– Commander, the unit is wiped out. It was an ambush. Three hostiles – Ulrich and two fighters.

  Cerberus does not raise his voice.

  – Who survived?

  – No one. Seventh was wounded by the blast. First, Second, Fourth and Sixth were killed by Ulrich’s men while attempting to evacuate Seventh.

  – Do we have the recording?

  – Yes. Sending it now.

  – Contact Fifth and Ninth. Pull them off assignment. Everyone returns to base. I’ll be there shortly.

  – Understood.

  Cerberus rises from his chair in his apartment without haste. He moves to the wardrobe, straps two fresh fuel tanks across his back, checks the valves with a practiced hand, then takes two heavy bags. Outside, he loads everything into his Jeep Wrangler Black Hawk, closes the rear hatch, and drives toward the base.

  The road is empty. Beyond the treeline, another group is already moving toward the same point.

  Gobby reaches the meeting point first – a forest clearing with a military tent half-hidden between the trees. He walks to a bucket of water without hurry and washes the blood from his face and hands, the red dissolving into diluted pink at his feet. He strips off the soaked clothes and remains in MMA leggings, a tight shirt and his shoes. Steam still rises faintly from his skin.

  Inside the tent he takes a chocolate bar and a bottle of soda, sits on the ground and empties his lungs in a slow exhale. He opens the bottle and drinks five long pulls without stopping, then unwraps the chocolate and begins to eat.

  – So, how do you feel? Deda asks from within him.

  – In films and anime, when someone kills, they feel something – relief, fear, excitement, Gobby says calmly. When we merge and kill, I feel only freedom and power. I enjoy it. Right now, I just want food.

  – You glutton, Deda laughs. I’m glad you’re not carrying anything poisonous inside you. If that changes, you tell me.

  German and Ulrich enter the clearing moments later. Ulrich studies them both, then nods once.

  – I’m proud of you. That was your baptism by fire. Not street thugs – mercenaries. Men who have taken lives for money.

  German listens with a serious, focused expression. Gobby watches him and cannot reconcile that face with the boy who used to trail after him. When Ulrich finishes speaking, German turns to Gobby; his face loosens and he lunges forward, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

  – That was insane. I was terrified. Your transformation… you’re on another level. With you, we can handle anything.

  Gobby thinks, I was wrong. He never left. The kid’s still here. He places one hand at the back of German’s head and pulls him in.

  – You surprise me more than I surprise you. You were brave. And because of your planning, it went smoothly.

  Ulrich cuts the moment short.

  – Enough. This isn’t over. German.

  German straightens.

  – I ran the analysis. We have to eliminate the entire group immediately. Soldiers are trained to retreat, assess, regroup and only then counterattack. If we let them reorganize, we lose the advantage. While Ulrich was delivering his message, I placed a tracking device on their vehicle.

  Ulrich nods.

  – Then we move. And you will enter optimal readiness again.

  Gobby raises a hand slightly.

  – Can I ask something?

  – Of course.

  – Can we stop at McDonald’s on the way? I need two Big Tasty burgers. I think I’ve lost mass.

  Deda laughs aloud inside his mind.

  Gobby rises, and only then do Ulrich and German fully understand what he meant. His body is stripped of all fat, nothing but muscle and tendon under stretched skin, veins pulsing visibly. Heat rolls off him in visible waves; the areas that endured transformation in battle are darker, brown-red, altered tissue.

  – And we should think about suits. Mine won’t survive a couple more transformations.

  Later, they are driving in a Citro?n Berlingo, Ulrich and German in the front, Gobby in the back seat. He finishes the second burger, sauce smeared across his face.

  – You’ve grown, but you’re still clumsy, Deda says.

  – Leave me alone. I’m hungry.

  – Now I understand why McDonald’s should be banned for children.

  – Why? Gobby asks around a mouthful of fries.

  – So they don’t turn into doughnuts like you.

  As the food settles, the definition softens. Muscle recedes under a returning layer of fat, veins sink back, the steam fades. His body stabilizes in its ordinary form. The transformation recedes completely.

  Gobby pinches the fold at his stomach.

  – There should be a lot of a good man. You used to say that yourself.

  The jokes fade as the kilometers pass. The engine hum replaces laughter. Each of them goes quiet. The humor dies in the car.

  They stop three hundred meters short of Cerberus’s base and cut the engine. The air tastes of metal and cold soil; the building ahead sits low and heavy behind the trees, an angular hangar with the kind of silence that only belongs to places built for men who do not want to be found. Ulrich turns in his seat and speaks without raising his voice, the tone of someone who has already run the outcome through his head.

  – Briefing. By my count there are four inside – Cerberus, one soldier, and two hackers. We won’t get in unseen, so we won’t waste effort pretending. Our main task is to break their formation. The obvious split would be Gobby on the soldier and German on the hackers, but we’re not doing that. They’re all trained contractors. Sending you alone against two would be reckless, and I won’t risk you like that.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He brings up a map on the tablet, taps the layout with a finger.

  – We enter together. German, you go to the second floor – training rooms and the armory. I’ll go for Cerberus. He’ll come to me. He won’t resist it. Gobby, you escort German to the stairs, then move to the command center. Their video surveillance runs through there. If you feel doubt, if you take an injury, you withdraw immediately and signal retreat. No heroics.

  German shifts, then lifts a hand.

  – Can I suggest something?

  – Go ahead.

  German keeps his eyes on the building, not on Ulrich.

  – My gut says we shouldn’t step onto their ground at all, especially not split up. Let’s smoke them out.

  Half an hour later the Citro?n Berlingo rolls back into position. German pours petrol into bottles and feeds strips of cloth into the necks until they sit tight and ready. Ulrich moves along the hangar wall with a jerrycan, splashing fuel across metal and concrete, creating a wet, glistening trail that clings and runs in slow lines.

  Gobby watches the preparation and then looks to German.

  – What do you need me to do?

  German goes quiet. Two minutes pass. He does not move, jaw set, running through outcomes, his gaze returning again and again to angles and distances. When he speaks, it is with the same clipped precision he uses for plans.

  – Can you get onto the roof and then inside?

  Gobby turns inward for a beat, consulting Deda. His body stills, as if listening to something just out of hearing, then he nods once.

  – I’ll try. I have an idea.

  – Good. The moment I start throwing Molotovs, you call fire and medical services. Then you get inside. Your job is to see which of the two exits they choose and break their formation before they can stabilize. Can you do it?

  Four men sit at the table – Cerberus, Fifth, Eighth and Ninth. The alarm cuts through the room without warning. Eighth and Ninth roll their chairs back to the consoles and pull up the live feeds. On the main entrance camera Ulrich stands alone before the doors. He raises one hand in a slow wave. With the other he flicks a lighter, drops it onto the fuel at his feet, and flame surges upward along the metal skin of the building. Another feed shows the boy outside, hurling Molotov cocktails against the hangar walls, glass shattering, petrol spreading, fire taking hold.

  A slow warmth spreads through Cerberus’s chest, not fear but recognition – someone has chosen to meet him in his own language.

  Cerberus watches the screens without blinking.

  – Eighth. Report.

  – We’re under attack. The base is burning.

  A smile spreads across Cerberus’s face, wide and unrestrained.

  – They’re using my own weapon against me. They know exactly how to please me. How many?

  – Two visible – Ulrich and the boy who killed First.

  – Where’s the third?

  – Unknown. Possibly outside camera coverage. He’s not inside. Motion and pressure sensors would have registered him immediately.

  Outside, Gobby’s fingers split into hooked claws as he climbs the corner seam of the structure, driving them into the metal, hauling his weight upward in short, controlled pulls.

  The feeds go black.

  Eighth’s voice tightens.

  – Visual lost. Sensors offline. They burned the transformer. Emergency power will engage in two minutes.

  Cerberus inhales as if the smoke were perfume. Excitement tightens his chest.

  – Let’s not wait. I’m already burning inside.

  The men respond instantly. Cerberus pulls on a firefighter’s suit, seals it tight at the wrists and throat.

  The others strap on body armor. Gas masks snap into place. Cerberus mounts fresh fuel tanks onto his back and lifts the flamethrower, checking the trigger pressure with his thumb. The soldier shoulders an assault rifle. The hackers draw pistols and hook three grenades each onto their vests.

  They form up without discussion – Cerberus in front, the soldier to his right, the two hackers behind. They move toward the main exit.

  Cerberus pauses at the door.

  – Ready?

  – Affirmative.

  – Eighth. Open it.

  Cerberus braces the flamethrower against his shoulder, finger tightening on the trigger. The gates roll open and they burst through in formation, ready to flood the world in blue fire. Instead they are met with strobing lights and sirens that tear through the air. Fire engines block the front. Ambulances idle behind them. Red and blue reflections fracture across their masks. Ulrich and German are nowhere in sight. The lights blind them. The sirens hammer into their skulls, drowning out everything else.

  Gobby drops from the side of the structure behind the formation, landing without a thud. He closes the distance to the two hackers in three steps, clamps both hands onto their body armour and yanks backward with full force. Their balance breaks instantly. He kicks the gate controls as he passes; the doors slam shut behind them, sealing the space.

  He launches at the first hacker like an attack dog, low and feral, teeth bared. His forearm hooks under the man’s chin, the other hand grips the shoulder harness, and he twists with his hips, ripping the spine free in a single violent wrench. Bone tears through flesh. The body collapses before it understands it is dead.

  The second hacker spins, pistol rising, but Gobby’s hand closes around his wrist and tears the arm off at the shoulder joint. The socket bursts open in blood and tendon. The man screams and fumbles for the grenade clipped to his vest with his remaining hand. He yanks the pin. Gobby grabs him by the vest, flips the body forward and hurls it away before leaping clear.

  The explosion detonates inside the hangar, metal ringing, pressure slamming outward.

  Cerberus does not look back.

  – Shoot.

  – At who? Fifth asks.

  – Everyone.

  Fifth opens fire on the firefighters, controlled bursts tearing through reflective jackets. Cerberus sweeps the flamethrower in a horizontal arc. Blue flame roars across vehicles and men alike. Firefighters burn where they stand. Protective gear ignites. Medics scatter. Sirens dissolve into screams. Order collapses into panic.

  – Advance to the vehicle. Cover my back.

  They push forward through smoke and burning foam.

  A heavy stream of fire-suppression foam slams into Cerberus from the side, coating him head to toe, dulling the flames. Ulrich stands on the platform of a fire engine, both hands on the hose, driving the stream directly at him.

  – Fifth. Eliminate him.

  Fifth pivots, rifle lifting toward Ulrich. He does not fire. His body stiffens mid-aim. A steel awl protrudes from his temple, driven clean through bone. His knees buckle and his full weight crashes forward into Cerberus, nearly taking him down.

  German emerges from behind a vehicle on the left at the moment of impact, having crossed the distance unseen. He had closed in during the turn, leapt onto Fifth’s back and driven the awl through the skull in a single downward thrust. The corpse collapses against Cerberus, forcing him to stumble.

  Cerberus stumbles, turning blindly through smoke and flashing light. In that split second he sees a metal pipe rushing straight at his face. The impact is blunt and precise. Darkness takes him before he hits the ground.

  He has no sense of how long he was gone.

  Darkness thins.

  Cerberus surfaces from unconsciousness the way a body rises through cold water – slow, heavy, reluctant. His skull throbs from the blow. His shoulders burn first, then his wrists. He tries to shift and feels the pull. His arms are bound above him. His feet barely touch concrete.

  The air is damp and stale. No sirens. No fire. No light except a single source somewhere behind the man standing in front of him.

  Ulrich.

  Cerberus lowers his chin slightly and tests the restraints again. Metal bites into skin. He looks down and sees that he is naked. There is no armor, no mask, no tanks. No control.

  Ulrich steps forward without a word. In his hand is one of Vann’s darts. He drives it into Cerberus’s torso and leaves it buried there. The puncture is clean. Cerberus feels the sting, then the chemical rush spreading through his bloodstream.

  Adrenaline.

  Ulrich turns, picks up the flamethrower, adjusts the grip of his fireproof gloves, and raises the nozzle.

  Cerberus understands the situation in full. There is no bargaining, no escape, no delayed retaliation. Only process.

  And beneath that understanding, something else unfolds – recognition. A sick anticipation. He exhales through his teeth.

  – Go on. What are you waiting for?

  Ulrich squeezes the trigger.

  The first stream ignites below Cerberus’s feet. Heat climbs before pain locks in. Skin tightens. Nerves ignite. The flame does not surge upward in a burst; Ulrich lifts it gradually, forcing the fire to travel. The soles blister first. Then calves. Then thighs. The smell of burning flesh thickens the air.

  For a moment he smiles. Then it twists into pain. The adrenaline keeps his mind sharp, keeps the signal clear. When the flame reaches his abdomen, muscle contracts violently. His breath fractures. The scream tears free and echoes off the concrete.

  An ordinary man would already be dead from the shock. He does not. The dart keeps his heart racing, keeps his brain awake inside the damage.

  The fire climbs higher. Skin splits. Fat liquefies. Muscle blackens. When the stream reaches his groin, his brain finally shuts down. His eyes lose focus. The scream cuts short. The body slackens.

  Ulrich does not stop. He opens the flow fully and burns what remains without pause. Flame consumes what remains. Only when the body ceases to respond does he release the trigger.

  The flamethrower hits the floor with a dull metallic sound.

  Ulrich turns and walks toward the stairs, the echo of his steps fading upward, leaving the basement to the smell of ash and fuel.

  In the coming days, I’ll be working on them and will add them directly into Episode 18.