There was good news and bad news.
The good news was that it was not some humiliating gay porn from the darkest corner of the internet. No camera crew. No greasy laughter behind the agents waiting with lubricant.
The bad news was happening.
"On your knees. Now!"
He complied because he liked living, and because getting shot in a new universe would be a stupid way to test whether the afterlife had a loyalty program.
Knees hit the carpet. The kind of carpet that made kneeling feel civilised, which somehow made it worse.
"Hands where I can see them."
He raised both hands. The first agent moved in from the side and snapped cuffs on him. Cold metal. Tight enough to make a point, not tight enough to leave a souvenir.
"Do not move," someone warned.
Lucius held still.
Hands patted him down with the efficiency of people who had done this too many times. Pockets searched, his wallet, keys, and the Nokia disappeared into a clear plastic evidence bag.
"That is not my phone," Lucius said before his brain could stop his mouth.
The agent paused just long enough to look at him.
"Sure," he replied. Flat. "Nothing is ever anybody's anything." The phone went into the bag.
Lucius shut his mouth. At least until his brain was functioning enough.
They marched him down the hallway. His mind went back to the black grimoire. It was either invisible, vanished, or waiting somewhere like a trap.
Outside, winter air hit his face hard. He sucked it in and felt his chest tighten. Cold made everything feel sharper. The street looked normal. Parked cars. A neighbour's porch light is still on. A dog barking somewhere, offended at the world.
A dark SUV waited at the curb.
Not a police cruiser, no local paint job. This one was plain, clean, and quiet, like it had been designed by a committee that hated attention.
He got shoved into the back seat. Someone clicked a seat belt over him. The door shut with a heavy thunk.
Great, safety first.
The agent in the passenger seat started reading rights in a monotone, the way people read terms and conditions while already clicking agree.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…"
Lucius listened and nodded once at the end. If he was going to drown, he would at least keep his mouth closed.
The SUV rolled.
New York moved outside the window like a loading screen that refused to explain itself. Sidewalks, traffic and people holding coffee cups and acting like their biggest problem was a late train.
He should have felt relief. Instead, he felt offended.
He had died in a café in Paris and woke up with a name from Warhammer and a different body. The body was good though, six nine and muscular. He was handsome as well. Black hair, turquoise eyes and a chiselled face.
Focus! He needed to focus.
This was transmigration, and his big welcome package included handcuffs and a scenic SUV ride. Sponsored by the federal bureau.
Whoever the cosmic prankster behind all this was, he thought again. One out of ten for the transition and a big, heartfelt fuck you.
The SUV turned into a lot and stopped in front of a low building with beige walls and too many cameras. The sign out front was plain.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
They took him in through a side entrance. No lobby, no polite reception. Just a badge swipe, and a tired clerk behind glass who looked like he had been born in fluorescent lighting.
They processed him.
Name.
"Lucius Noctis."
Date of birth.
"28 December 1982."
Address.
He gave the one on his driver's licence because it was all he had.
Every answer tasted like chewing a lie.
They took his belongings again and sealed them properly. Wallet. Keys. Phone. The evidence bag got a label and a barcode, because nothing was real until it had paperwork.
They put him in a small room.
Two chairs and a table bolted to the floor. Air conditioning set to make people talk.
He sat and started to wait. Minutes crawled.
He stared at the tabletop and tried not to think about the book. The moment he had touched it, it had disappeared. It had felt eager, like a dog that had finally found its owner.
The door opened with a metallic groan.
A man in a dark suit stepped inside, folder tucked under his arm. Neat tie. Clean shave. Eyes that looked like they had watched people break while he was having his coffee.
He sat opposite Lucius without asking.
"Mr Noctis," he said evenly. "Special Agent Raymond Harper. You have been linked to several homicide investigations across state lines. New Mexico. Illinois. Pennsylvania. Witnesses place someone matching your description near each crime scene. Care to explain how you keep showing up where bodies fall?"
Lucius leaned back. The posture of someone who had nothing to fear.
"That is quite the accusation."
Harper opened the folder and spread photos across the table. Crime scene shots. A body under a sheet. A still from a camera where the suspect was a blur with legs. Another still where the suspect was half hidden behind a pole.
"We do not deal in accusations," Harper said. "We deal in evidence. And right now, the evidence says you are a ghost who leaves corpses behind."
Lucius looked at the photos without touching them.
They wanted a reaction.
He gave them a blank stare and a slow blink.
"Do you know what else those photos say?" he replied. "You need better cameras."
Harper's eyes narrowed.
"We have witnesses." He tapped one page. "A man matching you entered an alley in Albuquerque, minutes before a victim was discovered. We have a traffic camera in Chicago showing a man matching you near a dump site. We have a clerk in Pennsylvania who says you were in his store the night another victim disappeared."
Lucius kept his hands on the table, palms down.
"People buy water," he said.
"And you keep showing up where bodies fall," Harper countered.
Lucius let silence stretch.
The agent stared at him like staring could turn guesswork into proof.
Lucius stared back.
"I want my attorney," he said.
Harper's mouth tightened.
"You are not charged."
"Then this should be easy," Lucius replied. "I want my attorney."
Harper leaned forward.
"You think a lawyer makes this disappear?"
Lucius met his gaze.
"I think I am smart enough not to say another word until one walks through that door."
Harper held the stare for a beat, then stood. He rapped twice on the door and left.
The lock clicked. Lucius sat alone again.
His brain churned. What in the name of Jesus was happening? He had not even had time to panic properly. He was a wizard now, apparently. A mutant, too. And he was still getting treated like some travelling serial killer.
Worst transmigration story he had ever read.
The door opened again.
A man entered with a briefcase. Suit pressed sharply. Hair neat. Eyes already scanning the room, taking inventory.
"Mr Noctis," he said. "I will be representing you."
Lucius nodded to him.
The attorney set the briefcase down and opened it with calm hands.
"Evan Caldwell," he replied.
Caldwell glanced toward the camera in the corner.
"For the record," he said, loud enough for the microphone to catch, "my client has invoked counsel and will not answer questions without me present."
He turned to Lucius.
"Have you said anything useful to them?"
"No."
"Good." Caldwell nodded once. "Do not try to be helpful. Helpful people get convicted."
Lucius almost smiled. Almost.
The door opened.
Harper returned, another agent behind him, older, heavier, face carved with that tired authority that only management could wear.
"Special Agent Linda Marquez," the older woman introduced herself.
Caldwell did not offer a hand.
"Lovely," he replied. "Now tell me why my client is in a locked room because of photos that look like they were taken through a sock."
Harper slid the folder forward.
"Witness statements and multiple jurisdictions."
Caldwell did not touch the folder.
"Jurisdiction is a word people use when they do have proof," he replied. "What you have here is a tall, blurry man in bad lighting. That describes half the state and all of Manhattan on laundry day."
Marquez's expression stayed flat.
"We have a duty to investigate."
"Do your duty," Caldwell said. "Charge him, or release him. If you charge him, we go to court. If you do not, this ends now."
Harper leaned forward.
"We are not comfortable letting him walk."
Caldwell's mouth twitched.
"Comfort is not a legal standard."
Marquez exhaled slowly.
"We are not charging him today," she said.
Caldwell nodded like he had been waiting for the adult in the room.
"Then we are done."
Harper's eyes locked on Lucius.
"You are still a suspect," Harper said. "A person of interest in an active investigation. If you leave the state, we want to know. If you leave the country, we want to know before you do it."
Caldwell tilted his head.
"My client understands you would like to know," he corrected. "If you require notification, get a court order. Otherwise, you are requesting a favour from a man you just put in cuffs."
Harper's jaw tightened.
They walked him out.
A clerk returned an evidence bag over the counter. Caldwell took it and handed it to Lucius.
His wallet, keys and the damn Nokia.
Caldwell's voice dropped.
"You are the third one," he said. "Third guy who looks enough like that silhouette for them to get desperate. There is no need to worry. They are just trying to catch someone, and they are doing what bureaucracies always do when they panic. They pick the easiest shape and pray it fits."
Lucius looked at the dead screen of the Nokia through the bag.
Caldwell watched his face.
"Whatever your situation is," he added, "keep it away from badges. Not because every agent is evil. Because bored people with authority get creative."
Lucius's lips twitched.
"Noted."
Outside, the cold hit him again.
The sky was too blue for the day he was having.
He stood in a parking lot, holding a plastic bag that contained his new life, while the federal building behind him looked ordinary enough to be a joke.
He turned the Nokia over once.
Still dead and silent.
Like UNKNOWN had already gotten what it wanted.