’I want to test them all.’ He clenched his fist, excited to check his new power in a better environment.

But he knew staying low and finding a safer spot to recover his energy was the priority.

He started looking for a mirror, or anything that would let him see his reflection for his next plan.

’There.’

It was propped against the far wall of the storage room, half-buried behind a stack of oil drums that had long since rusted shut.

The glass was filthy, and one corner had chipped away entirely — but it still showed enough.

Francis pulled it upright and stood in front of it.

Lex Ryzen looked back at him.

Defined jaw and thick brow. The kind of face women noticed without meaning to.

The body matched it—lean but solid, shaped more like it was carved than naturally grown. Everything looked built for control, not size.

Shoulders were balanced, made for movement instead of showing off. The arms looked tight, with strength packed neatly inside.

Every one of those features could be called god given genetics, but right now, they were a liability.

’I need to fix this... No, more like break it.’

He closed his eyes and focused on Parashift.

The skill responded immediately. It was easier in this body—more surface area to work with, finer nerve pathways to control, and the fact that he had once been human made him more aware of their biology.

He started with the jaw.

crack!

crack!

The bone shifted under his skin with a low, grinding sensation.

Not painful exactly, but deeply uncomfortable. The kind of feeling that lived in the back teeth and refused to leave.

He pushed through it, softening the angles and rounding the shape.

When he opened his eyes to check, the change was already visible.

Less imposing. Less memorable. Perfect for covert operations.

He moved to the eyes next. He reshaped the surrounding tissue instead of the eye, pulling the outer corners down and widening the lids into a rounder, almond shape.

His nose came third.

The bridge was widened first, with added mass at the tip.

Then the nostrils were thickened slightly—just enough to shift the silhouette without it looking constructed.

The skin was the finishing touch.

He seeded imperfection . A shallow acne scar near the left cheekbone. Slight puffiness under the eyes, the permanent kind that came from bad sleep.

Stepping back, he looked at the result.

The man in the mirror was a nobody in every sense.

It was the type of person who got overlooked in queues and forgotten immediately after introductions.

’Good.’

There was one final detail he wanted to check.

He activated Parasite Eyes for just a second, letting two extra eyes open along his hairline beneath the skin before pulling them back.

The surface of his face didn’t ripple. Nothing showed.

Unless someone was actively zooming in on him, he was safe.

He let the mirror fall back against the drums and turned his attention to the rest of the garage.

’I can’t walk around naked.’

The clothing search didn’t take long.

Whoever had used this place last had left a few things behind and stored them in an employee locker.

He pulled it free and held it up.

Black leather, heavily worn. The collar had small metal studs for reinforcement.

A patch on the left shoulder showed a logo he didn’t recognize—a stylized wolf skull with the letters "WC" stitched beneath it. Probably a road club.

The fit was good enough and it matched the old shoes he found lying around.

With a quick glance around the space, he turned his attention to the spear.

It was now more compact, but he still decided to leave it for the time being, just to make sure there was no way to trace it.

Francis moved to the side exit and stopped with his hand on the door.

Through the corrugated wall he could hear the the distant mechanical drone of helicopters circling in slow, overlapping patterns.

Four sets, at least, maybe six. They weren’t moving toward anything specific.

He pushed the door open and stepped out into an alley.

The sky above was hot. It was already mid-afternoon, and this area in particular absorbed a lot of heat.

Soon, the street opened up around him, and he moved away from the initial site until he reached an area that was no longer quarantined.

A checkpoint stood ahead, but he slipped through easily.

Right now, they were searching for a monster, so a middle-aged man wasn’t even on their list of suspects.

The area he entered was more crowded, but not by much. Most people still seemed to prefer staying indoors.

There were many shops still open, but they lacked the appeal of a city and felt more like a small town.

Francis kept walking.

He passed a barbershop with its door propped open, letting out the sound of a radio playing something with too much bass.

Three men stood outside it.

One of them was smoking. Another held a cup. All three were looking up.

Not at the helicopters directly. At the general direction of the smoke that was still rising in a pale column several blocks east.

"...second one this month," the smoker said.

"They’re saying it’s a monster. Category Four." The man with the cup shook his head slowly.

"That’s not what my brother said," the third one said, crossing his arms. "He works near the highway. Said there were soldiers everywhere. National Federation logos on the trucks."

The smoker took a long drag. "What would the government want out here?"

"No idea. But my brother said one of the bodies he saw looked like it got crushed, not eaten. That’s not how small beasts kill."

The smoker dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. "Either way, best stay indoors tonight."

Francis had already passed them by the time the last sentence faded out.

So the cover story was already in circulation: Category Four monster sighting.

He turned the corner onto a narrower street and paused near a motorbike, pretending to check his boot.

In reality, he was watching the military trucks parked nearby.

They were asking for information about any sightings, but he had been careful earlier, leaving them with nothing but dead ends.

"Can I ask what you’re looking for?" Francis walked over and spoke to them.

A person who moves with confidence was harder to suspect than someone who keeps avoiding attention. It was basic espionage stuff.

The soldier with the tablet looked up. His eyes scanned Francis once—the old jacket, the boots, the unremarkable face—then showed annoyance, though he still asked anyway.

"We’re looking for a beast. It’s dark with a metallic body, and from a distance, it looks human."

"Beast?" Francis let his brow pull together slightly. "Did you catch it already?"

The soldier sneered. "We wouldn’t be asking you if we did. Stop wasting my time, you bumpkin!"

"My bad." Francis gave a small bow before walking away.

His disguise was perfect, and not even well-trained soldiers doubted him.

With that out of the way, he began walking around town, looking for a place to rest.

Ten minutes later, he noticed a group of homeless men under an overpass, trying to escape the heat and passing time with a game of checkers.

The smell was bad, but he was used to worse.

He sat down there and leaned against the wall to rest.

"Are you new here?" an old man in his sixties probed. His teeth were broken, and his clothes could use a wash.

"Yeah," Francis nodded.

What better people to gather information from than those who spent their lives on the streets.

Even back in his operative days, he would often pretend to be a beggar, a door-to-door salesman, and more, just to gather intel.

What was happening here was a cruel contrast.

While Aira and her group were grinding their teeth in frustration, their target sat in plain sight, talking like nothing was wrong.

No rush. No fear.

He just let the military trucks and Humvees pass him by, likely carrying his pursuers.

"Do you want coffee, son?" the old man asked, lifting a thermos.

"Thanks. Just no sugar. I don’t like it sweet."

"Good, because I don’t have sugar. Can’t afford it," the old man grinned.

The others nearby laughed too—not in mockery, but in a relaxed way, they were breaking the ice with Francis.