Part 1: The Prison of Fog

I can't remember when it was that I began to hate the fog.
This city, forever shrouded in fog, prompts the overwrought comparison between Sisyphus's endless struggle and our own.
The fog that covers this absurdity and unsightliness is like a bell jar imprisoning a cricket.
Beyond those invisible intangible borders lie the jeering faces of the gods. They drained every ounce of vitality from the cricket, dispatching the fog as their most faithful instrument.
And so, the cricket turned its head to find this thick fog everywhere—up, down, left, right—all around. No escape in sight, no perceptible boundaries... Even its cry would be lost in the fog.
That fog as viscous as snot flowing from a runny nose enveloped the cricket to the point where the poor wretch couldn't even make a sound. It rubbed its wings in vain, attempting to make even the slightest noise, but the only thing that filled the air was the fog and its silent ridicule.
To this day, no one has responded to its pleas. In this thick fog, there is only silence, the silence of death... That's what it does, this fog—it invariably forces the individual to face the certainty of their own demise.
Walking in this endless fog, with no end in sight, surrounded by a cage of untouchable wire, where even the most furious strikes have no means of finding their target.
The only thing one is allowed to feel is extreme loneliness and that deathly still.
We, walking through this dense fog for the sake of our so-called mission, might possibly be the most pitiable crickets of all.
How long has it been since I last saw the sun?
Vertin: ...
Vertin: Oliver Fog?
Oliver Fog: Oh... Sorry, Miss Vertin. I lost myself for a moment there. What were we talking about just now?
Vertin: That we hoped you would aid our cause two days from now. With the enemy well hidden within the fog;  determining their location will be no easy feat. It looks like we'll be counting on you and your arcane skill to succeed.
Oliver Fog: The day after tomorrow... That's a holiday, isn't it?
Vertin: It is indeed.
Oliver Fog: Before I offer you a response, Miss Vertin, allow me to ask a question. Who was it that proposed I join you in this operation of yours?

Oliver Fog: Miss Vertin, I intend to direct a formal complaint towards Mr. Knight.
Vertin: ...
Oliver Fog: Allow me to come straight to the point, Miss Vertin. I would be more than willing to help you in any way, merely due to the goodwill we have fostered through the course of our acquaintance. However, my principles will not permit me to sacrifice my hard-earned time off merely for the convenience of others.
Oliver Fog: I will provide you with any advice you may require, but my practical assistance is out of the question.
Vertin: So then, this your latest experiment in reformist rhetoric?
Oliver Fog: Not at all. It's a manner of prevarication that's been in use since Chamberlain's day.
Vertin: Look— I won't try to force you, Oliver. I'm merely here to discuss the matter with you.
Oliver Fog: Then I thank you for your understanding, Miss Vertin. If there's nothing else I can help you with, I will take my leave. there's work I've yet to finish today.
A Knight: What someone is about to recount to you is a sworn testimonial of a face-to-face run-in with a dark spirit, a blood-thirsty creature of undeath someone encountered as a chivalrous knight long, long ago.
Sotheby: Brilliant! I love this story— I mean, Miss Sotheby knows she's definitely going to love this story!
A Knight: Someone came across a long-abandoned castle with a close friend while journeying the countryside one dark night.
Sonetto: Hm...
A Knight: ...The forest around the castle was a mire shrouded in eerie mist, and someone was traipsing right through it, boots tramping on rotten leaves and kicking up the most vile, putrid stink of rancid soil mixed with the damp stench of decay.
A Knight: But our destination was not far off. We had almost reached the castle gate.
Eagle: ...
A Knight: Suddenly, someone and that faithful friend spied a shadowy figure up ahead. He was slumped askew against a tree, seemingly unconscious.
A Knight: Back then, someone was still a simple-minded knight. Someone stepped forward and went heedlessly over to the side of the mysterious figure...
Crowd: ...
Just as everyone leans in closer, listening ever more attentively to the knight's story, another figure passes by.
Oliver Fog: I can confirm that there are no problems with the work plan. Everything seems to be in order... The schedule is a little tight, but if we proceed accordingly, we can still finish all work on time today.
A Knight: Someone tapped him on the shoulder, but he didn't budge an inch. Then, someone tapped him again...
A Knight: He suddenly lifted his head to reveal a ghastly, desiccated face with black holes where his eyes should've been!
Crowd: What?!
Sotheby: Miss Sotheby knows! It must've been the Chupacabra!
A Knight: If only the truth were so simple. As soon as we saw that living corpse, someone and someone's good friend knew right away—
A Knight: In the depths of the castle lay a terrifying, treacherous, blood-curdling banshee!
Sotheby: An evil spirit? What a surprise! All the spirits Miss Sotheby has met have been most cordial to her! Though to be fair. I have never had the misfortune of meeting a thirsty one before.
Sonetto: That's a good point... They might be a bit on the quirky side, but Poltergeist and Click are good souls.
Oliver Fog: Excuse me please, some of us have work to do.
Sotheby: Oh, this way, please—from my side, over here.
Sotheby: Mr. Fog, Mr. Knight was telling us about his past adventures just now. In fact, he was right in the middle of a very interesting story when you came in. Would you like to stay a while and listen with us?
Oliver Fog: I'll pass on the ghost stories; I am very busy. However, I feel I must caution you, ladies.
Sonetto: Oh?
Oliver Fog: There exist people in this world whose mouths are incapable of speaking the truth. Not only do they spin their yarns, boasting about what has never truly transpired, but they may even shirk their responsibilities and force minors to carry out their work for them.
A Knight: Someone doesn't even have a mouth! Although someone has been wondering for some time now—how does someone even speak without anything with which to speak out of?
Sotheby: Through the magic of your arcane skill!
Vertin: ...
Vertin: I knew this was going to happen.
Sonetto: Timekeeper? You came to visit, too? Did something happen to Mr. Fog today? He appears to be in quite a foul mood.
Crowd: I see...