The streets of Novaria were alive with the soft glow of streetlights as Sleeser made his way across town. The conversation with Angelo still echoed in his mind, each step heavy with the weight of unintended consequences. As he approached the police station, Sleeser noted the steady stream of officers coming and going, their faces etched with the weariness of long shifts.

Pausing at the foot of the station steps, Sleeser took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. With resolve in his step, he climbed the stairs, wondering how the idealistic young man he had once mentored had become the subject of such urgent discussion.

Pushing through the heavy doors, Sleeser stepped into the bustling precinct. The night shift bustled around him, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee and the soft hum of fluorescent lights. The receptionist, a young woman with tired eyes, recognized him immediately and waved him through without a word.

As Sleeser approached his destination, the station fell eerily quiet, as if holding its breath. He knocked twice on the worn wood of the door, the sound sharp in the sudden silence.

"Come in," called a gruff voice from within.

Sleeser entered, the door creaking softly as it swung open. Chief Ramirez, a stocky man with graying hair and a permanent frown etched into his weathered face, looked up from his desk. The office was cluttered but organized, case files stacked neatly on every available surface. A small TV in the corner played a muted news report, images of increased patrols along the Infernian border flickering across the screen. The ticker at the bottom scrolled with updates about preparations for the upcoming New Light Festival and concerns over recent Auron-related incidents in the city.

"Well?" the chief asked, his voice heavy with expectation. "How did it go? Were you able to talk some sense into our 'Angel of Death'?"

Sleeser sighed, sinking into the chair across from the chief. The leather creaked under his weight, a sound that seemed to emphasize the heaviness of the situation. "I'm afraid not, Chief. Angelo is... resolute in his convictions." A flash of guilt crossed Sleeser's face as he spoke.

Chief Ramirez leaned back in his chair, the old wood groaning in protest. "Damn it all. The boy's become a vigilante, Sleeser. He's offering criminals a choice between surrender and death. It's not how we operate, and you know it."

Sleeser nodded gravely, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yes, you mentioned some of this on the phone. I... I fear I may have played a part in shaping his outlook. Can you give me more details about what's been happening? How far has this gone?"

The chief's frown deepened. "It's worse than I initially told you. In the past month alone, Angelo has confronted over two dozen criminals. Most surrendered, thankfully, but three chose to fight. They didn't survive the encounter."

Sleeser's eyes widened slightly, the weight of guilt becoming more visible in his expression. "Three deaths? That's... more serious than I thought. I never intended for my teachings to lead to this."

"It's more than that," Chief Ramirez continued, his voice tight with frustration. "The criminals in this city are terrified. They're calling him the 'Angel of Death.' Some are turning themselves in before he can find them, which I suppose is a silver lining. But others are becoming more desperate, more violent. They're scared, and scared criminals are unpredictable."

"Has there been any civilian backlash?" Sleeser asked, leaning forward with concern.

The chief nodded grimly. "It's mixed. Some see him as a hero, cleaning up the streets. Others are calling him a murderer with a badge. The media's having a field day with it. Every day, there's a new headline about the 'Angel of Death' and whether he's a savior or a menace."

Sleeser leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "And how is Angelo handling all this attention?"

"That's the most worrying part," Chief Ramirez said, lowering his voice. "He seems completely unfazed by it all. He's convinced he's doing the right thing, Sleeser. And given the laws protecting Aurons in the line of duty, there's not much we can do to stop him."

Sleeser nodded, the guilt in his expression deepening. "I'm afraid this situation is my fault, Chief. There's a lot about Angelo's past that you don't know."

Chief Ramirez leaned forward, his interest piqued. The leather of his chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. "Go on."

"Angelo grew up an orphan," Sleeser began. "His parents died when he was just an infant. But that's not all. For most of his childhood, Angelo heard voices in his head - Red and Blue, as he calls them now. It made him come across as... different. Isolated him from others."

The chief's eyebrows shot up, surprise evident in his eyes. "I had no idea they were once just voices. Though it explains a lot about his behavior." He leaned forward, curiosity overtaking his usual gruff demeanor. "But these voices... they're real now, aren't they? I've seen them in action, felt their impact firsthand." He grimaced slightly, as if recalling an unpleasant memory. "Red, especially, seems to have a knack for causing trouble."

Sleeser nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face before vanishing. "Yes, they manifested physically when Angelo's aura awakened."

"What exactly are they, Sleeser?" the chief pressed, his brow furrowed. "Some kind of split personality made real? Or something else entirely?"

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Sleeser sighed, running a hand through his hair. "To be honest, Chief, I'm not entirely sure. I have a friend looking into it. But so far, we have more questions than answers."

The chief leaned back in his chair, processing this information. "It couldn't be the result of Angelo's ability, could it? He isn't evolved, after all." He stated, his mind spun, exploring every possible option.

"No, it's not that," Sleeser confirmed, his voice tinged with a mix of fascination and concern. "Whatever this is, it's something... different. Something we've never encountered before."

"Anyways," Sleeser trying to pull the conversation back on track. "For now, What you need to know is about an incident that happened when Angelo was 12."

The chief leaned back, gesturing for Sleeser to continue. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the sudden silence.

"Our town was attacked by Infernian mercenaries," Sleeser explained, his voice heavy with the weight of memory. "It was during the New Light Festival. Angelo, in an attempt to save a fellow resident, was forced to fatally wound one of the attackers. He was devastated, Chief. I found him there, trembling, covered in blood."

Chief Ramirez's face softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. The harsh lines of his face seemed to smooth out, revealing the compassionate man beneath the tough exterior. Then, suddenly, his brow furrowed. "Wait, the New Light Festival? Which town was this?"

Sleeser met the chief's gaze steadily. "Ashford."

The chief's eyes widened, a mix of recognition and unease crossing his face. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze darting to the other side of his desk before returning to Sleeser. "Ashford... I remember that incident. It was... ugly business." He paused, seeming to wrestle with something internally. "Sleeser, how old is Angelo now?"

"He's 18," Sleeser replied, watching the chief's face carefully.

Chief Ramirez inhaled sharply, his face paling slightly. He rubbed his temples, the complexity of the situation weighing heavily on him. "This complicates things, Sleeser. We can't condone his methods, but I can see now why he's acting this way." He paused, his voice taking on a strange tone. "So you're saying Angelo is an 18 years old orphan from Ashford?"

Sleeser nodded, noticing the chief's change in demeanor. "Yes, that's right. Is there something wrong, Chief?"

Ramirez waved off the question, but his unease was palpable. "Nothing, nothing. It's just... a lot to process." He cleared his throat before speaking again, his voice carefully neutral. "Well, Sleeser, it was your idea to put him here in the first place. So what do we do about him now?"

Sleeser considered for a moment, the weight of the decision hanged heavy in the air. "I think we should keep Angelo's involvement to a minimum. Only call on him for backup when a criminal is too much for whoever was dispatched. It might help to limit his exposure to these situations." He paused, guilt clouding his features once more. "I never meant for my teachings to be interpreted this way. I feel responsible for what he's become."

Chief Ramirez nodded slowly, a hint of relief in his posture. "That might work. We can't stop him entirely, but we can try to guide him." He paused, then added, his tone carefully measured, "We owe him that much, at least. And Sleeser... don't be too hard on yourself. We all make mistakes. What matters is how we address them now."

Chief Ramirez stood up, walking to the window. Outside, the city was alive with activity despite the late hour. Workers were busy hanging strings of lanterns across the streets, their ladders illuminated by the glow of nearby buildings.

"This Angelo situation couldn't have come at a worse time," Ramirez muttered, his reflection frowning in the glass. "The New Light Festival is just three weeks away, and tensions with Infernia are higher than they've been in years."

Sleeser joined him at the window, his expression grim. "I'm well aware, Chief. The situation at the border is... precarious, to say the least."

Ramirez turned to face Sleeser, surprise evident in his features. "You know something?"

Sleeser nodded, his voice low. "Let's just say that Infernia has been unusually active lately. We've intercepted communications suggesting they might use the festival as cover for something big."

"Damn," Ramirez cursed under his breath. "I had my suspicions, but I was hoping..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"It's more than just agitators or sympathizers," Sleeser continued. "We believe they might attempt a significant operation during the festivities."

Ramirez moved back to his desk, slumping into his chair. "And now, with Angelo's 'Angel of Death' act..."

"It complicates matters significantly," Sleeser finished for him. "If he were to confront an Infernian agent..."

"It could be the spark that ignites the powder keg," Ramirez said grimly. "We need this resolved, Sleeser. And fast. Angelo's actions are dangerous enough on their own, but in this context..."

Sleeser nodded, the weight of the situation evident in his posture. "I understand completely, Chief. We can't afford to have a loose cannon on the streets, not with what's potentially coming."

"Exactly," Ramirez agreed, his face set with determination. "We'll implement your suggestion immediately. Keep Angelo's involvement minimal, only calling on him when absolutely necessary. We can't risk him encountering any Infernian agents or sympathizers during the festival."

As Sleeser left the office, the weight of the situation bore down on him. The looming threat from Infernia, the festival's approach, and Angelo’s position all vied for attention in his mind. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the chief's reaction than met the eye, especially regarding Angelo's background.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Sleeser paused on the station steps. The city sprawled before him, its lights twinkling like stars brought down to earth. Festival preparations were visible even at this late hour, a stark reminder of the challenges ahead.

With a deep sigh, Sleeser began his walk. His mind raced with plans and contingencies - how to guide Angelo back from the edge, what to make of Chief Ramirez's strange reactions, and most importantly, how to address the unintended consequences of his own actions. The coming days would require all of his wisdom and patience, not just for Angelo's sake, but for the safety of Novaria itself.

As he turned the corner, away from the bustle of the main street, Sleeser's phone buzzed in his pocket. The caller ID made him pause - it was not a call he had expected, especially at this hour.

"Commander?" he answered, his voice low.

"Sleeser, where the hell are you?!" The commander's voice crackled through the speaker, tension evident in every syllable.

Sleeser's mind raced, searching for an excuse. "I was just—"

"We need you back ASAP," the commander cut him off. "The situation is grim. We need you. We need Sigma."

Sleeser fell silent, his breath catching in his throat. The commander's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

"Understood," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm on my way."

As he ended the call, Sleeser cast one last look at the police station. His concerns about Angelo and the mysterious behavior of Chief Ramirez would have to wait. Whatever was happening at the border demanded his immediate attention.

With a heavy sigh, Sleeser started down the steps. The city lights blurred as he picked up his pace, his mind already shifting to the challenges that lay ahead. As he disappeared into the night, the distant sound of sirens served as a reminder of the delicate balance he was leaving behind in Novaria.