Alexei Marcellus had spent the past six hours going through paperwork, and the eight hours before that watching a case fall apart. If it had been an easy case, maybe he wouldn't have minded. Burglary, arsony, some petty crime--whatever.

No, this was a cold blooded murder. Ruthless, depraved, and unforgivable.

And it was going to go unpunished--but not for lack of trying.

Sometimes, there was just a catch. Loopholes. Deals. Pleas. A compromised jury. A good lawyer.

The law wasn't infallible when the system was corrupt, and any system that required humans was guaranteed to be corrupt--in some way.

It was frustrating, watching a blatant misuse of a system designed to punish crimes and deliver justice for the victims. Alexei's blood had been boiling since he'd learned there was to be no punishment. He'd tried to distract himself by working, but his hand hadn't stopped shaking. He'd seen red once. The anger bubbled inside him, unrelenting, until he couldn't take it anymore.

He stood abruptly, jostling his chair. The office had been empty for a while now and it was driving him stir-crazy.

This wasn't just one incident--it was years of anger, culminating. Bubbling, frothing over the top. He'd pushed himself so hard for this? All he'd wanted was justice, to make the world a better place. He'd climbed the ladder, played the political game, gotten here--and for what?

A scowl had found its way onto his face and his teeth were clenched so tightly it hurt.

He couldn't stand the idea of just sitting by and letting this happen, but there wasn't much else he could do in his position. This was just the way things were.

He was rushing to put his papers in his briefcase, trying to shove them in without mixing them up too badly. In his haste, his arm swung too far and he knocked something off of his desk; it fell to the ground with a loud, hollow thunk.

Which meant something had been out of place.

Alexei's desk was kept meticulously; there shouldn't have been anything else on the desk. He paused and leaned over, eying the gavel that had fallen to the floor. Without really thinking, he reached to pick it up. A quick examination made him realize it was not any of the ceremonial or novelty gavels he'd been given in his lifetime. This one was different. He paused, fingers only a centimeter from the surface, as his mind raced to identify the item.

When he could think of none, he nearly left it on the ground--but something was calling to him. After a few seconds of hesitation, he picked it up.

It felt normal--but he didn't. A strange rush of power seemed to flood through him and when he stood up he felt oddly rejuvenated.

Alexei was suspicious, as per usual, and tried to examine the gavel more closely now that he was standing up straight, but it was difficult to focus when you realized that you were suddenly wearing different clothes than you'd been wearing a second ago.

Thinking sleep must be getting the best of him, he immediately turned to face the mirror behind him. It wasn't as good as a mirror, but it was enough that he could at least make out a bit of what he was looking at.

Which was...not himself.

It wasn't his face, his hair, his eyes--similar, he thought, but not his. And, he wasn't wearing the carefully tailored suit he'd walked into work with. He was wearing something that could only be described as a costume--something unlike anything he kept in his wardrobe.

Confusion muddled his mind; had he been drugged? Had too much to drink? Was this a dream?

...No. This was something else. Something he didn't understand, and something his mind wasn't letting him process. There was a roadblock, either because the logical part of his brain was telling him it wasn't possible or because the emotional part of his brain was already too overwhelmed.

He could feel his heart pounding in his brain, along with a single word he didn't immediately understand.

Mamertine.

His pulse accelerated and after a few debilitating seconds of trying to push through the mental haze, he could manage only one thought--'I can't be seen like this'.

This wasn't Alexei Marcellus. This was--this was someone else. Someone he couldn't be seen as. Someone he didn't understand, and someone he didn't want to understand. He had far too much on his plate to have a breakdown; it would ruin his entire career if he was slipping into madness. He couldn't allow this; his body, his mind wasn't allowed to betray him like this.

He needed to be him again. To have his face, to wear his clothes.

Alexei drew in a sharp breath--and then it was gone.

He was staring at a reflection he recognized again, in clothes he'd bought and dressed himself in, no longer holding a gavel he didn't recognize.

His heart was still pounding, and he still had that same distant realization of something greater.

But he pushed it to the side.

He was tired. That was the only way this made sense. It was a long day. He'd had too much coffee and he needed to get home.

None of this was real.

He slid on his coat and closed his briefcase before lifting it. He clutched it as if it were a lifeline--something to ground him, to give him stability.

The word Mamertine was still echoing in his head; he lifted a hand up to massage the bridge of his nose and then his temple.

This wasn't normal. He'd overworked himself or something. He wasn't necessarily an imaginative person, especially not in the delusional field. He'd just hit a breaking point. Everyone had them.

This was all in his head. He just needed a little time out of the office, and a little time to sleep.

Things would make more sense in the morning.

...At least, as much as things could make sense in Destiny City.