The next day, Michael set out to talk to the guard captains from the two different headquarters around Austin. He knew it was a long shot, but he couldn't just sit around and wait for the riots to come.

The first guard captain he spoke to was a middle-aged man, with graying hair and a stern look on his face. Michael introduced himself and explained that he was looking for information about the Black Disciples and the public unrest that has been slowly brewing.

The guard captain looked at him suspiciously. "I'm sorry, but I can't share any information with civilians. It's confidential."

Michael tried to reason with him. "But I need to know if it's safe here. I want to help if I can."

The guard captain shook his head. "I appreciate your desire to help, but it's not safe for anyone right now. You should stay inside and keep your head down."

Feeling frustrated but not giving up, Michael made his way to the second headquarters. This guard captain was a younger man, with a more approachable demeanor. Michael hoped he would have more luck with him.

Again, he explained his situation and asked for information. This time, the guard captain seemed more sympathetic.

"I understand your concern, but I'm afraid I cannot share any sensitive information with civilians. It's for your safety and ours."

Michael pressed on. "But what about the Black Disciples? They're a danger to everyone. Don't you think people have a right to know?"

The guard captain sighed. "Look, I understand what you're saying. But the situation is complicated. We're doing everything we can to keep the peace and protect the citizens. However, we don't want to cause unnecessary panic or give the wrong people any advantage. We can't risk the safety of our guards or the citizens by revealing sensitive information to just anyone who asks."

Michael nodded, feeling a sense of defeat wash over him. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he had to try.

As he left the second headquarters, he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. The guards were doing everything they could to keep the peace, but it might not be enough. He needed a plan, something that would guarantee his survival.

Michael walked down the empty streets, his eyes scanning his surroundings. He was looking for escape routes, places where people would be less likely to congregate during a riot, or a safe haven where he could wait the riots out.

As he walked, he couldn't help but notice the growing unrest all around him. People were angry and scared, arguing over everything. The once bustling city had turned into a ghost town, with only small groups of people huddled together for safety. The rest too scared to leave their homes.

He heard the sound of wood splintering from a nearby alleyway and quickly turned to investigate. A group of men were breaking into a house with an axe, grabbing whatever they could get their hands on. None of them payed any attention to him, it no longer mattered if someone saw their faces. Michael watched as they ran off with their loot, disappearing into the shadows.

Michael continued his walk, his mind racing with thoughts. He knew he needed to find a way to get more information from the guards, but how? He couldn't just keep asking them questions and hope they would eventually break their confidentiality agreement.

As he turned down another street, he heard shouting in the distance. Curiosity getting the best of him, he began to make his way towards the noise.

As he got closer, he saw a group of people gathered in front of one of the guard headquarters. They were shouting and waving their arms around, demanding that the guards release their supply of food.

Michael watched from a distance, not wanting to get involved. He knew that the guards were under a lot of stress, and he didn't want to add to their problems.

However, the situation quickly escalated. The group of people grew in size, and soon there were dozens of them shouting and banging on the door of the guard headquarters.

Michael knew he had to do something. He couldn't just stand by and watch as chaos erupted all around him. He took a deep breath and started walking towards the group of people.

"Excuse me," he said, trying to get their attention. "What's going on here?"

One of the men turned to him, his eyes filled with anger. "We're starving, and the guards won't give us any food. They're hoarding it all for themselves."

Michael knew this was a dangerous situation. He couldn't let the group of people get violent, or it could turn into a full-blown riot. He needed to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.

Michael raised his hands, palms outstretched in a gesture of peace. He tried to reason with the angry mob before him, their faces distorted by rage and desperation. But it was already too late. The woman at the front of the crowd leaned forward, her wild eyes blazing, and spat the words: "Are you one of the pigs?"

Before he could answer, someone from behind shouted,"Beat him up!" He didn't wait for more; he spun on his heel and dashed away. Michael's long legs gave him an advantage — he leaped over obstacles and surged ahead, putting as much distance between himself and the protesters as possible. Sweat dripped down his body, mingling with the fear that coursed through his veins like ice water.

Breathless, he stopped in a dark alleyway, his back pressed against the wall. He tried to calm his racing heart and steady his breathing, his eyes scanning his surroundings for any sign of danger.

After a few minutes, he cautiously made his way back to the main street, staying hidden in the shadows. He watched the protest from a safe distance, trying to gauge their mood and intentions.

The situation was getting out of hand. The protesters had grown in number, and they were becoming more aggressive by the minute. They had even started throwing rocks and bottles at the guard headquarters.

Michael watched as the guards came out to try and disperse the crowd, but they were met with angry shouts and jeers. It was clear that the people were not backing down.

After several minutes of the guards trying to calm the situation, the guard captain joined his men. It was the same man he has spoken to this morning, a middle-aged man, with graying hair and a stern look on his face.

The captain's voice boomed over the protesters. "I demand that you disperse immediately. This is a violation of the law, and I will not tolerate it any longer."

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One of the protesters, a tall man with a wild look in his eyes, stepped forward and spat in the captain's face. The crowd gasped, shocked by the man's audacity.

But the captain didn't flinch. He grabbed the man's tunic with one hand and with inhuman strength threw him over his shoulder onto the ground.

The protester let out a cry of pain, curling in on himself where he had landed. The rest of the crowd fell silent, stunned by the captain's show of force.

The captain turned to face the protesters, his eyes flashing with anger. "I will not tolerate this kind of behavior," he said, his voice low and menacing. "If you do not disperse immediately, we will be forced to take more drastic measures."

The protesters looked unsure, but the captain's display of strength had clearly made an impact on them. Slowly, they began to back away, their angry shouts turning into murmurs of discontent.

Michael watched from a distance, feeling a mixture of relief and unease. He knew that the captain's actions had been necessary to diffuse the situation, but he couldn't help but wonder what would happen next.

As the protesters dispersed, the captain turned to his men. "Make sure this area is secure," he ordered. "We don't want any more trouble."

Michael took the opportunity to slip away, his mind racing with thoughts as he made his way back home. The events of the day had left him shaken, but the captain's display of strength had left him with more questions than answers.

He knew that police officers were often trained in martial arts, his father was one after all, but what he saw was not just martial arts. It was one thing to be skilled in martial arts, but what he had witnessed seemed almost supernatural. That protester hit the ground so hard half his body must be broken. He wondered how the captain was capable of something like that and more importantly if his men were as well.

Michael had always been fascinated by the idea of the human body's untapped potential, but the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he became. If they were all able to do that, for whatever reason, they would be a force to be reckoned with.

It wouldn't save them once the real riots came, nor when the Black Disciples targeted them. The real problem was, if they had a way to gain such strength, what stopped others from taking it for themselves?

As he approached his small house, Michael's thoughts turned to his own safety. He knew that the riots were only going to get worse, and fast. Those people might get cowed for a while, but more will learn of a cop assaulting a protester than of his almost superhuman strength.

He stopped by Mr. Jenkins' house, knocking on his door, now a daily routine for him. He banged his hand against the door, waiting for some kind of response. He repeated this three times before heading back to his own home.

He had long ago check the inside of the house, just in case there was a body to be found, but he found the house empty of anything other than the old man's supplies. That didn't really inspire confidence in him. He doubted Mr. Jenkins would be so careless as to leave everything behind and wander off into the unknown.

Michael tried to shake off the troubling thoughts that plagued his mind as he sat down to eat his dinner. He had cooked up some beans, and he ate them slowly along with a piece of salted and smoked pork, savoring each bite.

He finished his meal and stood up, making his way over to the wooden bucket of water he had set up earlier. He looked at his reflection in the water, taking in his dirty appearance.

With a deep breath, he dipped his hands in the water and began to wash himself. The water was cold but grit his teeth and endured it. He scrubbed his face, his neck, his arms, trying to rid himself of the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the past few days.

As he washed, his thoughts drifted back to the captain and his men. There was definitely something odd about them, unnatural even, and he might need to find out what it was.

With a sigh, he finished washing himself and dried off with a rag. He picked up the wooden bucket and emptied it outside, watching as the water drained away.

----------------------------------------

Michael woke up well before sunrise the next day, his mind still preoccupied with the events from the previous day. He knew that he needed to find out more about the captain and his men, and he had a plan.

He quickly scarfed down his breakfast and headed towards the site of yesterday's protest. Hiding in an alley close to the headquarters, he found refuge under a small lean-to roof by sitting on a pile of planks near the sidewalk. When the sun rose, he would stay safely hidden in the shadows.

Michael waited patiently outside the guard headquarters, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of the captain or his men. He knew that he needed to be careful, as he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

Just before sunrise, a group of four men walked out of the guardhouse, dressed in regular clothing. Michael recognized them immediately as the captain's men from the previous day.

He waited a few moments before following them, making sure to keep a safe distance. He didn't want to spook them, but he also didn't want to lose track of them.

The men walked quickly, their heads down, as they made their way out of the city, heading westwards. Michael kept his eyes on them, moving silently and staying hidden as he followed them.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he followed them, his mind filled with questions. Where were they going? What were they planning? And most importantly, what was their connection to the captain and his seemingly supernatural strength?

As they trudged on, the remains of Brookfield Zoo came into view. No longer did it resemble a lively attraction, but rather a desolate wasteland. The remaining animal enclosures, once made of fencing, had been replaced with wrought iron. Michael couldn't see any animals, not even bones or remains. It was as if they had evaporated into thin air, though he knew better. If they had not died of starvation, they became food for those starving themselves.

He followed the guards for several miles, staying out of sight as they made their way further out of the city. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm glow across the land. Michael knew that he was taking a risk by following them, but he was determined to find out what they were up to.

As the hours passed, Michael continued to follow the group of guards. They seemed to be making their way further and further into the wilderness, away from any signs of the city.

This far out the areas mostly consisted of long open fields and small gated suburbs, which made following the guards without getting spotted utter hell. He couldn't count the number of times he had to throw himself on the ground, hiding within the tall grass.

Midway through the day, the guards stopped for a break, pulling out packed rations from their backpacks. All he had on him was a waterskin. He cursed himself for not bringing any food, but he knew that he had to stay focused on his mission.

As the guards finished their meal, they gathered up their things and continued on their journey. Michael continued to follow them, his curiosity driving him forward. He wondered where they could possibly be going, and what they could be doing out here in the wilderness.

As the hours wore on, Michael began to feel the exhaustion set in. His feet ached from walking for so long, and his stomach growled with hunger. He regretted not bringing any food with him, as he had not expected the guards' expedition to last this long.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the guards approached a towering wall of thick smooth metal, dwarfing the surrounding wilderness. The strange structure was like nothing he had ever seen before, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease in its presence.

The guards followed the wall along its side until they reached a gate made of wrought iron. Michael remained hidden in the shadows, his mind racing with questions. What was behind the wall? And why did the captain's men seem so interested in it?

He watched as the guards entered the gate, disappearing from sight.

Michael weighed his options carefully. He could turn back now and try to follow the guards again tomorrow, hoping to find a clue to their mysterious mission. But he knew that there was no guarantee that they would return to the city in a timely manner, and he didn't want to risk missing out on any important information.

He took a deep breath and made a decision. He would wait until the guards left and then sneak inside the compound to investigate further.

He found a spot to hide himself nearby and settled down to wait. The sun began to set, casting long shadows across the landscape. Michael's stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him of his hunger. He tried to ignore it, knowing that he needed to stay alert and focused.

He considered his options. He could wait until the morning to see if the guards would leave, but that would mean spending the night out in the open, vulnerable to attack and cold. He could also try to sneak in, but that would be incredibly risky.

"You can promise that I will come back?" asked Bilbo.

"No. And if you do, you will not be the same," answered Gandalf.

A single quote flickered through Michael's mind, and although he didn't know why it had surfaced, he figured it must have been a sign, so he stood up and walked towards the entrance of the compound.