A sidekick walks into the Hero Corp HQ, carrying a stack of documents. “Commander, the status reports you requested.” The sidekick hands the document to the newly appointed commander of the main battle division, Oasis King, who is in his office with Wasteland General and Ziba, whom he promoted personally upon appointment of his new position.

  “Thank you. Dismissed.” He says curtly, and takes the reports. Looking through them one by one, he grows more frustrated and despondent. His jaw clenches as he slams the reports down onto his new desk in the HQ.

  “Bad?” Ziba asks.

  “A better question would be ‘how bad?’” Wasteland General, Abner, points out. “If it’s anything like what we’ve seen in the field lately, then I already know what he’s going to say.”

  “It’s bad.” King points out. He hands them both the reports, letting them look for themselves.

  “Goodness.” Ziba says, flipping through his own stack of pages.

  “Yup.” General agrees.

  “We’re losing.” King confirms.

  “It seems that the real issue is not manpower, or resources, but lack of unity. Things are to disjointed within Hero Corp and the city’s armed forces.” Ziba says.

  “We’ve had to rely on hail-Marys and force matching. Thankfully, the quality of our heroes is higher than the monsters. But they are more organized. Hero Corp was never designed to operate like this.” King says.

  “How did they do it in the past? This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, right?” General wonders.

  “I don’t know.” King leans back in his chair. “Omar was the one usually put in charge in those situations. Or those like him before he was around. Natile, his replacement, should have been the one to take up this position, but has been refusing for some reason. She doesn’t even offer advice when approached.”

  “So what do we do?” Ziba says.

  “Not like we can ask the old man anymore. Did he leave any journals? Maybe they have answers.” General says.

  “No, he didn’t. He always kept things close to the chest, never elaborated unless he had to.” King rubs his eyes and the bridge of his nose, then remembers someone from his past, and gets an idea. “Wait, maybe there is a way to talk with him.”

  “What, like a will? Or an old recording or something?” Ziba asks.

  “No. Abner, come with me. Ziba, hold down the fort and get us a transport. We’re going outside the city.” King says, standing up.

  “I’ll prep the team.” General says.

  “No, just us. No one outside the three of us can know what we’re doing.” King says.

  “Okay, what are we doing?”

  “We’re going to an old friend.”

  An hour later, King and General step onto a transport. Not a large bus, but a small retrofitted two-door car. Neither wearing their normal armor, but armor taken from gang members after battle that was supposed to be scrapped and recycled. But King told General they would need disguises, and so they took some from the storage. Now, they wear rusty scrap armor, and tattered under-clothes. All topped with hoods to disguise their faces at a distance. Once they are close enough, they get out of the transport, and leave it hidden. Then walk for two miles to a gang hideout that King had been purposefully leaving alone. It was a refuge for those who refused to work with the hordes, or were cast out of the city’s walls for nonviolent reasons. In his youth, King had been the one to outcast most of the people who lived here now. Most notably, the person they were on their way to see today.

  The men keep their hoods up and their heads down as they pass through the makeshift gates of the hideout. It was built into a large hill and had hundreds of used tires and wooden beams as fortification to the entrances. The skulls of various monsters are on spikes outside the gate to scare away the smarter monsters and the dumber gang members who may try to cause trouble. No one pays the men any mind. In places like this, everyone keeps to themselves. Drops of water drip down from the ceiling from stalactites. Under them are buckets to collect the water. People here make do with what they have.

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  “What’s this place called?” General asks.

  “Endor.”

  “Where is this mysterious person we’ve come for?” General asks King.

  “Last time I came here they were this way. Follow me.” He says, and starts walking deeper into the hideout. It isn’t a busy place, but there are hundreds of people nonetheless. “There’s more people than before.” King points out.

  “The hordes must have driven out a lot of folks from their homes for them to end up here.” General suggests. Eventually, King leads them to a small area, separated from the rest of the hideout by being in a natural crevice in the hill, and partitioned with ropes and loose strips of cloth for privacy.

  King pushes the partition aside and walks in. As soon as he does, he is called out too. The voice echoes off the walls of the small cavern. It’s tone and register make it impossible to distinguish the gender of the speaker. “Whom do you seek?”

  “Ba??la?-?ō?.” King answers.

  “Enter.” They respond. The two men walk inside, being sure to keep their faces covered. The cave is dark, lit only by a few candles. A small bed of cloth rests in the corner, appearing to the men more like a nest than a bed. A person lays on the bed, and slowly rises. Their facial and bodily features are too difficult to discern in the darkness. “Why do you seek me?”

  “Your gift. We wish to use it.” King answers.

  “Both of you?”

  “No. Just me.”

  “Then the other must wait outside.” Ba??la?-?ō? says, pointing back to their cave’s entrance.

  “Alright.” King looks down at General through the darkness, and pats his shoulder. With that, General leaves, but remains worried, and so stays near the cave, just in case.

  “Whom do you wish to speak to?” Ba??la?-?ō? asks.

  “My old mentor.”

  “Their name?”

  “… Do you need it?” King asks, knowing what will happen once Ba??la?-?ō? hears Omar’s name.

  “Yes.”

  Without removing his hood, King speaks. “Omar.” Ba??la?-?ō? steps back, then grabs a candle from nearby. The light illuminate Ba??la?-?ō?’s hand, revealing how scrawny it is. Their hand is almost nothing but skin and bone.

  “Saul!” Ba??la?-?ō? hisses King’s name, and becomes frightened.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” King says. “I just want to speak to Omar.”

  “You’re the reason I’m here, and you expect me to believe you? You cast me out!”

  “You were a threat to the city.” King says defiantly.

  “I was a child!” Ba??la?-?ō? says.

  “You will help me.” King orders. “Or I will call Abner, and you know what happens next.”

  Ba??la?-?ō?’s eye narrow angrily. But they relent. “Fine. I will summon the spirit of your mentor so that you may speak with him. Do you remember the rules?”

  “Yes. Only two minutes, and then never again.” King pulls the hood from his head, revealing his face fully. He tucks the hood into his pocket.

  “Then… prepare yourself. For the dead suffer no minced words.” With that, Ba??la?-?ō?’s eyes glow, and a shadow rises from the ground. Slowly, it morphs into the shape of a human man. But King can barely perceive the shadow in the darkness of the cave. But as the shadow rises, Ba??la?-?ō? feels something is different. The shadow morphs again, appearing in Ba??la?-?ō?’s eyes to be clothed in an old suit, rather than a vague shape.

  “Omar…” King says, hearing his voice, and falls to his knees.

  “Why have you disturbed me?” Omar asks.

  “I need your help. Hordes of monsters have begun attacking the city. They’re being controlled somehow. Our forces are disjointed, your replacement refuses to help us… and the power you gave me is completely gone now. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why did you think I would help you? I told you years ago, you are not my disciple anymore. You were unworthy. You should have stepped down years ago, but were too consumed with power and arrogance.”

  “I know.”

  “Leave your position and the future of the city to the one I anointed.”

  “What? What do you mean?” King asks, confused.

  “Marcel David. I have given him all the power I once gave you. He is worthy.” Omar says. Hearing this, King nearly falls over in shock. The boy he’d tried to kill so many times, the one who surpassed him, was the one Omar chose to replace King.

  “No! I can’t! I’ve worked too hard for too long to give everything up. I won’t!”

  “Then so be it. All your rash decisions are coming back to you now tenfold. You, your son, and what you’ve built, will join me.”

  “What? No! You… no!” King draws his new sword, and strikes at the shadow of Omar. The moment the blade touches him, the shadow vanishes, and King falls down, weak and helpless. Tears stream down his face as he repeats himself again and again. “No… no. He can’t. No…”

  General rushes in, hearing King’s shouting, and sees him on the ground crying. He goes to his side, and points his weapon at Ba??la?-?ō?. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” Ba??la?-?ō? moves away from the two.

  “Saul? Are you alright?” General asks. King shakes his head. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday, and you need rest.

  Hearing this, Ba??la?-?ō? retrieves a small bowl, and fills it with oats and monster meat. The most common meal in Endor these days. “Take this. Eat it.” General looks at the bowl, then at the weak King, and takes the food. He slowly helps king to his feet, and King proceeds to eat the meat.

  “Thank you.” King says. “But why?”

  “Because… the dead always deserve some modicum of pity.” Ba??la?-?ō? remarks. With that, General and King leave, retuning to the city.