Sleeser walked through Novaria's nighttime streets, his shadow stretching long beneath the streetlights. He kept rubbing his temples, Angelo's words from their earlier conversation giving him a headache. As he neared the police station, he watched officers trudging in and out through the heavy doors, their shoulders slumped after their long shifts.
At the bottom of the station steps, Sleeser stopped and adjusted his vest, trying to settle his nerves. Each step up felt heavier than the last as he wondered how his once bright-eyed student had become such a controversial figure.
Inside, the station buzzed with typical night shift activity. Officers shuffled papers at their desks while others nursed cups of coffee that did little to mask their exhaustion. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, making everyone look even more tired. At the front desk, a young receptionist glanced up from her computer screen, recognized him with a quick nod, and waved him through.
The usual station noise faded as Sleeser approached Chief Ramirez's office. He reached up and knocked twice on the wooden door, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet.
"Come in," a gruff voice called from inside.
Sleeser pushed open the door, wincing at its drawn-out creak. Chief Ramirez sat hunched over his desk, his gray hair messy like he'd been running his hands through it all day. His permanent frown deepened the wrinkles on his weathered face. Though case files covered every surface, each stack sat perfectly aligned, showing the method in the apparent chaos. A small TV mounted in the corner played silently, showing footage of officers patrolling the Infernian border while news updates about the upcoming New Light Festival scrolled beneath.
Chief Ramirez set down the report he'd been reading and looked up. "Well?" His voice carried the weight of a long day. "How did it go? Were you able to talk some sense into our 'Angel of Death'?"
Sleeser dropped into the chair across from the desk, the leather squeaking beneath him. He rubbed his face, shoulders slumping. "I'm afraid not, Chief. Angelo is... resolute in his convictions." Guilt flashed across his features as he spoke.
The chief leaned back, his chair groaning in protest. His fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on his desk. "Damn it all. The boy's become a vigilante, Sleeser. He's offering criminals a choice between surrender and death. It's not how we operate, and you know it."
"Yes, you mentioned some of this on the phone." Sleeser's hands fidgeted uncomfortably. "I... I fear I may have played a part in shaping his outlook. Can you give me more details about what's been happening? How far has this gone?"
The chief's frown deepened as he stood up and paced behind his desk. "It's worse than I initially told you. In the past month alone, Angelo has confronted over two dozen criminals. Most surrendered, thankfully, but three chose to fight. They didn't survive the encounter."
Sleeser's eyes widened, his coffee forgotten. "Three deaths? That's... more serious than I thought. I never intended for my teachings to lead to this."
"It's more than that." The chief paused his pacing to stare out his window at the city lights. "The criminals in this city are terrified. They're calling him the 'Angel of Death.' Some are turning themselves in before he can find them, which I suppose is a silver lining. But others are becoming more desperate, more violent. They're scared, and scared criminals are unpredictable."
Sleeser leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath him. "Has there been any civilian backlash?"
Ramirez turned from the window, shadows crossing his face. "It's mixed. Some see him as a hero, cleaning up the streets. Others are calling him a murderer with a badge. The media's having a field day with it. Every day, there's a new headline about the 'Angel of Death' and whether he's a savior or a menace."
"And how is Angelo handling all this attention?" Sleeser asked, absently straightening the papers nearest him on the desk.
The chief lowered himself back into his chair and dropped his voice. "That's the most worrying part. He seems completely unfazed by it all. He's convinced he's doing the right thing, Sleeser. And given the laws protecting Aurons in the line of duty, there's not much we can do to stop him."
Sleeser nodded, his shoulders growing even heavier. "I'm afraid this situation is my fault, Chief. There's a lot about Angelo's past that you don't know."
The leather of the chief's chair squeaked as he leaned forward, interest replacing some of his exhaustion. "Go on."
Sleeser stood and walked to the window, gathering his thoughts. "Angelo grew up an orphan. His parents died when he was just an infant. But that's not all." He turned back to face the chief. "For most of his childhood, Angelo heard voices in his head - Red and Blue, as he calls them now. It made him come across as... different. Isolated him from others."
The chief's eyebrows shot up. He set down the pen he'd been fidgeting with. "I had no idea they were once just voices. Though it explains a lot about his behavior." He leaned forward, his typical gruffness giving way to curiosity. "But these voices... they're real now, aren't they? I've seen them in action, felt their impact firsthand." He winced at his coffee mug. "Red, especially, seems to have a knack for causing trouble."
A ghost of a smile flickered across Sleeser's face before vanishing. He picked up a paperweight from the chief's desk, turning it over in his hands. "Yes, they manifested physically when Angelo's aura awakened."
"What exactly are they, Sleeser?" The chief rested his elbows on his desk, fingers laced together. "Some kind of split personality made real? Or something else entirely?"
Sleeser set down the paperweight with a soft thunk. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "To be honest, Chief, I'm not entirely sure. I have a friend looking into it. But so far, we have more questions than answers. Though it has been a while since we last spoke."
The chief sank back in his chair, processing this information. He picked up his cold coffee, grimaced at the taste, but drank anyway. "It couldn't be the result of Angelo's ability, could it? He isn't evolved, after all."
"No, it's not that," Sleeser expression turned thoughtful. "Whatever this is, it's something... different. Something we've never encountered before."
"Anyways," Sleeser tried to set the conversation back on track, lifting a pen from the desk as if to examine it. "There's something else you need to know about - something that happened when Angelo was 12."
The chief settled back in his chair, waving his hand in a "go on" gesture. In the silence, the wall clock's ticking seemed to grow louder, like a heartbeat in a quiet room.
Sleeser's fingers tightened around the pen as the memories surfaced. "Our town was attacked by Infernian mercenaries - soldiers for hire from across the border. It happened during the New Light Festival, when the streets were full of families celebrating." He set the pen down with trembling fingers. "Angelo saw someone in danger and tried to help. He ended up killing one of the attackers. When I found him..." Sleeser's voice cracked. "He was just a child, Chief, shaking like a leaf and covered in blood."
The chief's tough-guy mask cracked, compassion softening his weathered features. But then his eyebrows drew together, like someone putting together puzzle pieces they didn't want to see. "Hold on - you said this was during the New Light Festival? Which town?"
Sleeser met the chief's eyes steadily. "Ashford."
The color drained from Ramirez's face like water down a drain. He shifted in his chair as if it had suddenly become uncomfortable, his eyes darting to a drawer in his desk before snapping back to Sleeser. "Ashford..." The word came out like he was tasting something bitter. "I remember that mess. Nasty business." He drummed his fingers on his desk, clearly wrestling with something. "Sleeser... exactly how old is Angelo now?"
"Eighteen," Sleeser watched the chief's reaction carefully, like someone monitoring a pressure gauge.
Ramirez sucked in a sharp breath. His already pale face went a shade whiter as he pressed his fingers against his temples. "This changes things, Sleeser. His methods are still wrong, but now I understand where they're coming from." His voice took on an odd tone, like someone trying too hard to sound casual. "So just to be clear - Angelo is an eighteen-year-old orphan from Ashford?"
Sleeser leaned forward, noting how the chief's hands had started fidgeting with his papers. "That's right. Is something wrong?"
"No, no," Ramirez waved the question away, but his fingers kept shuffling the same stack of papers over and over. "Just... processing everything." He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, his voice becoming deliberately neutral. "Well, Sleeser, you're the one who suggested placing him here. What do we do about him now?"
The weight of the question seemed to press down on the room like a physical thing. Sleeser got up and paced, his footsteps echoing in the tense silence. "We should limit his involvement - keep him as backup only, when regular officers are overwhelmed. Less exposure to violence might help." He stopped by the window, his reflection showing the guilt written across his face. "I never thought my teachings would lead him down this path. The responsibility for what he's become... that's on me."
The chief's chair creaked as some of the tension left his shoulders. "That could work. We can't stop him completely, but we can try steering him in a better direction." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "We owe him that much. And Sleeser? Don't shoulder all the blame. Everyone makes mistakes - it's how we fix them that matters."
Ramirez pushed back from his desk and walked to the window, joining Sleeser in watching the nighttime activity below. City workers balanced on ladders, stringing festival lanterns across the streets. The lights from nearby buildings caught the colorful decorations, making them glow like jewels.
"This Angelo situation has the worst timing," Ramirez muttered, his frown reflected in the glass. "Three weeks until the New Light Festival, and tensions with Infernia are at a breaking point."
Sleeser turned from the window display, his expression grim. "The border situation is worse than people know, Chief."
Ramirez spun to face him, surprise breaking through his careful mask. "You have inside information?"
Sleeser nodded, lowering his voice like he was sharing secrets. "Infernia's been unusually active lately. We've caught messages suggesting they might use the festival chaos as cover for something big."
"Damn." Ramirez's curse came out like a prayer. "I was afraid of that."
"It's not just random troublemakers anymore," Sleeser continued, moving back to his chair. "We think they're planning something major during the celebrations."
Ramirez collapsed into his seat like his strings had been cut. "And now we've got Angelo playing Angel of Death..."
"Which makes everything ten times more complicated," Sleeser finished. "If he runs into an Infernian agent..."
"It could be the match that lights the powder keg." Ramirez's voice was heavy with worry. "We need to get this under control fast, Sleeser. Angelo's actions are dangerous enough on their own, but with everything else..."
Sleeser nodded, his shoulders drooping under the weight of it all. "You're right, Chief. We can't have a wildcard on the streets with what's coming."
"Exactly." Ramirez's face hardened with determination. "We'll put your plan in motion right away. Angelo only gets called in when absolutely necessary. We can't risk him running into any Infernian agents during the festival."
Outside the station, Sleeser paused on the steps, letting the cool night air clear his head. The city sprawled before him like a sea of lights, while above, festival workers continued their preparations, oblivious to the tensions building beneath the surface.
His mind spun with worries as he started walking - how to pull Angelo back from the edge, what the chief's strange reactions meant, and how to fix the mess his teachings had created. The coming days would test both his wisdom and his patience.
Just as he turned the corner onto a quieter street, his phone vibrated in his pocket. The name on the screen made him stop dead - this wasn't a call he'd expected, especially this late.
"Commander?" His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
"Sleeser, where the hell are you?!" Static crackled through the speaker, but couldn't hide the urgency in the commander's voice.
Sleeser's mind raced for an excuse. "I was just-"
"Get back here now!" The commander cut him off. "The situation's critical. We need you - we need Sigma."
Sleeser's breath caught like he'd been punched. Those last words carried the weight of mountains.
"Understood." His reply was barely audible. "On my way."
Ending the call, he cast one last look at the police station. His worries about Angelo and the chief's odd behavior would have to wait. Whatever was happening at the border sounded severe.
With a heavy sigh, he started down the steps. The city lights blurred together as he picked up speed, his mind already shifting gears to face whatever crisis awaited. A distant siren wailed, reminding him of all the delicate balances he was leaving behind in Novaria.