"Notes of a Stranger in This World"

Part I

Who would have thought that after so many years, I would be overcome by this strange feeling. Solitude? It seems more accurate to call it loneliness.

Maybe that’s exactly why I decided to start this diary?

Years spent beneath iron have stripped me of emotion. Nothing that should have reminded me of home stirred anything in me... But now I miss it.

And yet, I’m not writing this because of loneliness. It’s because of the boy.

As I strolled through the most picturesque spots of my Abode, the metal creatures followed in my wake. Each of them was beautiful. They were proof that a metal soul can be just as beautiful as any living soul.

That day, I met a boy. No creature should have been able to enter this place without my consent, but he managed it.

Perhaps that was precisely why he was different?

He sat on a green meadow, clutching blades of grass between his fingers, as if detached from the world.

A small, fragile figure, head lowered.

The metal beasts circled him, sniffing cautiously, but he did not react.

Standing next to him, I asked:

"Who are you?"

The boy raised his head, revealing his face, and it was clear—he didn’t understand me.

And yet, even years later, it still lingers in my mind.

What did he mean?

The name he called himself, or something else?

It’s a shame I never asked.

"Big Brother."

I nodded and, reaching out my hand, led him away.

...

Behind us, from the main room, came the muffled sound of a record player.

An old-school jazz song was playing, with rich instrumentation.

"Damn...!" He exclaimed painfully, pressing his burned finger to his lips.

Blowing on it, he continued working on the last of the black rounds.

"..." The cat watched this as if she wanted to roll her eyes. Thankfully, Mr. Nobody didn’t see it.

They were in one of the last hidden rooms of his apartment. An underground research room, the entrance to which was hidden right behind the refrigerator.

A small space lit by a greenish light, most of it taken up by a worktable lined with glass tubes. On either side were dozens of unused reagents and glass flasks.

Right now, there was a special transparent oval-shaped capsule on the table. It had once contained the Solitium, which Paymax had spent a long time studying.

Right now, it holds pulsating dark-purple energy. Similar to that emitted by creatures from the Path of Havoc, such as Ghost or that woman from the Pit—Salvadora.

Handling it with great care, Mr. Nobody prepared the most powerful bullets for his revolver. Of course, he would surely be provided with ammunition at the Neocorp tower, but bullets like these—hardly.

He was going to take a full six of them with him, even though firing more than three consecutive shots from the revolver was madness due to the side effects.

However... He had already assumed that nothing but madness awaited him on this contract.

"Okay, that’s about it." He turned off the equipment and tightly sealed the small opening in the purple energy capsule. "Paymax, anything interesting in yesterday’s news?"

Six loaded dark revolver cartridges lay on the table.

There was also a slightly improved version of the grappling hook, with an enhanced pulling mechanism meant to help with desperate drops. Mr. Nobody had decided to work on this urgently after what happened yesterday—the result of which was his bandaged head.

Another object created using the energy in the capsule was a round, black grenade. Its effect was supposed to be similar to the one that had saved him in the Pit. In fact, creating it—and the bullets—was quite a risky move. It was based on the assumption that the Fool Baals were unable to control the energy of the explosion because they had yet to reach the First Step.

There was no point in creating anything else, since a detailed mission plan and the most suitable equipment would be available at Neocorp.

"Eyewitnesses report a strange man dressed in black at the main church in Norwich. His actions have been described as a public act of penance, and some parishioners were reportedly moved to tears because of his sincerity. The senior priest of the Church of Purity came out to him and publicly absolved him of his sins."

"Mm..." he muttered vaguely, sliding the refrigerator back into place, sealing the hidden passage.

After pouring the cat some milk, he began putting on his new wolf suit.

"Also, some headlines mention... On the eve of the winner of the recent Selection’s departure for the Abode of Dreams, currently trending online, something strange happened. Cameras near the home of the winner’s family—Santi Mikalz—captured a strange dark figure watching their family dinner through the window. This person did not interact with the residents of the house, but left a message on the window, which prompted the boy’s parents to contact the KPD authorities, but Santi Mikalz talked them out of it. ’Forgive me,’ the note read, and users have already begun speculating online about the person’s identity. The most popular guess, oddly enough, is The Plowman."

"Great." He sighed, tightening his tie.

Once he was done with that, before putting on his jacket, he opened a book titled The Phenomenon of Nobody and jotted down a few names.

Sexy Bomb

Super Muscle

Fire Alarm

Alfredo...

Before he wrote down the last name—Super Marty—his hand froze in midair. Memories of that strange note left on the cigarette flashed through his mind.

After a moment’s thought, he closed the book anyway, stopping at just four names.

"And the latest news that might interest you... A couple living in one of Como’s high-rises reported seeing a dark figure falling straight past their windows. Residents on the lower floors reportedly woke up in the middle of the night due to a terrible crash. People passing by the building saw a strange man writhing in pain inside a dumpster. Some say they heard a strange scream beforehand, something along the lines of ’Leap of Faith!’, followed by ’Aaaaaaah!’ This news isn’t very popular online, since there’s never a shortage of stories about freaks in Como."

"Ha." The news made him smile, but not without a hint of bitterness.

After all, he had tried and failed, without ever witnessing any Catalyst Event.

On top of that, because of his head injury, the cat refused to look at him, as if taking even greater offense...

"It’s time. Let’s go, kitty." He checked the time on his bracelet, put on his jacket, and walked over to the couch.

Thankfully, it seemed she had stopped being offended and, in her usual graceful manner, climbed onto his shoulder.

After checking that he had all his gear and the music player, he removed the bloodstained bandage, smoothed down the single silvery strand in his hair, and pulled on the mask. Then he opened the door.

"...I almost forgot."

Walking over to the shelf where a pack of cigarettes lay, he reached out and grabbed what was next to it.

A handkerchief—deep blue.

Carefully tucking it into the top pocket of his jacket, he flashed a smile as he looked at the cat.

"Now we’re definitely ready." Rolling his wrists, he stepped outside without even glancing at the pack he’d left behind.

"29 minutes left."