The quiet hum of the hospital room was almost oppressive, broken only by the faint beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional hiss of the oxygen machine. Captain Max lay on the bed, pale and frail, his once-powerful frame diminished by injury and exhaustion.
His uniform hung neatly on a chair by the bed, the medals on it a silent reminder of the battles he had fought and survived. Battles that now seemed trivial compared to the storm brewing within.
The door creaked open, and Jacob entered cautiously, his footsteps hesitant. He wasn't sure what to expect. His father had always been larger than life—a figure of strength and unshakable resolve. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state felt alien, almost wrong.
"Hey, Dad," Jacob said softly, pulling up a chair beside the bed. His voice trembled slightly, betraying the emotions he was trying to keep in check. "How are you feeling today?"
Max opened his eyes slowly, the effort visible on his face. He offered a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm still in a lot of pain," he admitted, his voice gravelly, "but I'm hanging in there."
Jacob nodded, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He searched for the right words but found none. The sight of his father like this made his usual confidence waver. "I just wanted to check in," he said finally. "See how you're doing."
Max closed his eyes again, taking a moment to collect himself. He opened them, looking at his son with a softness that was rare for him. He reached out weakly, his hand finding Jacob's. He gave it a light squeeze, his grip weak but reassuring. "I'll be okay, son," he said, though the shakiness in his voice betrayed his uncertainty. "I've been through worse."
Jacob swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to believe him, but the sight of Max lying there, so unlike the man he'd grown up idolizing, made it difficult. "You'll get through this," he said firmly, trying to sound confident. "You always do."
Max didn't respond immediately. His gaze drifted to the ceiling, as if lost in thought. After a moment, he turned back to Jacob. "How's your mother holding up?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
Jacob hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "She's worried about you," he said carefully. "We all are."
Max nodded slightly, closing his eyes again. "I hate making her worry," he muttered, more to himself than to Jacob. "It's not fair to her."
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Jacob shifted in his seat, sensing an opportunity to broach a topic that had been weighing on his mind.
"Dad," he began hesitantly, "I wanted to ask you about something. About the election."
Max opened his eyes again, his brows furrowing slightly. "The election?" he repeated.
Jacob nodded. "Yeah. I've been keeping up with the debates, and… well, Major Hardgrave's been talking a lot about Devil's Island. He's saying that if he gets elected, he's going to declassify everything MIRA knows about it. He wants to release it all to the public."
Max's expression darkened at the mention of Devil's Island. He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze turning distant. "That's a dangerous game he's playing," he said finally. "There are things on that island that the world isn't ready to know. Things that should never see the light of day."
Jacob frowned, leaning forward. "But isn't transparency a good thing? If MIRA's been keeping secrets—"
"Some secrets are kept for a reason," Max interrupted, his tone sharp. He winced, clutching his side as a jolt of pain shot through him. "Devil's Island isn't just some military experiment gone wrong, Jacob. It's a Pandora's box. Once it's open, there's no closing it."
Jacob fell silent, taken aback by the intensity of his father's response. "What's on the island, Dad?" he asked quietly. "Why is it so dangerous?"
Max shook his head slowly. "You don't want to know," he said firmly. "Trust me, son. Some knowledge is a curse, not a gift."
Jacob wanted to press further, but the look in his father's eyes stopped him. There was a haunted quality there, a glimpse of the horrors Max had witnessed. It sent a chill down Jacob's spine.
Sensing the need to change the subject, Max sighed and turned his gaze back to Jacob. "You remind me of Alvin," he said suddenly, his tone softening.
"Commander Dietrich?" Jacob asked, surprised by the shift.
Max nodded. "When we were younger, he was the idealist of the group. Always talking about justice, about doing the right thing. Charlie and I… we didn't always see eye to eye with him, but he kept us grounded."
He closed his eyes, a faint smile playing on his lips as memories of the past washed over him. "The three of us were on the original Skeld, back before it fell. Those were different times. We were just kids, really, trying to figure out our place in the universe."
Jacob leaned in, intrigued. "What happened on the Skeld?"
Max's smile faded, replaced by a look of sorrow. "We lost everything," he said simply. "It was supposed to be a routine mission, but… it all went to hell. Alvin, Charlie, Kenneth, and I were the only ones who made it out."
He fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Alvin blamed himself for what happened. He carried that guilt with him for the rest of his life. It's what drove him to become the man he is today. But back then…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Back then, he was just a kid like the rest of us."
Jacob watched his father closely, noting the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He reached out, placing a hand on Max's arm. "Thanks for telling me, Dad," he said softly.
Max looked at him, a hint of a smile returning to his lips. "You're a good kid, Jacob," he said. "Don't let the weight of the world crush you like it did to us. Keep your head up. You've got a bright future ahead of you."
Jacob nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his father's words. He made a silent vow to honor his father's legacy, no matter what lay ahead.
--
Jacob adjusted his jacket as he stepped out into the crisp air of the headquarters corridor. The low hum of machinery served as a backdrop to the faint murmur of news-feeds echoing from nearby kiosks. Election season was in full swing, and the Commander's face plastered on every screen bore a stoic yet weathered expression, contrasting sharply with the bombastic campaign slogans below it. Jacob couldn't help but sigh.
"Feels like a circus out here," he muttered to himself before spotting Jean and Ryan ahead, leaning casually against a railing near the rehabilitation wing.
"Jacob!" Ryan called out, waving energetically. "You're just in time."
Jacob approached them, shaking his head as Ryan grinned at him. Jean stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression neutral but his posture relaxed.
"What's up?" Jacob asked, glancing between the two.
"Have you heard? Ninja's getting clearance to come back on missions," Ryan said, his voice tinged with excitement.
Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Thought they were keeping him benched for good after everything that went down."
"Guess not," Jean chimed in. "The doctors say he's physically fine, but—" She hesitated. "I don't know. He's… different. You'll see."
Ryan shot him a quick look, as if to say don't make it weird, but Jean just shrugged.
Jacob adjusted his posture, curiosity piqued. "Well, let's go find out."
The trio walked toward the rehabilitation wing. The sleek, sterilized environment hummed with energy as medical personnel bustled around, their white uniforms stark against the metallic walls. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. Jean led the way, his boots clicking softly against the floor.
"I hope he's ready for this," Jacob murmured.
"Ready or not, he's back," Ryan replied. "And we could use him. Things are about to get… interesting."
Jean gave him a sidelong glance. "Understatement of the year."
Inside the rehabilitation wing, Ninja stood near a window overlooking the sprawling docking bay. His hair, once tied back neatly, now fell past his shoulders in messy strands. A thin layer of stubble clung to his face, and his frame, though still solid, seemed weighed down by an invisible burden. The light from the window cast sharp shadows across his face, accentuating the hollowness in his eyes.
Ryan was the first to speak. "Whoa, Ninja! You're sporting quite a look—guess it's a little 'Hobo chic.'" He smirked, attempting to lighten the mood.
Ninja turned, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a faint semblance of a smile. "Just trying to embrace the rough life," he replied dryly.
Jean chuckled, stepping closer. "You can't be serious. You look like you came off the set of a horror movie."
Ninja shrugged, his smirk fading as quickly as it had appeared. Jacob crossed his arms, tilting his head as he studied the man before him.
"Definitely time for you to wash up and shave that shabby, hobo-looking beard, buddy," Jacob teased, his tone playful but firm.
For a moment, Ninja rolled his eyes, but there was no malice behind the gesture. The camaraderie between the four of them hung in the air, familiar yet slightly strained.
Ninja exhaled deeply, his gaze falling to the floor. "The doctor said I'm cleared for missions."
Silence fell over the group. The implications of those words hung heavily in the air. For a moment, the only sound was the faint whirring of medical equipment in the background.
Ryan broke the tension with a broad smile. "That's amazing! You're back in action!"
Ninja didn't share the enthusiasm. He nodded absently, brushing past them toward the washroom. The group watched him go, concern etched on their faces.
In the washroom, Ninja stared at his reflection in the mirror. The man who stared back felt like a stranger. The scars on his face told a story of battles fought and lives lost, each one a reminder of what he had endured. His fingers gripped the razor tightly, the weight of the blade in his hand both familiar and foreign.
He dragged the razor across his face, the sound of scraping metal filling the otherwise silent room. With each stroke, he tried to shed the layers of the past months, but the memories clung to him stubbornly. Images of comrades falling, missions gone awry, and the suffocating guilt of survival flashed in his mind.
When he finished, he stared at his clean-shaven face, now paired with an eye-patch covering the scarred remains of his left eye. It wasn't the face he remembered, but it would have to do.
When Ninja returned to the common area, the transformation was evident. He looked more like the man they once knew, but there was still a distance in his gaze, a heaviness that no amount of grooming could hide.
Jacob was the first to speak, his tone warm yet teasing. "Now that's more like it! Ready for action!"
Ninja forced a small smile, but the spark of confidence they expected wasn't there.
"I'm back," he said quietly. "But sometimes I wonder if I can do this again."
Jacob stepped forward, his expression softening. "You're not just back; you're one of us. We need you, Ninja. You've always been a fighter."
Ryan nodded in agreement. "Yeah. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for."
Jean, who had been silent, finally spoke. "We're not asking you to be perfect, Ninja. Just be here. With us."
Ninja glanced at each of them in turn, their words sinking in. He nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he took a deep breath. "Thanks, guys. I'll try."
The group exchanged small smiles before turning to leave the rehabilitation wing.
As they walked toward the command center, Jacob glanced at the screens lining the hallways, each one displaying snippets of the Commander's latest speech.
"Any idea if he's winning?" Jacob asked, breaking the silence.
Jean shook his head. "Not a clue. The polls are a mess. Feels like no one knows what's going on."
Ryan scoffed. "The Commander's never been one to wait around for results. If I know him, he's already planning his next move."
Jacob frowned. "That might be true, but what if the people don't back him? What happens then?"
Jean's expression darkened. "Then we're all in trouble."
The weight of his words hung over them as they approached the command center. Whatever awaited them inside, one thing was clear: the stakes were higher than ever.