Rain hammered the broken city, washing smoke from the sky.Alex moved through the ruins like a shadow, his torn jacket clinging to skin that still burned from the explosion. Every breath tasted of iron and ash.
It had been three weeks since the night his world ended.Three weeks of running, hiding, and waking to the echo of his parents' screams.
He'd escaped the crater on instinct. Whatever was inside him guided each movement, urging him toward the outskirts of the city, into the tunnels beneath the old industrial blocks.
Now, he lived among the forgotten.
The Underground was a maze of flickering lights and dripping pipes, a refuge for criminals, outcasts, and those who'd vanished from the system. To them, Alex was just another stray. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the hunters came.
He could feel them.
Sometimes at night, he heard the faint buzz of drones in the upper levels, scanning the darkness. Other times, he caught the scent, metallic, sterile, unnatural, of men who smelled like machine oil and gunpowder.
When the moon rose, his senses sharpened beyond control. Every drop of water, every whisper, every heartbeat nearby vibrated in his skull until he thought he'd go mad. That was when he started hearing it.
The voice. Low and ancient, threading through his thoughts. Run with the moon. Hunt, or be hunted.
He didn't know if it was real or if the serum had fractured his mind. But it always came before the attacks.
That night, he crouched beneath a collapsed bridge, staring into the rippling puddles below. His reflection shimmered in the dim light — pale skin streaked with grime, eyes faintly silver even in shadow. He clenched his fists, watching faint light crawl beneath his veins like living threads.
A scream echoed from the street above. Alex's head snapped up.
Footsteps. Gunfire.
He scaled the side of the bridge without thinking, moving faster than he should have been able to. His muscles reacted on their own. When he reached the top, he froze.
A woman was cornered by three armed soldiers in black armor marked with a symbol he recognized, a half-moon split by a line. Eclipse Unit.
Victor's men.
The woman raised her hands, blood running down one arm. Her voice was calm but defiant. "You're trespassing in neutral territory. Back off."
The lead soldier aimed his rifle. "Orders are clear. Subject Zero-One-Seven was spotted near this zone. You'll come with us."
"Not happening," she said.
Alex saw her reach for something, a blade hidden beneath her coat — but the soldier fired first. The round struck her shoulder, spinning her to the ground.
Something inside Alex snapped.
Before he realized it, he was already moving. He crashed into the nearest soldier with inhuman speed, his hand clamping down on the man's rifle. Metal screamed as it bent beneath his grip. He flung the soldier aside, sending him through a wall.
The other two turned their weapons on him. Bullets tore through the air. Alex twisted, ducked, and felt the world slow. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, syncing with the pulse of silver light flooding his body.
He leapt. Claws erupted from his hands. The sound of tearing armor filled the night.
When it was over, silence returned. The rain fell harder, washing the blood into the gutters.
Alex looked down at his trembling hands, coated in crimson. His breath came fast and shallow. The claws receded slowly, leaving his skin unmarked, except for the faint glow tracing his veins.
The wounded woman struggled to sit up, clutching her arm. He turned toward her, unsure what to say.
"Who are you?" she asked, voice weak but steady.
"...No one," he muttered. "Just someone passing through."
She gave a short, dry laugh. "No one doesn't rip through Eclipse soldiers bare-handed."
He hesitated, glancing toward the bodies. "They were hunting me."
She nodded, grimacing as she tore a strip of fabric to bind her wound. "Figures. Project Alpha, right?"
The words hit him like a shock. He froze. "How do you know that name?"
"Because I used to patch up the ones who didn't survive it." She stood with effort, extending a hand. "Name's Lena Rivers. Former military medic. And you're the reason half the city's on lockdown."
Alex didn't take her hand. His instincts screamed to run, but something in her tone, calm, measured, unafraid, anchored him.
"You need to get off the streets," she said. "They'll send more."
He frowned. "Why help me?"
"Because whatever they did to you, it's not your fault. And I've seen what happens to people when they get caught."
She started walking toward the shadows beneath the bridge. After a moment, Alex followed.
They reached an abandoned subway station lit by dim lanterns and flickering monitors. Supplies were stacked neatly in one corner, medical kits, food rations, and makeshift bedding.
Lena sat down and winced as she disinfected her wound. "You heal fast?"
"Faster than I should," Alex admitted.
"Good. Then maybe you'll live long enough to tell me what's really going on."
He looked away, eyes drawn to the moonlight spilling through a crack in the ceiling. It painted his skin silver.
"I don't know," he said quietly. "But they killed my parents to keep it secret."
Lena's expression softened. "Then we start there."
For the first time in weeks, Alex felt the tightness in his chest ease slightly. But far above, in a tower overlooking the city, Victor Grant watched the encounter through a drone feed.
Half his face was wrapped in black metal plating. He zoomed in on Alex's glowing veins and smiled.
"Target reacquired," he said. "Deploy the next unit. Let's see how the wolf runs."