The world was quiet.
Then it wasn't.
A wailing siren. Broken glass. The taste of copper. Screams somewhere in the far distance.
Ken Moretti opened his eyes. Or rather, German Sparrow did.
And at that exact moment, the universe tore itself into two distinct fragments, one chaotic and mad, the other cold and calculating.
Ken's body twitched as breath returned to his lungs like lightning cracking through a rusted machine. His fingers clenched into fists. His spine arched. And somewhere within the marrow of this cursed vessel, a voice awakened.
"Where... am I?" the voice whispered inside the hollow of Ken's mind. Refined. Sharp. The voice of a man who once commanded cities and bathed in betrayal.
The voice of German Sparrow.
But what answered him... was not his own echo.
"HAAAAAA! You dumbass, you got dumped in here too?!"
German froze.
"Who—"
"Wakey wakey, German sausage man! You're in my head. Well—our head now. Heh." A laugh. Wild. Off-beat. An unpredictable jester's cackle that vibrated through every nerve in the body.
"Who are you?" German asked, unblinking. He tried to sit up but realized he couldn't feel his own limbs. He was suspended in a mental fog — an inner sanctum.
The voice responded.
"I'm Ken Moretti, baby. The human disaster. Gambler extraordinaire. Debt king. Soul-splintered survivor of the worst luck streak in known history. And congrats — you've landed in my dying, scammed-up meat sack."
There was a silence. Then a breath.
"This body… isn't mine?"
"Nope. Yours died. Chest popped like a bottle of champagne and then, what, you got impaled? Riiight? Real cinematic."
German's voice dropped to a dangerous calm.
"You are not taking this seriously."
"You noticed? Good, you're sharp. I'm too deep in existential despair to take anything seriously. I owe $34 billion to the underground cartel that thinks my dad still exists. He skipped town. I didn't. Now? Boom. Five years. Clock ticking."
German Sparrow's tone hardened. "You gambled your life away?"
"I gambled everyone's life away. Don't forget the part where I also bought a cursed stuffed clown from the black market because it 'felt like a vibe.'"
And there it was.
The clown.
At the edge of the shared soulspace — the Fog Between — a twisted ragdoll floated into view. One button eye. One stitched smile. The weapon called "Carnival."
German narrowed his eyes. "That is not a weapon."
Ken howled. "Tell that to the guy it made trip into traffic! Bro! Carnival is peak weapon design. Seer form sees 4 seconds into the future. Fool form? Turns the room into Final Destination."
German turned away. Cold. Analytical.
"I see. Soul-weapons. Animated constructs. Intelligent. Dangerous. Possessive." He paused. "A world like this can be… manipulated. Rebuilt."
Ken perked up.
"OH. I see it now. You're one of those types. You were someone important, huh?"
"I was everything important. I ran a world-spanning mafia called the Black Lagoon. I made kings kneel. And then, they turned on me. Five traitors. One alley. My blood soaked the gravel."
Ken nodded. "Damn. That's pretty metal. But guess what? You're in my mess now. My debt. My body. My enemies. And oh boy… you're gonna LOVE the soul collectors."
German walked toward the edge of the soulspace. The fog parted.
And there it was:
A massive table of obsidian, half-formed, floating in the middle of void. Twelve seats. Eleven empty. At the head? A throne of black iron. He walked to it. Sat down. Instinctively. As if it had waited for him.
Ken's voice cracked. "Yo. That's new."
"This is the Black Great Fog. My soul-weapon," said German. "And it will become the foundation of the new Black Lagoon."
Ken whistled. "So you're gonna rebuild your empire. Inside of my body. While I'm still stuck paying off cartel debt."
"Precisely."
"You insane bastard."
"You unstable fool."
They paused.
Then they both laughed.
Unhinged. Regal. Mad. Sovereign.
Two kings in one broken throne.
---
Outside, in the real world, Ken's body convulsed.
Carnival blinked.
One eye blue. One eye red.
The game had begun.