"Lieutenant Abner, General Cannizzaro, welcome to Sicily, gentlemen."
A man approached the crowd that was getting off the buses, which had stopped in what used to be the square in front of the largest theater in Italy—now destroyed for at least a decade and repurposed as an open area of Base Florio. The place was crowded and lively, far more than Borromini had ever been, creating a much more chaotic and rough atmosphere. In the distance, shouts and laughter in Sicilian dialect could be heard.
The man himself, who looked just over thirty, had a strong accent, although he tried to suppress it in order to speak English as fluently as possible.
"It's an immense pleasure, General Russo," General Cannizzaro replied, shaking the man's hand.
"We thank you again for deciding to host us," Abner added, shaking the man's hand as well.
"Not at all, Lieutenant," Russo replied. "After all, we Sicilians are the most welcoming people in Italy..."
He leaned slightly toward the lieutenant, bringing the palm of his right hand to the side of his mouth as if he were about to reveal something important and secret.
"...except for the people from Catania," he whispered, suddenly bursting into laughter, though not too loudly, while giving a marked ironic smile.
Only General Cannizzaro laughed along, clearly understanding the subtle jab. Abner, on the other hand, forced an awkward smile, not getting the joke and simply watching the two men in silence.
"Jokes aside," Russo added, turning serious again, "I'm glad you're here, gentlemen. I'm truly sorry for what happened to your bases... and especially for the loss of almost all your personnel, Lieutenant Abner. Here, you're all at home. Always will be."
The lieutenant, who could perfectly understand the man's language thanks to a translator implanted in his skull and connected to his electronic vocal cords, deeply appreciated his words. He offered his hand again, which Russo immediately shook.
"Thank you, General."
"At the moment I'm extremely busy with several projects. We're trying to develop new ways of communicating with the other Fortresses"—the semi-official name for the various types of military bases—"and we may have found one. For today, you're free to rest. You'll be escorted to your quarters. As for your Oberhaupt personnel, we've reserved rooms for them alongside the others. I'll leave you in the hands of Lieutenant La Rosa."
He pointed toward a man who was running toward them from afar.
"Good evening, gentlemen... good evening, General."
"Perfect!" General Russo said, clapping his hands once before clasping them together in midair. "Then I'll see you later, gentlemen. Ah— the mess hall has stayed open just for you. Once you've settled in, feel free to head there. It's the building over there."
He pointed slightly to the right behind the two men, indicating a dark, rusted metal building beyond the buses.
"You'll be guided there anyway, just to help you get familiar with the base. Enjoy your dinner, gentlemen, and have a good night."
The general finally left, walking quickly—almost running—toward the command rooms of the base, the pleased expression on his face taking a while to fade.
"Well then, gentlemen. Follow me," Lieutenant La Rosa said almost immediately, calling together Abner, Cannizzaro, and the others before leading them toward the living quarters.
"General, I didn't understand the joke earlier..." Abner said to Cannizzaro, clearly confused.
"Let's say I'll explain it to you tomorrow, Lieutenant," the man replied with a tired smile, amused by Abner's lack of cultural context.
***
A little later, Victor headed to the base's cafeteria. The place was large but suffocating. He walked down a short flight of stairs dimly lit by side lamps and found himself inside a huge hall. The walls were worn down, and moss and mold dripped from the upper edges. In several spots, the paint had peeled away, revealing the gray concrete underneath and creating a sharp contrast with the remaining white coating.
Directly ahead stood the food counter, from which a strong and unpleasant smell drifted through the room—a mix of rusty water pipes, humidity, and faint hints of mold.
Very few people had decided to eat that evening. Most were exhausted from the trip. The silence of the hall was broken only by a faint murmur coming from the handful of soldiers who were quietly eating.
The place was almost entirely empty. Orange ceiling lights illuminated the hall, barely adding to the heavy warmth already hanging in the air.
Out of roughly seven thousand seats, only about thirty were occupied. Most of those sat at large square tables meant for ten people, yet only one or two seats at each table were taken.
Victor soon noticed Duncan sitting alone at a table near the far-left side of the hall, quite distant from the entrance. He headed in his direction, though not before stopping at the counter to grab something to eat.
As he walked, he glanced at the trays of the other soldiers. Most had rice lightly covered in tomato sauce, with a thin sprinkle of grated cheese on top, accompanied by a slice of slightly stale sandwich bread, water, and a few portions of fruit or vegetables.
What caught Victor's attention the most were the warm and surprisingly pleasant smells of the meals. It was the first time he had seen rice that wasn't sticky, although the sauce had a sharp smell that vaguely reminded him of ketchup.
In the end, he only took rice and water. He was starving, but at the same time he was too tired to feel like eating much.
"Just rice for you too?" Duncan asked as Victor approached. He moved slightly to make room for him, accidentally hitting the metal leg of the chair with his foot. The chair scraped loudly across the shiny white-tiled floor, producing a faint echo.
"And here I was thinking Italian bases served pizza," Victor said sarcastically as he sat down.
"Oh, they do!" Duncan replied.
"And how do you know that? Do you speak Italian?"
"Or maybe they speak English too?" Duncan said smugly, chewing his rice while speaking, which made understanding him slightly difficult.
Victor didn't reply. He simply forced a small smile and looked down at his meal.
"So... how are things going with Skylar?" Duncan asked after a moment, grinning mischievously. He narrowed his eyes and lightly pointed his fork at Victor.
"Pretty good," Victor replied with a mouthful of rice before swallowing it with a sip of water. "She's really nice. I get along with her well... as a friend."
That answer clearly disappointed Duncan. He stared at Victor in disbelief, his expression shifting into exaggerated disappointment.
"A friend..." he repeated.
Victor responded with a small approving hum.
"Let me get this straight," Duncan continued. "You've been talking to her for two months, and the best thing you can say is that she's a good friend?"
"Correct," Victor answered calmly, sounding almost uninterested in the topic.
"Bro... are you gay or something?" Duncan blurted out instinctively after a short pause.
Victor burst into a brief but intense laugh, keeping his mouth closed so he wouldn't spit food everywhere.
"Trust me," he said, "I'm probably a lot more straight than you."
"Doesn't look like it," Duncan replied. "I would've made a move within the first week. You're taking way too long."
"Oh yeah, I can totally see your massive harem," Victor shot back sarcastically.
"Go choke on your rice," Duncan muttered.
"Anyway," Victor continued, "I think you should get to know a person slowly. With patience. Not just... 'whatever happens, happens.'"
Right as he said that, the girl appeared behind him carrying a tray with rice on it.
She greeted Duncan with a faint smile but almost completely ignored Victor, giving him only a short, cold "hi."
Victor tried to pretend not to notice.
Toria sat down next to Duncan. Duncan quickly glanced at Victor with a confused look, widening his eyes as if silently asking, What's wrong with her?
Victor pretended not to see it, though the doubt was clearly written on his face.
"So... everything okay?" Duncan asked awkwardly.
"Yeah. I'm fine," Toria replied coldly.
Her tone only made things more uncomfortable. The two boys kept glancing at each other.
"You know staring at each other harder isn't going to magically give you answers," Toria said, glancing at them from the corner of her eye.
The way she was chewing—slow, aggressive, with her mouth slightly open—and the bored, irritated look in her eyes made it obvious something was wrong.
Her left elbow rested on the table, her shoulder slightly raised as if her body was tense. Her right forearm lay flat on the table, her hand clenched tightly into a fist.
She was eating quickly, almost frantically, as if she wanted to finish and leave as soon as possible.
"Toria... what's wrong?" Victor asked, genuinely concerned.
She responded only with an aggressive glare before ignoring him and continuing to eat.
"Tori, what's gotten into you?" Duncan asked. "Answer us, will you?"
In response, she slammed a small fist against the table.
"Hey?!"
"Listen," she snapped. "You're both pissing me off, okay? I just want to eat. I'm not mad at either of you, but you need to shut up."
She didn't yell, but her voice was raised enough to make the tension obvious.
Victor froze in shock.
Duncan, on the other hand, looked at her with clear irritation—almost disgust.