With sheets loosely covering him, Vincent continued to lay in his bed. He had no idea what time it was, and frankly, he didn’t care. Nothing really mattered, because in his mind, anything could just be taken away.

I heard her, I heard her, I heard, he continued to repeat in his head.

He had been laying in bed since the moment Livia was executed. After it happened, he had no thoughts. He just ended up in his room and he didn’t remember how he got there. Ever since then, he had not moved from that self-proclaimed coffin.

“And still, I did nothing,” he mumbled to himself. He then tossed and turned, unable to find any semblance of peace. “There was nothing I could do. Or maybe there was…”

He clutched at his head and began to cry hollow tears. He was sad, but what he felt was more than that. It was somewhat similar to how he first felt when he realized that his dad would only be able to be home a few days a month. A piece of him was plucked from his heart, never to fully return.

That emptiness had stayed with him, but what he was experiencing at that moment was a deeper version of that. He never really had anything in his life—no goals, no parental figures, and no purpose. Because of that, he never had to feel what it was like to lose those things. After all, the pain of loss never comes if there is nothing to lose.

What am I doing? He questioned. He wasn’t aware how deep that question could go, but he asked himself anyway. Did I not realize how real this is until now?

His mind then wandered to Zander and he felt his cheeks hurt, like he had just been punched in the face. Zander’s words began to fill his mind and replay themselves over and over. Actions have consequences.

“No shit,” he said, trying to cover ears with his pillow. “I know that.”

He then slowly released the pillow and the screams of the woman from his dream rang throughout his head. With a sunken face, he admitted, “Or maybe I really didn’t until now.”

He finally sat up and just stared at the distraught covers and sheets. He stayed like that for at least 20 minutes before even thinking another thought.

What is there to do? What’s the point? he finally thought.

Before he knew it, his body began to move on its own. He was suddenly out of his bed, standing in front of his mirror. Beyond the semi-naked body, all he saw on the other side was a sorry excuse for a friend.

Friend, he thought.

That word resonated within him. He started to slowly feel his mind regain control of his movements, although it still wasn’t much. He put on his ripped, black jeans. He put on his shirt. He put on his socks. Finally, he put on his shoes.

After a few more moments of standing still, finally dressed, he opened his door. He didn’t know where he was going, but at least he was going somewhere.

***

“It just doesn’t seem real,” Eliot commented, sitting on a wooden bench within the Diamond Hall’s gardens.

The greenery was duller than usual, and the natural light that usually poured in from the glass ceiling was clouded and grey. Even so, the dreadful colors of the day didn’t deter anyone from roaming the pillar.

Beside him, Fang answered, “I agree, it’s a lot to take in,” while taking a drink of water.

Eliot’s head was resting in his hand, which was being propped up by his elbow that was on his knee. “Like, there’s no way that she’s just gone now.”

“People come and go, and it sucks,” Fang replied, patting Eliot’s back.

“But she died,” he seriously responded, looking Fang in the eye. “It’s not like she abandoned us—she was killed. On TV. In front of everyone!”

“Oh, yeah,” Fang winced, withdrawing their hand.

“What the hell is wrong with this place? Zander’s selling people, Livia was executed on a program that was broadcasted on every TV, and people are just thrown away like it’s nothing.” He then looked up. “It happens in front of everyone, and yet no one bats an eye.”

“Yeah, it’s really messed up,” Fang agreed.

“But it’s more than that,” Eliot said, gripping his shorts. “This place is more than messed up, it doesn’t feel real at all. I know bad people exist, but I could never imagine no one doing anything about it.”

Fang raised an eyebrow. “Does that make you angry?”

Elito jolted a bit. “Wha-no, I-I’m not angry.” He then calmed himself down a bit and added, “I’m just confused, is all.”

“Hmm, alright then.”

The automatic sprinklers that were fixed above the scrubs and hanging baskets turned on, spraying out a gentle mist. The particles of water, even though the light they reflected was pitifully dark, illuminated the space with a rainbow.

Eliot basked in the moisturized atmosphere for a moment. He let the mist breeze through him, cooling down his steaming mind and body. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Do you mean right now or in general?”

“Huh?”

Fang coughed and replied, “Sorry, that was a dumb question.”

Eliot scooted next to them and assured Fang, saying, “No, no, there are no dumb questions. Trust me, I would know. I ask a lot of questions.”

“Well, alright. So what did you mean?”

“Oh, um, I just meant that I didn’t know what to do now, seeing as nothing makes sense anymore.”

“Oh, I see,” Fang commented.

An unknown number of minutes went by in silence. It wasn’t necessarily a tense silence, nor an awkward one, but one that was confused. It was a silence that didn’t know if it should exist, if it should continue to exist, or even how to stop existing.

Eventually, that silence didn’t have to decide anything, because Fang broke it, asking, “So, in your general life, do you know what you want to do?”

“Huh,” Eliot replied, “I haven't thought about that in a while.” he then nodded to himself. “I’d forgotten that life existed outside of this whole crazy situation.”

“That’s fair,” Fang agreed, “sometimes I get lost in the moment and forget the entire purpose of what I was doing.”

“I know it doesn’t really have anything to do with this place—heck, even with our whole mission to see the obelisks—but I always wanted to write a book.”

Fang gave a curious smile. “You want to be an author? That’s interesting. Why’s that?”

Eliot swung his legs back and forth. “Well, um, because they can help people.” As he said that he began to slightly blush. “When I was little, I read a fantasy book about a man who wished to become the greatest hero, although he didn’t act like one.”

Fang nodded their head and silently listened, not interrupting Eliot in the slightest.

“But he wasn’t who I read the book for” Eliot continued, “it was for the side character, Emmer. He was book smart but street dumb. Him and the main character were best friends through the whole story, even though the main character kind of treated him like garbage.”

“That doesn’t sound like an inspiring situation,” Fang stated.

“Well, actually, that wasn’t what made me love the character.,” Eliot countered. “Emmer struggled with the fact that he wasn’t as strong or heroic as the main character or as good with a bow, sly, or perspective as the other side character, Szu. He felt like he wasn’t good enough, which was even more tragic when you learn about his backstory.”

“So how did that help you? It seemed like the book told you that some people aren’t good enough.”

Eliot smiled. “That’s not what I took away from it. Even through those odds, he managed to find something that he could do—something that gave him purpose within the group and within the world. He realized that he wasn’t going to be the idol that he thought he would, but he managed to find something much more meaningful: himself. He learned that it’s more important to be yourself and to not try and force yourself to become something you aren’t—to be the best you that you can be. He used his realization to help those around him as best as he could.”

Fang just looked at Eliot and shook their head. “That’s such an interesting thing to get out of that book.”

“I guess,” Eliot chuckled. “It’s been years since I’ve read it, but it helped me in a time in my life where I felt like I was worthless. I felt that nothing I did mattered and that there was no meaning in my life. That book taught me that I can always help others, and so, I found happiness in doing that.”

“I think I can see how that had an impact on you,” Fang admitted. “So what does that have to do with you being an author?”

“Oh!” Eliot shook his head. “Well, I’m not really good at most things, like how Vincent is naturally athletic or how Zander is so academically intelligent, but I did find that I liked writing. If that’s the one thing that I’m good at, then I’m going to use it to help others. I decided a few years ago that I wanted to write a book that would inspire kids just like that book did for me.”

“That’s a great goal,” Fang said, standing up. They stretched their arms in the air and said, “Thank you for sharing that.”

“Oh, um, of course,” Eliot responded.

Just then, a worker from the casino stepped into the little grove that they were chatting in. The worker looked around for a few seconds and then walked up to the two. Wordlessly, they quickly handed Eliot a small envelope and then briskly walked away.

Fang and Eliot looked at each other and then down at the envelope. With a curious look, Eliot opened it and found a piece of paper inside. As he read the letter, his eyes widened a bit.

“Huh,” he said.

***

Hollowly pulling down the slot machine’s lever, Vincent continued to sit still in his seat. He had been playing the same slot machine for over an hour. Next to him were 3 empty bottles of cola, with more on the way.

“Oh wow, what a good spin,” he sarcastically said with a deadened look, watching the slots stop on nothing. He then pulled the lever and watched them spin again.

He would spin the wheel again and again. And again and again he would mindlessly watch it stop on nothing. Even during the times when he would win big, he would be alone—no crowd was there to cheer him on.

“Here you are, Sir,” a casino worker said, holding out another bottle of cola. Worlessly, Vincent took it and continued to aimlessly stare at the machine.

His posture continued to slouch even farther with each passing minute, but he didn’t notice. His eyes began to sink farther and farther into his head, but his vision seemed no different to him. Even his thoughts began to fade away.

Minutes passed by like hours, and at the same time, hours passed by like minutes. Time began to become pointless as he continued to stare at the same screen. Everything around him didn’t exist—the only thing that was real was what was right in front of him.

That was true, until a familiar sound woke him from his empty trance.

“Um, Champion?” a younger, male voice asked.

Barely moving his sunken eyes, Vincent saw a young boy standing next to him. A slight sense of recognition began to creep its way into Vincent’s mind, but the vast nothingness that currently filled it more than overwhelmed that thought.

“Who are you?” Vincent asked. “Actually, I don’t care.” He then proceeded to continue to play slots.

“It's me, Baako!” Baako answered. “How could you forget?”

“Baa...ko?” Vincent said, trying to put together the name. Everytime an inlinking of a thought started to appear, it was gone just as quick.

“Yeahhhhh, that’s my name,” Baako said, trying to coach Vincent on like a little saying their first word. “What are you doing?”

With a sigh, Vincent answered, “Nothing.”

Popping his head in front of Vincent’s, Baako said, “Why do you look so down? Are you alright? This doesn’t seem like you.”

Vincent didn’t reply and continued to look forward, even though Baako’s head was in the way. He looked past it and his eyes started to slip back into a place far away from where he was. However, before they could do that, he felt a pain start to sting at the back of his head. He blinked a few times and said, “”Ow!” while grabbing at the source of the pain.

“You deserved that,” Baako stated, withdrawing his hand from the back of Vincent’s head. “Are you awake enough to talk to me?”

Letting out a groan, Vincnt replied, “Sure, whatever. What do you want?”

“You aren't very enthusiastic for someone that’s planning on taking on the Lady of the House.”

A bit of energy rushed into Vincent. “How do you know that?” he asked with a slight bit of emotion to it.

Baako smiled. “You know, Marezi and I have gotten pretty close as of recently. We are owned by the same scumbag.”

“Whatever,” Vincent conceded. “It’s not like it matters anymore.” He then turned and attempted to play more slots.

Before he could put his card in the machine, Baako swatted it away from his hand, knocking it to the floor. Vincent stared at his empty hand for a few seconds before looking back up at the kid. “Why did you do that?”

“Why do you look so broken and gloomy?” Baako retorted. “You are not the same person I knew just a few days ago.”

“Well, people change.”

“Not this quickly. What happened?”

Vincent averted his gaze and sighed. “Pain and loss does that to you.”

Baako smacked Vincent across the face and sternly stated, “That’s never stopped you before.”

Vincent immediately stood up out of his chair and said, “Now listen here you little—”

Before he could even finish, Baako revealed his bare arms to Vincent. Scattered across each of them were dozens of black and blue spots, forming a dalmation-like pattern. “You’re not the only one who’s suffering, dumbass,” he said.

“Well…”

“So then why are you the only one sulking?”

“…”

Baako then rolled his sleeves up even further. “I finally feel like I can smile for once, even with these bruises. It’s really weird smiling in a place like this, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel wrong.”

Vincent wordlessly continued to look at the kid, who, at that moment, seemed much older than him.

“It hurts just thinking about what has happened to me,” Baako continued, “but dwelling on the past doesn’t help. I learned to look ahead and make the best of the situation. I’ve learned to always move forward. I’ve learned to hope.”

Like a gust of wind, some invisible force blew through Vincent, opening his already seeing eyes. His body felt a slight rush of energy and the clouded thoughts that plagued him began to fade away.

“Hope?” Vincent reiterated.

“Exactly,” Baako answered. “I believe that things will get better—that’s why I’ve endured the pain that I have.” He then ran his fingers through his hair and continued to smile. “You told me that you’d save me and everyone else here, and I still believe in you. If you fight against Lucretia, I can guarantee that you’ll win.”

For a solid 20 seconds, all Vincent could do was look down at his hands. How heavy they felt. How empty they felt. He felt as though he didn’t even have the strength to curl them into a fist. However, as Baako continued to speak, he saw his fingers slowly starting to curl inwards.

Can I really do it? Vincent asked himself.

Images of Livia began to fill his mind. The scene of her tied up in the middle of the Collider began to replay over and over in his head. Every time it did, she was replaced by another friend—each one meeting the same end. With each friend, he felt his hand sink down.

But that did not last long. Those tortuous scenes began to distort and change. The Collider, the stands, the memory of her scream, and everything else began to fade away. The only thing left in his head was the image of Lucretia.

He felt his entire self being drawn in her direction. Just her mere presence caused him to flare up with energy. His hand began to rise once more, and within moments, he felt himself clench both hands into a fist.

Snapping back to reality, he found himself looking forwards and beyond Baako. He had a newfound sense of purpose, focused in a single direction: forward.

“You’re right,” he finally stated, “I can do this. Someone’s gotta kick her ass.”

Baako smiled and said, “Of course, and you’re the one who’s going to do it.”

“Damn right.”

Baako then looked up at a clock, sighed, and said, “Well, I suppose I should be getting back.”

“Getting back to where?”

With a saddened, yet sincere smile, Baako answered, “To the Collider. He’s got all of us fighting in a big match in two days.” He then turned around and began to make his way towards a doorway.

“Wait,” Vincent replied, reaching his hand out.

Just as Baako was about to leave the room, he turned around and said, “We’ll be waiting for you.”

He then left the room, shutting the door behind him. Even though the parlor was full of other patrons, Vincent felt alone. However, he didn’t have enough time to ponder that feeling, seeing as a hand suddenly tapped him on the shoulder.

Spinning around, Vincent asked, “Woah, who are you?”

A casino worker stood next to him with a red envelope in their hand, outstretched towards him. Tha casino worker then simply asked, “Are you Vincent Huron?”

“I am…” Vincent hesitantly answered.

The casino worker said nothing in reply, but gently shook the envelope in order to draw Vincent’s attention towards it. After a few seconds, Vincent reached out and grabbed it. The moment he did, the worker turned around and left.

Vincent just stared at the strange envelope. Eventually, he opened it and began to read the letter inside.