Ken looks around carefully, unsure who else is with them. Fortunately, he stopped Bristol before setting foot outside, or they would have been captured immediately.

  “So what do we do now?” Melanie asks, her eyes fixed on the retreating Ascenders.

  “Right now, we wait,” Ken answers.

  “WAIT?! We're sitting ducks in here!” Bristol shouts.

  “Calm down,” Ken says, putting his multi-tool away, still warm after his scare tactics. “As I told you earlier, they are unable to swarm.”

  “Swarm?” Bristol repeats.

  “Yes. What makes the Ascenders troublesome is not the fact that they are skilled or strong, but their timing and numbers. When the followers go after someone, they attack in large groups, enough to overwhelm the defenses and the target at their weakest.”

  “So, what, they don't have enough people?” Bristol says, readying his shotgun, “More reason to take care of them now!”

  Melanie places her hand on Bristol's weapon, forcing him to lower it. She looks at Ken and says, “But there's a reason why we can't, right?”

  “Yes. That's why I said their timing and numbers are strong. They don't have enough to rush in and break into the house with brute force, but enough to catch us unaware and overpower us. If one of us falls or is captured, we have lost.”

  Bristol and Melanie exchange concerned looks while Stella couldn't hide her excitement.

  Ken looks at Stella and asks, “Let me guess, the excitement?” She nods in agreement. After a steadying breath, Ken returns to Melanie and Bristol, “While we wait, Bristol and I are going to work on some traps; you and Stella keep an eye out.” He walks to the pile of items but briefly turns back, warning, “And make sure the windows are closed. Don't want to deal with you guys high on Dreamer or whatever the name of the current sedative they're using.”

  They all nod and begin preparing. Bristol places his shotgun nearby whilst Stella and Melanie check around the house.

  Bristol and Ken stand by the pile of items Bristol gathered and look at one another, unsure of what to do with them.

  “Any ideas?” Bristol asks.

  “None. I’ve never done this before,” Ken admits

  “This stuff looked easier in the movies…”

  Ken looks at the fire extinguisher, “We could use the extinguisher to blind them.”

  “Oh– we have some flour. Maybe we could use that for a smokescreen?”

  “Think it will work?” Ken asks.

  Bristol stands up and walks to the kitchen, grabbing the bag of flour, “Only one way to find out.” He takes a handful of flour and throws it. When it lands, it explodes into a small white cloud; Ken is caught in the cloud and coughs for a bit.

  “Could be a good distraction,” Ken says after catching his breath. He turns to the pile and notices the knives. “We could arm ourselves with those…” He looks at a broom in the corner. “Or maybe makeshift spears?”

  The two spend the next few hours removing the broom heads and attaching knives to their handles, filling small bags with flour, and testing the spears. From time to time, the girls walk past them, glancing through the windows; the number of people outside hasn't visibly changed. Once their preparations are complete, Ken checks the clock on the wall.

  01:52. Six hours left to go.

  He returns to the pile of makeshift weapons on the table. From what they had, they created smoke bombs, some spears, a flamethrower using deodorant and a lighter, a shotgun, a large hammer using a bar and some weights, pepper spray, and a taser.

  “Let's hope this is enough,” Ken says as they stare at the weapons.

  “You think we can hold out like this?” Bristol asks.

  “Doubt it, but we'll just have to wait and see.”

  The only thing they can do now is wait, hoping someone will arrive in time.

  As the night continues, Bristol grows increasingly restless. When he isn't walking around, glancing through the windows, he is busy inspecting his gun and the makeshift weapons.

  Melanie is doing slightly better. She accepts the situation as she sits next to the table, enjoying her coffee. Occasionally, she will glance through the windows and update the others on what she sees.

  Stella, meanwhile, is tuning her guitar and writing music. According to her, she is ‘excited’ by what’s happening, giving her inspiration.

  Ken could feel his pulse racing—faster with each hour. He can’t help but pace around the house, worrying about what he can do. Noticing his anxiety, Stella stands in front of him to stop, catching his attention.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “What?” Ken asks, not in the mood for her eccentricity. Without a word, she places her hand on his chest. “Hey-” Before he can complain, she shushes him.

  “Nice rhythm…Feel it,” she says.

  “Look, now is rea-” he tries to argue, but she takes his hand and places it on his chest. His heart is pounding—faster every second. It is… interesting.

  “I’m guessing you never stop to listen to your heart,” she says with a grin. “That’s the awesome pumping of your body trying to regulate itself. The cortisol and adrenaline remind you that you're alive…” She takes her hand from his chest and winks as she steps back. “That’s all.”

  After she returns to her room, Ken remains bewildered by the encounter, only able to say, “Okay?” before resuming his patrol.

  Five hours later. Ken looks worriedly at the clock. It's 07:25. He glances through the windows; the street is still empty. No pedestrians or cars passing by. It’s as I thought, they set up the barricade.

  It's 07:27. An expensive-looking car drives by and stops directly in front of the house. A group of four brightly-dressed people exits it, all happily chatting with one another as they make their way to the back of the car. Their cheerful demeanor is undermined when they take out weapons from the boot. It seems the gathering he heard of has ended.

  Time is up; The gathering is over. Ken takes out the phone and dials Gearfried's number. After a couple of seconds of ringing, the call connects.

  “Gearfried here,” he answers, the sound of a vehicle driving in the background.

  “Gearfried, are you on your way?” Ken asks, watching Bristol wait nervously on a chair, shotgun ready.

  “Negative,” Ken feels his heart drop for a second, but before he spirals, Gearfried continues, “Someone is on their way. They should be there in ten minutes, given he doesn’t screw up the directions. But he should be fine, I sent insurance.“

  “Please hurry, the Ascenders are arriving and…” Ken stares out the window; the number of people is growing. They are no longer hiding. “They are about to swarm.”

  “Copy that. I’ll see what I can do. Gearfried out.” The call is cut.

  Ken looks at the clock– 07:29.

  Melanie walks up to him and asks, “What did he-”

  Knock, knock, knock.

  They all turn to the door when they hear knocking.

  “Hello…We know you’re in there, Ken…” A feminine voice says behind the door.

  Ken looks at the clock; it’s still 07:29. Time isn’t moving fast enough for him.

  Damn it! I need to stall!

  Ken clears his throat and replies, “As you probably should have figured, I’m not coming out.”

  “I am Farah Hardeen, and I run the Volcro chapter of the Ascenders. Unfortunately, our Navigator has requested your head, but I am of a different belief.”

  Ken looks worriedly at the three behind him. Perfect. She wants to play savior. He looks at the clock– 07:31.

  Ken plays along and says, “Go on.”

  “We are aware that you are working with the Slayers and the one who wishes to end our journey.”

  Agami?

  Farah continues, “If you give us information on what they are planning, I believe I can convince those in the inner circle to give you a lighter punishment.”

  07:32, still not enough.

  “I am still not convinced!” Ken shouts, trying to buy more time.

  “I knew this would be difficult, so I brought someone you may be familiar with.”

  Farah suddenly becomes quiet, and he hears a familiar voice, “Hey, Ken!”

  “Senzo?! Is that you?” Ken asks in disbelief.

  “You are probably wondering how I’m here, but long story short, Baltro did me a favor!” Senzo says.

  Ken is unable to contain his disbelief. His mind is swimming with questions. “But you were dead! You are dead!”

  “I understand your confusion, but we can have a nice long chat about it at Arduo’s. For now, all you need to know is you can trust Baltro and his people. They may seem threatening, but once you sit with them, you’ll see they only want to help!” Senzo finishes.

  Stella is entertained by the whole ordeal before her, recording it on her phone. Melanie places her arm on Ken’s shoulder and asks, “Didn’t you tell us he died?”

  “I thought he did,” Ken replies, the ringing lingering in his ears. “Hold on, come to the window so I can confirm it's you.”

  “If that’s what it takes, be my guest,” the supposed Senzo replies.

  Ken walks to the window while Bristol takes position at the door, shotgun raised. At the window, Ken carefully pulls back the curtains, the sun slowly peeking through the window as he does so. Once his eyes adjust, he sees the large crowd of Ascenders surrounding the house, all looking toward the center where Senzo stands.

  He is wearing a clean suit with his hair combed back, resembling the flair he usually has. His eyes were there, undamaged and the same color they always were. “How?” Ken can only say in fear.

  “Well, it seems that Baltro had some plans for us. He renewed my eyes to allow me to see the truth. More clearly than ever,” Senzo says with a bright smile.

  Ken can only stand there, watching. Unable to move. He suddenly feels an arm behind him pull him back. It is Bristol's. He stands in front of Ken and aims his shotgun, planning to fire at Senzo through the window.

  “Too good a deal,” Bristol angrily says.

  “WAIT!” Ken shouts as he pulls Bristol back, making him shoot into the roof.

  “The hell are you doing?!” Bristol angrily says as he shoves Ken away from him, “That isn't your friend! He's dead!”

  “But how is he standing there, and if that's real-” Ken stops halfway through as a lone figure walks through the crowd.

  They are wearing a black trench coat with a silver zipper and the hood laid back, complemented by their black leather gloves. They wore baggy pants with pockets, and their boots had a steel tip. Their black hair was straight but unkempt and long. Long enough to cover their ears, short enough to fall above their shoulders.

  A bright grin spread across their face as they approached, rolling their shoulders in a light stretch.

  They greet, “Looks like I got here in time.”

  Sora Yamamoto, the Apex of Strength, has arrived.