Kevin barely spared a glance at the guards and their weapons. He knew—deep in his gut, in the very fibers of his being—that no matter how lethal those weapons seemed, they were utterly inadequate against him.
They could wound him, slow him down, maybe even cause a fleeting moment of pain, but kill him? Impossible. He didn't know why. He didn't know how. It was just something ingrained in his instincts; after he had already experienced their damage, he understood something with absolute certainty.
His regeneration was beyond anything natural, his body refusing to succumb to injuries that would cripple anyone else.
Instead, his focus remained locked on the individuals standing before him.
They were dressed in lab coats—though calling them clean would have been a stretch. The fabric bore stains both ancient and fresh, smeared with blood and medicinal liquids that hinted at repeated, unhygienic surgeries bearing the evidence of their no regard toward the established medical rules for proper sanitation.
The clothing clung to their monstrous physiques, stretched so tight that the coats were dangerously close to tearing apart under the strain of their exaggerated muscles. Each of them loomed at least 6.5 feet tall, bodies resembling grotesque sculptures molded for brute strength rather than human function.
But it wasn't just their sheer size that unsettled Kevin.
Their faces were a testament to madness and cruelty—scarred, stitched, wrapped in bandages as if they had willingly discarded the need for normal skin.
Some had jagged scars running along their foreheads. Others had fresh stitches crisscrossing their necks, lips, or even their scalps. They looked like experiments—failed ones that had refused to die.
Kevin did not slow down.
In fact, he moved faster, muscles tightening, feet pounding against the cold ground as he closed the gap between them.
"Hehe, let's handle this as soon as possible," one of them muttered, cracking his knuckles.
Another, eyes gleaming with unsettling excitement, rasped, "Yeah. I still have to dissect and study the genetic structure of that newly acquired material."
Then, the third voice came, dripping with hunger—literal hunger.
"Can I eat him?"
The figure grinned, saliva trailing from his lips as he licked his teeth. He was the only one with stitches running along both sides of his mouth, as though someone had tried to force his jaw shut at one point… and failed.
A fourth voice, sharp and authoritative, interrupted the thought.
"Absolutely not. He is the first successful experiment subject. But… A small bite while subduing him won't matter much. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
The one in the middle—a leader, perhaps—spoke with an odd, unreadable intensity. His tone did not match his words, yet none of his companions pointed it out.
"Go," he finally commanded, eyes flicking toward Kevin. "Now is your chance."
That was all the encouragement the stitched-mouth figure needed.
"Yum," he murmured.
Then, faster than Kevin expected, the crazed figure lunged forward, eyes wild, his mouth barely restrained by the thick threads keeping it together.
"It's time to eat."
"It's time to eat."
The words poured out of him like an uncontrollable chant, his face twisted in disturbing glee as he charged.
On the other side of the ground floor :
"Mam, should we start firing?"
The voice belonged to the security in charge, a man standing at the peak of the third level of superhuman evolution. He kept his head bowed slightly, hands clasped behind his back in a stance of pure discipline. His respect for the woman before him didn't stem merely from her title as head researcher.
No, that was secondary.
What truly commanded his deference was the undeniable fact that she had crossed the barrier—a threshold few ever reached. She was beyond just a superhuman.
She had ascended into something more, something greater. She was a force, a being who had reached the fourth level of superhuman evolution, placing her far above the ranks of ordinary enhanced humans.
Isla barely moved, her expression neutral, impassive. Then, with the smallest shake of her head, she dismissed his suggestion.
"We will wait. Observe how it unfolds first," she stated, her voice void of emotion. "After all, these highly advanced guns are single-use weapons."
She gazed toward the unfolding chaos ahead, eyes gleaming with cold calculation. If the genetic department's crazy bastards managed to subdue him on their own, it would be a profitable outcome—less wasted resources, less unnecessary interference.
"Understood, ma'am," the security in charge responded, not daring to question her logic.
He knew little of the genetic department's personnel. Everything he had heard came from whispers, rumors passed along through subordinates who labeled them as madmen, unstable, consumed by their twisted fascination with their experiments.
But despite his wariness, he complied. Isla had spoken, and her word was law.
"Have all the researchers been escorted to safety shelters?" Isla asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
A moment of silence stretched between them before she broke it.
"By the way, what happened to the one we sent before?" Isla asked, her tone casual, almost indifferent.
"He's dead," the security in charge replied.
There was no hesitation, no elaboration. Just the brutal truth.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "How did he die?"
"Records indicate he breached the agreement established before his deployment underground," the security in charge explained.
A flicker of thought crossed Isla's expression. "Does that mean he didn't kill him?" she pressed. "Even though he was almost on the verge of death after being shot?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Isla's lips tightened. That was… troublesome.
If Kevin had kept his composure even in near-death circumstances, then he was more than just another experiment run wild. He was controlled, calculating. A warrior who didn't succumb to panic—a trait that made him significantly harder to deal with.
"I'll have to handle him right here; if he manages to grow away from our control, then it will spell disaster for us," she resolved inwardly.
She inhaled slightly before shifting her focus back to the battle ahead. "And the results of the surprise attack?" Isla questioned.
The security in charge wasted no time.
"From the footage recovered from the secret cameras stationed in the observation room, we have determined that the subject possesses superhuman strength along with an abnormally high regenerative capability. The effect of our attack from the highly advanced gun was… nearly nonexistent."
Isla stiffened, a rare reaction of genuine disbelief flickering across her usually impassive features.
Regeneration wasn't unheard of. Many superhumans who managed to advance to the third level due to the faster recovery rate of their bodies mostly ended up with a greater regenerative rate compared to others after successful evolution. But to recover after being shot with one of those weapons?
Advanced firearms specifically designed to destroy the body at a cellular level? Even for someone at her level, survival against such an assault was strenuous at best.
Yet he had regenerated?
"If your analysis is correct, then our approach must be altered," she murmured, her thoughts racing, calculating.
Her gaze snapped back to the security in charge, piercing and unwavering. The intensity in her eyes made him flinch, despite his years of rigorous training.
"The moment it seems those lunatics are losing ground against him, you wait. Look for the perfect opening. If you find a clear shot, don't ask. Don't hesitate. Shoot him straight in the chest."
Her words were sharp and commanding, each syllable laced with strict authority.
She allowed no room for misinterpretation.
"Understood?" Isla asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Remember this," she added, voice unwavering. "We need him alive."
"Yes, ma'am."
*******
Kevin has experienced several fights in his life till now, but most of them are either for his friend David or to retaliate against someone in the wrong.
But for the first time, he is going to fight for himself; this fight will be for his survival. for his freedom. This mere thought fills his body with a rush of adrenaline.
The moment he reached near the crazy man running toward him, he threw a punch, aiming directly for the man's stitched mouth, trying to rip apart the barely held-together flesh with sheer force. His punch was explosive—fast, precise, and powerful enough to shatter concrete.
But his opponent wasn't just a man.
With an unnatural shift, the madman twisted his body at an impossible angle, dodging Kevin's punch like a specter bending the laws of physics. Before Kevin could reposition, his adversary struck.
A clawed fist came for Kevin's ribs—a brutal hook aimed at his side, designed to break bones.
Kevin rotated his torso just in time, absorbing part of the blow before countering with a sharp Muay Thai teep kick to create distance. His foot slammed into the scientist's midsection, sending him skidding back a few steps.
Instead of faltering, his opponent grinned.
Then his muscles rippled.
Bones stretched. Ligaments reformed.
The scientist let out a guttural growl, his body expanding as the shift took hold. His skin darkened, nails extending into razor-sharp claws, legs repositioning for more explosive movement.
Kevin's eyes narrowed.
"What the hell?"
He screamed in his mind.