Flashback: The following events are from the year 2025 and reveal the past of FeralBullet and Pentagon. Some characters, timelines, and story points may feel off — this is intentional. The truth was buried, altered, or lost. What remains is the memory…
The skies over Yellowstone were colder than usual that year. Hidden deep within its forests, unknown to the world, was a lab established under secret U.S. government orders — its purpose: to investigate a geological anomaly called the Emberveil Sinkhole.
Pentagon had been suspicious. He had heard whispers — rumors of something more than tectonic activity. And so, accompanied by Xavier, he made his way to the site. But as they arrived, things escalated quickly.
A warning beep. A laser lock-on. Within seconds, guards surrounded them from every angle, rifles raised.
Pentagon: "We're here with federal clearance."
The guards didn't move. Then the crowd parted, and a man in a sleek black lab coat approached them. His face was calm, confident, and young. He extended his hand without a smile.
???: "I'm HitlasBullet. Director of operations. Welcome to Emberveil."
That name struck like lightning. The son of FeralBullet. The next heir of Bullet Industries. The very bloodline Pentagon was investigating.
Inside the lab, tension crackled like static. The conversation that followed was strange — awkward, occasionally humorous, but rooted in suspicion.
Hitlas: "What brings Founders Inc. poking its nose into science?"
Pentagon: "I poke where I smell rot."
Just ten minutes into their clash of egos, a black-suited agent rushed into the room with a golden-sealed envelope. He handed it silently to Hitlas. The name on the paper froze the entire room.
Agent: "Presidential clearance. For Pentagon and Xavier. Direct order."
Shock hit Hitlas like a slap. He stared at the signature. His voice dropped, rattled.
Hitlas: "Even the President trusts you this much? That's… concerning."
Pentagon: "Start talking. Why is this lab here?"
Reluctantly, Hitlas gestured for a scientist to speak. The man pulled up holograms of fossilized tissue samples and glowing DNA strands.
Scientist: "We're studying an ancient apex lifeform. A species believed to predate modern man… we call them Skinwalkers."
Pentagon's face twisted.
Pentagon: "You're experimenting on them? Mutating them?"
Scientist: "Understanding them."
Pentagon: "This ends now. Xavier, contact the President. Tell him this site is to be shut—"
Before he could finish, two guards grabbed Xavier — with inhuman strength. Their arms bulged unnaturally. Their eyes glowed faintly.
Pentagon: "What… the hell are they?"
The realization dawned: these weren't just guards. They were modifiedhumans, spliced with Skinwalker genetics.
Suddenly, a scraping noise echoed through the lab. A glass chamber hissed with steam. Behind it, a deformed but alert Skinwalker dragged itself forward and pressed its half-burned hand to the glass.
It looked directly at Pentagon.
The glass was soundproof. But Pentagon didn't need sound. He saw the creature's lips move.
Skinwalker (silently): "You were supposed to protect us."
His heart sank.
But that sorrow turned into fury. The creature convulsed, its veins glowing. It roared — absorbing every other subject in the chamber. Its body twisted, expanded, hardened.
With one devastating punch, it shattered the chamber glass. The shockwave slammed Pentagon across the entire lab, throwing him into a concrete wall.
Fire erupted from broken pipes. Sirens howled. Panic swallowed the lab.
Pentagon, bruised and limping, grabbed Xavier. Hitlas followed as they sprinted through crumbling corridors and blaring alarms.
They ran. But they were being hunted.
The mutated Skinwalker slithered through fire and smoke like a living shadow, growing stronger, faster. It didn't make a sound. Just silence — and death.
They ducked under collapsed steel, slid through broken doors. Pentagon's mind raced — not with fear for the world, but fear for his reputation.
If this creature escaped, it wouldn't just destroy humanity.
It would destroy his name.
They stopped. Turned. Faced the creature.
Pentagon: "We can't let it leave. We stop it. Now."
They opened fire. Grenades. Blades. Heat rounds. But the Skinwalker had no stable form. It melted, shifted, danced around their attacks.
Suddenly, Hitlas let out a battle cry and leapt onto the creature. Its limbs clung to him like leeches. It began bonding to him.
Pentagon: "HITLAS!!"
Hitlas: "Get out!! This ends here!!"
With every ounce of willpower, he dragged the creature into the burning lab core. Flames exploded around him. A gas pipe cracked. The room erupted.
BOOOOM!
Everything went white.
Flashback within flashback:
When FeralBullet heard of the incident, he rushed to Yellowstone. But he found nothing — just rubble and ash.
Yet deep in the ruin, something crawled.
A humanheart. Burnt. Still pulsing. Dragging itself like a slug through dust.
Feral picked it up in silence.
Nearby, he found a part of a brain. A right arm. Nothing more.
He took the pieces. He left America.
In China, he contacted an infamous underworld surgeon — Dr. Ruby. Together, they began a horrifying project.
They sent "lottery winners" invitations from all over the world.
Those who accepted — were harvested.
Rouxie was chosen for her neural patterns. Vargara for her tissue compatibility.
Their vacation in Shanghai? A trap.
Piece by piece, Feral rebuilt his son — HitlasBullet — from the finest organic components Earth could offer.
Back to the present:
Authorities raided FeralBullet's secret mansion in Shanghai after intelligence leaks. In his hidden lab, they found a giant tube, filled with glowing green fluid.
Floating inside was a figure.
Dr. Ruby was dead nearby — still hooked to an upload terminal. She died trying to transfer something.
An agent stumbled. A wire sparked. A single flame leapt onto the tube's surface.
Crack. Hiss. BOOM.
The glass broke. The figure moved.
A hand shot out. Grabbed an agent's neck.
In a blink — his body hit the ground, cleanly decapitated.
Others screamed, but it was already too late.
The figure moved like lightning, striking nerve points, collapsing bodies one by one — without lifting a blade.
Within seconds, the lab was silent.
The man stepped out. Calm. Breathing.
He walked to the edge of the hill. Looked down at the glowing lights of Shanghai.
His skin shimmered. His eyes burned.
He was no longer human.
He was HitlasBullet.
ToBe Continued…