The officer squinted at me from across the desk, his uniform neat and pressed, a stark contrast to my own sorry state. My clothes, wrinkled and grimy, reeked of days without a wash. My stomach grumbled softly, a subtle reminder of how long it had been since I'd had a proper meal and a wash. But if the officer noticed or cared... he didn't show it. His face wore the kind of detached patience that suggested I was just another item on a long list of problems he had to deal with.
"Rus Wilson," I said, answering his question. My voice cracked slightly, not from nerves but from sheer exhaustion.
The officer's eyebrows twitched, though his expression remained otherwise unreadable. "Mr. Wilson," he said, dragging out the syllables in a way that made me feel like a schoolkid called into the principal's office. "I take it you understand that it's illegal to enter Libertalia without proper papers."
Oh, I understood. I really did. I wasn't an idiot. I mean it's not like I wanted to be here. Back home, if I could even call it that anymore, at least I had a house. Not much of one, sure, but it was a roof over my head. A tiny apartment with a sometimes leaky faucet and neighbors who argued at all hours of the night. But it was mine. Food wasn't always plentiful, but I'd never gone to bed as hungry as I was now.
I wanted to explain all that, but how do you even begin?
"I had no choice, sir," I muttered, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
My voice was steadier this time, but the words still felt hollow. Excuses weren't going to help me, and neither was the truth—not the whole truth, anyway.
Because who would believe it? That I wasn't from this world, that I'd been ripped out of everything I knew and dropped into this bizarre reality? The compass floating at the top of my vision marked the officer in gray, helpfully letting me know he was "neutral." But even if he didn't look ready to throw me in a cell just yet, I doubted he'd take kindly to me rambling about alternate dimensions.
"It's a crime," the officer said bluntly. "Honestly, we'd have a mind to deport you. But after a background check..." He paused, glancing at the file in front of him. "Well, we couldn't find anything. It's like you just appeared in Libertalia out of thin air. Why is that, Mr. Wilson?"
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "I don't know," I said truthfully. "When I woke up, I was in an alley. That's all I remember."
"We searched the address you gave us," he continued, his tone bordering on accusatory. "Contacted every authority that might have a record of it. But it doesn't exist."
Of course, it doesn't exist. Not here. But saying that wouldn't help. I forced a shrug and tried to look as clueless as possible. "I honestly don't know, sir."
He didn't look convinced. Not that I could blame him. His eyes flicked back to the papers in his hand, scanning them as if the answers he wanted might magically appear.
The "interview" had been thorough, to say the least. They'd poked and prodded me, scanned me for diseases with names I'd never heard of, and ran tests that I couldn't begin to understand. It had been humiliating and invasive, but at least they'd confirmed one thing. I was human. No riftborne diseases, no suspicious anomalies — aside from the glaring fact that I had no history, no records, and no explanation for how I'd ended up here.
The officer sighed, closing the file and setting it aside. "I'll be honest with you, Mr. Wilson. Your situation doesn't look good. Based on what we can piece together, you were likely involved in some kind of... incident that brought you here. Now, we could assume it was an accident, but we also have reason to suspect it might have been arranged."
Arranged? That was news to me. I stared at him, trying to keep my face neutral.
"Arranged by who?"
"That's the problem," he admitted, leaning back in his chair. "We have no leads. No evidence. Nothing. You're a ghost, Mr. Wilson."
A ghost. Great. As if I didn't already feel invisible enough.
The officer pushed a tablet across the desk toward me. "After much discussion, we've come to a decision. This," he said, tapping the screen, "is your best option."
I glanced down at the tablet. The screen displayed a contract, the details written in small, official-looking text. At the top, in bold letters, were the words: Counter Registration Agreement.
"What's a Counter?" I asked, though the word sounded vaguely familiar. I'd overheard it a few times in the streets, mentioned in hushed tones by people who gave me wide berths.
The officer's lips tightened. "Counters are individuals who handle dangerous tasks—guarding rift zones, eliminating threats, and protecting the city from... unforeseen incidents. It's not easy work, but it's important."
"And if I agree to this?" I asked cautiously.
"You'll be granted provisional citizenship. After four years of service, full citizenship. Until then, you'll be under strict supervision." His gaze hardened. "If you refuse, deportation is the only alternative."
Deportation. The word sent a chill down my spine. Where would they even send me? Back to the alley where I woke up? Back to whatever had torn me out of my world in the first place? Or maybe just tossed out into the wilds beyond the city walls, left to fend for myself against creatures I'd only caught glimpses of from afar.
It wasn't really a choice. The officer knew it, and so did I.
I stared at the contract for a long moment. My reflection looked back faintly on the screen, a face I barely recognized anymore. This body… my body wasn't quite the same as it had been. Stronger, more resilient. The tests they'd run had confirmed that much. I'd noticed it myself, too: scrapes that healed in minutes, bruises that faded almost instantly. Whatever had brought me here hadn't just plucked me out of my old life, it had changed me.
"Do I have a choice?" I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to the officer.
"No," he said simply.
With a resigned sigh, I picked up the stylus and scrawled my name across the bottom of the screen.
The moment I handed the tablet back, the officer's demeanor shifted. He stood, smoothing the front of his uniform, and offered a curt nod. "Report to Counter Headquarters tomorrow morning at 0800. They'll handle your training and assignment."
I nodded wordlessly, too drained to muster a proper response. As he led me out of the office, the weight of what I'd just agreed to settled heavily on my shoulders.
Four years. Four years of being a Counter. Whatever that entailed, it couldn't be good. But it was better than the alternative.
The air outside was sharp and cold, the kind of chill that cuts right through you. The streets of Libertalia stretched out before me, bustling with people and vehicles. Above, signs were posted, advertising everything from food to weapons to things I couldn't even begin to comprehend.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking, letting the noise of the city wash over me. The compass in my vision flickers slightly, the gray marker for the officer disappearing as I put distance between us. Other markers popped up instead, most of them were safe. But every now and then, a red dot would appear, lurking in the shadows. Danger.
I tried not to think about what might be waiting for me tomorrow. Training. Assignments. Whatever it meant to be a Counter, I had a feeling it wasn't going to be pretty. But for now, I had bigger problems. Like finding a place to sleep.