South Courtyard – The Invasion Begins

  The dust from the explosion still hangs in the air as Henry takes cover behind the glass structure of the greenhouse. He pulls Leo by the collar, handing over the facility map with steady fingers.

  "Forget the confrontation, Leo. Your priority is the seeds. Without them, we have no future, only a stay of execution." Henry points toward the smaller white buildings to the left. "Use parkour along the sides; stay off the ground. Find the piping east of HQ; it’ll take you straight to the supply depot without tripping the main thermal sensors. Go!"

  Leo nods, adjusts his steel claws, and vanishes in a vertical leap, scaling the smooth concrete wall with the agility of a predator.

  In the center of the courtyard, the figure of Fabrizio Turner emerges from the mist. He walks with a terrifying calm, his skeleton mask gleaming under the emergency lights. His voice, processed through a modifier, rings out like metallic thunder:

  "You kill our brothers... and now you come here to finish the job?" The sound is chilling. "You’re filthy rats, Henry. And rats die in traps."

  Henry steps out from behind the greenhouse. He doesn’t draw Elijah’s Five-Seven immediately; instead, he flexes his wrists, making the blades of his bidents snap out from under his blue sleeves with a dry metallic click. Beside him, Mickey is already scanning the ground, finding a heavy, rusted tow chain attached to a cargo hook. He wraps it around his arm like an improvised whip.

  "Kol! Now!" Henry shouts.

  Kol bolts toward the watchtower, moving in a zigzag pattern to throw off the angle for Aiden, who is already positioning his bow with venom arrows at the top.

  Entrance Courtyard: Henry and Mickey vs. Fabrizio

  Fabrizio draws his two hand-scythes. He doesn’t wait. With a biological speed that defies human vision, he charges.

  Henry intercepts Fabrizio’s first strike, crossing his bidents to lock the Reaper’s scythes inches from his face. Sparks fly from the impact.

  "Mickey, now!" Henry growls under the physical strain.

  Mickey releases the chain link, swinging laterally to strike Fabrizio’s ribs, but Fabrizio spins his body, using the momentum from the block on Henry to deliver a powerful kick that sends the leader of the Heretics staggering back.

  Henry steadies his feet on the cracked asphalt.

  "I came for Silvia, Fabrizio!" Henry retorts, his hand dropping discreetly to the grip of the Five-Seven in his holster. "Where is she?"

  The mention of his sister’s name makes Fabrizio tighten his grip on the scythes with renewed fury. He knows Silvia is in labor just a few meters away, and the last thing he will allow is for the "father" to get anywhere near that door.

  Silvia’s Room – The Biological Miracle

  The atmosphere in Silvia’s room is a paradox: the sterile silence of the CIA is shattered by screams of pain that even Colonel Turner’s genetic modifications cannot fully suppress. Silvia’s body, engineered to endure torture and the traumas of war, is now facing nature’s most primitive force.

  Sweat pours down her pale face, soaking the sheets. She grips the side rails of the bed so hard that the metal begins to give way under the pressure of her hands. Jester, moving with a surgical precision that contrasts with his outfit, prepares the operating field.

  "Now, your majesty, breathe!" Jester says, initially in that high-pitched, bouncy tone. "Who will be the first to take the stage? The little Reaper princess or the blue-eyed Heretic prince? Place your bets!"

  Silvia lets out a long moan, her breath coming in spasms.

  "Jester... please..." she pleads, her voice cracking as a new contraction hits her. "Go fast... it hurts... it hurts more than any gunshot..."

  The jingling of the bells stops abruptly. Jester halts what he is doing and leans over her. In a rare moment, the sound that comes from his voice is neither that of the cold assassin nor the clown. It is the voice of a man—his natural voice, young and surprisingly human.

  "Everything is going to be okay, Silvia," he says, and the weight of his sincerity fills the room. "I’ll make sure you and both of them are fine. You have my word, sister."

  Silvia opens her eyes, meeting the black voids of the cloth mask. For a brief second, she sees the only "brother" who, amidst all this madness, is offering her humanity. A fragile, sweaty smile brushes her lips before another wave of pain hits her.

  Jester refocuses on the instruments. He prepares a syringe with a military-grade anesthetic solution.

  "I’m applying local anesthesia for the incisions," he mutters, returning to the technical task while preparing the scalpel. "Who would’ve thought, right? The Colonel molded us to never need pain relief... but he never planned for life. Only for death."

  Supply Sector

  Leo emerges from the ventilation, landing silently on a metal catwalk. As he looks down, his pupils dilate. The depot isn’t just a warehouse; it’s a relic of the old world. Gigantic shelves stretch to the ceiling, loaded with canned goods, crates of military rations, and endless rows of supplies.

  "For God's sake..." Leo whispers, his voice failing him. "They live in a palace while Oregon rots."

  He leaps to the floor and grabs a metal industrial transport cart. His movements are frantic yet precise. He finds a high-capacity tactical backpack on a side rack and begins stuffing it with packets of apple, wheat, tomato, and assorted vegetable seeds. Every pouch he tosses into the bag is a life saved in the settlements protected by the Heretics.

  Watchtower – The Brute vs. The Esthete

  Kol moves through the shadows of the external metal stairs, climbing with controlled breaths. At the top, Aiden’s back is turned, but his senses are sharp. He fires a venom arrow. The projectile grazes Kol’s ear and hits a white gas valve.

  Aiden drops his bow and draws his white guitar.

  "Look at you..." Aiden jeers, his voice heavy with a frigid elitism. "You’re so thin the forest wind could snap you. Do you really think a beast of burden like you can touch an artist like me?"

  Kol doesn’t answer with words. He charges with his heavy axe. The impact of steel against reinforced wood and the guitar’s blades echoes like a church bell. Aiden blocks with elegance, spinning the instrument, and lands a side-blow that cracks Kol’s wooden mask, revealing the survivor's look of pure hatred.

  But Kol isn't trying to kill Aiden yet. He senses the vanity Aiden has placed in that weapon-instrument. Kol ignores the openings in Aiden’s chest and unloads a brutal downward strike, focused exclusively on the guitar's bridge.

  "What are you doing, you rustic?!" Aiden screams, losing his composure for the first time as he feels the vibration of the impact nearly shatter the body of his white treasure.

  The atmosphere becomes suffocating. White gas escaping from the struck valve creates a low, icy mist, while the sound of the final impact echoes: with a downward stroke of his axe, Kol smashes Aiden’s white guitar to pieces, reducing the instrument to splinters of wood and twisted metal.

  Aiden takes a step back, looking at the remains of his treasure on the floor with a silence that precedes fury. Without his weapon and with his vanity wounded, biological lightness becomes his only defense. As Kol charges again, Aiden slides across the metal floor, dodging the axe blow, and grabs the weapon’s handle with both hands, locking the Ukrainian’s strength in a stalemate of pure steel.

  Kol, seizing the proximity, delivers a brutal kick to Aiden’s groin. The impact is dull, but Aiden only tilts his head slightly behind his smiling mask. He looks down and then back at the Heretic, showing absolutely nothing.

  "My turn, beast of burden," Aiden growls.

  The Reaper returns the kick with surgical precision in the same spot. Kol feels the blow like a sledgehammer. He doubles over for a millisecond, just enough for Aiden to wrench the axe from his hands. He swings Kol’s own weapon back at him; Kol narrowly dodges, and the blade sinks deep into the white gas structure, becoming lodged in the reinforced metal.

  Without weapons, the combat regresses to its most primitive form.

  Kol ignores the throbbing pain and lunges. He is physically stronger, his bone structure superior. Kol grabs Aiden and delivers heavy punches, while the esthete responds with quick hooks to the stomach, seeking vital points. Between impacts, Kol’s voice comes out raspy and thick with contempt:

  "You fight and hit like a child, Aiden..." Kol spits the blood filling his mouth. "I killed Elijah. He felt the value of a real fight. If I took him down, you’ll be much easier."

  The comment hits home. Being called inferior to Elijah breaks Aiden’s facade of perfection. He charges with a muffled roar, trying to use speed to grind Kol’s face, while the Ukrainian prepares his fingers to destroy the face of the "handsomest man in Oregon."

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  Silvia’s Room

  As metal creaks in the tower, Jester finishes organizing the surgical tools. The glint of the scalpel is the only light that matters now. He looks at Silvia, who is at the limit of her strength.

  "The first act is about to begin, sister," Jester whispers in his natural voice, positioning his hand for the first incision of the emergency C-section. "Breathe."

  The Fall and the Execution of Aiden

  Kol dodges a punch and, in a swift motion, grabs Aiden from behind. With his fingers dug into his opponent's chin, he pulls back hard: Aiden’s metal mask hits the floor, revealing his face as his jacket hood slips off.

  Aiden is exposed. Kol wastes no time and uses the metal mask itself as a weapon, delivering a blow that opens a deep gash on Aiden’s cheek. Without the protection, Kol’s punches now strike flesh directly, each impact sounding heavier. Aiden tries to charge with speed, but Kol, hardened by years of survival, simply blocks, waiting for the perfect opening.

  With a violent shove, Kol slams Aiden to the ground and uses his body weight to pin him down. The impact is too much for the structure; the glass ceiling of the room below shatters into a thousand pieces, and the two plummet into the Torture Room, Lil’s former domain.

  Aiden lands underneath. The sound of his spine hitting the concrete floor is dull and flat. Terror finally replaces arrogance in his eyes. "I... I can’t feel my legs!" Aiden exclaims, his voice cracking in genuine shock. He could ignore pain, but paralysis was his death sentence.

  Kol stands up, ignoring the glass shards. He looks around and grabs a heavy carpenter’s hammer. When Aiden tries to pull himself up using only his arms and looks up, Kol begins to deliver brutal strikes, gradually disfiguring the "esthete’s" face.

  Even bleeding and with his face unrecognizable, Aiden lets out a maniacal laugh that makes Kol pause for a brief moment. "Don’t you realize?" Aiden spits out blood, laughing at his own misfortune. "I am immortal! No matter how much you hurt me, even if you kill me, I will still live forever in your memories! I will be immortal in your mind!"

  Kol feels the weight of hatred in his chest. The image of Piro (Steve), his skull scarred by the spikes of that guitar, boils in his blood. He knows who was responsible. He tightens his grip on the hammer’s handle and cracks a dark smile.

  "This is for Steve."

  The hammer comes down repeatedly. The sound of the skull giving way marks the end of Aiden. The Reapers' esthete is dead, but Kol, remembering the biological resilience of his enemies, looks at the corpse and mutters: "Just to be sure..."

  He delivers three more crushing blows to the enemy's head. "I’ll take your mask as a souvenir."

  HQ Hallways – Luxury Amidst the Fall

  Leo walks with the backpack of seeds heavy on his shoulders and the cart full of supplies in front of him. He moves with caution, but he can’t help but admire the structure. The walls are an immaculate white, the lighting is soft and constant, and the air... the air doesn’t have the smell of mold or decay that defines the rest of Oregon.

  He passes living rooms with genuine leather sofas and coffee tables that look like they’ve never seen a speck of dust. His eyes widen as he spots a kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances and cabinets filled with porcelain.

  "Damn..." Leo mutters, his voice echoing softly in the deserted hallway. "So Henry lived in this palace for a week? Lucky bastard... makes me almost want to move in."

  He stops for a second, looking at his own reflection in a polished glass door. His wooden mask and tattered utility clothes look like a biological error in such a sterile and perfect environment. He thinks of the settlements outside, where children share a single can of moldy beans, and he feels a sting of anger mixed with fascination.

  "They have everything," he whispers, pushing the cart again. "They have the whole world in here, and the rest of us are killing each other for crumbs."

  Leo moves on, but a muffled sound begins to vibrate through the concrete walls. It’s not the sound of the gunfire outside. It’s something more rhythmic, like the steady beep of a heart monitor and a woman’s scream that makes the young man freeze.

  The Rise of the Legacy

  Inside the white room, the sound of the outside world—the gunfire—sounds muffled, as if the room were encased in a bubble of sterile silence. Jester, his scalpel steady between gloved fingers, ignores the occasional tremor of the walls. He is on his own stage now, operating with a calm that defies the chaos outside.

  Silvia grips the sheets. The anesthesia is beginning to take effect, but physical exhaustion has pushed her to the very limit of her strength.

  "Now, Silvia..." Jester murmurs in his natural voice, stripped of any mockery or modifier. "The first act."

  With surgical precision, he performs the procedure. Time seems to stretch. Seconds later, the room's silence is shattered. A sharp, strong, and insistent cry fills the air. Jester lifts the small child and, with swift movements, clamps and cuts the umbilical cord, cleaning her with agility.

  "A girl, Silvia." Jester smiles behind his cloth mask, bringing the baby closer so she can see her for a brief second before carefully settling her into a thermal bassinet nearby. "She has your eyes... ready to boss us all around."

  But there is no time for rest. The heart monitor beeps, signaling the urgency of the second birth. Silvia takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the second life. Jester returns to work with total focus to deliver the brother. Moments later, the second twin is born, letting out a cry even louder than his sister’s. Jester repeats the process with the cord and, after ensuring both are healthy, wraps them in white thermal blankets.

  He places them in their mother’s arms. Silvia, the warrior who never bowed before death, now trembles as she holds the two small, warm bundles. Tears flow freely, washing the sweat from her face. She gazes at the babies in wonder and whispers, her voice choked with emotion:

  "Look at you..." she sobs, pressing them lightly against her chest. "You are the only real and beautiful thing that has ever come out of this godforsaken place. I never thought... that I’d have something like this. My little ones... I will protect you from everything."

  Jester steps back, wiping the blood from his gloves and watching the scene in silence. For a moment, the assassin gives way to the witness of a miracle. He knows that outside, Henry and the others are fighting for survival, but inside, for the first time in years, something new and pure has been created in Cascade.

  South Courtyard – The Final Clash

  The clash between Henry and Fabrizio is a dance of death. Henry lunges with his bidents, the serrated blades tearing through tactical fabric and slicing across Turner’s black jacket in a diagonal cut. The Reaper does not back down; he counters with his hand-scythes, shredding Henry’s black vest and delivering a powerful kick to the Heretic’s solar plexus, slamming him against the asphalt.

  Mickey, seeing the opening, swings the tow chain with precision. The iron link strikes Fabrizio’s skeleton mask head-on, making his head whip to the side. Incensed, Turner draws his Silver Ghost pistol from inside his jacket and fires at Mickey’s arms, neutralizing him instantly as the chain slips from his bloody hands.

  Fabrizio stops, staring down at the wounded enforcer. "This is for Zack!" he says.

  Before he can fire, Leo appears, grabbing Turner’s arm. Henry doesn't miss the opportunity and charges, delivering a direct kick to the Reaper’s chest.

  Following Henry’s kick, Leo fires the Silver Ghost into Fabrizio’s chest; he staggers but remains standing, protected by his vest. Henry looks at his "brother" and says to Leo:

  "This is how you kill a Reaper, Leo!"

  He draws his Five-Seven pistol from its holster and fires ten rounds into Turner’s chest. The continuous impact shatters the protection. Fabrizio lets out a grunt behind his mask and collapses to the ground.

  Leo helps Mickey to his feet. "Henry, I got everything," Leo says. "I left the supplies in a cart and the seeds in a backpack."

  Henry, however, looks toward the complex. "I need to find Silvia. Jester is still out there."

  Leo looks at the captain with urgency. "I heard a woman screaming, but the door was locked."

  Henry pales. "Silvia? What’s happening?"

  He starts sprinting into the complex, the sound of his boots echoing through the sterile hallways. As he runs, his mind races: Did Jester do something? She isn't one to feel pain... none of them are.

  Little did Henry know the surprise that awaited him.

  Henry stops before the door to Silvia’s room. The silence of the hallway is suddenly pierced by a sharp cry that makes Henry’s world come to a standstill.

  The Verdict of Blood

  He pounds on the door with force, his voice hoarse with adrenaline and fear:

  "SILVIA! ARE YOU IN THERE? OPEN THE DOOR, PLEASE!"

  Inside, Jester looks away from the babies and meets Silvia's gaze. Exhausted, she merely gives a slight nod, a silent permission.

  Henry hears the click of the lock turning. In front of him, Jester appears, staring at him from behind the mask. Before Henry can muster any aggressive reaction, his gaze darts to the side, and he freezes. Silvia is on the bed, her eyes sunken and weary, hair matted with sweat, and two small white figures in her lap.

  Henry removes his mask, panting. In that sterile silence, the pieces of the puzzle click together in his mind: the months they slept together.

  He tries to walk toward her, his steps uncertain. Jester moves, blocking his path with a threatening stance. "It’s okay, Jester," Silvia says in a weak voice. "Let him through."

  The clown steps aside, and Henry continues. He stops by the bed, his eyes welling up, and reaches out a trembling left hand toward the girl’s blanket. But before his fingers can touch the fabric, Silvia’s voice cuts through the air, dry and painful:

  "No!"

  Henry stops dead, looking at her in shock. "I heard everything out there, Henry," she says, each word laden with unbearable weight. "You killed my brother. In the end, you’re just like us... a murderer. You have no right to touch them."

  Silvia is crying and breathless, but her gaze is icy—a blade of seriousness Henry has never seen before. He stares at her, breathing heavily, tears finally overflowing. "We needed... just a few seeds, Silvia," he stammers, his voice breaking. "We and the people... we’re thin from hunger. These seeds would save so many lives."

  "You traded my brother’s life for a seed?" she responds, closing her eyes as tears stream down.

  Henry falls silent. He lowers his head, feeling the weight of the Five-Seven in his holster—the same weapon that took Fabrizio’s life minutes ago. The conquest in the courtyard now feels like the greatest defeat of his life. "Go... away, Henry," she finishes, her sobbing intensifying. "Go away with those seeds and never come back!"

  Without a word, Henry walks to the door with his head bowed. He turns and looks at Jester, who remains motionless, expressionless behind the mask. He takes one last look at Silvia; they both share the same weeping, but on opposite sides of an abyss. He casts a quick glance at the babies and, crying in silence, leaves and closes the door.

  Silence returns to the room, broken only by Silvia’s sobs. It is a rare mixture of maternal joy and the profound sadness of forced mourning. She hugs the babies tightly, shielding them from the world. Jester approaches slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder and offering the only comfort left in Cascade.

  "I’ll take care of you and them," Jester promises, his voice soft and protective. "You still have me in this base, and no one else will get in here."

  He embraces her, and Silvia closes her eyes against his shoulder, seeking shelter.

  South Courtyard – The End of the "Last" Immortal

  Leo stepped away to fetch the supply cart and the backpack of seeds, leaving Mickey alone for a few moments. Mickey walked with difficulty toward the truck, grumbling under his breath as he tried to staunch his own wounds.

  "Bastards... how am I supposed to fight now?" he growled.

  Upon reaching the truck, Mickey opened the back door. For a split second, he saw the reflection of Fabrizio’s mask in the side mirror. The shock was immediate, but not fast enough. Turner, emerging like a specter, took Mickey down with a violent leg sweep.

  Even though he had been hit by the previous shot and was spitting blood that leaked from under his metal mask, the Reaper wouldn't stop. He mounted Mickey, pressing the scythe blade with both hands against the enforcer’s chest. Mickey used all the strength left in his wounded arms to resist, but he knew the end was inevitable. Fabrizio’s strength was superhuman, fueled by a terminal hatred.

  Staring at Mickey through the cold slits of the mask, Fabrizio let out a scream distorted by the voice modifier—a sound that seemed to come from hell itself:

  "I... am... IMMORTAL!"

  Mickey’s eyes widened, feeling the blade begin to pierce his skin. But before the steel could find his heart, Leo emerged like a shadow from behind. Without hesitation, the young man drove the Reaper’s own second scythe with all his might into the side of Fabrizio’s head, piercing the hood and striking the skull.

  Fabrizio let out a grunt—for the first time in years, a sound of real, vulnerable pain. Blood began to gush from behind the mask, escaping through the eye slits and staining the fabric of the hood. He stared at Mickey for a few seconds more, his eyes losing their luster, before collapsing heavily to the side.

  One of the deadliest Reapers in Cascade was, finally, dead.

  Leo reached out and helped Mickey to his feet.

  "I owe you one, kid," Mickey wheezed, catching his breath.

  Leo didn’t smile. He only stared fixedly at the corpse of the man everyone feared, the scythe still embedded in place.

  "Let’s take his mask," Leo said, his voice cold and resolute. "It’ll be our trophy."

  Silas’s Office – Shadows of the Past

  Kol sifted through the inner depths of the colossal Cascade base. He enters a room with Silas’s name carved into the door. His eyes gleam as he finds training equipment and an arsenal of M4 rifles.

  "I’m taking these for myself," he smirks, already feeling the weight of power in his hands.

  Exploring the area, he finds a letter atop the oak desk.

  Cleaning Note

  Henry is doing well. With his help, we’ve eliminated four Oregon factions—three of them right here in the forests. The base is safer now for when we, the 12, finally head out together with drones and weapons to reach the War Legion and destroy it from within. The micro-recorders found in various bases they destroyed over the last 10 years were a huge help in locating their HQ. The Colonel will pay. I’ll burn his throat with gunpowder!

  — Silas.

  Intrigued, Kol finds the mentioned micro-recorders and presses play on one of them. The hiss of static is interrupted by desperate voices:

  Man: Help! Is anyone on this frequency? We’re under attack! I repeat, we are... (Sound of a door being kicked in)

  Soldier: Weapons on the ground! Now!

  Man: You don’t have authorization to be here! This is a civilian supply post!

  Soldier: I am an officer of the War Legion. And Colonel Turner is the only authorization I need.

  Man: Legion? What... what are you doing with those crates?

  Soldier: Following orders. Confiscating resources and... "clearing" the ground.

  Man: Are you setting explosives? There are families here!

  Soldier (Coldly): Fewer mouths to feed, fewer problems in the world.

  Man: No, wait! What are you do—!

  [Muffled detonation sound / Deafening static]

  Kol feels a chill. The world in 2041 still hid an organized and cruel army. The war was far from over.

  Exit from the Base – The Weight of Triumph

  Henry walks slowly across the courtyard toward the truck. Leo is already waiting for him with the supplies and the backpack of seeds; Kol carries the M4 rifles and extra ammunition. Both stop as they see Henry’s silhouette approaching.

  "We did it, Henry!" Leo exclaims with a smile, but the glow on his face fades as he notices the leader’s posture.

  Henry’s head is bowed. His steps are heavy, as if he were carrying all the concrete of the base on his back.

  "Why are you crying?" Kol asks, his curiosity overriding the joy of the loot.

  Henry raises his head, his face marked by tears he makes no effort to hide. His voice is a mere whisper:

  "Nothing. Let’s go."

  Confused, but sensing the gravity of the moment, they get into the vehicle. The three Heretics and Mickey leave Cascade behind, cutting through the lonely roads of the Oregon forests.

  In the back seat, Mickey and Leo watch the woods pass by, absorbed in their own thoughts of survival. In the front seat, Kol examines the M4 rifle with an ambitious smile.

  Henry grips the steering wheel. His eyes are red and exhausted. Through the windshield, he doesn't see the road, but rather flashes of Silvia: the moment he gave her the heart necklace, her rare smile as she thanked him, and the intimacy they shared in that room. He closes his eyes for a second, feeling the void that those seeds could never fill.

  The engine roars, taking them back to the Heretics' Base, leaving behind a trail of blood, new heirs, and an imminent war.

  END OF SEASON 4