

Haven rounded the corner just as Morgan exited the store. She hastened her pace to a brisk walk to catch up to him, and began to call out, "Sorry I'm late I had to-" He seemed to be acting strange while a quiet, "Damn," crossed his lips. Haven slowed her pace as she studied him. She was nearly to him as he studied his hands, before his eyes began to roll back in his head. "Morgan!?" Haven dropped her bag and darted towards him with a speed that was ever so slightly inhuman. She slid to her knees onto the rough concrete behind him, getting in position only a millisecond before his head would have slammed into the ground, no doubt causing a concussion.

She caught his head with a combination of her lap and palms, her eyes widening as she looked down at Morgan's limp and unconscious body. "Morgan..." Haven lightly patted his cheeks trying to wake him up. But that didn't continue for long when she started to hear the sounds of squealing tires and crashing cars. She gently set down Morgan's head on the ground, before bursting into the head shop. "Bud!" She called out for him only to quickly realize he too was unconscious. Running back outside to Morgan, Haven noticed that there were numerous bodies laying along the sidewalks, in cars or in even stranger predicaments. But no doubt something was causing this, and most likely her being a robot is the only thing that kept her unaffected.

Haven had a bad feeling about the transpiring events and didn't feel comfortable with her and Morgan being out in the open, especially with him being unconscious. She quickly grabbed her bag, throwing the strap over her head so it dangled across her torso. Returning to Morgan, she leaned down grabbing his arms. She didn't think she could carry him to the Den, it was too far. So instead, she carefully dragged out of sight into a nearby alleyway. Haven knelt back down and rested his head in her lap yet again. She leaned her head down, placing her ear to his chest to make sure he was still breathing. With no other choice, she leaned her back against the side of a building, waiting for him to wake up.




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[ Nephilim ] [ #EC195C ] [ Outfit ]

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Archer had absolutely no desire what so ever to go listen to Mayor Bourne scold them all for the broadcastings that have been going on. He didn't need to go to the meeting to know what it was about but none the less, it was mandatory and no one fancies pissing off Bourne. So he made his way to the round table, grabbing one of the masks and placing it on his face. Archer always hated the way the material felt upon his face, it made his skin crawl. But it was tradition and god forbid if he went against what was traditional.

He no doubt was one of the first members there, but considering Archer didn't have to travel far save for a couple floors difference in the elevator, he obviously would be fairly punctual. He waited rather impatiently as the others filed in and lastly, a nearly late Alistair. Archer sat rather nonchalantly leaned back in his chair, while twirling a pen along his knuckles as Bourne scolded them like misbehaving children. Once the lecture had finished, everyone was dismissed and Archer didn't feel like waiting around.

Yanking off his mask, he tossed it to the table before heading towards the door. Archer was nearly free until he heard, "Hitchcock." called out. He groaned under a muffled breath before pivoting on his heels to turn and see Mayor Bourne motioning him towards him. Archer cleared his throat, adjusting his sleeves as she walked back over towards him. "Yes sir?" Bourne places his hand threateningly on Archer's shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Do you want to tell me why stranger's are getting into the city?" He swallowed hard before answering, "Sir, I promise you we are going to get to the bottom of this." Bourne grinned menacingly, while squeezing Archer's shoulder tighter. "Oh I know you will... Or I'll be inclined to take my rage out on my head of security who's JOB it is to keep those who are in... in. And strangers out!"

With that Bourne released Archer's shoulder, motioning for him to go. Archer wasn't going to argue that one bit as he swiftly made his way out of the room and to the staircase. He wasn't in the mood to wait for the lethargic elevator when he could reach Security quicker on foot. 10 floors underground was Security and tech. Archer went through the door to be stopped by a man sitting at the front desk. "I.D. Please." Archer slowly turned his head to glare at the man. "You know who I am. Everyone here knows who I am. But yet every single day you insist on asking me for my I.D." The man seemed to grow increasingly nervous. "Apologies sir. But protocol-" "Fuck protocol... Ask me again, and I'll have you thrown out and fed to the rebels faster than you can say sorry!"

The man quickly stood up, nodding and saluting Archer. "Stop browning nosing and get back to fucking work." Archer walked through the full body scanners and walked through the rows of desks that sat dozens of lower rank security members. He made his way to the epicenter of the floor where all the desks seemed to circle around face. In the epicenter was a single glass desk that made up 3/4 of a circle leaving a gap for him to walk into the center, with just enough room move about. Archer placed his hands on the seemingly bare glass top, which then engaged the system. With a raise of his hands holographs shot up from the table surrounding him with glowing lights of blue and red.

Archer put on his headset then began to move his hands around which without the holograms probably would make him look crazy. But with the holograms he was moving around information and looking at city grids. He would then zoom in on certain portions, rotate them or even swipe away layers. "I want to know where the gaps are in our security. Where did the strangers enter the city and where are they? Search every archived footage from city cameras, surges in the electrical grid... Everything!" He barked at the others in the room.

Working his hands more feverishly, he began flipping through grids, charts and pages fast enough to build up a sweat. He threw his hands from left to right, up and down as the information flashed faster before his eyes. He kept digging and sifting until he came to an immediate halt. Archer took a step closer to the hologram, zooming in a very small piece of fractured data in a huge circuit board type grid. He slowly flipped it with his fingers and with that the broadcast finally shut off. "Well... There's one thing down."

Archer's attention was quickly drawn to the door as all the sirens began to blast throughout the floor, setting off lights and loud noises. Alistair entered the floor, and wasn't present more than a second before shattered something on the floor. With one swipe of his hand, Archer's entire work station shuts off. He removes his headset, tossing it on top of the circular glass desk as he made his way to the entrance. He flashes a frustrated glare at the idiot behind the desk, "Turn the fucking alarms off!" The man quickly moved about his cubicle and shut off the alarms.

His eyes glanced over Alistair and the mess he created. "Why does everyone come to my floor to cause problems?" Archer snaps at the guy behind the desk and points at the mess. But once his eyes set upon what it was exactly that Alistair broke, he quickly changed his mind and shooed the guy away. "Where did you get this?" He spoke towards Alistair at that point as he crouched down, and started picking up the pieces to examine them.




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[ Stranger ] [ #1D655F ] [ Outfit ]

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Wolfgang laid along the edge of the shitty hotel mattress, his entire right side of his body dangling over the edge. His long leg and arm both resting upon the floor, while drool dripped from his open mouth down along the comforter. He woke up suddenly with a loud snort. He groggily brought his hand up to wipe the drool from his mouth and steady himself on the bed. Wolf sat up slowly with his eyes still closed, shifting so that he sat on the edge of his bed, resting his elbows upon his knees. Raising his large hands, he wiped the sleep dust from his eyes before parting his fingers to peek through them.

Sight coming into focus, he quickly realized he wasn't in his room. Wolfgang's brows furrowed as he quickly looked around the room, confusion overwhelming him. Where in the hell am I? He thought to himself. Moving to his feet, he made his way over to the window, pulling back the blinds to look outside. A gasp escapes his lips as he quickly realizes he was in some foreign city that he'd never seen before. How did I get here? He tried to scratch the recesses of his brain to trigger some memory as to how he had gotten there. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't remember a thing. His thoughts were like the pit of tartarus, black, hollow and continued on forever.

Wolf quickly grabbed his jacket and headed out of the room. He made his way down to the main lobby of the less than spectacular hotel. As he hurried past the lobby attendant, they called out to him, "Mr. Abernathy!" He stopped mid-stride and made his way over to the desk. "How... how do you know my name?" "You checked in with us last night sir... You need to pay for your room." Wolfgang searched his pockets for a wallet, while staring blankly at the counter. "Last night? Are you sure? I don't remember coming here." Upon finding his wallet, he pulled it out of his pocket. "Yes sir... If you don't mind me saying, you seemed rather intoxicated." "Right." He said blankly, "How much?"

He paid what was needed for him to stay the night, before shoving his wallet back into his pocket and heading outside. It wasn't until Wolf stepped out onto the sidewalk that he realized what she said, you seemed rather intoxicated. "That's not possible..." He whispered to himself. One thing Wolf knew for sure was he never drank, especially never got drunk. Alcoholism ran in the family so he had always avoided it.

Wolfgang walked down the sidewalk, scratching his head as he tried to wrap his mind around what happened to him. Was he drugged? Did someone bring him here? Why doesn't he remember? All the thoughts were straining him to the point of a headache. It even got to the point where his vision started blurring and a heavy feeling tugged at the pit of his stomach. Could straining for memories cause all of that? Soon everything around him began to spin. Wolf stumbled over to a building, putting out his hand to brace himself. But just as he reached the wall, his eye began to roll back in his head and his body toppled over.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandria Belmonte Character Portrait: Wolfgang Abernathy Character Portrait: Morgan Prescott Character Portrait: Aya Fujino Character Portrait: H.A.V.E.N.
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stranger :: #F08080 :: outfit



Black and white. A colorless vision replayed in Aya's mind, over and over. It was of her, standing still, eyes glued to the digital screen in her hands. Her phone's screen showed no image, just a blank whiteness. There was nothing beneath her feet. No sound to be heard. She couldn't even hear the sound of her own breathing. Complete silence. She would look up, and see standing before her an enormous figure. It was shrouded in darkness, its shape indeterminable. Her eyes would widen at the sight, and she would feel her legs turn to jello. A scream caught in her throat, and with a couple heaving breaths, she tried with all of her might to yell. She could have felt her vocal chords shredding apart, yet she was only met with silence. Darkness would overcome her, then she would reawaken by the brightness of her screen. Over, and over. Until her eyes opened for real.

She woke up slowly. Her body sat unmoving, and though her eyes were open, the lids were heavy, and her mind was still elsewhere. Her gaze followed a couple figures passing by, until a sudden realization jolted her mind awake. Where... was she? She sat more upright, but immediately regretted it afterward, discovering a knot in her neck. She must have been sitting in her position for awhile to have her back and neck ache in that way. Her head throbbed, and she put a hand to her forehead to alleviate the pain. Confusion plastered her features, her eyes darting from side to side. She was sitting on a bench on a sidewalk, and the sky signaled that the night was young. A shudder ran through her body, and she grabbed her arms, suddenly feeling chilly.

Aya stood from her spot, jerking out her arms from momentarily losing her balance. She took in the sights before her. She must have somehow made way into the less fortunate part of town, seeing how poorly kept the streets seemed. The streetlights were dim and crooked, almost eery. The young woman continued to observe her surroundings, wondering what on earth was going on. It couldn't have been a self-made illusion. A dream? A hard pinch on the upper arms told her no. Maybe she daydreamed particularly hard before she passed out on the bench and somehow ended here. What bothered her most was that she couldn't quite remember if that was true or not. The last thing she could recall was washing dishes somewhere that was definitely not here.

Figuring that it standing around and doing nothing won't change the situation, she eyed the bar across the street. There seemed to be a lot of people, and there were a couple others who were approaching the building. Although they didn't seem very open to chatter, she sighed in relief, hoping to get some answers from anyone. She began to cross the street, seeing that no cars were around, and lifted her arm to wave. But before she could even open her mouth to speak, a strange sensation of drowsiness overcame her. Her steps slowed, and she barely made it to the other side before her body limped and dropped to the ground.