Silence.
Absolute silence.
No one saw it clearly.
No one understood what had just transpired.
One moment, everything had been unfolding as expected.
Their first successful experimental subject had been on the verge of being subdued, trapped under the overwhelming strength of one of the genetic department's most formidable scientists.
Then—without warning, the next moment, his severed head lay motionless on the cold, blood-slicked floor.
A breath.
A heartbeat.
Before anyone could process the sheer impossibility of what had happened—before logic and panic could wage war within their minds—Kevin's body stirred.
From his kneeling position, his frame shifted ever so slightly.
Not with hesitation, but inevitability.
"It's not enough."
His voice—detached and hollow—carried no emotion.
Kevin(????) spoke, yet the words felt distant, as if uttered by someone else entirely.
Isla had no idea what he meant.
And she did not want to find out.
Her instincts shrieked at her—urgent, relentless, primal.
A new strategy?
She had no time for that.
She had no room for careful planning or cold calculation.
Her body acted before her mind could rationalize the decision.
Her lips parted—raw desperation giving weight to her voice.
"Shoot him down!"
She did not hesitate.
The idea of capturing Kevin alive was obliterated from her consciousness.
Survival.
That was all that mattered now.
The guards—momentarily frozen, their gazes locked on the fallen scientist's mutilated remains—snapped into motion.
Trained reflexes took over.
Half remained standing, weapons primed, eyes locked onto their target.
The other half—those positioned lower—settled into their kneeling stance, rifles raised, fingers steady on the triggers.
Then—
Fire.
A coordinated storm of laser rounds erupted, streaking through the air with untraceable speed.
Every scientist from the genetic research department scattered, abandoning their positions.
They rushed to find shelter—ducking behind reinforced pillars, pressing against concrete walls—anything to shield themselves from the potential chaos of stray blasts.
But Kevin(????)...
He did not flee.
Instead, he swayed.
Left.
Right.
Like a tree bowing beneath the wrath of a violent storm.
He remained in a kneeling position, motionless.
His movements baffled them.
His lack of reaction disturbed them.
Yet no one dared to stop.
The lasers tore through the space between them—sharp, precise, and ruthless.
Then—
Kevin(????) moved.
Not with urgency or effort.
Instead—he rolled, shifting his weight from one side to the other in a manner too erratic to be calculated—too perfect to be random.
Each round missed by a fraction—close enough to feel the heat of the blasts, yet never close enough to touch him.
What looked like reckless staggering—clumsy movements akin to that of a drunken man—was impossibly flawless.
Every movement, every tilt of his body, every delayed shift—executed with uncanny precision.
Then—
As the final shot veered past—
Kevin(????) punched the floor.
The impact sent his body springing upward, propelled by the raw force of resistance—bouncing, weightless for a moment—until his feet found solid ground.
He stood.
Straight.
Unbothered.
His indifferent gaze swept over the ruined fragments of the floor—the places where the attacks had fallen, where destruction had carved itself into the foundation.
Then—his focus shifted.
His eyes found Isla.
With fluid ease, he brushed his hair back, tilting his head ever so slightly—
Maintaining unwavering eye contact.
Like a model striking a pose.
Then—
"That… would have hurt, you know."
He spoke with a voice devoid of strain—empty of urgency.
It wasn't a warning.
It wasn't anger.
It was taunting.
Not the kind of taunt that carried the bitterness of rivalry—
But the kind that mocked existence itself.
Then—
A shift.
Not a smile.
No.
A grin.
Wild.
Sharp.
Predatory.
It spread across his face with an ease too natural to be faked—like the inevitable descent of an apex predator upon its prey.
Then—
"Now, it's my turn… right?"
Kevin took his first step forward.
This version enhances fluidity and emotional intensity while strengthening the narrative rhythm. The extra details emphasize the tension and psychological weight of the moment. Let me know if there's anything else you'd like refined or expanded further!
Dread spread through Isla's chest, sharp and suffocating.
"Next batch—shoot!" she screamed.
"Security chief—keep him away from me!"
Her voice trembled with urgency as she staggered backward, retreating behind the guards.
Another round of fire erupted.
A coordinated barrage—relentless, precise, designed to subdue him.
Yet—none of the attacks struck Kevin(????).
His steps never faltered, never slowed.
He moved—not like a desperate fighter, not like someone dodging out of survival—but like a seasoned warrior who had lived through endless battlefields.
A master of precision.
An entity who knew the trajectory of every attack before it was even fired—dodging effortlessly, reducing the rain of blasts to nothing but wasted energy.
"It's useless," the security chief muttered, his expression grim.
"We have to stop him physically."
His thoughts were frantic, yet resolute.
Kevin(????) tilted his head slightly, watching the guards struggle with a flicker of something disturbingly akin to amusement.
"Looks like your toys have reached their limit, huh?"
His tone carried mild disappointment, but his grin—his wide, unwavering grin—remained untouched.
That contrast—emotionless speech paired with an unnatural smirk—sent a ripple of unease through everyone listening.
Then—
"HEY!"
The word rang out, sharp and unrestrained.
He wasn't speaking to anyone in particular.
"I'm coming."
It wasn't a threat.
It wasn't a warning.
It was a statement—a simple declaration of what was about to unfold.
Then—Kevin(????) moved.
He sprinted forward—his speed surpassing every previous instance, blurring into motion.
The chief guard barely had time to issue an order—barely had time to react—before a fist connected with his face.
Burst.
His head exploded—shattered like an overripe watermelon struck by a sledgehammer.
His level-three evolved physique, his reinforced biological structure, and his supposed superhuman resistance failed to withstand the sheer force of Kevin's(????) attack.
Plop.
His body collapsed—limp, broken, discarded like a splintered doll.
Kevin(????) barely acknowledged the corpse.
Instead—
"Wow! A home run… No, no, no—it's a goal, right?"
His voice shifted, taking on an exaggerated, childlike excitement—like a first-time player winning a game they barely understood.
His grin widened.
His eyes gleamed.
His presence darkened.
Then—the grin twisted.
A contemplative expression took its place, as if something deeper had settled into his mind.
"But… it's still not enough."
He pressed a hand to his chin, brows furrowing—not out of concern, but calculation.
Then—
His attention snapped toward the trembling guards.
The grin returned—larger than before, more unsettling, blooming with unchecked delight.
Fear took hold of the remaining soldiers.
Their leader was gone.
Their attacks had failed.
Their enemy was toying with them.
Guns slipped from their hands—
Fingers shaking—
Breaths turning ragged—
Then—
AAAAAAAAA!
One of the guards screamed, breaking the fragile silence.
He turned on his heels—ran—fled for his life.
Then—like falling dominos—the rest followed.
A stampede erupted.
A chaotic, desperate race to escape—to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the monster before them.
Or so they tried.
Kevin(????) stood amidst the chaos, his posture loose, his grin fixed, his eyes gleaming with uncontained amusement.
"Ah, you're running? Good! Let's play!"
His voice was thrilled, not angry—excited, not cruel.
Like a child about to chase fireflies, eager to catch them in his grasp.
Except the fireflies were men.
And the game was survival.
His muscles tensed—then—he moved.
A blur. A shadow darting between fleeing bodies.
His first target didn't even see him coming.
One moment, he was sprinting toward the exit—his legs pumping, lungs burning—then—
Kevin's fist connected with his back.
Crunch.
The force sent the guard airborne—his body flung forward like a broken puppet—before slamming against the far wall with a sickening crack.
He did not scream.
There was no time for that.
Only silence as he crumpled, unmoving.
Kevin(????) laughed—his grin stretching impossibly wider.
"Oho! That was good! Who's next?"
He turned, eyes flicking from one trembling body to another, drinking in their fear, relishing the frantic, mindless scramble for escape.
Another guard tried to dodge, tried to duck into the shadows—
Too slow.
Kevin(????) appeared in front of him, faster than his mind could process—his hand gripping his throat before he could react.
Snap.
A single movement.
A twist too sharp, too precise—a broken neck before the man could even beg.
His body dropped, lifeless.
Kevin(????) barely looked at the corpse, already moving again—already hunting.
A Game of Tag—With No Escape
They ran.
Down corridors.
Through halls.
Dodging between pillars, shoving past each other—anything, anything to get away from him.
But Kevin(????) did not chase with desperation—he chased with joy.
He zigzagged through the carnage like a dancer in perfect rhythm—his movements effortless, his strikes calculated.
One guard tried to raise his weapon—
Kevin(????) kicked it from his hands, then spun, delivering a devastating elbow to the man's jaw.
Bone shattered.
The guard staggered—fell—his body twitching before going still.
Kevin(????) didn't stop.
Another.
Then another.
Then another.
Every time a guard tried to escape, Kevin(????) was already there—his strikes unavoidable, his laughter unwavering, his grin never breaking.
It wasn't a battle.
It was extermination.
The Final Players
Blood coated the floor.
Fragments of armor.
Weapons discarded.
Limbs torn from bodies.
Kevin(????) exhaled, stretching his arms above his head—his expression undisturbed, not fatigued, only satisfied.
"Ah, that was fun!"
"Now that all the small players are out of the game…"
His head turned—slowly, deliberately—toward the exit.
There—Isla—alongside the eight remaining genetic scientists—struggling to escape.
Kevin(????) tilted his head.
"Hey, take me with you! How will I play if you all leave?"
His steps quickened—his body a streak of motion—his grin widening.
The leader of the genetic department screamed.
"RUN!"