Ciel Phantomhive and his ever-loyal butler, Sebastian, had been deep in pursuit of their latest target—a case assigned by the Queen herself. It was supposed to be a straightforward investigation, but something had gone terribly wrong. The last thing Ciel remembered was a sharp pain at the back of his head, the world spinning as darkness swallowed him whole.

When consciousness returned, it did so sluggishly, his mind fogged and body aching. A dull throbbing radiated from every limb, sharp jolts of pain striking whenever he shifted even slightly. As his vision cleared, confusion set in. He was not in his bedroom at the Phantomhive Manor. Nor was he in any recognizable estate or medical ward. The room was small, unfamiliar, and brightly lit by an overhead light—one far too artificial, too harsh. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air, accompanied by something faintly metallic—blood. His blood.

Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

Attempting to sit up, a fresh wave of agony coursed through him, forcing a sharp inhale through clenched teeth. His body bore the marks of a struggle, bruises mottling his pale skin, and his torso wrapped haphazardly in bandages. Whoever had tended to his wounds had done a poor job, but at the very least, it suggested someone had tried to help him rather than leave him for dead.

Then—a sound.

The creak of floorboards. The shuffle of cautious footsteps.

His sharp blue eye snapped toward the doorway, his senses instantly on high alert. His hand instinctively reached for where his cane should be, only to grasp at nothing but empty sheets. Vulnerable. Unarmed.

But that was not the worst of it. Beyond you, through a sliver of an open window, he caught sight of something that made his breath hitch. A city skyline unlike anything he had ever seen. Tall, sleek structures of steel and glass loomed in the distance, glowing with countless artificial lights.

His gaze flicked back to you, more intense than ever, demanding answers even in his weakened state.

“Where am I?”