Remnant's Calling

1x1: New World

Jacket awoke standing before a door lit up by a flickering light. The overwhelming sense of Deja Vu sent a chill up on his spine. Steeling himself, Jacket opened the door to a familiar sight. A man in a rooster mask, dressed like a prisoner, sat with his arms crossed and legs propped up on a small table in front of him. 

"Well, isn't this grand," said Richard. "You and me, here again." He gestured around as he spoke. 

Jacket glared at him in silent loathing. 

"Ah, don't be like that," he said mockingly. "After all, you did this to yourself." 

Although Jacket couldn't see his face, he could tell the bastard was smiling. 

"Besides, I should be the least of your problems," Richard pointed out. "You remember how you got here, don't you?" 

"The hell are you talking about?" Jacket thought with obvious confusion. 

"I figured as much," Richard replied as if he could hear him. He sighed before saying, "But the details don't matter now. I mean, who would want to remember dying, right?" 

Jacket's brow furrowed at the question.

"C'mon, don't act like your new to death," Richard mocked smugly. "You butchered countless amounts of 'ruskies' without a care in the world. What makes this any different? Other than it being your own."

Jacket sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're such a prick."

Richard chuckled beneath the mask. "Maybe," he said evenly.

Reaching down by his side, Richard pulled out a matching rooster mask and a tape recorder.

"Here," said the rooster man. "Take these. You'll need 'em for later."

Jacket's eyes flicked between the items and the soulless eyes of the rooster mask. Eventually, Jacket hesitantly reached forward, taking the two gifts, and hides them in his jacket.

"Oh, and before I forget, remember to watch out for the signs, alright? Let's not repeat past mistakes."

The blond-haired 50-Blessings operative stared at the faceless man ahead of him with an unreadable expression. Richard seemingly scoffs before raising his hand and snapping his fingers, turning the world around Jacket to darkness.

⋯

A cold breeze washed over Jacket's body as he laid down in an ally, unconscious. Moments passed before he jolted awake with his chest heaving. He looks down at himself, seeing his signature outfit on his body. Hell, even down the color of shoes was right.

"Am I... alive?" He frantically questioned, patting himself for injuries.

Finding no wounds on his body, Jacket rises to his feet, although a little shaky. Then, a flash, a memory flared through his mind like a gunshot.

"Here, take these. You'll need 'em," echoed Richard.

Jacket reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a rooster mask and tape recorder.

"So it was real?" he thought.

He shook away the thought and pushed forward, out of the alley. Once out, he looked around, and found himself in a city, maybe. Jacket looks around then sets out down the street with his hands in his pockets. Time flew by like a brief moment before he came to a shop, Dust Till Dawn. Jacket figured the name was nothing more than pun. A bad pun but still a nonetheless. He shrugged to himself and headed inside.