Veil of the forsaken.

(Beginning of BS) "Name..? peggie!"

A woman lay sprawled on the cold, concrete floor, her breaths shallow and rasping as if each one might be her last. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, a sharp reminder of the life slipping away from her. Blood painted the walls in violent streaks, and dark droplets slid downward, merging into a thick pool on the floor beneath her. The faint metallic tang of blood mingled with the acrid scent of gunpowder, a cruel testament to the brutality of what had unfolded here. The dim light of a flickering overhead bulb cast shadows across the room, their restless movements mirroring the chaos and violence that still lingered like a ghost.

The silence was broken by the sound of boots pounding against the floor outside. The door burst open with a resounding crash, and a man entered, his silhouette stark against the faint light of the hallway behind him. His figure was imposing, clad in dark tactical gear that bore the unmistakable insignia of "I.D.D." stitched into the shoulder. His sharp, assessing eyes scanned the scene with practiced efficiency, taking in the devastation before landing on her frail, broken form.

"God, no..." he whispered, his voice tight with disbelief as he crossed the room in quick, deliberate strides. He dropped to his knees beside her, his gloved hands trembling as they reached out to check for a pulse at her neck. Her skin was cold, her heartbeat faint and erratic, and the sight of her condition sent a surge of panic through him. This was no random casualty—this was Samantha, someone he had sworn to protect. His chest tightened with a mixture of rage and helplessness.

It was then that the sound of a baby's cry pierced through the room, cutting through the oppressive silence like a knife. He turned his head sharply, his gaze landing on the infant lying just a few feet away on the floor. The baby's tiny fists waved weakly in the air, her cries growing more frantic with each passing second. The sight of her—so small, so vulnerable—ignited something primal within him.

"Sam..." he murmured, turning back to the woman. She stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering as she mustered the last remnants of her strength. Her hand trembled as it reached out, grabbing the front of his shirt. Her voice was barely a whisper, but the urgency in her words struck him like a hammer.

"Feed her, Matthew," she gasped, her voice raw and cracking. "She's... hungry."

Matthew froze, his throat tightening as her plea hung heavy in the air. The desperation in her voice made it clear that she knew her time was running out. He nodded, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to hold back the storm of emotions threatening to break free. "I will," he promised, his voice steady despite the chaos within him. "I'll take care of her."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile crossed her lips, a fleeting expression of peace before her body went still. Her hand slipped away from his chest, falling limply to her side. Matthew knelt there, his head bowed, as the weight of her death settled over him like a suffocating blanket.

The baby's cries brought him back to the present. He turned toward her, scooping her up into his arms with a surprising gentleness that belied the rage building inside him. As he held her close, his gaze shifted around the room, searching for answers amid the carnage.

His eyes landed on a cluster of symbols scrawled across the wall, just above the largest blood smear. It was a crude insignia he recognized instantly—a crude eagle painted in white, with the letters "AMERICANS" scrawled beneath it in jagged, haphazard lines. The sight of it sent a chill down his spine, the rage bubbling within him threatening to spill over. The Americans—a group of extremists masquerading as saviors while leaving trails of destruction in their wake. This wasn't just a murder; this was a message.

Near the insignia, Matthew noticed an open crate filled with empty syringes and vials. Many bore labels stamped with a distinctive star insignia—another hallmark of the Americans. Kneeling beside it, he sifted through the remnants, his trained eye identifying traces of the experimental drugs this group was infamous for using. His heart sank as he realized the cruel irony: Samantha hadn't just been killed; she had likely been tortured or drugged before they left her to die.

Beside the crate, a folded piece of paper lay on the floor, smeared with bloody fingerprints. He picked it up and unfolded it carefully. The handwriting was messy, almost frantic, but the message was chilling in its simplicity:

"A warning for those who defy us."

Matthew's grip on the paper tightened, the edges crumpling under the force of his anger. His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as the full weight of the situation crashed down on him. This wasn't just an attack on Samantha—it was an attack on everything she had stood for, everything I.D.D. had fought to protect. And now, they had left him with this child, as if daring him to pick up the pieces.

The baby stirred in his arms, her cries softening into quiet whimpers. He looked down at her, his rage tempered by the sight of her innocent face. "I'll protect you," he murmured, his voice low and firm. "I'll protect you no matter what."

Glancing around the room one last time, Matthew noted every detail—the bloodstains, the symbols, the evidence of the Americans' cruelty. He knew he couldn't linger here; the risk was too great, and the child's safety was his priority. Rising to his feet, he cradled her close, shielding her from the horrors of the room as he made his way toward the door.

As he stepped outside into the cold night air, the weight of Samantha's loss pressed heavily on his shoulders. But with that weight came a renewed sense of purpose. He would honor her final wish. He would ensure that this child, this tiny, fragile life, would have a chance to grow up in a world where monsters like the Americans couldn't touch her.

And he would make them pay.

    "I told you to marry someone who could protect you, Samantha,"                                            Matthew groaned, frustration and sorrow mingling in his voice. As he fed and cradled the little creature, he gazed into her innocent eyes. "Don't make any of your mother's mistakes, L..." His words trailed off, heavy with unspoken promises.

Just then, he was interrupted by a little boy's voice. "Matt, who is that?" Mugsi tugged on his shirt, pulling the fabric and forcing Matthew to kneel down to his level. The boy's wide eyes were filled with curiosity and innocence.

Matthew turned to face him, his heart heavy with the responsibility that now rested on his shoulders. "She's your..." he hesitated, searching for the right words. He knew that the bonds he built between these children would shape their future. "She's your little sister," he finally said, his voice firm yet kind.

The boy's face lit up with joy, his youthful innocence untouched by the harshness of the world around him. "Really?" he asked, his excitement palpable.

"Yeah, Mugsi," Matthew replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "She's your little sister."

Mugsi stepped closer, his eyes bright with curiosity as he peered at the baby in Matthew's arms. "What's her name?" he asked eagerly.

Matthew paused, glancing down at the tiny girl in his arms. He hadn't thought about names, his mind consumed by the immediate crisis. "What do you think we should call her?" he asked, inviting the boy to share in the decision.

Mugsi tilted his head, his expression thoughtful as he considered the question. "Peggie!" he declared with a triumphant grin. "Like the girl from the story we read!"

Matthew chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. "Mugsi, Peggie's a pig," he pointed out, amusement flickering in his tired eyes.

"And?" Mugsi retorted, his tone defiant. He crossed his arms, clearly unbothered by the logic.

Matthew sighed, his smile widening. "We're looking for a name that fits her," he said patiently.

Mugsi tapped his chin, his expression serious as he pondered. After a moment, his face lit up. "What about Lady? That's a pretty name, and it sounds nice!" he suggested.

Matthew considered the name, nodding slowly as it grew on him. "Lady," he repeated, testing the sound of it. "I like it." He smiled down at the baby, who gurgled softly in his arms. "Lady it is, then."

Mugsi beamed with pride, thrilled to have played a part in naming his new sister. Matthew watched the boy's happiness, feeling a spark of hope amid the grief that lingered in the air.

End of part