The New York military base lay in utter ruins.
Ashes drifted lazily in the wind. Smoke curled from the charred husks of fighter jets, tanks, and scorched barracks. Not a single vehicle had survived the carnage, every piece of machinery was reduced to twisted, blackened scrap. The once-proud base now looked like the aftermath of an apocalyptic bombing.
This time, Doggo had taken things to a whole other level.
With Luke's command echoing in his memory, Doggo had joyfully run wild. Every tank became a chew toy, every jet a plaything. He spared nothing.
The destruction wasn't limited to the surface either.
Deep beneath the base, in a top-secret underground facility, chaos reigned. Even though Doggo couldn't fit into the narrow corridors, his searing breath could. Flames surged like a living creature through the vents and halls, turning laboratories and hidden bunkers into ovens.
Somewhere below, General Thaddeus Ross screamed as the heat swept through. The fire didn't quite reach him, he'd ducked behind reinforced blast doors, but it was close. Too close.
When it finally passed, Ross emerged coughing, his skin red and blistered, and worse yet… all his hair, including his proud, iconic mustache was completely gone.
Hairless. Furious. Humiliated.
By the time reinforcements from nearby bases arrived, the three-headed beast had already vanished into the woods, merging back into one and disappearing into the night.
The army launched a frantic search across New York.
But Doggo was long gone.
The aftermath was sobering. According to official reports, 97 soldiers were confirmed dead, and dozens more suffered critical burns.
Even worse, only 52 bodies could be recovered.
That left 45 unaccounted for, consumed by those monstrous jaws.
Doggo's appetite had grown. His hunger apparently also tripled when divided.
The Next Morning - Pentagon, Washington D.C.
In a sterile, high-ceilinged office inside the Pentagon, General Ross sat grimly at a long table under the sharp eyes of military brass. His normally proud posture was deflated, and his shiny, bald face still radiated the heat of yesterday's disaster.
Across from him, a stony-faced general tapped a pen impatiently.
"You lost nearly a hundred men, destroyed an entire base, and failed to neutralize your target. You've got three minutes to defend yourself, Ross. After that... if you don't manage to convince us, you're done for."
Ross's hands clenched at the edge of the table. "That wasn't my failure," he growled. "That was the work of three monsters, mutants! You can't blame me for their power. No conventional force could've stopped them."
He jabbed a finger at the table. "We were underprepared, yes. But whose fault is that? You all denied my budget for advanced weapons last quarter!"
The brass exchanged cold glances.
"And this 'Luke Yale', you picked that fight first," a woman in a grey suit said flatly. "We've already confirmed it. You targeted him, then sent men after him."
Ross's eyes narrowed. "He's just a punk with a mutant dog."
She raised an eyebrow. "A punk who's now an honorary consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D."
That hit Ross like a brick to the gut.
"S.H.I.E.L.D…?" His voice dropped to a growl.
"Yes," the woman continued coolly. "Appointed just days before your assault. So congratulations, General, you didn't just attack a civilian. You attacked a S.H.I.E.L.D asset."
Ross felt a storm rise in his chest. That damned pirate... Nick Fury. This had to be his doing, a trap!.
He swallowed his rage. For now.
His career, his power, was hanging by a thread.
Then, with a shaky breath, he reached into his coat and pulled out a USB drive.
"If you want results," he said coldly, "then here. My super soldier program is complete. That drive contains the specs."
The officers stiffened.
Ross pressed on. "They're stronger than any man alive. Tougher, faster. Some have skin tinted slightly green, but don't let appearances fool you. They can break bones with their bare hands, survive direct gunfire... and if we scale this right, we can field an entire army of them."
He leaned back and crossed his arms. "You want power? This is it. Take it. Just don't expect me to fight a war with rubber bullets and dead men."
They inserted the USB. Files loaded. Images, videos, data readouts. The room went silent.
One general leaned in. "This… this could change everything."
Another whispered, "No army could stop us."
Finally, the commanding officer in the room leaned forward. "You'll keep your position, for now. But Ross... this is your last chance."
Ross didn't respond. He simply nodded once.
His thoughts, however, burned hotter than ever.
Luke Yale. Nick Fury. S.H.I.E.L.D.
He would make them all pay for this humiliation.