Papa Lobo/Milagro

From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

The Free-Fire Zone was a green belt around the crumbling remains of First Ward. Once cleared all the way out to the sonic fences, it now grew wild with native grasses. The man twice called wolf walked aimlessly through this no-man's-land, his armor put aside, alone with his troubled thoughts and bittersweet memories.

The war was over. The Emperor and his Praetors had been defeated. Cole, White, Tilman... men he'd followed and believed in, and a woman who'd taken away the only good thing he'd ever done with his life, the only thing that mattered. The people of Praetoria were finally free - free to work together and rebuild, or tear each other apart. Even with the Tyrant and his lieutenants as symbols to rally against, the Resistance had always had divisions and dissent, and now, with the gods pulled down from their thrones... well, at least there was still the Hamidon, waiting beyond the fences and beneath the tunnels to consume them all.

But none of that was as important to him as the teenager who waited for him in a small apartment on the other side of the dimensional barrier. A young woman who was no longer a Seer, but wasn't herself either. The implants had come out, but "Mother" had done things to her that no one had any idea how to fix. She might be like this for the rest of her life.

He'd spent his own life fighting, sometimes against impossible odds, and here was something he couldn't beat. He'd never felt so helpless.

So lost was he in his despair that he never noticed the faint glow of the shade, creeping ever closer, until it was upon him.

He stopped. Staggered. Drew in a deep breath. Air! Lungs... I have lungs again! And arms and legs and...

The other part of him, the part that had been gathering strength to try to force the interloper out, suddenly faltered and hesitated. This spirit wasn't like the other that had once possessed him, all rage and jealousy and sick hunger; there was anger there, yes, and fear and other feelings with ragged, bloody edges, but also affection and... recognition.

And that was the second, even more startling realization: that this apparition was somehow, impossibly, familiar.

I found you! I found you! I was lost for so long, and then you were there... I didn't know who you were, but I followed and watched, and then I remembered. I knew you'd come for me. And now I've found you and everything's going to be okay.

No, it can't be. He couldn't possibly be so lucky. Not after the life he'd led, the things he'd done... He fell to his knees, grabbing at tufts of grass. It had to be a trick, to get past his guard and into his head.

It's not a trick! I've always been able to get into your head... I've always known what you did, and now I know why. It's okay. We're together again... and I forgive you.

I love you.

The Carnival guards in their white and gold motley drew back warily as he stumbled through the portal, laughing and crying, lashing out with a roar at anyone who got too close - drunk on raw emotions, everything that Tilman, damn her to Hell, had cut away from a person to make her a thing. Somehow he managed to sober himself enough to hail a cab. The driver gave him nervous looks in the mirror as he rocked and giggled and fidgeted in the back seat, murmuring answers to questions only he could hear. He repaid the man's patience with a generous tip, nearly double the fare, too giddy and glad to bargain.

Home, he thought as he climbed the steps; no, not home, home is a pile of rubble in Four Gables, but that's all right; we'll start over again, build again, like we did before. We're alive, and that's what matters.

She was waiting for him right where he left her, of course: on the worn and faded couch, staring at the lights and sounds of the television. Her hair had grown out since her return, a simple and practical pageboy bob; she wouldn't brush or take care of it herself, so he did that for her. Nor did she wear any makeup, as one might expect of a girl who was almost 18. She did dress herself, mechanically; right now she had on a T-shirt and jeans, socks but no shoes. At the sound of his entrance, she turned her head and smiled her empty, pleasant smile at him: "Hi, Daddy." Then she went back to watching cartoons.

Is that me? the voice in his head whispered in wonderhorror.

With a silent prayer, James Lopez sat down next to his daughter and took her unresisting body in his arms. He closed his eyes and held her as all the missing pieces of her soul flowed, first tentatively then with a sudden rush, back into their proper places. When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was hers: wide and brown and shining with unshed tears. It was the look of someone who'd just woken from a nightmare, and there was a depth to them that he hadn't seen since... since that terrible night years ago when they came and took her.

"Daddy?" she whispered, reaching up to brush her hand against his stubbly cheek.

He squeezed his eyes shut and hugged her close and tight, whispering words of love and thanking God over and over.