Miles away in Detroit
The air in the training compound was sharp and cold, carrying the heavy tang of metal and sweat. The ground beneath their boots was packed earth no grass, no softness, only dust rising in steady bursts with every synchronized stomp.
Rows of men moved like a single engine, their breathing low and controlled, their muscles hard from years of repetition. Commands barked across the field with the precision of gunfire, each one cutting through the dawn mist.
At the front of the third row ran a young man with faded scars ghosting along his cheek and jawline, reminders of a past torture was to be by no means forgotten. The ink of a black bird wings outstretched peeked from beneath the collar of his gray training shirt, its curves shifting with the flex of his neck.
He moved fast, knees high, rhythm steady, face expressionless. Unlike some of the others, there was no grunt, no strain only quiet focus.
The barracks loomed behind them, long low buildings with rusted tin roofs and barred windows, the kind of place that taught order through silence. Beyond the perimeter walls, a line of black pine trees stood like sentinels, separating this place from the rest of the world.
"Pick it up!" the drill sergeant roared.
The man didn't flinch. He surged forward, as if the order had been ingrained in his bones like a puppet. The rest followed in uneven bursts, struggling to match his relentless pace.
His name was Klaus, which wasn't called often. He didn't need it to be. In this place, his presence spoke louder than noise the silent one, the one whose scars had already said much about him that the others didn't dare ask about.
Around him, boots thundered, breath steamed, and the rhythm of controlled violence filled the morning air.
Klaus over the past four years since being captured had undergone series of torture in order to extract information from him and even brutal experiments in the underground labs to help foster a new batch of super humans but only 30 percent of the hundred percent was successful.
His body had undergone tremendous changes as his gait after each drill was evident. His walking pace was neither slow nor fast but his limping was something that happened time to time.
Later when the morning drill ended as it always did without applause, without relief. Just a hard stop. A command. A silence spoke louder than fatigue ever could.
Klaus slowed his pace only when the whistle blew, letting the line of men shuffle behind him, some clutching their sides, others bending at the waist to drag breath into their lungs. He didn't look back. He never did.
The drill field opened into a stretch of compacted gravel, the dull crunch beneath his boots echoing faintly in the cold air. His limp subtle but ever present appeared with each step like a ghost refusing to fade. He rolled his shoulder once, feeling the familiar stiffness from the injections they gave him days ago.
Past the barracks, down a sloping concrete path lined with iron fencing, sat a bunker almost swallowed by the earth itself. The door was thick steel, its surface scarred and pitted, guarded by two soldiers in matte black armor who didn't speak or make eye contact. Klaus pressed his hand to the scanner. The soft hiss of hydraulics answered, followed by the low thrum of heavy locks disengaging.
Inside, the world shifted.
The bunker wasn't just a structure as it was a passage. Corridors stretched deep underground, lit by pale strip lights that painted everything in shades of gray-blue. The air here smelled cleaner, colder, threaded with the faint hum of machines and distant alarms. He followed the main hall until it broke open into a hidden artery of the facility a transport corridor lined with reinforced glass walls and motion sensors.
A black armored vehicle waited at the far end. Klaus climbed in without being asked. No words exchanged as it was a routine for him over the years. No driver turned to acknowledge him. The engine purred to life, smooth and silent, and the bunker doors sealed shut behind them.
The ride was brief but the transition stark. Where the bunker was bleak and industrial, the world they emerged into was something else entirely.
The vehicle rolled through a hidden gate and onto a private road flanked by iron pines. Ahead, a mansion rose from the mist like a phantom white stone, clean lines, and tall glass panels reflecting the morning sky. Fountains flanked the circular driveway, their water catching the light in fractured bursts. But beneath the elegance was the unmistakable tension of security. Cameras tracked every movement. Unseen rifles lingered in shadows.
This was the mansion where people like Klaus were "refined." Not prisoners, not soldiers something in between. Lab rats in designer cages.
As Klaus stepped out of the vehicle, the air was sharp and still.
And then, he saw her.
Leaning casually against one of the carved stone pillars, dressed in a black tactical suit that seemed to drink in the light, stood Rose. Her hair was tied back in a sleek knot, a thin silver charm dangling from a chain around her neck. That charm wasn't decoration it was a link between them and a barrier that kept darker forces away.
She pushed off the pillar, boots tapping lightly against the marble steps. "Morning drills again," she said, her voice smooth but edged with dry amusement. "You look like hell, Klaus."
He didn't smile. He rarely did. But his gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary.
Rose walked closer, the faint scent of gun oil and wildflowers following her. "You're limping again."
He shrugged, the movement economical. "It's nothing."
Her eyes flicked briefly to the scars on his jaw, then to the heavy security doors behind him. "You keep saying that. One day it won't be nothing."
The air between them held a weight that wasn't just from their past. They were tied together not by choice, not by blood, but by something far stranger. A binding charm, old and powerful, etched into the skin beneath their collars. It tethered their energies like two ends of a chain. If one fell too deep into the darkness, the other would burn.
And in a place like this, darkness was always close.
Rose's voice softened a fraction. "They're waiting for you downstairs. Another round."
Klaus exhaled slowly, the sound thin in the cold air. Another round... Another experiment.
Without a word, he descended into the step beside her.