The four boys were only a few meters away from the hospital room. Outside it, right by the door, stood Toria, turned with her back to them as she spoke with Lieutenant Abner. As the boys approached, their voices became clearer and clearer, blending with those of the other people in the hallway.

  As soon as she noticed the boy, turning briefly, Toria greeted him by raising her right arm and waving her hand—a far more composed gesture out of respect for the officer’s presence.

  Once they arrived, the boys saluted.

  “Lieutenant Abner. Good afternoon, sir.”

  The lieutenant returned the greeting with a simple military salute. He seemed, at least in Victor’s eyes, very nervous and worried. His serious, fixed expression was clear proof of it and made the boy uncomfortable. Though well-intentioned, Victor did not ask about it. It was as if the lieutenant had received bad news—an inconvenient order. Or perhaps, Victor thought, the lieutenant himself had been informed about what he had done the previous night. Immediately, a series of confused thoughts swirled through his mind, fueled especially by that cold, serious stare. Victor briefly looked at Toria as well. She too seemed unsettled by that expression.

  “I need to see Major Ranieri,” the lieutenant said, in an annoyed and defeated tone. “Have a good day, soldiers. And to you as well, Doctor,” he added, referring to Toria, who wished him the same.

  After the lieutenant left, walking more rigidly than usual and striking his boots heavily against the floor, increasing the metallic echo, Victor—who first gave Toria a confused look as if to say what happened?, to which she replied with another look meaning let it go—entered the room with his companions.

  “Victor Hackett…”

  A man, just under forty, sitting beside the bed he was hospitalized in, greeted Victor with a very happy expression, though barely smiling due to just waking up—something visible in his slightly dull, sleepy blue eyes. The man was solidly built: broad shoulders and chest, covered in thick dark brown wavy hair, shaved in some areas to operate on wounds that were now healed and closed with stitches and bandages. His head was shaved—not bald, just preferred that way. His scalp had a grayish-black tone across its surface, with slight thinning near the forehead; the same applied to his beard, sparse and unkempt. Over his right eyebrow was a very deep cut, stitched with medium-sized metal staples.

  “Hansen Oltmann,” Victor replied, stepping forward to shake his hand. The man returned it just as firmly, gripping hard and deep. That handshake demonstrated the soldier’s enormous strength.

  “I’d hug you, but I’m a wreck right now,” the man added, letting out a small muffled laugh to avoid the sharp pains his wounds might cause.

  “What can you do? It’s age,” Raiko added ironically, inserting herself into the conversation.

  “Speak for yourself, kid. I’m still the most athletic one here,” the man replied with equal irony, smiling.

  “Guys!” another boy said, his voice muffled by the Rehabilitator he still wore, lying in the bed next to Hansen’s.

  He was much younger—couldn’t have been more than twenty. From his smooth facial features, pink lips, and bright, slightly wide eyes, he looked five years younger. Even his voice, though masculine in tone, resembled that of a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old.

  “David!” Victor approached him happily, flashing his usual smile. “I wouldn’t want to hug you and hurt you.”

  But the boy cut him off at “hug.”

  “Shut up. Get over here!” David added, hugging him. “I’m so happy to see you!”

  “Same here, buddy.”

  A brief silence followed. At that moment, David’s expression gradually began to change—from happy and smiling to worried and doubtful. It was gradual: the fading of his smile, the curved lips lowering into a straight horizontal line. His eyes, once bright, began to dull, losing their shine as the moment of joy faded. All of it accompanied by brief glances among the others.

  “Any news about the others?”

  “They’re fine,” Nikita said. “They’re currently stationed at Derrick Bolt.”

  “Then why are we here?” Hansen asked.

  “The plan was to retrieve Hackett at Martinelli after we got news he was in a post-combat coma. Then, following the attack on our base, both you and Taylor were comatose. You needed treatment. So Lieutenant Abner decided to split up, and once you were stable, depart from here—from Borromini—straight to Derrick Bolt, waiting for the United Nations Army to reassign us a location.”

  “I see,” Hansen replied coldly, very different from how he spoke to the others.

  This stemmed from old, deep-rooted issues between him and Nikita. Hansen, especially toward Nikita Obukhov, clearly did not tolerate him fully. Nikita belonged to the same family that, during the Russo-American War of 2028, had been among the most influential technological-military families of Malinovist Russia. Though Nikita’s parents had betrayed the regime and fled under U.S. protection, Hansen never accepted his origin. Hansen was openly anti-Malinovist—against the neo-communist Russian regime and Russia itself, which he described as a “Monsters Hierarchy,” “a prison that turns its people into military, political, and social weapons.”

  He rarely spoke of it. Victor, having heard bits and pieces, recognized that ambiguous coldness in his eyes.

  ***

  A few minutes passed and, while Hansen and David were brought something to eat, the boys split off into small groups; Hansen talked with Raiko and Duncan, while Victor spoke with David. Nikita, for the umpteenth time, stayed by himself, sitting on a chair and looking around with an apparent hawk-like gaze, sharp and precise.

  “Why does he do that?” David suddenly asked, whispering to Victor.

  “And who’s supposed to know?” the boy replied. “I guess the stereotypes about Russians being cold are true.”

  “Didn’t you throw up?” Victor asked.

  “No? You know that thing…” the Rehabilitator said. “…doesn’t have that effect on me.”

  “How do you manage that?” the boy replied. “I throw up like five or six times in a row!”

  “Eh…” David answered. “Maybe I’m part Ijo. Who knows?” he added jokingly.

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  “Great…” Victor replied, not nearly as joking.

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t go back to the Remnant,” David added after a brief moment of silence.

  “I’m sorry for my mother and my sister,” Victor replied curtly. “They can’t even communicate with me.”

  “Yeah, you know communications between Earth and the Remnant are really weak and hard to manage.”

  “Unfortunately, yeah…” Victor answered, slightly bitter. “And I didn’t imagine a vacation in Italy like this,” he added, trying to lift his own spirits.

  David understood immediately.

  “You wanted the Ijo to make you a pizza?” the boy joked.

  “Yeah, with pineapple,” Hansen added, having overheard. “And personally, I’d even throw in some glazed bacon.”

  “They’d kick you out of the country, Oltmann,” Victor replied.

  “No need. I’ll walk out on my own,” Hansen answered, then laughed, drawing in most of the room.

  “In his defense, I can say pineapple on pizza is actually delicious!” Toria added, walking into the room right at that moment.

  “There!” Hansen said proudly. “Someone who finally knows what she’s talking about!”

  However, Toria was looking at Victor, who returned her gaze. Both were happy to see each other, especially Toria, with her stretched, extremely curved smile toward her cheeks, almost goofy, waving at him with her hand still inside the right pocket of her shirt.

  “Anyway, you and I need to talk. We need to review your tastes,” Victor told her, walking toward her in a way that was both confident and awkward, moving a bit mechanically, arms crossed and body slightly stiff.

  “Yeah… you and I need to talk, but not about pizza,” she replied, embarrassed and at times worried, turning her genuine smile into a forced one, showing her teeth for a moment.

  Victor remembered. His smile almost immediately faded.

  “I thought you were free…”

  “Yeah, I am. Shall we?” he added, stepping out of the room first, followed almost immediately by the girl, under everyone’s confused stares, with a hint of surprise from Hansen and David.

  “Who’s that?” David asked.

  “Whoever she is, our Victor’s all set,” Hansen replied with a small smirk.

  “Fully agree,” Duncan said firmly.

  The two of them moved to the opposite side of the door, along the parallel wall, advancing a few feet, at least at Toria’s request, since she didn’t want the others to hear.

  “Okay… here we are,” Toria said, letting out a light sigh.

  Victor looked at her as if he already had something in mind to say. He uncrossed his arms and slipped his hands into his pockets. He made small faces, little forced smiles, puffing his cheeks slightly. Just before speaking, he briefly licked his lips and glanced around to check if anyone else was nearby.

  “Listen…” he began. “If it’s about that thing with the smell, don’t worry. It was just a mistake. I won’t do it again.”

  Toria looked at him for a moment, confused. Her smile vanished immediately, replaced by a puzzled expression, lips slightly curved outward, eyebrows drawn together. “What are you talking about…?”

  Victor froze. For a brief moment, all he did was repeat “uhm,” staring straight into the girl’s eyes, which were just as fixed on him, her right eyebrow slightly raised and her head tilted a little forward to the left.

  “Mh… nothing!” he said then, putting on a fake serious look. “I’m messing with you, relax,” he added with a laugh, which the girl answered with one of her own—much more forced and embarrassed.

  “I see…” she replied.

  “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something else…”

  “Okay,” Victor replied.

  “No, wait,” the girl said after a brief silence, her confused expression returning. “What smell are you talking about?”

  “Toria, forget it. I’m joking,” the boy replied, almost cutting her off.

  “Okay…” she answered, still puzzled. “I was saying…”

  Slowly, her voice grew more timid and closed off. Her tone became particularly low at times, so much so that Victor had to ask her to repeat herself because he couldn’t hear. Toria seemed very embarrassed; her face was slightly red, she kept touching her hands, gently rubbing them, especially her fingers, intertwining them to massage them; her hair covered her face, especially around the acne, which Victor, despite the curtain of hair, could still glimpse—much more cared for and less visible than before; her legs were slightly turned inward, though not very noticeable since she was wearing loose jeans that day, and her feet were also angled inward.

  “I see very often that, at least when I’m around, you’re cold. I mean, it feels like my presence bothers you, or even the things I do…”

  Victor was particularly confused by that.

  “…I’ll admit that, I don’t know why, but I really like you as a person. I feel driven to get to know you, and I understand if some of my attention feels annoying…”

  “But it’s absolutely not like that, Toria.”

  The girl slowly lifted her gaze, which had gradually dropped as she spoke.

  “I really like you too. I appreciate every bit of attention you give me, and if I seemed cold, that’s on me. That’s just how I am. All my friends know that.”

  The girl’s eyes seemed to slowly widen with relief. It was as if she had been waiting for a direct, blunt confirmation.

  “But if it makes you uncomfortable because it hurts you, I’ll try to be more lively. I promise.”

  The girl smiled slowly. Her eyes grew glossy, so much so that Victor could see his reflection in them at times. Her posture changed quickly: from slouched and withdrawn, she suddenly seemed struck by happiness in one instant; her legs and feet straightened, and she stopped rubbing her hands, simply crossing them while her arms hung down.

  The two of them stayed like that, looking at each other, for at least a minute.

  Then, suddenly, metallic footsteps echoed. A deep breath, with strong metallic vibrations, was heard behind the girl, who turned almost immediately, slightly startled.

  “Lieutenant Abner…” Victor said, noticing the man’s nervous expression.

  “Soldier Hackett, return to the room with your companions,” Abner ordered, his voice highly authoritative.

  “Yes, sir,” Victor said, giving the girl a look of farewell, just as confused and intimidated by the lieutenant’s presence.

  “Please remain here, Doctor,” the man added, in a softer but still commanding tone, then headed toward the room, closing the door quickly behind him.

  “Lieutenant!” the boys greeted. The man seemed to ignore them completely. He stayed silent for a few seconds, during which he cleared his throat, coughing lightly twice and placing his hands behind his back as usual.

  “Sir, is everything okay?” Hansen asked.

  “No, soldier,” he replied. “This morning I was given rather unpleasant and concerning news. It’s been a heavy morning. I’ve spoken with both the generals in charge of this base and the top representatives of the ICP, ZED, and UNADF.”

  The boys exchanged confused looks. Hansen and David even shared brief glances with the teammates beside them, as if to say, “Do you know anything?” but were met only with the same bewilderment.

  “What are you talking about, sir?” Nikita asked, stepping forward. The lieutenant paused again. He seemed genuinely terrified of what he was about to say.

  “Earth is isolated.”

  The boys’ faces leaned forward slightly, as if pulled by a magnetic force. Their eyes widened, and quick glances crossed between them.

  “What…?” Raiko exclaimed.

  “Sir, what do you mean isolated?” Duncan asked.

  “In the sense I said it, Soldier Bryce,” the lieutenant replied. “Recent information—of which I can only share the most superficial facts—has revealed that the attack on the Martinelli was not an isolated event…”

  Victor felt his blood run a little cold at the news. He stood still, listening, and the more the lieutenant spoke, the more he shivered, arms crossed.

  “…There have been attacks, intentionally carried out by the Ijo, across most of the major Ghyghas-Class military bases around the planet, including in Europe and North America. The bases hit include, besides the Lorenzo Martinelli, the British Thomas Lawton, the American Derrick Bolt, the Polish Grigori Rybak, and the Portuguese Diego Salazar, a.k.a. Ceutierra. The list goes on.”

  “Sir… are you saying the largest and most heavily armed Western military bases have fallen?” Raiko asked, deeply demoralized and frightened.

  “Not only in the West, but yes, that’s correct,” the man replied with equal discouragement.

  “And our comrades, sir?” Hansen asked. “Can they move out from the Bolt?”

  “At the moment, it appears not,” the lieutenant answered. “Furthermore, attempts—with little success—have been made to communicate with the Bolt. Weak communications with the Remnant have also completely ceased.”

  “It’s like the monsters planned an intercontinental attack…” David said.

  “But sir, that’s impossible!” Raiko exclaimed again. “The Ijo are the living dead. They’ve never shown human intelligence or anything beyond that of wild predators.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, soldier,” the lieutenant replied. “The fact is that tomorrow, at 0500 hours, meetings will begin to discuss plans to reestablish inter-base communications and contact with the Remnant. Until then, we’ll be confined here.”

  Another pause filled with incredulous stares.

  “That is all,” the lieutenant concluded, leaving the room.

  Outside, Toria was still waiting, still anxious, leaning against the corridor wall, nervously tapping her foot on the floor, trying to keep her gaze fixed on the door.

  As soon as it opened and, after returning the lieutenant’s salute as he strode away, noticing Victor’s shaken expression, she walked straight toward the boy.

  “What’s wrong…?” She noticed the same look in all the other boys, even faintly visible in Nikita, and it was clear something truly serious had happened. “What’s wrong with you guys? What happened?”

  Victor looked at Toria’s face, searching within himself for a way to tell her what had just occurred. He was particularly nervous, and it showed in the slight tremor of his hand, which the girl had noticed earlier and could even feel when she touched his shoulder. The boy kept looking at her so intensely that she herself seemed to absorb his emotion, his stress. They looked at each other for a few more seconds before Victor explained that, in that moment, they were prisoners in a world that was slowly devouring them.