Leif turns off the television and shuffles to the refrigerator, only to be dismayed at the lack of leftovers. Guess there'll be delivery pizza instead for tonight since work-from-home is particularly a pain in the ass today. His spindly hand reaches for his smartphone, but an idea crosses by, inspired by boredom. He lazily grabs a cinnamon roll from the kitchen and heads down to the basement. Years of untouched dust settle onto motley paraphernalia like a delicate layer of gray snow. Conveniently, a strand of hair is stuck to his wool shirt; plucking one off from his head is too hard considering the tangled heap that never witnessed a shower in months. As soon as Leif holds it in his fingers, the strand instantly turns into a sleek wooden sitar. A smirk appears on his lips.

Ah, reminds me of the good old days of ass-kicking but of course not today. He strums a note, sending all the dust swirling away in the air. Leif sighs in relief since his snack is in a wrapper, pristine from filth. He'll take care of it later. After skimming through his collection of Operation Thunder Sparkles comics, Leif tactilely encounters a paper between two volumes. He pulls it out, and a rush of painful nostalgia twists his guts. It's been twenty years since that photo was taken, just a month after that incident. In the picture, a vampiric-looking teenager with brown emo bangs and a white baseball cap exaggerated a frown, and beside him was an annoyed, elegantly dressed man clearly passing his twenties. To the right, an eighteen-year-old brunette with a friendly smile looked at the camera properly. Sooner or later, he'll forget. Forgetting … a marrow-sucking fear devours him inside out, stiffening his limbs and crushing away his other senses. Leif forces his quaking legs to run back upstairs and almost trip over. He makes it to the couch and frantically taps on his smartphone.

"Pick up, please," he murmurs. His breaths grow shorter by the second, and his green, sharp-edged eyes sting from upcoming tears. Why are you acting so silly?

"Hello?" a man's voice, crisp and steady, asks.

"Z, remember me? It's been a long time, huh?"

"Wait, how do you know— oh, it's you. Your voice is barely recognizable to me now. How's life?"

Leif's expression sours at the last sentence.

"Good."

"Have you committed any crimes you never divulged yet?"

"No. Have you?"

"Of course I did. I'm still a gentlemanly assassin until the day I die," Z replies and chuckles, "I find your response to my question implausible."

"I'm not the dumbass delinquent you knew from way back," Leif says with a sad smile, "I want you to meet me in Terrance, Kentucky, near a sign with a big moth on it. On the first day of the next two months, if that's possible."

"What time and why?"

"Meet me at eleven o'clock. I'll explain the reason later. Bye."

Leif hangs up and searches through his contacts for Leilani.

"Morrison residence," a woman's voice says curtly. Leif's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. That tone is familiar although rarely used in youth. This time, it developed a nearly cynical edge, likely from spending years in the military.

"Leilani, it's me, Leif."

An uncertain, wary pause floats between them before she asks, "Which one specifically?"

Leif clicks his tongue.

"I'm a demigod with string powers. I used to call you 'big-eyed girl.' You know... that Leif."

He hears her sigh a more relaxed breath.

"You little brat, where have you been all this time?" Leilani asks playfully.

"I moved to Terrance, Kentucky and stayed there. Things happened between me and a band, and now I work remotely. By the way, don't call me 'brat' next time, okay?"

"All right. Whatever you say. Why did you call me in the first place exactly?"

"Well, I want you to meet me in the town I'm living in to discuss stuff. The rendezvous will be near a sign with a big metal moth and at eleven o'clock. Got it?"

"Got it. See you later then."

"See ya," Leif responds and ends the call.

He walks to his cluttered desk in his room and writes down on a random notebook: "Memoir of My Second Life." Below, he writes in smaller letters: "Don't attach to corpse. It likely won't work with the process." The heart-wrenching fear from before subsides.

***

REPORT TO BASE:

AN OBJECT HEADING TO EARTH. APPEARS TO BE A METEOR BUT IS NOT. SATELLITE PICTURES SHOW OBJECT TO BE HUMAN-SHAPED. INSPECT ITS PROGRESS.