Chapter 07: AMERICA 2008

(New York)

Azrael jolted awake, his chest heaving, sweat clinging to his skin. The room around him was blindingly white — no windows, no furniture, just the bed beneath him.

Knock. Knock.

The sound echoed unnaturally in the emptiness.

“Come in,” he rasped, his voice slow, wary.

The door creaked open. Framed in the light stood the brown-haired girl — the same one who had tried to kill him. Her eyes burned with something between anger and impatience.

“He is waiting for you,” she said, her tone clipped.

Azrael shifted to rise, but pain shot through his leg like fire. He stumbled forward.

She moved before he could fall — fast, fluid, like a gust of wind. Her hands caught him.

“Be careful,” she murmured, almost too softly to hear.

“Thank you,” he replied, confusion twisting in his chest. Yesterday she tried to kill me. Now she’s… helping?

“Why are you helping me?” he asked.

Her gaze dropped, her voice low. “I stabbed you. The least I can do is help you.”

The words hit him like a memory — the old man’s voice whispering in his mind.

But her expression shifted in an instant, hardening like stone. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t want to die. He gave the order, so I can’t kill you… not yet.” A smirk curled at her lips, sharp and dangerous.

They stepped into the hallway. The walls were freshly patched, the plaster still pale where bullet holes had been only yesterday. The faint smell of gunpowder lingered, as though the building itself remembered the fight.

“My name’s Selina,” she said, her tone flat, almost bored.

“How old are you?” Azrael Said.

“Sixteen.”

“Mine’s Azrael. I’m twelve.”

“I know,” she replied without looking at him. “Everyone knows your name here.”

Azrael frowned. “Where are we?”

“In New York.”

“America? New York?” His voice cracked with disbelief.

They walked in silence until they reached a black door at the end of the corridor. It stood there like a shadow that had taken shape, swallowing the light around it.

Selina stopped, her hand resting lightly on the handle. Her eyes flicked to him, unreadable. “Enter,” she said calmly. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Who?” Azrael asked.

“The commander.” Without another word, she turned and walked away.

Azrael pushed the door open. It closed behind him with a heavy thud.

The room was swallowed in darkness, the only illumination a pale rectangle from a laptop screen on a desk at the far end. Its glow cut through the black like a blade, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor.

A man sat in the chair, still as stone. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the laptop fan. Then, slowly, he rose.

His movements were deliberate, almost theatrical. A light flared overhead, filling the room with a harsh glow.

He spread his arms wide, a smile curling at the edges of his mouth. “Welcome, my boy,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, "to the Wolfpack.”

Azrael’s breath caught. The man’s face was shadowed, but one detail burned into his mind — the commander had only one eye. The other socket was hidden beneath a black leather patch, the scar around it jagged and pale, like lightning frozen in flesh.

“Any questions, my boy?” the commander asked, smiling faintly.

Azrael’s voice trembled with pain and fury. “Why did you send the white-eyed man to the mountain to kill me?”

The commander sank back into his chair, his expression turning to stone. “We didn’t. He went on his own. He heard Wolf6 was hiding in the mountains, so he went to kill him.”

Azrael’s pulse quickened. “But the old man said he was there for me.”

The commander’s good eye narrowed. “No, my boy. There is history between those two.” His tone carried the weight of something unspoken. Then, with a dismissive wave, he added, “But I don’t want to linger on the dead. Let’s talk about life.”

“Life?” Azrael snapped, anger twisting his words. “You took mine.”

“Precisely,” the commander said smoothly. “We’re going to give you a new one — as a wolf.”

“I don’t care about that. I want to get out of here.”

The commander’s smile thinned, sharp as a blade. “No, you don’t. Out there, where would you go? A twelve-year-old boy, alone, in a world that wants him dead?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know, I know,” the man said, almost amused. “After all, you were raised by Wolf6. But my point is this: you are a lone wolf in a wilderness full of predators. No one guards your back. And the enemies who killed your parents… they’re still out there.”

Azrael’s chest tightened. “I thought your agent, Wolf6, killed them.”

The commander leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. “Perhaps. But who gave the contract to us? And they are like lions. If you’re alone, they will eat you alive. You need a pack.”

Azrael’s thoughts swirled. He is right… I have no one. But I can’t trust them.

The commander’s voice cut through his hesitation like steel. “You’ve been chosen. Not because you’re the strongest. Not because you’re the fastest. But because you survived.”

“Here, you’ll learn to fight, to hunt, to survive. You’ll be faster, stronger… and far more dangerous than you are now.”

“And if I don’t want to join?” Azrael asked, his voice small but defiant.

The commander’s smile was slow, deliberate, cold. “Then you won’t leave this room alive.”