Work Text:
Kim Dokja sat up. It was another dream, and it seemed all too familiar.
He glanced around before standing up. The dilapidated skyscrapers, broken concrete, and unsurprising lack of guns. This was the world of TWSA again.
Kim Dokja sighed, rubbing his temple. He had worked overtime again at Minosoft and had made it back to his apartment before sunrise, at least.
He gathered his wits. He was near the Minosoft building, and walked out of the cage (very neatly cut. Clearly someone powerful stopped the coin farm.) barefoot.
He stopped walking, shocked. A puddle of crimson, far too thick to be water, was his platform. The concrete rose to the sky, and he wobbled before balancing once again. He stepped past the puddle carefully, and looked further ahead.
A white coat. A sword he recognized as the incredible Unbroken Faith. Midnight-sky hair and a trail of blood leading itself down a black collared shirt.
He… died? In the world of TWSA? It should be almost impossible.
Dokja looked closer. No, that was a white shower robe. Instead of Unbroken Faith, a silvery kitchen knife. A black button-up pyjama shirt. The midnight hair turned brown, almost chocolate.
His father. Who else but?
Dokja fell backwards, gasping in shock. His reflection went from his adult self to a young child, no older than 8, shaking and crying with blood-stained hands. His nails caked in blood, and the knees of his pjs were maroon.
Dokja’s eyes shot open, recognizing the roof of the subway. He sat up quickly, hyperventilating, while the Fourth Wall tried calming him down.
[The Fourth Wall is shaking!]
[The Fourth Wall is shaking!]
[The Fourth Wall is shaking!]
[Ki m D ok ja.]
[A re y ou o ka y ?]
”F-Fourth Wall… fifty-one. Fifty one. Fifty-one.”
[The Fourth Wall is stabilizing!]
”…I miss them.”
[. .. me t oo.]