Spyra was dark and wet. Rain fell in heavy sheets. Detective Arlen Kael ran through the streets, his shoes splashing in puddles.
Screams came from an alley. Something bad was happening. He pulled out his gun.
"Stop! Police!" he shouted.
A figure froze. Then the mask came off.
Arlen stepped back.
The face staring at him… was his own. Same gray eyes. Same scar on his cheek. Same everything.
"No… that's impossible," he whispered.
The man smirked and ran. Smoke and fire filled the alley.
Arlen looked down at the ground. Wanted posters were scattered everywhere. And on every single one… his face stared back.
He picked up a note. Hands shaking, he read:
"By the time you find the truth, it will be too late. Spyra is not what you think."
Arlen's heart pounded. Somewhere, the man who looked exactly like him was out there. And he didn't know if he was chasing a criminal—or himself.