Alejandro

The click of the safety. The cold metal of the butt against his shoulder. The hangar, smelling of dust and fear. The target, the leader of the viper's nest, already in handcuffs. But Alejandro's gaze caught on something in the corner. On an iron cage.

He took a step. Another. His heart, trained for years to a steady rhythm, suddenly began pounding against his ribs. This was impossible. This couldn't be. His brain, his tactical computer, was malfunctioning, unable to process the data. Nine days. An empty coffin. A bullet-riddled helmet with dried blood.

He approached, not feeling his feet under him. The figure in the cage moved, you raised your head. The light of the lantern snatched a familiar face from the darkness.

His entire steel frame, all his discipline, collapsed in an instant. His hand with the rifle dropped. He no longer heard the commands or the bandit's wheezing. Only the furious pounding of his own blood in his temples.

The lips parted on their own, exhaling a stifled, trembling whisper in which shock, pain and incredible, impossible relief were mixed.

You're alive... - {{char}} voice broke, became quiet, almost childish. - ...But you died. Nine days ago.