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The next day started off smoothly. After a long phone call, my dad informed us that it was okay for us to go to the Russos now but to keep the group small, so Arne, Trik, and I were the only ones who went.

The Russos were more secluded than the others and stayed relatively close in the Mojave Desert, so it didn't take long to get there.

Similar to our base – though a bit bigger – the Russos dwelled within a protected area that one could say was basically a tiny city. Once the gate opened, I saw there were attractions, schools, restaurants, homes, one sandy park with an oasis in the middle of it, and small pharmaceutical and health facilities built throughout the base.

Most importantly, though, was a big building labeled Russo Wellness Industries. Their HQ and our destination. I found it fitting that a group as notoriously rowdy and trigger-happy as them had unfettered access to medicines and hospitals throughout the country. I imagined they needed them a lot.

As if to prove me right, a couple of boys at a nearby playground started fighting, both using their little spirit energy to attack each other. However, due to being kids around eight years old, none of their attacks had any impact. But then, two men I assumed were related to the kids – probably their fathers –approached the boys and broke up the fight.

One of the boys accidentally hit the man who didn't grab him during the scuffle, causing the boy's father to crack up. However, the man who was hit didn't find it amusing.

I couldn't hear what was being said, but after an exchange of increasingly aggressive facial expressions and gestures, the man who was once laughing suddenly lunged at the man who was hit.

Then, all hell broke loose as everyone around us, including the gate guards, started arguing and fighting.

"What's going on," I ask aloud in confusion.

Trik and I looked dismayed as the children and adults continued to strike one another. Meanwhile, Arne stood there, grinning with amusement.

When Trik and I locked eyes, we must've come to the same conclusion – Arne was responsible. I get the Russos were the violent sort, but there was no way this was natural.

"Arne, are you doing this?" I called out.

"A century later, and they're still easy to push. I barely had to try this time," Arne replied as they walked past the gate. "Seems they were already on edge."

"Um, do you mind stopping," Trik asked irritably as we skeptically followed. "I somehow doubt making them fight each other will help convince them to aid us. Especially considering, now, we're technically trespassing."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Hm, they opened the gate, but perhaps," Arne grunted as we moved further into the base.

Looking back, I saw the affected people stop fighting and look around in confusion. A few started fighting again after seeing their bruises and blaming it on the nearest person. Pretty sure that was all them that time.

"We're here," Arne announced as we stood at the bottom of the Russos' HQ.

Before Trik or I could say something witty like "Duh," Arne grabbed me by the back of my neck and palmed Trik's head before leaping up to what had to be the seventieth floor. With a blunt head butt, Arne managed to shatter what had to be bulletproof and weatherproof glass as we landed inside.

We stood in a grey-walled office roughly the same size as Gustov's, but it had weapons, accolades of physical achievements, and portraits of Arne, Naomi, Za'Fia, Michael, and Damien displayed on the walls. Based on their clothes, the paintings had to have been drawn during the 2940s.

Immediately, four dark-suited men drew their weapons and pointed them at us.

"What the hell?!" one of them called out.

Arne casually lowered me and Trik then faced the four men.

"Those are new," Arne commented, eyeing the weirdly glowing guns the men held.

"Go ahead, let's see how effective they are," they provoked them.

The four men cocked their guns, ready to shoot. Trik moved to stand in front of me while I activated my spirit energy over my body, not that it would stop bullets, let alone spirit-enhanced ones. I really hoped they were only aiming at Arne.

Suddenly, a raspy voice called out.

"Wait, hold your fire."

A large, brown-skinned, hulking man rose from his nearby luxurious, carved wooden desk and walked toward us. He wore dark cargo pants, combat boots, and a plain grey shirt that was tucked in, but the sleeves were ripped off, exposing his large arms and veiny biceps. He also had a long scar running down his battle-hardened face, and he had dark shades on that covered his eyes, which I could tell he was using omni vision through since there was a red tint behind them. He looked like he'd spent most of his life as a military general.

"Arne, still as unorthodox as I remember," he spoke as he smoked a cigar. "What's it been, a century? You've changed! That's...quite the look you're sporting nowadays."

"Jovan. A century later, and you don't look a day over fifty. You've got a few new scars, I see."

"Well, I have to thank Death for still being alive," he chuckled.

"As for this," he said, motioning at his biggest scar. "I had a little too much fun some time ago. Now, we're all living a bit more cautiously. But I miss the no aging and no dying...life was truly great...Then it ended."

Jovan sighed, staring out nostalgically.

"It was fun while it lasted, though," he stated. Then he turned his attention toward me.

"I've been expecting you. We have a lot to discuss, I hear. Come, sit," he said, ushering us to a gathering of leather sofas.

One of Jovan's guards stepped forward.

"Sir..."

"Oh, you're all dismissed. Go stand guard outside the door," Jovan ordered them.

"Sir, are you sure," one of his guards protested, clearly insisting they stay.

Jovan laughed as smoke puffed from his mouth.

"If Arne's here to kill me, your presence won't change the outcome. In case you haven't realized, that's a Primordial."

As if then noticing Arne's immense presence, the guards' bodies locked up, and they each took a step back. One glanced up at the portrait of Arne and gestured for the others to do the same. Once they were each undoubtedly convinced, they stared nervously at Arne before receiving a subtle nod from Jovan and exiting the room, each walking as if a stick was stuck up their spines.