Mingrui rested his chin on his hand, thinking for a moment. "Before we go on," he says slowly, "I think I've figured out how we can 'switch' control."
Klein let out a thoughtful hum, intrigued. "Oh? How?"
Zhou Mingrui snapped his fingers lightly, a small smile forming. "Remember that sensation of 'ascending' and 'descending' through the Gray Fog? My idea is to recreate that feeling."
Comprehension lit in Klein's eyes. "I get it. So I simulate the sensation of 'falling', and you simulate 'rising'?"
Zhou Mingrui nodded. "Exactly. It won't hurt to try, right? It's your body, after all... I should try to give it back." His voice dropped to a quiet murmur.
Klein fell silent for a heartbeat. "... Alright," he says at last. "It's worth a try."
Knock!
Knock, knock!
Flanked by actual police officers, Leonard Mitchell and Dunn Smith—with uniforms crisp and immaculate—headed towards the apartment Klein Moretti presently occupied.
Knock!
Knock, knock!
After a rapid series of firm knocks, silence settled over the apartment hallway once more.
They waited for a moment, expecting something.
"No one at home, perhaps?" Bitsch Mountbatten, the officer responsible for this area, frowned. When nothing happened, he raised his hand, ready to knock again.
They heard a soft click—the hesitant turn of the knob before it halted. The door stayed closed, but a quiet, wary, "... who is it?" drifted through; muffled by the wooden architecture.
Mountbatten straightened, posture impeccably authoritative. "Bitsch Mountbatten," he declared. "Police."
It took a few more seconds before the person inside finally responded.
"Oh."
A sense of foreboding lingered in the suspiciously empty hallway. Leonard Mitchell and Dunn Smith exchanged a glance, their eyes wary despite their calm.
From inside the apartment, the voice they could only assume belonged to Klein Moretti continued; "alright," he said—tone even, perfectly normal. Almost too normal.
If the situation weren't already steeped in the extraordinary, both Beyonders might have believed it without question.
But the air here felt unnaturally still, sharp in a way that prickled at their instincts. Whatever waited behind that door wasn't malicious, yet it was strange—strange enough, and extraordinary enough, to rouse their suspicion.
It is a Mystery given form.
Leonard stares at the door with a smile. There's a certain tilt to his head, as if he's listening to something only he can hear.
"... Strange," the being in his head remarks thoughtfully, "it's almost the same... proceed with caution," the Old Man warns.
It's uncharacteristic enough to warrant Leonard's utmost vigilance.
The Midnight Poet's eyes flicked to the Sequence 7 'Nightmare' briefly, before he turned away; returning to the door.
It was far too common for an entire team to be wiped out when confronting the supernatural—unless you were exceptionally fortunate, or had already been warped into a 'monster' by unseen 'pollution' without realizing it.
In circumstances like these, even the slightest irregularity could mean that the person before you was no longer truly 'human'.
The door opens.
Black hair. Brown eyes. A thin frame. A distinctly bookish air. Klein Moretti stood before them.
Leonard observes with sharp, green eyes. Nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary... at least on the surface.
(... "So they've knocked on our door," Zhou Mingrui comments inside Klein Moretti's head. "What a coincidence, right?"
"... Please, Mr. Zhou," Klein replies as he grips the doorknob tightly, "don't make my anxiety any worse than it already is...")
As a Nighthawk, Leonard immediately noticed Klein Moretti's pale face and anxious expression. The mission's estimated danger level teetered somewhere between one level higher and one level lower.
Now, what happened here? His eyes sharpened even more, even as a relaxed smile stayed on his lips.
Klein Moretti smiles at them helplessly; apologetic. "Good day, Officers," he says respectfully. "I wasn't expecting a visit... you've caught me by surprise."
He gestured lightly. "I was just cleaning, so it's a bit messy. Please, come in, and we can talk."
'Sweet enough,' Leonard thought.
"It's nothing," Mountbatten says, waving his hand as he stepped inside. He lifted a hand, and motioned for Klein to look at the three other people behind him.
"These inspectors have something to ask you."
As Dunn and the accompanying inspector stepped forward to begin the routine questioning, Leonard scanned the room cautiously, keeping an eye on every movement Klein Moretti made.
Then his gaze landed on a notebook lying on the desk, considering. 'My spirituality registers nothing, so that notebook shouldn't be an issue.'
His eyes returned to the target of suspicion. 'But that doesn't mean it isn't worth investigating.'
".. What is it?" Klein asks worriedly; a glint in his eye as if he's realizing something.
"Do you know Welch McGovern?"
Klein blinked, and a shard of his mask broke. "Yes," he says dazedly, "he's my classmate... my friend."
He paused, then continued; "have something happened?" he asked, looking as if he's already grieving before they could even announce the unfortunate news.
The Nighthawks exchanged a glance—barely perceptible to anyone else—then looked away, each silently calculating their next move.
Deciding to cut to the chase, Dunn Smith answers calmly, "I'm sorry... Welch McGovern has, unfortunately, passed away."
Something flickered across Klein's eyes; grief, sorrow... the usual expressions one wears upon hearing of a death so close to them. Strangely though, there was no trace of surprise.
He might have expected this then, Leonard summarizes. "You don't seem surprised." Why so?
Klein's eyes drifted over towards him.
"... I'll be completely honest," Klein began, a visible sadness in his expression. "I've had my... suspicions," he says with emphasis.
Not much of a suspicion then, and more like a confirmation, Leonard noted to himself.
Klein's eyes flicked over to Dunn Smith. "... Since you've come to me," he said, "it practically confirms everything I suspected."
The Captain nods, "and that is?" he presses.
Klein looked deep in thought... perhaps weighing what to say, and what to leave unsaid. "... I presume you must have investigated this beforehand?"
"I often meet with him and... Naya... to interpret and discuss the Fourth Epoch Notebook that belonged to him," he explains.
"We have," Dunn Smith answers, "yes."
Klein hesitated, his gaze drifting to the desk—specifically, the notebook Leonard was planning to examine.
Oh? Leonard's eyes followed, interest piqued. An interesting turn of events.
"I must say," Klein continued, "there are some things I'm not entirely certain of, but I'm someone who constantly records his thoughts in a journal, and..." he trailed off, reaching for his notebook...
... and willingly handed it over to Dunn Smith. "I'm not sure if it counts as evidence, but it might help," he offered.
With the notebook in the Captain's hands, Klein leaned over to flip it to a specific page. "It was late May when Welch approached me about the notebook," he explained calmly.
Curious, the Midnight Poet leaned over the Nightmare's shoulders to take a look. '29th of May. Welch came to me and told me he'd acquired a notebook from the Fourth Epoch...'
Klein stepped back, leaving them to pore over the notebook's contents. He looked slightly embarrassed, Leonard noted—understandably so; anyone would feel that way if someone was reading their diary in broad daylight.
Amused, Leonard's faint smile widened. What an interesting fellow... Suspiciously obedient, and remarkably law-abiding, too.
"... While we were deciphering its contents," Klein adds, "something strange happened, you see." And then his eyes glazed over, as if recalling a memory.
"Strange, you say?" Dunn Smith asked cautiously, handing the notebook to Leonard. "Does it have anything to do with that one quote—'everyone will die, including me'?"
Flipping through the pages absentmindedly, Leonard frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Actually," Klein said, glancing at his notebook with a hint of disdain. "I don't know what that means." Sincerely, he continues. "I woke up with neither memory nor recollection of what happened... just that one quote haunting me ever since."
"... I didn't write it," Klein paused, "or at least, the current me didn't write it. My memory stops at June 27th... I only remember taking a carriage to Welch's house, and after that..."
"... Nothing at all," he admitted. "I don't remember anything at all... it's been," Klein shifts uncomfortably, "it's been bothering me ever since."
"... Tell me about these strange things," Dunn Smith says, serious.
Hearing this, Klein regarded him with a complicated expression, as if he could hardly believe they were entertaining his absurd claims.
Then he sighed, letting it all out honestly. "Honestly—and I mean honestly—it's going to sound absurd, even more absurd..."
"While I was trying to remember what happened this morning, I realized that something was amiss."
"At the beginning of the deciphering, our behavior was normal," Klein explains, "but as it went on, I noticed Welch and Naya's movements becoming... stiff... slow; almost like puppets."
He paused, frowning. "I'm not even sure if I was affected myself. Everything felt hazy, blurry—like I was drifting through a dream."
"I can't be sure," Klein continued carefully, "but I think I might be experiencing symptoms of auditory and visual hallucinations..."
Then he lets out a wry smile, grieving. "Why else would I be hearing and seeing things that aren't really there...?"
Dunn Smith and Leonard Mitchell exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. Then they turned away.
"But you appear to be... perfectly fine now?" the Captain asked, probing. "How did you manage to get rid of this... abnormality?"
"Yes," Klein readily agreed. "I seem fine now."
After a long pause, he rummaged through his drawer, a certain look flickering in his eyes as if something had just resurfaced in his memory.
He pulled out a gun.
"This is Welch's," Klein explained. "This morning... I found myself slumped over the table, and this gun was lying right beside me—missing a bullet."
"Are you implying that you committed suicide?" Leonard asked, the first to grasp the implication.
Klein blinked. "I don't know, sir," he admitted. "I truly don't know."
Then he gave a wry, helpless smile. "It sounds insane, doesn't it?"
Imagine how I feel?
He does not say.
"In short... that's how it is," Klein said quietly. "If something happened to me... then it's not hard to speculate that something must have happened to my friends as well."
He spoke with a calmness that didn't match the content of his words, wearing the expression of someone fully prepared to be called insane and sent to a mental hospital.
"... Please accept our condolences," Dunn Smith says with sincere eyes.
Klein paused, then he smiles. It's a soft, sorrowful smile.
Notes: