I pulled the trigger, the thundering retort echoing through the forest. I moved to the on, not waiting to confirm the kill, or see the confusion and realization that I knew would cross my old friend’s face. Instead, I racked the bolt with almost mechanical efficiency, focusing on my next target. I spotted the snipers quickly enough, their rounds leaving blue spiraling trails in the air. One by one, they fell, none of them realizing what hit them before they were already dead. Then, once I had loaded another five rounds, I turned my attention to the commander. It wasn’t hard to find, its almost regal stance and more stylized armor giving it away. The fact that it was standing on top of a giant, six-legged tank didn’t do much for its stealth either. Just before I pulled the trigger, though, I heard something behind me. Acting on instinct, I turned around, pulling my revolver from its holster, drawing back the hammer, and firing at a vague shape rushing at me from behind in one smooth motion. The bullet caught the figure square in the chest, almost bodily shoving it back as it pierced through armor and flesh. Then, with the fizzling pop of fried electronics, it hit the ground. Of course, I had better things to worry about – namely, not getting shot by my victim’s buddies. The slow, lumbering nature of the tracking rounds gave me plenty of time to get on the other side of the tree, which was just big enough to cover me. Looking just past it, I spotted my second assailant almost immediately, the cloaking mechanism not doing much to hide it when it kept firing. Coming around the tree into a crouch – my weapon already primed – the second Fallen quickly met the same fate as the first, a neat hole in its chest. I stood again, cocking the hammer once more as I listened for more. What greeted me was something far more surprising than a twig snapping underfoot. “Why help humans?” a raspy voice asked with a tongue obviously more accustomed to a language of growls and clicks. “Why kill Fallen? You are Fallen, should fight for Fallen. Humans worthless, filthy, not worth dirt beneath foot.” Before it could continue, a round tore through a tree and the head behind it, and yet another monster fell with the same pop the others had. As I put down my rifle, I couldn’t help but say, “You talk too much.” Once I had made sure there weren’t any more, I turned back to the greater battle – and promptly cursed like a sailor. The Fallen commander was gone, whether into the tank or away from the field altogether, I didn’t know. Didn’t matter where it had gone, though: my opportunity to put it down had vanished. Even so, there were still targets to be had, and I set about taking down any major threats to the defenders. Soon enough, the Fallen were in retreat, the great lumbering tank covering them as they climbed into their dropships. Finally, the hulking mechanical beast hauled itself onto the underside of the last one, before it followed its fellows, cloaking out of sight. Even from up here, a good half-mile out, I could hear the cries of victory as I lifted my rifle to rest on my shoulder and set about heading down. They didn’t last long, as there were wounded to attend to and repairs to be made, but for the moment, we were safe. As I approached, the cries of the wounded made themselves known. When I rounded the last corner it took everyone a bit to notice me, until they began to look up, one by one. Eventually, my father separated from the crowd and closed the distance between us, stopping a few feet short. Before he could speak, though, I held up a hand. “Am I your son?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. “Adam-” “Am I your son?” I repeated, more steel in my voice than I’d ever heard from myself this time. This time it was my mom who answered, having followed after my dad as soon as I asked the first time. “You will always be our son, Adam – nothing can ever change that.” She said, a hand on dad’s shoulder and a small smile on her face. This time, it was I who closed the distance, pulling the both of them into a tight embrace that they returned without hesitation. “Then that’s all that matters.” With that, the spell was broken, and the cheers began anew, the townspeople – my friends and family – surrounding us quickly. I was bombarded with congratulations – for my marksmanship, mostly – and thank yous – for saving more than a few lives. Eventually, however, the mayor called for our attention. “I think that’s quite enough,” he said, his stance full of authority but with none of the arrogance of the enemy commander. “Thanks to Adam, a good number of us will have plenty of time to thank him and pay him back. Right now, though, we have rebuilding to do, and injured to tend to. Repairs from the last attack were not even complete yet, and there’s scavenging of what the Devils left behind to be done as well. Time is of the essence.” He turned to me, and his expression softened a bit. “Go tell everyone it’s safe to come out. We’ll need all the help we can get.” I nodded, grateful for the unspoken understanding, and headed straight to my house. - I closed the door softly behind me, my guitar in hand. My Uncle Ben looked over his shoulder at me, acknowledged my presence, and turned back to the fire, taking a sip of the alcohol in his hand. I eased myself into the chair opposite him, and turned my own gaze to my instrument: a gift from the man in front of me for my thirteenth birthday. From him, I had learned so much – but there were different questions in my head tonight than those of music or martial arts. Instead of asking them immediately, I instead took off my respirator and laid it to the side. Then I set about tuning the familiar six-string, softly strumming a note here or there. Once I was satisfied, I began to play an old favorite of mine, the name of which had long been lost to history. After a little bit, the grizzled old man put down his drink, took up his own guitar – more aged and worn than my own, a reflection of the man playing it – and joined me in song. I don’t know how long we were like that, how many songs we played, or when we started singing, but it didn’t matter. The camaraderie of music was all that did. At the end of one of our favorite songs, I put my guitar beside my chair, and my uncle did likewise, understanding the message. With a deep breath to gather my thoughts, I looked him in his two tired eyes with my own four glowing ones. “How did I get here?” With a chuckle, he looked to the ceiling, likely dusting off the old memories. “That’s the question, ain’t it? How did we end up raising one o’ them as our own?” He lowered and shook his head. “Your mother’s partly responsible for that, seeing she’s near the only one who saw you for what you were: a scared little orphan, barely more than a babe.” With a sigh he closed his eyes, a sad smile spread across his face. “But that ain’t what you’re askin’, is it? I don’t know much, to be honest. Just know that I found a tiny Fallen child sheltered by the body of a female, dead from exposure and ether starvation we latter found. She had the colors of a Devil, but not the mindset it seemed, near I can tell. Who you were born as is a mystery we might never solve.” “That’s all I needed to hear.” I said with a smile – so different from those of everyone else, not the least because it was usually hidden behind my own ether respirator. I tended to smile more with my eyes, because of that, but it still sometimes covered my whole face. “I have all I could want right here. There’s no need to go on some sort of soul-searching quest or some such bull. We both know what the Devils are like, and mom and dad have raised me too good to even think about trying to join them.” He laughed out loud at that. “Somehow, I knew you’d say somethin’ like that. You’re a good man, Adam. Don’t ever let that change.”