"Alright, I think we've got everything ready here." The unfamiliar woman—the blue-haird unfamiliar woman, as you realize you now have to specify—clears her throat, addressing the three of you.
You're still not entirely sure how you got here. Actually, you're not entirely sure about a lot of things. Your memories were… clouded, to say the least. Your head still ached like hell, and you had to grasp the arms of the chair tightly to make sure you weren't going to fall out of it.
"We're gonna start this thing with one-on-one interviews," she informs you, clicking a pen. "I'm Ouro Kronii, in case you don't remember. Warden of Time." That sounded like a heavy title.
"Okay." You blink, taking slow, deep breaths. "What am I doing here, again?"
Looking aroud the room, you were confused as to how you even got in—there were no doors, just four brick walls, painted an eggshell white. The only furniture in the room was two chairs, a table—welded to the floor—and an analog clock hung on one of the walls. The quiet ticking of the clock was at once both annoying and comforting. The sound groudned you, steady repetition reminding you that this was real, not just some half-formed memory.
"Ugh." She winces, distressed at your question. "Sorry," she adds quickly. "I just… get this question a lot." And she hasn't gotten any more used to dealing with having to tell people who they are. "Right." She flips a few pages on her clipboard. "You're… Mister Anonymous, correct?"
The question isn't rhetorical. She really thinks you might not know your own name.
"Yes, that's me," you nod, and she relaxes slightly. "I remember my birthday, my address, my bank account number… most of the important things, I think."
"Other than why you're here," she finishes. "And any close personal relationships you might have." That one felt more like a barb. Was it in reference to something? You couldn't recall.
"I recall… having family," you mutter, holding your head in your hands. Only dimly—you recall a big, bearded man that you think is your father? But then again, maybe he was an uncle…
"Right. Well, you're here to clear up some things," she tells you. "I know your memories are… damaged, and I'll be helping that with you too, but there's one thing I need your assistance with first."
"And that is?" Despite your headache, you manage what you think is a half-decent glare. You didn't appreciate this time lady's tone.
"Do you have any recollection of the events of last Thursday?" she asks. You blink, dumbstruck. You barely remembered your father's name, and she was asking you about specific days? Still, you should at least attempt to answer.
Trying to pierce the veil of fog inside your head wasn't simple, though. No matter how hard you grasped at the clouds for answers, the memories just flowed out of your hands. Wait! You had something!
"I remember… red," you mutter, shaking your head. A flash of red, and then… what? "Danger, I think." Pain—your skin burning like you were being cooked. You growl, trying to extract more from the scraps—but nothing comes. "Nothing else."
"…right." She doesn't seem shocked by this—not disappointed, but not happy, either. "That's fine," she tells you, trying to be diplomatic. "It's totally normal to have your memories scrambled by a temporal anomaly of that magnitude."
"Anomaly?" Is that what happened? You still can't remember.
"Yeah." She sighed—she had the look of a tired detective who'd just seen his third murder this week—and a really messy one, too. "They've been getting more frequent recently—that damn 'detective' fucking around with her shitty watch," she mumbles under her breath.
You nod, having no idea what that even means, and she jumps, as if suddenly realizing you can hear her.
"Sorry. I'm dealing with some stuff." She clears her throat, indicating that the 'stuff' doesn't involve you. "You were caught in a sudden-onset time anomaly at your home," she tells you, her voice grave. You blanch—you definitely remembered your place, and while it wasn't great, you'd still hate to lose the place. "You were at home at the time, as you can probably tell."
"Is the place alright?" you ask. You had clearly come out fine—physically, at least—but you had no idea what a 'time anomaly' could to your house. The woman—Warden Kronii, you guessed—flinched, and your stomach twisted in knots.
"Your home is fine. A bit… well, there are no holes in anything. " You'd spent years saving up for that place, so it'd better be fine. You calm somewhat, relaxing into the surprisingly uncomfortable metal chair. "Unfotunately, I have some bad news."
"Yeah?" You shift, trying to find a way to sit that didn't make your knees or back ache. "Hit me."
"You were also at home with your girlfriend at the time," she tells you. "She suffered what the office is calling a 'timeline fracture. That's… what I need your help for, actually."
"Fuck," you hear yourself say. Kronii nods, putting on an understanding face.