The second thing Alessandro noticed, once some food had gone down, was the hospital gown. These weren’t his clothes, and this wasn’t his house. What had happened? He stood straighter, scanning the room and slowly shoveling the last of the food in his mouth, chewing curiously.

He remembered running with his sisters. Blocking the door. The way Clara cried after he had disarmed her. Then, with wide eyes, the image of those dead soldiers returned. The young man covered his mouth, gagging, and now his heart raced with panic all over again. He’d killed them, that was right, and then…

“Muñecas?” He rasped, frowning and glancing down as his throat refused to work. He coughed, rubbing it with one hand, and trying again. Louder. “Girls? Clara? Luzmila? Bianca?!”

Fire began to boil his blood. He only had one thought.

Where are my sisters?

Alessandro didn’t care that he couldn’t recognize where he was. Didn’t care for the logos on the nearby walls or the way the lights seemed to automatically come to life. He stormed the door, grunting and weakly pushing it open. Only now did the weeks in bed become apparent; He fell to his hands and knees with a gasp of pain, head spinning.

It didn’t matter. He had his girls to find.

“Clara?! Bianca! Luzmila!” He yelled. His eyes squeezed shut, groaning as he leaned on the wall for support, slowly standing. With only the sound of his feet slapping onto the metal floors, he strode forward, one foot in front of the other, ignoring the sweat down his brow and the rasping of his breathing.

“Bianca,” Alessandro coughed, slinking forward onto the ground again, beside a new double door. There was machinery whirring behind it and a brighter blue glow coming out through the thin panels of glass. Unable to stand quite yet, he crawled forward, using his shoulder to silently push the left door open.

Inside was a command center. Or, at least, how he might have envisioned one. The far wall was covered in holographic and physical screens of different kinds, many with satellite imagery or street camera feeds. Many terminals had their own seats, but the center of the room seemed dominated by a large sofa. It could easily hold ten people and seemed to face the largest monitor, with two sides sticking out of it.

Strangest of all? The main screen showed a video game. Alessandro could barely see a head poking out from the sofa, unmoving, and his heart rate spiked again. Without hesitation, he looked around, crawling closer to a terminal, and squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled himself up, doing his best to muffle any painful groans.

Once he was up, he grabbed the first thing on the terminal, a stapler, and turned to the individual on the sofa. It took all his effort, one step at a time, as he approached on his own two feet. His breathing grew faster, tenser, with each step forward, preparing to swing the stapler down onto this person’s head with all the force he could muster.

It was only when he reached them that he noticed it was a her. An Asian girl, wearing a green t-shirt and black panties, stared tiredly at the screen as her fingers seemed to move on muscle memory alone. Her eyes were barely opened and she sat perfectly still, as if in a trance.

Then, without warning, her head lazily swiveled left. Both of their eyes met, his wide with surprise, and hers still half asleep and confused. She very clearly glanced at the stapler, then back to Alessandro.

Finally, her brain snapped awake. Her breath hitched and her eyes widened with recognition. She glanced at the stapler again. Before Alessandro could decide what to do, she yelled something in a language he did not understand and hurled her game controller forward.

It hit him with a sickening crack! He fell flat on his back, crying out as pain exploded from his nose to the rest of his face. His eyes closed, head leaning back against the cold floor as he tried to think.

Her footsteps, confident and strong, were coming closer. Panicking, he opened one eye to see her approach and grit his teeth, grabbing her ankle with one hand. With all the remaining strength Alessandro had, he pulled back, hearing a satisfied yelp as the girl hit the sofa and fell to the ground. But she wasn’t half dead, alone, and confused. In an instant, she shifted closer and grabbed his wrist, wrapping her bare legs around his arm before locking him in an arm bar.

“Fuck!” Alessandro yelled, grasping weakly with his free arm. “Let me go! ¡Putísima madre que te parió!”

“How did you get in here?!” She snapped, keeping her hold tight. Her eyebrows scrunched together in anger and confusion until she finally scanned her supposed attacker. Then they widened in shock. “Hey, you’re the kid from the med bay.” It took another moment for her to gasp in recognition, panicking as she released his arm and scuttled back. “You’re the boy from the med bay! Don’t move! I’ll get help-”

“No!” Alessandro snapped, lifting his head to glare at her. He reached out with a hand, swallowing hard. “Please don’t. I- I’m just really fucking lost, okay? Can we...can we take a second?”

“But your nose,” she began to say, only to be cut off.

“I barely hurts. Please, just...help me up.”

She smiles, pitifully, which stirs a little annoyance in his chest. “Promise not to attack me?”

“Promise.”

Just like that, the night seemed to return to that peaceful, three in the morning feeling. Her game was on the main menu, quietly humming its music, the blue light from the screens washed the entire room in a soft glow, and then there was the girl. She helped him reach and sit down on the sofa, stronger than he had imagined, and with a protectiveness he usually gave rather than enjoyed. Then she sat on the other side, criss-crossing her legs, leaning on them with both hands, and watching him intently.

“How are you feeling?” She finally asked when he leaned back and closed his eyes. She sounded genuinely concerned, which made Alessandro snort.

“You kind of kicked my ass,” he replied, smiling tightly and lazily dropping his head to look back at her. “Like, badly. I’m not feeling too hot.”

She frowns, half glaring at him, and her voice is sharp with accusation. “You were about to hit me with a stapler. Actually, it looked like you wanted to kill me.”

That brings him back to reality. His eyes drop, looking away from her in shame, and the memories from earlier rush back. It’s too much, all at once, to even attempt to process. Especially now that he was thinking and not reacting. His mother was dead. He could still see the face of her killer: A woman of purple skin, a dozen red eyes, and a sleek black rifle. He remembered the way her body fell, eyes wide with shock and completely blank.

Then there was the matter of his sisters. Clara’s crying face as she aimed the gun at him felt seared into his retinas.

“Hey.” She was next to him now, a soft hand gently shaking his shoulder. “Where are you?” Her eyes narrow, nose scrunching up in suspicion or confusion. “You’re safe here.”

“I was thinking about my sisters, it's all,” he sighed heavily, shoulders slumping and looking away. “Where are they? Were they injured, too? If I’m alright, after covering them, I’m guessing they’re well off.”

The girl’s eyes widen, surprised, staring at him blankly. Alessandro’s stomach drops before she says the words.

“What sisters? You were the only one left at the house.”

“No,” he snapped, smiling widely, nervously, his heart rate shooting up at an instant. He grabbed her arms, squeezing. “There were three girls. Triplets. They were underneath me. We hid in the corner, and I covered them when the house came down. Where are they?”

“Oh no,” she murmured, remaining calm despite his aggression. “Look, there were no bodies there. No sign of a struggle or blood, beside yours. Okay? We can-”

Alessandro’s breath was coming out faster now, shallow and panicked breaths that made his sight spin. “You didn’t grab my sisters? They’re only eight! How the fuck did you miss them? Was anyone there before you? What happened to the house?! The town?!”

“Calm down,” she tried again, gripping his shoulders tightly. “Look at me: Breathe. We can figure out what happened together. Alright? We’re here to help.”

“Who the fuck is we?” He snapped, volume rising.

“We are Overwatch,” another voice chimed in, from the door. Alessandro’s head snapped to the right, looking over the sofa, past the computers and metal floor, to the entrance. The image was so strange that it actually calmed him for a moment, forcing his brain to question itself.

The woman before them looked like an angel. A very tired angel. She had porcelain skin, blue eyes with dark circles under them, and short blonde hair with the bangs brushed thicker over her right eye. Most of her form was covered by a white and brown body suit, with golden fabric falling loosely on the front and back. She stepped forward, and two mechanical wings flexed silently.

“I think I’m losing my mind,” he said, smiling again. Giggling. Before he knew it, he had let go of the girl and fallen back on the sofa, cackling loudly and sobbing, covering his face with both hands. “I’m losing my gods damned mind! Oh man, I’m insane. I lost it. I died.”

“He’s hysterical,” the angel said, already looming over the sofa. Her heels click on the floor as she walks around to their side, pressing a hand to his cheek. “You should have alerted Athena immediately, Hana.”

“I didn’t want this to happen,” the girl, Hana, answered loudly, her face covered in concern. “Can’t you fix him, Angela?”

“My technology is for physical wounds. This is an emotional overload. Trauma.” Her voice is as mechanical as her wings. Even in his panic, the fatigue is obvious. A healthier Alessandro might have tried to help her.

Instead, he laughed again, furiously wiping his face and shaking his head. “No, no, no, I’m fine. I’m fine. Fuck! I’ll be fine-”

“Shhh,” the angel, Angela, cuts him off with a gentle squeeze on the cheek. “Look at me. You are right. For now, breathe with me. Yes? In…” She exaggeratedly inhales. “And out.”

He flinches, something pricking his neck, smile turning into a frown, but Angela leans down, holding his gaze with those sad eyes. “Look at me. You are alright. Keep breathing.”

Only the tiniest voice of reason warned Alessandro that he had been given something. Yet, even with her cold disinterest, the angel is something to look at. Her hand is warm and strong. For the first time since his mother was shot, he thinks: Maybe I can let go for one second.

The moment his mind surrenders, it is easy for the drug to take over. His breathing becomes easier, and the laugh-crying stops. The sofa feels soft as his head falls back and she releases him, eyes slowly drooping back to sleep.

“We’ll keep him under supervision,” Angela said to Hana, softly. “He will awaken tomorrow, probably early, and then we will figure out the situation.”

“He said he had sisters with him at the house,” Hana whispered back, standing up with a regretful expression. “Did we miss something back there?”

Angela muttered something he couldn’t get, in German, maybe, and exhaled dramatically. “I will tell Sojourn.”

That was the last Alessandro heard before the darkness took over completely.

“In the basement, go, go, go!” He yelled to his three sisters: Clara, Bianca, and Luzmila. The triplets. They were seven years old, stuffed into jeans and color-coded jackets: yellow for Clara, blue for Bianca, and red for Luzmila. As soon as they were halfway down the steps, he followed, slamming the door shut, knocking the jackets off the chair they left next to it, and jamming it under the knob.

“Alessandro!” Luzmila yelled as he hopped down the steps into the basement apartment. “Bianca won’t stop crying.”

Luzmila was the shortest, but the loudest. Her calm and quick obedience had helped Alessandro get them all to the safety of home. Her hair was straight, like their mothers', and light brown, with fair skin and worried eyes. Next to her was Bianca. Despite being the tallest and biggest, easily able to compete with the boys her age and knock down her sisters, she was skittish. Her hair was wavy and shorter, reaching only to her neck, the same brown as her sisters'.

“Wait, where’s Clara?” Alessandro asked, frowning, kneeling to hug Bianca as he looked around. The familiar beeping of the safe, from their parents' room, and said device unlocking gave her away.

The older sibling kissed Bianca’s head and let go, dashing to the small bedroom. There, on the other side of the double bed, Clara stood. Chocolate curls like her older brother, olive skin touched with freckles, and deep brown eyes that matched all her siblings. In her hands? A gun, the pistol, both parents kept for safety.

“Clara, soltá eso.” She was the trickster, the problem child. He wasn’t even surprised she knew the code to the safe: She always found out what was forbidden.

“They shot her,” Clara replied, her voice tight as she held the gun in hands too small for it, eyes welling with tears. “And we left her there.”

“I left her there,” Alessandro said firmly, standing up and putting a hand to his heart. “She told me to grab you three, and I did. But it was me.”

“We should have helped. Mama is always telling us to help,” Clara whispered, her voice ragged, barely holding those tears back. He glanced at the gun and sighed. She wasn’t going to listen to him. She never did. But she was also a kid- One who didn’t know about safeties, or loading, or aiming straight.

“Maybe we should have,” Alessandro says quietly, his matching eyes meeting hers, gaze harsh. Just like both their parents sometimes did, when they got mad, and acted more like drill sergeants than parents. He stepped forward, going around the bed, and Clara gasped. She stepped back against the closet, lifting the pistol. “Mama’s objective was us.” He continues, even as her eyes widen and her hands tremble, the gun too heavy in her hands. “My objective is you.” Another step, and Clara looked away, tears falling down her face. She didn’t pull the trigger (thank the Iris). “I’m sorry. But I don’t regret the choice.”

He finally pulled the empty weapon from her hand and tugged her close, one strong arm hugging the little girl. Clara cried and grunted and pushed, angry at nothing and everything. After all, their mother just died, and she still didn’t know who to blame. Except, maybe, the brother who forced her to run. That was good enough for now, Alessandro thought, as long as she didn’t blame herself.

“Alessandro!” Luzmila yelled again, breaking the moment, her voice full of urgency. It snapped both little sister and older brother back to reality, Clara pulling away to run to the living room as Alessandro reached under their father’s side of the bed, pulling out a smaller and lighter safe. He input the code: 042346, and pulled the magazine out.

“Alessandro!”

“I’m here, I’m frigging here,” he said, walking out of the room and quickly herding his sisters into the kitchen. “Luz, what’s what?”

“Someone’s trying to get in,” Luzmila said immediately, using her “serious” voice. She tugged the other two back as Alessandro tucked the pistol into his waistband and moved to push the fridge, grunting as it slid to the side, revealing a crawlspace under the stairs. “They aren’t Omnics- They didn’t break the door.”

“Absolutely fantastic reasoning, Luz. When we get out, I’m getting you a prize,” he answered, grabbing the girls one by one and sending them into the crawlspace, sitting them down. Their older brother got on one knee, taking a deep breath, giving them a stern look. “Alright, girlies. Quiero silencio total. It could be people who need help, or bad guys. So, you let me handle it.”

Of course, Luzmila was the only one to nod. Bianca was still shaking and tear-stained, and Clara was sitting off to the side, still as a statue. So he gave her a firm nod and a smile, and then stood up. Moments later, the fridge was back in place, the pistol was in his hand, and he was at the bottom of the stairs, listening.

Thump thump thump!

Luzmila was right. An Omnic would have smashed the door and doorstopper through, even if his parents had reinforced it. An hour ago, when their mother had died, it wasn’t a robot that did it. He had heard the crack of a rifle, seen the glint in the distance, and heard her say, “It’s her.” Someone was hunting them, but why? And who?

A crash brought the boy back to reality, the door finally slamming open, and distinctly human voices came through. “Yeah, we’re here now. Searching for the children. The door was reinforced and barred- Someone is definitely here. Roger that.”

Alessandro thought back to every time his parents both made him train. Made him work out, run, swim, and practice shooting. Every time, he was denied free time and sweet treats. Videogames or sleepovers. For once, he was thankful for their paranoia, because whatever enemy they’d both worried about was finally here.

“You two: Take the left, we’ll take the right-”

The soldier who spoke didn’t finish his sentence. When he felt the cool metal of the gun against his head, he froze, realization hitting for just a moment before Alessandro pulled the trigger. The rest was a blur. Someone cursed, and everyone began firing, but the boy pushed the fresh corpse into the second man coming down the stairs, then shot through the third's kneecap as he descended, so he’d crash down the last couple of steps onto the floor. He turned the corner and aimed up the stairs, firing three shots in rapid succession. Bam, bam, bam!

The fourth man fell, dead. The second pushed his comrade’s body off of him, bringing his rifle to bear, and Alessandro dove behind the sofa, lying flat on the ground and closing his eyes as bullets tore through the furniture and zipped right above him.

Click!

In a panic, the soldier had emptied the magazine. Cursing, he dropped it and pulled another out, as the other survivor of Alessandro’s ambush continued to scream in pain and tried to pull himself to cover.

“Don’t fucking move!” Alessandro yelled, standing up and aiming his pistol at the standing one. “Neither of you!” For a few moments, everyone froze. The tension thickened as the boy thought about what to do. One thing was working with training and instinct, another was executing two men at gunpoint. He did what he did best: He spoke. “Who are you? Why are you searching for me?” Not us, no, because if they could believe he was alone, that would be better. “And why did you kill my mom?”

“Just following orders, kid,” the one standing said. His whole group was wearing dark clothes, combat boots, and light armor that was gray and black. Their helmets were all silver, with glowing red eyes. Nothing Alessandro could recognize. “I’m sure, as an army brat, you’d get that.”

“Whose orders?” Alessandro said immediately, taking one step closer, as if daring the man to lie.

Before he could say anything, a single gunshot rang out from the man on the floor, who had discreetly taken the sidearm from his dead friend and aimed it up towards the boy. Once again, all hell broke loose. The man standing pulled out his sidearm- And received two bullets to the chest for his troubles, then Alessandro jumped over the sofa to the other side, as the injured one on the floor fired wildly at him. Finally, without thought, the boy yelled and shot the rest of his magazine through the sofa, in the direction of his last enemy. Then it was quiet.

He lay still for a minute. Then two. Staring at the bullet-ridden sofa and waiting to see if the injured man would make a noise, fire a bullet, or call for help. Only after the third minute did Alessandro slowly shift onto a hand, then to his feet, hesitantly looking at the ground.

Dead. They were all dead. One at his feet, three in front of the stairs. A decade of physical preparation had paid off. Yet, it was only physical, because now that the fight was done, Alessandro could feel disgust rising up his throat in the form of bile. He turned away from the corpses, groaning loudly as he threw up his lunch, and fell to his knees. His grip on the gun was so hard that he thought it might break.

“Ale?” Luzmila called hesitantly, hearing the noise.

“You do not speak until you know it’s safe!” Alessandro immediately yelled back, a half growl in his voice. The older brother immediately regretted it, standing up and wiping his mouth, jogging back over the kitchen, and gripping the sides of the fridge. His hands trembled from adrenaline, and perhaps the slow realization of what he’d just done. He lowered his voice, spitting bile to the side. “Just...you girls know that. Okay? Come on, we definitely have to move.”

The house shook from an explosion outside, making one of them scream, and Alessandro grunted as he tried to push the fridge. It felt ten times heavier now, and he had to turn and put his back to it- Gritting his teeth and slowly inching it out of the way, until he slid down to the floor, and watched his siblings crawl out.

“God dang,” he panted, wiping his forehead and leaning back against the appliance. “That was harder than before.”

“Em…” The three siblings stared at him. Clara with blank, wide eyes, Bianca with terror, and Luzmila with tears, for the first time. She shakily pointed down at his side, where blood and the clear hole of a bullet wound were.

“...well, fuck me,” he muttered, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He hadn’t felt a thing, not pain or leakage. Now that he saw it, confusion poured in like a flood, nausea kicking in right along with it. “I’m good. It’s not fatal.”

Maybe it was, but they didn’t need to know that.

The three girls screamed and tensed when the entire house shook, windows breaking, dust from the sealing falling, and floor tiles cracking. Then it did it again, and again, like giant footsteps. The danger brought Alessandro back to reality, painfully grunting as he stood up and guided his sisters to a corner. He turned them around, backs facing him, and then wrapped himself over the three as best he could.

“I love you girls,” he said quietly, heart racing as the shaking grew stronger and the pounding louder. “Gods, I love you more than anything, alright? You’re gonna be okay.”

They’re gonna be okay. That was the last thought he had before the house began to crumble around them, and his world went black.