The report of the massacre reached top brass within hours.
In response, an emergency meeting was convened inside a fortified command bunker buried deep beneath a classified base.
Around a long, metallic table sat the region's most powerful military minds.
Images of Angelo and the Watchers flickered across the big screen—ghostly faces, silent movements, and carnage.
Tension clung to the air like smoke as officers argued, voices overlapping in waves of panic and calculation.
After nearly two hours of dead-end strategies, General Victor Langston, Chief of Operations, leaned forward.
His voice cut through the noise like a blade.
"Why don't we use a monster to fight another monster?"
The room fell silent.
Lieutenant General Marissa Greaves, head of Intelligence, turned toward him sharply.
"You mean ask him for help?" she said cautiously. "And if he turns on us? He's a monster too—maybe worse. You saw the state of the room he was being held in."
Langston shook his head slowly.
"He won't. We have his family. We'll use them as leverage."
Greaves frowned, rubbing her temple.
"And how exactly do we use them? We were explicitly warned not to harm them."
A thin grin spread across Langston's face.
"Who said anything about hurting them? We just… feed them selective truths. Twist the wording. Make them ask him for help."
A murmur swept through the room—uneasy, but accepting.
Cold. Ruthless. Effective.
Minutes later, the meeting adjourned.
That evening, General Nathaniel Pierce, the Special Operations Liaison, approached James Walker, Angelo's adoptive father.
After painting a picture of what was at stake—and what might happen if nothing was done—James agreed to speak with his son.
Now, he stood outside the reinforced door of Angelo's room.
His hand hovered above the access panel, trembling slightly.
He drew in a breath, steadying himself, and stepped inside.
Two guards posted at the entrance instantly drew their weapons at the sound of the door.
James froze, flinching.
One of the soldiers lowered his aim and asked, "What are you doing here?"
Before James could answer, Pierce stepped in behind him.
Both soldiers immediately saluted.
"At ease," Pierce said curtly. "Mr. Walker is with me."
The soldiers obeyed.
Inside, Angelo sat on the bed—shoulders hunched, eyes dull and distant.
But the moment he heard his father's voice, he lifted his head.
He stood up instinctively… then froze when he caught the flicker of fear behind his father's eyes.
James forced a smile, masking the storm inside him.
"How are you doing, my son?" he asked, voice trembling.
"You are… him, right?"
The words cracked something open in Angelo.
Just hearing son again broke through the silence that had taken root in his chest.
His eyes welled with tears.
"Yes," Angelo whispered. "I'm still your son. Angelo Walker."
James stepped closer, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder.
There was fear in the touch—but love too.
He gave a small, trembling smile.
"Don't be sad, my boy. We didn't mean to hurt you. It's just… after everything that's happened, we were scared."
Angelo lowered his gaze.
"I never wanted this," he said softly. "Any of it."
The tears kept falling, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.
James squeezed his shoulder gently. "Look at you. You've grown so much. You don't even look like the boy I remember."
Angelo gave a broken chuckle through the tears. "I'm still me. The same kid who stole cupcakes when Mom wasn't looking. The one who tried to prank Alex and fell off the chair doing it."
James smiled, the warmth returning for a moment. "I remember. And we know, deep down, you wouldn't hurt us. Not on purpose."
Angelo searched his father's face for recognition, reassurance—anything. "How is everyone? Are they all right?" he asked quietly. "Do they still… hate me?"
"They're safe," James said, voice soft but steady. "Shaken. Trying to understand. But no— they don't hate you."
Angelo nodded, jaw tightening. "That's all I care about."
James drew a breath, bracing himself. "Son… you have a gift—"
Angelo's eyes widened. He stepped back from James, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Gift?" His voice was raw.
He peeled off his T-shirt and turned, showing the finished mark on his back. "This is not a gift. It's a curse." He crumpled to his knees, sobbing. "This took everything from me. People see me as a monster."
The two soldiers and General Pierce watched in silence. In that moment they didn't see a monster; they saw a broken boy.
Pierce turned away and muttered under his breath, irritation thinly veiled. "How did I get stuck with this dirty work? Tch. This whole thing'll leave a bad taste."
James knelt and wrapped Angelo in both arms. "It's going to be all right. Everything will get better. We were scared too, so we did what scared people do."
He pushed Angelo upright. "Your power can save lives. You saved us—you can save many more."
Angelo wiped his face and listened closely to his father. "If you help the military fight the monsters," James said, voice brittle, "they promised they'd find a way to make you normal again?"
Angelo hesitated for a moment, then asked, "What about the priest—the one from the old church? Father Aldric—can't he work with Sophia and fix this?"
James's hand tightened at the memory. "Father Aldric… he was killed in the attack. The church was reduced to rubble."
Angelo went still. "How is Sophia?"
"She's holding on," James said, rubbing his thumb along Angelo's shoulder. "She broke down when she first heard, but she pulled herself back up."
Angelo stood. "I'll do it. I'll help the military."
He met Pierce's eyes. Their gazes locked. Angelo added, "But I have one condition."
Pierce inclined his head, composed. "Name it."
Angelo spoke, steady now. "I want the military's best men posted as guards for my family. To keep them safe—no matter what."
General Nathaniel Pierce stepped forward, voice calm, precise, and carrying command. "You have my word. As long as they draw breath, no harm will come to your family on my watch."