“It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“Everything.”

“Everything? Like what?”

“My head; my arms; my body; my bones; my muscles; my nerves; and my…”

“Soul?”

“Yeah, soul. That hurts the most. Why do I keep hurting? All I know is pain.”

“I get that. I felt that way until recently. Now I don’t hurt anymore.”

“What did you do?”

“I…I…I just stopped.”

“How did you just stop?”

“Everything went cold. I think I went too far, though. Now I can’t feel most things. Even when I start to get warmer, everything feels duller than before.”

“That still sounds better than being in pain.”

“I’m not so sure. I’m not so sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“How? You’re not me. You wouldn’t get it.”

“And you’re not me.”

“Who even are you?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m [ ].”

“And I’m [static].”

***

It took him a moment, but Vincent Huron was eventually able to open his eyes. It was cold. He looked at the many blankets that lay across him. He should’ve been warm, but his body was a bit chilled; it was a step below lukewarm.

“Strange,” he said..

His stiff body creaked as he sat up in his bed. His eyes continued to blink until his eyes adjusted to the morning light from the window next to him. That certainly didn’t help his headache. Although the headache never went away, it was nothing more than a slight annoyance.

The room around him was unfamiliar. Wood panel floors decorated most of the room until they ran into the plaster walls. The ceiling was speckled and white, adorned with a single yellow bulb in the center, hanging down by a sturdy thread. On the opposite end of the quaint room was a closed door.

The faint trickle of mental waves that flowed out of his brain sensed vague movement on the other side of the door. It seemed that he could now use prediction in a limited range. There was an unconscious usage of mental waves in her immediate vicinity. Whether he wanted to or not, he was aware of the space around him. Whatever had happened to him, his mental energy was steadily improving.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” he asked.

The door flung open, smacking against the wall. Stepping into the room were two familiar faces. The first was a smiling man with dreaded hair, whose eyes seemed to light up the moment they landed on Vincent’s. Hanging behind and over him was a pale, blonde-haired individual.

“Vince!” Eliot said, sprinting up to the bed. He wrapped his arms around Vincent. “Oooo, why are you so cold?” He turned back to Zander. “Zander, did you not give him enough blankets?”

Zander walked into the room. “No, I gave him quite the adequate supply. In fact, I gave him more than the normal “Vincent” amount.”

“What’s going on, guys?” Vincent asked. “Where am I?”

Eliot let go and stood next to Zander. They glanced at each other and then back at Vincent.

“We’re going to have to talk.”

Wordlessly, Vincent nodded his head and stood up. As if he instinctively knew, he reached over to the bed stand and pulled the drawer out. His clothes were in there, folded and ready for him. He put them on and followed his friends out of the room.

He found himself in a hallway that came to a “T” intersection. Continuing straight down the hall was a single, closed door. His friends turned to the left and he followed them until they arrived in a dimly lit living room. All the blinds were shut, only letting peaks of light filter through. The air smelled of smoke and old must.

Sitting in a reclining chair was the source of the room’s smell. Hal Fordren sat there, smoking a cigarette. His sudden appearance gave Vincent pause. Immediately, he started to lower himself into a colder place.

“Vince,” Eliot said, placing a hand on Vincent. “It’s ok.”

Vincent slowly walked over to the other side of the room and eventually sat on a couch, leaning against the arm of it. He never took his eyes off of the detective.

One by one, people gathered and found their own seats within the room. Zander, Eliot, Vincent, and Hal all gathered together in a space that, while not entirely full of tensions, was still not peaceful. Each person exchanged a few glances in the lingering silence. It was a few minutes before anyone spoke.

“Well,” Hal finally said, “I reckon we ought to get started.”

“Get started with what?” Vincent asked. “No one has told me anything.”

“You sayin’ you don’t remember what happened yesterday?”

Yesterday… Vincent thought.

Flashes of strange memories appeared in his head, but were gone before he could even think about them. The only clear thing he could remember was Archard. He killed him—that, he was sure of. Beyond that, only fuzzy grains of a colorless world remained. It felt more like a dream than a memory, like it was on the fringes of remembrance.

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“I mean,” Vincent paused. “I killed Archard yesterday. Is that what you’re talking about?”

Hal put out his cigarette before lighting up a new one. “No. We’re talking about those black arms of yours.”

Vincent looked down and for a second he swore he saw the same void-arms as when he was fighting Archard. But when his eyes focused, they were normal. It appeared that his arms and the color of the world were back to the way it was. Although, now that he thought about it, everything did seem a bit duller than it should.

“Oh, that,” Vincent replied. “I guess I pushed my powers a little too far.”

Or not far enough, he thought.

Zander’s voice then cut through Vincent’s thoughts. “Regardless,” Zander said, “we watched you stumble into the obelisk yesterday and touch it. And when you did, you fell to the ground immediately, and that void-like material on your arms evaporated like mist.”

“I don’t…” Vincent said, his words trailing off.

“Are you ok, Vince?” Eliot asked. “You didn’t seem like yourself. We just want to make sure everything is alright.”

Vincent took a second to respond. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just think I went a bit overboard is all.” He paused and then his eyes flashed with interest. “Wait, you all said something about an obelisk, right? Does that mean we found what we were looking for here?”

Zander and Eliot glanced at each other.

“That’s right,” Zander hesitantly confirmed. “I managed to translate it while you were asleep, too.”

“Well, what does it say? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Zander took out his notebook and flipped through a few pages before placing his finger on one of them. His glasses hung at the end of his nose while his head bent down to read.

“Essentially, it says that the next and final obelisk is in Japan,” Zander stated. “Beyond that, it doesn’t give us a lot. The only thing it says is that The One is near and must be stopped.”

At that moment, a tingle went down Vincent’s spine. It was subtle, but it caused the hairs to stick up on the back of his neck. Before the figure even stepped into the room, Vincent turned his head in the direction of the hall he came down. Emerging from the dim hallway, was a familiar person.

“So, it really is in Japan, huh?” Fang rhetorically asked, entering the living room.

Vincent immediately felt a shift in the atmosphere. The feeling of surprise emanated off of every individual that wasn’t Fang. Their mental waves gave everything away. That being said, it seemed like Hal’s emotions were the most understated by far. Not too surprising for a detective.

“Y-You’re finally awake!” Eliot shouted, almost leaping from his seat with joy.

“I am,” Fang said, slowly moving to the corner of the room. They sat down and leaned their back against the comer and sighed.

“Took you long enough,” Hal grunted. “I ain’t running a charity here.”

“I appreciate you all helping, nonetheless,” said Fang. Their tone was more solemn and distant. “Especially you, Vincent.”

“What did I do?” Vincent asked.

“More than you know,” Fang vaguely answered.

“Whatever.”

Fang shifted a bit and their eyes looked to the side, not fixated on anything in particular. Their hands started to shake and their face twitched every so often.

“I overheard you all talking about Japan,” Fang said. “I figured it would be there.”

Vincent watched Hal’s eyes narrow. Although it was subtle, there was an inquisitive air about the room.

“What do you mean by that, Fang?” Hal asked.

“Yeah, I’m not sure I’m following,” Zander added. “How could you have figured something out before me? Did you see the obelisk before me somehow?”

“No,” Fang answered. “There’s something I’ve been hiding from you.”

“What is it? It’s ok, you can tell us anything,” Eliot reassured them.

Fang’s eyes looked up and locked themselves on Vincent. “My…My father is Riki Nise.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. “Who?” he asked.

Zander then chimed in. “You mean the genius inventor from Japan? The one who continues to revolutionize the technological world?”

Fang’s eye twitched. “That’s him.”

“What does that have to do with this?” Zander asked. “Is he someone important to our next obelisk?”

“That’s right,” Fang answered, “and all the other obelisks, too.”

“What do you mean?”

Fang staggered to a standing position. “Do you remember Lucretia?”

In response, Zander just grabbed his stomach.

“She was a servant of his,” Fang continued. “He supplied her with money to continue her gambling empire, while she used her political connections to allow him to do whatever he wanted. There’s a reason why he’s been able to invent and distribute things so quickly. There’s not a single government that won’t turn a blind eye to him.”

“That’s unfortunate to hear,” Zander said, “but what does that have to do with—“

Fang raised their hand in a silencing manner. “I’m not done yet,” they stated. “She wasn’t the only one under his thumb. Archard, too, was an ally of my father. After all, my father was the one who created the ‘Charitable Billionaire’ persona for Archard, which made the public praise his name despite his atrocious actions. He believed that Riki was the one who was stronger, smarter, and more powerful than anyone else in the world. He fully believed in my father’s visions for the future; he believed in Riki’s utopia.”

“What utopia?” Zander asked.

“What are you saying, Fang?” Eliot asked.

“Where are you going with this?” asked Hal.

And like that, a barrage of questions, accusations, and unbearable chatter began to fill the room. It was chaos. Too much information and too many emotions began to swirl around. Things started to crumble apart and nothing seemed to make sense.

But Vincent wasn’t listening to any of it. Instead, coldly, he walked through the chaos and over to Fang. He looked them dead in the eyes and asked a single question: “Was our friendship real?”

Everyone else in the room went quiet. Fang’s hung open for a moment, seemingly unable to find the right words. It was hard to tell if they were searching for the right lie or for the most obscure truth. Finally, they spoke.

“It is now,” they answered.

“Then what about our meeting in Egypt?” Vincent asked. “If you’re the child of all these bad guys’ boss, then surely it was no coincidence.”

Fang hesitated for a second. “That’s right,” they answered. “It wasn’t a coincidence. Riki, for some reason, wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

“For some reason?” Vincent repeated.

“I really don’t know why! I didn’t even know who you were when I went there and I knew nothing about this whole obelisk thing, I swear.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“I-I-I,” Fang stammered. “I swear I haven’t lied yet.”

Vincent pushed his head closer to Fang’s. His breath was cold and his eyes seemed almost devoid of emotion. There was something unsettling and otherworldly to it.

“Then why the sudden change of heart?” Vincent pressed. “Why are you telling us this now?”

With an unexpected amount of confidence, Fang answered: “Because you showed me freedom.”

“Freedom? What does that mean?”

“It’s exactly as they said,” another voice chimed in.

At once, Vincent and Fang in the room snapped their head to the other side of the room. Standing in the corner, with their back against the wall, was a smiling, Japanese man. He wore a pristine white suit that complimented his slicked-back black hair. The man continued his thought.

“Isn’t that what all people yearn for?” he said.

Instantly, Vincent lowered himself into a colder state. Although it took him a second, Vincent recognized the man. “Wait, haven’t I met you before?”

“Now now,” the man said with a casual wave of his hand, “no need to get aggressive. I merely came to talk and check in with my child.”

“Child?” Vincent asked.

Just then, he sensed an immense amount of fear coming from behind him. Those mental waves were dense and full of old trauma. There was nothing hidden beneath them. As he looked back, he saw Fang tremble against the wall.

“Father…” was all Fang could say.