The sterile, cold walls of the containment cell loomed over Mike, their unyielding gray surface a stark reminder of his imprisonment. He paced back and forth, his movements sharp and agitated, the weight of his anguish growing heavier with every step. The air in the cell felt suffocating, thick with the stench of antiseptic and despair. His thoughts churned with a bitter rage, a force that had been simmering for weeks and now threatened to consume him entirely.

  Pain had become a constant companion, the price of the transformation that had reshaped him into a weapon—a perfect hunter. But the agony of his altered body paled in comparison to the raw torment of his grief. The anger that burned within him was no longer aimless. It had found a target: revenge.

  The news that shattered him arrived like a knife to the gut, a revelation so cruel that it left him breathless. His family—the people he had loved, fought for, and dreamed of seeing again—were dead. They had been killed in the Battle of Death, their lives extinguished in the chaos unleashed by the Black Angel and High Rise Devil.

  Mike had endured unimaginable suffering in the name of survival, but the loss of his family was a wound too deep to heal. They weren’t just casualties of war; they were victims of a twisted game, pawns in a massacre orchestrated by forces beyond his control. His parents had been among the first to fall, their deaths swift and merciless.

  The news came from a desperate survivor—a former criminal who had clung to life long enough to relay the grim fate of Mike’s family. The man’s words were a dagger to Mike’s heart. The revelation left him numb at first, his mind struggling to process the weight of the truth. But numbness soon gave way to rage, a fury so intense that it threatened to consume him.

  His parents were gone. Their names, their faces, their laughter—everything he had cherished—were lost in the ashes of a ruined city. Their deaths weren’t accidents; they were the deliberate result of a world gone mad. The Black Angel and High Rise Devil had done this, and they had done it without remorse.

  Mike’s grief transformed into something else—a fire that burned hotter with every passing moment. The rage was no longer just an emotion. It became his purpose, his fuel, his weapon.

  Standing in the center of his stark white containment cell, he stared at the dull metal table and the cold steel bed, their lifeless presence mocking him. The facility that housed him had been his prison for far too long, a place where his humanity had been stripped away piece by piece. The experiments, the pain, the relentless trials—they had reshaped him into something unrecognizable.

  "They'll pay for this," he growled, his voice low and venomous.

  His fists clenched, his long talons digging into his palms as he envisioned the faces of his enemies. He had become stronger, faster, more lethal than anyone could have imagined. The scientists who had tampered with his body had created a predator, and now, they would reap the consequences of their actions.

  The door to his containment cell stood as a symbol of his captivity—a heavy, reinforced steel barrier designed to hold even the most dangerous of creatures. But Mike was no longer a prisoner. He was a force of nature, an apex predator on the hunt.

  With a swift motion, his talons slashed through the door’s locking mechanism. Sparks flew as the metal groaned under the pressure of his strength. The barrier buckled and gave way, the sound of its collapse echoing through the sterile corridors of the facility. Mike stepped through the opening, his movements fluid and purposeful.

  The halls beyond were eerily silent, their stark lighting casting long shadows that danced with each flicker of the fluorescent bulbs. Mike moved with the precision of a hunter, his enhanced senses guiding him. Every sound, every shift in the air, was amplified, feeding his awareness.

  He encountered his first obstacle—a guard rounding the corner, his footsteps hesitant. Before the man could react, Mike struck. His talons tore through flesh with ruthless efficiency, silencing the guard before he could raise an alarm. The body slumped to the floor, a lifeless reminder of Mike’s newfound lethality.

  There was no hesitation in his actions, no flicker of doubt. Each step brought him closer to his goal. The Black Angel and High Rise Devil were out there, and they would pay for the lives they had destroyed.

  The facility was vast, a labyrinth of corridors and locked doors, but Mike’s instincts guided him. He moved like a shadow, his presence felt but never seen. The scientists and guards he encountered were mere obstacles, dispatched with cold precision. Blood stained his path, a trail of vengeance that marked his escape.

  Finally, he reached the heart of the facility. The final barrier stood before him—a reinforced steel door, bolted shut and seemingly impenetrable. But Mike was no longer bound by the limits of human strength. With a growl that resonated through the halls, he drove his talons into the door. Metal screamed in protest as he tore it apart, piece by piece, until the way was clear.

  Beyond the door lay freedom. The world outside stretched into the darkness, vast and unfamiliar. The cold night air hit him like a wave, carrying with it the scent of earth and freedom. For a moment, he stood still, his chest heaving as he took in his surroundings.

  But there was no time for hesitation. The hunt had begun.

  The Black Angel and High Rise Devil were his targets, and nothing would stand in his way. Mike’s mind was set, his purpose clear. They had taken everything from him, but they had made one fatal mistake: they had left him alive.

  As he stepped into the darkness, the transformation within him was complete. He was no longer the man who had entered the facility weeks ago. He was something more—something darker, deadlier.

  His red eyes gleamed in the moonlight, a testament to the predator he had become. The fire of vengeance burned within him, guiding his every move. The world may have fallen apart, but Mike had found his purpose.

  He would hunt them down. He would make them pay.

  And this time, there would be no escape.

  The night air tasted different to Mike—crisp, alive with the sharp tang of ozone, the kind of air that only existed outside the sterile walls of a containment facility. His heightened senses were alive, attuned to the world around him. He could hear the distant hum of city life, the faint rustling of leaves in the wind, and the soft thrum of his own pulse. Everything felt amplified, magnified by the brutal transformation he had undergone. The world seemed more vibrant, more detailed, yet every shadow seemed to whisper of danger.

  The taste of freedom, however fleeting, stirred something deep within him. But there was no time to savor it, no time to bask in the sense of liberation. He had a mission, a singular, consuming goal that he could not ignore. The Black Angel and High Rise Devil were still out there, and the thought of their freedom, their escape from the carnage, ignited a new flame of rage within him.

  They had done it. They had survived the Battle of Death, slipping away from the wreckage of Haelgar like ghosts, leaving behind a city destroyed and families broken. His family—his parents—had been among the countless victims. Their names would never be more than whispers in the wind, a footnote in the tragic history of Haelgar. And Mike had been left with nothing but a thirst for vengeance, a hunger that would only be quenched by their blood.

  But there was a problem—an undeniable truth that gnawed at him even as he began to move forward. They were long gone. The Black Angel and High Rise Devil had escaped, vanishing into the night like specters. No one knew where they had gone, what they had planned, or if they would ever return to finish what they had started. Their names had become legends, their deeds whispered about in hushed tones, but the two killers were nowhere to be found.

  Mike had been left in the wake of their destruction, a broken man, transformed into a living weapon, with nothing but his grief and his rage to drive him forward. But with their escape, there was no clear path. There was no one to lead him to them. They had planned for their escape long before the city had fallen, leaving behind nothing but a trail of destruction and bodies. The world had shifted into a place he barely recognized, where shadows moved like monsters and even the most hardened killers were nothing but prey.

  His talons clicked on the concrete beneath his feet as he walked through the deserted streets, the flickering streetlights casting long, eerie shadows across the wreckage. Buildings that once stood as symbols of power now lay in ruins, their facades shattered, their skeletons standing like tombstones to a forgotten age. The smell of burning metal and decay hung in the air, the stench of the battle that had consumed Haelgar.

  He had no clear destination, no map to follow. The city was a maze of crumbling streets and hidden passageways, a labyrinth of destruction that mirrored his fractured mind. Yet, even in the chaos, his instincts guided him—his body honed to hunt, to track, to kill. The world had changed, but his purpose had not. He would find them, no matter the cost.

  In the distance, a sound broke the silence—a low rumble, the sound of tires on cracked pavement. Mike’s red eyes narrowed, and he instinctively crouched low, his senses straining to identify the source. A convoy of vehicles appeared around the corner, moving with precision, their engines growling in the stillness of the night. They were mercenaries, hired hands, no doubt hired to secure what was left of the city’s broken infrastructure or perhaps to protect the remnants of Haelgar’s leadership.

  Mike’s claws flexed, his lips curling into a snarl. Mercenaries weren’t the Black Angel or High Rise Devil, but they were a distraction—another obstacle to eliminate. He could feel his blood heat with the anticipation of violence, his body primed for action. It wasn’t enough just to kill them; he wanted them to know that he was no longer the same man they had once known. He was a predator now, a force beyond their comprehension.

  He waited in the shadows, watching as the convoy approached. The vehicles slowed as they neared a makeshift barricade, a group of survivors attempting to set up a perimeter in what remained of the city. The convoy’s lead vehicle came to a halt, and figures spilled out onto the broken pavement, their weapons drawn. It was then that Mike struck.

  With a speed that would have been impossible for any normal man, he moved, slashing through the first mercenary’s throat before they even had time to raise an alarm. Blood sprayed into the air as the man crumpled to the ground, a guttural scream cut short. The other mercenaries fumbled for their weapons, but Mike was already upon them. His claws raked through armor, his talons cutting through flesh and bone with ease. The survivors, who had hoped for protection, scattered in terror, but it was too late. Mike was the storm, and they were nothing but dust in its wake.

  It didn’t take long for the convoy to be reduced to a bloody massacre, the sound of gunfire and the thud of bodies hitting the ground ringing through the air. When the carnage ended, Mike stood amidst the wreckage, his red eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of violence. He hadn’t just killed them. He had sent a message—a warning. If anyone stood in his way, they would meet the same fate.

  But this was only a brief diversion. The Black Angel and High Rise Devil were still out there, hidden somewhere in the wreckage of Haelgar. They were ghosts, their very existence a cruel reminder of his helplessness. But Mike would not rest until he found them. The rage that burned inside him could not be extinguished. He would track them to the ends of the Earth if he had to. There was no escaping him—not anymore.

  As he moved through the broken streets, his mind wandered back to the news he had received—the message from the survivor, the last breath of hope for anyone who had survived the Battle of Death. They had killed his family. They had destroyed everything Mike had cared about. And they were still out there, free to continue their reign of terror.

  He clenched his fists, his claws digging into his palms. He had been broken once before, but now he was something different. He had become the weapon he had been turned into, a tool of destruction and vengeance. He was no longer human. He was something far worse.

  The thought of the Black Angel and High Rise Devil brought a primal scream to his lips, but he held it back. His mind was cold, calculating. He could feel the pull of his instincts, the desire to hunt, to kill. But he couldn’t lose focus. Not now.

  Somewhere in the depths of Haelgar, buried beneath the rubble, were two killers who had shaped the city’s fate. And Mike would make sure they paid for every life they had destroyed. He would hunt them down, one by one, until nothing remained but the shattered remnants of their empire.

  For now, though, he had to keep moving. Every step took him closer to the truth, closer to the ultimate confrontation. The Black Angel and High Rise Devil were out there, but they couldn’t hide forever. And when Mike found them, when their faces were finally within his reach, there would be no mercy.

  He would be the last thing they saw. And they would regret ever escaping Haelgar’s wreckage.

  The hunt had begun.

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  was the answer he needed. Somewhere, they were waiting for him, just as they had always known he would come. The Black Angel and High Rise Devil were no strangers to the chaos they had wrought, and they knew, as did Mike, that there was no escaping what he had become. He would find them. He would tear apart the world until they stood before him, and then... and then, they would understand the price of their actions.

  Mike paused, standing on the edge of a shattered overpass that overlooked the heart of Haelgar’s ruined cityscape. The flickering streetlights below, the occasional distant wail of sirens, and the smell of scorched earth and ash were reminders of the battle that had left the city in tatters. His heightened senses took in every detail, every shift in the night. He could taste the burnt remnants of a war he hadn’t started but was forced to fight.

  It wasn’t just the loss of his family that drove him; it was the feeling of helplessness that had come with it. They had been defenseless against forces so powerful, so ruthless, that even his enhanced body, honed through cruel experiments, felt insignificant in comparison. He had been turned into a weapon, yes, but even weapons need direction, need a target. And his target had been made clear.

  The Black Angel and High Rise Devil were the architects of his tragedy, the ones responsible for the death of the people he had loved more than life itself. They had crushed everything he held dear. And the twisted part of Mike’s mind realized that if they hadn’t done it—if they hadn’t destroyed everything—he would never have been forged into the creature he had become.

  He was angry. He was broken. But above all, he was driven. Driven by something far beyond human emotions. His new body thrummed with raw, animalistic power—instincts sharpened beyond what any human should possess. His talons flexed, tearing through the shredded remnants of his gloves, the tips glistening with a deadly promise. Each movement felt calculated, precise, like a predator sensing its prey.

  He was no longer a man searching for meaning or redemption. He was vengeance incarnate, fueled by nothing but the need to destroy. It was a hunger that filled him, a gnawing force that gnawed at his soul with every breath he took. His thoughts were nothing but images of his enemies’ faces, twisted in pain, pleading for mercy that would never come.

  As he leapt from the overpass, his claws scraping the metal railing with a screech, he landed on the cracked street below without so much as a sound. His landing was fluid, like a shadow flowing seamlessly into the night. His instincts led him as if they had minds of their own. He didn’t need to think. He just needed to act.

  The world outside the containment cell was a jungle now, and Mike was its apex predator. As he darted through the wreckage, he moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the horizon. His heightened sense of smell caught a familiar, bitter scent in the air—the unmistakable tang of blood, human blood. He followed it, each step fueled by an insatiable thirst to bring suffering to those who had wronged him.

  A few blocks down, he encountered his next group of mercenaries. They were huddled in what had once been a bustling shopping district, now reduced to nothing more than broken glass and overturned cars. The survivors, dirty and ragged, stood guard over what was left of the old world, searching for any signs of danger, unaware of the monster stalking them from the shadows.

  Mike didn’t hesitate. The hunt was as natural as breathing, his every muscle in sync with his instincts. As the group conversed, oblivious to their impending doom, he moved closer, his claws poised to strike. The first mercenary fell before he even realized what was happening—a deep gash to the throat, his last breath escaping in a gurgle. Mike was already moving, too fast for the others to react.

  He didn’t kill them all at once. No, Mike was far too methodical for that. He wanted to savor it—every kill, every scream, every drop of blood. His claws tore through their bodies with a savage ferocity, his speed overwhelming them as they stumbled backward, weapons drawn, only to be met by his brutality. The mercenaries were skilled, but they were no match for him.

  The last man, his face twisted in horror, tried to run, but Mike was faster. He caught the man by the ankle, dragging him back with terrifying force. With one fluid motion, he ripped through the man’s defenses, his claws sinking deep into his flesh. The man’s screams echoed through the night, but they were quickly silenced, drowned by the sound of bones cracking under Mike’s grip.

  When it was over, Mike stood amid the carnage, his breathing steady, his blood pumping with exhilaration. His red eyes scanned the streets once more, his focus unwavering. He was a machine of destruction, a weapon without remorse. And this was just the beginning.

  In the distance, a flicker of movement caught his attention—a shadow darting between the ruins of a collapsed building. Mike’s blood began to burn in his veins, the thrill of the hunt consuming him once again. His prey was close. He could feel it.

  He sprinted toward the shadow, his legs moving with inhuman speed. The cracked streets seemed to melt beneath his feet as he closed the distance. His senses told him that whoever it was, they weren’t part of the mercenary convoy. This was someone else—someone who was still fighting, still trying to hold onto the world that was crumbling around them.

  He reached the corner of a collapsed building and crouched low, his talons ready. He peeked around the corner, and there they were—a small group of survivors, scavenging what they could from the wreckage. They were weak, emaciated, and scared, their eyes flicking around nervously as they worked. Mike could see the fear in their movements, their hesitation, their desperate hope that they would somehow make it out of this ruined city alive.

  But Mike was no longer interested in mercy. He didn’t care about their survival. To him, they were nothing more than insects, insignificant in the grand scheme of the destruction he would bring. They were just another obstacle in his path, and he would make sure they knew it.

  With a low growl, he charged forward, his claws glinting in the faint moonlight as he launched himself into the fray.

  The survivors barely had time to react. Mike’s speed was blinding—he was upon them in the blink of an eye, his talons slashing through the air with a deadly grace. The first man didn’t even have time to scream before Mike’s claws ripped through his throat, the blood spraying out in a crimson arc. The others, too slow to raise their weapons, stumbled back in terror, but it was useless. Mike was already among them, his strikes brutal and unyielding.

  A woman, young and terrified, managed to pull out a gun, aiming shakily at the hulking figure of Mike. But he was too fast. The gunshot barely made a sound as Mike swung around, grabbing her wrist and twisting it with a sickening crack. The gun fell to the ground as she howled in pain. He looked at her, eyes burning with an intensity that made her tremble, but he wasn’t interested in her mercy. Her pleading eyes held no meaning for him.

  With a swift, efficient movement, he swung his talon through her midsection, the blade-like claw tearing through flesh and bone like tissue paper. Her body crumpled to the ground with a wet thud, her breath escaping in ragged gasps as life drained from her. Mike’s eyes lingered on her for just a second, but only long enough to savor the kill before turning his attention to the rest.

  The remaining survivors tried to flee, but Mike was faster. A man, no older than twenty, attempted to scramble over the rubble, trying to find an escape, but his efforts were futile. Mike’s claws pierced his back with a sickening crunch, dragging the man backward as he screamed in terror. He never had a chance.

  With each death, Mike’s hunger only grew, the primal rage within him swelling to overwhelming levels. His blood sang with the thrill of destruction, the crushing of lives beneath his talons. It wasn’t enough, not yet. He needed more. Needed to feel the heat of battle burn inside of him. And this group of ragged survivors was just the beginning.

  A final man—older, ragged, and shaking—was the only one left. He had watched the slaughter unfold, his eyes wide with horror as he backed away from Mike, trembling uncontrollably. His hands were outstretched in surrender, blood streaking his face. Mike could feel the man’s desperation, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, faster than any human’s should be. It was almost as if the man could sense that his fate was already sealed.

  But Mike didn’t act right away. He slowed his pace, his talons flexing, his mind sharp despite the madness bubbling underneath the surface. The man’s gaze flickered between Mike’s eyes and the destruction around them, and in that moment, something in Mike shifted. Maybe it was the man’s fear, or perhaps it was the realization that this wasn’t the man who had wronged him. This wasn’t the Black Angel or High Rise Devil. This was just a broken soul, clinging to what little life remained in the world.

  Mike’s grip tightened on his claws, the rage still there, but a strange emptiness began to form within him. He couldn’t place it at first, this strange stillness amidst the carnage, but it felt like a weight, like something long buried was being unearthed in the depths of his psyche.

  The man, still trembling, muttered something in a broken voice, barely audible above the wind that howled through the wreckage. “Please... I didn’t... I didn’t do it... I didn’t...”

  Mike stared at him, blood still dripping from his claws, but his mind felt... distant. The hunger for destruction, for vengeance, it was all still there, but there was something gnawing at the back of his mind. A memory, perhaps? The image of someone’s face... a face lost to time and tragedy. The pain of losing those he had loved, the desperation to do something—anything—to fight back against the monstrous forces that had taken everything.

  In that fleeting moment, he hesitated.

  The man’s pleading intensified, but Mike’s focus was elsewhere. In that brief, unguarded second, the full weight of his transformation hit him. He was no longer just Mike. He wasn’t the boy who had once fought for justice. He was something else—something forged from pain and rage, something driven by an insatiable hunger that would never be sated. But even as this truth echoed in his mind, he couldn’t shake the thought—Is this who I was meant to become?

  Before he could answer himself, the flicker of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. The shadow of someone—or something—was moving swiftly in the distance, the silhouette too large to be one of the survivors. His head snapped in that direction, his instincts immediately surging forward. Without even a glance at the terrified man, Mike leapt into action once again, propelled by the need to confront whatever had dared to cross his path.

  The man on the ground was forgotten.

  Mike’s claws dug into the rubble as he pushed himself forward with impossible speed. His senses screamed at him, telling him that whoever was approaching was strong—stronger than the mercenaries, stronger than the survivors he had just slain. And that, Mike realized, was the true test.

  The true hunt.

  The city seemed to stretch on forever, its broken skyline twisted by the decay of years of destruction. As Mike ran, he felt the blood pumping in his veins, his body humming with energy, every muscle aching to tear into the world around him. The ruins blurred past him, the distant sounds of explosions and the cries of the broken world filling his ears. But through it all, there was one thought that consumed him.

  The Black Angel and High Rise Devil. They're out there. And I will find them.

  He reached a corner of the ruined district, and there they were—the flickering lights of a distant building, barely standing, but enough to signal the presence of someone. Someone powerful. His blood burned in his veins as his instincts flared up again, pushing him forward. He was closing in. The hunt was nearly over.

  The Black Angel and High Rise Devil would pay. And when they did, Mike would be waiting, a predator at the apex of his power, driven by vengeance and nothing more.

  Mike’s breath came in ragged bursts as he tore through the rubble, his claws scraping against the ground with every step. His body hummed with a primal energy that seemed to fuel his every move. The hunt was on. But as the adrenaline surged through him, a sudden, sharp realization cut through the haze of rage.

  He paused, mid-stride, his claws flexing involuntarily. His mind, clouded by bloodlust and vengeance, suddenly froze.

  The faces of the survivors flashed before his eyes.

  The woman, terrified and young, her pleading gaze etched into his memory. The man, stumbling over debris, his life snuffed out in the blink of an eye. The older man, who had surrendered, shaking as Mike loomed over him, desperate for mercy. He had killed them all. Every last one of them.

  But none of them were the Black Angel or High Rise Devil.

  None of them had wronged him.

  His heart, once a source of unwavering drive, seemed to shrink within his chest. The blood on his claws, so fresh, so vibrant, felt heavy in that moment. The weight of his actions crashed over him like an avalanche, dragging him into the cold, unfeeling abyss. His body, the very weapon he had become, still thrummed with the echoes of the chaos he’d unleashed, but in his mind... there was nothing but emptiness.

  These weren’t the mercenaries that had helped destroy his city. These weren’t the men and women responsible for his transformation. They weren’t the ones who had slaughtered his family. The faces of the true monsters, the Black Angel and High Rise Devil, had not been among those he had just murdered.

  He had crossed a line.

  His talons dug into the cracked pavement as he slowly sank to his knees, the weight of his actions pressing down on him with a suffocating force. The thrill of the hunt, the rush of power, began to fade into a hollow ache in his chest. His breath caught in his throat, but there was no fight left in him. The blood on his hands was not just from those who deserved it—it was from innocent civilians, people who had been struggling to survive just like him.

  They had been powerless against him.

  Mike’s mind spun in circles as he replayed the slaughter in his head. The gunshots, the screams, the panicked movements of those who had just been trying to make it through another day in a world that was crumbling. The shock and horror in their eyes as he had descended upon them, a monster they could never have hoped to defeat.

  They had been no different from him.

  He was the predator, they were the prey. But why had he attacked? Why had he allowed the rage to control him, to strip him of the humanity that had once been so tightly bound to his soul? These weren’t the faceless mercenaries or the criminals who had stolen everything from him. These were the people caught in the crossfire, the ones who had done nothing but try to survive.

  It was too much. The grief, the anger, the transformation—it had all led him to this point, where he had become no better than the very monsters he had sought to destroy.

  Tears—hot, searing, and almost foreign to him—began to burn in his eyes. They blurred his vision, distorting the ruins around him into something that felt far more personal, far more painful. The city, his world, had been ripped apart. And now, his hands were stained with the blood of those who didn’t deserve it.

  But there was no time for remorse. Not yet.

  The growl in his chest began again, deeper this time, born not from the hunt but from something far darker. His talons dug deeper into the ground as his mind wrestled with the overwhelming tide of guilt, regret, and rage. He had become the monster, and now he was trapped in the very thing he had sought to defeat.

  His claws trembled, the sharp edges quivering with the weight of his realization. The screams of the innocent echoed in his ears, taunting him, reminding him of the unforgivable sin he had just committed.

  And yet... something inside of him began to shift once more. The hunger that had driven him to violence was not fully satisfied. It had only grown, transformed into something else. Vengeance. Destruction. They had consumed him entirely, but now, beneath the fury, Mike found himself questioning—what was the point? What was the meaning of it all? He had fought for vengeance, for justice, but had he ever considered what justice truly meant?

  No. He hadn’t. And now, the consequences of his actions, the lives he had taken, weighed heavily on his soul.

  The Black Angel and High Rise Devil were still out there. They were still the ones who had set this path in motion, the ones who had taken everything from him. But could he really go on hunting them, slaughtering anyone who crossed his path? Would it bring him peace? Would it bring his family back? Would it make him whole again?

  His heart pounded in his chest, the question hanging in the air like an impenetrable fog. But in that fog, one thing became clear—he couldn’t continue this way. He had become a force of destruction, yes, but he was also a man, a man who had lost everything. And if he was to move forward, to confront the true monsters who had taken so much, he needed to find a new path. One that didn’t lead him to murder the innocent, to let his anger drive him to destroy everything in his wake.

  The Black Angel and High Rise Devil were still out there, but Mike’s journey wasn’t just about them anymore. It was about him. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he had to decide who he would become.

  The monster who tore the world apart, or the man who fought for something more.