You sit up, waking to the sound a loud thudding, someone at your door. Why were they there? It’s 4:03. You get up and looks through the keyhole to see a familiar friend.

The moment you open the door, he collapses. Covered in mud, he holds a globe. He looked terrible, tired and dirty.

“Local-“ He breathes out the word quietly, laying on the floor without moving a muscle.