A lone personnel chopper skimmed low over Sunderhaven's jagged skyline, its ion thrusters humming softly as it glided above the lower east side, where Fort Sunder dominated the district. On its sleek black hull, the emblem of the local Freak Hunters chapter stood out: a fiery explosion with a dark circular crosshair tilted at a 45-degree angle. The craft moved with an eerie quietness, the air seeming to part for it rather than be cut through.
Inside, a towering figure stood at an imposing 7 feet tall, commanding the attention of the dozen seated subordinates with nothing but his presence. Rodger's uniform was immaculate, its decorative chest piece adorned with commendations, though largely obscured by the capelet draped over his broad shoulders. His deep red hair, trimmed neatly beneath his hat, gave him an air of regality, though he carried himself like a warrior rather than a king.
Rodger stroked his short beard absentmindedly, his left hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his hip. The blade, a long officer's saber with a lightning motif etched into its unassuming handguard, looked as unpretentious as its wielder—simple, efficient, and built to endure. Despite the weight of his achievements, Rodger's attention was always on the fight ahead, not on the status they brought.
A voice crackled from the cockpit. "Sir, we're approaching the drop zone. I can bring us in close, but your team will need to deploy fast. I don't want this bird swatted like a fly."
Rodger leaned forward, peering out the window. Far below, chaos reigned as the kaiju-class Freak loomed over the fractured streets of the city. He straightened, the faintest trace of a grin touching his lips. "Been five years since I last dealt with a kaiju-class," he mused, his voice carrying a relaxed, almost nostalgic tone. "Atlanta. Hell of a fight."
Turning back to his team, he looked over the familiar faces, each one more than a subordinate—family in everything but blood. The core team, save for his sister, had fought beside him for years, their bond forged in the fires of battle.
"We've got a hell of a mess waiting for us," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "We take it out fast and clean. Bruce will meet us on site. Claudia, you're leading the strike team. Hit it hard and keep it occupied. Franky, you and your droids provide suppressive fire—keep the pressure up. Keenan, you'll lead the support team and handle the wounded. Everyone clear?"
The group responded with firm nods, their confidence in Rodger unshakable.
He moved toward the rear of the chopper as the massive hatch began to lower, the muted roar of wind rushing in. Rodger glanced back at his team and raised his voice, rallying them as the anticipation built.
"What are the three D's?" he called out.
The group rose to their feet, their voices ringing out in unison. "Detain! Deter!"
"And our favorite?" Rodger added, a grin creeping across his face.
"Destroy!" they roared, the word echoing off the chopper walls.
The grin widened as Rodger turned to face the hatch, now locked in its open position. The chopper hovered just above the ground, ready for deployment.
"Go get 'em," he said simply, his voice steady but laced with excitement.
Without hesitation, the squad surged past him, leaping into action with practiced ease. Their uniforms reflected their individuality, a mix of combat-ready gear and casual fatigues, but their precision and unity were unmistakable.
Rodger lingered for a moment, watching as his team hit the ground running, then adjusted his hat. His sword gleamed faintly as he stepped forward into the fray, his mind already on the fight. Status meant nothing to him—this was where he thrived.
The scene was a warzone. Once-proud brick buildings had been stripped to their skeletal remains, their facades shattered, their foundations exposed like broken bones. The road was nothing but bare dirt now, pockmarked with craters where stone had been torn free. At the heart of the destruction loomed their target—the freak they had been called in to handle. Towering over the rubble, the massive humanoid behemoth moved with an earth-shaking force, each step carving fresh ruin into the cityscape.
Rodger took in the battlefield with a calm, assessing gaze, his team already springing into action. Claudia, his second-in-command, led the charge, striking first with an explosive force impossible to ignore. Her crimson aura flared around her, flickering like flames as her blows cratered the creature's thick, stone-like hide. The force causing her dark hair to dance behind her.
From the side, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
"Rodger! Good to see you. Though I gotta say, this thing's a real pain for a guy like you—mountain of rock and all."
Wesley, Sunderhaven's police chief, landed near him with the effortless grace of a veteran fighter, an injured officer slung over his shoulder. Blood ran down the officer's arm, staining Wesley's uniform, but his focus was already on Keenan.
The combat medic barely looked up as he set to work. Keenan's makeshift stretcher—a sleek surfboard that hovered on a controlled torrent of water—was already in place, carrying the wounded man to safety. With his golden tan, muscular build, and perpetual smirk, Keenan looked more like a surfer pulled off the beach than a battlefield medic, but there was no doubting his skill. His green eyes met the officer's for a moment, calm and reassuring. "You're good, dude. Just hang tight."
Rodger smirked at Wesley's remark. "Yeah, well, with any luck, we'll finish this without leveling half the neighborhood." He rolled his shoulders, already dreading the mountain of paperwork if they didn't. "Call back your officers. We've got this."
And then he was gone.
A streak of crackling blue light tore across the battlefield as Rodger surged forward, electricity dancing from his boots to the debris beneath him. His sword slipped from its sheath, the tungsten blade glowing with coursing energy. Though it weighed a solid eighteen pounds, in Rodger's grip, it might as well have been a twig.
The creature hardly acknowledged the attacks swarming around it. At its size, the squad was little more than gnats—annoying, but hardly a real threat.
Rodger aimed to change that.
Blurring past his strike team, he launched himself skyward, leaping off a steel beam and onto the monster's hind leg. His boots slammed against its craggy surface, sending a shockwave up its body as he sprinted up its back, sword carving arcs of light through the dust-filled air. Each strike hit with explosive force, searing the creature's rocky flesh and sending molten debris raining down below.
On the other side, Claudia followed his lead. With a powerful leap, she grabbed hold of the freak's opposing leg, her body wreathed in blazing energy. Her fists slammed into its hide like battering rams, each impact leaving deep, scorched craters in its armor.
The rest of the squad moved in sync, striking where Rodger and Claudia created openings. Franky's droids laid down suppressive fire, precision blasts hammering into the exposed weak points. Tyresse altered the creature's center of gravity just enough to throw off its footing. Lydia lobbed kinetic bombs, the shockwaves disrupting its regeneration for brief moments.
For all their precision, though, the creature endured.
Chunks of rock the size of SUVs were blasted away, but still, the beast repaired itself, its stone shifting, reforging, sealing over wounds with relentless persistence. It swiped at them with boulder-sized fists, roaring in frustration as they dodged, struck, and evaded again.
Rodger gritted his teeth. They had it locked in a stalemate—but a battle of attrition against something that could regenerate was a losing game.
They needed a new plan. Fast or it could spell disaster for the coastal city.
As if on cue, a red streak tore across the sky, slamming into the freak with a thunderous boom. Its left knee exploded in an instant, sending it crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust and debris. The impact rattled the battlefield, but for the Freak Hunters, the sudden arrival wasn't a surprise—it was expected.
Niña, Rodger's third-in-command, was the first to spot him. If Claudia was his right hand, then Niña was undoubtedly his left. Her sharp eyes landed on the red-clad figure standing just a few meters away, relaxed yet poised for combat.
Bruce—The Red Valiant.
His armor was as dramatic as ever, looking like something straight out of a kid's hero show. A sleekly angled crest crowned his helmet, broad shoulder pieces flared outward, and form-fitting plates lined his frame. The blue scarf draped over his back fluttered slightly in the breeze, adding just the right touch of theatrics.
"Bruce! You're late. What kept you?" Niña's tone carried the exasperation of a scolding mother.
"I… uh, had a prior engagement when I got the call." His voice projected smoothly from the helmet's speakers.
"Oh yeah?" Niña smirked. "Think she'll still see you after bailing?"
Bruce sighed. "I really thought we were hitting it off, but then I get the call. And she hits me with the whole 'it's me or your job' ultimatum. And, well… a kaiju-class freak hanging a few blocks from my siblings' school? Kinda a no-contest situation."
"Brutal," Niña said, shaking her head. "Maybe the next one will understand the whole 'city-saving' thing."
"Fingers crossed." Bruce cracked his knuckles, shifting his stance. "Anyway, what's the situation?"
As if to answer, the freak let out a guttural roar, reassembling its shattered knee with unnatural speed. Its form was beginning to shift—its rocky exterior morphing into something eerily The ground trembled as a blinding streak of lightning slammed into the freak's massive chest, searing a shallow, smoldering crater into its flesh. The force sent the creature careening into a nearby building, which collapsed under a weight its engineers had never anticipated. For a moment, the freak sat there, stunned—like a dazed child in a ball pit.
Bruce followed the crackling energy trail to its source, landing on Rodger, whose face barely concealed his irritation. Under normal circumstances, his lightning would have ended the fight—or at least left more of a mark.
Rodger's voice cut through the team comms, calm despite the chaos. "Alright, it's clear we're doing little more than tickling this thing. It keeps regenerating, which means the real body is buried deep inside. I'd really like to avoid leveling a whole city block just to stop it, so if anyone has a plan that won't give me a headache later, now's the time."
The comms crackled with muttered curses and ragged breaths as the team fought to keep the freak contained.
Franky, their robotics expert, chimed in, his thick Southern drawl always a strange contrast to the machines he controlled. "If y'all can keep it busy, I can have my drones scan it. There's still a person in there, and living things all got weaknesses."
Bruce's visor flickered as his own scan began processing. "Don't have to tell me twice to rough up a freak. Now let's make something we can work with."
His armor shifted in response, metal plates locking into place as a plasma cannon formed around his fist. Without hesitation, he unleashed a volley of searing blasts, hammering the freak's torso. As it staggered, he turned to Claudia and Niña, instinct and years of teamwork guiding his next words.
"Alright," he said, grinning beneath his helmet. "Let's crack this thing open."
The freak lurched back to its feet, rubble cascading from its form as it shed unnecessary mass. Then it lashed out, wild and thoughtless—massive claws slicing through the air, chunks of ruined buildings hurled like artillery shells. The team moved with precision, weaving through the chaos, their coordination a stark contrast to the freak's lumbering ferocity.
Bruce sprinted up its arm, plasma fire blasting craters into its flesh with every step. Meanwhile, Niña and Claudia flanked from behind, dodging the creature's stomping feet—one strike nearly crushing them both, if not for Claudia's unnatural strength carving a tunnel straight through its flesh.
"Ay, carajo... that was close!" Niña cursed as she scrambled after Claudia, who tore through the freak with all the force of a flaming Hercules.
"I hope you got enough grenades for planting, hun," Claudia grunted, her voice rough like gravel—an old injury and years of bad habits packed into every word.
She led the charge, pounding a series of deep holes into the freak's back as they ascended its spine like mountain goats scaling a cliff. Each hole was filled with an explosive from Niña's bag, and moments later, as the wounds began to seal, the charges detonated in a cascading eruption.
The freak's massive tail was obliterated in a deafening explosion, reduced to little more than shredded stoney flesh and molten bone.
For a moment, it seemed like they had won.
Then, just as before, the freak began to reform.
"Qué loco… nothing we throw at it is working!" Niña spat, frustration thick in her voice.
And then came the sound they all dreaded—the crash of another building reduced to rubble, followed by the wet, sickening crunch of flesh and bone. A scream, sharp and pained, cut short.
One of their newest teammates.
Gone.
Silence gripped the hunters, a wave of cold washing over them, sinking deep into their bones. The harsh reality of the job had struck once again.
And the fight wasn't over yet.