It was already evening by the time we arrived home, so I immediately went to my room on the second floor. My parents were in the middle of work when they heard I unexpectedly awoke and swiftly came to fetch me. Everyone had already eaten, so there was no reason to stay inside the living room. When I arrived in my room, I shut the door and investigated the area. I checked the bed, clothes, computer, room decorations, and even the clothes that I was wearing. Then I checked my closet, and upon seeing what's inside, let's just say I saved that for later. Luckily, there was no spying device of any kind around, can't be too paranoid.

Finally, I allowed myself to relax, diffuse, and recuperate. Everything from the planet that I stand upon to the sky above me and even my own body has changed, and I'm the only one aware of it. It would be enough to drown any grown man in insanity, making them question everything they knew. The life they lived was erased without any indication.

Maybe that's why main characters in novels that are isekaied or reincarnated never question the reason or the reason for it because it would eventually make them question and then lose their own sanity. The human brain has a remarkable way of adapting to new circumstances and holding onto the individual's sanity, or what's left of it, by ignoring and/or forgetting the problem entirely. Unfortunately, I'm not the type to just ignore and forget mind-blowing events, especially when I'm the victim of it, so this experience would have been dangerous for me if I were a sane man. 'Hah, luckily for me, I lost my sanity a long time ago... wait..., I don't think that's a good thing.'

Anyway, now I find myself in this alternate reality where gender roles are swapped. Great historical figures are also different or completely gender-swapped. The great strategist, spokesperson, and most famous racist and fanatic nut job in history, Adolf Hitler, is now known as Adolfeania Hitlerain. But that's beside the point. I still haven't the faintest clue why or how I'm here, and I doubt there wasn't a reason.

Reality-shifting events don't just happen, at least without a price. The only thing that would come close to theoretically explaining my situation is if I literally traveled through a black hole, and the last time I checked, that's impossible. It could just be my paranoia, but my arrival since I got here hasn't changed my viewpoint. That doctor definitely wasn't normal; her demeanor and eyes were anything but.

For now, though, I'll put those behind me. I need to think about myself first and foremost. There's nothing left for me in my old reality except regrets, so I'm not tethered, emotionally speaking, to it. In this reality, I actually have a chance at a normal lifestyle, like a normal kid with a loving family. That includes my little sister, whom I'll deal with tomorrow. If I want a normal life, then I can.

But then what?

Reasons?

Ambitions?

End goal?

There's nothing.

'My previous reasons, ambitions, and end goals are all gone, way before I got into this alternate reality, so I've got nothing now... For now, though, I'll just see where life takes me.'

While lying on my bed, sleep came easier than expected, which shouldn't be surprising considering the stress I was under the entire day. Not to mention my new plans concerning my closet; all I currently know is that it will involve a fire, a big one.

***

In a dimly lit, cool, underground room with one door, two men were present.

One sat restrained on an old and worn iron chair bolted to the floor. Exhaustion covered his face, and sweat covered his body—at least the parts that weren't covered in dried blood. His eye was tired, and the sclera was red-rimmed, with a gaping hole where its twin should be, as if the eye were torn out. The man's fingers were bloodied, and his nails were torn. He had fresh, rugged wound marks all over his body, as if cut by a butter knife. The man, or what's left of him, appeared to be in his early 50s.

The young man in his mid-twenties who stood before him next to an assembly of bloodied tools was a stark contrast. He wore a clean black t-shirt and baggy black jeans, yet his black leather gloves were caked in dried blood. His hair was pitch black, and his brown eyes were so dark you would mistake it for black, and he had light brown skin. His demeanor was detached and calm, almost relaxed, as he stood behind his own chair in front of the bloodied man.

"You know, I respect your resolve, but this is getting boring, Mr. Anderson. Where did you take the package?"

"I can't... tell you... They'll kill... my wife."

"I understand."

"..."

"Bring her in."

At his request, a young girl, looking 14–15, was brought inside by an indifferent-looking middle-aged man. At the sight, Mr. Anderson's hands turned into fists, and veins covered his arms, showing his struggle against the restraints.

The middle-aged man sat the girl down on the chair, and the young man stood behind her. The girl's eyes and mouth were covered by a cloth, with her arms and legs tied up with rope, showing clear signs of struggle. The middle-aged man tied her to the chair using rope, then walked aside to stand in the far corner of the room. As he walked, the girl's voice struggled and failed against her muffled mouth.

"I don't have to introduce you, do I?" asked the young man with the same detached voice, never taking his eyes away from Mr. Anderson.

"Anything. Just don't hurt my daughter... I-I'll do anything." relenting to his restraints, he answered with resignation.

"Tell me where you sent the package."

"But... my... my wife."

"Unfortunate," the young man said as he pulled out a syringe.

"No... no... no... please, NO!!!" Exhaustion, horror, and pain were clear in Mr. Anderson's voice and expression.

The young man, unaffected by the old man's plea, pierced the syringe against the girl's arm, whose muffled voice continued to cry out, injecting the liquid into her bloodstream.

"JAPAN!!! JAPAN!!! That's where I sent... it. Now help my daughter, give her the antidote, dammit!" As if reality had folded on him, Mr. Anderson immediately shouted with new life.

"Thank you for your cooperation," said the young man in the same detached tone he continued to use throughout the "interrogation" as he pulled out a desert eagle with a silencer attached against the seated man's forehead. The worn-out old man barely registered the gun against his head before it exploded, pushing a bullet straight through his cranium. The gun's noise was muffled by the silencer, and the man's head was pushed back due to inertia, then to the side by gravity. As if to cement the moment, the girl's muffled cries that continued throughout the interrogation... stopped.

After a whistle given by the young man, the middle-aged man examined the aftermath with his indifferent eyes, then towards the young man. "The poisoned girl?"

"I'll take care of her; you take care of the corpse." As if done multiple times before, the middle-aged man got to work.

As he did, I looked towards the teenage girl sitting frozen on her seat. Then I awoke...