"Where am I? Is this hell?" Brown whispered as if in a dream after slowly opening his eyes. The thick blackness surrounding him didn't allow him to perceive anything, filling his insides with panic.

It was like that until the uncomfortable sensation of a soft bed, on which his back rested, brought him back to reality. His difficult and poor life accustomed him to sleeping on rougher and harder surfaces, like the floor and wood, rather than the soft and smooth foam, feathers or cotton.

«Being able to complain about this means I'm not dead,» he smirked ironically.

As his pupils adapted to the darkness, he distinguished a small nightstand within reach of his hand. On top there was a circular clock, whose hands shone dimly in phosphorescent green, and pointed precisely to 3:15.

Brown frowned.

The strange combination of elements felt familiar to him, although he couldn't specify why.

Behind the clock, higher up on the wooden wall, an old window let in the cold wind. It should have provided some illumination, but only a faint beam managed to filter through from the night sky.

«It doesn't look like a jail or a prison, but it's not far from being one...» he got his first impressions.

In general this room, whose bulbs were obviously off, encapsulated the definition of a solitary environment. It was as if the place had been built in isolation.

After confirming that the darkness was due to the dense clouds and not because of some confinement, Brown opened his eyelids completely and abruptly sat up in bed. His bare torso made contact with the air current, but he didn't feel cold despite the low temperature.

He took a couple of deep breaths and slowed his heart rate to focus.

«God, Buddha, Arceus, don't let me fall into a kidnapping and experimentation case,» he pleaded hopefully.

From right to left, his head scanned the room for signs, while his mind, focused on the exploration skills he learned out of necessity, attentively filtered every sound.

"There's no one nearby," he told himself a few minutes later.

His eyes couldn't discern any movement, and apart from the iconic tick tock, only the songs of birds and insects passed through his ears.

His sense of crisis also didn't activate, but this was basic. He could be deceived. He was far from considering himself a talented professional in recognition, however, after using the remaining clues, he was quite sure he was alone.

For example, his abrupt movement did not generate any reaction under the bed or inside the closet.

There was also the sound.

The mere aura of any nearby Warbeast, no matter how weak, would have frightened away the small insects and animals.

«Not yet,» he told himself and, as a precaution, kept changing his search focus until he exhausted different options.

The orb embedded in his heart was silent, which decreased the chances that he was being affected by some supernatural power, like an illusion.

The wind increased and, as he filled his nostrils, he perceived a clean and simple aroma in the environment. The open window maintained good air circulation.

However, a subtle bitterness, characteristic of common medicinal herbs, impregnated the surrounding objects. This indicated that medical care was common in this room.

Another more concentrated part of the smell seemed to belong to a child. «Maybe the owner of this bed? I have that smell stuck all over my body,» he thought to himself and wondered where that person would be.

The total absence of Warbeast aromas showed that none had been here recently, or that they had covered their tracks very well.

There were also no signs of any human crowds. Everything was tidy, pointing to it being a room for civil use.

Any stronger professional or beast lurking? Nonsense! If that kind of resource was worth it, he might as well accept his fate.

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"Maybe a benevolent doctor picked me up?" He asked himself confusedly. He would have to be a saint in the profession. His injuries were not something that current medicine could cure, not without the intervention of supernatural powers. He doubted that even a beast inferior to level 40 could accomplish it.

After a few seconds, with no signs of presences other than his, his shoulders visibly relaxed. It seemed that whoever rescued him did not intend to hold him.

Even so, he did not completely rule out his full alertness, his muscles were still abnormally tense like a lynx ready to pounce at any moment. The drops of cold sweat that slid down his body spoke of the effort he made to keep it hidden.

These reactions, quite strange and urgent, were normal for anyone who had experienced his tragic life. Especially the last scene of his memory, where he should have died. That trauma would not go away soon.

He touched his neck, feeling his hands a little smaller. He focused his attention on looking for any trace of the wound that slit his throat. "How strange, there are no suture points or texture of any scar," he murmured.

However, both the phantom pain and the feeling of choking persisted. The lack of air became overwhelming as he plunged into memories. In addition, the grief over the absurd death of his only Warbeast grew exponentially, tormenting him.

The bombardment of sensations made him cough harshly. His teeth bit his lips hard to wake him up, and a few drops of tears filled with anger and resentment sprang from the corners of his eyes.

He didn't understand why, the more he tried to get away from problems, the more he got involved in them. Misery pursued him like gum stuck in his hair.

In the end, he survived, but at the cost of his companion.

His hands returned to his neck. Then he scratched and rubbed the skin hard, wanting to feel some trace of the internal wound, to confirm the ambush on the laboratory.

He didn't believe in perfect healings, those cost more than hundreds of people like him.

"Maybe my death was an illusion?" He asked hopefully upon finding no trace. "Although it felt so real, psychic tricks or ghosts cannot be ruled out," he tried to reason what happened.

But his suspicions were denied shortly after.

He remembered every detail of that day, from breakfast with Kel, cleaning the ranches, to picking up products for the director. For a beast to affect him without him noticing anything strange, it would have to know about the rock in his body.

The orb embedded in his heart was not vegetarian.

Any energy he felt nearby would be absorbed quickly and cleanly: states like [Paralysis] or [Illusion], which are a product of “energy type” flowing constantly in the victim, could not last long in him.

Obviously a powerful attack, whether physical or supernatural, would first wreak havoc on his flesh before being assimilated. But that's another matter.

Apart from this artifact, Brown had nothing else of value. However, no one knew of its existence. The fluctuations surrounding it prevented any form of advanced scanning. As a result, after many years of effort and a waste of a small fortune on the part of his father when Brown was a child, they could never find that this fragment was the cause of his illness.

Apart from dragging and stealing the energy from his blood, keeping his body weak throughout his life, that “treasure” did not serve much purpose. Although Brown was grateful that it never completely dried him up, otherwise he would have died before even breathing his first breath of life.

If someone found out about its existence and wanted to extract it, they would only have to open his body and collect it from within. It was not necessary to create a scene. After all, it only seemed invisible to scan, but it was certain that it was inside him.

Then, “What the hell is going on?”, he muttered amidst the continuous throbbing in his temples.

Aside from the bad luck of hitting the fat man and being involved in some high-level conspiracy, his limited knowledge only allowed him to declare: “I’m a fool and I’m lost!”

The cold air delivered oxygen to his lungs again, refreshing his body a bit, and he seized the impulse to get up from the bed.

What’s the difference? I have nothing of value left, he thought and wiped his tired face, removing traces of tears. What if a super medicine that could resurrect the dead had been used to save me? At best it would have been a waste.

As there was no presence nearby, he decided to take a risk and explore the surroundings.

He walked slowly, stumbling erratically, with the goal of reaching a wooden door next to the bed. There was another further away, which seemed to scream exit, but he would leave it for the end. He was more curious to find out where he was and if his Warbeast had also been rescued.

Although he confirmed his companion’s death, it must be known that his own throat had been ripped wide open, and here he was, alive and tangled in his thoughts. He would never doubt miracles of this world!

His feet moved erratically as if there was a brief disconnection with his brain, which he attributed to an aftereffect of his innate weakness. As a result, he managed to get close to his target.

Oddly, the environment became increasingly familiar to him, although it also eluded him. Like when you just wake up from a dream and remember the previous details, only to completely forget them minutes later.

Brown shook his head. The throbbing increased the more he tried to remember, always taking him back to the moment his Beast died.

Suddenly, a half broken floorboard that he accidentally stepped on wounded his bare feet, surprising him in the act. At the same time, an unclear flashback came to him, and his body, with no instructions from his distracted mind, stumbled forward due to inertia.

His outstretched hands hit against the wooden door, which opened easily.

Then, the unforgettable squeal, like the scraping of chalk on a blackboard, came from the rusty hinges.

This broke through a barrier in his brain, and images of his past completely flooded his psyche.

“Wait a minute, isn’t this my old room?” he was surprised as the flashback and the blow of his face against the floor occurred in sequence.