The morning of the next day came. Zander was still fast asleep in the bed, his mind more at peace than it ever had been. His dreams consisted of incomprehensible numbers flying around an open valley, colliding and adding themselves together. Eventually, these mathematical symbols formed equations, which eventually yielded many answers. And these answers would go on to form equations of their own. This process went on for what seemed like an infinite amount of time. However, none of these numbers, no matter how large, ever came close to how much love he felt in his heart. It was the one time that numbers couldn't explain everything to him.

Just as the sun crept through the blinds, gently resting its rays on Zander’s eyelids, a knock came from the door. The dream ended and he began to stir awake. For him, it took no time at all for his brain to snap back to reality—he was more in control of his mind than any other part of his body. However, the rest of his body was a bit more reluctant to awaken. In fact, his muscles refused to move because of how sore they were.

“Zan?” a soft voice called from the other side of the door. “Breakfast is ready!”

That was enough to get the blood instantly flowing through his veins again. Just hearing the voice of Eliot and the thought of his cooking jolted Zander out of his reluctant state. He threw his morning robe on and swiftly made his way down the old, rickety stairs.

As he stepped into the quaint kitchen area, the smell of maple and cinnamon filled his nostrils. The warmth of his robes and the scent of breakfast comforted him. Even though he wasn't anywhere near home, an odd wave of nostalgia washed over him.

For a moment, he saw himself in his own kitchen, watching his mother make him and his friends breakfast. They would all be running around the house, young and unaware of the world. The only things that mattered to them were who was winning whatever game they were playing—which was always Vincent, even when he wasn’t winning—and school.

Those were…simpler days, he thought.

He had almost replaced the word “simpler” with “better” in his head, but he hesitated. Sure, the world is practically on fire and caught in superpowered turmoil, but that didn’t matter as much to him. He knew that it was illogical, but he just couldn’t help but think that way. He was content. For once in his life, he found that was genuinely happy. The outside world didn’t matter because his world was Eliot.

Still, old habits die hard. Within a few minutes of standing in the past, Zander shook himself free. He looked around and brought himself back into reality. He walked through the condo until he found himself in the living room. With a long sigh, he sat down on the couch.

Sitting in the reclining chair beside him was Hal Fordren. He was reading the newspaper that Libra puts out, with his feet in the air and a cigar in his mouth. His 5 o'clock shadow was more like a partially grown beard at this point, scraggled and unkempt, but he didn’t seem to mind. As he flipped to the last page, he let out a long puff of smoke.

“It’s just like we thought,” Hal grumbled. He then took the cigar out of his mouth and looked up at the ceiling. “Looks like there’s a war brewin’.”

From around the corner, partially into the kitchen, Lawrence replied, “Oh, yes, Archard was very insistent on declaring war.”

Hal leaned up from his relaxed position. “I ain’t just talkin’ about Archard. With this being spread all over London, I’m sure Silo and the rest of Aries aren’t gonna sit idly by.” He sighed, pausing for a moment. “What the hell are we gonna do? This moves are timeline way to fucking far forward.”

“Well, we’re not going to get anywhere thinking on an empty stomach,” Lawrence said, making his way out of the kitchen.

Emerging into the living room, carrying a couple of plates of steaming breakfast food, were Lawrence and Eliot. They both had half-stained aprons on and a smile on their faces. Hal took a plate and filled it with nothing but biscuits and gravy. Zander filled his plate up with fruits and meat, trying to find the best balance of food that he could. Eliot and Lawrence simply took whatever was left over.

After a few minutes of eating, Zander eventually spoke up. “You talk about the timeline moving up as if it’s only a negative,” he said to Hal.

Hal shot him a quick glance,

“I’m just saying,” Zander continued, “we have the opportunity to turn this into a positive for us.”

Hal took a bite of his biscuits and gravy, and took a puff of his cigar. “Alright then, Sherlock Holmes, tell me what you got in mind. ‘Cause clearly you got something cookin’ in that noggin of yours.”

Zander took a drink from his glass of milk and wiped his face. After gingerly placing the napkin on the coffee table next to him, he looked over at Hal.

“Our overall goal is to take down Archard and Libra,” he stated. “However, the Slayer is the one thing that seems to keep getting in the way of any evidence collecting, correct?”

“Yeah,” Hal said.

“That’s right,” Lawrence agreed.

“So,” Zander continued, “our first priority is to figure out who this Slayer is so that we can take them out.”

Hal leaned forward and squinted his eyes. “I thought we already narrowed it down from what you told us.”

“Yes,” Zander said, “but we’re not one-hundred percent certain about that, yet. I would hate to kill an innocent man over misinformed justice.” He then looked over at Lawrence. “And you’ve said that nobody in Libra even knows who the Slayer is, correct?”

Lawrence nodded his head and said, “Unfortunately, yeah.”

A plume of smoke was blown in Zander’s direction. Hal finished the rest of his cigar, put it out, and then lit up another one.

“What are you getting at?” Hal asked.

Zander leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “What I’m saying is that we have a chance to do everything we set out to do in one fell swoop.”

The room grew silent in anticipation. Everyone stopped eating; Hal left the cigar dangling in his mouth, Lawrence simply stared at Zander, and Eliot sat back on the couch.

After looking at the expressions of everyone in the room, Zander continued his thought. “If this declaration results in immediate conflict like we all think, then Libra won’t pull any punches. If they are that determined to wipe Aries out right then and there, then it’s certain that Archard will bring the Slayer out. And when he does, we’ll finally know who we have to take out.”

Hal’s eyes peered into Zander’s, penetrating the outer person of the blonde boy. He looked deep within and read Zander up and down like a book. After all, Hal was the best detective in the world. There was no one that he couldn’t figure out.

After a few moments went by, he nodded his head and simply took a puff of his cigar. He didn't say a thing.

Eventually, another voice added itself to the conversation.

“That’s a great idea,” Eliot said to Zander, “but how does this help with getting Vince back?”

Before he could answer, a small smile crept across Zander’s face. The moment he looked at his lover, his outer “cold-hearted detective” persona cracked for a second. He chuckled to himself and sighed.

“That's a good point, El,” he said. “Luckily, I’ve already thought of that. Like I said, I believe that Libra will bring everything that they have to this fight—they’re hoping to clean up Aries once and for all. This includes Vince.”

“Ok?” Eliot prodded.

“Well,” Zander continued, “if he’s there, then we’ll have a chance at bringing him back. If there’s still part of his old self left in there, then we might be able to save him after he sees what Libra is truly about. However, this’ll probably be our only chance. If he stays with them after this, I don’t think anything can free him.”

Eliot silently nodded, content with the answer but not wholly satisfied. Reality is often harsh like that. Thankfully, however, there was still some hope in this grim situation.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“So what's the plan then, blondie?” Hal asked. “We stake out the public square that day and wait for both Vincent and the Slayer to emerge?”

“More or less,” Zander answered. “I’ll go into the specifics in a minute, but the gist of it is that we’ll use the chaos of the war to sneakily take out the Slayer from afar. And while that’s all going on, we’re also going to take Vincent away from the fighting—either by convincing him or by force.”

“That sounds like a bit too much for one group to handle. We gotta split up if we’re gonna do all of this,” Hal proposed.

Zander nodded his head. “I agree. That’s why I think that you and Lawrence should handle Libra and Slayer duty. After all, Lawrence knows the mob better than any of us and you’re easily the strongest fighter here.”

“True,” Hal said with a neutral frown.

“Meanwhile, Eliot and I will be taking care of our friend. We know him best, both as a person and as a fighter. Worse comes to worse, we have a few means of taking him out before something goes wrong.”

Zander then turned and individually looked at everyone in the room. Zander, Eliot, Hal, and Lawrence—all four of them were about to embark on one of the riskiest stunts in the Resonator era of London. The only hope for finally bringing justice to the city and to the country was going to start with war. How ironic.

“So, who’s ready for justice?” Zander asked.

***

It was mid-afternoon. The sun was at its apex, unbothered and unblocked by any clouds. It was a rarity for the city to have such a clear day. Most of the time it was gloomy and grey out, cooled to an uncomfortable degree by the uncertain winds. However, today seemed a little different.

Vincent was strolling down the central thoroughfare of London, simply looking about. Barely any thoughts entered or left his mind. He was just existing. No one else was with him—which wasn’t anything new—so his wandering was aimless. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why he went for a walk today. Maybe it was because there wasn’t anything to do until tomorrow? Or maybe it was because he was so nervous about the events of tomorrow? Regardless of what reason it was for, they all seemed to share one thing in common: Tomorrow.

But thoughts and worries were something past Vincent cared about. He was a different man now. He had a family. He had a father figure. He finally had a purpose in life. He was going to save a city and be a hero. These were things he had only dreamed about when he was a child—he never thought that they could come true.

So why doesn’t it feel good? he thought to himself.

As much as he had been trying to force the happiness of the situation, nothing seemed to fill him with joy. Even the thought of being Libra’s most powerful weapon felt bland, at best. Lately, it had been getting harder and harder for him not to feel apathetic. Nothing gave him the pure rush of life that he had been feeling ever since leaving on this adventure. The sense of wanderlust and excitement he felt on the open seas and even in the Setting Sun seem like distant memories to him. They seemed just out of reach.

What’s wrong? he asked himself. He stopped walking for a moment and shook his head. No, nothing’s wrong. I…I’m just nervous. That must be it.

He looked around at the sullen-grey stone that made up most of the buildings. Something about them resonated with him. The concrete pathways and the barren, tar roads that ran in between those buildings also called out his name. Anything and everything that remained in place, made and used only by the hands of humans felt real. To him, they were the only things that looked like him.

Am I really free?

Just then, a voice caught his attention, snapping him out of his trance. “Vincent,” the hushed voice said.

As he looked around, Vincent couldn’t initially find the source with his eyes. However, without even realizing it, his mental waves scanned the immediate area and came across the waves of another person to his right. Shifting his attention in that direction, he found a man casually standing in an alleyway.

The partially obscured man continued to look at Vincent. “Come here,” the man said.

Although it took him a second, Vincent started to put together the flashes of familiarity that came when looking at this figure. The voice, the posture, the size, the mental waves—everything seemed to point towards one unbelievable answer.

“Larry?” Vincent asked, looking into the alley.

Larry put his finger up to his mouth in response, signaling Vincent to be quiet. While a bit apprehensive, Vincent walked into the alley to meet with this thought-to-be-dead ally.

“You have to be quiet, kid,” Larry said with a whisper. “Now, follow me.”

“Hold on,” Vincent replied in the same, quieter tone, “what the hell is going on? I thought you were dead.” Although he was now in the alleyway, he didn’t move any further in. “I’m so confused.”

Larry sighed. “I get that, but I can’t explain everything right now. It’s important that you come with me and that you don’t tell anyone else that I’m alive.”

On the edge of Vincent’s mind, there was a twinge of doubt. He wasn’t sure what exactly set it off, but something managed to trip his suspicions. Perhaps it was a subtle change in Larry’s mental waves. After all, he’d been getting better at subconsciously feeling the waves of others.

“Why should I go with you?” Vincent asked.

Larry paused for a moment and just stared into Vincent’s eyes. Eventually, he replied, saying, “Because it’s an important mission from Archard.”

“Archard?”

Larry smiled. “Oh, yes, this is a secret mission from Archard. It’s important that the truth of my death is only known to you and him. We have a mission to do before the public gathering and I need your help.”

It took Vincent a moment, but upon hearing the godfather’s name, he decided to follow Larry. The two of them made their way through the twisting back alleys of the city, dodging around anyone who could potentially see them.

It took them the better part of an hour to walk out of the alleys. And when they did, the clear and beautiful sky started to darken with greying colors. The clouds returned, blocking out a lot of the light, and casting strange shadows across the various buildings. The wind continued to blow with more force by the minute. Maybe there was a storm coming?

While they might have been out of the alleys, they certainly didn’t walk through any wide-open spaces. Larry bounced from cover to cover, wall to wall, making himself as unnoticeable as possible. Vincent followed suit.

I wonder what this mission is, Vincent thought to himself.

This entire scenario seemed to come out of nowhere. What’s even stranger is that there were only two days left until Archard’s grand public speech. What could have been so urgent that he needed to go somewhere? Did it have something to do with why Larry was alive? There were so many questions flooding his head. Eventually, like every other time he became overwhelmed with thoughts or emotions, his body cooled down and his brain emptied itself out.

“We’re here,” Larry announced, causing Vincent to snap to attention.

As he looked around, Vincent found that they were in a rather peculiar part of town—one that he had never been to. Rows of weathered and broken slabs of rock were stuck in the sodden grass. Some of these knee-high monuments were only broken by time, but most were intentionally destroyed. The words that were inscribed on them were hard to read, because the now-forming mist obscured them.

The graveyard they found themselves in was small and tucked away. It was on the outskirts of the city, between a couple of man-made hills. It was a small valley, entirely surrounded by trees, that seemed old and unknown to the rest of the world. There was a sincerely eerie quiet to the lot. No birds chirped and none of the obnoxious sounds of the city managed to break through the walls of hills that surrounded it.

“What are we—” Vincent started to say, turning toward where he thought Larry was. But he was not there.

It took him a moment, but he eventually saw his companion standing over a tombstone at the corner of the cemetery. As Vincent approached, he saw the solemn look on Larry’s face. It was much different than any expression he had seen from him. There was longing that his waves couldn’t hide.

“Whatcha looking at?” Vincent asked.

Larry didn't answer. He just kept looking down.

Because he didn’t get an answer from Larry, Vincent decided to look down in the same direction. He saw a half-broken tombstone, with only half a name remaining on it. Compared to the rest of the place, this was easily the most damaged grave marker he’d seen. The legible part of the name read: Orlova.

“Who’s this?” Vincent asked. This time, he got a response.

“A victim,” Larry answered, his lips subtly quivering and his eyes moistening. “A victim of circumstance; a victim of time; a victim of him.”

There was a sudden shift in Larry’s waves. As opposed to the calm, almost zen-like nature that usually projected out of him, these waves screamed fury and hate. There was a heat behind every thought. It was so sudden that Vincent didn’t even know how to react. The only thing he could do was say the first thing that came to mind.

“Who?” he asked.

Larry turned his eyes towards him—they were bloodshot and full of melancholic anger. “Archard,” he said between his teeth.

Immediately, Vincent got on the defensive, allowing his body to resonate more. He began to lower himself into a colder state, pushing away all thoughts of restraint and emotion. However, it was too late.

He felt a prick on his neck. As he reached for it, he pulled a small dart out of his neck. Within seconds, he started to lose all sense of direction. There was disorientation and waves of nausea that followed. His concentration was wrecked and he wasn’t able to maintain resonance anymore. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if his powers would work.

Panic set in.

“What—” Vincent tried to say, but his thoughts were too incoherent for his mouth. He collapsed to the ground, barely holding himself up with one knee. His vision started to blur, darkening evermore at the edges.

Just before his body faded into unconsciousness, he heard brief portions of a conversation. “...long till he’s up?” one voice said.

“I think…yeah…still hope,” another chimed in. “...change.”

From there, none of his senses managed to pick up anything else. He could feel nothing, hear nothing, see nothing, smell nothing, and taste nothing. His body was cold and his mind simmered to a halt. The nothingness he slipped into was lonely…but not unfamiliar.