“Drink! Drink! Drink!” the crowd of Libra members shouted at Vincent. His mug was high in the air, downing the full glass of beer. After a few seconds, he slammed the empty container on the table and exhaled with relief.

The crowd erupted in cheer.

“I told ya I could do it,” he said to them. “There ain’t no one who can do it like me!”

Vincent and the rest of the higher-ups of Libra were gathered in the grand basement of the Black Magic cafe. This section was always closed to the public, reserved for Archard and Archard alone. And when he wanted to use the space for whatever occasion, Tom would immediately close up shop and begin to run the bar down there, never questioning what went on.

The chiseled, stone walls of the room were polished to a degree that accentuated the red and yellow lights that hung from the crystal chandeliers. Adorning those walls were framed pictures of the Godfather, often surrounded by smiling crowds or shaking hands with various businessmen, celebrities, and fashion icons. Occasionally, there would also be small busts or statues of various philosophers and famous philanthropists. At first, they seemed out of place, but as the night went on, these statues somehow blended in with the atmosphere.

The music continued to beat in a dancing or club-like rhythm, pumping the air with artificial energy. Those sounds would echo off of the walls and the expensive leather furniture, only amplifying the eccentric feeling of it all.

Drinks were handed out without charge—something that Vincent should’ve figured but didn't think about until he tried to pay for them. In fact, when he asked for the cheapest drink, it came in a glass bottle. Hell, even the beers looked like they had a sense of entitlement to them. Everything about this scene was a world that was unlike anything he had ever seen.

After wiping his mouth and taking a few moments to catch his breath, he looked back at the rest of the group that seemed to have gathered around him. “So do any of you—” he started to say, but stopped because they had already dispersed. “Alright, then.”

He walked over toward Siegella, who was leaning against the corner of the room, near the dartboards. She had a small glass in her hand, half-full of whiskey. She swirled it a bit and took a drink.

“Yo! What's up?” Vincent casually asked.

She finished her drink and moved the glass away from her mouth. “Can I help you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was just wonderin’ what you were up to,” he answered. He then not-so-subtly looked around until his eyes landed on the dartboards. “Wanna play?”

Her face scrunched up and she cocked her head. “No,” she said with a huff. “Who do you think you are?”

She then stood up and started to walk away.

“One of you…” Vincent said, his words trailing off into silence.

Just then, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. As he turned to greet who it belonged to, he saw Fang standing there with a melancholic look on their face.

“Don't worry about it,” they said, “she’s always like this.”

“Really?” Vincent asked.

Fang picked up some of the darts that were lying on the table next to them. “Yeah, she’s not someone who likes this kind of social interaction. And I don't blame her.”

Fang’s hand stretched out toward Vincent, offering him half of the darts. Vincent took them. One by one, they both took turns casually throwing them at the target.

“I mean that's fair,” Vincent somewhat agreed, “but, like, aren’t we all friends?”

“We’re friends,” Fang corrected, motioning to just them and Vincent, “but everyone else in Libra are just coworkers. We’re here to work for Archard and to be useful to him. We are all drawn here by his presence and we all want the same thing for the city. So we just gotta find how we can be of use.”

“I guess,” Vincent sighed, throwing another dart. It landed just outside of the board.

After they had both thrown all their darts, Fang walked up to the dartboard and began to collect them. Just as they plucked the last one out, they said, “Don’t let it get to you, Vince. That’s just the way it is.”

Over the course of the next hour, both of them just continued to play games of darts. Most of the time, there was little conversation between the two of them, with the silence only interrupted by short bursts of small talk. At a certain point, Vincent stopped keeping count of the score. What did it matter? He was getting bored anyway. He felt like he was just going through the motions after a while.

And just as that feeling started to weigh him down, he heard the loud clanging of something tapping glass. Instantly, as if the entire room know exactly what it meant, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at the bar. Standing there with a glass of vodka in one hand and a spoon in the other, was Archard.

“Everyone, give me your attention,” he announced. The whole room went quiet. “I want to start off by thanking all of you for how useful you've all been and how great it has been to work with all of you.”

The crowd said some “yeah’s” and “you’re welcome’s” in response.

“And speaking of usefulness,” Archard continued with a smile. “I want to highlight a certain individual. Now, this person may not be entirely familiar to you all, but I cannot overstate how crucial he has been to our operation so far. In fact, his strength is the reason why I’m so confident with my plans moving forward.”

There was some murmuring among the gathered crowd. Eyes darted back and forth from one person to the next. Obvious confusion made its way around the room.

Then, Archard’s metallic hand pointed at Vincent. A wave of energy washed over Vincent, tingling him all over. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but he instantly felt compelled to move toward Archard. It was as if there was a magnetic force pulling him in that direction—a force that moved his mind and body. He walked over and stood next to the Godfather.

Archard placed his metallic arm on Vincent’s shoulder and looked out toward the crowd. “This kid’s power,” Archard began to say, “is something else.”

Vincent looked up at Archard with a smirking, eyebrow-raised face. He felt delighted and confused upon hearing the praise. Finally, he was useful to someone. Finally, someone was acknowledging what he could do. It was nice.

Archard continued his bombastic speech. “He has the ability to create voids. Now isn’t that an incredible power? But not only is he a Resoantor, but he also learned to resonate within a matter of days. I cannot oversell how valuable that is for us.”

There were some light sheers and come glasses being raised in honor of what the Godfather had proclaimed. While the music had been turned down in order to hear, it felt even more alive now to Vincent. There was a sense of elation that began to wash over him as the clanking of glasses and the voices of a family swirled about. However, there was something deep within him that still felt a little off. There was something that…

“So in honor of this marvelous occasion, let us raise a toast to our victory!” Archard yelled out. “To our new power and our new tomorrow!”

“To our new power and new tomorrow!” everyone else echoed, albeit out of synch.

The festivities of the night continued. The party roared, laughter was had, and many people came up and gave Vincent a drink. Even when he looked a bit full or out of it, they still insisted that he drink with them. And Vincent just couldn’t say no.

“So, you’re power is voids, huh?” Siegella asked, slightly stumbling her way over to Vincent. Her movements weren't like that of a drunkard, but they weren't exactly sharp either. “You know what can fill a void?”

Vincent turned to her, his vision lagging behind. “What?”

“Liquor!” she said with a half-smile, handing him a full bottle of clear liquid.

Vincent looked at it for a moment and then back up at her. Thoughts and reasons tried to make their way into his mind, but it was nearly impossible. His head was empty and it was resisting the urge to be full of anything but what others wanted.

“If you say so,” Vincent replied, grabbing the bottle.

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He viewed it from all angles, unable to read what the label said. Shrugging his shoulders, he popped off the corks and downed half of it within a matter of seconds. He moved the bottle away from his mouth and exhaled, a bit of that drink tricking down his chin. He turned to say something to Siegella, but she was already gone.

Oh well, he thought.

Absentmindedly, he somehow maneuvered his way around the bar, only knocking over a few chairs. He would join in with some conversations and just laugh along, completely unaware of what anyone was talking about. Games would be played that he didn't know the rules of. He would just sit around and drink when he was told to. He must’ve really sucked at whatever he was playing because he drank a lot. But unfortunately, he never managed to finish a single game or conversation. Everyone would leave after a few minutes of his arrival.

Eventually, he happened to see Fang sitting near the corner of the room, away from everyone. They were looking at the dartboard in front of them, casually throwing darts at it. None of them managed to hit the bullseye.

“What’s up, Fang?” Vincent said, clumsy plopping on the chair next to them.

Fang didn’t answer and just kept lackadaisically throwing darts. Now, it might have been the liquor thinking for him, but Vincent could swear that their mental waves gyrated back and forth. It was subtle, but it was like they couldn't decide which direction to flow.

“Earth to Fangy,” Vincent said, placing a hand on their shoulder. “Whatcha up to?”

Still staring ahead, Fang responded, “Have you ever questioned the choices you've made? Like everything you thought is starting to unravel before you?”

Their voice was soft and their tone was a little more introspective. The distance that came between each word had purity and reflection behind it. There was an honesty to what they said that Vincent hadn't seen before, which was odd. Vincent hadn’t ever taken them for a liar or someone who had ever skirted around the truth. But seeing how they spoke now made him, even in his drunken state, realize that there might be more beneath his friend.

“Of course I have,” Vincent answered. He took a slightly deeper breath, almost like he had forgotten to breathe for a while. “But ya just gotta live with it.” His words started to slur a bit. “Sometimes, ya just gotta let go. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.”

“Just let go…” Fang repeated.

Just then, a voice from across the room called out to Vincent. Without a moment of hesitation, he turned to face whoever was calling him. He didn't exactly hear what they said, but he could feel the voice's intent for him.

“Who’s, uh,” Vincent started to say before burping. “Who’s calling for me?”

As he walked in a zig-zag over to approximately where the voice came from, he found Vito and Al sitting next to a standing Siegella. They were partway into a conversation, but when Vincent arrived, Siegella glanced at him. Her eyes then moved back to Vito and her head motioned toward Vincent.

Vito stepped toward Vincent and said, “Ay, Vincent!”

“Yeah?” Vincent asked, unable to stop before bumping into their table.

“You know what can fill a void?” he asked.

With a smile, Vincent raised his half-empty glass of unknown alcohol in the air. “Liquor!”

With that, he opened the bottle again, dropping the cork on the ground. He tipped it almost completely upside down and just let the liquid waterfall down his throat. Within a matter of only a few seconds, it was completely empty.

He could hear distant and close voices cheering. They were cheering for him. At least, that’s what he told himself. It was getting hard to read intent or even see his surroundings. Colors and shapes started to blur together and it was getting harder to remember what had happened a few minutes ago.

But he didn't mind. In fact, it was nice to have an escape from reality. He didn't have to think, know, or feel anything. Honestly, the more he’d been using his power, the more often this emptiness came over him. It was a hollow feeling, sure, but it still was better than facing whatever kept pulling at him from deep within his soul. Compared to whatever that was, this was a happy state of living. Well, living might not be the best descriptor.

Time somehow found a way to march forward several hours before it even felt like a minute to Vincent. He didn't even notice that there were only two or so other patrons left in the place. Not even Fang was present. Or maybe he did notice and he just forgot.

I guess everyone’s leaving now, he thought. I wonder why nobody told me.

His empty mind then drifted over to the thought of leaving. Maybe it was his drunken confusion or maybe it was just his normal idiocy, but he realized that he didn’t know the way back to the headquarters. After all, he just blindly followed Archard here.

“Hey!” he called out to the vague figures on the other side of the room. “Ya mind helping me back to HQ?”

They didn't respond. Instead, he watched them grab some things from a table and wave to someone that wasn't him. He followed the general direction of their wave and found Tom waving back from behind the bar.

Oh, that makes sense. Well, I guess I can probably follow—

As he turned back to look at the figures, they were gone.

“Well, alright then,” he said to himself.

Without really thinking, he stumbled his way toward the door, grabbing a half-empty bottle of whiskey on his way out. Behind the door was a staircase, which led to a back alley. He found himself in the middle of essentially nowhere. Sure, he recognized that it was an alley, but in that moment, it could have literally been any alley and he wouldn't know which.

What he did know was that it was the middle of the night and that it was cold. He didn’t know how cold—for some reason, it was hard for him to tell. He did feel a bit of wind blow through him, causing some of the hair on his arms and neck to stick up. Instead of going back to the bar for his jacket, he just continued to walk in a random direction.

He wasn’t sure how long or how far he had walked, but eventually his body was just tired of it. And so, he slumped down next to a stone wall. He was still in an alleyway, but he had no idea where he was. There was no one around him and nothing that he could hold onto.

Even if it was for a second, a moment of sobriety came to him. In that moment, he felt lonely. He wanted to cry but something in his mind made him unable to. And so, he remained cold. He curled up in a ball and looked at his hands. One of them held nothing and the other held the bottle of whiskey.

While looking at his empty hand, blurry images of three people started to make their way into his mind’s eye. Two of them were paler, while the other was much darker in complexion. Their features were impossible to see and his vision was unfocused at best. Even if he couldn't see who they were, their presence was enough for him to start to feel some emotions again.

When he looked at the other hand, he stared at the whiskey bottle. As he did, familiar music and the cheers of that night began to play in his ears. But he felt nothing when listening to them. The joy that was supposed to accompany sounds like that was less than hollow.

His eyes darted back and forth between the two hands, unable to decide where to look. He knew he had a choice to make, but he wasn’t sure what to do. His drunken body and intoxicated mind made it all but impossible to think. And so, he did the one thing he had been doing without thinking this entire night.

“You know what can fill a void?” he asked himself.

He answered his own question by drinking the entirety of the whiskey. Half of it ended up on his shirt and on the ground, and the other half of it barely made it down his throat. When he finished, he just tossed the bottle to his side. It heard it break against something, but he didn't bother looking at what.

The corners of his vision were going black. The darkness that began to take over his eyes was deeper, blacker, and more barren than even the starless expanse above him. For some reason, he wanted to reach up and grab those stars, even if he couldn't see them behind the clouds. He knew they were there; they always had been. But he just couldn’t get his arms to move. His will was gone. Nothing remained anymore within him. And soon enough, nothing more remained in his sight.

He fell into unconsciousness, alone and cold, unable to grab a single star.

***

On the northern side of the city, there is a lone condo. It’s a small one, but oddly cozy. Within this house is a bedroom, and in this bedroom are two individuals laying in bed. They were naked and underneath the sheets, facing one another while embracing. There was an unwavering sense of joy that radiated between them. While they were together, they both felt complete for the first time in both of their lives.

There were fading remnants of sweat on their bodies, and they had caught their breath a few minutes ago. In that time, they had just been cuddling and enjoying the peaceful, silent love between them. That being said, one of them did eventually speak up.

“I don’t think there’s anything else I can hide from you,” Zander softly chuckled.

Eliot smiled and brushed Zander’s hair out of his eyes. “And I think I’m more in control than I’ve ever been.”

“I can tell. I’m glad.”

Zander’s hand gently caressed Eliot’s arm, making its way slowly up to his shoulder. Eventually, he traced Eliot’s body up to his face and just rested his hand there. Zander just continued to stare into his lover’s eyes. They were beautiful. In fact, they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The stars in the sky and hundreds of galaxies he had viewed in his life were nothing compared to those eyes.

While the night had been kind to the both of them, and the atmosphere had been full of nothing but passion, there was a slight shift in tone. It was subtle and it came from Eliot. His eyes hardened and his demeanor dropped a bit.

“You know we have to save him,” Eliot said.

Zander started to look away, but Eliot grabbed his face and calmly brought his gaze back to him. It took Zander a moment, but eventually, he answered. “I know,” he sighed. “You’re right.”

“He’s our friend. Whatever’s gotten into him is not who he is—we both know that.”

“Yeah…I just worry about him,” Zander said with a slight frown. “He doesn’t think a lot but has a good heart. I’m afraid that they’ll take advantage of that. It must be lonely for him.”

Eliot responded to that frown with a smile. “But it won’t be for long. We’ll bring him back.”

Zander couldn't help but return the smiling gesture. Just seeing Eliot’s glowing face was enough to get him to feel happier. “Yeah…” he said, “we’ll bring him back.”

Their faces slowly moved toward one another. The short distance that was between them grew thinner and thinner. Both of their hearts fluttered the closer they got and their eyes remained locked on the other. As they kissed, all sorts of colors exploded within and between them. It was like a thousand stars circled around them, embracing them until their consciousness started to blissfully fade away.

They both eventually drifted to sleep, holding an infinite number of stars between them.