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.
"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.