Nick paced the conference room, his mind racing. The weight of leadership had never been more pressing, but with each passing day, he felt the enormity of the responsibility settle deeper into his bones. The fight was larger than Portland now—it was global. But as he prepared to meet Trubel's recruits, he felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could turn the tide.
The door to the conference room opened, and Trubel stepped in first, followed by Viktor Stein, Leah Kwan, Rory MacAllister, Sophia Alvarez, and, lastly, Malcolm Preis—a scrappy teenager with wide eyes, clearly still processing what had just happened in his life.
Nick rose from the table, his expression a mix of gratitude and resolve. These were the people who would help him protect the world, one Wesen at a time.
"Welcome," Nick said, his voice steady but filled with warmth. "I'm Nick Burkhardt, and it's good to finally meet all of you." He made eye contact with each recruit, gauging their reactions. "I know Trubel has already briefed you on what we're trying to build here, so I won't waste time on introductions. What I need to know is this: why are you here?"
Viktor Stein, the blacksmith, stood tall and proud, his rugged frame even more imposing in the conference room. "I've spent years crafting weapons, making things to protect the people I care about. But I can't keep hiding out here, doing things on my own. If there's a chance to make a difference, count me in."
Nick nodded, impressed. "Weapons are definitely something we need, and your skills will be crucial. But we're going to need more than just weapons. This isn't just about fighting—it's about strategy, intelligence, and the people we're protecting. You ready for that?"
Viktor grinned. "I'm used to being a one-man army, but I'm open to the idea of teamwork. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve that'll make things easier for everyone."
Leah Kwan, her arms crossed confidently, spoke next. Her no-nonsense attitude was clear even before she spoke. "I'm here because I don't like seeing innocent people get hurt. I spent years learning how to fight for a reason. If I can do that for the right cause, I'm in."
Nick's brow furrowed slightly. "You're trained in mixed martial arts?"
Leah's smirk didn't waver. "I'm good with my hands, but don't worry—I'm not the 'punch first, ask questions later' type. Unless I have to be."
Nick smiled, the hint of humor lightening the mood. "That's good to know. We need skill and discipline. I'm glad to have you on board."
Rory MacAllister was next. The rugged, wilderness-hardened tracker from the Pacific Northwest stepped forward, his eyes scanning the room with the sharpness of a seasoned survivalist. His thick Scottish accent was unmistakable.
"I've hunted in places most people wouldn't last a day in," Rory began, his voice deep and steady. "If it's tracking down Wesen, finding the ones hiding in the woods or the mountains, that's what I do best."
Nick tilted his head, impressed by the quiet confidence. "You've been doing this for a while, haven't you?"
Rory nodded. "My family's been hunting Wesen for generations. I've seen the damage they can do. It's time to stop running from them and start fighting back."
Nick smiled and extended his hand. "Glad to have you, Rory. We're going to need those survival skills more than ever."
Sophia Alvarez, the scientist, stood slightly apart from the others, her curious eyes never quite still. She was the kind of person who saw the world differently—someone who lived in data and facts, not just instincts.
"I've spent my career studying Wesen biology," Sophia said, her voice calm but sharp with purpose. "I can help you understand what makes them tick—what their weaknesses are. The more we know about them, the better we can fight them."
Nick was immediately intrigued. "I've heard of your research. You've got the kind of knowledge that could give us a real edge. We'll need your expertise to strategize and take down the more dangerous Wesen."
Sophia's lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. "I've always preferred working behind the scenes, but if it helps save lives, I'll be at the front line when it matters."
Finally, Nick's eyes turned to Malcolm Preis, the youngest of the group. The teenager stood quietly, his nervousness palpable. He didn't make eye contact at first, but Nick could sense the weight he was carrying. The kid was still processing everything that had happened to him—the sudden realization that he was a Grimm, the gang of Yaguaraté Wesen after him, and now this new world he was being thrust into.
Nick's tone softened. "Malcolm, I know this is all a lot. You're young, and this isn't an easy road. But you're not alone anymore. We're here for you."
Malcolm finally looked up, meeting Nick's gaze. "I don't know what I'm doing here," he admitted quietly. "I don't have the training. I don't even know how to fight. I just... I just want to protect people."
Nick's voice was gentle but firm. "That's why you're here. You're a Grimm, and that means you have a responsibility. We'll teach you, just like we were taught. You'll be part of this team, and together, we'll make sure you're ready when the time comes."
Malcolm swallowed, his hands clenched at his sides. "Okay. I'll do whatever it takes."
Nick looked around the room at the new recruits, feeling a mixture of awe and gratitude. These were the people who would help carry the weight of this fight. Some had seen the worst of what Wesen could do, others had lived in hiding, but each of them brought something essential to the table.
"We've got a lot of work ahead of us," Nick said, his voice firm now, the leader in him rising. "But with each of you on this team, I know we can do this. Together, we're stronger than any of the threats out there."
As the room nodded in agreement, a sense of unity filled the space. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they weren't facing it alone anymore.
The Grueling Grimm Training
The cold, early morning air bit at their skin as the recruits stood in a line on the training field. Nick Burkhardt, now fully entrenched in his leadership role, stood across from them, arms crossed, surveying the group. The recruits—Viktor Stein, Leah Kwan, Rory MacAllister, Sophia Alvarez, Malcolm Preis, and Trubel—were preparing for a new, mandatory Grimm training regimen. It was harsh, unforgiving, and designed to hone their senses and resilience to a level they'd never imagined.
It was a rite of passage, a process every Grimm before them had gone through. Nick had endured it, and now it was their turn. The training was broken into two parts: the first, designed to heighten their hearing and reflexes, and the second—far more dangerous—was designed to push their bodies and minds to the breaking point.
Nick glanced at the first part of the training: a set of blindfolds laid out on the ground.
"Alright, everyone," Nick began, his voice firm. "The first part of the training is simple. You'll be blindfolded for 24 hours. No sight. You'll rely solely on your hearing, your sense of touch, your instincts. This will improve your ability to fight and track Wesen, just like I did."
The recruits exchanged uncertain glances, but none of them backed away. They knew this was coming. They knew it was necessary. Nick had been through this, and Trubel, despite her gruff exterior, had faced it too.
Leah, always the one to speak up, raised an eyebrow. "Twenty-four hours, no sight?"
Nick nodded. "That's right. It's a test of endurance. But it's also a test of how well you can trust your other senses. You'll be paired up with a partner. You'll spar, but without using sight. Just feel, listen, and respond. You won't be able to rely on your eyes to dodge attacks. You'll learn to anticipate your opponent's movements through sound."
Each recruit hesitated for a moment, but they took their blindfolds without further question, slipping them over their eyes as instructed. The world went black.
The training was intense. For hours, they sparred, learning to rely on the rhythm of their opponent's movements, the sound of their breathing, the shifting of weight on the ground. Trubel, despite her natural instincts, struggled at first. Viktor, with his large frame, had a harder time adjusting, but he quickly became attuned to the sounds of movement.
Nick was there every step of the way, watching as each recruit fought and faltered, but gradually grew better. His own training had been brutal, but this new generation of Grimms was proving they had the strength to endure.
The Cracher-Mortel Training
After the 24-hour blindfold sparring session, the recruits were given little rest before the second part of their training began. Nick led them into a dark, concrete room that smelled faintly of antiseptic. At the center of the room stood a metal table, and on that table was a vial containing a thick, green liquid: Cracher-Mortel spit.
"What's this?" Malcolm asked, his voice low and apprehensive.
Nick met his gaze. "Cracher-Mortel spit. It's a Wesen-derived chemical, something that i encountered as a cop. It's dangerous—very dangerous—but it's also a critical part of this training. This is what's going to push your senses to their limits."
Leah's brow furrowed. "What's it do?"
Nick turned to face the group. "Cracher-Mortel spit causes what we call Post-Traumatic Zombification Disorder—PTZD. It paralyzes you, renders you unconscious. When you wake up, you'll be in a rage, with heightened senses and strength, but no control. Your body will fight on its own. You won't be able to stop it. You'll be like a zombie—no cognition, only instinct."
"Wait," Viktor interjected, his voice tinged with alarm. "You're saying we'll be zombies?"
Nick met his eyes. "Not in the traditional sense. You'll retain your Grimm strength, but you won't be able to control yourself. Your senses—sight, hearing, smell—will be superhuman. You'll react to everything around you like a predator. You'll fight. Your instincts will take over. But if you succeed and manage to control the rage, the antidote will reverse the effects. It's a test of endurance, of control."
Trubel stepped forward, her eyes unwavering. "I'm ready for it," she said, already pulling up her sleeve.
Nick hesitated, eyeing her carefully. "Trubel, you haven't been through this before. It's dangerous. I don't want to risk anything."
But Trubel just smirked. "If I can't handle it, how do you expect them to?"
Nick nodded, knowing full well that she was right. "Alright, just remember: You'll have no control. You fight because your body tells you to. Not because you want to."
The recruits stood in line, one by one stepping forward to take the Cracher-Mortel spit. Nick carefully administered the chemical to each of their faces, watching as they grimaced from the scent and the unsettling paralysis that followed.
Within moments, they collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.
The Awakening
The room was silent as Nick waited. The recruits lay still, their bodies in a temporary state of paralysis, their minds far away. Time stretched, and for a moment, Nick found himself questioning the ethics of this training. But he shook off the doubt. This was necessary. This was the only way to prepare them for what was coming.
Finally, the first recruit began to stir. It was Leah. She twitched, her body convulsing briefly, and then her eyes shot open. There was no recognition in them, only an animalistic rage. Leah's breathing came in ragged gasps as she pushed herself to her feet, a snarl twisting her lips.
"Leah!" Nick shouted, but she didn't seem to hear him.
Without warning, Leah launched herself at Viktor, her fists moving faster than any human could react. The fight was brutal—Viktor, despite his strength, barely had time to react to her attacks. She struck, fast and with deadly precision, as if she could hear every tiny movement in the room.
Nick was prepared for this. As much as he hated seeing it, this was the moment they had to control. Viktor, realizing what was happening, quickly ducked under Leah's fist and took a step back, maneuvering as if he were avoiding an invisible predator.
"Leah, listen to me!" Nick shouted.
For a moment, it seemed to have no effect, but then Leah stopped, her body trembling with rage. She staggered back, her eyes still wild but now flickering with awareness.
Finally, the antidote was administered. Leah collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as the effects wore off. Nick was there in an instant, kneeling beside her.
"That was close," he muttered, breathing a sigh of relief.
But there was no time to relax. One by one, the recruits awakened in the same primal, enraged state, each one fighting their way through the training, unable to stop their movements. Trubel, too, faced the challenge, battling against her own heightened instincts.
It was Viktor who was the last to control himself. After a brutal, relentless sparring match with Rory, Viktor finally came to his senses, collapsing to the ground with a deep breath.
The antidote was administered, and the recruits slowly regained their composure. Exhausted and bruised, they all sat in a circle, each of them struggling to comprehend the chaos they had just gone through.
"Good work," Nick said, his voice rough but proud. "You survived. You pushed through. Now you're ready for what's coming."
They were no longer just Grimms—they were warriors, honed by pain, rage, and survival. And as Nick looked around at each of them, he knew that this team would be ready for whatever battle lay ahead.