“This is Earth?”

  Bahamut plopped onto Jin’s head, his size no bigger than a plushie. His once-majestic obsidian scales now dull, the eyes reflecting the very universe itself have been replaced by comically large, round, and shiny ones like those cheap green marbles.

  Jin exhaled through his nose. Deep and long. The familiar smell of the air – polluted as usual – mixed with the racket of noises around, brought him a smile. Yet the scene was alien.

  “Yeah. This is Earth, alright. But not the place I’m used to.”

  The RIFT that he escaped from half a day ago loomed ahead. Surrounding it was a barricade, its warning sign flashing intermittently.

  [DANGER. THIS IS ACPS TERRITORY. NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMISSION.]

  ACPS? Not SeComm?

  His braid slipped through his fingers as he read it again. He didn’t read it wrongly. Nor did his eyes play tricks on him.

  “So, we’re not in Neo-Tokyo then? Where the hell are we?” Jin mumbled to himself as he glanced below from the rooftop of a five-story building he was on.

  Civilians milled about with their business, not caring one bit about the RIFT ahead. Players lingered near the barricade, some about to go in while others waited for their party members. None, however, looked at Jin’s way.

  Good.

  Jin dropped from the rooftop into the alley’s shadows. CCTVs flashed overhead, yet those were useless in a RIFT-active zone where Players often flaunted their strength. Even if he was caught, no one would question some fancy acrobatics.

  As he was about to exit onto the main road, Bahamut’s claw suddenly gripped tighter on Jin’s scalp.

  “I smell something.”

  Jin smiled. They were at the back of a bakery shop. A slight whiff and he already knew what the smell was.

  “It’s cinnamon croissants. Extra lard. You like it, Bee?”

  “It is intriguing. I want to know more about this thing you call cinnamon croissants. Bring me to it!”

  Jin couldn’t help but chuckle. So, the god had taste too. Besides, Jin's stomach started to grumble, and he didn’t know how long he had not eaten.

  “Alright, let’s check it out.”

  However, reality soon hit Jin like a truck. The moment his reflection from the bakery’s window hit him, he froze. He looked more like a caveman than a human.

  Worse, within the rags that were once his uniform, he found neither money nor any other form of identification with him. Including the all-important Cleaner’s ID. With that last item, he could always use it as a bargaining tool, especially in a foreign area like this.

  In short, he was an illegal immigrant. Jin cursed himself.

  “What is wrong, Jin?”

  “Sorry, Bee. But the cinnamon croissant got to wait. I have no money or any ID on me.”

  “Money? ID?”

  Jin didn’t have the strength to answer Bahamut’s question, mulling silently over his fate. It didn’t help that those around Jin avoided him like plague. His looks aside, he smelled like a sewer. Blood, rot and sweat all mingled in one ungodly scent, churning the stomachs of those around him.

  His ‘special’ Cleaner job might have made him numb to it, but others don’t. Even the bakery’s shopkeeper had to come out and chase him away after complaints from the customers.

  “I am not pleased, Jin.”

  “I’ll buy you some other time. For now, we've got more important issues to solve.”

  “More important issue than my offering?!”

  Bahamut, who never once showed his temper before, was more than just disappointed. Jin could even feel a certain world-ending energy radiating from the godlike creature.

  “I’ll buy you a whole bunch. Promise. But for now, please, Bee? Don’t make it harder for me than it already is.”

  Bahamut relented. “Very well. Remember, Jin. I shall not be deprived for too long of this cinnamon croissant offering.”

  Jin heaved a sigh. Fortunately, reason prevailed. Also, with Viridiana sleeping soundly inside the tattered remains of his uniform, there was one less problem.

  “Young Viking lad!” A voice, smooth as aged whiskey, called out. “Why are you so anxious?”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  ***

  Sitting across the street on a bench under a tree’s shade was an older gentleman. With a neatly ironed coat and matching coloured slacks and top hat, he looked very prim and proper. Like those aristocrats from the Gilded Age.

  Pointing at himself, Jin asked, “You’re calling for me, sir?”

  The older gentleman laughed. “Unless you see another young, braided wreck lurking about.”

  Once again, Jin glanced at his reflection in the bakery window. Braids, yes. A wreck? Absolutely. But young? His face had paid for every one of its thirty-five years, the lines etched deep by time and hardship.

  He stroked his beard. “Young, huh? I’ve got a ten-year-old kid.”

  “Come, lad. You’re going to make everyone around you more than just nervous.”

  Jin hesitated for a while. Besides the obvious state that he was in, the invitation by itself was not the problem. It was the why. What would the old gentleman want with him?

  Curious, Jin went ahead and perched on the edge of the same bench, leaving a gap wide enough for a stray cat between them.

  “You do not have to be afraid of me, lad. I don’t mind.”

  “But I do,” Jin answered.

  “Perhaps. People do judge a book by its cover, after all.”

  The old gentleman lifted his top hat, revealing a shiny bald head. A quiet pause landed between them.

  Jin was the first to speak next. “So uhmm… what can I do for you, sir? I’m kind of in a rush.”

  “Are we all not in a rush, lad?” The old gentleman chuckled before turning his body toward Jin. “So, tell me. Are your control any good?”

  “Control?” Jin frowned. “What control?”

  “Are you not a Beast Tamer?” The old gentleman pointed at Bahamut, who was resting on Jin’s head, and then at Viridiana, who had to peek her head out from Jin’s tattered uniform at that very instant.

  “Oh, fuck!”

  Jin cursed out loud, startling others nearby.

  Half a day.

  That was all it took for him to screw up – really, truly and utterly screw up. Sure, he’d never even met a Beast-tamer, but the rule was set in stone: no monsters should ever be brought outside the RIFT, pet or otherwise.

  No exceptions. No second chances.

  The reasons were simple.

  Because when a Beast-tamer lost control, a smashed window or broken wall was a warning. A dead body, especially civilians, would be a life sentence. Monsters outside the RIFT also signalled the worst outcome: Cataclysm. By that time, Players nearby would do anything in their power to stop the massacre.

  And Jin?

  He wasn’t just breaking the rule. He was dragging two illegal ‘pets’ through the streets like a walking arrest warrant. He might as well wear the ‘Straight to Jail’ placard on his head.

  Jail.

  The word tasted like a bad lunch. He’d clawed his way out of the RIFT, only to waltz straight into another cell.

  The old gentleman burst out in laughter. Watching how Jin acted had somewhat amused him.

  “Take it easy, lad.” The old gentleman’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes flicked to Bahamut, then Jin’s shirt. “As long as you have a proper leash on those pets, what is the harm? You could be training. Right?”

  Jin’s eyes widened. “Training? Ah yes. Training. Practising. Every time. Every day. Never miss.” He forced out a laugh.

  The old gentleman brought his top hat to his lap and patted it clean of lint. “Even if you mess up, what is the worst that could happen? Besides, plenty here can clean up after you?” His gaze lingered on Viridiana’s peeked-out head. “A baby Salamander and…?”

  “A flying squirrel, sir,” Jin muttered.

  “Baby Salamander? What is he talking about, Jin? Does he-“

  “Shush.” Jin snapped mentally, plastering on yet another strained fake smile, trying not to alert others with what was going through his mind. “We’re one wrong word away from jail time, Bee.”

  “Hmph,” Bahamut grumbled. “You humans sure have lots of restrictions. Suffocating.”

  “Are you planning to dive back into the RIFT?” The old gentleman’ smooth voice cut through Jin’s mental chaos.

  “No, sir. I-"

  A certain plan plopped into Jin’s mind. How well it would work, he didn’t know. But he might as well try it. Taking a deep breath, he then faked the lowest and saddest voice he could make.

  “I-I… barely make it out alive.”

  “Oh?” The old gentleman’s eyebrows rose. “Even as a Beast tamer, you find it hard?”

  “Unfortunately, I overestimated my ability, sir. I thought with two pets, I could at least…” Jin purposely slurred his words before mumbling incoherent nonsense at the end.

  “Friends?”

  Jin shook his head. “I-I went in solo, sir.”

  The old gentleman chortled. “You went in solo, you say? Yes. Yes, you are foolish. Even if it is a lowly D-Class RIFT, it is still foolish to do. Am I right?”

  “Y-Yes, sir.”

  Jin slumped his head, avoiding eye contact.

  “I’ve been here since the first party went in, and fortunately, no one came out looking as bad as you. Not yet anyway.”

  “B-But I lost everything I had on me. Money, ID, license…”

  “You can still earn them, right?”

  “But without them, I can’t possibly enter any RIFT.”

  “True. But I see no fuss with that. Get them reissued at the centre.”

  This was what Jin planned from his play-acting. If this place were truly not Neo-Tokyo, then he could be considered an illegal immigrant. So, no matter what he did here, he would never get his identification or license back. Even if he went to the ambassadorial office, there was little they could do, too. Especially with him looking like a Viking wreck.

  Only one more problem remained. And it was through this weird stranger that he would get that information. Maybe a help or two, if he was lucky.

  “Easier said than done, sir.”

  The old gentleman’s smile disappeared, replaced by a slight frown. “Is it now?”

  Jin pressed on, despite the risk of raising this strange man’s ire.

  “But sir, I’m from Neo-Tokyo.”

  The old man’s eyebrows shot up. “Neo-Tokyo?!” His top hat tilted as he leaned in. “What’s a Player from the Eastern Eurolasian Alliance doing all the way in New York? Not enough RIFTs for you over there?”

  New York? The American Confederate?

  He nearly screamed those words out – but bit it back at the last second. The last thing he needed was this old, weird gentleman with too many questions getting suspicious. If he weren’t already.

  “What happened, Jin?” Bahamut’s voice slithered into his mind.

  “American Confederate,” Jin replied, clenching his jaw. “We’re on the wrong side of the damn planet.”

  “So? Not Earth?”

  “Still Earth. But…”

  His fists tightened. Jin now realised that this was more than just him being a stranger in a foreign land, with nothing but rags on his back.

  “Too far from Eleana. Too far from home.”

  “Far from home?” Bahamut kept asking. “I do not understand, Jin.”

  He didn’t bother explaining the rest. Bahamut wouldn’t get it – the dragon couldn’t even grasp the concept of no money, no ID, no connections. What more of the concept of distance, space and time?

  Wait.

  Time?

  Something about that word sent his instincts into overdrive.

  “Sir,” Jin forced himself steady. “What’s today’s date?”

  The old gentleman chuckled. “Hit your head, lad?”

  Jin plastered on a weak fake grin. “RIFT’s time can get a little fuzzy. Messy. You know the drill.”

  The old gentleman smiled. “Here”.

  He handed Jin a newspaper – AC Player Tribune. Jin’s eyes snapped to the date in the corner, its tiny font blurring as his breath stalled.

  His voice then finally shattered.

  “Se-SEVEN YEARS?!”