The Omnistore System

“Cominglivetoyou,fromCerouStreet,thisisMBPNews,andwehaveanunfoldingsituationtoreport.Latelastnight,atapproximately3:00AM,anexplosive-likesoundreverberatedthroughthisarea,disruptingthesleepofresidentsandinstillingfearintheirhearts,”thenewsanchor,astrikingfigure,deliveredthereportwithpoise,standingbeforethecameraamidstabustlingscene.Inthebackground,theblaringhornsofambulancesandpolicevehiclesdisturbedtheserenityofthebeautifulmorninglight.Twoindividualswearingprotectivesuits,presumablyforensicexperts,heldastretchercarryingacharredbody.Thenewsanchor,whohadbeenreportingearlier,placedahandonherear,fittedwithanearpiece,andlookedvisiblysurprised.Hervoicefilledwithurgencyasshecontinued,“Wehavejustreceivedanupdatefromourheadquartersregardingthesolefatalityinthisunexpectedincident.ThevictimofthistragiceventisnoneotherthanNorman,thefamousgigoloofNightpalace.”“Mycolleague,whowassettocoveraneventtodayatNightplace,obtainedthisinformationfirsthandfromCountessMaria,whoheldaspecialplaceforNormaninherheart.Ourfocusthismorningisonthisbreakingnews,”thefemalenewsreportercontinuedamidstthechaoticscene,whileNorman'scharredbodylayaloneintheambulance.Meanwhile,inadifferentworld,ayoungboylayfastasleepwithhisheadonthetable.Thesun,seeminglydispleasedwiththeboy'scarefreeslumber,castitsraysdirectlyontohisface.Annoyedbytheintrusion,theboyshiftedhisheadinanotherdirection,unwillingtoberousedfromhisdeepsleep.*ZZZrZzrzZzrzzr*However,anadditionalsourcedisturbedhissleep,fillingtheroomwithabuzzingsound.Theboyfurrowedhisbrowsinannoyance,hiseyesstillclosed.Hesearchedhissurroundingsanddiscoveredaglass-likeslab.Withclosedeyes,heslidhisfingeracrossitandplaceditnearhisear.“Hello...”hemumbledinhisdrowsyvoice,whichcarriedahintofdepth.“Hey,Pissed-upPrat,whereareyou?”avoicelacedwithdisdainemanatedfromtheslab.Theboy,referredtoasthe“Pissed-upPrat”bytheirritatingfemalevoice,recognizeditasavoiceheheardfrequentlybutcouldn'trecallitsowner.Withhiseyesstillclosed,heinquired,“Whoisthis?”“Whatdoyoumean,'whoisthis'?Wakeup,comehome,oreatshitforbreakfastifyouprefer!”thevoicebehindthetransparentslabretortedbeforefallingsilent.Theboy,stillnotfullyawakened,gazedatthehalf-openedglassslabwithamixtureofconfusionandsurprise.Ashiseyesdartedaroundtheroom,hebecameincreasinglyshocked.Asherecollectedthefragmentedmemoriesfromthenightbeforehelostconsciousness,hisgazefellupontheentranceoftheshop.Onceoldanddamp,itnowboreadifferentappearance.Whilenottransformedintoaluxuriousspace,ithadundergoneimprovementscomparedtoitspreviouslydilapidatedstate.Theshoptookonarectangularshape,withonelongersideadornedwithwoodenshelvesintricatelypatterned.Rowsofemptyglassjarslinedtheseshelves.Ontheoppositeside,therewasanotherwoodenshelf,alsodisplayingemptyjars.Towardsthebeginningofthecounter,wheretheboyhadbeensleeping,therestoodapeculiarmachine.Confusionetchedacrosshisface,hemurmuredtohimself,“Whoseshopisthis?”Inresponsetohisquestion,amechanicalvoiceresonatedinhismind.[TheOmnistorebelongstoyou,host.]