The police station stood silent in the dead of night, its usually bustling corridors eerily empty. An unusual large-scale incident on the other side of Novaria had drawn away every available officer, leaving the massive building feeling more like a mausoleum than a center of law enforcement. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the deserted desks and creating pools of sickly illumination that did little to dispel the oppressive darkness. Angelo sat alone at his workstation, the blue glow of his monitor painting ghostly patterns across his features as he mindlessly processed paperwork. Chief Ramirez's words still echoed in his ears, the memory sharp and fresh:

> "Stay here, Angelo. We need someone to man the station."

The order had come with a pointed look that brooked no argument, the chief's weathered face set with an authority that made even the Angel of Death hesitate to challenge it.

Now, hours into his solitary vigil, exhaustion clawed at Angelo's consciousness. The soft patter of rain against the windows provided an almost hypnotic backdrop to the monotonous clicking of his keyboard. Red, having materialized fully, lay sprawled dramatically on the floor beside him, making exaggerated snow angel motions against the worn linoleum. Across the desk, Blue sat with perfect posture, methodically organizing stacks of reports with mechanical precision.

"This is absolute bullshit!" Red finally exploded with frustration as he gestured wildly toward the rain-streaked windows. "We should be out there in the thick of it, showing those criminals what real justice looks like! Not rotting away in here pushing papers like some pathetic desk jockey!"

Blue didn't even look up from his methodical sorting. "Perhaps," he commented, his voice carrying its usual philosophical detachment as he aligned another stack with geometric precision. "But administrative duties are the foundation of effective law enforcement. Besides," he added with just a hint of reproach, "orders are orders."

Angelo's eyes drifted to the bulletin board, where a garishly bright New Light Festival flyer commanded attention among the wanted posters and duty rosters. His expression darkened, memories of Ashford's tragedy rising unbidden. The cheerful decorations depicted on the flyer seemed to mock him, their celebratory nature a stark contrast to the bloodshed they had once concealed.

Blue watched Angelo's reaction with careful consideration. "Your discomfort with the festival persists," he observed quietly, his hands never pausing in their rhythmic organization of paperwork. "Though perhaps understandable, this rejection of celebration-"

"Don't play dumb," Angelo cut him off, his voice carrying an edge sharp enough to cut steel. "You know damn well why."

"Indeed," Blue acknowledged, finally setting aside his current stack of papers. "However, I maintain that your correlation between celebration and catastrophe is fundamentally flawed."

Angelo's bitter laugh held no humor. "Really? Because nothing's changed since then. Every single year brings new 'incidents.' Maybe not Ashford-scale massacres, but the pattern remains. Yet people keep dancing and singing like ignorant sheep to the slaughter."

"Consider this perspective," Blue offered, his measured tone a stark contrast to Angelo's passion. "The moment citizens cease celebrating - that's when terror truly triumphs. Hope and vigilance need not be mutually exclusive. One might argue they're most powerful in combination."

Red, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange, suddenly sprang up with manic energy. "That's it! I can't take another second of this philosophical crap!" His eyes gleamed with dangerous mischief as he edged toward the door. "Time to show the chief exactly what I think of his 'orders'..."

Angelo moved to intercept, his muscled form blocking the exit. "What exactly are you plotting now, you insufferable hothead?" His raised eyebrow and crossed arms projected stern authority.

The grin that spread across Red's face could only be described as demonic. "Remember last month's little kitchen incident? The chief's face when he took that first sip of 'coffee'?" He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Time for a sequel!"

"Absolutely not," Angelo's voice carried the weight of command. "Be a good little... whatever you are, and behave. Our shift's almost over anyway."

Red's answering laugh dripped with wicked promise. "Since when do I take orders from you?"

Before Angelo could react, Red's form dissolved into crimson smoke, rushed back inside Angelo before emerging out again, shooting down the corridor. His cackling echoed mentally as he darted away.

"Oh no you don't!" Angelo's shout bounced off the empty walls as he gave chase, his footsteps thundering through the deserted station. The chase led them down stairs and through shadowy hallways, Red's smoky form always just out of reach.

"The kitchen's not even that way!" Angelo's frustrated cry only prompted more maniacal laughter from his wayward aspect.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The pursuit ended abruptly behind the station, where Red hovered triumphantly over a row of rain-slicked dumpsters. Cold droplets pelted Angelo's upturned face as he glared at his duplicate.

"Got you right where I wanted you, oh mighty Angel!" Red crowed, his smoky form rippling with satisfaction.

Confusion creased Angelo's features. "What are you-"

"Bye-bye!" Red's essence compressed impossibly thin, squeezing through a hairline crack in an upper window.

Horror dawned on Angelo's face as realization struck - he'd been played. The entire chase had been a diversion, getting him as far from the kitchen as possible while leaving Red free to wreak his culinary havoc. "RED, YOU BASTARD!" His orange aura exploded to life as he spun on his heel, racing back toward the station entrance. But even as his energy tendrils propelled him forward at superhuman speed, he knew he was already too late.

Red's smoky essence darted through the shadowy corridors, his form rippling with satisfaction at having outmaneuvered Angelo. The sound of his counterpart's approaching footsteps echoed through the building, drawing closer with each passing second. As he searched for a shortcut, a door caught his attention - its frosted glass panel barely visible in the dim emergency lighting.

Pausing mid-flight, Red squinted at the weathered brass plaque mounted above: "ARCHIVES." His essence swirled with curiosity as he slipped through the doorframe. The room beyond stretched into darkness, filled with row upon row of filing cabinets that loomed like silent sentinels. A thick layer of dust coated every surface, dancing in the faint light that filtered through a single grimy window. The air hung heavy with the musty scent of aged paper and forgotten memories.

Red materialized fully, his trademark grin taking on an almost predatory quality in the gloom. The metal cabinets seemed to whisper promises of buried secrets, their contents hidden behind decades of bureaucratic neglect.

"RED!" Angelo's mental shout reverberated through their shared consciousness, followed immediately by Blue's more measured but equally urgent warning: "Don't you dare disturb those files!"

Red's only response was a mental equivalent of sticking out his tongue as he surveyed his surroundings. "Can't see shit in this dark tomb," he muttered, his crimson aura flickering to life. The red glow cast eerie shadows across the cabinets, transforming the room into something that wouldn't look out of place in a horror movie. "Not perfect, but it'll do."

He began rifling through drawers with reckless abandon, sending clouds of dust billowing into the air. "Nope, boring, seen it, don't care..." Each rejected file was tossed aside with growing impatience.

"You're going to get me fired!" Angelo's mental voice carried real panic now as he navigated the station's maze-like layout, searching frantically for archive access.

Red's dismissive snort cut off abruptly as a particular label caught his eye. The folder was older than the others, its edges softened by time. "Hold up... Ashford? This is from..." His voice trailed off as he did the mental math, an uncharacteristic chill running through his manifested form. "Eighteen years ago..."

The forbidden nature of what he held seemed to make the air itself grow heavier. With hands that suddenly felt less steady than he'd like to admit, Red opened the file. His aura intensified unconsciously as he began to read, casting the damning words in blood-red light:

"Laboratory explosion... two casualties confirmed... husband and wife..." Each word seemed to fall from his lips with the weight of a hammer strike. "Initial investigation indicates... deliberate sabotage... high probability of homicide..." His usually boisterous voice grew quieter with each revelation, until it was barely more than a whisper. "No evidence linking specific individuals or groups, but foul play strongly suspected..."

The archive door burst open with enough force to rattle the cabinets. Angelo strode in, his orange aura still flickering around him from his pursuit. The color had already drained from his face during Red's mental recitation of the report, but seeing the actual document - physical proof of his parents' murder - made his blood run cold. With trembling hands, he took the report from Red's unresisting grip.

Angelo's eyes devoured the text, his orange aura mixing with Red's crimson glow to paint the room in shades of fire. The temperature seemed to drop as the full implications sank in.

Blue's logical tone cut through their shared shock, though even his usual detachment seemed strained. "We must approach this rationally. This report alone doesn't prove-"

"IT PROVES THEY WERE MURDERED!" Angelo's roar shook dust from the shelves, his aura exploding outward with enough force to scatter loose papers. The orange light pulsing around him, responding to his rage.

Red's face twisted with fury, his usual mischievous expression replaced by something altogether darker. "We hunt them down," he snarled, crimson energy crackling around his clenched fists. "Whatever it takes, whoever they are - they pay for this. All of them."

Time seemed to stretch as Angelo stared at the damning report, his mind racing through eighteen years of believing a lie. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the cold finality of an executioner's blade: "No one can know we found this. We investigate quietly, carefully..." His eyes met Red's, matching fury burning in both gazes. "And when we find them..."

He left the sentence unfinished, but in the crimson-tinted darkness of the archives, no further words were needed. The Angel of Death had just discovered a very personal reason for living up to his name.

Blue's form dissolved into azure smoke, his essence automatically streaming back toward Angelo through the station's empty corridors. Their shared consciousness buzzed with tension as Angelo and Red continued their frantic search through the archives.

"There has to be something here," Angelo muttered, his voice tight with barely controlled emotion as he pulled open another drawer. His orange aura cast dancing shadows across the dusty cabinets. "They had to uncover something more than this."

"Whatever evidence exists wouldn't be stored here," Blue's thoughts cut through their shared mind as his smoke form navigated the familiar halls. "Archives house reports and documentation, not physical evidence." His essence finally reached them, reintegrating seamlessly with Angelo's body.

"Maybe there are other reports hidden away in here somewhere," Red suggested, his normally playful demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness as he rifled through another stack of yellowed papers.

The harsh crackle of Angelo's receiver suddenly cut through the tense atmosphere, its static-filled warning heralding the end of their search - at least for now.