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The AmbushThe air in the barn crackled with sudden, brutal intent. "Get him!" Tyler roared, and the gang surged forward. The metal pipe swung first, a whistling arc aimed at Harry's head. Harry ducked, the pipe slicing through the air where his skull had been moments before. He twisted, a blur of motion, as Vance lunged with the wooden stick, blocking the clumsy swing with his forearm. The wood splintered against his skin, but the pain was a distant throb.Before he could fully recover, a massive shadow fell over him. Brody, with surprising speed for his size, had circled behind him. Powerful arms wrapped around Harry's chest, pinning his arms tightly to his sides. Harry struggled, twisting, but Brody's grip was like iron, squeezing the air from his lungs. He was trapped, his most effective weapons?his speed and his arms?neutralized."Now, freak!" Tyler yelled, his eyes alight with malicious glee.Jake, seeing Harry restrained, moved in, his face contorted in a sneer. The collapsible baton, now fully extended, whistled through the air, aimed directly at Harry's temple. There was no time to dodge, no way to block with his arms pinned. Harry reacted on pure instinct, a desperate surge of power. He lashed out with his leg, a lightning-fast kick that shot upwards. His foot connected with the baton with a sickening CRACK. The force was immense, far beyond what a normal kick could generate. The baton didn't just fly from Jake's hand; it was propelled with incredible velocity, smashing through the weathered wooden planks of the barn roof with a splintering THWACK, tearing open a jagged hole in the ceiling. A moment later, the sound of metal clattering on the ground outside confirmed it had gone completely through.Brody grunted, momentarily startled by the sheer power of Harry's kick, his grip loosening just a fraction. But before Harry could capitalize, Vance, relentless, charged again. Having seen Harry's effective use of his legs, Vance aimed his next attack low, the long wooden stick swinging in a wide, vicious arc towards Harry's shins, trying to neutralize his only free weapons. Harry twisted, barely avoiding the blow, the stick whistling past his feet.Tyler, seeing Vance's strategy, joined the assault, his metal pipe now swinging at Harry's torso, trying to land a solid hit on his body. Harry dodged, contorting his trapped upper body, but the confined space and Brody's unyielding grip made evasion difficult. He managed to avoid the worst of the blows, but a glancing hit from Vance's stick grazed his thigh, and Tyler's pipe scraped painfully across his ribs. The pain was sharp, but it only fueled his desperation.Seeing his baton gone, Jake didn't hesitate. His eyes darted around the barn, landing on a workbench. With a furious grunt, he grabbed a heavy, gleaming crowbar, its curved end glinting menacingly in the dim light. The fight had just escalated.
The blows landed, dull thuds against his body, each one a stark reminder of his precarious situation. Brody's grip was unrelenting, and now Jake was closing in with the crowbar, its heavy weight a terrifying promise of serious injury. Harry knew, with a chilling certainty, that this couldn't last. He had to break free. He hadn't yet learned to channel the electricity that sometimes surged through him, not at will, but his physical strength, his speed, was a raw, untamed force.A desperate idea sparked. With a sudden, unexpected move, Harry stomped down hard on Brody's foot. Brody yelped, his massive frame instinctively flinching, his grip loosening just enough as he lowered his head. That was all Harry needed. He used the momentary shift to gather his legs beneath him, then exploded downwards, pushing off the ground with every ounce of his burgeoning power. Brody, still reeling from the stomp, was propelled backward with astonishing force. There was a sickening CRACK as Brody's back slammed into the old wooden barn wall. The wall itself groaned, splintered, and a jagged crack shot through the aged planks. Brody slumped to the floor, unconscious, a dark stain spreading on the wood behind him.Freed, Harry spun, his eyes blazing. Tyler, still wielding the metal pipe, lunged. But Harry was a blur. He didn't just dodge; he moved so fast he seemed to vanish and reappear. His hand shot out, not to strike, but to snatch. The metal pipe was ripped from Tyler's grasp with a force that made Tyler cry out in surprise and pain. Without breaking stride, Harry hurled the pipe upwards. It tore through the already damaged roof with a splintering THWACK, disappearing into the stormy sky. A moment later, a splash of cold rainwater poured in through the new hole.Vance, seeing Tyler disarmed, charged with his wooden stick. Harry met him, a flash of motion, snatching the stick mid-swing and sending it flying through another section of the roof. Then Jake, crowbar raised, lunged. Harry moved, a blur of motion, disarming him with a swift, precise move that sent the heavy crowbar spiraling through the air to punch a new hole in the far wall of the barn.The remaining boys, now unarmed, stared at Harry, their faces pale with terror. They scrambled, grabbing anything they could find ? old tools, loose planks, handfuls of dried hay ? and began to hurl them at Harry. Harry dodged the first few, the objects whistling past his head. He blocked some others. But then he noticed them picking up the same objects he had just avoided, preparing to throw them again. His patience, already thin, snapped.With a frustrated roar, Harry began to catch the thrown objects mid-air. He caught a wrench, a hammer, a rusty pitchfork, and with a terrifying display of raw power, he hurled them back, not at the boys, but through the walls and roof of the barn. Each impact was like a cannon shot, tearing gaping holes in the old structure. The entire barn groaned and swayed, timbers creaking ominously, as if caught in the grip of an invisible hurricane. Dust and splinters rained down, and more rainwater poured in through the new perforations. The old barn looked as if it was on the verge of collapsing, which would endanger everyone inside.Harry, his eyes wild with uncontrolled power, was beyond reason now. He hadn't learned to control his strength, only to unleash it. With a final, furious surge, he grabbed the remaining boys ? Tyler, Vance, and Jake ? one by one, and hurled them against the nearest wall with a terrifying, unthinking force. They hit the wood with sickening thuds, crumpling to the ground, unconscious. The barn, now a battered, rain-streaked wreck, slowly settled, its timbers groaning, as Harry stood panting in the center, a whirlwind of raw, untamed power.
Stephen?s InterventionThe sound of splintering wood and crashing objects, followed by an eerie silence, had been enough. Stephen, who had been in the house, burst into the barn, his face etched with alarm. He stopped dead just inside the ruined doorway, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief at the scene before him. Rain poured in through gaping holes in the roof and walls, soaking the hay-strewn floor. Tools lay scattered, planks were broken, and in the midst of it all, Harry stood panting, surrounded by the unconscious forms of Tyler, Vance, Jake, and Brody."Holy sheet," Stephen breathed, the expletive escaping him in a low, disbelieving whisper. He rushed to Harry, his hands immediately checking him over. "Harry! Are you hurt? What happened?"Harry, still breathing heavily, quickly explained, his words tumbling out in a rush. He described the ambush, Brody's hold, the crowbar, and the desperate need to break free. He told Stephen how he'd disarmed them, how they'd kept throwing things, and how he'd finally, instinctively, thrown them against the wall to stop them before the barn collapses on them. Stephen quickly assessed Harry's minor scrapes and bruises, applying a dab of antiseptic from a small kit he always seemed to have on hand. Then, he moved to the unconscious boys, his expression grim but focused. He carefully examined each one. Tyler's wrist was clearly dislocated again, and likely fractured. Vance had a nasty bruise forming on his jaw. Jake's shoulder looked out of place, and Brody, who had taken the brunt of Harry's initial kick, had a deep, ugly bruise on his back where he'd hit the wall, and was still completely out cold.As Stephen worked, his gaze swept over the ruined barn. The sheer scale of the destruction was immense ? gaping holes, splintered wood, scattered debris. Yet, despite the obvious power Harry had unleashed, Stephen noted something crucial. None of the boys had major, life-threatening injuries. They were bruised, dislocated, unconscious, but they were alive. Harry, even in his desperation, had shown a remarkable, if uncontrolled, restraint.
Stephen stood amidst the wreckage of the barn, his gaze sweeping from the unconscious boys to the gaping holes in the walls and roof. The rain continued to pour in, a steady drumbeat against the chaos. He thought for a long moment, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Then, a flicker of an idea crossed his face, a grim determination replacing the initial shock."Alright, Harry," he said, his voice low and decisive. "I'll take care of this. Stay here."He strode back towards the house, disappearing into the dim light. Harry watched him go, still panting slightly, the adrenaline slowly draining from his system. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, only a few minutes passed before Stephen returned, carrying a small, nondescript bag. From it, he produced a handful of small, clear capsules.Stephen knelt beside each unconscious boy, gently prying open their mouths and placing a capsule on their tongues, then pouring a little water from a bottle he'd also brought. He did the same for Harry."What are those?" Harry asked, his voice a little hoarse, as he swallowed the bitter capsule.Stephen looked at him, a wry, almost mischievous glint in his eyes, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Magic mushrooms, Flash," he said, his voice conspiratorial. "Our cover story." He gestured around the ruined barn. "You all came here after school, found these capsules, and tried them out of curiosity. And then," he paused, his gaze sweeping dramatically over the damaged structure, "the storm hit. A sudden, freak hurricane. It explains the damage, the boys' injuries, and your? altered state." He gave Harry a pointed look.Before Harry could fully process this, Stephen pulled out his phone. He dialed quickly, his voice calm and authoritative as he spoke. "Yes, I need an ambulance at my farm. My son and some friends were playing in the barn when a sudden, freak hurricane hit. They're injured, some unconscious. Yes, a hurricane. It came out of nowhere."As Stephen finished the call, a strange sensation began to creep over Harry. The edges of his vision softened, colors seemed to deepen, and the sounds of the rain took on a peculiar, rhythmic quality. A faint, almost pleasant buzzing started behind his ears. The old hay bales in the corner seemed to shimmer, and the tools hanging on the wall appeared to twist and writhe. A giggle bubbled up from deep within him, unexpected and uncontrollable."Dad," Harry mumbled, his voice sounding strangely distant even to himself. "I think? I think it's working." The barn, already a wreck, began to spin.
The flashing lights and blaring sirens were a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and sound. Harry, still in a strange, detached state, was vaguely aware of being lifted onto a stretcher, the world tilting and swaying around him. The ambulance ride was a blur of muffled voices and the rhythmic thump of his own distorted heartbeat.At the hospital, the emergency room was a hive of activity. Doctors and nurses moved with practiced efficiency, their faces a mix of concern and professional detachment. Tyler, Vance, Jake, and Brody were already there, waking up slowly, their groans echoing in the sterile environment. When questioned by the medical staff and later, by a bewildered police officer, their stories were a jumbled mess. They mumbled about "something hitting them," "the barn shaking," and "weird lights," their eyes wide and unfocused. They were clearly trying to avoid confessing their ambush, but their confused state only reinforced the "magic mushroom" narrative.When it was Harry's turn, Stephen stood calmly by his side. "Harry, tell them what you remember," he prompted gently.Harry, his mind still swimming in a pleasant haze, dutifully recited the prepared version. "We were just playing in the barn? found some capsules? took them? then the storm hit. Everything went crazy. The barn started shaking, and things were flying around." He even managed a few convincing shivers, though the cold was more from the IV drip than any lingering fear.The doctors, already suspicious of the boys' incoherent ramblings, ordered blood tests. The results, when they came back, confirmed the presence of psilocybin, the active compound in magic mushrooms, in all their systems. The medical team, faced with the physical evidence and the boys' confused accounts, concluded that the injuries ? the dislocated joints, the severe bruising, the concussions ? were consistent with a chaotic, high-impact event, like being thrown around in a violent, localized storm. The "freak hurricane" story, combined with the drug use, became the official explanation.The remote location of Stephen's farmhouse and the barn further solidified the cover-up. There were no immediate neighbors to contradict the storm narrative, no witnesses other than the boys themselves, all of whom were compromised. The authorities, satisfied with the medical evidence and the plausible explanation of a sudden, localized weather phenomenon combined with youthful recklessness, closed the case.Harry, now clear-headed, was discharged later that night, Stephen by his side. The incident was over, officially explained away. But as they drove home, Harry knew the truth. The storm hadn't been outside. It had been inside him. And the secret of his power, and the lengths his father would go to protect it, had just become a much heavier burden.
A New MentorThe farmhouse felt like a sanctuary after the sterile glare of the hospital. The scent of woodsmoke and old books was a comforting balm. The next morning, over a quiet breakfast, Stephen looked at Harry, his expression serious."Harry," he began, pushing a plate of pancakes towards him. "What happened in the barn? it was too close. You did what you had to do, I understand that. But you need to learn to control your strength better. You could have seriously hurt those boys, or worse. And you could have gotten yourself into a lot of trouble that even a 'magic mushroom' story couldn't fix."Harry nodded, picking at his pancakes. He knew Stephen was right. The memory of the barn, the splintering wood, the boys collapsing, still felt raw and unsettling. He hadn't meant to cause so much damage, but in the heat of the moment, it had been the only way he knew how to react."That's why," Stephen continued, his gaze unwavering, "I've made some arrangements. Do you remember the man who helped us in the helicopter chase? The one who took out the grey chopper?"Harry's eyes widened. "Uncle Sam?" he asked, remembering Stephen's casual reply.Stephen nodded. "His name is Sam Lim. He's? a very capable individual. And he's going to teach you. He can help you understand your abilities, how to control them, how to fight effectively without causing unnecessary harm. He can teach you to improve your fighting skills, to channel that power." Stephen's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "It's not just about protecting yourself anymore, Harry. It's about protecting others, and doing it responsibly."
The next day, after school, the air was filled with the rhythmic thud of hammers and the scent of fresh-cut wood. Harry was helping Stephen repair the damaged barn, patching the gaping holes in the walls and roof. It was hard work, but satisfying, a tangible way to put the recent chaos behind them. At one point, Stephen paused, wiping sweat from his brow."Looks like we're running low on nails, Flash," Stephen said, looking up at the attic of the farmhouse. "Could you run up to the house and grab another box from the storage trunk in the attic? Top shelf, far left."Harry nodded, eager to help. He jogged towards the farmhouse, his boots crunching on the gravel path. As he approached the front door, he noticed something. A figure. Standing on the porch, facing the door. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in dark, nondescript clothing. Harry instinctively ducked behind a large rose bush, his heart giving a sudden, anxious thump. He peered through the leaves, watching the stranger. The man seemed to be waiting, his posture still, almost patient.Then, the stranger began to move, walking around the side of the house towards the rear. As he rounded the corner, Harry got a clear view of his face. His breath hitched. It was him. The man from the Amazon. The leader of the soldiers who had caught him in the net. The man with the cold, unreadable eyes and the single white feather on his helmet ? though the feather was absent now.A cold wave of fear, sharp and immediate, washed over Harry. He remembered the hunt, the trap, the chilling words: "The client wants him alive." Was he here for revenge? For Stephen? A surge of protective fury mixed with his terror. He couldn't let this man get to his father.Without a second thought, Harry launched himself from behind the bushes, a silent, furious blur. He aimed a flying kick, a desperate ambush, directly at the man's back. But the stranger moved with an impossible, almost preternatural speed. He sidestepped Harry's attack with casual ease. Harry's foot, instead of connecting with the man, slammed into the sturdy wooden rear door of the farmhouse with a resounding CRACK, leaving a deep indentation.The stranger spun, his movements fluid and precise. He dodged Harry's follow-up kicks and wild punches with effortless grace, countering each attack with a calculated block or a subtle redirection. Harry, fueled by fear and a desperate need to protect, fought with all his might, but the man was simply too skilled, too fast. In a matter of seconds, Harry found himself caught, his arms pinned, the man's forearm pressed firmly against his windpipe, holding him in a chokehold.Harry struggled, gasping for air, his vision beginning to blur. The fear for himself was immense, but a new, terrifying thought flashed through his mind: What if he gets to Dad? A primal, desperate survival instinct flared. He hadn't mastered it, couldn't control it at will, but in moments of extreme peril, it manifested. A surge of raw, untamed power coursed through him. He focused, pushing the energy outwards. A sharp, crackling sensation erupted from his body. He zapped the man, once, twice, three times, a desperate, uncontrolled discharge of electricity. But to Harry's horror, the man's dark suit seemed to absorb it, barely a flicker of reaction. He merely tightened his grip."Stop it! Both of you!" Stephen's voice, sharp and urgent, cut through the buzzing in Harry's ears. He had heard the commotion, the thud against the door, and rushed over.
Stephen skidded to a halt, his eyes wide with alarm. "Sam! What are you doing?" he shouted, rushing forward.Sam Lim, still holding Harry in the chokehold, released him instantly. Harry stumbled back, gasping for air, his eyes narrowed at the man who had effortlessly dodged his ambush and absorbed his desperate electric shock."Just a test, Stephen," Sam said, his voice calm, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He rubbed his forearm where Harry's zap had connected. "You can't manage what you can't measure. This suit," he gestured to his dark, form-fitting attire, "is specifically designed to measure the electric shock. It also provides some protection. I'm somewhat resistant to the zap, but not completely immune, as you can see." He flexed his hand, a slight tremor visible. "The shock can reach up to 600 Volts and 1 Ampere, around the same level as a large electric eel. No wonder he can kill a caiman."Stephen ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "A test? I expected you tomorrow, Sam! That's the earliest flights!"Sam chuckled, a dry, knowing sound. "Commercial flights are for civilians, Stephen. I used my old military channels. Parachuted in this morning. Much more efficient." He looked at the ruined barn, then back at Harry, a glint in his eye. "Looks like your boy's quite the force of nature. The hurricane, I believe you called him?" He chuckled again. "Very convenient, that bad weather just happened to support your makeup story for the hospital. Almost too convenient."Stephen sighed, a weary but resigned sound. "It was a calculated risk. For every truth, Harry," he said, turning to his son, his voice serious again, "there are infinitely many lies as an alternative. I'd have to choose the most believable one, in case the storm hadn't come. But it's more likely that Tyler and his gang chose the time deliberately, using a weather forecast. A storm would have been useful for them to conceal a bullying incident inside the barn. We just turned their own advantage against them. Just in case this wasn't enough, I've already got a backup plan."Harry, still reeling from the shock of seeing the Amazon soldier and the revelation of the "test," felt a new, unsettling thought solidify in his mind. "So? so what happened in the forest?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost accusing. "Was that... was that staged too? Did you...did you lie to me?"Stephen's gaze softened, a flicker of pain in his eyes. "No, Harry. Not staged. Not entirely. I improvised a bit, yes, especially when you almost escaped from the net. I needed to quickly build your trust and get you out of there as soon as possible. The enemies were chasing you. They were real. And they want something you have, something powerful." He stepped closer, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You can't just believe everything people tell you, Harry. Not even me, sometimes. But I guarantee you this: when I say I love you, it's true. That, you can always believe. Because part of my blood flows in your veins."
The initial shock of Sam's arrival and Stephen's revelations slowly began to settle. Harry, still a little wary, looked at Sam."Harry," Sam began, his gaze sharp, "when I blocked your kick earlier, you seemed to feel pain. Was that from the incident in the barn?"Harry nodded, rubbing his thigh. "I guess so. When Brody held me back, I used my legs to kick and deflect their attacks, so they aimed at my legs instead. I got hit a few times."Sam nodded thoughtfully, his eyes assessing Harry's frame. "You're already strong as is, Harry. More than strong. But you can still improve that strength. Naturally, our limbs aren't designed for side impacts, or to be used as blunt weapons. But when you use them as weapons, it's inevitable they'll take a beating. You need to precondition your bones, your muscles, your skin. We can start when you're ready."Harry frowned, looking at the damaged barn. "I still don't understand why they did all of this," he complained, a hint of frustration in his voice. "Tyler and his gang. They don't get anything from what they did to Rowan, or Asha, or me. It just seems? pointless."Sam offered a small, knowing smile. "Your mom, Lea, used to tell me: 'Every time we decide to do or not to do something, we must be thinking that it's the best for that time being.' Those boys? they might simply have done that for fun, and thought they could get away with the consequences. Maybe you've shown them those consequences, which could change their behaviors. Just telling them didn't seem to work."Later, during dinner, Harry couldn't help but ask more about Sam. "Dad," he began, "you said Uncle Sam was a soldier?"Stephen nodded, a proud glint in his eye. "Sam was an elite soldier, Harry. In a special forces unit of the U.S. Marines. One of the best."Sam, who had been quietly eating, looked up. "I was badly injured in a compromised mission," he revealed, his voice flat, devoid of self-pity. "I wasn't supposed to survive. But your parents, Lea and Stephen, they saved my life with the technology they developed. Project David. Your Aunt Shania was the nurse who helped me recover." He paused, a softer expression crossing his face. "I married her a few years later. We retired to Guyana. Became rice farmers."The night was getting late, the farmhouse settling into a comfortable quiet. "Alright, Harry," Stephen said, pushing back his chair. "Time for bed. You've got school tomorrow."As Harry got up, he paused at the doorway, a question still nagging at him. He turned to Sam. "By the way, Uncle Sam," he asked, "why did you wear a white feather during the rescue mission in the Amazon?"Sam's lips curved into a faint smile. "Your Aunt Shania gave it to me," he replied. "Said it was a lucky charm."Harry nodded slowly, then turned and closed his bedroom door behind him.Stephen watched the door click shut, then turned to Sam, his voice dropping to a low tone. "Will Shania follow you here, Sam?"Sam's smile faded, replaced by a distant look. "No," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "She still can't forget what Harry caused to Lea.""But it's not his fault," Stephen cut in, his voice sharp with immediate defense.Sam met Stephen's gaze, his eyes weary. "Have you told him everything, Stephen?"Stephen looked away, towards the flickering fireplace. "I've told him everything he needs to know. For now."
The fluorescent lights of the classroom hummed, casting a dull glow on the textbooks and worksheets. Mrs. Henderson's voice, usually a comforting drone, was today just a muffled background noise. Harry sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the clock, but his mind was miles away, already in the barn, or perhaps a hidden training ground in the woods. He couldn't stop thinking about it: the training. Sam Lim. Learning to control the power that had shattered a barn and dislocated bones.Asha, sitting a few desks away, glanced over at him. Her brow was furrowed with a subtle concern. She'd noticed the change in Harry since the lunchroom incident, a new quietness, a distant look in his eyes. He seemed? heavier, somehow. During a lull in the lesson, she leaned forward slightly. "Are you okay, Harry?" she whispered, her voice soft, laced with genuine worry. "You seem different."Her quiet care, the simple concern in her voice, touched something deep within Harry. He looked at her, truly looked at her. Her dark hair, her intelligent blue eyes, the determined set of her jaw that he'd seen when she stood up to Tyler. She was beautiful, yes, but more than that, she was brave. Too brave, perhaps. He thought of Tyler's knife, inches from her back, and a cold dread tightened in his chest. How easily bad people could hurt someone like her, someone so willing to interfere with wrongdoings, to stand up for what was right.A powerful, almost overwhelming urge surged through him. He needed to be stronger. Not just for himself, not just to control the chaotic power within him, but to protect her. To ensure that no one, ever again, could threaten Asha. The thought solidified into a quiet, fierce determination, a new purpose shaping itself in his young mind.
The school day, usually a slow crawl, seemed to rush by in a blur of anticipation. When the bus finally dropped Harry off at the end of the long driveway, he practically sprinted towards the farmhouse. As he rounded the corner of the house, he stopped dead.In front of the barn, which already showed signs of Stephen's ongoing repairs, stood a new, imposing structure. A heavy canvas sandbag, nearly as tall as Harry, hung suspended from a sturdy wooden frame, swaying gently in the breeze. He must have built it this morning, Harry thought, impressed by the sheer speed and efficiency of Sam's work.Not far from the sandbag stood a wooden dummy, solid and upright, its smooth limbs reaching outward like arms ready to block or strike. Its unblinking wooden face seemed to stare impassively at the world. And that too, Harry mused, a thrill of excitement coursing through him. The setup was professional, serious.Harry didn't waste a moment. He dashed into the house, dropped his school bag by the door, and quickly changed out of his school clothes into a comfortable t-shirt and shorts. He was back outside in less than a minute, his heart thrumming with eagerness.Sam, who had been methodically striking the sandbag with powerful, controlled blows, paused as Harry approached. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his dark eyes assessing Harry's eagerness."Uncle Sam," Harry blurted out, gesturing to the training equipment, "which one should I use first?"Sam nodded towards the sandbag. "For preconditioning your bones and muscles for impact, start with the sandbag first," he instructed, his voice calm and precise. "Begin lightly. We'll increase the striking power gradually. Inadequate preconditioning can bring you serious trouble." He paused, his gaze hardening slightly. "I've seen MMA fighters break their legs, Harry, for kicking harder than their bones could handle. We won't make that mistake. Patience and discipline are key."
The training session was grueling, a relentless cycle of strikes against the sandbag, each one carefully monitored by Sam. Harry's muscles ached, his skin tingled, but a deep satisfaction settled over him. He was learning, growing stronger, gaining control.Afterward, they went inside, the scent of sweat and effort clinging to them. They showered and changed, the warm water a welcome balm to Harry's protesting muscles. Then, they gathered around the kitchen table for dinner, the farmhouse now filled with the comforting aromas of a home-cooked meal.As the last of the plates were cleared, Sam pushed his chair back slightly, his expression serious. "Alright, Harry. Physical conditioning is just one part of it. Now, we talk about knowledge. You need to know about basic human anatomy." He gestured towards Stephen's study. "Your dad has a medical encyclopedia in his cabinet. Go grab it."Harry, curious, retrieved the thick, heavy book. Sam took it, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. He laid it open on the table, pointing to intricate diagrams of the human body."You must understand what to target," Sam explained, his finger tracing lines on the page, "and what you absolutely should not. This isn't about hurting people unnecessarily, Harry. It's about control. About precision. About knowing exactly what you're doing, and the consequences of every action." He looked up, his gaze intense, meeting Harry's eyes. "The biggest fear your dad has, Harry, is that some of your friends will end up dead in your hands. That would ruin all of our lives, and we don't want that. Are you clear?"Harry swallowed, the weight of Sam's words settling heavily on him. The image of Tyler's dislocated wrist, of Brody unconscious against the barn wall, flashed through his mind. He nodded, his voice quiet but firm. "Yes, Uncle Sam. I'm clear."Sam continued, pointing to different sections of the anatomy diagrams. "We'll go through this. You'll learn about nerve clusters, pressure points, vital organs, and how much force it takes to incapacitate versus to cause permanent damage. You'll learn how to strike without breaking bones, how to subdue without killing. This knowledge is your responsibility, Harry. It's what separates a protector from a menace."
In this video, we take a closer look at Chen Hegao, a unique and unconventional Chinese martial artist who's taken the self-defense world by surprise. He developed his own Kung Fu named "Unlimited Combat", but locals simply call it "Mad Dog Fist" (疯狗拳) - and while it might look bizarre at first (yes, he barks!), there's something strangely effective about it.Crazy Man or Visionary?
Weeks bled into months, each day a relentless pursuit of mastery. Harry's life became a carefully balanced routine: school, homework, and then, the barn. Under Sam's watchful eye, he delved into the complex world of combat. He learned not just one fighting style, but many, a fluid blend of various martial arts. Grappling techniques from judo and jiu-jitsu taught him how to control and subdue. The precise, devastating strikes of obscure traditional martial arts honed his focus and power. Sam emphasized flexibility, fluidity ? the ability to adapt like water, to flow around an opponent's strength and find their weakness, to change tactics instantly based on the situation at hand.He also learned about weapons. Not just how to use them, but how to disarm, how to counter. Sam taught him about knives, sticks, and even improvised weapons, stressing that in a real conflict, anything could be a threat. He even delved into the "dirty tricks" forbidden in fighting sports ? eye pokes, groin strikes, vulnerable joint locks ? not to use them, but to recognize and counter them effectively, to understand the mindset of an opponent who fights without rules.The preconditioning training, once a painful novelty, became routine. His bones hardened, his muscles became denser, his skin tougher. Sam pushed him, relentlessly, but Harry's progress was astonishing. He absorbed lessons at an incredible rate, his body adapting with a speed that far outstripped any normal child. His movements grew sharper, his strikes more precise, his defense impenetrable.Finally, the day came. The old sandbag, worn from countless blows, had been rewrapped in new, heavy-duty canvas, reinforced to withstand immense impact. Sam stood before it, his eyes serious. "Alright, Harry," he said, his voice quiet, "give me all you've got. Everything you've learned. Hold nothing back."Harry took a deep breath, focusing, channeling every ounce of his trained strength and innate power. He shifted his weight, his body coiling like a spring, and unleashed a spinning kick. It was a blur of motion, a perfectly executed, devastating strike. The force of the impact was immense, a dull, explosive THUD that vibrated through the barn floor. The thick rope suspending the sandbag snapped with a sharp CRACK, unable to withstand the sudden, concentrated power. The sandbag, almost twice Harry's weight, flew backward, soaring through the air for several meters before slamming into the far wall with a resounding CRUMP, leaving a deep indentation.Harry stood panting, his leg still extended, a faint tremor running through him. He hadn't consciously thought about it, but to produce such an enormous impact, he must have instinctively utilized a powerful kickback from the ground, leveraging the earth's resistance to amplify his force. He seemed to have inadvertently learned and applied some fundamental physics, a raw, intuitive understanding of force and momentum. Sam watched him, a slow, impressed smile spreading across his face. Harry had truly become the hurricane.
The aroma of Stephen's cooking filled the farmhouse kitchen, a familiar comfort after another intense day of training. Harry, his muscles pleasantly sore, sat at the dinner table, recounting a particularly challenging drill Sam had put him through. Stephen listened, a proud smile on his face. Sam, meanwhile, ate quietly, his gaze thoughtful.As they finished the meal, and Stephen began to clear the plates, Sam placed his fork down with a gentle clink. He looked at Stephen, then at Harry, his expression calm but resolute."It's time for me to go home," Sam announced, his voice low. "Back to Guyana."Harry's fork clattered against his plate. He hadn't expected it so soon. He'd grown used to Sam's presence, his quiet strength, his unwavering lessons.Stephen paused, a dish towel in his hand. "Already, Sam? I thought you'd stay a little longer."Sam shook his head. "I've left Shania for too long as it is. Any more delays, and she'll be mad enough to come here and drag me back herself." A faint, wistful smile touched his lips at the thought of his wife.He then turned his gaze to Harry, his eyes holding a deep, almost paternal, satisfaction. "And you, Harry," Sam continued, "you're a fast learner. A natural. I've taught you most of the fighting skills deemed necessary for now. You've got the foundation. The rest, you'll learn through practice, and by living." He paused, a subtle emphasis on the last words. "You're ready."
Harry's brow furrowed, a sudden frustration bubbling up. He pushed his plate away, the thought of Sam leaving bringing a new wave of anxiety. "But, Uncle Sam," he protested, his voice tight, "I haven't learned to control the electric shock! That's? that's the most important part, isn't it? It only happens when I'm almost dead, or when I'm really scared, like with the crocodile, or when you tested me." He gestured vaguely, remembering the terrifying surge of uncontrolled power. "How am I supposed to use it if I can't even make it happen?"Sam looked at him, a faint, almost imperceptible shake of his head. "Harry," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "I don't even have that ability. My training, my experience, it's all about physical combat, strategy, and mental fortitude. The electricity? that's unique to you. It's part of what makes you, you."He glanced at Stephen, a silent communication passing between the two men. "You'll have to learn that yourself, Harry. It's a journey only you can take. But Stephen," Sam added, his gaze returning to Harry, "Stephen should be able to help you. He knows more about that than anyone."Harry's head snapped towards Stephen, his eyes wide. "Is that true, Dad? Is that why they chased me in the helicopter? Because of the electricity?"Stephen nodded slowly, a grim set to his jaw. "Yes, Harry. That's part of it. It's a power they want to control, to weaponize. And there are also other skills you have, other abilities, that you have yet to learn about. We'll get to those when the time is right. For now, Sam has given you the foundation you need to protect yourself."
Harry's gaze remained fixed on Stephen, a new wave of questions bubbling to the surface. "How, Dad?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do I have these abilities? The speed, the strength, the electricity? how do I have them when normal people don't?"Stephen hesitated, his eyes flickering towards Sam, a flicker of uncertainty in his usually composed demeanor. He ran a hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of contemplation.Sam, sensing Stephen's reluctance, interjected, his voice firm and steady. "Stephen, maybe it's time. Harry needs to know. About Project David. Sooner or later, he must face those who want his power. When that time comes, it's better for Harry to understand the situation fully. To know what he's up against, and why."Stephen sighed, a deep, heavy sound. He looked at Harry, his expression filled with a profound sadness. "You're right, Sam. You're right." He turned back to Harry, his gaze unwavering. "Harry, I? I intended to raise you like a normal kid. To let you enjoy growing up here, on this farm, just like I did. To have a childhood free from? from all of this." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the barn, the recent danger, the very powers that flowed through Harry's veins. "But the barn incident, what happened with Tyler? it made me realize that it's almost impossible. You're not a normal kid, Harry. And you can't have a normal life, not while they're out there."
A heavy silence settled over the kitchen, broken only by the soft crackle of the wood stove. Harry watched Stephen, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. He was finally going to get answers.After a long, deliberate pause, Stephen finally spoke, his voice low, almost a murmur, as if sharing a deep, painful secret. "Project David, Harry? it was triggered by an adult version of what happened in that barn. Not with kids, but with powerful, ambitious people. People who are willing to sacrifice others, to use them as pawns, to get what they want. Even when, from our common perspective, their goals seem utterly meaningless, or even destructive."He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze distant, lost in a memory. "They manipulate people's behavior around them. They essentially gamble with someone else's money, or even their lives, and then they privatize the gains and democratize the losses. They take the profit, and leave everyone else to deal with the damage." Stephen's voice hardened, a bitter edge to it. "Think about it, Harry. Look at history. People with political power use it for personal interest, often causing immense suffering to unrelated people. Like what happened in Troy."Stephen paused, letting the ancient city's name hang in the air. "A personal affair, a stolen queen, dragged an entire city, two entire armies, into an all-out war. Thousands died, soldiers and civilians alike, all for the pride and desires of a few powerful individuals. That's privatized gains and democratized losses on a grand scale."He then looked directly at Harry, his eyes holding a new intensity. "But then, think about another ancient conflict. The story of David and Goliath. One individual, facing down a giant. His victory decided the war, preventing the death of thousands of soldiers and countless civilians. That's the core idea, Harry. That's what Project David was meant to be. A way to prevent the larger, senseless conflicts caused by those who gamble with others' lives."
Stephen leaned back, his gaze now fixed on Harry, as if gauging his understanding. "Project David, at its heart, was about creating a new kind of champion," he explained, his voice taking on a more scientific, yet still deeply personal, tone. "It was about enhancing the physical traits of individuals to gain a decisive advantage in fighting, in conflict. It started from simple things, Harry. Performance-enhancing drugs, to push the human body beyond its natural limits. Then, handheld weapons, specialized gadgets designed to help our operatives infiltrate enemy bases or headquarters, to gather intelligence, to neutralize threats efficiently."He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "It's always been a work in progress, Harry. A constant evolution.""As the technology advanced," Stephen continued, his voice growing more intense, "the sophistication increased exponentially. We moved beyond just external aids. We experimented with engineering human biology itself. Reducing known weaknesses, increasing strength, endurance, agility, and other traits that would be useful for winning a battle, for ensuring our champions could face any threat and emerge victorious." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the vast, complex fields of study. "Biomechanics, biochemistry, gene transplants ? these were among the research subjects. We sought to perfect the human form, to create the ultimate protector."
Harry listened, his mind reeling with the implications of what Stephen was saying. Enhanced humans, engineered biology, secret labs? it sounded like something out of a comic book. A new question, more personal, formed on his lips. "How? how did you get involved in all this, Dad? In Project David?"Stephen leaned back, a faint, distant look in his eyes, as if recalling a very different lifetime. "I was a Navy civilian senior system engineer, Harry. My job was to design the secret lab, the entire research facility, from the ground up. I also built the tools and equipment necessary for all the research and engineering involved in the project. Everything had to be cutting-edge, secure, and precise."A soft, almost tender smile touched his lips as he spoke of Lea. "Your mother, Lea? she was a young, brilliant biochemist. She heard about the project's goals from the recruit officers, and she was incredibly interested. She joined with so much enthusiasm, Harry. She wanted to contribute more than just her research. She asked a lot of questions about the systems and tools I built, always consulting, always giving feedback to improve them. That's why we spent so much time together. That's how we started getting close."Stephen glanced at the clock on the wall. The hour was late, the farmhouse quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. "It's a long story, Harry," he said, his voice softening. "A very long story. And it's already late. You need to get to school tomorrow."Harry, despite the torrent of new information swirling in his mind, knew Stephen was right. His eyelids felt heavy, and the thought of facing Mrs. Henderson's lessons after a night like this was daunting. "Okay," he said, pushing himself up from the table. "But? promise you'll tell me the rest tomorrow? Everything?"Stephen met his gaze, a small, reassuring smile on his face. "Deal, Flash. Everything. Tomorrow."
The click of Harry's bedroom door closing echoed softly in the quiet farmhouse. Stephen and Sam remained at the kitchen table, the remnants of dinner between them, the earlier conversation about Project David still heavy in the air.Sam poured himself another cup of tea, his gaze thoughtful. "Stephen," he began, his voice low, almost a murmur, "I heard whispers, back in my old circles. That the Russians also developed a similar project, like yours with Harry. Not just Project David. How's that going?"Stephen's expression hardened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. He picked up his own mug, turning it slowly in his hands. "I heard Dmitry tried to replicate what we did," he replied, his voice flat. "He was ambitious, brilliant in his own twisted way. But unfortunately, he died before he succeeded. The project, as far as I know, died with him. I haven't heard anything about it again since." He took a sip of his tea, his eyes distant, as if recalling old ghosts. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken history and the lingering specter of dangerous, failed experiments.