Lenny - the smallest silhouette, blonde fringe messy, coat sleeves too long for his arms - had his eyes shut tight. His fists were clenched, but his body didn't budge. He was still a boy. Still smaller than Amina. Still human-shaped. Still disappointingly feeble.

They needed him in his other form so they could get their plan in motion.

"So," Zeke whispered with a lopsided grin, leaning closer, "Is he trying to hulk out?"

He had never seen Lenny in his other form, so he couldn't help but be a little sceptical, though he had seen so many weird mutants he knew everything was possible. Zeke also doubted that he would be able to hang with these freaks unless he was also one.

Lenny exhaled sharply, eyes still closed. "I swear I'm trying-"

Amina interrupted softly, "Elara said it was surface-level. Part of your ability remains even in human form. That means you should be able to transform at will. Just… give it a second."

They all remembered her exact words: "Any sudden emotional spikes or adrenaline surges could override the suppressant. So if you get angry-"

How could they not? It was hilarious and similar to a comic book favourite.

Maybe all he needed was a nudge to spark a reaction...

Kai scratched his jaw, half-smirking. "Struggling to perform is normal, Lenny. I don't think Amina would mind, even if-"

His words stopped dead.

Not because of awkwardness.

Not because of decency.

But because green scales began rippling up Lenny's neck like mould growing in fast-forward.

The first audible click came from Lenny's spine. A metallic snap that sounded like someone cracking a glow stick, but wetter, deeper, bone-deep. Then came another. Then another. Disturbing cracks like scaffolding collapsing inside flesh. His skin split at the seams with emerald sheen as thick plates of green scale pushed outward.

Crunch.

Rip.

Tear.

His clothes shredded and stretched over expanding muscle. Buttons pinged off like fired shells. Zeke instinctively ducked, but the rest simply watched, a mixture of awe and familiarity settling in their eyes like an old, uncomfortable friend.

Zeke was gobsmacked. "WHAT THE-"

"Keep your voice down!" Nadya hissed, shoving his shoulder.

"No one told me the kid was a bloody dragon!"

"He's not a dragon," Kai corrected. "He's clearly just a big lizard."

Lenny now towered over them, but he was still the same timid youth, a sheepish smile on his face. His heart thumped loud enough that the ground itself seemed aware of the transformation.

"Right," Kai said, standing slowly, brushing off leaves. "Now we begin."

Lenny turned his yellow gaze toward Kai, narrowing them in anger, scales rasping faintly like armour grinding.

Kai raised both hands in mock surrender. "Hey, it was just a joke to help with your transformation."

Lenny grunted - a low rumble like an idling engine.

Then he turned his head toward Amina.

Amina's face was flustered, red, embarrassed - but her smile? Reassuring. Soft. Genuine. A smile that whispered louder than words ever could: 'I'm here. You're not alone. Now let loose'

"Good job," she said simply.

And the giant lizard felt his heart melt.

Literally. His tail thumped once, like a dog wagging a bat. The reassurance grounded him, even if only emotionally. They all had monstrous powers. But she? She had monstrous emotional timing.

And now with Lenny ready to go, the others mentally prepared themselves for the chaos about to ensue.

-

Meanwhile, inside the Pentagon, the atmosphere was clinical tension mixed with confusion.

A massive operating room buzzed with AMC personnel in green camouflage uniforms, guns raised, postures drilled, voices hushed with military discipline. Screens flickered with light, casting long shadows over their equipment.

"Sir!" one of the operatives barked. "The suspicious figures remain in the vicinity. They seem to be mutants planning an attack. Permission to eliminate?"

"No."

The response came from the head of the room.

A massive old man, face withered with age, wrinkled skin carved like dried riverbeds. Grey hair cropped short, scruffy stubble peppering his jaw like steel wool dragged across sandpaper. But his body? Anything but old. Tall. Muscular. Broad enough to make doors consider resigning from existence when he walked through them.

General Thomas Caldwell.

Leader of the Anti-Mutant Corp (AMC). A military man his entire life. Decades before the Z Virus outbreak. One of the most powerful men in the USA, and even the world, sitting at the head of one of the Association's largest military units.

A man who despised mutants.

A man who commanded mutant-killing squads armed with advanced weaponry.

A man who now sat watching mutants approach his fortress because Nyx bloody told him to.

Another subordinate leaned forward nervously. "Sir, what about the dome? It stays up at all times. Only allows AMC operatives within Pentagon grounds. But now? You're letting intruders in."

"What's going on?" another asked, clearly uneasy.

Caldwell sighed, rubbing his temple. "Prepare the defences."

That was it.

No elaboration.

No reassurance.

No speech about honour.

Because honour had left the room when Nyx took control.

They were confused, but orders were absolute.

The dome, the ultimate AMC defence tech, was down. Most forces were also deployed offshore or to other bases. Only limited defences remained, exactly as Nyx instructed the general.

The operatives filed out to execute orders without further protest, boots thudding in sync.

"Secret training drill?" one muttered in a thick Eastern European accent.

"Maybe," another replied. "And what can those few people do anyway? Unless they're high-tier mutants, they can't do much."

Another voice chimed in, casual, unconcerned. "The Hunter said it clearly. Doesn't matter how powerful a mutant is. They're still human. Still killable."

But it wasn't a drill.

It was a stage production directed by a man eating popcorn in the sky.

Caldwell lit a cigar slowly, flame flickering against his hardened jawline. The scent of smoke coiled upward like a tether pulling his thoughts into darker places.

'That bastard Nyx. What is he up to?' His fists clenched. Rage simmered. But his feet stayed planted.

He'd only received one message: "I'm running a practical assessment. Send out most of your forces. Leave limited defences and take down the dome. Then watch the show without acting yourself, and I'll provide more orders when the time comes. I'll also send some forces of my own. That's all you need to know."

It was infuriating.

It was humiliating.

It was undeniably Nyx.

General Caldwell hated being controlled. Joining the Association was the worst decision he ever made. Yet here he was, reduced to a pawn in a madman's games. His authority was massive, but his freedom? Paper-thin.

'Monopoly over mutant biology. Poached every mind worth having. Controls powerful mutants like chess pieces,' Caldwell mused, teeth grinding around the cigar. 'Every ounce of tech I've used to kill mutants has his fingerprints on it. Weapons, security systems, suppressants, serums - he owns it all.'

Nyx's connections were monstrous.

His arrogance unmatched.

His control over perception itself terrifying.

And now? He was using the AMC's base of operations as the location of one of his games, watching it like it was a late-night telly event.

"I swear," Caldwell growled under his breath, "I'm going to kill that fucker one of these days."

But he exhaled.

Because dwelling on it would be pointless.

And pointless thoughts got you killed in mazes made of steel and illusion.

'I really have become the Association's dog,' Caldwell thought bitterly. 'The boy was right. But it is what it is.'

He exhaled a deep puff of cigar smoke.

'These taste like shit,' he grumbled silently. 'But oh well.'

He preferred cheap cigarettes. But fancy cigars were what he had now. Fancy cigars and fancy shackles and fancy helplessness.

'No point crying over spilt milk,' he reminded himself, blowing another smoke ring. 'Let's just watch whatever show that mad bastard has prepared.'

And so the general sat there, eyes half-lidded, jaw set, body braced for destruction he wasn't allowed to prevent...

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