Standing up, John's fists curled. The tension caused his knuckles to turn white. Gerald stepped in before he could curse again.

With his head lowered, he asked, “Can't we call a truce for now?”. Without a trace of emotion, John looked over. A helpless sigh escaped him.

“Gerald, I know you want to go back to the way it used to be. Do you think I don't know what you're thinking after all these years? It's too late to do that now, and you know that.” John patted his shoulder. Clenching his fists even tighter, he only looked down in response. His voice was much clearer this time.

“Can't we try? We lost too many men in the last fight, and I'm sure it will be worse this time if Brock resorts to such tactics. Can we send him a message and see if he responds?” Gerald looked up. At this point, John could only comply with his determined expression.

“Fine, I'll send the message and see if he responds. Who do you want to send?” Gerald started to brainstorm.

'It shouldn't be one of our own, they might get killed. I think it must be an outsider. Perhaps that reporter? He did look a bit suspicious. No matter who he is, it will have the least backlash.'

Gerald's choice intrigued John. On the surface, he seemed calm, however, he was ruminating about the possible candidates. When Gerald spoke, his train of thought broke.

John perked up as he heard the suggestion. “How about we use the reporter?” he suggested.

John said this with a sly smile, “The reporter can go if he wants.” Gerald understood the purpose of his smirk in an instant. His brisk exit was followed by a brief nod.

John sat down again and cleaned both daggers after seeing him close the door. As he stared at the two blades, his mouth curved upwards.

***

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A few days passed. The sun burned once more upon the remains of the town. Bryan tied the garotte wire and balisong knife into the sleeve of his shirt. He stowed away the rest of his gear underneath the recording equipment he was bringing along.

After he finished, he grabbed the case, his laptop, a notebook, and a pen. Checking everything, he headed out.

When he exited, he saw Andrew and Beck coming out as well. He flashed a friendly smile.

“Would you like to get breakfast together?” they asked, smiling as well.

“Sure” Bryan saw no reason not to.

As a result, the three headed down the hall together. A moment later, Gerald appeared in front of them. His irksome smile annoyed all three of them, but they hid it deep within. Their smiles were simultaneous in response. Gerald's loud voice roused them from their drowsiness.

“Morning. You two rookies head out to the field, you'll meet the trainer who'll whip you into shape. The reporter comes with me, we need to see the boss.”

Following their nods, they all went their separate ways. Bryan followed Gerald to the main room, where John sat with a neutral expression.

The stern voice of John didn't ring true with his neutral gaze. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. Bryan saw through his facade in an instant, yet he played along, as the crazed oblivious reporter he was.

“Of course, this is a great opportunity.” The jovial man shook his head at his words. The smirk was coming up in John's throat, but he suppressed it with all his might. John nodded, signaling Gerald to go ahead. Bryan followed him to the building's entrance.

“Get in the Jeep, we'll go to their base, then I'll leave you at the front.” They both got into the Jeep and started driving.

The roads they were taking were familiar to Bryan, confirming their path to the Red Viper base. Honestly, Bryan was apprehensive about going. Even so, he knew this would be an opportunity to see how they were preparing. He pushed aside the memories of his childhood that began to flood his mind. It was too painful for him to repeat his trip down memory lane. However, he never forgot one particular person, despite pushing them aside.

“Red Viper…”

He was the closest father figure Bryan ever had. The questions he wanted to ask were always the same.

Why wasn't he there that night?

Where was he?

Did he know about the ambush?

The sheer numbers of people overpowered them that night. In fact, they were supposed to ambush the Blue Wolves, which made him wonder how they knew where they were. Since thinking about it would do him no good, he set aside his questions.

The entire journey was silent. Gerald and Bryan did not speak a word to each other. While roaring through the wasteland, the engine alerted the scouts ahead. Scrambling about, they announced their arrival. A short while later, the Jeep stopped. After getting out of the car, they waited.

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After some time, a man appeared. With a profound sense of apathy, his dirt colored eyes narrowed at the two. Step by step, he made his way. He soon stopped in front of them.

Bryan stopped breathing.

It was the man he would never forget. A man who appeared in every single nightmare he had. It was the man, who had to die. Gerald's grave voice brought him back to life. After staring at him for a few seconds, he averted his gaze. Naturally, the man ignored Bryan and locked eyes with Gerald.

“Hey Brock.” Brock only nodded in response. Bryan's reaction, however, was anything but calm. With a slight surprise look, he looked back at Brock, hearing his name for the first time. He didn't avert his gaze this time.

“Cat got your tongue?, haha” Gerald cracked, in Bryan's view, an unsightly joke. Brock's bushy eyebrows twitched in agreement. Gerald laughed and coughed at the same time, sensing his joke didn't hit. Bryan thought the man's awkward smile was much better than his usual one.

“John wants a truce. We'll give this guy as a token of our seriousness. He's a reporter from the city, therefore means he's an outsider. You know what that means, right? If you do, then you know what you can't do. He wants to do a story, so humor him for a little.” Gerald struck Bryan on the back, pushing him to Brock's side.

Brock still had a frown on his face. It was even deeper than it was before. The only thing Gerald could do was sigh. He pleaded in a feeble voice that could crumble away in the next second.

“For old times sake, please?” Only then did Brock's frown ease up. He nodded in reluctance, yet to Gerald, it didn't matter.

“Great! John will choose the place to talk, and we'll let you know. See you then, and don't hurt the reporter.” Gerald looked at Bryan one last time before waving goodbye. Within a minute, he was completely out of sight, returning the way they had come.

Brock stood there with his arms crossed. It was as if something kept his jaw closed. Bryan took a closer look at Brock's side profile. He hadn't changed much since the last time he saw him. Maybe he got a few extra gray hairs? Despite the glance Bryan had, he could not get a sense of what had changed about him or the Red Vipers. Bryan was so immersed in thought that he didn't notice Brock staring at him. The man stood in silence, waiting for him to complete his thoughts. When Bryan looked up, he saw only brown eyes with a blank stare.

Only a confused stutter escaped his mouth as he tried to think of what to say. Brock glanced one last time before turning back. Seeing him leave, Bryan ran up to him, lugging his extra recording gear.

I'm a reporter from the Celeste Post. If I could just film around and interview a few people here…” Bryan's sentence trailed off when Brock's eyes landed on him. Bryan, however, didn't back down.

Bryan looked up at his brown eyes and asked, “Is it possible?”. After nodding again, Brock stared ahead once more. After getting the toughest part out of the way, Bryan let out a sigh of relief in his head. On their slow walk, he began to reflect on Brock.

So his name is Brock. Why was he unable to speak? Since he could understand, he must have lost his ability to speak in some accident. Was it during the first war? Let's just be cautious and keep a low profile.

They soon reached the entrance of the base. As opposed to the massive building before, a rundown police station stood in front of them. The sign was dusty. Old cracks and crevices ran along the walls of the building. Despite its size, it couldn't match the city hall. Three stories tall, the station had an open roof from which members patrolled and scouted the area. The young man realized he was on a street as he looked around. As opposed to the isolated city hall, the station situated itself on a street surrounded by rundown shops and houses. The streets were completely empty, not a single streetlight anywhere. The only light was from the sun, which seemed to glare even more at midday.

Brock walked in, after which Bryan followed. As expected, the layout of the station was typical: desks were arranged in an organized manner. Computers flickered with the symbol of the phoenix, coming into and going out of existence. The dusty monitors lined the cracked walls. As a result of the lack of maintenance, the last vestige of law enforcement has been buried.

Bryan had seen it before. However, fewer people were there than before. He was surprised to find only two guards patrolling the entire first floor. In the past, the floor was crawling with goons and thugs alike, armed to the teeth. Bryan concluded that the Red Vipers were no longer what they once were. He thought they suffered heavy casualties in the first war.

As he examined everything around him, Bryan kept to himself. Brock stopped in his tracks, causing Bryan to do the same. Brock looked down at him as he turned around to face him. Despite meeting his gaze with indifference, Bryan's forehead was wet with sweat. He only had one thought running through his head.

What's he going to do?

Brock called the two patrol guards from across the room after staring for a while. They rushed over at his command, standing side by side. Not even taking a glance at Bryan, they nodded their greetings. As Brock gestured over to Bryan, they somehow understood the message. He was led to a room across the hall by the two men.