The report of the massacre reached top brass within hours. In response, an emergency meeting was convened inside a fortified command bunker deep beneath the base. Around a long, metallic table sat the region's most powerful military minds.
Tension clung to the air like smoke as the officers debated potential responses to the Watchers—and to Angelo.
After nearly two hours of heated discussion and dead-end strategies, General Victor Langston, Chief of Operations, leaned forward. His voice sliced 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 the Intelligence Division, gave him a sharp look.
"You mean ask Angelo for help?" she said cautiously.
A scoff broke the stillness. Major General Alan Ruiz, commander of the Special Threats Tactical Unit, crossed his arms.
"And if he turns on us? He's a monster too—maybe worse."
Langston shook his head.
"He won't. We have his family with us. We'll use them as leverage."
Murmurs swept through the room—discomfort mixed with grim acceptance. Cold, yes. But effective.
Minutes later, the meeting adjourned.
Later that evening, Colonel Daniel Pierce—Field Operations Liaison—approached James Walker, Angelo's adoptive father. After explaining the situation and painting a picture of what was at stake, James agreed to speak with his son.
Now, James stood outside the reinforced door of Angelo's room.
His hand hovered above the door panel, trembling slightly. He drew a breath, steadying himself, and stepped inside.
Angelo sat on the bed, shoulders hunched, eyes dull and distant. But the moment he saw James, he stood up instinctively—then froze, catching the fear flickering behind his father's eyes.
James forced a smile, masking the storm inside him.
"How are you doing, my son?" he asked, voice wavering. "You are… him, right?"
The words cracked something open in Angelo. Just hearing James call him son broke through the silence that had taken root in his chest. His eyes welled with tears.
"Yes," Angelo said softly. "I'm still your son. Angelo Walker."
James stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. There was hesitation in the touch—but also love. He gave a small, trembling smile.
"Don't be sad, my boy. We didn't mean to hurt you. It's just… everything that's happened. We were scared."
"I never wanted this," Angelo whispered, lowering his gaze. "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 cookies when Mom wasn't looking. The one who tried to prank Alex and fell off the chair doing it."
James chuckled softly, a flicker of warmth returning to his eyes.
"I remember," he said. "And we know, deep down, you wouldn't hurt us. Not on purpose."
Angelo met his father's eyes, searching them for something—recognition, reassurance, anything.
"Is everyone okay?" he asked quietly. "Do they still… hate me?"
"They're safe," James said, his voice soft but steady. "Still shaken. Still trying to understand. But no, they don't hate you."
Angelo nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. "That's all I care about."
Then James took a breath, bracing himself.
"Son… you have a gift—one that could save lives. If you help us stop the Watchers… maybe, just maybe, we can get things back to normal."
Angelo was silent for a moment. Then he nodded—just once.
"On one condition," he said firmly. "Keep my family safe. No matter what."
From the doorway, Colonel Pierce—who had been quietly standing guard—stepped forward.
"We'll guard them with our lives," he said.