Somewhere in Los Angeles, hidden beyond the city's reach, an undisclosed military base stood shrouded in secrecy.
The sky burns orange. The wind carries dust across the vast training field. Dozens of tanks, jets, and automated turrets line the edge like a modern stadium.
In the center, barefoot and perfectly still, stands Takoda Monroe.
He wears dark, flowing robes open at the chest. A glowing white crown mark pulses faintly below his mastoid. His eyes are closed, head tilted slightly as if listening to a distant song.
A toothpick shifts from one side of his mouth to the other.
Inside the command room, rows of monitors cast a pale, flickering light across the darkened space. Screens displayed live feeds from across the globe—burning cities, containment zones, military deployments. Generals and advisors stand tense, staring at the footage. The room is silent. The world is watching.
Commander Marshal: "Subject awakened King-class is ready. Containment trial commencing. Begin Phase One. Full authorization."
[CUT TO: EXT. FIELD — PHASE ONE: RIFLES AND GUNFIRE]
Dozens of elite soldiers open fire. Bullets rain down, hundreds per second—an unforgiving storm of steel.
Takoda doesn't move. Doesn't even breathe. Each bullet strikes him with force, only to shatter and fall, defeated by flesh that feels like iron. Unbothered, untouched. Then clatter uselessly at his feet.
Takoda (to himself, quiet): "You know, for a containment test, this sure feels too easy... Any chance of a meal when we're done?"
The command room buzzed with tension, every monitor locked on the figure standing alone on the battlefield. Lights from the screens cast sharp glows across the officers' faces, their eyes wide with disbelief.
The Tactical Officer leaned forward, voice low with awe.
"No shield detected. No field response. He's not even activating anything yet…"
Commander Marshal: "Escalate. Phase Two.
Outside on the field, the atmosphere shifted—the air itself seemed to tighten as Phase Two initiated.
Rows of auto-turrets jerked to life, their sensors locking onto a single target. The deep, mechanical hum of rotating guns filled the space, followed by a relentless roar of high-caliber fire that shredded the sky in streaks of burning light.
In the midst of it all, Takoda stood unmoving. Calm.
He tilted his head side to side, stretching his neck with an idle ease, as if bored by the display of force. A sudden breeze stirred, lifting the edge of his robe, but still he made no effort to defend himself.
Suddenly—he vanishes.
Gasps from the operators.
He reappears standing atop a drone tower, arms folded, balanced like solid ground.
Takoda (amused): "Hope someone's recording this. I look fantastic in aerial shots."
Commander Marshal (voice-over, gritting teeth): "Bring in air support."
PHASE THREE — AIR STRIKE INITIATED
Two fighter jets streak overhead, locking in. Missiles launch.
One of the screens zoomed in, sharpening the image.
Everyone in the room leaned forward, eyes fixed on the feed. The chatter stopped. For a moment, the only sound was the hum of machinery, as the screen held their collective attention.
Out on the field, time seemed to fracture.
Missiles cut through the sky, their engines wailing, high-pitched haunting noise similar to a supernatural scream.
Takoda remains perfectly still.
With the composure of a man stepping through his own front door, he takes one measured step forward. No urgency. No fear. Just quiet, terrifying confidence.
The missile closes distance — fifty meters, twenty, ten —
His bare fist rises with surgical precision.
[SFX: DULL, EARTH-SHAKING IMPACT]
Flesh meets steel and explosive payload in a moment defying physics and reason. His knuckles connect with the missile's nose cone with a sound like thunder against stone.
The warhead crumples like paper around his fist. Metal twists and warps, folding in on itself as if gravity suddenly works sideways.
The explosive payload, designed to level city blocks, simply... stops.
The entire field erupts. A sea of fire consumes the air.
But he emerges, robe untouched, skin unburnt — casually brushing soot from his shoulder.
Debris falls harmlessly to the ground like rain after a storm.
He lowers his hand, unharmed, and looks toward the next threat with the same calm expression.
The command center fell into stunned silence.
No one moved. No one spoke. Every pair of eyes remained locked on the screens.
Lead Scientist: "We need to shut this down. NOW. He's not testing back — he's playing with us."
Commander Marshal: "No. One more. Deploy everything."
Out in the open field, the final phase of the battle had begun.
The ground trembled beneath a relentless onslaught—explosions erupted in the distance, gunfire echoed from every direction, and the sky was streaked with smoke and fire. Soldiers moved in tight formations, their shouts barely audible over the chaos unfolding around them.
Tanks. Heavy drones. Shockwave cannons. Takoda walks forward. A dozen tanks open fire.
One missile nears — He stomps the ground, the earth shatters, rock erupt skyward like cannonballs, colliding with the warheads mid-air. A blinding explosion swallows the scene... And when the smoke clears, he's gone.
Hands gripping cold steel — and with terrifying ease, hurls one tank into another with reckless fury.
Jets roared across the dusk sky, their engines glowing against the deep orange horizon. Targeting systems beeped rapidly as they struggled to lock onto their target.
And then Takoda was there — sitting calmly on the wing of one jet as if it were a park bench. His robe flapped in the wild wind, but he looked completely at ease. The pilot stared, frozen with fear, as Takoda gave him a slow, relaxed smile.
"Nice ride" Takoda drawled, his voice somehow carrying over the roar of the engines. "A bit loud, though. You really ought to eject — now."
Panic surged. The pilot hardly thought; muscle memory took over. The ejection handle was pulled. A split second later, the cockpit blew open, and he was rocketed into the darkening sky, parachute dragging him far away into the distance.
And Takoda was gone again.
He dropped toward the ground as light as a feather. Dust hardly stirred as he straightened, his robe settling around him. Dusk bathed him in a deep amber light as he glanced up at a surveillance drone hovering overhead.
He took his time walking toward it.
The tiny drone lens whirred, its single glass eye glinting as it focused on him. Takoda paused just long enough to flash a smile — calm and knowing — and then the feed cut to black.
For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of a jet fading into nothingness and the quiet rush of wind across the empty landscape.