It was harder than I expected to get to the Watcher. The Emperor’s power emanated from the asteroid like heat. Getting inside was like tunneling my way into the Sun itself.

Vincent leaned back against the pillows stacked behind him on the bed, tossing aside the now-useless communication device. He didn’t feel right, and it was far more than just the itchy sheets and tight scars. His recovery was slow, and made worse by the knowledge that his injuries were entirely his fault. Even if the Remnant stone hadn’t exploded, the leader of the Erasers would have surely killed him–possibly Robert as well.

Vincent had made a costly mistake, and he’d made it because he’d lost control of his own emotions. He’d been telling himself how much more cautious, and pragmatic he’d become since his first plan had ended in the deaths of helpless students, and then he ran off to pick fights he couldn’t win. Now he’d put Lucia into a position where she was in unknownable danger, with more variables than Vincent could possibly hope to control. He had to be better than this.

“Arthur,” he whispered, and the door to his room opened a moment later.

“Yes, Mr. Villari?” the tall, dark-skinned man replied. He was once again dressed in numerous rich colors, a stark contrast to the abilities he employed in service of the cult.

“The head of the London compound claims to be my uncle, Marco Villari.” Arthur’s eyebrows raised at that, a rare show of surprise. “Do you think it’s possible that it’s really him?”

Arthur considered for a moment, pulling out his tablet and quickly scanning through his many secrets. “It’s possible, I believe, especially considering your parent’s influence. I can look into it, of course, but not deeply. You’re aware of how tenuous our connection to the Cult is; actively investigating a Cultivator wouldn’t just sever those ties, it could lead to a violent reprisal.”

Vincent considered, letting his eyes drift over his room as he did so. How had Lucia made it such a mess? “Do you think my sister is in danger?” he asked.

Arthur shook his head, “It’s possible, but unlikely. Her identity isn’t disguised, and the other compounds have been made aware of her admission into the Cult. The daughter of Ellen Villari has little to fear within our organization. The reverse is more likely. If something were to happen to her, the head Cultivator–whether he’s truly your uncle or not–would likely be…’removed’.”

Vincent nodded, having hoped for that answer. Satisfied, he shifted the topic. “You were there on the night that this compound fell,” he began, “and you’ve had years to consider it.” Arthur waited patiently in the doorway, knowing a direct question was coming. Vincent continued, “I think I’ve been too dismissive of that event, possibly I’ve even been avoiding it.”

He turned to look at the Guardian, “That was a mistake, and one we need to rectify. How did they know where we were, Arthur? Did they arrive just in time to stop us, or exactly when they were supposed to?”

Despite the unvoiced implications, given that Compound security was Arthur’s duty, the man replied readily and showed no indication of being upset. “You’re correct that I’ve considered the matter thoroughly. Unfortunately, my search produced far too many possibilities, rather than too few.”

He came to stand next to the bed, once again paging through his tablet. “The truth was that this compound was a poorly kept secret. We had numerous Cult members, families, and NTC was far busier in those days. The only anonymity we had was due to Psychic manipulation.”

“Still,” Vincent said, “the timing was highly suspicious. Knowing who lived in this building was one thing, the NGG arriving just in time to prevent a weapon from being used is quite another.”

Arthur nodded, “I quite agree, Mr. Villari. As such, I gave up on following physical evidence and began following motivations. Who would benefit from the compound being destroyed? Who would benefit from the deaths of your parents?”

“Who would benefit from the weapon not being fired?” Vincent prompted, and Arthur’s face scrunched up.

“As I’ve told you, I wasn’t made aware of the weapon’s purpose, so I couldn’t factor it into my investigation.” He tapped a finger against his chin as he considered. “You’re correct that this is a vital clue, but one I’m not certain we can act on at the moment, not without knowing the device’s true capabilities.”

Vincent nodded, “Agreed. We’re assuming it’s the key to taking down the NGG, and destroying the Watcher, but those are very broad outcomes. A traitor who simply didn’t want to bring down the NGG is very possible, but hardly a clear path to the perpetrator.”

“Still, I haven’t put enough specific consideration into that line of questioning, Mr. Villari. It’s possible that combining that motivation with other questions could lead to new suspects. I’ll reopen my investigation and look into my notes.”

“Do so, Arthur, and keep me apprised. By the way, is Robert here?”

“No, I’m afraid not. He’s been out almost continuously since Mr. Mackenzie left, and he doesn’t disclose his whereabouts to me,” Arthur replied.

Vincent sighed, “Truthfully I should still be recovering anyway, but send him to me when you see him next. In the meantime, you’re dismissed. Please inform me of anything you find about my so-called uncle, or any breakthroughs in the investigation about the attack on the compound.” Arthur nodded once, then left the room.

Vincent hadn’t seen the man much in the two days since he’d woken up from his coma, but the Guardian seemed far more comfortable having resumed his more formal etiquette now that he and Vincent were practically alone. Vincent reached for a drink as he considered the odd quiet of the compound.

Both Danny and Lucia had left while he was still recovering, and it was a surprise to realize how much he missed them both. The short, tense conversation with Lucia had made it worse, rather than better, and he could feel long-forgotten emotions creeping in from the edges of his mind.

Putting down the drink, he fished out his father’s watch from the bedside table. It was in a drawer next to the Remnant, both of which Robert had apparently gone back to the subway tunnels to retrieve after carrying Vincent home. The large man hadn’t said anything, but Arthur’s brief scouting had revealed that Polvane had survived the explosion.

He had not survived Berserker Bob.

Vincent stared at the Remnant with suspicion as he carefully shut the drawer. It was unlikely that the mysterious device was going to explode again, but he’d already decided to take precautions before testing it further. Instead, he stared at the watch. Unsurprisingly, it had been damaged in the explosion, though somehow it still worked–despite the melted and scorched exterior.

He spun it on its chain as he let his mind drift back to a day he usually avoided thinking about. That self-indulgence had to end, as his memories might hold some clue to what had happened. Slowly, the painful recollections returned.

***

Vincenzo rolled over in bed, unhappy that something had woken him up, but not caring what it was. Grown ups are always making noise, he thought, pulling his covers up and hugging tightly to his stuffed bear. The sound came again, and this time it felt like the whole building shook. Vincenzo sat up in bed, frightened.

He hated when they stayed at the compound, something weird always happened. He looked around, but the dim nightlight didn’t reveal anything sinister. The rocking chair was near the foot of his bed, and thankfully unoccupied despite a hundred nightmares making him fear otherwise. The furniture was exactly where it should be, and the heavy curtains blocked the view of the bright city streets.

Vincenzo was grumpily laying back down when he heard another sound, and this time he recognized it: it was screams. He felt tears in his eyes, but tried not to let them fall. He was five now, and five year olds didn’t cry. He lost that battle, though, when he heard more sounds, much louder, much closer.

Gunfire.

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Vincenzo dove off his bed, and scrambled underneath it in a panic. He’d seen enough movies and played enough games to know what gunfire sounded like, and he knew it shouldn’t be happening in the compound. Not in his home. He was crying for real now, pulling the blankets under the bed with him, desperate for any kind of safety.

He wanted to call out for his mom, or his dad. They’d make the bad people go away, make the guns stop. But what if the bad people heard him? What if they came first? He had to think. He had to plan.

Vincenzo loved plans. His dad had taught him about plans. How to turn something big and impossible into a bunch of little things that he could manage. But he didn’t think that would work now, not against guns, and not without help. Big plans needed people, and he couldn’t get to other people without going into the hallways, and the bad people might be there.

Still, Vincenzo lay there, tears flowing down his face, and planning. There was nothing else he could do.

Then he heard voices. Deep, angry voices, talking. A door slammed nearby, and Vincenzo pushed himself further back under his bed, shaking. Another door slammed, closer, and this time there was more gunfire right after. Someone screamed. He thought it was a girl. Please don’t hurt my sister, he begged.

At last his own door burst open, but the guns didn’t fire right away. “Shit, another kid’s room,” a deep, muffled voice said. Vincenzo could see the shadow of a man on his floor, backlit from the bright hallway.

“We have our orders, you know what these people are. Shoot first, or they’ll turn your brain inside out,” a second voice said. There was a grunt of acknowledgement, then the shadows began moving closer, and Vincenzo held his breath. If I’m quiet enough, they’ll leave, he thought, if I’m brave enough, they’ll go away.

The shadows came closer, but halted suddenly. “Say again, Command?” the first voice said, then there was a short pause. “What about the dampeners, sir? How’s that possible?”

The second voice came in a moment later, “She’s heading upstairs? She must be going for the roof. Intel says that’s where the target is deployed.”

More gunfire came suddenly, and Vincenzo let out a choked squeak. “Did you hear that–” the first voice said, but was cut off by more voices in the hall.

“Backup, backup, we need back–” there was a strange gurgle, then the sound of footsteps. The two shadows moved away from the bed, and more gunfire sounded in the hallway, and then there was silence.

Vincenzo was panting, and biting his blankets to keep from screaming. He rocked gently back and forth, desperate to shut his eyes against the terrors, but too frightened to look away. Finally, he heard a voice.

“Vincenzo?” his mom’s voice called sweetly. “Vincenzo, it’s okay, you can come out. The bad men can’t hurt you.” She knew he was here. She always knew. Still, it took a minute before his body would listen to him, and he slowly crawled out from under the bed.

His mother was standing in the doorway, waiting patiently. “We have to go, Vincenzo, come with me,” she said, holding out her hand. He raced forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, finally letting himself close his eyes. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she said while running a hand through his hair. “Come, it’s time to go.”

They walked out into the hallway, and Vincenzo screamed. There were two men right next to his door. They were dressed in black, slumped against the walls, and covered in blood. They were facing each other, and both looked like they’d been shot. Did they shoot each other? he wondered.

“Don’t look, sweetheart,” came his mother’s gentle voice. “They can’t hurt anyone anymore.” Vincenzo leaned against his mother’s leg and looked at the floor as they walked down the hallway. It was hot, strangely hot, and he didn’t understand why, until flames began spreading outward from a doorway ahead of them.

He gasped and looked up at his mother, only to see that she was looking up as well, as if staring at the ceiling. “Damn you, Samuel, you jealous bastard…” Vincenzo didn’t understand what she was talking about, and reached up to pull on her shirt. Didn’t she see the fire? Then the whole world crashed down around them.

When he could open his eyes, Vincenzo felt like he’d been sleeping. His body ached, and it was hard to keep his eyes open. It took a minute before he could see clearly, and even then it was only by the flickering light of several small, lingering flames.

Not that there was much to see. The hallway wasn’t a hallway anymore. The ceiling had fallen down on them, and the small space he could see was just dust, rubble, and struggling fires.

Worse, he was trapped. Not only was he pinned by impossibly heavy and sharp piles of broken ceiling, but something was wrapped around him. Vincenzo was lying on his side, and he managed to wiggle just enough to turn his head. His mom was there, eyes open and locked on his. She was only a few inches away, and she was whispering.

It was her arms that were wrapped around him, and he realized she’d used her body to protect him. He tried to call out to her, staring at her green eyes, and trying not to look at her brown hair, caked with blood. But he couldn’t speak, his chest was pinned too tightly and he was gasping for breath. He panicked then, trying to wriggle free, feeling like the entire building was on top of him.

He did that for a while, his body barely shifting, as his mind went wild. Finally, a single whisper came through, Listen to me, Vincenzo. His body stilled, and he relaxed, happy to listen to his mother speak. The whispers were quiet, but he knew how important it was that he hear them. He watched her lips move in fascination as she spoke.

“Don’t believe their lies…” she said, and Vincenzo wondered who she meant.

“They’re watching us…” who?

“They’re waiting…” he couldn’t understand.

“We’re nothing but slaves…” the words rolled over him, and his mind began to drift. His mother kept speaking for what felt like hours, and he listened as the fires died down.

“The supers are their tools…”

“They’ll exterminate us all…”

“I’ve seen the horrors that await us…”

“The Great Hero betrayed us…” Sometimes Vincenzo felt like the words almost made sense, as if there were pictures forming in his mind when he heard them. Each time his mother repeated herself, the images were a little clearer.

“We have to destroy it…”

“I’ve seen them…”

“You’ll see them too…”

“We couldn’t do it…”

“Don’t let it inside you…” The words kept coming, and sometimes it was so hypnotic that Vincenzo thought he might fall asleep. He snapped back awake when the words finally changed, and his mother’s tone changed with them. What she said next didn’t feel like it was for him, and her gaze had become strangely distant.

“When Gods war in the streets,

When the storms rage as never before,

When the Gamma burns,

When the Watcher gazes down upon its end,

Then will the truth of this world be revealed,

Then will the Great Hero become the Great Traitor.”

She let out a long breath after that, and her eyes half closed. Vincenzo was crying, knowing something was wrong. His mother whispered once again. “I’ve seen how this ends…It ends in pure chaos, it ends with blood in the streets…” Another slow breath escaped her. “I think…I think they’ve already won…”

Suddenly her eyes snapped into focus, staring right into Vincenzo’s. “We thought we were going to save the world…” she said, and then she went still.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, wrapped in the cold embrace of his mother’s limp and broken arms. He cried at times, panicked at others, but mostly he just stared at her, numb and lost. Vincenzo didn’t realize someone else was there until he felt the weight of the world gently lifted from him, as the rubble was pulled aside.

He didn’t recognize the man who looked down at them with sad eyes. His long hair might have been light brown, or even blonde, but it was so filthy that Vincenzo couldn’t tell. He was terribly skinny, which was only too clear as he was shirtless, but wearing an open, long brown coat. He crouched down, and his scraggly beard seemed to split open as he spoke.

“I’m so sorry, Ellie,” he said, his voice raspy and dry. “This is all my fault,” he shook his head sadly, before reaching down and closing the eyes of Vincenzo’s mother for the last time. Finally he turned and addressed Vincenzo himself.

“You’ll be alright, lad. Let me take you to your sister.” Vincenzo felt himself being picked up, and tried to fight off the stranger who looked like one of the ‘beta’ men that sat on the street corners. His father had always told him to stay away from those men, but his arms and legs could barely move. He was just too tired.

The man turned and carried Vincenzo through an open door, and in a single moment his mother was gone forever. He shut his eyes as more tears fell, and for a while he wasn’t aware of what was happening. When he opened them again, he saw that they were on the street, and he realized that the man was holding Lucia as well.

Suddenly they were both being put down in front of some large building. It was still dark, and Vincenzo had just enough sense left to be scared. He managed to pull himself over to Lucia, and lean against her, but she wasn’t moving.

“This is the best I can do,” the beta man said sadly. He walked up the short steps to bang loudly on the black door, causing lights to turn on behind barred windows. He turned back, and looked down at Vincenzo and his sister once more. “These people will take care of you,” he said. “Just don’t tell them where you came from, and you’ll be fine.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just put his hands in his pockets and started walking away. After only a few steps he turned back, “I’m sorry about your mother,” he said, then resumed walking.

Vincent never saw the man again.