The following days unfold beneath a deceptive calm, a suffocating pause that becomes increasingly unbearable for Dave. The city, ruined and broken, mirrors his own growing frustration. Everything around him feels stuck in limbo, frozen in a deadlock. But nothing weighs heavier than the constant tension with Heinz. That man is a damned enigma—always feeding him half-answers, scraps of truth that only drag him further from his original goal: going back to his world.
One night, after yet another failed search for demonic energy shards, Dave's patience finally snaps.
"Seriously, Heinz? This is all part of the plan? Because it looks more like a sick fucking joke."
He throws his sword to the floor with a dry metallic clank and drops into a rusted chair inside the warehouse where they're hiding. Heinz, as always, watches in silence. His dark, unreadable eyes bore into Dave without betraying the slightest hint of emotion.
"If you really want to help me, then act like you know what the hell you're doing," Dave growls, fury burning in his gaze. But Heinz doesn't flinch. He simply tilts his head slightly, as if studying him, as if Dave's anger were just another piece of a puzzle only he can see.
"You don't understand what's at stake," he mutters, frustration laced with something that borders on pain. "This isn't your world, and every step we take here can change everything. For better… or worse."
Dave stares back, caught in the intensity that seems to consume him bit by bit. He wants to scream at him to stop talking in riddles, to just say what he's hiding. But something deep inside holds him back. Something that whispers he needs to trust him—even if he doesn't understand why.
But trusting Heinz feels like stepping off a cliff with his eyes shut.
The room suddenly feels smaller. The air, denser. Heinz still watches him with that unreadable expression, and Dave knows that if he stays there one second longer, he's going to explode.
"I'm going to drink myself unconscious," he mutters, rising to his feet. "Maybe I'll wake up and find this was just a shitty dream. Or better yet, a nightmare."
Heinz says nothing. He just follows him with his eyes until he vanishes through the door.
The city glows with flickering lights and the low murmur of bars full of souls looking to forget. Dave wanders aimlessly, hands buried in his pockets, his face shadowed under the dim glow of the streetlamps. He needs something strong—something that burns on the way down, that pulls him out of his head, that helps him forget.
He pushes open the door of a grimy dive bar, the stench of old booze and tobacco hitting him like a slap. He drops onto a stool without thinking.
"Double whiskey," he tells the bartender, who barely looks at him before pouring the drink.
When the glass reaches his hand, Dave stares at it for a long moment, watching the way the amber liquid distorts the bar's light. His reflection on the surface looks strange, not quite right. As if the city were starting to devour him too.
He doesn't even get the first sip in before a slurring drunk leans toward him from the next stool.
"Haven't seen you around in a while..." the man mumbles, voice thick, eyes half-closed.
Dave ignores him, eyes fixed on his drink, but the guy leans closer.
"What? Now you act like you don't know anyone, Dave?"
Dave slowly turns his head, raising one eyebrow. Another case of mistaken identity. They keep thinking he's the other Dave. He doesn't even bother correcting them anymore.
"Look, I'm not in the mood for this," he warns, his voice rough, and lifts the glass to his lips.
The man snorts, smiling crookedly.
"Still so full of yourself. Ever since you humiliated Axel, you think you're untouchable…"
Axel.
The name hits him like a gut punch.
A low buzz settles in his head. The lights in the bar feel too bright now, blinking in an erratic rhythm. His vision blurs for a second, but he forces himself to hold it together.
"I'll give you one chance to walk away," he murmurs, voice low and sharp as a blade.
The man lets out a mocking laugh and gives him a shove. Bad move.
In a flash, Dave grabs him by the collar and slams him against the wall. The entire bar freezes. The music cuts off. Heads turn—some in surprise, others in amusement.
"Don't fuck with me," Dave growls, lips inches from the man's trembling face. "I'm not who you think I am."
He shoves him away. The man stumbles, too drunk to retaliate, muttering curses under his breath but not daring to follow.
Dave returns to his stool and downs the whiskey in a single gulp. An awkward silence lingers—until someone at a table chuckles.
"That's more like it, Dave!"
Another joins in, raising his glass.
"Thought you were done beating up drunks."
"Remember when he humiliated Axel?" one says with a nostalgic grin. "I swear, I never get tired of that story."
"Yeah! You wrecked him! The guy vanished for weeks out of pure shame."
Dave smiles, though inside, a knot tightens in his chest. He wasn't the one who did that. But for one night… what difference did it make?
He gets up and walks to the table, pulling up a chair without asking.
"If you're buying the next round, I'll tell you how it really went down," he says, flashing a sly grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Laughter erupts around him. Glasses clink. And soon, Dave is swept into a blur of stories, whiskey, and laughter. They listen to him, tell him tales of his other self—of a Dave who isn't him, but who clearly left a deep, unforgettable mark on this world.
And as the alcohol flows, his mind dulls, but his thoughts—inevitably—circle back to Axel. His Axel.
He can't help but wonder what he'd say if he saw him now, laughing with strangers, slipping into someone else's skin. But right now, Dave doesn't want to think about that.
Because deep down, he knows that when the night ends and the bar lights go out, only emptiness will remain. And the only image likely to haunt him in the silence of his room… will be Heinz's.