They’d lost five men in the raid. Five warriors that had to be replaced as soon as possible, so they could get back to 400. That was the magic number that Gatto's grand master demanded for his elite battalion. Gatto, a blond giant with a very angular face had been named after a small kitten that he had captured on one of their forays and now lovingly cared for. He’d been way less loving in his disposal of the cat’s previous owner. Some of the men even claimed that he’d fed part of him to his new pet. Whether that was true or not, the kitten was, in any case, just as unpredictable as Gatto, so they were a perfect match. Gatto and the other men had formed a carceral circle of motorcycles around the eleven people they’d taken captive when they’d seized control of the tanker truck. They needed fuel to move freely, so most of their lives revolved around somehow procuring it. They had all taken the helmets off their NBC-suits, because their grand master had assured them that they were now in one of those magical places where they could stomach the exposure to the radiation. Zeno stepped into the circle. Gatto and his men knew that their leader’s name had a different meaning in a foreign language: the man who fell from the sky. That was just what he was to them: an alien, invulnerable, invincible, untouchable.

​

He faced the eleven captives unarmed. His men were eager to see how he’d go about the initiation ritual this time. Zeno lit a match and smiled at them as the small flame began to die. Just before it went out, he spewed a liquid into the night sky and when a few drops reached the dying fire, the flames rose again, and to new glory. Next, Zeno's breath of fire turned to the captives, who moved back, out of his radius. He spread the fire over his oiled arms and legs until he stood before his men, engulfed in flames. With cat-like speed he pounced on his first victim and killed it with a single blow to the neck. He repeated the ritual until the flames on his body burned no more, spurred by the frenetic applause of his men. Five of the captives had survived. They would give them the numbers they needed. Not a single one of them put up a fight. They all swore an oath of allegiance to Zeno and pressed their foreheads to his hands, which were just as unscathed as the rest of his body.

​

His men applauded, then Gatto, Zeno’s first subordinate, congratulated him personally. Zeno’s face screamed mockery.

"Would you like to play magician, too?"

Gatto gulped with excitement.

"Can I really?"

"As long as you don’t singe your little kitty. Remember, this is just a circus performance for the kids. We have got to get better. Much better."

Gatto felt Zeno’s pat on the shoulder right down to the soles of his feet.

"There’s no place for losers in this world."

Gatto’s kitten hissed.