The red letters flashing above us repeated the same message relentlessly:
[ELIMINATED FROM THE SYSTEM: GERÓNIMO]
Paul and Bolívar remained silent, their gazes lost: the former collapsed on the floor, the latter staring at the sign as if judging it… as if blaming it.
For the first time, I realized how cold this place truly was. Despite the immense number of people on the lower floors, most cared little or not at all about the disappearance of yet another participant. Only those who had formed bonds stopped to mourn their friends.
Paul was shattered. I wanted to comfort him, but… what could I say? I had barely known Gerónimo. Even though I genuinely felt I had formed a bond with him in the end, I couldn't compare my discomfort to the devastation Paul was showing. In crude terms: for Paul, Gerónimo was like a lifelong brother; for me, he was barely a classmate I had just begun to know—and who, unfortunately, died.
If Paul's feelings were hard to grasp, Bolívar's were immeasurable. We're talking about literally losing, once again, one of the most important people in his life—after finding them again in death, only to lose them once more. And not only that: in his search for revenge, he had condemned another colleague to the same fate. Guilt must have been devouring him from the inside. And yet, I still didn't fully understand… why didn't Bolívar go instead?
—Why…? —Paul said from the floor, his voice broken—. Why wasn't it you!?
Bolívar's face, already contorted, twisted into a wet, reddened mess as he tried to stammer:
—Forgive me, Paul… please forgive me…
—It should've been you! —Paul sprang up. His imposing figure lunged at Bolívar, bloodshot eyes fixed on the Liberator, who was crying uncontrollably—. You should've gone with them! You should've sought revenge yourself!
—It was impossible, I… I really—
Bolívar couldn't finish. A powerful grip closed around his neck. Little by little, he began to kick as his feet lost contact with the ground.
—I'm… sorry… —he managed to murmur. It wasn't that he lacked air; the voice simply wouldn't come out anymore.
As if the Nexo itself responded, a crimson stain spread from where Paul stood across the fluorescent metal walls. Along with it, an alarm blared again and again:
[UNAUTHORIZED AGGRESSION DETECTED BETWEEN PARTICIPANTS. FIRST WARNING TO CEASE ACTION]
—Paul, please! —I managed to shout, just as a third hand intervened in the conflict.
Blonde hair cascaded down her back. A purple dress, with a barely insinuated neckline, drew the attention of every man in the room. With a playful smile and blazing blue eyes, a beautiful young woman stood there, her slender figure clashing with the strength of her grip on Paul's wrist.
Rachel Lionheart.
Her mere presence was enough for Paul's crushing hold to loosen, letting Bolívar fall to the ground. The Liberator instinctively crawled away from the giant, who was still burning with rage… now directed at the blonde.
—Don't interfere.
—It's something we all know can happen —her tone didn't waver even slightly—. It'll be now or many rounds from now, but no one here has their survival guaranteed.
—And you think that's right!? —I spat, furious that she hadn't even looked at me before—. Do you really think this is the time for cheap logic? They just lost their companions!
Rachel glanced at me sideways. Her expression remained unchanged, as if human pain were a language she understood—but chose not to speak.
—It's not a lack of tact —she replied calmly. Placing a hand on her chest, she inhaled and exhaled before continuing—. It is "cheap logic," yes. But the longer you stay here, the more you understand that even the strongest can fall. And besides, what's the point of taking it out on your friend, when he's also a victim?
I wanted to argue… but she was right.
The ease with which I myself had lost three potential friends in a single instant only proved her absolutely right.
Rachel elegantly flipped her golden hair and walked away without another word, as if the conversation had ended before it truly began.
The silence that followed was even heavier. Their sobs faded, leaving only the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall.
—Guys… —I stammered—. I don't know what to say…
Paul stood up abruptly. His red, tear-filled eyes burned with hatred as he turned away.
—Don't say anything —he muttered.
—Paul, I really— —Bolívar tried to speak, but a powerful punch silenced him. The Liberator collapsed to the ground, pulling himself back up seconds later as Paul vanished into the crowd, too fast for either of us to follow.
—I fucked up, Tristan… I really fucked up —Bolívar murmured.
—Things will get better. You just need time.
—It doesn't matter anymore… —with those last words, Bolívar also disappeared into the crowd.
I wanted to follow them, but my body trembled—especially when, beside me, a beautiful young woman in a colorful dress and a short, thin man wrapped head to toe in ragged clothes passed by. It was only an instant; I wouldn't even call it an interaction. The pair didn't notice my presence at all, but my entire body cried—cried with helplessness—letting them go as if nothing had happened.
—Don't do anything stupid, nobody —a small voice echoed from my shoulder, for the first time sounding sensible—. Just breathe and let them go.
Axio had discreetly appeared. Seconds later, the figures of Gerónimo's killers vanished completely from the Connector. With them gone, my body stopped trembling and lost all its strength. I sat down on a nearby bench, watching as other groups laughed, entered, and exited the Connector. From time to time, red signs appeared with names; some I recognized from history, others I didn't. Slowly, a sense of normalization began to creep in. Some groups cried their losses, others didn't even read the listed names—and before I realized it, the Connector simply turned off its lights, leaving me alone before it.
—This is bullshit —I said, almost choking on the words.
—It is what it is. That's how the Nexo works —Axio replied.
—You can't even understand what they're feeling, can you?
—Understand it? I do —he said, his voice devoid of emotion—. I simply don't share it. The number of heroes who die per cycle is around twenty. Do you really want to waste time crying over them?
I clenched my fists in frustration.
—They were their friends—and their lover, damn it! Do you even know what it means to lose someone important!?
Axio blinked, as if processing the question.
—I don't understand…
Those words disarmed me. There was no malice in his voice—only genuine ignorance. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
—Listen —I said hoarsely—. For us… there's nothing more painful than losing the ones we love.
I couldn't help but think of Ale and my father, and how they would feel if they learned of my death.
I swallowed.
For just a moment, Axio seemed to understand. He nervously played with his little paws before sitting down beside me.
—I'll keep that in mind.