Shadow-Side

John Smith, Super-Secret Elite Agent, Enters the Scene

Cid didn’t just appear in Mila’s home. He descended.

With the grace of a panther on the hunt, he landed on her coffee table, one knee bent, head slightly tilted down—like a spy who just dropped in from a high-rise infiltration mission.

His sharp suit, the very essence of sleek perfection, did not wrinkle. His tie fluttered, despite the absence of wind.

[Cid, in an ice-cold tone]: "John Smith. Special Agent. Black ops operative. Corporate warfare strategist. Here on a classified mission."

Mila, sitting on her couch mid-gaming session, stared.

“…Are you roleplaying in my living room?”

Cid slowly removed a razor wire from his sleeve, holding it between his gloved fingers with the precision of a man who had neutralized entire hostile organizations before breakfast.

His golden eyes gleamed.

[Cid]: “Negative. This is reality.”

Mila groaned. “Oh my god, you're one of those guys."

Ignoring her very incorrect assumption, Cid turned towards the door.

He opened it—

And saw the endless void filled with multiple versions of himself.

[Alt Cid #2]: “Nice weather in the void today.”

[Alt Cid #3]: “Hey, if you ever get a chance, tell that one knight girl to chill. She's still mad at me.”

[Alt Cid #1]: “Ah, you got stuck too?”

[Alt Cid #2]: “Don’t let the fourth one from the left speak. He talks in riddles.”

[Alt Cid #4]: “The path unwinds when the crow caws at midnight, and the shadows whisper of lost legacies.”

Cid slowly closed the door.

“…Huh.”

Mila, unimpressed, leaned back. “Told you. There’s nowhere to go...what did you expect? Wonderland?"

She was expecting him to panic.

Instead, he adjusted his tie.

[Cid]: “This is just another corporate entrapment scenario. A move from an unknown enemy faction.”

[Mila]: “Bro, it’s just glitches.”

[Cid]: “That’s what they want you to think.”

Mila covered her face. “This is so painful.”

The first glitch hovered ominously above the kitchen counter, causing the fridge to rotate midair.

Cid reached into his suit pocket, retrieving—

A garrote of razor wire.

With a flick of his wrist, the wire shot out, slicing through the air. It wrapped around the glitch, twisting and contorting before—pop.

It ceased to exist.

Mila, arms crossed, huffed. “That’s so overkill.”

Cid rolled his shoulders. “Elimination is best done with precision.”

Then, without hesitation, he moved towards the bathroom.

Cid pushed the bathroom door open—

And came face-to-face with Mila, dripping wet, wrapped in a towel.