The City [Multiverse]

City Park:

The soft canopy of oak leaves filtered the pale, tranquil morning light, casting speckled shadows across the manicured lawn. The park stretched out toward a wide plaza of sun-warmed concrete, retro streetlamps, and mid-2000s municipal benches. Yet the idyllic calm was shattered by an orchestra of sharp voices, clattering boots, and frantic confusion just past the broad trunk of the oak.

"Stay back! I'm warning you, stay the hell away from us, you giant freak!"

Natsuki stood planted on the paved walkway, her hands balled into trembling fists at her sides. Her pastel-pink twin-tails bounced with every sharp twitch of her head, her face flushed red with sheer, defensive outrage. Behind her, Yuri hovered like a startled shadow, long purple hair spilling past her shoulders as she clutched a thick, dark-bound novel against her chest like a shield. Yuri's eyes darted wildly, taking in the alien skyline and the figures around them, her breath catching in faint, ragged hitches.

"I—I'm sorry," came a deep, muffled mumble.

Legoshi stood a few paces back, his shoulders severely hunched inward in a desperate bid to appear smaller than his imposing frame. His long arms hung awkwardly, clawed paws half-tucked into the cuffs of his Cherryton dress shirt, his tail tucked stiffly between his legs. His bluish-gray ears were pinned flat against his head, dark eyes wide with bewildered distress as he took a cautious step backward, his brown loafers scraping the dirt. "I didn't mean to scare you. Really. I was just... I woke up over there by the fountain, and I..."

"Bwahaha! What's the matter, flat-chest, never seen a giant mutt before?!"

A raucous, piercing laugh cut straight through the tension. Miu Iruma strutted forward, brass goggles gleaming atop her messy strawberry-blonde hair. She hooked her thumbs beneath the studded leather harness spanning her chest, thrusting her chin upward with intolerable smugness. "You virgins are losing your damn minds over a flea-bitten mascot! Obviously, this is just some third-rate psycho's kidnapping prank! But they picked the wrong target, 'cause the gorgeous girl genius Miu Iruma is gonna tear this whole simulation a new one!" She paused, puffing out her cheeks as her icy blue eyes flicked nervously toward Legoshi's exposed fangs, her bravado wobbling for a microsecond before she barked, "A-And if that overgrown puppy tries biting me, I'll turn him into a rug! Got it?!"

"Everyone, please, let's just take a breath."

A calm, steady voice intervened. Wise stepped smoothly into the center of the ring, his gray jacket swaying slightly in the breeze. He held his hands out, palms open in an unhurried, pacifying gesture. His sharp eyes flicked across the group—measuring Legoshi's docile slouch, Natsuki's defensive stance, and the bizarre contraptions on Miu's belt. Beside him, Belle leaned around her brother's shoulder, her short blue-and-orange hair catching the sun as she flashed a disarming grin, though her green eyes were calculating every detail of their surroundings.

"He's right, nobody panic," Belle chimed in, pointing a thumb over her shoulder toward the empty avenue beyond the park's wrought-iron gates. “There's no signal on our phones, none of the street signs match New Eridu, and unless Sixth Street had a massive botanical makeover overnight, we're definitely not home. Pointing fingers isn't going to get us breakfast."

"B-Breakfast...?" Yuri whispered, her voice barely carrying over the rustle of leaves. She pulled a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at Legoshi with quiet apprehension, noticing the nervous, apologetic twitch of his whiskers. "Then... this isn't our school? How did we even get outside?"

Legoshi blinked, his gaze wandering helplessly past Wise toward the trees, visibly desperate for anything familiar in this disorienting place.

City Marketplace:

The low, amber slant of late-afternoon sun cut across the open-air market, casting exaggerated ribbons of shadow over rows of deserted vendor stalls. Striped fabric awnings flapped faintly in a temperate breeze that carried none of the expected coastal grit or exhaust fumes. Everything looked immaculate, almost unnaturally preserved: wooden crates stacked neatly with plump, glossy persimmons and crisp cabbages, display racks hanging untouched vintage cassette decks and flip-phones, all quietly waiting for transactions that had never taken place.

Down the main brick-paved concourse, an erratic clatter of footsteps shattered the tranquil hush.

Denji wandered past a display of imported instant noodles, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark trousers. His necktie dangled half-undone over an unbuttoned white collar, and his messy yellow hair caught the copper glint of twilight. Every few paces, he stopped to sniff the air like a stray hound, his sharp teeth clicking together in restless confusion.

"Hey! Anyone home?" he called out, his voice scraping against the quiet facades. "I’m looking for an udon stand! Or a bakery! Heck, I’d settle for a half-eaten pork bun off the pavement!" He gave an empty metal turnstile a swift, testing kick, watching it spin with a dull, rhythmic squeak. Nothing jumped out. No blood-slicked fiends, no screaming civilians, and no stern reprimands from Public Safety handlers. ‘Where the hell did everybody go? Did Makima send me to some backwater town for a stakeout? Without pocket money?’

From around the corner of a shuttered tea parlor, a different pair of shoes clicked with firm, deliberate urgency against the stones.

Ryūko Matoi marched into the thoroughfare, one hand gripping the strap of the hard-shell guitar case slung diagonally across her back, which held her Red Scissor Blade. Her blue-black hair parted around that vivid crimson fringe, her groove-pupiled eyes sweeping the rooftops and alleyways with sharp suspicion. Beneath her collar, the single eye of her navy-blue sailor uniform blinked awake, the fabric shifting subtly against her skin.

“Ryūko,” a gravelly, dignified voice vibrated directly within her collar, muffled to all but her ears. “This perimeter lacks hostile intent, yet the atmospheric composition feels... disjointed. Keep your guard up.”

"Tell me something I don’t know, Senketsu," Ryūko muttered out of the corner of her mouth. She reached to tuck a thumb into her suspenders, coming to a sudden halt as she rounded the central fountain and nearly collided with the scruffy blond teenager.

Denji froze mid-step. His gaze snapped down, landing instantly on her bared midriff, then darted up to her sharp glare, and finally settled on the bulky instrument case strapped to her spine. His jaw slacked just enough to show off his pointed, shark-like teeth.

"Whoa," Denji blurted, blinking several times. "A high school girl. Wait, are you a Devil? Did you get lost too, or is this your neighborhood?"

Ryūko’s brow furrowed, her free hand immediately drifting toward the latch of her guitar case. "Devil? The hell are you talking about, bleach-head? What kind of cosplay gang did you crawl out of?" She took a slow, measured step to the side, sizing up his rumpled office uniform and the curious triangular pull-cord resting dead center between his collarbones. "If you're one of Satsuki Kiryūin's lackeys trying to ambush me in some ghost town, you picked a lousy disguise."

Denji tilted his head, scratching vigorously behind his ear. "I don't know who that is, but if she's got meat buns, point me her way. I woke up on a bench by a train station, and none of the vending machines take real yen." He squinted past Ryūko toward the edge of the market square, where the surrounding brick arcade curved into the shadow of the setting sun, sensing another presence lingering just at the periphery of the cobblestone courtyard.

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