"Alright, Ross!" June shouted, projecting her voice so that it carried down the hallways of the base.

Her tone was firm, tinged with urgency. "I don’t know if you can hear me, but fine! We agree to your terms. A woman will conduct the test!"

Silence followed for a few heartbeats. The air seemed to grow heavier, charged with anticipation. And then...

A calm, familiar voice spoke from directly behind her.

"Good. It’s hard to make friends in this apocalypse."

June’s body tensed. She spun around instinctively, her eyes widening in shock.

There he was—Ross, standing there as casually as if he had been there the whole time.

No footsteps, no warning, no indication of how he had moved.

"Was he... always there?!" she muttered under her breath, her mind reeling.

Her pulse quickened as her thoughts raced. Had he been invisible?

Had he silently passed through walls or ignored the very rules of space entirely?

The more she tried to process it, the less sense it made.

Every assumption she had about how people—or even humans with extraordinary abilities—moved through the world was shattered.

She quickly ran through the implications in her mind.

If Ross could teleport across continents, appear and disappear at will, and possibly even evade detection entirely, how could anyone hope to control or monitor him?

He was essentially untouchable.

Yet, she also realized that forcing him to leave was pointless; trying to resist him would only provoke him.

At the same time, a flicker of awe crept into her thoughts.

Ross wasn’t just powerful—he was in a league of his own, beyond comprehension.

Even now, standing casually behind her, he exuded an aura of calm mastery, the kind that left others tense without any effort.

He was dangerous, yes—but also... necessary.

June forced herself to steady her breathing. She had no choice.

If they were to survive—and if the base was to have any hope of regaining control in this chaotic world—they would have to work with him.

Even as she nodded to herself, preparing for the next steps, a nagging thought lingered: How many more abilities did Ross possess that they hadn’t yet discovered?

How many rules of reality could he bend that they didn’t even know existed?

And, most importantly, what would it take to keep him aligned with them, rather than against them?

Her hands clenched at her sides as she prepared to speak again, aware that every word mattered.

One wrong move, one hesitation, and Ross could vanish just as easily as he had appeared—leaving nothing but empty space, unanswered questions, and a base that would be completely unprepared.

This time, June knew, she had to think carefully, act decisively, and accept the new reality: in a world ruled by the extraordinary, ordinary rules no longer applied.

***

Ten minutes later, Ross stepped into the dimly lit private room, the heavy door sealing shut behind him with a soft pneumatic hiss.

The air inside was warmer than the corridors, tinged with the faint metallic scent of recycled oxygen and something sweeter—jasmine, maybe, or the ghost of expensive perfume.

Four small cameras blinked red in the corners like patient, unblinking eyes.

Everything that happened here would be recorded, archived, reviewed. Ross knew it.

He simply didn’t care.

His gaze found her immediately.

She stood near the center of the room, arms crossed beneath her breasts, weight shifted to one hip in a posture that screamed both command and barely restrained impatience.

June. Commander June Williams. The woman who ran this entire underground fortress with an iron hand wrapped in velvet.

Right now, though, the iron seemed to be melting.

Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual severe knot, but a few strands had escaped, curling against the flushed skin of her neck.

Her uniform jacket was still buttoned, crisp and authoritative, yet the top two fastenings had already been undone—as if she’d started the process of shedding control and then forced herself to wait.

"Are you going to undress now, Ross?" Her voice was low, clipped, the irritation unmistakable. "Or do I have to order you out of your clothes like some recruit who can’t follow basic instructions?"

Ross let a slow, lazy smile curve his mouth.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he tilted his head, studying her the way a predator might study something that had unexpectedly decided to become prey.

"I’m perfectly capable," he said at last, voice roughened from disuse and something darker.

"I’m just trying to figure out why it has to be you." He took one deliberate step forward.

June’s jaw tightened. A muscle flickered along the elegant line of her throat.

"Enough questions. You wanted a woman, here I am. Now lose your clothes." June replied.

Ross chuckled, low and dark. The sound seemed to vibrate through the small space between them.

"Fine," he repeated, tasting the word. "I just did not expect that you’d quickly skip foreplay, Commander."

He reached for the hem of his black fatigue shirt and tugged it upward in one smooth motion, peeling it over his head.

Broad shoulders, thick pectorals, the hard ridges of abdominal muscle shifting under scarred skin—he let her look.

The shirt dropped to the floor.

Next came the belt. The metallic clink echoed louder than it should have in the quiet room.

Pants slid down powerful thighs, pooling at his ankles. He kicked them aside without looking.

And then—only then—did he hook his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.

June hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. Her breathing, though, had grown shallower, more audible.

Her pupils were blown wide despite the soft overhead light.

Ross pushed the fabric down slowly, deliberately. Inch by inch.

The elastic caught for a moment on the thick base of him before sliding free.

When the boxers finally fell, he stepped out of them and straightened.

Silence.

Absolute, electric silence.

June’s lips parted.

A soft, involuntary sound escaped—half gasp, half whimper—before she clamped her mouth shut again.

His cock hung heavy between his legs.