The soldiers of Unit Three snapped their rifles up, barrels locked on Gwendowson as the general’s voice sliced through.
“Stand down, soldier! That’s an order!”
Gwendowson didn’t flinch. His eyes glowed with a wild, predatory hunger, blood dripping from his clenched fists to pool on the cold concrete floor. The flickering overhead lights cast jagged shadows across his hulking frame,
Number One’s voice cut in.
“If the reaction is complete, bullets won’t work.” he warned
“Last warning!” the general barked, his face taut with desperation. “Open fire!”
A deafening roar erupted as gunfire consumed the ground. Bullets ripped through the air, smoke and gunpowder filling the room. When the haze finally thinned, Gwendowson stood untouched, his skin unmarred, and a twisted grin was stretching across his face. The soldiers of Unit Three faltered, their hands were trembling, faces drained of color, eyes wide with primal terror.
I was confused trying to understand my ground. I stood apart, my pulse calm, my breath even. This wasn’t my fight—not yet. I’d seen enough death with Randy; I didn’t want to wade into another battle where the only end was a body count.
Gwendowson’s voice broke the silence. “I thought coming here would finally make my life mean something. But it didn’t.” His voice was unnervingly composed. His gaze swept over the quaking soldiers, lingering with a strange, mournful weight. “There’s no safe place in this world. Every day here has been hell. They beat me bloody, stole my rations, hounded me from dusk till dawn. I’ve gone days with nothing but scraps before, but this—this is worse. And when I begged for help, reported it to the ones in charge, they punished me. Who’d take a drunkard’s son over the precious heirs of generals and majors?”
“Private! What do you think you’re doing? Stand down now!” the vice-captain of Unit Three shouted, his voice unusually loud and strong, masking his fear.
“Private!" The general exclaimed surprised. "He’s a greenhorn? How is he in special unit three?”
He was not aware that Gwendowson was actually a new recruit unit three had planted among them to take the serum and test if it was safe for humans.
Gwendowson’s lips curled into a sneer. “A greenhorn. Planted here as their lab rat. To them, I’m nothing—worthless garbage, disposable scum.” He was serious and someone i realized things were just about to get worse. His voice dropped to a guttural snarl. “Let’s see what this scum can do.” he said
In a flash, he moved—faster than anything human, far beyond even Randy’s capabilities. His strength was monstrous, a whirlwind of rage as he tore into Unit Three. He targeted the vice-captain first, snapping his neck with a flick of his wrist. Blood sprayed across the sterile white walls, the wet crunch of bones reverberating through the lab. Captain Agatha stood beside me, her pistol blazing, each shot swallowed by Gwendowson’s invulnerable hide. Then she stopped, her hands shaking, her eyes locked on the carnage. In less than ten seconds, he’d shredded the unit—bodies strewn like broken dolls, their screams cut short. For the first time, I saw fear fracture her iron resolve, her breath hitching as she stared at the slaughter.
My own nerves stayed steady, my heart a metronome in my chest. Something was wrong with me—had been since I’d blacked out after the serum. When I’d taken those vials, something had shifted. My emotions dulled, my fear slipped away like water through my fingers. Watching Gwendowson rip through the lab, I felt only a cold, analytical clarity. A piece of me was fading, elusive and untouchable. I was losing my humanity. But that was no time for reminiscing about my past mistakes. Gwendowson turned to us.
His eyes locked onto the captain, and he lunged. My mind raced, thoughts colliding in fractions of a second. The hyper-cognition hit. Was I about to know fear again? The dread of losing something precious? I’d been ready to die for my family once, but after Randy, I’d vowed never to kill again. Yet if it came down to it—if my family’s lives hung in the balance—I’d make the same choice. But what about Yukio, the captain, my squad? Were their lives worth less? Was I fighting to clear my father’s name, or to atone for stealing those nine vials Number One meant to save the world? The questions swirled, unanswered.
Time ran out. Gwendowson’s fist rocketed toward the captain. I calculated his speed and stepped in, blocking the blow with my forearm. My wrist shattered on impact, the carpal bones splintering like brittle glass. Pain seared through me, but I didn’t waver.
“Impressive, kid,” Gwendowson rumbled, his grin widening. "You managed to block that."
“Captain, run! Get help!” I shouted, my voice firm despite the agony. She blinked, her trance breaking, and bolted for the exit. Scientists cowered behind overturned tables, some fumbling with cameras, filming the chaos—Ernest’s cronies, no doubt. The general and Number One had already fled, scrambling for heavier weapons.
I needed the Solid State—that heightened mode where my speed, strength, and healing surged. I’d tried triggering it in training, but it always slipped away. Maybe combat was the key. and there was only one way to find out.
Gwendowson’s technique was crude, all brute force and no finesse. I’d trained with the best—hand-to-hand with William and Dmitry, firearms with Abdu and Drake, swords with Yukio and Sane, tactics with the squad’s geniuses. My skills were sharp, but my speed and power couldn’t match his. His wild swings left openings, but I couldn’t exploit them fast enough. Each clash broke more bones, my arms screaming with every block. I couldn’t outmuscle him—I had to outthink him.
He was still human, bound by physics. I stopped retreating, baiting him with a false opening. Predictably, he charged, fist cocked for a killing blow. His momentum was too great to stop mid-strike. At 150 centimeters, I kicked a loose brick into his path. He tripped, flailing, and as his arms spread to catch himself, I struck. With all my strength, I drove my heel into his left knee, dislocating it with a wet pop. He roared, crashing to the floor.
But just moments later, he rose again, eyes blazing with fury. I didn’t know how to end this without breaking my vow—no more killing, not after Randy. Before I could decide, the general stormed back, rocket launcher in hand. Gwendowson, slowed by pain, didn’t see it coming. The blast hurled him into the wall, debris raining down in a cloud of dust. Yet, impossibly, he staggered to his feet, bloodied but alive.
That’s when lashed out in a frenzy, hurling equipment and bodies alike. And then Number One returned, firing a gas bomb into the melee. A thick, acrid mist swallowed the room—a nerve agent. Gwendowson collapsed, unconscious, while I swayed, the world tilting. My enhanced senses blunted the effect, leaving me drowsy but awake.
The fight was over. Eighteen soldiers lay dead, a dozen more wounded. The lab was a graveyard of blood and wreckage. Videos of the massacre hit the internet—Ernest’s sabotage, likely, to cripple the general’s project. The world ignited with outrage, demanding answers about the serum, the robot, the alien threat. Protests erupted, governments floundered, and Fort Vanguard’s secrets spilled into the open.
Reporters descended on the base, and a press conference was scrambled together to quell the panic. The public learned of the Vodock invasion and the military’s desperate countermeasures. Global tensions flared, alliances cracking under fear’s weight. I tuned out the politics—my focus was on training, on steeling myself for the war ahead.
But the leak hit closer to home. My squad saw the video. They knew about my powers now. As I stepped into the barracks, the air thrummed with tension—betrayal in their stares, confusion in their silence.
Yukio approached, his face with an expression i couldn't decipher. He gripped my shoulder. “Cipher... are you alright? I should’ve been there.”
“You fought bravely, son,” William added, his gruff voice softened by concern.
"Am glad you're not hurt!”
"That's Squadron-x for you!"
Diego and Billy added.
Their care came as a new experience for me. Quite soothing. I admitted Number One had injected me with the serum but kept silent about the nine vials. They didn’t press.
After the disaster, the general halted serum tests, redirecting efforts to perfect a poison for rogue Neogens. Unbeknownst to us, one other had already been injected: Victor Flick, the general’s son, the final piece of our squad. A teenage boy my age.
He stepped into the barracks with an aura that prickled my skin. One look at him, and I knew—he was more dangerous than Randy or Gwendowson combined.