Dmitry Ivanov stood at the center of the training grounds, his breath visible in the frosty morning air. Around him, the other participants in the Dogs Program watched silently, their expressions a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Captain Mikhailov had called them here for a reason, but none of them knew what to expect.

  "Comrades," Mikhailov began, his voice sharp and commanding. "The time has come for us to push this program to its next phase. You have all proven your worth as soldiers, but now we will determine who among you is truly exceptional."

  The tension in the air was palpable. Dmitry’s enhanced senses picked up the faint murmurs and shuffling of boots. He could feel the energy of the group, their shared anxiety mingling with determination.

  "You will face a series of challenges," Mikhailov continued. "Physical, mental, and… experimental. Only the best will advance to the final tier of this program. The Motherland demands nothing less than perfection."

  Dmitry’s jaw tightened. He had come too far to falter now. Whatever these challenges entailed, he would meet them head-on.

  The first test was endurance. The soldiers were tasked with carrying weighted packs through the dense forest surrounding the base. Snow fell steadily, the icy wind biting at their faces. Dmitry moved with an ease that unnerved even him. His body, strengthened beyond human limits, barely registered the strain. He noticed, however, that some of his peers struggled. A few fell behind, their breaths ragged and labored.

  "Come on!" Dmitry barked at a fellow soldier, a younger man named Yuri who had been part of his unit before the program. "Don’t give up now!"

  Yuri looked up at him, his face pale and glistening with sweat. He nodded weakly and pushed himself forward, but Dmitry could see the fear in his eyes. Fear of failure. Fear of what would happen if he couldn’t keep up.

  By the time they reached the checkpoint, only a few dozen soldiers remained in the running. Mikhailov stood waiting, his expression impassive as he took note of each arrival.

  "Good," he said when the last soldier staggered in. "But this was only the beginning."

  The second test was far more grueling. The soldiers were taken to an underground facility, a maze of dimly lit corridors and reinforced steel doors. Each was given a simple directive: survive.

  Most of the soldiers entered chambers where they faced three opponents—fresh recruits from the program’s preliminary phases. These recruits had the advantage of vigor and numbers but lacked the skill and experience honed by the trial-hardened veterans. The fights were brutal yet controlled. Mikhailov had made it clear: lethal force was not permitted. Each soldier had to demonstrate precision, endurance, and strategic thinking to overcome their opponents.

  Yuri’s test saw him facing three younger men with bare-knuckle fists. His fear threatened to overwhelm him at first, but he managed to center himself. He dodged a wild punch from the first recruit and countered with a calculated strike to the ribs. The second came at him from behind, locking Yuri in a chokehold. Yuri dropped his weight and drove his elbow back into the recruit’s stomach. The third, clearly the strongest of the trio, charged at him with a yell, but Yuri stepped aside and used the recruit’s momentum to send him sprawling into a wall. By the end, Yuri stood battered and panting, but victorious.

  Pavel, another seasoned soldier, took on his three opponents with ruthless efficiency. His first strike broke the nose of an overzealous recruit, incapacitating him instantly. The second recruit attempted to grapple him, but Pavel’s superior strength and technique turned the maneuver into a devastating throw. The third, though clearly intimidated, fought hard, landing a solid punch to Pavel’s jaw. Pavel shook it off and ended the bout with a decisive uppercut that sent the recruit crashing to the floor.

  Each soldier emerged from their chambers with fresh wounds and renewed determination. The air in the waiting area was thick with tension as the sounds of combat echoed from the remaining chambers.

  Dmitry, however, faced an entirely different trial from the rest of the recruits. As he entered his assigned corridor, the air changed dramatically—thick with the acrid scent of oil and metal, undercut by the faint, rhythmic hum of unseen machinery. Each step echoed ominously, the metallic clank amplifying his sense of isolation. Unlike the physical challenges the others faced, Dmitry immediately knew this was something far more sinister. It wasn’t just a test of strength or skill. It was a crucible designed to challenge his control—to pit his humanity against the animalistic fury the injections had awakened within him.

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  A low growl reached his ears, and he froze. Ahead, in the shadows, things writhed. Dmitry crouched, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make out the figures. The sounds weren’t human. The creatures that emerged into the faint light, amber eyes gleaming, were from the program’s earlier experiments—failed experiments, but no less deadly for it. Their bodies were twisted, their movements jerky but powerful.

  Dmitry held his ground as the creatures began to attack. He sidestepped, his reflexes faster than he had anticipated. With a swift motion, he drove his knife into the side of one, the blade sinking deep into the creature’s flesh. It let out a howl of pain but didn’t stop. Another tackled him from the other side, and Dmitry was knocked to the ground, his strength barely enough to throw the creature and jump back on his feet. As the next creature moved forward, the first and second regained their footing behind him.

  He could count five creatures, four the same grotesque damnation and the fifth something more akin to a gorilla, only larger. Sensing the creatures pressing in on all sides, Dmitry pulled a rage from deep inside and told it to kill. In the time it took his eyes to flicker amber, then blue, Dmitry grew. Two feet taller, 200 pounds heavier, hands and feet tipped with enormous claws. His body thickened and grew a protective coat of fur all while he turned and jumped toward the two injured creatures behind him.

  By the time Dmitry made impact, the transformation had completed. He absolutely smashed the face of the creature on his right. Reaching down, he pulled the creature’s head clean away from its body. Turning, he smashed the corpse into the other creature while continuing to rush forward, shoving both fists through the creature’s chest and ripping outward, showering everything in the creature’s blood and innards as he ripped it in half.

  All of this left him with distance to the final two attacking creatures and the fifth that continued to hold back, sitting, watching.

  A guttural roar escaped Dmitry as he dug his feet into the surface of the stone, turned, and lunged forward at wild speeds. Running at, then between, the two creatures ahead of him, he punched right through the throats of each, ripping their heads clean off. Blood, gore, and the sounds of his deep-guttural breathing filled the room as he flexed, stretched, and, beyond his control, loosened a howl of victory as his form pitched skyward. Standing there, muscles taut, violence feeling as necessary as breathing, Dmitry considered the final creature in the room. He threw himself towards it, stopping with his face inches from the gorilla-shaped beast. The creature stood, staring right back, its enormous chest puffed but making no move to attack. After moments turned into minutes, the beast took a step back and dropped to one knee. It pulled its shoulders forward and bowed its head in a gesture of subservience to whatever Dmitry had become.

  Dmitry couldn’t stop himself. He moved to tear the beast’s neck apart. He bent down, took a deep breath, and realized he could sense much about this beast from the air around it. A taste, a smell, a population of knowledge told him that this beast was powerful, intelligent, and something tugged at Dmitry to bring more of his human self forward. Several deep breaths later, Dmitry had reduced his form almost back to normal. He had successfully overcome his drive to kill and put rage back in the box.

  The beast made no move to reassert dominance.

  "Stand up," Dmitry said, and so the beast stood.

  By the end of the trials, only 27 soldiers remained. Dmitry stood among them, his body bruised but his resolve unshaken. Mikhailov addressed the group, his tone almost reverent.

  "You are the best of the best," he said. "The elite. From this moment forward, you are no longer merely soldiers. You are the Dogs."

  The soldiers exchanged glances, the weight of the captain’s words sinking in. Dmitry felt a strange mix of pride and unease. He had earned his place; this is what he had been after all along. But there were sides to him now that he didn’t recognize. Uncertainty tempered elation, and the gap between weighed on his soul.

  All gathered in the yard in pack formation, Mikhailov addressed the group.

  "Through Dmitry, we have perfected the serum," Mikhailov said. "The rest of you have been on a fine cocktail of vitamins and steroids. With the success Dmitry has shown and your graduation of this program, you will all now receive the true Dog serum," Mikhailov continued. "Dmitry, you will select nine comrades to form your pack. There will be three packs for now. These packs will operate independently, each with its own leader. Ivanov," he said, turning to Dmitry, "you will choose first."

  Dmitry stepped forward, his mind racing. He scanned the faces of the remaining soldiers, looking for those he trusted, those who had proven themselves in the trials.

  "What will become of the beast from my fight?" Dmitry asked.

  "It will be disposed of properly; it is a failed experiment," Mikhailov replied.

  "No, I would like to have the beast beside me as a member of my squad."

  One by one, he called the names of other soldiers to join him. Yuri was among them, though Dmitry couldn’t shake the memory of the fear he had seen in his eyes.

  When the selections were complete, the newly formed packs stood at attention, their leaders at the forefront. Mikhailov nodded, satisfied.

  "You are ready," he said. "Soon, the world will know what the Motherland has created."

  Dmitry felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. The path ahead was clear, but it was far from certain. As he looked at the soldiers who now depended on him, he vowed silently that he would not let them down—no matter what the future held.

  They were now all going to become super soldiers.