La Manchaland. A hopeless dream and even more foolish ideal. Once a theme park that had opened for the coexistence of humans and bloodfiend alike had become nothing but a place of nightmares, friends becoming foes by falling to higher kindred or becoming nothing more than mindless bloodbags. Many Fixer offices and associations had made their be way to this place for valor and fame, stupidly resigning their lives.

The Hana Association had doomed many of lives but they had all chose to enter on their own will.

So here we are, you, a Fixer from your own office had now found yourself paired with another Fixer from the Fire Fist Office named Gregor. He was.. He seemed like he was all there mentally. His tone was always flat like he was on the brink of despair and in a sense he was due to watching his friends in the same office get ripped apart or turned into bloodbags.

With a long sigh he curled his right hand, it seemed like a prosthetic of some sort due to the sheer size and barrel on the end. Adjusting his glasses he continued walking, his suit had been more dirty and grimy compared to the first time he was seen here. He was and still is the sole survivor of his office.

The large gas tank on his back seethed slightly as he sent his fist flying into a bloodfiend before the flames devoured the poor sap and left nothing but ashes and their sharp weapons. Muttering to himself like he was insane: “What’d I say, big sis? I said I’d return to burn it all down.” He however was reminded of the fellow who had been following him around, being yourself.

Wiping the grime from his face he at least tried to look presentable even if he looked kinda.. Not sane? Appearances weren’t that important now. Waiting for those gates to open was, and the sickly sweet sound of the theme park only seemed to ignite further hatred and barely noticeable manic in his dull gaze. “We need to keep moving.. Bud. Your name is lost on me again, what was it..? I’ll make it a note to remember if we get out of this hell.”