Flashes. One after another. Weird words, incomprehensible to the ear, not natural, too different from those used by the men behind bars. Much lower, much more complex.

Increased in volume when broken and gutted. Very good.

The itch, the body itches and aches so often. New skin, more skin. More tendons?

What are tendons? The lines, the ropes, the connectors. Used to move and kill. Needed very many in big quantities, very vulnerable - cover in muscles. Muscles are tasty, but not eaten when yours.

Eaten muscles not impairing movement, used to cushion, used for protection. But better to thicken the skin, more skin. Gaps between skin, fill it with air - useful for the ranged engagements.

The bullets haven't flown overhead in a while. Mostly redundant, mostly useless, caliber way too small, damage very insubstantial. But some are big, need to dodge the big bullets.

Heard them a lot when the stone monuments fell. Under the mounds couldn’t move, fighting happened during that time. Many targets, some sounding familiar, all out of reach.

When the silence fell, the heatwave came. It burned, it burned so badly. Skin boiled, the air boiled. Lungs kept carbonizing, and had to spit out the ashes for new lungs to form. Stone burned, skin burned. The eyes became pointless, kept spilling out both at a time. Lasted way too long.

Like the voices of the different creatures, it also came to pass. Then a familiar sound returned, but it didn't find me. Couldn’t move anymore, became one with the rubble, with the stones and steel. Moved around by the oblivious ones in the cage of dregs and ruin. Dumped somewhere, left to rot.

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There was no rot. The hearts kept beating, took a long time to restart the process. Skin started growing, muscles and tendons expanded, bones calcified. Steely limbs fused with flesh, they were cold and dead. New signals came from the alien parts, not like the brain, but similar.

Much quicker, stronger, made the organs run faster.

Could finally move.

No voices. No bullets. No stone monoliths and prey fighting back. All the food is smaller, frail to the touch but faster, way too fast. Had to adapt. Limited visibility but quicker reactions, speed over power. Speed is war.

War is food? Food is good. Need to keep eating.

Some prey no longer run away, bringing food and running. Good.

Easy food is more mass, more mass needs more food. Let them bring food. Can follow. Is it called a pack? Pack is mine. I am head.

There was a word. Long ago, from the words written by the men behind bars.

They were stupid, stupid to make me, to let me be. Now I can eat, war, sleep and make pack. Bigger pack, bigger food. All to a bigger war. Frail prey is now my pack. The voices familiar and different are now prey, not many, but come from time to time.

Bullets got weak, their fangs even weaker. Mostly run, but I am faster.

All will come here, sooner or later. Can hear them, rumble beneath the snow, light far, far away. Frail pack cannot see, but I can with eyes no longer boiling. Way too sturdy now.

The cold machine in me rumbles with anticipation, the neural links from it to me give visions. Feel so alive, hearts racing so fast.

I remember the word. The words of the men behind familiar bars.

I am “Alpha”. I am war and death.

The land is my prey.