Well, Wolfen thought, his mind a strange, calm center in the aftermath of the storm. Time for 'talk no jutsu'. It was a ridiculous term he'd picked up from some pre-fall media, describing the inexplicable power of words to stop a rampaging foe. A faint, internal voice, sounding suspiciously like his own but with more panic, chimed in. You are so unbelievably, definitively dead.
Yeah, he thought back. I know.
"Hey. Listen, Eva," he said, his voice softer than it had been in years, stripped of command and calculation, leaving only raw, simple sound.
The effect was not instantaneous, but it was profound. The horrific, multi-voiced roar had ceased. The scarlet and black scales began to recede, not in a violent snap, but slowly, like a tide pulling back from a ravaged shore. The pointed spines on her back retracted into her spine with faint, wet clicks. The terrifying claws softened back into human hands. The absolute blackness of her eyes faded, revealing the exhausted, traumatized brown beneath. She swayed on her feet for a moment, her body shuddering through the final stages of the transformation, before her eyes fluttered shut and she collapsed, not in a violent crash, but as if falling into a deep, unwelcome sleep. Her clothes were in tatters, but the strategic rips and the way she fell left her modestly covered.
A slow, careful sigh escaped Wolfen's lips. That worked. I cannot believe that actually worked.
The relief was short-lived. His enhanced hearing, even in its currently muted state, picked up the faintest scuff of a boot behind him, the controlled intake of breath, the creak of a weapon being raised.
"He's right behind me, isn't he? About to hit me with the butt of his rifle," Wolfen said, his tone weary, not even bothering to turn. "Don't. They're neutralized."
He turned his head slowly.
Marcus Cross stood there, his face a granite mask of conflicted emotions, the stock of his rifle indeed poised for a strike. Several of his soldiers flanked him, their weapons trained on the unconscious forms of the hybrids.
"I knew it," Wolfen muttered.
The world exploded into a nova of white, agonizing pain. It wasn't the blunt impact of the rifle butt he'd expected. It was a high-voltage stun round, fired from a specialized launcher one of the soldiers carried. The electrical current seized his nervous system, overloading his brain and muscles. His body convulsed violently for a few seconds before darkness claimed him.
---
Consciousness returned to Eva as a slow, painful tide. Her head throbbed, a deep, resonant ache that felt both familiar and new. She was in a room. It wasn't large, but it wasn't claustrophobically small either. A grey, metallic cube. She blinked, her vision clearing.
Tungsten, her mind supplied, recognizing the dull, incredibly dense metal from Architect schematics. A containment material.
She looked around, her movements sluggish. Derek was slumped against a wall, Maya beside him—her friend's face was a mess of fading bruises, but the angry red of fresh wounds was gone, as if days had passed. Jordan was opposite them, and Wolfen was a still form near the center of the room. His chest rose and fell evenly, but something about his stillness felt… performative. He's awake. Or at least, conscious.
Her eyes scanned again. Leo wasn't there. A flicker of something—concern? anger?—passed through her, but it was smothered by a heavier, colder weight. Where am I? The question was academic. It didn't matter.
She was wrapped tightly in a strong, white canvas material, the kind used in high-security asylums to restrain the violently insane. A heavy, custom-forged metal muzzle was locked over the lower half of her face, the straps digging into her cheeks and the back of her head. It was far stronger than any dog's muzzle, designed to withstand immense pressure. She was also secured to a vertical metal slab, her arms pinned to her sides by more of the tough canvas straps. The posture was one of absolute helplessness.
Then, the memory returned, sharp and painful. The shot. The unbearable, cellular-level pain that had seared through her, a pain that had somehow short-circuited the even greater agony of her transformation. What had it been?
As if sensing the shift in her awareness, the others began to stir. Derek groaned, Jordan shifted, and Maya's eyes fluttered open. Eva quickly let her own head loll forward, feigning unconsciousness, her senses on high alert.
Wolfen was the first to move properly. He sat up, not with a jolt, but with a slow, deliberate motion, as if he'd been waiting for the right moment. His eyes, pale and calculating, immediately began scanning their prison. The room was barren except for a few items placed deliberately in the center: a chessboard with intricately carved pieces, two other strategy board games she didn't recognize, and a worn, military-issue duffel bag, stained with a dark, dried blood that was undoubtedly Leo's. Next to it were several MRE packets.
Without a word, Wolfen reached for an MRE, tore it open, and began to eat with a methodical lack of enthusiasm. Maya, moving stiffly, took one labeled 'Beef Patty' and began to chew on the dense, cold meat.
Their quiet was shattered by Jordan and Derek. They scrambled to their feet, rushing to the room's only feature: a massive, seamless tungsten door.
"Let us out!" Jordan yelled, pounding a fist against the unyielding metal. The sound was a dull, pathetic thud.
"Hey! Marcus! Leo! What is this?" Derek shouted, his voice echoing in the sterile space.
The door had only two openings: a narrow slot at the bottom, presumably for passing food, and a tiny, reinforced glass viewport at the top. As if on cue, a few more MREs were pushed through the bottom slot. Taped to one of them was a note. Wolfen calmly retrieved it, reading it aloud, his voice flat.
"It has been one week. You are in a tungsten bunker, formerly used by the Architects to contain high-risk hybrids. My father… acted out of fear. I left the games and the bag. I will find a way to get you out. One way or another. - Leo"
The note was a litany of devastating information. A week. Imprisoned by an ally. Abandoned. As Wolfen finished reading, his eyes drifted to the walls. They were scarred, covered in deep, parallel gouges. Claw marks. The size of a human hand.
His gaze then fell on Eva. He saw the subtle tension in her shoulders, the controlled rhythm of her breathing. He knew she was awake, listening, taking it all in. He said nothing.
Derek turned from the door, his face a mask of frustration. "Wolfen, why didn't you fight back? When they took us?"
Wolfen finished a mouthful of the bland pasta. "Prime 4 injected me with a neuro-inhibitor before you arrived," he explained calmly. "It has either permanently severed my connection to my abilities, or it has locked them away behind a biochemical wall I cannot currently breach. I am, for all practical purposes, a regular human."
"Shut up, Jordan," Wolfen added, preempting the other man's inevitable sarcastic remark. "For the love of Absolute Cat Woman, just shut up."
Derek blinked. "For the love of who?"
"And if you're wondering about our clothes," Wolfen continued, gesturing to their clean, simple grey fatigues, "Marcus had them changed while we were unconscious. And Maya," he said, turning to her, "don't worry. The type of man Marcus Cross is, he would have ensured your modesty was respected by having female personnel handle it. So, please, do not kill him when we get out. I still have a use for him."
Maya's glare could have melted the tungsten walls, but she gave a single, sharp nod.
The room lapsed into a tense silence, broken only by Jordan's restless pacing. After what felt like an hour, Wolfen gestured to the chessboard.
"Hey, Maya. Let's play some chess."
Jordan opened his mouth, another complaint doubtless on his lips.
"He will let us out himself," Wolfen said, not looking up as he began setting up the pieces. "Just wait patiently."
And so, in the heart of a tungsten tomb, surrounded by the ghostly claw marks of previous, failed inhabitants, the bringer of balance began to play chess. He beat Maya, her strategic mind no match for his centuries of foresight. He then played against Derek and Jordan combined, and still won with a series of moves so elegant and devastating it felt less like a game and more like a statement. He was reminding them, and himself, that even without his world-ending power, his greatest weapon had always been, and would always be, his mind. And his mind was already ten moves ahead.