N-no! Don't come near me! N-no-o-o... A-a-a-a-a!
The girl's piercing scream abruptly cut off, replaced by wet crunching and the sounds of tearing flesh. However, the man in the white coat, standing behind reinforced glass and indifferently watching the bloody execution, didn't even flinch. He continued to intently observe the feast of the enormous monster.
Sir, our equipment is detecting a sharp spike in genetic code assimilation. The lab assistant sitting at the computer drew the boss's attention to herself and pointed at the hologram floating in the air, displaying the vital signs of the living weapon. The DNA chain is rapidly restructuring, and the adaptation rate has increased by at least two orders of magnitude.
Excellent. Feed Subject-Seventeen another test subject.
Sir, but we only have children left...
Do their mutations hold value for our project? Receiving a negative answer from the slightly pale assistant, the scientist lost interest in the graphs and returned to contemplating the bloody feast. In that case, my order stands.
Although the newly appointed head of the Weapon X program was no fanatic like Striker and didn't harbor the same all-consuming hatred for mutants, the sight of a monster devouring a living human didn't stir his heart at all. Like any true scientist, Adam Harkins forgot the meaning of the word "pity" during his scientific work, and feeding X-gene carriers to the literally insatiable creature was by no means a disposal of defective material.
X-Predator.
The perfect hunter.
The absolute killer.
Moving away from the idea of forcibly recruiting mutants to eliminate their own kind and abandoning reliance on robotics, the cold-blooded scientist managed to create a true Nemesis for the entire mutant race.
Colossal physical strength, incredible vitality barely inferior to Wolverine's regenerative factor, and truly inexhaustible endurance already turned Harkins' created monster into an almost unstoppable killing machine. And these abilities were merely side effects, fertile ground for other mutations, and the foundation for the main weapon of the artificially bred creature.
Hunger.
By combining animal genes with human genes, the merciless scientist created the perfect hybrid, for which tracking down and devouring mutants was, in the most literal sense, the basis of its existence. Every second of its life, the X-Predator experienced an unbearable thirst that could only be quenched by the flesh and blood of X-gene carriers. Its heightened sense of smell allowed it to track down its desired prey almost anywhere on the planet.
However, the main trump card of Adam's creation was the adaptive ability obtained through gene recombination. By devouring the flesh of mutants, the Predator couldn't satiate its endless hunger, but the assimilation of foreign DNA during the feast forced the monster to evolve, increasing its physical capabilities and granting partial immunity to the abilities of the absorbed genome. For example, the matte-gray skin of the monster was actually a metal-organic coating obtained by absorbing the genetic code of the mutant nicknamed Mercury.
And by feeding the monster the test subjects captured by Kimura, Harkins was essentially reprocessing what he considered useless material into a vitally necessary substance for the key project of the revived Weapon X program.
Tell Kimura that the number of combat sorties needs to be increased—we're running out of genetic material too quickly and...
A sharp electric crackle momentarily drowned out the scientist's speech. When he turned toward the sound, he saw the cameras around the perimeter suddenly emitting acrid black smoke and failing, while a pair of long metal blades pierced the chest of one of the lab guards.
Alarm... Seeing a dark figure materializing behind the wounded soldier from thin air, the man whose hand was breaking his victim's neck, the head of the Weapon X program didn't freeze like the other employees of the research base. Without hesitation, he rushed toward the alarm button... But the uninvited guest reacted faster. Effortlessly lifting the soldier impaled on his claws over his head, he threw him at Harkins with a sharp motion, and the body clad in full gear knocked Adam to the ground. Ugh!
Having received such a powerful blow, the man without superpowers found himself pinned to the floor by the dead soldier and lost his orientation for a moment. Thus, he didn't see the ensuing fight and only heard the muffled clicks and the screams of the terrified lab assistants.
Soon, absolute silence reigned in the abode of science. When the scientist, who had somehow recovered, finally crawled out from under the corpse, he looked around and realized he was surrounded by lifeless bodies: dead guards lay all over the room with holes in their heads, and the bloodied bodies of scientific staff were scattered throughout the laboratory... Often in separate parts.
But the intruder who had caused this massacre was nowhere to be seen, and the scientist, without delay, once again rushed toward the alarm button.
It seems that because of the corpse lying on top of me, I was taken for dead. I need to contact Kimura as soon as possible and...
Delighted by his sudden luck, Harkins almost pressed the red circle embedded in the wall, but as it turned out, the hunter was much closer than the victim had hoped. Feeling a sharp pain in his heart, Adam looked down and saw a pair of metal blades piercing his body and protruding from his chest, staining the scientist's white coat crimson...
No one noticed the cunning ground squirrel. But it was there.
The head of the nerd, pierced by claws, crunches as it turns 180 degrees, then the corpse of the dinosaur lover falls at my feet, shedding the key card with a holographic photo of the deceased from its neck during the fall.
Ah, the Golden Key.
Ignoring the creature feasting behind the glass, I approach the control panel of the main computer and, setting aside the submachine gun, insert my trophy into the appropriate slot. A couple of moments of waiting—and a huge holographic screen lights up in front of my face with the inscription: "Access confirmed. Username: Adam Harkins. Access level: First-High."
Heh, it seems Weapon X finally got proper funding—when I worked for Striker, our computers were powerful but without any high-tech gadgets. I hope the colorful holograms don't affect the performance too much, because time is running out.
To maintain anonymity and add a headache for the project's leadership, I had to act like a bull in a china shop, disabling the cameras with small EMP charges that I attached to them under optical camouflage. However, the observers on the other side should have already realized that something was wrong in the lab, and the alarmed base security was now rushing at full speed to the holy of holies of their base.
Well, where are the dirtiest secrets of the powers that be?
Not this... Not this... Not this again! There's ten times more accounting and various non-disclosure orders here than scientific data! And not a hint of structuring the accompanying documentation! How am I supposed to find the necessary information in this mess?!
My fingers hammer the keyboard at the speed of a frenzied woodpecker, and the visor of the cyber-eye darts between the images appearing and disappearing on the holographic screen like a frightened bird. But the reaction of the government soldiers, pumped up by Chocolate Bunny, is on point, and they raise the alarm before I can get to the juiciest compromising material. Almost immediately, the air is filled with the wail of an alarm siren, and in less than a minute, the sensors of my augments pick up the thunder of many soldiers' boots in the nearest corridor.
Without tearing myself away from searching for the necessary documentation, I grab the submachine gun and, without looking, fire a short burst at the sensor panel connected to the entrance door. A small short circuit will lock the doors, buying a little time...
Found it!
Photos of important government faces involved in overseeing the Weapon X program appear on the screen. The base manager was supposed to contact them in case of force majeure or problems with the official authorities of the United States. Along with footage of the local zoo feeding—it's a real jackpot.
Taking out a device stuffed with hacking programs from my gear, I connect it to the lab's central computer, and part of the holographic screen is occupied by a small window with rapidly changing symbols.
The local computers have protection against copying any information, but Harkins' access, combined with Cable's genius in creating the hacking program, does the trick. After a couple of seconds of resistance, a download progress bar appears on the holographic monitor.
Almost simultaneously, active commotion begins behind the closed doors, and the upper part of the massive entrance doors' joint turns a rich crimson. A strip of red-hot metal begins to slowly but surely crawl downward.
It seems the government soldiers have a specialist with a sixth-degree welding certification in their reserves, and unfortunately, I don't have any iron balls on me. If they continue like this, soon there won't be any room to breathe from the angry uncles with rifles. And the download bar, as if on purpose, crawls at the speed of an old pregnant turtle... Does Cable want to steal the entire base archive?
Well, I have no choice anyway, so let's keep dancing. While the local equivalent of Windows Vista laboriously shares important information with the high-tech gadget, we move on to the second item on our entertainment program.
Activating the section with the promising title "Tracking Test Subjects," I bring up images from multiple cameras on the monitor and... Oh, *damn it... I don't know how or with what Kimura motivated her fighters, but her special ops team did a hell of a job—out of the five hundred cells allocated for mutants, less than half are currently empty.
No, they work like real Stakhanovites. Solid. And problematic as hell.
This crowd won't get out of the base on their own. The guard is already on alert, and any escape attempt will be met with gunfire, because most of the captured X-gene carriers are terrified civilians. And Walrus is no Superman to save others by taking lead greetings on his own body. That's not my specialty, my character is much nastier, and the durability of my body is much lower than that of the lover of red underwear and blue tights.
Which means, as much as I don't want to, I'll have to involve one blue-assed madam in this—although I can't stand Smurf, she's the only mutant I know who is on good terms with both the X-Men and the Brotherhood of Mutants. That is, in her case, the cavalry will arrive in the shortest possible time.
Who are you, and how did you get my number? Since my new communicator is completely clean and hasn't been exposed anywhere, Mystique, not very pleased with the late communication, receives a call from an "unknown caller" and sees only an impenetrable black mask on my side, which elite special forces often use.
Ignoring the question asked by the Blue-Ass, I turn the transmitter so that the picture it transmits changes to a huge gray lizard sitting behind armored glass. Then I allow the shapeshifter to see a live broadcast from the test subjects' cameras.
Okay, Mute, I understand that you are in a laboratory where illegal experiments are being conducted on our kidnapped brothers and sisters. Now, maybe you'll say what you want for this information? It's a rare opportunity to shake some cabbage out of Smurf, and in any other situation, I would gladly empty the blue-assed madam's wallet to the bottom. But when a truly huge pile of money is at stake, chasing after the savings of one blue-faced pensioner is quite stupid. Silently disconnecting the communication, I send Mystique the coordinates of the Weapon X base without any payment.
Oh, just a little more—and a halo will appear above my head from such unprecedented generosity.
At the same time, the recording device signals the completion of the compromising material download, and the doors melted to the floor hiss open, letting armed-to-the-teeth specialists led by the maliciously grinning mulatto into the lab.
I was a little late.
Well, well, well... What's going on here? Casting an appraising glance over the lab littered with corpses and focusing her attention on the hulk standing behind the central computer in unmarked gear, Kimura gestured for the rifle-armed soldiers to spread out around the room and block all possible escape routes. Celebrating Bastille Day? And without me?
Although the dusky mercenary openly despised her immediate superior, she wasn't particularly pleased to see the lifeless body of Harkins lying in a pool of his own blood. Someone from above was bound to ask about Adam's death, and since the personal tormentor of X-23 was the second most important figure at the secret military facility, the questions about the scientist's death would most likely be addressed to her.
And she didn't particularly want to receive a dressing-down from the self-satisfied fat cats in Washington (with a mandatory reduction in her own fee), so to have something to cover herself with from the seasoned politicians, the mulatto decided to try to take the killer of her boss alive. Especially since the X-gene detector readings, which the mercenary never parted with, even in her sleep, indicated that the hulk who had slaughtered the personnel was not a mutant.
Black is always in style, right? Well, classics never go out of fashion! Taking a pair of army Colts from behind her belt, Kimura aimed at the hulk, who seemed not to notice the arsenal pointed at him and continued to search for something in the lab's central computer. Now be a good boy and raise your hands, or else mean Auntie Kim will give you a little boo-boo!
Tearing himself away from his task, the intruder silently turned to the soldiers, looked at the fighters aiming at him, assessed the situation, and silently followed the dusky mercenary's order.
That's good! Without lowering the pistols aimed at the hulk, the dusky sadist nodded to one of her fighters. Sergeant, put the restraints for test subjects on our guest; otherwise, he looks a bit ugly without them!
Under the tense gazes and the aim of twenty soldiers, Kimura's subordinate slung his rifle and, taking out the mutant restraints, began to slowly and cautiously approach the hulk with raised hands.
Step.
Second.
Third.
Despite the intruder's compliance, the base's Marine guards didn't even think of relaxing their vigilance, and the barrels of their rifles carefully followed his every move. Still, they didn't manage to react to the killer's lunge. With inhuman speed, the agile hulk grabbed the hand trying to clamp the futuristic-looking bracelets on him, spun the sergeant gasping in pain, and used him as a living shield.
Fire! Seeing that capturing the intruder peacefully wasn't going to work, the dusky sadist pulled the trigger without hesitation, and the room filled with the roar of gunfire. Following their commander's example, the soldiers began emptying their magazines, and to the accompaniment of the ringing rain of spent cartridges, the body of the soldier captured by the enemy trembled from multiple hits.
But the heavy bulletproof vest and the gear stuffed with magazines took the brunt of the impact, giving the black-clad hulk a couple of moments to use several smoke grenades. The killer of Harkins disappeared into the gray smoke filling the room, and for some time, Kimura's people fired blindly, aiming at the presumed location of the enemy. But when the shooting finally subsided and the dusky sadist turned on the ceiling-mounted exhaust, dispersing the smoke screen, there was only the bullet-riddled body of a comrade lying before the Marines.
And there wasn't a single hint of the vanished uninvited guest.