My body had almost settled after the clash with that demon. I hoped he’d been at full strength—because if he wasn’t, next time I’d be zipped into a body bag. The fear was finally draining from me.
What the fuck had I been afraid of?
Holger was dead.
I took a second to look at my reflection in the lens of Holger’s glasses—my glasses now.
Defective. Ugly. Tortured. Monster.
The words came unbidden.
Rain took my hand. My thoughts stopped spiraling.
“Good moves, logitruck,” he said, that familiar mocking smile cutting through the noise.
If they hadn’t cheated, we’d have torn them apart and saved her.
All I managed was, “If they hadn’t—”
I was tired. Tired of violence.
Everyone had already entered the chow hall; Geiger waited at the door, ten meters ahead. Rain led the way, each stride bold and deliberate, though his steps faltered—loud for the first time since I’d met him. Poison still ran through his system.
He stumbled. I caught his hand and steadied him. My grip tightened on its own.
“Logi! Double time. Can’t keep ’em waiting.”
My body felt lighter. My muscles remembered the absence of pain, the absence of helplessness.
That had been the source of my fear.
Now I had something to lose.
I dared to let go—just to make sure.
Pain shot through my arm, as if my old wounds reopened.
Our hands snapped back together like oppositely charged magnets.
He brought me close.
That’s how it’s going to be now.
Good.
We reached Geiger; I still had my doubts about him; I had doubts about everything.
He said, “Assessment of our new unit?” with his usual commanding voice. His face was tense; he was worried.
“Veterans who’ve earned their trophies,” Rain said, shaking his hand.
He tapped in Morse code, slowly enough so I could follow.
—Morons—
“Acknowledged.” Geiger shook his head.
Geiger’s gaze was on me. Shit.
“Blood, I’ve been notified of your exploits. Carry on.” He saluted me.
“Sir!”
I straightened myself and returned the salute.
My eyes snapped on the door as I entered. CAFETERIA was scrawled in English on the rusty door, letters barely legible. This room hadn’t served that purpose in decades.
Inside, the space was a long rectangle, repurposed into an improvised briefing room. The door sat at the midpoint of its longest wall. To the far right, what had once been the kitchen lay gutted—rusted cookware scattered across a floor riddled with graffiti and bullet holes. Faded U.S. Army recruitment posters clung to the walls, yellowed by decay. Spent casings were embedded in the muddy floor.
Steel tables, once bolted to the concrete, had rotted into useless slabs of rust. In front of them, looted leather couches sat thick with radioactive dust. At the far left of the room, an elaborately engraved oaken table held a holographic projector at its center. Above it hung posters of the first Soviet leaders—Vladimir Lenin, Leon Trotsky, and Georgy Zhukov—untouched by vandalism, but not by time. A massive red hammer and sickle loomed over the table, with the golden Spetsnaz GRU bat mounted to its left.
This was not an FOB. This was a den.
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That Gen-3 that broke the duel stood behind the oak table, adjusting the holograph controls as a tactical map of the continental USA flickered into focus. The demons were spread throughout the room, clustered around separate tables. Most smoked or drank from bottles of antique alcohol; others tore into long-expired canned rations. None looked at me. Yet.
Glass was seated at the table reserved for Kinzhal—my new home. She was a much bigger threat than that arsch Carbide.
She had already laid out Geiger’s maps and compass and motioned Rain over. Geiger was already moving toward the table.
Across the room, Carbide locked eyes on me. Unreadable.
Shivers.
Geh zum Teufel.
Thankfully, no one else paid us any attention.
Only two couches sat in front of Kinzhal’s table, each barely large enough to hold our vastly larger Gen-7 frames.
Glass perched on Geiger’s lap. All eyes turned to me.
I froze for a split second.
And then I made my decision. The second one in my existence.
I sat first and gently guided Rain onto my lap.
“Never imagined logitrucks were this comfy,” he said with a wink, pulling me into a tight embrace.
For a second, Geiger’s and Glass’s eyes lingered on me.
“Enjoy the ride. It might be a short one,” I said, wrapping my hands around Rain. We all smiled.
“Short and exciting—exactly my type,” he replied, pressing his lips to mine.
We kissed. I was ashamed to admit it didn’t feel like Holger’s kiss.
Fuck shame. I will not die alone.
I overheard Glass whisper something about “pre-infil moves” to Geiger, then heard him chuckle. No idea what a pre-infil was. My instincts told me it wasn’t torture, rape, or execution—so I let it go.
Rain—where will you lead me?
I closed my eyes and sank into the moment.
Seconds passed, none interrupted us.
I finally felt safe.
I heard the dull banging of metal on wood from Major Havoc’s direction. The rowdy ambience died instantly. We peeled our mouths away; my hands were still wrapped tight around Rain. Next to us, Geiger and Glass had also drawn close. Most of the demons had done the same. Even Carbide.
Very few had not.
One of them lifted her glasses, hesitated, then slid them back into place.
Now it all made sense. No sentient being that had nothing to lose could ever be coerced into fighting a nuclear war for its oppressors.
Major Havoc activated the hologram.
Operation Shurik
Total silence.
It centered on the 49th parallel—the frontline of the Third World War. A purple marker marked our current location: outskirts of Calgary. Three helicopters hovered over it—two transports and an attack bird.
Her shrill voice echoed through the room.
“Molot platoon, you have one task. Bring this whore back here.”
Zharova’s disgusting face appeared in the corner of the hologram.
I spat on the floor. Rain’s grip tightened around my hands. I exhaled.
“So that she can pay her treason in full!”
“We, on the other hand, will finally be recognized as Heroes of the Soviet Union!”
Everyone held their breath.
The holographic view switched to an underground cottage. Then a list:
—2 Billion Roubles
—Retirement or Advancement to Officer
And finally, the ultimate reward a gene-warrior could receive:
—Permanent deactivation of the Intracranial Failsafe.
Cheers. War cries. Weapons raised overhead.
“Molot!” the demons screamed.
“Conquest!” they answered.
Only Kinzhal remained seated. Glass and Geiger were already jotting down notes. I was just hoping I’d still be alive tomorrow—and that Rain would be there, guarding me from the enemies of the present and, more importantly, from the past. I had no clue what he wanted. I was too scared to guess.
“Molot! Paragons of socialism! Executioners of capitalists! Conquerors! In two hours, we punch deep behind enemy lines!”
The demons were livid.
The three helicopters swept south along the Rocky Mountains. Four stratospheric nuclear detonations labeled 30kt EMP cover bloomed as they crossed the 49th; one after another. The helicopters set down at the foot of Doubletop Mountain, Idaho.
“I will personally lead this mission.”
The stealth attack helicopter filled the display.
Cheers intensified.
“I will terrain-mask along the Rockies. I will deliver you to Infil Point Alpha.”
A point on the mountain’s south face pulsed.
“You will infiltrate and establish a covert base in the ruins of SLC.”
“From there, we will recon Fort Jefferson.”
A red bullseye blinked over the bunker beneath King’s Peak.
“Once we sabotage its ventilation system, reactor coolant drains, and waste disposal—”
“The cockroaches will crawl out of their hole.”
“Slaughter!” the demons screamed.
Carbide raised his hands.
Silence.
He slowly ran his palm along a serrated blade.
Blood dripped onto the head of his sledgehammer.
He raised it overhead.
“Carnage!”
Chaos.
Geiger shook his head and covered his face with his palms.
“One-way trip,” he whispered into Glass’s ear.
