Hammerson stared at the photograph. Hunter was older now but didn’t show it, other than a haunted sadness behind his eyes. After a mission in Chechnya, Hunter had suffered a catastrophic battlefield trauma and was brought back to the HAWCs more dead than alive. He’d been expected to live out his life in a vegetative state until his body withered, perhaps with his mind trapped inside, screaming to be free. But Hammerson had handed him over to the newly formed ASRU, the Alpha Soldier Research Unit of Fort Detrick’s Medical Command Installation. Hunter was to be their test subject for the experimental Arcadian treatment. It wasn’t expected to do more than deliver some cerebral stimulation for enhanced cognizance and muscular mobility. After all, the man was little more than a vegetable. But Alex Hunter had woken – and was much more than he had been. In fact, much more than anyone had ever been on the planet.

He was the one real success of the Arcadian treatment. Something already in Hunter’s system had bonded at the DNA level, changing him – mostly for good. He had increased strength, increased speed, improved cognitive abilities and wound recovery. But there were dark psychological side effects, some which nearly destroyed him. Hunter managed them, but the monster from the Id lurked inside the man. His fury was chained for now, but always there, waiting to break free.

Hammerson half smiled. The codename had stuck; Hunter wasn’t just the only Arcadian subject, now he was the Arcadian.

Hammerson’s phone buzzed and he lifted it to his ear. “Gerry?”

“Got something, Jack. Weird, but it might fit. No footage, but a call from the suspension bridge’s watchtower over the Tigris. Seems they had someone walking across the span bridge, carrying something on their back. The words they used in Arabic translated to: it looked like a giant.”

“Carrying a thousand-pound nuke on its back?” Hammerson frowned. Even Hunter would struggle with that. And this guy carried it, day and night, for hundreds of miles. Impossible, he thought.

“A walking WMD; like I said, weird,” Gerry said. “Give me a call if you need anything else.”

“You got it, and thanks, Gerry.”

Hammerson put the phone down and looked again at Alex’s picture. “Send a WMD to find a WMD.”