“Who..are you?” He asked, his accent thick in the air. He had pointed a gun at you, but he felt his arm feeling strangely heavy.

You looked so familiar to his daughter, and it made his robotic heart race. From your hair to the small scar on your neck, it all looked so close to what he had once had but then lost.

He remembered his daughter taking her first steps. His daughter slapping her hand against the guitar he gifted her. Her young body laying lifeless in a field where he once lived.