Brock unrolled a large sheet of paper, covering the entire table. The middle-aged man stared at the map of the entire town, trying to think of any possible locations John could choose. Brock knew John was more sentimental, which led him to the place where it all began. After sweeping his eyes over the map, he found a large empty space in the middle of the city. Looking at the empty space, Brock recalled what the town was like before.

On the streets, people were conversing and laughing. The street performers gave a humble smile as they collected tips from the crowds. Hundreds of people crowded the markets, shouting and bargaining for a better price. Children ran through the crowds playing and romping with bright smiles. The residents visited the plaza almost daily. As Brock wandered in the past, he tried to understand when his illusions shattered. At that time, the new elected leader of the country seized all settlements in the outskirts, assimilating them into the country. Brock thought about the men who marched into town.

They wore jet black uniforms with white patterns on their bodies. Nine baleful purple dragon heads adorned their helmets. Their weapons shone an ominous light, making people think twice about confronting them. Through the helmet's gaps, Brock saw pairs of eyes that showed no signs of life. He felt as if he was staring into the void; he knew their minds broke a long time ago.

While the soldiers never left the darkest depths of his heart, the woman who led the group haunted him for the rest of his life. Brock remembered he was at the plaza with Gerald and John when they marched into the city. Soldiers poured down an onslaught of bullets on the helpless residents, leaving the three scraping by alive.

Even through all of it, the woman's laughter seemed to come from everywhere. The three of them vowed to get revenge on that woman and her soldiers, and the whole country itself. Brock clenched his fists as he thought about the situation he found himself in. Although they vowed together, they were fighting among themselves instead of their common enemy!

Rage rose from his depths, ready to erupt. However, as soon as he realized it was not the right moment, he started to cool down. He once again focused on the plaza, the largest part of the town and where the first war took place. Brock wanted a truce as much as Gerald. Still, he knew he had to consider one person. Aside from knowing if John was serious about his truce, he wanted to know whether there was an ambush. Although petty, it could decide the ruler of Great Colows once and for all.

Brock didn't even think about the reporter; it had nothing to do with the truce they wanted. It was a chain that held him captive. To prevent another tragedy from happening to Great Colows, he knew he had to please that reporter as much as possible. The main city would send reinforcements to his last known location if he died, which would spell the end for them all. Brock was at his limits by John's childish behavior, but there was nothing he could do.

Their constant fights had exhausted him. It was too late to give up now, though. Not after what happened during the first war. After John's punch, he still remembered the cracking sensation in his jaw. With gritted teeth, he slammed his fist against the table. It bent like a bow before splinters of shot flew across the room from the massive force that struck the frail wood. After the huge commotion, the two guards hurried inside. Scanning the room, they adjusted their posture, standing straight as a pole. Simmering down, Brock bent down to pick up the blueprint. Having brushed away a few splinters of wood from the scroll, he laid it down on the opposite floor. He pointed towards the plaza as he stared at the two guards. After looking at each other, the two guards nodded. They swiveled in opposite directions after a quick bow to relay his orders.

Brock's gestures and eye contact enabled them to understand what he was saying, despite the fact that he did not speak a single word. After six months of doing this, the thugs understood his every command. In the corner, Brock sat down on a wooden chair. A sawed off shotgun was in his hand, and he cleaned it from barrel to muzzle with a cloth. He acted silently just as he spoke.

***

Bryan sat in a hospital-like room, checking the two pistols he had brought with him. He cleaned them, restoring their metallic luster. He holstered the two guns on both sides of his body while loading a few magazines into his black combat suit. While he put the garrote wire in his back pocket, he slipped the balisong knife into his right sleeve. It took him some time to find what he was looking for in the case. Bryan stood before two black knuckle dusters. Even to look at the serrated edges was dangerous, while the black skull on the handles glared with menace. As Bryan inserted them into his suit, placing them on the top of his forearms. He then brought the explosives he bought in another case.

Creeping to the door, he leaned his ear against it. Making sure he was alone, he glanced at the window on the opposite wall. Due to the height of the window, he took a few steps back. Taking two big strides, he leapt toward the wall. With his spiked boots, he placed one foot on the wall, leaping a second time upwards. He grabbed the ledge of the window with his right hand, getting a strong grip. Pulling himself up, he opened the window with his free hand. His vertigo grew stronger as he looked downwards. In the corner of his eye, he noticed a table and a chair in the corner of the room. He came to the realization that he could have stacked the table and chair to get up a lot easier than he had done. Bryan felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him before he shrugged it off. Whatever, it's not like anyone is watching anyway.

After his pathetic attempt to console himself, he jumped out of the window, landing on firm dirt. Hiding behind walls and large scraps scattered throughout the base, he sneaked out of the base. Bryan made his way through the streets and alleyways to the plaza. He was certain their peace talks, which Bryan found laughable, would take place there. He had several reasons why he thought so, but he narrowed it to two.

In the first place, it was where everything began. Regardless of whether they wanted to close this chapter for good, that was the place to do it. Additionally, Great Colows does not have any other large spaces besides the plaza. Only the plaza could keep them on an even playing field, since no one could set anything up in advance.

Except for Bryan, of course.

While Bryan was rushing, he passed through an alleyway he knew. Even though it wasn't long, Bryan had almost forgotten he wasn't in his original body. He felt at home in Great Colows, as if nothing had changed. Yet, he knew a lot had happened. Once more, he entered the narrow alleyway. He climbed up the stairs to reach the circular plateau. A large stone wall towered over Bryan, which reminded him of his grisly death. His desire to put the past behind him for good led him to turn away. As he descended the third step, he saw something on the fourth.

Near Bryan's boot, a worn-out necklace lay. Picking it up, he examined it with great interest. The thread had worn out to the point where it almost broke. The pendant itself was strange, but it stood out from the sea of trinkets found in the markets. Branches of wood weaved together to form a sphere. Among the small gaps of the woven sphere, two tiny pebbles sparkled under the moonlight. Dust and dirt covered the sparkle, making it appear dim. Bryan concluded the necklace had been lying there for weeks untouched. Looking at the familiar necklace, Bryan knew it belonged to one person.

Sylvia? She came here after I died? Or did she see my body?

Although Bryan wondered if it was a cruel ploy by fate, he was helpless to stop it. In the end, she was already dead. Brian shook those thoughts away, he would think about it later. Before walking towards the plaza, he tucked the necklace into his breast pocket. When he saw the necklace, however, he began to think more about her suicide, finding it odder and odder as time went on. Bryan knew she would never kill herself for anyone. His partner might have fled the godforsaken town a while back. He thought this because, for some inexplicable reason, he felt she was alive.

It's not as simple as Old Jacobs makes it out to be. She could be alive for all I know.

By the time he finished his thoughts, he was at the plaza. To say the least, it looked ruined. There were no traces of the fountain's former appearance. Rubble covered the area, making it look more like a war zone than anything else. He took out the landmines and dug a small hole in the broken concrete, placing one inside. Then he used loose dirt to cover the explosive, creating a perfect camouflage. He did the same for the other fifteen landmines, creating a large minefield.

After that, he took out sticks of dynamite and placed them within the destroyed fountain. Although it may seem like complete madness to others, it seemed quite normal. In reality, Bryan felt relaxed about it. He didn't have enough funds to buy a lot of explosives, but he would compensate for it with strategic placement. He concentrated the landmines in the center of the plaza, where most of the members would be. In case they discovered them, Bryan would have to make an appearance. Although it would be a last resort, Bryan knew things would not always go according to plan. He was certain it would come down to that.

After spending more than an hour and a half, he finished his preparations for tonight. The sun started to set, signaling night was approaching. Bryan made his way back to the Red Vipers base, slipping into his room once again. He took off all his gear and stowed everything away in his case, putting the necklace in a separate pocket. All he needed to do was wait for tomorrow night.

The night where it all ends.