Metal clinking, screws tightening, and the mild swears reach our ears as we eye what looks to be a workshop. Sitting at a well lit workbench, hunched over something is Captain Arcadia. After a few seconds there’s a shout of success as he turns around and faces us with what looks like a rather ornate face.

“Don’t you just love it when a project comes together? There’s nothing quite as satisfying as repairing an old clock. They’re fine pieces of hand-made machinery, a dedication to the hard work and craftsmanship of many here in Arcadia.”

He gestures to the moving hands, and the rhythmic tic echoes out around.

“In one aspect of it, there’s a melody to a clock. Something that’s even paced and stirrs the soul as it does. A melody in time, echoing to each and every year. Nothing loud and boisterous, but a serenade for your soul.”

“Or take a look at the design here. Out there, proud and loud facing. Not afraid to look out in the world, take anything that comes to it face to face rather than lurking in the shadows.”

“But you can’t forget the metal heart itself. Strong, steadfast, and never faltering to the random whims of the wild world around it. The clock follows what it is molded to do, never succumbing to dark whims and the urge of violence.”

Arcadia smiles, looking wistful momentarily before it hardens into a direct stare.

“And at this most critical of moments, Arcadia itself needs to become a clock. In our struggles, the steady beat of our heart needs to continue on rather than run wild and ragged.”

“Should we embrace the gross excessiveness and erratic rhythms of Mighty Mighty, or follow our hearts to the serenade of the tried and true El Mariachi Muerte?”

“Can the people’s hearts trust in the open renegade, heart on her sleeve Gemini who’s been through hell and back twice? Or should they rely on a man who’s name is a color, and his dealings hang in the shadows?”

“Will we embrace the bloody vengeance of a killer, seeking revenge on dark forces because of petty greed in the form of Wolf Fang Ayami, or will we embrace the one that chose to better not only himself but the whole of Arcadia in myself?”

He shakes his head, more disappointed than angry.

“We can’t be held down to these chaotic ideas. There is no future in them, nothing promised but the pain that would end us all. It takes us to work together, to be synchronous in harmony that makes Arcadia what it actually is.”

He hangs the clock on the wall as it continues to tick away, gathering the old, twisted bits of clockwork.

“But you can’t make a clock right with broken parts. All you can do is bin them.”

He dumps the broken pieces visibly into a trash can, and walks aways, leaving the lingering shot on the clock before a lightswitch clicks to darkness. The ticks continue on.