They didn't waste time after tying up the four ambushers. Bob hefted two of them over his shoulders like sacks of rice, and Gabe and Iris dragged the other two by the collars. Sly is still quiet, still catching his breath—trailed behind them, casting nervous glances back at the fog, as if expecting more enemies to crawl out of the mist.
The Safe Zone ahead was quiet, almost too quiet, when they crossed the border. The usual curious stares followed them, whispers traveling faster than footsteps. It wasn't every day four half-conscious, bound thugs were dragged through the middle of the base.
But as they walked, the whispers sharpened.
"That's... those are members of the Red Hands, right?"
"No way. Are they crazy?"
"They're dead. They don't even know it yet."
Bob didn't care about the whispers. He wasn't carrying these guys for fun. They were going to the mayor.
And justice.
At least, that was the plan.
Sly walked a little closer to Gabe, voice low. "They'll come after you for this, you know."
"We'll live," Gabe muttered.
But Sly shook his head. "No. You don't get it. I wasn't just some random target. I overheard something I shouldn't have. That's why they want me dead."
Bob grunted. "Spit it out."
Sly hesitated, eyes darting around the street like the walls had ears. But something in Bob's expression—calm, steady, as if none of this really fazed him—made him talk.
"The Red Hands... they're not just some gang," Sly said quietly. "They're experimenting on people. Taking locals who wander too close to the fog... testing ways to control transformations. Pushing the limits. Seeing how far they can go before people lose their minds."
Iris frowned. "Why?"
"They want soldiers," Sly replied. "Stronger, faster, better. People who can stay in the fog without turning insane. Weapons they can use."
Gabe scoffed. "Great. And let me guess... the local government just lets them do whatever they want?"
Sly shook his head. "I tried reporting them once. Nothing happened—said there wasn't enough evidence. Red Hands found out I reported them and started hunting me. After that... I thought maybe if someone brought real proof, the mayor could finally act.
Sly lowered his voice. "It's not just the experiments. Some of the lower Red Hands... they've been taking girls too. Not for testing. For... other things. Even kids."
Iris's eyes sharpened. "How young?"
Sly hesitated. "Too young."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Bob adjusted the weight on his shoulder like he was carrying groceries instead of living men. "You just need the mayor now, right? Here's your evidence—Red Hands causing trouble in broad daylight."
They reached the mayor's office—a sturdy building near the center of the small base, ringed by guards pretending to be disinterested. Inside, the air smelled like polished wood and stale power.
The mayor, a middle-aged man with a perfect smile and the kind of suit that screamed I haven't worked a real job in years, stood waiting behind his desk.
"What's this?" he asked, voice smooth as silk.
"Delivery," Bob said, dropping the first thug with a satisfying thud.
"These four attacked a civilian," Iris explained, motioning to Sly. "We brought them here to be dealt with."
For a moment, the mayor said nothing. His eyes flicked from the prisoners to Sly... then to the rest of the group.
And then he smiled.
But it wasn't a thank you for your service kind of smile.
It was something else.
Bob noticed it first—the subtle shift in the guards' stance, the way they edged closer. The quiet click of doors unlocking behind them, making way for more guards to slip in.
Sly noticed it next. His face drained of color.
"No... no, this isn't right," he whispered.
The mayor's smile widened. "You should've just kept running, kid. Instead, you handed yourself straight to the Red Hands."
Iris's hand drifted toward her weapon, slow and careful. Gabe flexed his fingers.
And outside the windows, more men gathered, surrounding the building like vultures waiting for the final breath.
The whispers on the street made sense now.
Everyone had known.
Everyone except them.
Bob dropped the second thug next to the first and cracked his knuckles. "So... no reward for good behavior, huh?"
The mayor's grin didn't falter. "Oh, you'll be rewarded. You're about to meet the rest of the Red Hands. I'll even let you choose who dies first."
And Sly?
He just shook his head.
"I thought... I thought if I told the mayor, they'd help," he whispered. "But the whole base was bought. There's nowhere left to run."
Bob looked at him. Then back at the mayor.
"Run?" Bob repeated.
"Nah," he said, rolling his shoulders.
"We're not running anywhere."
The tension snapped in an instant.
Gabe moved first.
Fast.
Before anyone else could react, Gabe strikes down the closest man by the door. At the same time, Bob flipped the mayor's table and hurled it through the window. Glass exploded outward. Without stopping, he leaped through the opening, landing outside to face the men gathering around the building.
Inside the mayor's office, Gabe, Iris, and Sly held their ground. The space was tight, leaving only a few enemies able to enter at once.
Inside, the first attackers pushed through the door. Gabe met them head-on, slamming his fist into the nearest man's face and driving him back. Another tried to slip past, but Gabe caught him with an elbow and threw him into the wall.
Sly jumped in to help, swinging wildly, but a kick to his chest sent him sprawling to the floor. He groaned, clutching his ribs. Iris dragged him back, keeping him out of the way while throwing quick strikes to slow anyone who got too close.
The office filled with shouts and the scrape of boots, but the tight space worked in their favor. Only a few could enter at a time, and Gabe blocked them all.
Outside, Bob hit the ground running. He plowed into the first man without slowing down, knocking him flat. Another swung a pipe, but Bob ducked and drove his shoulder into the man's stomach, sending him crashing against the wall. He moved fast, clearing a small gap, keeping the pressure off the building.
"Bang!"
A gunshot rang out, and the fight suddenly stopped. For a moment, everything held still—inside and out.
Bob's head snapped toward the window. Inside, he saw Gabe stumble as a red stain bloomed across his leg.
"Bang!" The second shot hit his shoulder, spinning him back and dropping him hard to the floor.
Iris ran toward Gabe, but one of the Red Hands blocked her path. She tried to push past him, but his slap came fast and brutal, sending her crashing to the floor.
Sly moved on instinct, ready to help, but the gun aimed at him cracked against his face before he got far. He dropped to the floor, dazed and bleeding.
Before Iris could get up, a gun pressed hard against her head.
"Pretty thing like you? Shame to waste you on the spot," the man sneered.
Outside, the street had gone silent. Citizens peeked from windows and doors, but no one moved to help. No one dared. They knew better.
And still... Bob stood there.
Quiet.
Unmoving.
From inside the office, one of the Red Hands laughed, his voice sharp and mocking.
"You should stop now, big guy. You move, and we put your friends in the ground."
Bob didn't respond. He didn't have to.
His eyes shifted—not to the window, not to the man barking threats, not even to his injured friends.
Instead, he looked at the massive meteor fragment sitting just in front of the mayor's office, half-buried in the ground, only a few steps away from him. Boulder-sized, with nothing but a flimsy blockade and a faded "Do Not Cross" sign around it—the only thing keeping the Pink Fog back.
This was their safe zone.
Without a word, Bob turned and walked toward the fragment.
Shouts erupted from inside the building.
"Hey! Stop!"
Too late.
Bob wrapped his arms around the meteor fragment, muscles bulging as the ground cracked beneath his feet. With a roar, he tore it free and hoisted it into the air like it weighed nothing.
And then he threw it.
High. Hard.
The fragment smashed into the street a few meters away, tumbling end over end before skidding to a stop.
It landed with a deafening crash, splitting into dozens and dozens of jagged shards that scattered like glass across the pavement. And as the pieces flew, the unthinkable happened.
The Safe Zone's barrier flickered.
Then it collapsed.
The Pink Fog surged in.
A wall of it. Thick. Heavy. Alive.
And in that same moment, Bob changed.
The Goliath returned.
His body swelled, skin darkening, muscles expanding, horns curling upward. And his eyes—those calm, sleepy eyes—lit with something no one had seen before.
Pure, unchecked fury.
The men who'd been so brave just seconds before, surrounding him, started backing away.
"What the... what is he?" one whispered.
But Bob didn't answer. He moved.
Fast.
In one stride, he was back inside the mayor's office.
The man who shot Gabe didn't even have time to beg. Bob's fist crashed into his chest, launching him through the wall and out into the street.
The one who slapped Iris? Same fate. Bob grabbed him by the ankle and swung him into a pillar, snapping it clean in half before tossing the man through the nearest window.
"STOP HIM!" someone screamed.
They tried.
The men inside fired first, but their guns jammed on the spot. The Pink Fog had already slipped in, eating away at the triggers, leaving nothing but useless metal.
Outside, some tried rushing in with pipes and blades to help the ones inside. But others turned and ran, too scared to face whatever Bob had become.
But it didn't matter.
Bob was already on them.
The mayor didn't even get to run. Bob's hand wrapped around his torso, and with one smooth motion, tore him clean in half.
Panic rippled through the room.
The survivors scattered in all directions, sprinting through alleys and broken streets, searching for any route that led away from the spreading fog. Some headed east, hoping to reach the next safe zone before the symptoms hit. Others ran north, chasing rumors of a hidden shelter in the mountains.
They knew the clock had started—six hours before the change began, maybe less if the fog soaked too deep. And without a white fragment or meteor shard to cleanse them, the safe zones' barriers would reject them entirely. The fog would strip them down before they even got close. Behind them, the pink haze rolled on, slow and steady, swallowing the small base piece by piece.
Gabe, still on the floor, watched through bleary eyes as Bob tore the office apart.
"Guess... that's one way to handle it," he muttered.
Iris knelt beside him, checking his wounds. "Stay still. And wait for your transformation."
As they remained engulfed in the Pink Fog, something unexpected unfolded.
Gabe's body started changing.
Muscles rippled under his skin as feathers pushed through his arms. His injured shoulder... it moved. The muscle twisted and flexed around the embedded bullets. And then—pop—one bullet slid free, clinking on the floor. Then another. His body rejected them, healing over in seconds.
Iris watched in awe as the holes closed like nothing had happened.
"Looks like the fog's doing the work for us," Gabe said through gritted teeth as his beak reformed.
Across the room, Bob finally slowed. The last of the Red Hands lay scattered—unconscious, broken, or worse. The Goliath form loomed over the wreckage, his chest heaving.
Then he turned back toward his friends.
Saw Gabe sitting up.
Saw Iris helping him stand.
And Bob smiled.
A big, dumb, relieved smile.
"Good," he rumbled. "Didn't want to wreck the whole place for nothing."
And for the first time in a long while, Gabe laughed.
Even in the middle of the fog.
Even standing in the ruins of a base that had just tried to kill them.
What was once the mayor's office was now nothing but ruins, the surrounding buildings crushed and broken. Everything else had been swallowed by the Pink Fog—quiet and unstoppable.
The small base that was once a safe zone was gone. Completely erased.