Serph doesn't immediately recognise V, their dark hair unusual in his mind. But at the mention of cover, half the world seems to shift. Where one half is blindingly bright, the other half is a drab grey with a sky so overcast that light barely pierces through the clouds. Where V had arrived in a world so dusty and dry that wind strips layers from rock, the other world is constantly pelted by neverending rain, slabs of conrete jutting out of solid ground, pockmarked by bullet holes.

And Serph stands on the threshold of both.

"You're not one of them." There is no recently living life in sight, save for the monsters pooling blood at his feet. Serph sends V a considering look. "Are they after you?"