Cid/OPEN
Cid didn't sleep, really. Sure, he got the necessary hours when life seemed to finally force it on him, to recharge the unnaturally large quantities of energy he seemed to fuel himself with. Indeed, Cid's devotion to his craft and life in general disallowed him to waste it with such useless nonsense as sleep, instead he found himself focused on a large book recently secured from the library. The snagged source became his bedtime companion on most evenings, this one a particularly intriguing one.
The book before him was discussing interwoven timelines, time and its interplay with the theory of dimensions and alternate realities. It spoke of the stars, of space, and the ends of the universe, and if there are such actual ends, is that where new universes begin? Is this the place where parallel reality might exist? The theories were, as far as he could tell, clever and brilliant. Each one connecting to the last, filling a lot of holes where other theories might exist, which is precisely why he considered this particular text to be so wrong. Time was unpredictable, it was too big for logic to simply hold sway with it, to be confined by laws of understanding that man reasoned into existence. It was so clean cut, so precariously reasonable, that it suggested pure weakness in understanding of time itself.
He shook his head, finding the arguments to be inventive and fun to toy with. One particular argument threw him off though, and he pulled his glasses off to set them on the page of the book, bringing his other hand up to lightly rub at his temple, digging fingers into it, when he heard shouts from outside. Frowning, he pushed from his desk and moved towards the window to look out. From his vantage, he was able to see people rushing in the direction of the docks, and saw injured civilians moving away from the docks.
Quickly, he spun and tossed on his long, dark shaded frock coat over the top of his button up and suspenders. Then quickly he threw open his door and moved out, stopping only a moment as his own image was caught in the mirror. He frowned, looked himself over, and seemed ambivalent about the look, "Definitely missing something."
Then shrugging, he was gone and snatched up his simple-looking rod and stormed out of his home, running back towards the docks in thick black boots. As he neared, he frowned at the image of the monsters rising up, and those injured, or perhaps dead, laying strewn along the ground.