“Arghhhh,” Vincent moaned, blinking awake. His muscles ached, his eyes were heavy, and yet, he felt oddly comfortable.

The light that encompassed the world around him was blindingly white. He had to squint for a few seconds just to avoid burning his retinas. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, he saw that he was not where he thought he would be. For some reason, he expected to see sandstone floors and walls, barely lit—if at all—and cold, iron bars. Instead, he was in an almost holy-like room. The walls were white and soft, the bed he was on laying was nice, and the windows to his left let in the majestic, natural light from the outside—something he had almost forgotten the look of.

After a few seconds of staring at the foreign, yet familiar world around him, reality began to slowly creep back in. His thoughts were immediately met with a quick jolt of pain, causing him to grab at his head. As he did, he saw that his arms were covered in bandages. And with a quick inspection, most of his body seemed to be covered up, as well.

Parched, he cleared his dry throat, which was a bit painful to do. He allowed the salvia to cascade down, moistening up his vocal cords to the point where he could talk.

“Hey…” he croaked as loudly as he could.

He cleared his throat again.

“Hey.”

Damn, that hurts, he thought. Well, actually, everything kinda hurts.

He took a slightly deep breath, flexed his abs, and yelled, “Hey!”

Within moments, there was a knock at his door. It opened and a man in typical hospital attire stepped into the room—a nurse. His eyes met Vincent’s for a second with a look of slight surprise. He then turned, leaned his head out of the door, and shouted something down the hall, but Vincent couldn’t hear what.

The nurse then turned back towards Vincent and said, “You’re awake, huh? How are you feeling?”

Vincent coughed a few times trying to answer. Eventually, his throat was good enough to speak. “I don’t even know,” he admitted.

The nurse laughed a bit and looked at his clipboard. “Well, it seems you’ve taken quite the fall, Mr. Huron.”

“Just call me Vincent.”

“Right,” the nurse noted, looking back up at Vincent. “Anyways, I’m surprised to see you awake, nevertheless as active as you seem to be.”

Vincent furled his eyebrow. “I feel pretty restricted and tired, actually.”

“Uh, fair enough,” the nurse admitted. “You’re a lucky one, you know. There’s not a lot of people that I can reasonably see surviving a fall like that, and before today, not a single one I could imagine recovering from it so quickly.”

“I’ve been told that a few times.”

“I can see why. Now,” he began to say, looking back down at his clipboard, “it’s a good thing you have such a caring master.”

“Master? What?”

“He and the other slave brought you here right as you hit the ground. You were rushed here as quickly as possible, carried in the fastest ambulance money could buy. Not only that, but you got to lay and recover in a premium room.”

The words that the nurse spouted didn’t make any sense to Vincent. He understood the language and even the individual words, but the overall meaning of the sentences just did not register in his brain. He felt as if something was just slightly off; something wasn’t quite right; something didn’t feel quite alive, per se.

For some reason, there was a sneaking feeling that lingered in the back of his head. Something whispered to him that said that he shouldn’t be there.

Shouldn't be where? He then realized that he had no idea where he was.

Static.

Memories flashed into his head like sudden bursts of static. He gripped his head in pain, as a rush of unknown pieces of memory sporadically flooded into his mind. Scenes of burning infernos surrounding him and eating him alive, scenes of a powerful woman standing over his lifeless body, scenes of multiple falls through iron webs, and many more images injected themselves into his psyche.

“AGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” Vincent screamed out in pain. His head launched forward, burying itself in his hands and knees. “I don’t...I don’t...how many?” he desperately cried, not knowing what he was even saying.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, but that sensation was nothing compared to the torrent of mental barrages he was experiencing. His entire focus, his entire being, was tunneled into surviving the onslaught he was enduring.

As his brain continuously flexed and strained, the scenes began to arrange themselves. The ones that didn’t line up with his mind’s timeline began to fade away into mere remnants of thoughts. Those that did, however, aligned themselves back into place, like a puzzle beginning to fit together. A few pieces had to stretch to fit into their molds, but they managed to settle in place.

After what felt like an eternity, there was a semblance of peace that washed over Vincent. He finally felt as if he was able to breathe. Heavy breaths and sweat poured out of his body. He felt his body cool down, simmer, and root itself back into partial normality.

He remembered it all...or at least all that made sense to him. His eyes drifted upwards at the paler nurse, who was frantically messing with the medical machines next to him. As their eyes locked, the nurse’s movements slowed down.

“Are you alright?” the nurse insistently asked.

“I...I think so,” Vincent replied. “Where are my friends?”

The nurse sighed and responded, “They had to run somewhere, and they told me that they’d be back.” He then wiped some sweat from his forehead. “Well, I’m glad you’re alright—that episode right there worried me.”

Vincent cocked his head. “Worried? Why would someone in this place worry so much about someone else?”

The nurse cracked a genuine smile. “Coming from you, that’s pretty funny,” he laughed. “But, you know, it is my job to worry about patients.”

“Oh yeah, that’s true,” Vincent conceded. “I forgot that money is the only thing that matters here.”

The nurse walked over to the sink and started to wash his hands. “Not necessarily,” he said. “I don’t do this job for the money, although I’m kind of forced to. I do it to help the people here as much as I can.”

“What do you mean? Cash is king in this dumbass place.”

“You know, not many people that exist here do any of the things they do just for money.” He then shut off the faucet and grabbed a few paper towels. “They do those things just to survive, hoping to be free, and it just so happens that money is the only thing that gets you anywhere here.”

He then looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “The only people who actually do terrible things purely for the money are the ones at the top.” He then shook his head. “Even then, I think they do it more for power than money. After all, money equals power in this place...and power is freedom.”

Vincent didn’t verbally respond. He just looked at the man. He was both equally amazed and enlightened. While he had looked at what the place was made up of, he hadn’t fully looked at who made up the Setting Sun. Of course, he knew that people were trapped in this hell-hole and forced to do horrible things, but hearing that from someone else caused something in his heart to click.

“Anyways,” the nurse pivoted, “I better go tell your visitor that you’re doing alright and that it’s safe for them to come in.”

Visitor? Vincent thought.

The nurse then left the room, gently closing the door behind him. His footsteps could be heard smoothly making their way down the hall.

In the tranquil silence that Vincent was left in, he began to reflect and think. He didn’t want to pry too hard into his own mind, after all, that just almost caused him to break into several pieces. Rather, he just wanted to think. Not about anything in particular, just reflect.

In his head, he ran through the events that led him to where he was, hoping to settle his mind from his freak out. He started with the encounter in the alleyway, thinking back to how much fun it was to gain superpowers. His thoughts then soured when he thought about the reality that superpowers bring to the world. His mind recalled the horror that was the school incident.

Moving past the events from his hometown, his mood was brightened by the thought of sailing out on the open sea. While the idea of being on the sea naturally made him smile, what truly brought him joy was being out there with his friends. That comradery was something he had almost forgotten about. It was something that this casino had slowly drained out of him.

Finally, his feelings wandered over to the more recent events of the Collider and Omnia. He thought about the hopeless looks of every fighter, even if they were hidden behind the facades of showmanship that some of them donned. That place, even more so than the rest of the casino, took everything from those who were trapped in it.

The image of the champion—well, technically, former champion—appeared in the forefront of his mind. He still didn’t quite understand why, but he could at least accept that there was an oppressive reason as to why she was the way that she was.

She must’ve seen first-hand what the Collider does to those who participated in its games. He couldn’t even imagine what it did to those who defied it...and she probably was forced to witness it. Maybe that was why she insisted on upholding the status quo. Still, he figured that that was not what a leader should do, even if he didn’t exactly know what one would do.

I feel bad for beating her, though, he thought to himself. I’m sure a shred of her felt the same way about every person she had to beat. He then carefully moved his arms behind his head. Either way, I feel like I had to—she wasn’t gonna throw hands with that bitch, Lucretia. I can’t wait to topple her from her stupid gold pedestal.

Just then, the door to his room creaked open. Emerging from the other side was a smaller figure. It was an Egyptian boy, nervously making his way into the room.

With a reliving smile, Vincent said, “Oh, hey.”