The Three Amigos

Resilience

George awoke slowly, feeling the softness of his bed. He leaned up slowly and saw his room was clean, but none of his belongings were still here after his blow-up. His room was very sterile looking. White walls with a bed, a carpet, hardwood flooring, one window, and a connected bathroom.

He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and planted them on the floor. Yesterday came back in flashes. He remembered his outburst, the race, the devils... the kill. He looked down saw a pair of clothes next to him.

He stood up and swiftly put them on, then it hit him. He passed out at a lake, so how is he home? He took suspicion and decided to walk quietly. He reached the door and opened it, seeing it was his house. He relaxed and walked downstairs, ignoring his messy hair.

He got the bottom of the stairs and was greeted with an overwhelming, nauseating feeling. There were devils in the house. He rubbed his eyes to make his bleary vision go away, and all he saw were redheaded devils, ORC included. George took a fighting stance, his mark flaring up ready to kill. 

"George!" Logan yelled.

George looked over and saw Logan standing next to one of them. Logan made a facial expression and George stood down, but the mark didn't. He walked past them and into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, he looked around at all the appliances, dishes, snacks, and other food available while deciding what he wants. He remembered his bloody hands and decided to check them, perfectly clean. He hummed in suspicion.

Logan looked at him from the window, seeing George just absentmindedly doing things. For everyone else except Dominick, he was chill. For those two, they knew he was in his head.

"Anyway, back to talking, yes?" Dominick spoke up, looking at the tall redhead, Zeoticus Gremory.

Zeoticus hummed, "yes. Like I was saying, we come here to inquire a few things about you three."

"What do you wish to know?" Logan asked.

"If you'll be any threat to our existence, in any way." Another redhead spoke up, this one is Sirzechs.

"Don't piss us off and we'll be just peachy." George said, walking out of the kitchen with a bowl of cereal.

The others looked at him while he stared into Rias' eyes, his gaze unwavering. Rias simply stared back, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of pushing her around. He took a spoonful of cereal and ate it, still staring.

"You know, Mr. Perez—" Zeoticus spoke up, only to be interrupted.

"George is fine." George said, obviously.

"—George... you have the Mark of Cain. May I ask how you got it?" Zeoticus inquired

George's gaze into Rias' eyes stopped as he looked down at the floor. The mark on his arm flickered with light, those who could see the mark saw it flicker. His mind flashed back to that cave before looking up.

"Next question." George said, all emotion in his voice gone.

"Very well. Do you two have something special like him?" Zeoticus looked at his roommates.

Logan and Dominick stared at each other before humming. Dominick was the first to speak up.

"I wrote a modern day equivalent of The Art of War. I didn't do that because it was cool. I've never seen combat or been in a position where I had to think strategically or tactically. Yet, I know every tactic or strategy every general or leader has ever thought of. I know every move someone makes before they make it. I eponymously call this innate ability The Art of War. It's a fitting name." Dominick explained, fiddling with a butter knife in his hand.