While Artur waged a war against the limits of his own body in the Gym, Agent Barros fought a different kind of battle—one of persuasion—deep within DAO headquarters. The Situations Room, the war room, was the polar opposite of the Gym. It was a dark amphitheater, a vacuum of silence and cold air, where the only light came from the screens and a holographic map of the city that floated at the center like a blue ghost. There, generals with more medals than hair, analysts with eyes worn thin from staring at data, and bureaucrats with the power to move armies with a digital signature decided the fate of the world.
Barros felt like a stranger there. He was a man of the field, of the street, of chaos. That room was a sanctuary of order and theory. At the head of the polished obsidian table, Director Anya Zhao presided, her face impassive. Beside her, General Madsen—a man whose jaw seemed carved from granite—represented conventional military force.
"Let's get straight to the point, Agent Barros," Madsen said, his voice a contained thunder. "Your reports on the 26th Street event are… alarmist. Dr. Thorne speaks of 'aggressive immunity' and 'reality anchors.' It sounds like science fiction. What we have, in fact, are two incursion events. The second was more violent. The solution is simple: higher walls, heavier weapons, faster containment protocols."
"With all due respect, General," Barros replied, his voice calm but edged with an intensity that drew every eye in the room, "you're comparing a pack of rabid dogs to a special forces unit. What happened on 9th Street is not what happened on 26th. This wasn't a matter of scale. It was a matter of intelligence."
Zhao raised a hand. "Agent, 'intelligence' is a strong word. Our analysis of the 9th Street event, based on the single catatonic survivor we have, suggests a frenzy. A chaotic, indiscriminate attack. What makes you believe 26th Street was different?"
"The Anomalous Asset," Barros said. "Artur. His memory isn't fragmented by trauma. He remembers tactics. Patterns. He describes an enemy that thinks. And I propose we treat his testimony not as the delusion of a victim, but as an intelligence report from a captured enemy soldier."
The idea was met with skepticism. Using the memories of an unstable civilian to dictate national military strategy was unprecedented.
"Enough theory," Barros said, frustration breaking through. "Let's test the hypothesis. I want the simulation team to load two scenarios. Scenario Alpha, based on 9th Street data. And Scenario Bravo, based on Artur's detailed testimony."
Zhao nodded, intrigued. The order was given. The lights dimmed, and the holographic city map dissolved, replaced by a perfect reconstruction of 9th Street before the incursion. Small blue points represented civilians.
"Initializing Simulation Alpha," a computer voice announced.
In the hologram, the sky turned purple. Then—chaos. Red points, representing the creatures, emerged everywhere at once. They moved without any discernible pattern, attacking the nearest blue point in a frenzy of violence. It was brutal, overwhelming—but stupid. A cluster of blue points that took shelter in a building with a single entrance survived longer, as the red points clogged the doorway, blocking one another.
"As you can see," Madsen said, "a simple bottleneck. Brute force. Predictable. With proper armament and defensive positioning, we could have inflicted significant casualties."
"Now load Scenario Bravo," Barros ordered.
The hologram reset, this time showing 26th Street. The blue points were more numerous. Artur's voice, recorded during his interrogations, began to play over the speakers—a ghostly narration for the simulation.
"The space was sick. The street stretched…"
In the hologram, a small group of blue points moved, but their relative position to the end of the street barely changed. They were trapped on a geometric treadmill. The generals exchanged confused glances.
"They didn't attack all at once," Artur's voice continued. "They tested. Sent one. Fast. To draw the noise."
A single red point appeared—fast, lethal—eliminating an isolated civilian. The resulting panic caused several other blue points to scream and scatter, revealing their positions.
"Bait," one of the analysts whispered.
"They used the environment," Artur narrated. "They came from the walls. From above."
The simulation showed red points climbing buildings, bypassing ground defenses and attacking from above. It showed them working in teams to bring down a reinforced storefront—one creature striking to crack it, two others pulling the glass free.
"That's… coordinated demolition," Madsen said, some of his certainty bleeding away.
Then the hologram focused on a single blue point that had separated from the others. A point that moved with purpose, not panic.
Artur.
"When I hurt the first one, everything changed."
The simulation shifted perspective. Now they saw the battlefield through an overlay of the creatures' "eyes." Artur—the blue point—suddenly became a blazing red signal. All other civilians vanished from their radar. The entire horde's targeting priority shifted in an instant.
"My God," Zhao said. "They marked him. Identified the threat."
What followed was a display of counterinsurgency tactics that turned the generals' blood cold. The red points no longer attacked recklessly. They formed a perimeter. Used feints to probe Artur's defenses. Sent agile units to flank him while heavier units blocked escape routes. They tried to separate him from his weapon, targeting the axe's handle. They communicated, adapted, learned with every move he made.
The simulation ended with the image of Artur standing over three dead Alphas, surrounded by the bodies of dozens of lesser creatures.
The silence in the war room was absolute. General Madsen stared at the frozen hologram, his face pale.
"They're not a pack of dogs," he said, his voice low, filled with a new and terrible understanding. "They're an infantry unit."
"They're evolving," Thorne said, having entered the room without anyone noticing. "The 9th Street event was a probe. 26th Street was the first tactical strike. They learned from their failures. They're getting better. Faster. Smarter."
The revelation hung in the room, heavy and suffocating. This wasn't a natural disaster.
It was an enemy.
An enemy that thought, that strategized, that was learning war faster than they were.
Zhao broke the silence, her pragmatic voice now edged with urgency. "If you were an intelligent enemy, Barros—and you failed to eliminate a high-priority target in a test zone—what would your next move be? You wouldn't try again in the same place. You'd escalate. You'd strike a higher-value target. A strategic one."
Barros turned to the chief simulation analyst. "Run a predictive analysis. Use the updated Bravo model. Assume the enemy's objective is no longer terror, but strategic paralysis. What are the most likely targets in the city?"
The analyst typed furiously. The holographic map returned, now layered with data: power grids, communication systems, water reservoirs, transport hubs. The AI processed variables, discarding low-impact targets. Tourist landmarks, government buildings, financial centers—eliminated. The enemy wasn't interested in symbols.
It was interested in arteries.
The map dimmed, and a single point began to pulse red—a glowing wound in the darkness.
The hologram zoomed in. It wasn't a famous skyscraper. Not city hall. It was a gray, unremarkable industrial complex in the northern district.
"What is that?" Madsen asked.
The analyst swallowed, reading the data appearing beside the pulsing point.
"It's the Northwood Central Power Substation," he said. "It feeds the entire downtown grid. Including this building."
Understanding fell over the room like a shroud. Their goal wasn't to kill civilians.
It was to turn off the lights.
"Probability of it being the next target?" Barros asked, his voice calm, eyes locked on the pulsing red point.
The analyst checked his data. Checked again. Then answered, his voice trembling just slightly.
"Ninety-two percent."
He looked at Barros, his face drained of color.
"Agent… it's not 'if' anymore."
"It's when."