Across town, a certain blond male sits in front of a screen, eyes half lidded and close to being bloodshot. The clicking of his mouse sounds almost like a metronome, and the screen displaying some sort of audio. He had several monitors set up, in fact, most of them displaying audio or different documents.

The room he sits in is some sort of studio, where the several monitors in front of him coordinate according to his mouse clicks. He’s wearing a black hoodie, sweatpants, and black sneakers. A pair of old black headphones are comfortably nestled on his head, cupping over his ears. 

Most of the equipment is up and running, but a good portion of it includes boxes. The shelves are barely set up - most of the boards are laying next to the hammer on the ground. It all didn’t seem to matter in comparison with what his eyes are trained on.

The bass of the audio screams from his headphones. It’s quiet otherwise, and as the clock strikes 5 AM, he pauses everything and the headphones fall around his neck. His pale skin is littered with purple bruises, seeming almost fresh. A few fall on his knuckles, but they don’t seem to bother the man at all.

He distantly feels something odd, but he doesn’t realize what it is until he stares back at his reflection in the monitor, where his eyes widened at the sight of himself. Fresh tears fall from his e