[i]"This doesn't have to be the end of you. It shouldn't have to be the end of you."

"January."

"You could live through this. You could live forever."

"January."

"I can grant you this, old friend! All you need to do is let me, and-!"

"Gaius."

"..."

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages."

"...It needn't be so."

"Alas, it must for me. The time has come for my seventh act to end. The time has come for me to make my final exit."

"Is there nothing I can say to convince you otherwise?"

"Not that I know of."

"..."

"I have lived a long and fulfilling life, January. But now, I am tired. I wish to rest as all mortal men do. I wish to see again the faces of those I love, who passed on before me."

"And what of those who you would leave behind? What of the city you dedicated yourself to for five decades?"

"I have faith that they will find a way without me. I have counseled the rest of the Four as well as I could and I believe my successor to be worthy of the mantle."

"And if your faith in them is misplaced?"

"If such is the case. I know I can count on you to put things right."

"Me?"

"Of course. You may believe yourself slothful and weak despite your years because of it, but I have seen what you are capable of when you are spurred to action. So as my last request to you, I ask that you do everything in your power to ensure the peace I've worked to maintain in this city does not die with me. Can you do this for me?"

"...I'll do my best, Harold."[/i]

[hr]
Awoken from from his dream by the sound of someone knocking at his door, January opened his eyes. The sight of his apartment living room greeted him. Usually he kept it nice and tidy. But in his current state, he had neglected to do so for several days. That, combined with the occasional bout of grief stricken destruction, had left his apartment in quite the state. Upturned tables and broken chairs. Bookshelves toppled over and curtains pulled from their railings. Long and deep slash marks along the walls where January had struck at them with his gladius. Few things were left untouched. One such item was an old framed picture hanging on the wall opposite the torn up sofa January had fallen asleep on. The picture was of January many years ago. He was standing with four other people, all of them grinning at the camera that had snapped the photo. One of those four other people was none other than Harold Robinson during his younger days.

January walked over to the picture and gently placed his hand upon the glass. January knew all four of the people he was standing with in that picture. Each of them had been his friend through many dangers. And now, with the death of Harold, each of them had passed on, as all mortals did. At times like these, January wondered if there was some small measure of merit to Quincy's current envy of Mortality. A second round of knocking, followed by the sound of conversational latin imploring him to open the door finally captured January's full attention. He walked out into the hallway and up to the front door. After taking a moment to undo the various locks with the exception of one chain lock, January opened the door. "If those sirens and dogs are after you, go bother someone else." January said to his visitor, speaking in latin as well. "I am not in the mood for that sort of nonsense tonight."