Hannah wiped the blood of her nose with the back of her hand.

  "Wanna go?!" she roared, voice raw with defiance.

  John didn't waste a second. He charged straight at her, a blur of raw fury, slamming into the nearest rack of drugs and serums. Glass exploded outward, liquid splattering across the floor in iridescent puddles that hissed and smoked on contact with the concrete.

  Hannah grunted as she fought to break free of his grasp, muscles straining, teeth clenched. John's fists rained down—countless, relentless, each blow heavier than the last. She threw her hands up, blocking the barrage, but the impact rattled her bones, sent shockwaves up her arms.

  Hannah kicked hard, her boot connecting with John's groin. He doubled over instantly, hands shooting down to clutch the agony, breath exploding out of him in a strangled gasp.

  She jabbed fast—once, twice—John's head snapping back with each strike. Then she shoved, using every ounce of leverage. His body crashed against the far wall, the impact cracking tiles and sending dust cascading down.

  Before he could rise, Hannah lunged, fingers twisting into his hair. She yanked his head up and delivered a powerful right hook. Blood sprayed in a wide arc, splattering the walls and pooling on the ground in thick, dark drops.

  John shoved her off with a savage roar and rammed forward again. Hannah dodged at the last possible instant. His head punched straight into the wall, embedding for a heartbeat—long enough for her to hammer him again.

  She smashed the back of his skull with her fist, then seized his shoulders and drove an uppercut into his jaw. John's teeth clicked together with a sickening crack.

  He threw a blind, wild shot. Hannah slipped it easily, already coiling for another charge—until something in her instincts screamed wrong.

  "If I had struck him just now, I would've been critically wounded… or worse… dead…" she murmured to herself, the realization chilling her spine.

  "What's your name?" John asked, the words coming out hesitant, almost dangerous, as if speaking them might summon something worse.

  "John… it's me. You don't remember?" Hannah's voice cracked, just a fraction, the first hint of fear slipping through.

  WHACK!

  John's fist smashed into her jaw. She had let her guard drop for that single heartbeat. The blow sent her crashing to the floor. A thick puddle of blood poured from her mouth as she clutched her jaw, trying to hold it in place.

  "Hannah!" Benjamin exclaimed, stirring awake from where he'd been knocked unconscious moments earlier.

  "You all. Get out. Now. He's gonna kill us all," Hannah gasped, raising a trembling hand to stop Benjamin from stepping closer.

  John lifted her by the neck, fingers like iron bands. He leaned in, breath hot against her ear. "I told you, you're gonna regret being with them."

  Aya fired the gun—the same neuro-disruptive weapon she had used on Knox earlier.

  "HNGH!" John grunted in pain, but he didn't drop. He didn't even stagger. In the space of a blink, he erased the distance between them. Before Aya could lower the weapon, John was simply there, as if he had teleported.

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  Hannah's body hit the ground with a wet thud, her eyes fixed on the back of John's head.

  He snatched the gun from Aya's hand without even glancing at it, then kicked her square in the chest. The impact lifted her off her feet and slammed her unconscious against a console.

  Milo roared and charged, lightsaber humming in his grip—the one Benjamin had wielded earlier. John caught him by the throat mid-swing, lifted him like a rag doll, and hurled him across the hallway. Milo's body smashed into the far wall with a sickening crunch.

  Mitch and Emma tried to sneak up on John, but he reacted instantly, swinging his fist once. Emma's head cracked against the wall and she dropped to the floor, out cold. Mitch ran over to check on her, but a shadow suddenly fell over them both. He turned around — and the world went black.

  John turned to Benjamin. For the first time, real fear flickered across the rebel leader's face. He didn't charge. He didn't run. He simply stood, trying to mask the terror in his eyes.

  "I can smell it on you," John said, a wicked smile curling his lips, "the lingering smell of fear."

  "Shut up!" John snapped his head toward empty air, snarling at nothing.

  Benjamin stared, confused. John was arguing with no one.

  John spun fully around, shouting at phantoms only he could see. "I know what to fucking do!" he yelled at someone on his left.

  "No! You think I'm sparing these fucking scummy traitors?!" he bellowed at someone on his right.

  Benjamin seized the moment. He backed away slowly, eyes never leaving John, praying the imaginary argument would last long enough.

  But the instant Benjamin looked away, John was already in front of him.

  "W-What…?"

  One punch. Benjamin's world went black.

  Hannah finally snapped her jaw back into place with a sickening pop. She found the Alfies hiding behind a shattered cabinet and gripped their shoulders tight.

  "Listen, I need you guys to find a weapon here—any kind of weapon that you think can help us defeat John. I'm sorry, but I can't kill John myself. For some reason… he's so strong," Hannah whispered urgently, voice low and strained.

  "Oh my god… I knew we shouldn't have come…" Alfie Jr. whispered, voice trembling.

  "This isn't happening… this isn't happening…" Alfie Sr. repeated, eyes wide.

  Hannah grunted, lifting their chins and slapping them both—not hard enough to knock them out, but sharp enough to shock them back to the present.

  "You guys are my only fucking hope! Don't sell this or we'll all die! Trust me, I've got a harder job to do than you two! So just fucking do it!" she hissed angrily.

  They both nodded frantically, terror overriding everything else.

  "Now to actually kill you guys…" John walked over to Benjamin's motionless body first. His foot rose, ready to crush the lungs beneath it.

  "I'm still alive, asshole!" Hannah shouted.

  John turned. A fist flew toward his face—WHACK! His head snapped sideways from the force of her punch.

  He flew straight at her, crashing through multiple walls in a shower of debris before Hannah wrenched free and punched him again.

  John threw a savage right hook. Hannah blocked it and answered with an uppercut. He kicked her leg out from under her the moment she committed to the strike. She stumbled. John drove his fist into her chest.

  "Ugh! I missed her solar plexus!" he grunted in frustration.

  Hannah knew the truth: John wasn't fighting with skill anymore—he was simply throwing lethal attacks with no defense. But those attacks were still far deadlier than hers.

  She reacted instantly, whipping a torn lab coat into his face, blinding him for a split second. A rear hook followed by a lead uppercut. Then she struck his solar plexus with everything she had.

  John gasped, air exploding from his lungs. Hannah didn't stop. She boxed his ears with a deafening clap—the strike designed not to bruise, but to shatter. John's world became a piercing scream of white noise as his eardrums buckled under the trapped pressure.

  "AHH!!" he screamed, clutching his ears while still gasping for breath.

  Alfie Sr. and Junior burst from cover, Junior clutching a glowing baton-like weapon they had scavenged.

  "Use this! We don't know if this is gonna work or not but just give it a shot!" Junior shouted, hurling it to her.

  Hannah caught it. Before John could rise, she slammed the glowing stick against his chest.

  John's entire body snapped rigid as electricity tore through his nerves.

  "WHAT THE FUCK?!" he roared in fury and agony.

  She kept slamming the weapon into him, over and over. Slowly, the shocks disrupted his nervous system, locking his muscles. John's movements grew sluggish, then froze entirely.

  "ARGHH!!!" he screamed as the current overwhelmed him.

  Hannah pounded his face while Alfie Sr. kept the baton pressed against his chest. John felt his life slipping away with every blow.

  "Hannah! Someone's coming!" Junior shouted.

  Hannah froze, ears straining. He was right—the elevator was descending slowly to this floor.

  "Shit… we need to hide!" she hissed, dragging the unconscious bodies of her allies toward the nearest experiment lab.

  They barricaded themselves inside just as the elevator dinged open on the floor.

  Five executives stormed out, weapons raised, eyes widening at the devastation.

  "What the fuck happened here…?" one muttered.

  John rose—slowly, painfully. Blood poured from him in rivers. In his fractured mind, no one was human anymore. Only objects to destroy.

  He charged the nearest executive. Another tackled him from the side. They swarmed him instantly, fists and boots raining down. John's vision darkened. He felt nothing. Every blow landed with brutal finality.

  …

  John woke to the metallic stench of blood. It coated everything—his hands, his clothes, the floor. The entire laboratory had become a slaughterhouse: a river of crimson, scattered guts, shattered bones, and unrecognizable body parts strewn across the tiles.

  "What the fuck…?" he whispered, staring at his own blood-soaked hands. He had no memory of what he had done. He didn't know if any of this was real.