Two heavy wooden doors stood at the entrance of the command center, the room that Jacob, the leader of the East, spent the bulk of his days within. He had become a hermit, cowering in there, hunched over his radios and maps, mumbling to himself, mumbling into that radio, just mumbling all the time.
Asha remembered when he wasn't like that. There had been a point in his life that Jacob was someone to look up to. She remembered his ascent as their leader, chosen after weeks of nursing his predecessor when she fell ill and giving orders in her place. He was very stern, but kind. He instilled the Knights with the valor and lawfulness that Asha eventually took as her own.
She wasn't sure exactly when, but she suspected a change in his behavior when he reached his twenties. Normally, Jacob was out and about on missions with the rest of them. At some point, he was spending more time at headquarters, then in the office. In the early years of his leadership, he was transparent and welcoming. Now, Asha couldn't even figure out if he cared about the kids that died on his missions. Missions that he sent them on, told them in confidence that no enemies had been spotted, that the cache was theirs for the taking...
The man who told her, Art, and Sanjay, now a dead man, that they could trust him. The man who told them lies, their leader, selling them out to the enemy.
No more, thought Asha as she glanced back at the three boys who had followed her this far. For them, for everyone, I won't allow you to continue this injustice.
Grasping the handles, Asha threw open the heavy doors to the command center, revealing the dim conference room with the empty round table in its midst. On the far right, a wiry man in a thin, dirty t-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans sat. His blonde hair was in thin strands down his back. His clothes didn't fit him anymore, as they were drooping from his pale limbs like moss over a twig.
Asha's hands curled into fists. "Jacob," she started. "We need to talk."
Slowly, the man turned around, revealing a gaunt and grey face. He looked at the four of them with a wearily. He scrutinized each one individually, expression subtly changing as he switched between them.
"I expected you, Art," he spoke, voice low, with the texture of gravel. "You've always been a sheep in the herd. A black sheep, but a sheep nonetheless."
His gaze shifted to Casey, and somehow his eyes became even more tired. "But I expected better from you. At least, with your example, Robin would have-"
"Jacob," spat Asha, cutting him off. "You know why we're here. I'm giving you once chance to explain yourself and step down."
The blonde leader turned his chair to face the group now, planting his elbows on his knees, looking at them with a faint smile.
"Do you think there's another way?" he asked them. "Something other than the Key to help keep someone going? If there was a chance that something like that was out there... you'd gun for it, too, wouldn't you?" He glared at Robin. "What if Casey was sick? What if there was one chance that you could prolong his life even a little? You would do anything. What about you, Art? You'd kill for her. You already have, haven't you? Isn't that what you're doing now?" He rose from his chair. "I'm just trying to keep us alive!"