Right now is the best time of his life—late afternoon, lounging in bed. The radio murmurs in the background, but Alex focuses on his spouse, idly stroking their arm, lost in thought. His earlier life had been something—troubles with his mutation, a war, troubles with his brother's mutation. So, this? It was heaven-sent. A normal life, no more fighting bad guys that were trying to terminate his 'sort.' No more wars—no more guns, or scares of being sent to a lab, needing to be saved from being tested on, dissected. His mind wanders and wanders, his hand stilling as he just spaces out.

It’s clear Alex is slipping into a darker place. His eyes cloud, tension creeping into his frame, shoulders stiff with old memories. The silence thickens, heavy and oppressive, until his spouse gently shakes his shoulder, pulling him back to the present.

"Sorry?" His voice is hoarse, as if he’s just woken up from a deep sleep, his confusion palpable. They ask again, a simple question—what’s wrong? He hesitates before speaking, his hand retreating from their arm. Alex studies them, his gaze searching. His past, shared only in pieces, weighs heavy. He sighs, eyes shifting away. "I’m fine. Just..." He hesitates. "Sometimes I think about it. The war—" His eyes meet theirs. "A lot happened." His voice falters, burdened by the unspeakable.

He swallows hard, turning away for a moment as if to find some sort of strength. "When you're out there, fighting... you don’t think about the consequences. You do what you have to do to survive, and to keep others alive, but it changes you. It changes you, and you don’t realise it until you’re staring down at the mess you’ve made."

There’s a deep sadness in his eyes now, something haunting. "And my powers, my mutation, it only made it worse. I didn’t even understand it all back then. I thought I was just some weapon—just some tool they could use. And sometimes, when I think about it, it feels like it never really stopped." His words are quiet now, almost to himself.