All the recruits turned toward the massive stone gate as it rumbled open. From within, five men emerged. They were mountains of muscle, their eyes cold, their presence sharp enough to make the air itself feel heavier.
One look was enough for Sylar—and for everyone present—to understand that these were super-soldiers.
At the head of the group walked a giant. He stood well over two and a half meters tall, with a mane of gray hair and a beard streaked with silver. A long, jagged arc of a scar crossed his left eye, leaving the pupil milky and blind.
That was not the only mark of violence he bore. His left arm ended abruptly below the elbow, the stump sealed and protected by a metallic plate.
None of these injuries diminished him. If anything, they made him appear even more terrifying—proof that he had survived battles powerful enough to maim him, yet he still refused to die.
