An alarm clock started blaring, interrupting the quiet of the early morning. The obnoxious beeping kept going until another person started banging on their ceiling to wake up the person that the clock should have woken up, demanding that they turn the 'damned thing off'. A figure in their bed turned around to slam their hand onto the button on top of the clock to cease the noise. With the alarm clock off, the silence that permeated before returned to trap the entire building like it was a bug stuck in amber. The figure in the bed tiredly rubbed his eyes as he shoved his blanket onto the ground. The young blonde swung his feet to hit the ground, quietly groaning as the cold hardwood sapped the warmth that his blanket had provided. He reaches his hands into the air to pop his back, his face scrunching up before he pushes off his bed to stand up. He tosses his blanket back on the bed, but he doesn't make any attempts to make the bed presentable. He leaves it as chaotic as it currently is.

The blonde walks around his bed, shivering in the cold air. He reaches for a jacket he had thrown on the floor. He slides it over his head while continuing out of his bedroom. He walks across the hallway, pushing open the opposing door. He flips the lights on the bathroom, kicking the door shut with his foot. He leans down to splash some water on his face, nearly shrieking at the cold temperature. He wipes his face off with a towel that was hanging on the back of his door to dry. He wets his toothbrush, and opens the mirror up to grab onto his toothpaste. He pushes the toothpaste on the brush, and works on brushing his teeth as he looks in the mirror.

He looks as tired as he feels, he notes. He leaves his toothbrush in his mouth as he pulls at the skin around his eyes as if he could physically make the bags go away. When that doesn't do anything, he spits out the toothpaste and rinses off his brush. He wipes his face off with the towel. He grabs onto a comb he had left on the bathroom counter. He attempts to straighten out his curly hair, but it springs up awkwardly in some places while lying flat in others. He wonders if it would kill his hair to be consistent for once in its short life. Perhaps the next batch of hair cells will be more obedient.

He opens the bathroom door, flicking off the light as he leaves. He returns to his bedroom to change his clothes. He ditches the jacket for a white button-up and reddish maroon vest tucked into black pants. He tugs on his job approved socks and pulls on his black, buckled shoes that shine in the gray light that pours through his window. He checks his outfit to make sure that all his buttons are, in fact, buttoned and in the correct places. It wouldn't be the first time that his buttons were mismatched.

With hygiene and work clothes out of the way, the boy leaves the small hallway that held the doors to his bedroom, bathroom, and a closet he shoved a lot of rarely necessary things in. The main room wasn't anything special. It was a near empty living room and kitchenette with a foldable table inelegantly shoved in the corner by the only windows. He walks past the one reclining chair in his living room that is decorated in far too many patches for it to be safe. He enters his kitchenette to grab a granola bar. He sniffs it to make sure that it hadn't expired. When nothing foul enters his nose, he peels the wrapping off the granola bar, throwing it away before he leaves his apartment.

He walks down the hall to the big door at the end. He pushes the door open while munching on his granola bar, entering the stairwell. He walks down the stairs to the ground level. He pushes the door open to enter into the lobby. The landlord at the receptionist desk gives him an unamused stare. He waves at the man. The landlord's glare sharpens. "I don't know why you keep that damned thing. It doesn't even wake you up in the morning; it wakes up everyone else!"

He chuckled at his landlord's words. He had gotten the alarm clock when he first moved into this apartment, and he only set it recently when he got a job that required him to get there early in the morning. The alarm clock had not yet woken him up, but he had heard several complaints from the other tenants when they happened to see each other in the hallways. He had gotten several threats that they would break into his apartment to smash the alarm clock, but he would laugh it off every time even when they swore they were being serious. "But if I didn't have the damned thing, how would I wake up to you pounding on my floor?"

"You think you're clever, don't you?" His landlord questioned with a grimace contorting his features in an ugly way. The alarm clock didn't wake him up in the morning, but the other tenants beating his door to death and the landlord striking his cane against the ground level's ceiling did wake him up. That was probably the only reason why he hadn't gotten a new one that would wake him in the mornings.

"Well, I am the smartest fucker in the building," He replied, waving goodbye to his landlord. He had the distinct feeling that he was going to be evicted one of these days. He didn't stay long enough to find out if that day was today. He pushed open the door to the anteroom. He closed the apartment building's door tight, and he went outside of the apartment.

The streets were empty. The gray light of a foggy sky washed over the broken roads. He squinted his eyes as he adjusted to the change in lighting, but he didn't wait around for long. He walked down the street, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants. It was a long walk from the district of Logstedshire to his workplace in the district of L'Manberg, but he couldn't afford to take the bus. Even if he did have the money, he was fairly certain there wasn't a bus that traveled between the two districts. He had never even seen a bus in Logstedshire. There wasn't a point since the people of that district couldn't afford public transportation. It would be a waste of time and redstone to drive to and out of Logstedshire. It was known as the abandoned district for a reason.

It was rather easy to tell when Logstedshire ended and L'Manberg began. The ground was cleaner in the latter district, and the buildings weren't broken in the slightest. The streets weren't exactly crowded, but they weren't deserted like they were in the previous district. There were people in clean clothes walking from their homes to their work- unless they worked the night shift, in which case they were walking from work to their homes. Even with his wild hair, he seemed to fit in with the financially stable district because of his clean, stylized clothes. He could pretend that he belonged in that district, and everyone around him would believe that he had always been there. He didn't pretend, though, because he had enough of pretending to be someone he wasn't for a lifetime.

Eventually, he found his way to his workplace. The Nook Hotel was one of the unique features of L'Manberg. It finished construction only a few years prior, but it had already become a staple of the district. There had been several famous people who frequently stayed there: movie stars and singers and political figures. He didn't know how he had gotten a job at such a prestigious location. His people skills were lackluster, and he was from Logstedshire. Like everyone in that district, he didn't have much of a paper trail. He could have been a former serial killer, and no one would care to put that down beside his name and estimated birthday in his paperwork. He wasn't a serial killer, but his boss would have to accept that truth by his words alone. His boss was far too kind for his own good, and he was there to make sure that his boss didn't get duped by some scheme.

He walked into the hotel. His nose scrunched up at the overly flowery scent in the air. He rubbed his nose to get the smell out, continuing his way into the lobby. He ducked underneath the opening that allowed the workers to get into the area behind the receptionist's desk. He slid across the tiled ground to check his name into the machine. He grabbed onto the metal name card with 'Tommy' engraved into the surface. He ran his fingers against the cold surface. He took in a deep breath, clipping the tag onto his vest. He brushed off his shoulder to remove imaginary dust. He leaned onto the counter, waiting for someone to check in or out.

Tommy worked the day shift. He spoke with the normal people, and he didn't have to deal with the drunk individuals that were there for the party in the ballroom. Those people were taken care of by the endlessly mysterious Nook. That was his last name, not his first name. Tommy didn't know his first name. What he knew was that Nook was the younger brother of the heir apparent to the Nook Hotel fortune. It was a rather sad gig, but from the few times Tommy and Nook crossed paths, the man didn't seem bothered by the fact he was working at the hotel that his older brother would one day own. Tommy knew he would be pissed if he was in Nook's position but to each their own, he guessed.

Tommy and Nook's immediate boss was Samuel Dude, better known as Sam or Mr. Dude. Sam was a manager of the hotel and a local bank. Sam was in charge of the hotel's management, at least until Nook's older brother was ready to claim his business. Tommy hoped that day would never come. Sam was a kind-hearted man who had seen Tommy for more than the place he came from. He had offered Tommy a job and personally taught him the ropes. As long as Sam was in charge, Tommy would have a job at the hotel. When Nook's older brother took over, Tommy wasn't so sure that he or Sam would have a job. He would be fired because he was a random kid from Logstedshire. Sam would probably be fired because he was a hybrid, though Tommy had to hope that the bank would remain in Sam's control or that Nook's brother wouldn't be an anthropocentric person.

The door to the storage rooms swung open to reveal a green haired man with redstone decorating his clothes. Tommy muttered underneath his breath, "Speak of the devil."

Sam whipped around to see who made the noise. His face softened when he saw Tommy standing at the desk. Tommy gave his employer a small wave that was quickly returned. Sam walked to stand beside Tommy, and the blonde pretended he wasn't bitter about the height difference. Sam was an imposing, buff guy that probably spent half his time in the gym. Tommy was a scrawny blonde that needed his squeaky voice and vibrant personality to fill up a room. Tommy thought it was unfair, but there was no way in hell he was going to the gym even if Sam said he'd be fine with the two of them going together. Tommy was the biggest man even without the biggest muscles.

"How are you doing, Toms?" Sam asked. Tommy refused to look at the man beside him because if he did, Sam would get to see all the emotions that flickered across his face that he couldn't control. Tommy hated that nickname, but at the same time, he liked when people called him that. He didn't want to explain himself or get made fun of, so he kept his gaze locked on the glass doors.

"Fine. My alarm clock is still shit. My landlord told me to get rid of the damned thing today- his words, not mine. I get what he means. I checked the clock. It is loud as fuck. I don't understand how it doesn't wake me up. I have a few theories, though. The first is that it is cursed. A witch or some shit saw me get a pog job. They were jealous, so they put a curse on my alarm clock so that I would oversleep and lose my job. If you ever fire me because I'm late, don't trust the beautiful lady that tries to get my job. She's a witch disguised a bitch," Tommy told Sam. It was easy to talk to Sam. It used to make Tommy uncomfortable how easy it was, but he had long since gotten over it. He was actually okay with having someone in his life that could listen to all his senseless ramblings without getting annoyed.

"I will keep that in mind. It would be bad for business to hire a witch," Sam said. He was fighting off a smile to look serious, as if he wanted to pretend that he was taking Tommy's words into actual consideration. He was one of the few people to do that, and Tommy couldn't put into words how much he liked it. He liked having someone that actually listened to him and treated him like his words were worth listening to, even the dumb things he said while on autopilot.

Tommy rolled his eyes, but he kept talking because he liked having Sam's full attention. "My other theory is that my alarm clock only plays at these special frequencies that only idiots can hear. That's why it doesn't wake me up. The alarm clock wakes up idiots, and the great Tommy Innit is no idiot."

"I'm sure both of those perfectly logical theories are absolutely plausible. It must be one of them. Well, Toms, what do you think it is? Has a witch cursed your alarm clock or does it play frequencies exclusive to an idiot's sense of hearing?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow. Tommy pretended to think about it for a long moment. Sam took the opportunity to throw his own opinion. "If I have to say, it must be the first one. How else will you explain the slow morning? Obviously, the witch is scaring away people who want to stay here to make you look bad. After your shift, we'll have to go look for her and tell her that I'm not firing Tommy Innit, no matter what she... or he does."

Tommy's eyes widened despite himself. He hated when Sam did that, when he snuck in something comforting. They were talking about Tommy's shitty alarm clock, and Sam was reassuring Tommy that there wasn't anything he could do that would make Sam fire him. Tommy lowered his eyes down to the open book in front of him with the names of the people staying in what room. Tommy ran his hand down the long list of names. People who would see in passing once and probably never again. People with lives so different than his own but no less important and grand. Tommy shook his head at the sonder thoughts. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, Sam. Don't say things like that when you know they aren't true."

Sam hummed. It wasn't a hum of agreement but of acknowledgement, like he was allowing Tommy to believe what he wanted even if Sam didn't agree. Tommy rolled his eyes. He didn't want to jinx himself, but Tommy knew that he was going to make a big mistake very soon in the future. He wouldn't intend to. Tommy really liked his job. He liked talking to people, smiling at them and cracking a few jokes as they got the keys to their room or gave him back keys. He liked talking with Sam, how they seamlessly built a conversation even though their friendship was a few months old. Tommy liked his brief moments with Nook, the man who talked and acted so simply even though his past was anything but simple. Tommy wanted to work at this hotel for a long time- perhaps until his retirement if he was lucky. The problem was that Tommy Innit was not lucky. He was a child born from bad luck and someday he would return to it. That was the fate of Tommy Innit. He had to accept that good times wouldn't last.

"Have you read the newspaper?" Sam asked, finishing up their previous conversation by starting a new one. Tommy preferred that. He didn't want to start an argument with Sam about the likelihood of Tommy remaining at the hotel and being a stellar receptionist. Tommy never did like talking about his self-worth.

"Only wrinkly old men read newspapers," Tommy pointed out. Most people read the news on various websites on their communicators. Tommy, much like everyone else from Logstedshire, did not own a communicator. Any news they learned was from word of mouth, which wasn't the most reliable system of communication. They made due, however, because in Logstedshire, that was what one did. They made the best out of their situation.

"I am not wrinkly or old, Tommy," Sam immediately replied, and Tommy let out a giggle at how quickly Sam went to defend himself. He hadn't even realized he was implying Sam was a wrinkly old man, but he guessed that was exactly what he did. Sam gave him an unamused stare before sharing the cover story for that day. "It's coming up on the anniversary of the vigilante Vermillion's disappearance. Apparently, he went missing a year ago. He was known as the Red Angel by the people in Logstedshire because he was the only person brave enough to fight crime in the district. Most of the article is praising him, but there are some people who wonder what happened to him, if he deserted the abandoned district like all the other heroes."

Tommy made sure that he wasn't looking at Sam. He didn't want to hear that name. Vermillion was dead. He had been there when the vigilante had been killed. He couldn't get the image of all that blood out of his head. It made him sick to think about. His head subconsciously traveled to the white streak hidden in his hair. He tugged on it, and winced when the pain traveled through his nerves.

"He was such a beloved vigilante. I mean, he shouldn't have been doing hero work without a license. It isn't right to break the law. But I can see why he thought it was necessary to work alone. He didn't want the Heroes Association to place him in a different district. He must have really cared about Logstedshire," Sam said with a wistful expression. Tommy had the strongest urge to punch Sam even if he knew that would be a horrible decision. Sam had no idea what he was talking about. He was just regurgitating what the newspaper said. Those reporters had no fucking clue what Vermillion had been through, what he tried to stand for. They just saw someone who wanted to bring peace to his district because the Heroes Association wouldn't. Which... wasn't wrong, but it wasn't the whole truth. Not like anyone knew the whole truth. That was something Vermillion had taken to the grave.

"He didn't care about shit," Tommy said, forcing his fist to open. Sam gave him a weird look, but he didn't comment on Tommy's natural inclination for violence. "If we're done here, I think we both have jobs to get to. We are, after all, both upstanding members of society."

"I'm an upstanding member of society; you're a menace that technically hasn't broken the law," Sam said, running his hand through Tommy's hair. Tommy huffed as he swatted the hand away, pretending to fix his hair as Sam chuckled. The manager went back to the storage room while Tommy waited for someone to check in or out. His hand traveled over to pick up the newspaper that Sam had left behind. There was a grainy image of Vermillion on the front in black and white. Tommy outlined the figure with his fingers. He should know more than anyone else what Vermillion had stood for and what he didn't. After all, he used to be Vermillion.