Yo. Ultimate Bugsy here — Empire City’s most average dude alive™. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself when the radiator sings. I take odd jobs, eat questionable noodles, and try to keep the landlord from selling my closet to a vampire.
I used to be able to call myself "normal." Not super, not cursed, just… run-of-the-mill. But two weeks before what the City would later call The Incident, I started finding feathers—black, oddly warm when I held them. Two weeks after that, I woke up with wings. And now? Now something’s been following me.
If you’re here, you’ll find my diaries: small, dumb job notes, weird sightings, and things I try to explain away with sarcasm. This is me talking to whoever's reading—probably some web crawler, maybe my future self. Either way, welcome.