Chapter 007: Sheriff's office.

"What happened out there?" Fairfax demanded, his heart still hammering in his chest from the harrowing encounter just minutes ago. Stretched out on his bed, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, he tried in vain to erase the memory of Penelope's gaze lingering on his bare skin.

Before he could even blink, a response echoed in his mind.

"[Your regret emotion manifested as a treacherous landscape.]"

A surprised yelp escaped his lips. "But you said shadow emotions were useless. And besides, wouldn't that be something despair conjures?"

"[Correct,]" the voice continued, its tone devoid of human inflection, "[Shadow emotions are volatile. They can backfire spectacularly. Falling into that never-ending pit would have been your demise if you hadn't woken up in time.]" It elaborated, "[Despair is different altogether. Regret, on the other hand, can morph into a desolate, ever-shifting wasteland. The ground beneath your feet could crumble and reshape at your very touch.]"

Fairfax, despite the unsettling situation, couldn't help but nod along. He was absorbing information like a sponge, each passing minute painting a clearer picture of his predicament.

He tilted his head towards the open window, allowing the cool moonlight to bathe the room in an ethereal glow. "So, was that… my challenge?" he inquired cautiously.

"[No.]"

"Then what is it?" Frustration tinged his voice.

"[A person.]" came the cryptic reply.

Furrowing his brow, he pressed further, "What person? Who are you talking about?"

"[The answer approaches.]"

Fairfax threw his hands up in exasperation, letting out a loud sigh. "You know, you're not exactly a beacon of helpfulness. That skeleton nearly turned me into a permanent resident of six feet under!"

"[My primary function is as a guardian system, not a fighting coach.]" the voice countered defensively.

He nodded curtly. "Fine. Then enlighten me. What was that skeletal nightmare?"

"[A Weaver Hunter. Its sole purpose - to eliminate Weavers. Each encounter, each defeat, adds a new layer of complexity to your challenges.]"

The weight of this information settled heavily on Fairfax's shoulders. Frequent encounters with these nightmarish creatures seemed inevitable. He sucked in a shaky breath. This was going to be a whole lot tougher than he anticipated.

With a heavy heart, he closed his eyes, attempting to snatch some semblance of sleep. Completely oblivious to the watchful gaze fixed intently on his slumbering form from the corner of the room.

The harsh light of dawn ripped through the darkness, pulling him from his restless slumber. A soft rapping at his door jolted him fully awake. He shuffled towards the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and swung it open to reveal a familiar face – Camela.

"Good morning," Camela chirped, her voice a touch too chipper for this early hour. She thrust a basket at him, the woven material rustling softly.

Fairfax mumbled a greeting, his eyes still blurry with sleep. Accepting the basket, its weight hinted at the contents – a uniform most likely. A quick glance at the clock confirmed his suspicions. 6:56 am. It was barely even dawn, and already the day was demanding.

He mumbled a thanks as Camela disappeared down the hall, the rhythmic click of her shoes fading into the distance. Heaving a sigh, Fairfax retreated to his room. The uniform lay neatly folded inside the basket.

A quick shower helped wash away the remnants of sleep, and within minutes, Fairfax was pulling on the unfamiliar uniform. Stepping out of his room, he found the hallways eerily silent. The other doors remained firmly shut, offering no glimpse into the lives of his fellow residents.

The sounds of Beatrice humming off-key drifted from the kitchen, a familiar comfort in this strange new world.

Reaching the living room, he found Camela waiting for him, a plastic cup clutched in her hand.

"Here," she said, holding it out. "Your favorite coffee, I remembered."

Fairfax raised an eyebrow at her and the suspicious-looking beverage. "Thanks," he muttered, taking the cup out of a sense of obligation.

Stepping outside, the crisp morning air sent a jolt through him. As he walked down the path, memories of the Weaver Hunter flooded back. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the present. He needed a taxi – hopefully Diana had given him the right address.

His hand brushed against the coffee cup, still surprisingly warm. He peeled back the lid and took a large gulp, only to recoil with a splutter. The bitter, unfamiliar taste assaulted his taste buds, sending him into a coughing fit.

"You alright, man?" a passerby inquired, concern creasing his brow.

Fairfax managed a weak nod, his face contorted in disgust. After a moment, he grimaced and tossed the offending cup into a nearby trashcan. Diana might have adjusted his mind, but apparently, it didn't extend to appreciating burnt coffee.

Just then, a yellow cab rounded the corner. With a wave of his hand, he flagged it down. Hopping inside, he gave the driver the address Diana had provided. The car lurched forward, and Fairfax settled back, a strange sense of anticipation bubbling within him.

The ride felt longer than it should have, and finally, the taxi came to a halt in front of a building that had seen better days. Its paint was peeling, and the windows were smudged with grime. He fished out his remaining cash and paid the driver, who shot him a satisfied grin.

Climbing out of the cab, Fairfax straightened his uniform, feeling a flicker of self-consciousness. Stepping inside, he approached the front desk, where a young woman sat hunched over a computer screen. She barely glanced up at his arrival, her bright red curls framing a bored expression.

A screen flickered into existence, displaying a profile;

[Name: Chloe Mahanda]

[Current Age: Twenty-three]

[Work: Colleague, Receptionist]

[Personality: Mean, Slutty, Unfriendly]

[Appearance: Slim, Red Curls, 5ft9]

Fairfax cleared his throat. "Hello, Chloe," he greeted with a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Chloe responded with a dismissive roll of her eyes, clearly unimpressed.

Shrugging, Fairfax turned away and headed deeper into the station. Diana had mentioned he had night shifts, but apparently he was required to meet his boss this morning. With a growing sense of trepidation, he ascended the stairs, each step echoing in the otherwise silent building.

At the top floor, he found a closed office door. Steeling himself, he reached out and pushed it open without knocking.

"Oh, shit!" A startled yelp pierced the air.

The scene that greeted him was enough to make his jaw drop. A man, clearly flustered and disheveled, sat slumped in his chair, his face turning the color of a beet. And kneeling in front of him was a young woman, her lipstick smeared and her redhair a mess.

He hastily zipped up his pants.

"I told you to lock the damn door!" the man hissed, his voice laced with frustration as he whispered to her.

"You grabbed me before I could!" she retorted, flustered. Casting Fairfax a withering glance, she scurried out of the office, her cheeks burning red.

As the woman hurried out, the man turned towards Fairfax, a sheepish grin plastered across his face. A new screen shimmered into existence:

[Name: George Edgar]

[Current Age: Forty-two]

[Work: Sheriff]

[Personality: Womanizer, Funny, Foul-mouthed]

[Appearance: Built, Peppery Beard, Bald, 6ft1]

"Uh… bad timing, huh?" George mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

George cleared his throat, his voice laced with nervous amusement. "Looking good, Charlie. Leaner than before, but that's a good thing. Need you sharp, moving like you're on fire after a hot date. You catch my drift?" He licked his lips, a habit that accentuated the way his hand nervously stroked his beard.

Fairfax could only muster a nod, his mind still grappling with the scene that had unfolded moments ago.

"Right then," George boomed, gesturing towards a chair. "Here for your car, I take it?"

"Yes, sir," Fairfax replied, finding his voice. "And my pistol, I believe I left it here last time." Diana had mentioned retrieving his gun from the station.

A furrow appeared in George's brow. He averted his gaze for a moment, then snapped his eyes back to Fairfax. "Speaking of that," he said, a hint of suspicion creeping into his tone. "You never did explain what happened that day. Called in an accident, then your car was a mess when I got there. Security footage didn't show any other vehicles involved – just yours… rolling around on its own, like some possessed jalopy."

Fairfax hadn't been aware of that detail, and it sent a jolt of unease through him. "Honestly, sir," he began, feigning frustration by running a hand down his face, "I wasn't exactly… myself that day. Could've slammed on the brakes too hard, I don't know."

George eyed him skeptically. "Then there's the matter of you turning in your badge and gun after we brought you back. Said you wanted to quit."

Fairfax shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant. "Like I said, my head wasn't exactly in the game."

George nodded slowly. "Figured as much. That's why I refused your resignation and handed you back the badge." He pointed at the emblem glinting on Fairfax's uniform. "But I did hold onto the gun. Didn't want you doing anything rash." He paused, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "You sure you're not battling some demons, kid? Depression or something?"

"Not at all, sir," Fairfax assured him, forcing a smile.

George narrowed his eyes playfully. "No funny business, right? No… substances?" he whispered, leaning in conspiratorially.

Fairfax shook his head firmly. "No, sir. Absolutely not."

George threw his head back and chuckled. "Relax, son. Not here to arrest you." He patted the desk with a meaty hand. "Just looking out for you. So, what's really going on inside that head of yours? You seem… different."

Just as Fairfax began to formulate a response, a sharp rap at the door cut him off. "Come in!" George boomed.

The door creaked open, revealing the redhead from earlier. Her face, thankfully, wasn't quite as flushed as before. She walked purposefully towards them.

"Your wife's here," she announced to George, her voice clipped.

George nodded, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "Right then, Christine. Show Charlie here to his car, would you? And don't forget the key to his locker."

Christine shot Fairfax a curt nod before turning and exiting the office. Fairfax followed close behind, a silent question mark hanging in the air.