Morning sunlight streamed through the trees in Novaria's central park, painting dappled shadows across the winding pathways. The city's skyline created a striking backdrop—sleek modern skyscrapers rising behind centuries-old brick buildings, history and progress standing side by side. Festival workers balanced on ladders, hanging colorful lanterns and banners for the upcoming New Light celebration, their cheerful chatter filling the air.

  The peaceful scene shattered in an instant.

  A yellow-glowing figure burst from the busy street into the park, sending picnickers scrambling. At first, people merely glanced up, assuming someone was late for a meeting. That changed when chunks of earth erupted from the ground, flying through the air like missiles.

  Angelo tracked his target with unwavering focus, his orange eyes narrowed as he dodged the hurled rocks with fluid grace. His movements were precise, economical—not a single step wasted as he weaved between the earthen projectiles. Seeing an opening, he thrust his palm forward, unleashing an energy blast that cut through the air with a sound like tearing fabric.

  The fleeing Auron lifted her hands, pulling a wall of earth from the ground to shield herself. The impact shattered her defense, sending her sprawling backward. Dust and dirt rained down as she scrambled to her feet, only to find herself face-to-face with her pursuer.

  Around them, civilians activated their auras—ripples of blue, green, and purple light flickering to life as they prepared to intervene.

  Angelo raised his hand without looking away from his target. "Stand down," he commanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the gathering crowd. "This is Auron Division business."

  The bystanders exchanged uncertain glances, their auras dimming but not disappearing entirely as they backed away, forming a loose circle around the confrontation.

  Fear painted the yellow Auron's face as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, her eyes darting around for an escape route. Angelo stepped forward, the grass hardly bending beneath his measured tread.

  "If staring death in the face doesn't change a man," he said, his voice low and steady, "nothing will."

  "Or a woman!" Red's voice echoed through their shared consciousness, carrying a gleeful edge. "I stand for equality!"

  "Your commentary remains as unhelpful as ever," Blue responded with a mental sigh.

  Angelo ignored their bickering, focusing entirely on the trembling Auron before him. "I'm giving you one choice," he continued, his unwavering gaze locked on hers. "Change your heart and surrender, or strike and face judgment."

  Whispers rippled through the crowd, people nudging each other with wide eyes.

  "That's him—the Angel of Death!"

  "Never thought I'd see him in action..."

  The yellow Auron's face drained of color as realization dawned. "You—you can't be serious," she stammered, taking a shaky step backward. "It was just shoplifting! Don't you think this is too much!?"

  Angelo's eyes narrowed dangerously, making her flinch. "A crime is a crime," he stated, each word sharp as a blade. "Once your heart turns toward darkness, it's only a matter of time before shoplifting becomes something worse."

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Angelo advanced steadily, his footsteps deliberate. With each step he took forward, she retreated, her back soon pressing against a tree trunk.

  "Choose now," he demanded, orange light beginning to flicker around his fingertips. "Mercy or death. There is no third option."

  People around them called out, their voices urgent.

  "Just surrender!"

  "It's not worth your life!"

  "Don't be stupid!"

  When Angelo got close enough that she could see the flecks of amber in his burning orange eyes, her yellow aura flickered and died like a candle in strong wind. Her knees gave out as she collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down her face.

  "Please," she sobbed, curling inward. "Don't hurt me. I swear I won't do it again... I swear on my life."

  Angelo nodded once, the orange glow fading from his eyes as they returned to their natural brown. The intimidating aura that had surrounded him moments before vanished, though his expression remained serious. With practiced movements, he pulled out his handcuffs and secured them around her wrists, the metal catching the morning light as they clicked into place.

  He led her away, aware of the whispers following in their wake but paying them no mind. His job was done.

  "Pussies! Criminals these days! All of them!," Red complained in their shared mind, his mental voice dripping with disdain. "Whatever happened to standing your ground? Show some backbone! Put your pathetic little life on the line and make things interesting for once!"

  Not too far form the park, Novaria's police station hummed with activity. Officers hurried through corridors with coffee-stained reports, phones rang incessantly, and the constant tap of keyboards filled the air. In his office, Chief Ramirez stood by the window, the permanent furrow in his brow deepening as he spoke into his phone.

  "So the shoplifter surrendered," he said, relief evident in his gruff voice despite his attempt to hide it. "Thank goodness for small mercies."

  He listened for a moment, then nodded. "That's all for now. Keep me posted." He paused as the person on the other end spoke again. "Yes, please send him in. Thank you, Vivian."

  Hanging up, he sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. "Over shoplifting," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "This has truly gone too far."

  A knock interrupted his thoughts.

  "Come in," he called, straightening his posture and schooling his features into professional neutrality.

  The door swung open to reveal Sleeser, his yellowish-orange hair as spiky as ever, his casual stance betrayed by the tension in his shoulders.

  "Heya, Chief," Sleeser greeted with a half-salute, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

  Chief Ramirez fixed him with a knowing stare. "I'm assuming things didn't go well with our Angel of Death last night."

  Sleeser's smile faltered. "That obvious, huh?" He ran a hand through his spiky hair. "What gave it away?"

  "He made an arrest just this morning," Ramirez explained, his disapproval evident in every line of his weathered face. "Witnesses reported he was still giving his ultimatum, despite our conversation." He shook his head, fingers drumming against his desk. "The boy may not have raw power, but his technical skill shows real promise. And in the right hands, that's just as deadly."

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  Sleeser shifted uncomfortably under the chief's pointed gaze. "Yeah, I know," he said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice despite the circumstances. "That's why I recommended him back then."

  "Indeed," Ramirez agreed, his voice hardening. "But if I had known he'd start offering criminals these life-or-death ultimatums on every street corner, I would have slammed the door in your face!" He stood up and began ranting: "Sure crime rates plummeted," Ramirez started "But the criminals in this city are terrified! Some are turning themselves in before he can find them, which I suppose is a silver lining. But others are becoming more desperate. They're scared, and scared criminals are unpredictable."

  Sleeser winced slightly as the rant reignited "He's way too much trouble! 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." he finished huffing and puffing.

  "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."

  "Can't you just..." Sleeser hesitated, gesturing vaguely with his hands. "I don't know, fire him or something?"

  The chief let out a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, his hand dragging down his face. "Believe me, I wish I could. But his method grants him protection."

  "How's that?" Sleeser asked, eyebrow raised.

  "He tells criminals to attack him first," Ramirez explained, frustration evident in his tight grip on his armrest. "Because of that, every outcome—even death—falls under self-defense. The laws protecting Aurons in the line of duty tie my hands completely."

  "In the military, we don't have that issue," Sleeser mused, his expression hardening as memories flickered behind his eyes. "We fight to kill, no questions asked." He nodded slowly. "But I see the problem. Auron-on-Auron combat is inherently lethal—the law has to account for that."

  Chief Ramirez crossed his arms, the leather of his chair creaking as he leaned back. "Honestly, I just can't figure out what made him this way."

  Sleeser's normally playful demeanor vanished in an instant. "You really want to know?" His voice darkened to a tone that made the chief straighten in his seat.

  Their eyes locked in silent challenge before Ramirez gestured for him to continue, curiosity winning out over caution.

  With a heavy sigh that seemed to come from his very core, Sleeser ran a hand through his spiky hair. "It pains me to admit this, but... this is partly my fault." Seeing the chief's eyebrow shoot up, he quickly added, "In my defense, I never imagined he'd take things this far."

  "What exactly did you do?" Ramirez's voice cut through the air like a knife.

  Sleeser's fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against his thigh. "You remember the terrorist attack six years ago? In Ashford?"

  "Of course." The chief's expression softened, memories of that tragedy tempering his anger. "Nasty business. Many casualties." His voice gentled further. "Did he lose his parents during the attack?"

  "No, Angelo was always an orphan," Sleeser explained, not noticing how Ramirez's eyes widened at this information. "Lost his parents to a lab accident when he was just a baby, from what I understand."

  "You see, back then Angelo was twelve," Sleeser continued, gaze distant as he revisited painful memories. "A fresh Auron, still figuring out his powers. Red and Blue hadn't physically manifested yet – we still thought they were just voices in his head."

  He paused, noticing Ramirez's suddenly vacant stare. Sleeser waved a hand in front of the chief's face, concern replacing his usual confidence. "Chief? You still with me?"

  Ramirez blinked rapidly, refocusing with visible effort. "What? Oh, right – Red and Blue." He picked up his coffee mug, turning it in his hands. "I know them well at this point. Blue's the best one – polite, follows the rules. It's Angelo and Red that are taking years off my life." His expression soured as he gazed into his cup. "Can't tell you how many times Red has swapped the sugar and salt in the break room."

  A ghost of a smile tugged at Sleeser's lips, but he straightened when Ramirez's next question came.

  "What exactly are they, Sleeser?" The chief leaned forward, coffee forgotten. "I've never seen anything like them. Some kind of split personality made real somehow?"

  Sleeser scratched the back of his hand, discomfort evident in the gesture. "I don't think so, honestly."

  "Could they be the result of an evolved aura ability?" Ramirez pressed, mind visibly working through possibilities. "Though Angelo isn't evolved, correct?"

  "No, they're something else entirely," Sleeser replied, shaking his head. "Something we've never encountered before. A friend of mine is looking into it, but so far, we have more questions than answers." He shifted in his seat. "Though he might have had a breakthrough that I missed – we haven't spoken in some time."

  Suddenly realizing they'd strayed from the topic, Sleeser straightened. "But we're getting off track." He didn't miss how the chief's posture stiffened, a subtle tell that Ramirez was hiding something.

  "Anyway, this all started during that terrorist attack six years ago," Sleeser continued. "Angelo was forced to take a life – a terrorist who was about to kill a civilian." His voice grew rough with emotion. "It was the last straw, Chief. He was just a child on the verge of breaking from years of isolation and bullying. I... I had to save him somehow!"

  Ramirez nodded grimly, his weathered face carrying the weight of similar decisions.

  "So I told him that some people are beyond change..." Sleeser's voice trailed off, defeat evident in his slumped shoulders. "Now he's taken my words and turned them into his motto."

  A heavy silence filled the office, broken only by the distant ringing of phones and the hum of the air conditioning.

  "I think I understand now," Ramirez said finally, his eyes darting briefly toward his desk drawer. "So just to be clear – Angelo is from Ashford and lost his parents in a lab accident when he was an infant?"

  Sleeser's eyes narrowed slightly, picking up on the chief's odd behavior. He studied Ramirez for a moment before responding carefully. "Yes... that's right. Is there some problem with that?"

  "No, no, not at all," Ramirez dismissed with a wave that seemed too casual. "I just feel I understand him better now." His expression softened but remained determined. "I believe we should find a way to help him without terminating his position. We owe him that much."

  "We owe him?" Sleeser repeated, emphasizing the word with obvious suspicion.

  "I—Well, yes," Ramirez fumbled, fingers drumming nervously on his desk. "He's a confused young man, born from unfortunate circumstances. Helping him would be the right thing to do." He jabbed a finger toward Sleeser, clearly trying to redirect. "Besides, you got him here, so what do we do with him now?"

  Setting aside the chief's peculiar behavior for the moment, Sleeser stroked his chin thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the desk between them. "For the time being, I think we should limit his involvement with criminals. Only call him when the threat level is genuinely high."

  "Splendid idea!" Ramirez clapped his hands with unusual enthusiasm, pushing himself to his feet in a clear signal that the meeting was over. "We'll implement it right away. Thanks for stopping by, Sleeser. Your help is greatly appreciated."

  "Anytime," Sleeser replied as he found himself practically ushered out the door. He blinked at the closed door for a few seconds, processing the abrupt dismissal before turning to leave.

  Outside the station, Sleeser paused on the steps, breathing in the city air. Novaria stretched before him – a tapestry of activity and life. Above, workers balanced on ladders, hanging colorful New Light Festival decorations that caught the midday sun. They chatted and laughed, oblivious to the tensions brewing beneath the surface of their peaceful city.

  His mind spun with competing worries as he descended the steps – how to pull Angelo back from the dangerous path he walked, what the chief's strange behavior might mean, and how to fix the mess his well-intentioned words had created. He turned onto a quieter side street, the station's bustle fading behind him.

  The sudden vibration in his pocket made him freeze mid-step. Pulling out his phone, he stared at the name on the screen – this wasn't a call he'd been expecting, especially not now. His heart rate quickened as he answered.

  "Commander?" His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, body automatically scanning for anyone who might overhear.

  "Sleeser, where the HELL are you?!" The commander's voice crackled through static, but the urgency came through crystal clear.

  Sleeser's mind raced for an excuse that wouldn't sound like the lie it was. "I was just—"

  "Get back here now!" The commander cut him off, leaving no room for explanation. "The situation's critical. We need you—" A pause heavy with significance. "We need Sigma."

  Those last words hit Sleeser like a physical blow, his breath catching in his throat. Whatever was happening had to be serious.

  "Understood," he replied, his voice barely audible even to himself. "On my way."

  Ending the call, he cast one last look at the police station, its windows reflecting the sun. His concerns about Angelo and the chief's suspicious behavior would have to wait. Something at the border needed immediate attention.

  With a heavy sigh that carried the weight of too many responsibilities, he started down the steps, each footfall purposeful and quick. Whatever storm was coming, it wouldn't wait for him to sort out the problems he was leaving behind.