Tarzan crouched beside her, his muscles coiled, his eyes scanning the shadows. “I need no code to be what I am.”
That night, Tarzan climbed to the highest ledge. The moon broke through clouds. He filled his lungs and let out a call—not a scream, but a summoning. The jungle answered. Vines twisted toward him. The earth trembled. And for the first time, he felt something beyond survival.
The code wasn’t a key. It was permission—to embrace the wild not as a curse, but as a weapon. And somewhere in the bunker, the terminal blinked green:
