"Private Hackett"
Three days had passed. Victor had gone back to the bathrooms, checking the water pressure again.
No luck.
As soon as he stepped out of the bathroom and found himself in the locker room—alone and surrounded by yet another filthy, damp environment, with lockers and benches nearly rusted, a faint stench of rot in the air and, in the background, the slight flicker of one of the LED ceiling lights—Victor found himself face to face with a superior. A lieutenant. He looked like a normal person, a man with a rigid, composed, disciplined gaze. His hands were clasped behind his back, his head fixed on Victor. And yet, the moment he called out his last name, the voice that came out was deep, but not human; the tone almost robotic, creating metallic vibrations that went straight into the ears. The strong smell of iron and oil coming from his body and its stiffness made him unsettling at first glance.
But Victor knew who he was, and he wasn't intimidated at all. Seeing him, he immediately straightened up, saluting as required, closing the fingers of his right hand and bringing it to his temple.
"Lieutenant Abner. Good afternoon"
His gaze remained fixed on the Lieutenant's face. The longer he stared, the more he noticed the absence of ears, replaced by pieces of iron and exposed cables. He didn't look away even when the Lieutenant released his arms from behind his back, revealing metallic hands, where on the left one the pinky and ring finger seemed to be of a different color and model compared to the other three fingers, which shared the same shape and color.
"Are you happy to return to the Remnant?" It was the first time Abner, since Victor had arrived on Earth, had spoken in a less authoritarian manner.
"Affirmative, sir," Victor replied neutrally, showing no emotion.
"Sir, why are you here? Did I happen to do something wrong?" the young man added, this time letting a hint of concern slip through.
"Absolutely not," Abner replied, forming a slight smile with his lips, then ordering the young man to lower his hand by saying "at ease," at which point Victor obeyed, letting out a deep sigh of relief.
"I wanted to say goodbye one last time. You distinguished yourself during your service, and I commend you for that."
"Duty, sir. For the People and the American Nation."
Afterward, there was a brief silence, during which Lieutenant Abner began to slowly walk away, heading toward the locker room exit, located at the far right.
Every small movement produced an electronic creak, muffled though it was. Simply moving his fingers caused noise. Even his breathing—vibrations—although his face was the only part of his body still human, squared, with a prominent aquiline nose and blue eyes. The short beard was another detail, as were the hair, short and ordinary, shaved and faded at the sides where there was still flesh.
"You've grown," he added.
"Yes, sir," Victor replied. "I arrived on Earth at the age of nineteen. Today I'm twenty-one. In three months, on August 13th, I'll turn twenty-two."
"I see, private."
Then, another silence. Victor and the Lieutenant reached the exit, where the young man opened the iron, creaking door to let the Lieutenant pass first.
Outside, the air was completely different. Warm, dry, but clean. The sun was radiant in the sky, heating everything it touched to the fullest. There were no clouds at all. Fortunately, the exit, which led to a concrete courtyard—dirty and in some places cracked and broken, with both small and large holes, uniform across the entire surface—was shielded from the sun by a large canopy that cast shade.
As soon as he stepped out, Victor immediately noticed soldiers playing soccer on the field in front of the locker rooms. The match was intense, the players sweaty, aggressive, and determined. Shouts and laughter from boys who, though not exactly like him, were enjoying that moment of peace, where even a shove to the ground or a scraped knee was better than fighting.
One particularly agile boy struck a powerful shot from midfield.
"5–2! End of the first half!" shouted another boy, who was also acting as referee.
Victor and the Lieutenant stood still watching. The young man, having recognized who the striker was, felt very pleased. However, his limited ability to feel emotions held him back, allowing him only a faint, almost forced smile.
At that moment, the boy who had scored noticed his friend and, jogging over in small hops, puffing from exhaustion, reached him. The boy had a prominent burn on his forehead and nose, damp with sweat, as were his brown hair, also dirty with dust. Once he arrived, slowing down at the last second and beginning to limp slightly from overexertion, staring wide-eyed, he stopped under the portico, commenting in a dry voice broken by small gasps that "missed shade", before stiffening at the sight of the Lieutenant.
"Excellent match, private Bryce," Abner said.
"Thank you, sir," the boy replied, trying not to keep panting.
"Now go wash up. And you…" he referred to Victor, "…prepare your things. Departure is in two hours and fifteen minutes."
Then he left, walking slightly faster than before, making more noise.
"What was Abner doing with you?" the boy asked, confused.
"I was trying to take a shower when, as I walked out of the bathroom, I found him standing there," Victor replied.
"And why…?"
"How should I know, Duncan," Victor replied, exhaling sharply. "All I know is I'll go back to my sister smelling like a corpse."
"Oh well," Duncan replied. "Worst case, burn your clothes."
Victor let out a small "hm" as if to laugh, lowering his gaze to the ground for a few seconds before raising it again. "You just gave me an idea," he then replied.
Afterward, Victor stepped closer to Duncan, slightly opening his arms. "I'll miss you, man," he said after the two boys hugged.
"You too, bro," Duncan replied. "You're literally the third person I can stand in here. I don't know what I'll do."
"Only three?" Victor replied, pulling away from his friend.
"Besides you, just Hart and that guy from O-2… I can't remember his name."
"Oltmann?" Victor said.
"No, the one with the messy blond hair."
"Oh, Hardy."
"Exactly," Duncan said.
"Didn't you have it out for him after he destroyed you with that freestyle last year?"
"Yeah… but thinking about it, it was cool," Duncan said, shrugging briefly.
"I don't even remember how it went," Victor said.
"Oh, it was like…"
Duncan looked up, keeping his mouth half open, trying to remember.
"I don't remember… no, wait! There was some line with "my mom" and something."
"Hardy sucks at freestyle," Victor said. "He just throws in random lines and insults—that's why it works."
While Duncan was talking, Victor slightly turned left, observing an armored ICP van, with the UNADF emblem in white on the side, highlighting the sword, Excalibur, pointed upwards at the center of the regular United Nations logo.
Since he was a child, he remembered that symbol everywhere. By now it was etched into his memory.
Duncan noticed his friend's distraction, looking puzzled. "What are you looking at?"
Victor turned back. He didn't answer. He gave another faint forced smile, slightly shaking his head.
"When are you going back?" he then asked.
"Three more weeks… maybe a month," Duncan said.
Then both boys turned again toward the van after hearing a metallic boom. What they saw was a team of five soldiers loading a dark armor suit—practically black—that, even from a distance, didn't seem to have any openings in the head to see through. The soldiers initially struggled; three tried lifting it from below, pushing with their legs and gripping the metal tightly, and two from above, pulling hard from the shoulders.
After some initial difficulty, they managed to load the armor and secure it inside the truck.
"I don't get how those vans even move with that kind of ballast," Duncan said, referring to the armor in the plural. "Should weigh at least a ton!"
"Do you remember anything?" Victor said, at first still staring at the van. "I mean, from the fights. From when we went in there."
"No, man," Duncan replied in a disappointed tone. "Nobody remembers, you know that. You have a nice dream, you wake up and find out three days have passed. That's what we do. For you it's been two years now. For me, a little more."
Victor looked back at the van. By now the armor had been placed inside; it was no longer visible. Only the soldiers remained, following protocol, testing the vehicle to make sure everything was in order, checking tire pressure, engine ignition, oil quality.
"You know that's yours, right?" Duncan said.
"Yeah…" Victor's reply was sharp and quick. He then remained silent for a few seconds.
"Well…" he said with a sigh. "I'll go pack my bags," he added, shaking his friend's hand goodbye.
"Make sure," Duncan replied, "as soon as we see each other up there, come to my place. PlayStation, parties, whatever we want!"
"For sure, man. See you around," Victor said finally, waving again before heading toward the dorms.