You're not a happy guy. All you ever wanted was to live alone, peacefully, in an affordable residence, doing a simple job, consuming simple media. You never wanted this. A glare of anger at the world grows on your face as the sky opens, and things fall out, slowly. Already, there are sirens blaring, already, you hear gunshots. The world is changing, and you're worried, scared, but mostly…
Mostly you find yourself annoyed. This was going to cause problems. You had plans, damnit, good plans, plans with new releases and books and smiles. Now you - and the rest of the world - has to deal with this bullshit.
There's a reason you're so upset about this. A reason you're not happy with the state of the sky. You thought it was over, is why. You thought it was done. You were a hero, once, not anymore. But you can bet, the first person that will be needed, relied upon, called…
Is gonna be you.
Your name is Caldwell, and you helped people, once. You were a magus, in a world that didn't believe. Technically, you still are. And now, as magical monster girls and lost people and magic itself is falling into the streets in slow motion, you realize that you're going to get a call, soon now, from the central Council.
'Oh, please, Caldwell! Help us!'
Goddamnit! Help yourself!
The phone rings, as if to spite you.
>Pick up the phone.
>Walk outside.
>Sever the phone line, sit down, and watch netflix, because fuck it.
>Write in