Although the sun was starting to rise, the day was not starting off very bright. In the waking hours of the shocked, heartbroken, and fearful east side of London, citizens were still processing what had happened the day before.

While there were no news sources like there had been before the time of the Resonators, word traveled quickly. After all, who could ignore one of the major train stations exploding? Rumors ran around the city faster than lightning striking an open tree, and the silence that swept the city echoed the quiet after a roar of thunder boomed. People were scared; people were shaken; people had begun to lose their faith in anything. And Archard understood all of this.

Gathering in the morning after the London Train Incident, the higher echelon of Libra sat in a tense silence, gathered inside the headquarters. The aftermath of such an event poked and prodded at every nerve, yet no one had any words to speak. Al and Vito only locked eyes with one another, averting their gaze whenever it strayed away from each other. Siegella, although outwardly resolute and hardened, couldn't conceal her metal waves—they projected insecurity and disappointment. Fang sat by themselves, occasionally jittering and twitching. Their waves were almost nonexistent, locked in their own mind, potentially tormenting them from the inside. And Vincent…well…

Vincent didn’t look the same. Although that's not exactly right. Physically, nothing seemed to be much different except for the wild sparks in his eyes almost completely taken over by a dull, almost black matte texture. And his demeanor was reserved, as opposed to his normal boisterous self. Those two things were rare for him but not unheard of. No, it was something deeper within him that changed. Fundamentally, something was different. Something was colder. Something was…emptier.

He sat in the silence of his own making. He didn’t care for the atmosphere around him, because he was consumed by the nothingness that continued to plague his mind. Thoughts would occasionally stray and wander inside his hollow head, but they were no more than strangers to a deserted land. His mind wasn't completely gone or empty, but it wasn't full of the random energy he used to have. What happened? What changed?

Every time he would look down at his hand, a single scene continued to play in his head—a recent memory. He would watch that hand clutch itself around the throat of Zak, strangling the life out of him. There was no remorse nor hesitation to his grasp. He never let up and was going to kill that man. Worst of all, he didn’t care.

Was that really me? he wondered, still looking at his open palm.

Time and time again in his life he watched the news and heard stories of people being killed in the streets, in warzones, and in impoverished parts of the world. They would be murdered, shot, or starved. Atrocity after atrocity happened—precious lives being taken away—and yet they were no more than a minute-long story on a newscast. A brief mention that would soon be forgotten. He vowed to always value life above all else in the world.

Ever since he was a young boy, he understood that people were more than words and intriguing stories. Hell, his life was one that surely could’ve been made into a decent novel. So he knew that there was a numbness that the rest of the world felt towards people who suffered like him. He never wanted to be like them. No matter how much it hurt that his mother didn't love him; no matter how empty his home felt without his father; no matter what life threw his way, he would find joy in it. He would laugh and have fun, even if it meant disregarding school or any other “priority” he had. What was most important to him was that he wouldn't grow cold and numb like the rest of the world. He always had that choice. That's what made him human. That’s what made him free.

But now…now he felt that it was taken from him. The more he used his powers, the more he felt his freedom stripped away. The emotional throughline that once guided everything he did was starting to vanish before his eyes. And it was subtle. It wasn't until yesterday that it really made itself known. He hadn’t noticed such a difference in him—it was a process that ever-so-slowly wore him down. It was like a new glass cup being washed hundreds of times in a dishwasher. The tiny stains of water and residue left on it are hardly noticeable, even after dozens of washes. It’s not until you compare it to what it once was that the difference is more than apparent. Every time he used his powers, a small, almost imperceivable stain was left on him…one that could never go away.

The one question that remained was: Is it too late to change?

Before he could lose himself deeper into his own maddening thoughts, a voice interrupted the silence of the room.

“What’s with the sulking faces?” Archard announced in an oddly upbeat tone. He was walking down the stairs that led to his office and into the main living space. “Don’t tell me you’re all moping about what happened yesterday.”

“But, Sir,” Siegella said, “we lost.”

“Lost?” Archard asked, sarcastically. “Hardly. Where you see loss I see victory!”

“What?” Siegella replied, her face aghast.

The rest of the Libra members stood completely still with frozen expressions. The air vacated the space, leaving behind a vacuum of shock. Their eyes were wide and their mouths all hung open.

Vincent watched Archard’s eyes stop and connect with every Libra member as if he was reading them front to back in an instant. When he looked at Vincent, their mental waves collided. It was like a spark of electricity zapped between them. And from there, somehow, Vincent felt the sheer force of that man's will overpower him and assert itself into him. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it was different than anything he had ever experienced. He felt his agency almost magnetically drawn in Arhcard’s direction. Even though the situation seemed somber and devoid of glory, he couldn't help but feel a weird sense of forced hope. He felt like a useful tool to Archard, but for some reason, he didn't mind. In that small instant of time, a contradiction was formed, but one he didn't feel like contesting.

“Now,” Archard began to boisterously say, “I understand where you all are coming from. However, staying down in the dumps will do nothing for us. We have to persevere. We cannot be powerful if we show sadness and weakness. And power is what we’re all about, is it not?”

Slowly, each of the Libra members nodded their head in agreement. It was hesitant at first, but at the same time, confidence found its way to each and every one of them. And Vincent was no exception.

“Let’s start with the negatives so we can move right past them,” Archard said. “Yes, we were unable to stop the bomb and innocent civilians died. Even more tragically, some of our own were caught in the crossfire. It appears that Larry and his squad were killed, too. According to reports from Al and Vito, it was so bad that the corpses were unrecognizable, burnt to absolute ashes. A shame.”

He began to pace around the room. His strut was a mixture of a military general and a genius lost in thought. He stopped and raised a finger.

“So where do we go from here?” he rhetorically asked. “Up, I would answer. I only see progress and positivity. This tragedy can be turned into a blessing. Victory snatched from the jaws of defeat.”

Working through the mental and emotional whiplash he was dealing with, Vincent stepped forward. Without thinking he asked, “So what are we gonna do?”

On the left-hand corner of Archard’s lips, a smirk cracked through for just a second. “Hold a public rally, of course!” he proudly announced. “By the end of today, everyone in London will know that in three days, I intend on holding a public gathering in the center of our great city.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “And do what?”

“Declare war on Aries,” Archard promptly answered. “I will announce that their defeat is assured. We will wipe them out once and for all. With the public’s undivided and unconditional support, we will have all the power we need to make this a reality.”

He raised his metallic hand in the air and looked up. In response, all of the shades that covered the window moved out of the way, bringing sunlight into the depressed room. Light now triumphed over darkness.

“So let's not dwell in the dredges of yesterday, but look forward toward the opportunities of tomorrow. Let us celebrate what has been put in front of us. Let us rejoice in the potential of the future.”

A smile then crawled across the Godfather’s face.

“And to start this off,” he said, “let’s have a night of festivities at our usual bar.”

***

Just as the sun was entering the later third of the day, revealing its orange and dulled-yellow hues, Fang knocked on Archard’s door. They stood outside of the main office. Something was on their mind and they just couldn't let it go. It just didn't seem right.

Soon enough, they heard Archard’s voice, although muffled, boom from the other side. “Come in, Fang,” he said.

And they did. Slowly, they turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. It creaked and moaned in a way that seemed almost foreboding, as if trying to warn Fang of something. Regardless, they stepped into the office, closing the door behind them.

There was no one else in that room besides the Godfather, who was sitting in his chair behind the desk. In one hand was a teacup, and in the other, metallic hand, was a white notebook. The moment Fang’s eyes landed on that notebook, a familiar chill went down their spine. For just a moment, they could picture his face.

“What do you need, Fang?” Archard asked, still reading.

Fang hesitated for a moment. “Are we really going to hold an announcement this week? Is it really right to be capitalizing on the deaths of all those people so soon?

The Godfather glanced over at them and smiled. “Of course it is!” he exclaimed. “That was the whole point of the incident.”

“Point?” Fang asked, confused.

Archard was now fully staring at Fang. He raised an eyebrow and slowly lowered his notebook. “Do you really think that Aries planted that bomb?” he laughed. “I know I had to keep you in the dark during the mission, but come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Inside Fang’s mind, there were two forces pulling them in opposite directions. One side led with fury and emotion, shocked by the audacity of what was spouted before them. The other side, however, tried to use logic to reason out the rationale behind Archard’s decision. And Fang continued to bounce back and forth between those two sides, unable to commit to one of them. It was not an unfamiliar feeling.

“This was your doing?” they eventually asked. “Killing all those innocents just for public powers—that was your idea?”

They chose the middle ground, like always. It was a place where they didn't have to subscribe to either side of them and one where they could move forward without upsetting those above them. It was an instinct buried deep in trauma and history.

Archard stood up and let out a hardy laugh. He held up the white notebook in his hand and slightly shook it. “No, no,” he answered, “that was your father’s idea.”

Fang’s eyes were wide and their mouth hung open. Whatever conflict was going on in their head instantly froze over. Even the mere mention of that man caused them to shut down, entirely. They were stunned and silent.

Walking around his desk, Archard strutted up to Fang. Placing a hand on their shoulder, he said, “Don’t forget. This is for the greater good. This is all for his utopia…one where we hold all the power.”

He walked off and Fang continued to stare dead ahead.

***

Later on that day, towards the middle of the night, the east side of the city was still and quiet. It was a different kind of silence compared to the west. Theirs was a shock that hushed their mouths, where the east side citizens were quiet out of habit. One of the two sides had just experienced a new phenomenon, while the other stood by and watched something all too familiar. The destruction. The devastation. Such things were commonplace on one side—such things always happened to those who were “the enemy.”

Those who lived in constant fear of the tyrannical powers of Archard would always think: If only they knew. They would harbor envy and hate but could do nothing about it. That was until a group of martyrs finally rose up and vowed to put an end to the one-sided misery—a misery made purely in the name of power. After all, how can one side be the hero if there is no villain? And they took that role, knowing full well what it entailed.

These supposed “villains” now sat in the basement of an abandoned bar. It was one that was barely standing on its last legs, held together by botched masonwork and tacked-on planks of wood. Even the felt on the old card table felt more like leather than something playing cards could slide on.

This dwindling group of “devils” and “deviants” gathered around the room. Their heads were hung low and the energy in the room was all but lively. Unlike those on the other side of the city, these people were doing something truly unbelievable…they were crying. They didn't cry for their situation nor for the loss they had endured. No, they cried for the lost lives of those innocent people. Tears fell from each and every one of those “demons” as the scene of the prior day continued to play in each of their heads. They did something that the other side would never dare think of doing. They mourned for their enemy.

Silo Custoro slammed his fist on the table, splintering the wood even further. “The audacity of that man,” he said, wiping away the tears. “He’s going to dance on their graves and claim to be the righteous one. How dare he!”

Zak, with his head buried in his hands, replied, still sobbing, “Not only did he kill them, but now he’ll gain support from those very victims. Does he ever lose?”

Silo staggered to his feet, placing one hand on the crumbling wall beside him. One of the stray beams of moonlight that came in from the hole in the roof shone on his dampened face. “No,” he said, “and he’s not even satisfied with that. He just wants more and more power.” The tension in his face grew.

“He’ll continue to torture us but never put us out of our misery,” Zak added.

Silo raised his arm in the air and slammed it back down on the table, causing it to crack in several places and lean in multiple directions. “I guarantee he declares war on us during his public speech! He’ll rally those poor citizens together and launch an assault on us. He’ll take another one of you, cease the battle, and retreat, declaring himself the winner. ”

He raised his fist in the air again. “IM TIRED OF IT!!!”

Just before he brought his entire wrath back down on the innocent table, John stopped him. Their one, oddly peaceful hand managed to quell the fire in that fist. John looked into Silo’s eyes and began to resonate. Their mental waves played a peaceful tune, passing into Silo like a warm, summer breeze.

Within seconds, Silo’s animosity-driven anger subsided. “You’re right,” he admitted, closing his eyes. He then turned toward the rest of the Treasures. “If I waiver, who can you trust?”

“Exactly,” John said, releasing Silo’s fist. “So what are we gonna do?”

“If it’s war he wants, then it’s war he’s going to get,” Silo answered, his eyes resolute, yet full of emotion. “I’m tired of playing this game. The more this goes on, the more innocent people get killed. East side, west side—it doesn’t matter. We are all human. I never cared if it was my life being sacrificed, but we now see that he’s even willing to crucify his own people to achieve his goals. Enough is enough. The moment that man declares war, we will strike him down. Archard will fall.”

As Silo looked around the room, he saw the sunken demeanors of his friends straighten up. There was a renewed spark of life that entered the room.

“And how are we going to do that?” Hayley asked with a bounce.

“By taking away their secret weapon,” Silo answered.

“What weapon?”

Silo took a deep breath and looked at Hayley. “Remember, we have a dead man walking. Our insider is assumed to have been killed. We have the element of surprise.”

“So?” Zak asked. “That just means we have one more fighter.”

“Two, actually,” Silo corrected. The room was silent and apprehensive. “A few days before the explosion of the London Train, our insider came across some very interesting and secretive information.”

“Probably the reason he was set to be assassinated,” Zak mentioned.

“Perhaps.” Silo continued. “Apparently, Archard keeps a white notebook in his office, locked up behind the sturdiest of locks. Our insider didn't get to read much, but it seems like most of the notebook talks about the events that have transpired. However, more interestingly, it almost exclusively focuses on their new recruit, Vincent.”

“Does that mean he's the weapon?” Hayley asked.

Silo walked around his broken table. “That’s correct. For whatever reason, it seems like Vincent is extremely important and valuable to Archard. Now, based on what our insider has told us about his guy, he’s not quite fully indoctrinated. There’s still a chance.”

Instantly, an angry voice cut through the conversation. “You can’t be serious!” Zak yelled. “He almost killed me yesterday! Ain’t no way he’s any different than the rest of them Libra fuckers.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you,” Silo replied. “But, I believe that there’s a chance. He’s still young and our insider has told me that there is hesitation within him. We can save him!”

“Not a fucking chance,” Zak huffed.

Silo walked over and placed a gentle hand on Zak’s shoulder. “I know this is hard for you. I don't want you to have to relive the trauma of facing him.”

Both of their eyes met and there seemed to be an unspoken understanding of each other’s intent. Zak’s composure, albeit still a bit on edge, relaxed.

“We don't give up on people,” Silo continued. “That's not what Aries is about. Besides, can you imagine how great it would be if we could open up his eyes to the truth? Not only would Archard lose a valuable asset, but we would gain a ferociously powerful fighter. This is our one chance to finally be free.”

Zak bobbled his head a bit. “I…I just don't think I can do it.”

“And that’s ok,” Silo reassured him. “I won’t ask you to do anything you don't want to—I’ll take care of everything. I already have a plan in mind.”

He then let go of Zak’s shoulder and faced the rest of the group. One by one, he met each other gazes. Their mental waves, which already were synched up, continued to understand each other’s intent. Unlike the rigid system of Libra, Aries was one unit. They understood each other as people, not as weapons to be used.

“So, who’s ready for war?”