Whose Person Is He

Chapter 5: Whose Man Was He?

Duva made no attempt to hide his delight. He carefully observed this Xenomorph with vampire genes and named it the Blood Xenomorph.

Compared to names like Reversebreed, this name was utterly unremarkable, but compared with special-type Xenomorphs like the Ice Xenomorph, it was passable enough.

The Blood Xenomorph had the standard appearance of a Drone Xenomorph: it walked upright, stood roughly 2.5 meters tall, and had an elongated head with a smooth surface. Numerous tubes of unknown purpose grew from its back, resembling technological ports for connecting large-scale equipment at first glance. Its entire body was encased in an exoskeleton with formidable impact resistance. It was safe to say that ordinary large-caliber firearms would struggle to cause it any real harm.

After all, even a Drone Xenomorph born from an ordinary human host would not suffer fatal injuries from large-caliber gunfire.

Moreover, the Blood Xenomorph could obtain additional energy through blood.

Ordinary Xenomorphs could only consume large amounts of flesh and blood to maintain their strength.

"Judging by its role within the division of labor, the Blood Xenomorph is definitely the Drone Xenomorph from Alien 1, one social rank above a Messenger."

Duva admired his creation, while the other vampires were scared witless.

"Th-this, this... what the hell is that thing?!"

"Parasitism?"

A spider-like Facehugger had crawled out of the egg, then the spider had died for no apparent reason, the person had passed out, and then a rapidly growing humanoid monster had burst out of that person's chest.

The whole sequence seemed to follow a linear logic, with clear cause and effect—but upon closer thought, it was fucking absurdly unscientific.

The vampires finally understood why this human had cared so much about whether they lived or died.

But unfortunately, it was too late.

Having confirmed that the parasitism worked, the remaining two Xenomorph Eggs opened one after another and completed their parasitism.

Dennis still wanted to salvage the situation. He pointed out that Duva only had three eggs and could only parasitize three vampires, so what were the rest supposed to do? Surely they were not food? Duva comforted him thoughtfully, saying that he could not bear to turn them into food—but they could rest assured, because none of them would be getting away.

Then, in the deepest part of the cave, a presence that had remained silent and motionless all this time—the Xenomorph Queen—moved. Before everyone's eyes, after a brief buildup, she laid an egg directly through that ovipositor.

"So that's what that tube is for."

Dennis broke down. As the Facehugger lunged at him, he lost consciousness in despair.

Not long afterward, six Blood Xenomorphs, far stronger than their vampire hosts, stood obediently before Duva.

They were all ravenous. After receiving Duva's permission, they tore into the remains of their hosts with great bites.

"The small animals nearby have all been eaten. Looks like I'll have to find another way to ensure the food supply..."

Several food companies in New York City received food orders.

The following days were unusually peaceful. No vampires came knocking, perhaps because their initial assessment was that the missing vampires had all been chopped up by Blade.

Meanwhile, a group of people arrived at the abandoned building next door during the day and opened a meat shop on the spot.

Their conduct, so blatant that they could not even be bothered to disguise it, earned Duva's appreciation.

Were surveillance operations this open and aboveboard these days?

"Guys, you know these two buildings are going to be demolished, right? I heard a large office building is going to be built here?" Duva called out to them.

"We know, but before the demolition officially begins, selling cooked meat here seems to have a promising future."

Duva nodded repeatedly, showing his complete agreement. "Then why does your cooked-meat shop only sell raw meat?"

This time, the agent did not respond.

Duva guessed that turning raw food into cooked food would increase costs, which concerned credibility. But claiming to sell cooked meat while actually selling raw meat concerned money—making it easier to swindle operating funds from their superiors.

The owner of the meat shop also felt incredibly unlucky.

As a worthless clone of Dum Dum Dugan, he had merely copied the habits of a certain Level Eight agent: he told everyone he was FBI, told FBI agents he was CIA, and told CIA agents he was FBI. Only when the two agencies compared notes and started fighting, leaving him unable to keep the lie going, would he admit that he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Anyway, nobody could remember what S.H.I.E.L.D. even stood for, much less what the organization actually did.

Yet he had run into someone both stubborn and somewhat influential—George Stacy.

Damn it. George had merely been carrying out routine procedures, confidently ordering the local police department to conduct a preliminary investigation.

If S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel had to investigate the countless suspected superhuman incidents across the world all by themselves, they would have died of exhaustion long ago. Even if his original body could split off a huge number of clones that shared memories through a cloud network, it still would not be enough! Now there was no helping it. He had taken the job and handled the matter, so he could only go in personally.

The only thing worth being thankful for was that Blade protected the target, confirming that he was not some villain who slaughtered innocents indiscriminately. He possessed at least the most basic moral standards.

"What level agent are you?"

Look at that—the target, who could command strange creatures, was leaning against the rotten, drafty window again and shouting at him.

"Yesterday I was Level Three. Now I'm Level Two," he replied, not knowing whether this mission now counted as a success or a failure.

In any case, he was only a clone with little value.

At least things were progressing in an orderly fashion, and it had not reached the point where he needed to make a call for reinforcements. That was fine, right?

He could even help the original body swindle some funding from that stingy bald man.

Duva stared at the man across from him. He was now completely certain that this guy was with S.H.I.E.L.D.

As a special organization tasked with monitoring superhuman incidents worldwide, S.H.I.E.L.D. had the backing of the Permanent Five. Keeping a close watch on unusual individuals was their responsibility.

But Duva had not expected the person assigned to watch him to be so candid.

"Even if Blade hasn't formed the Howling Commandos yet, he's definitely established contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. He may have already become a high-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."

Blade would one day become a Level 10 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

It was only natural for S.H.I.E.L.D. to find out that Duva had dealings with Blade. The existence of the Xenomorphs would be exposed sooner or later anyway; it was impossible to keep it hidden forever. And precisely because of this, S.H.I.E.L.D. did not rate him as a high-risk individual—at least, not yet. "Not yet" was exactly what Duva needed.

Duva liked straightforward people. It meant he did not have to waste too many brain cells.

Especially after learning that the person watching him was actually named Dum Dum Dugan, Duva understood who he was.

Dum Dum Dugan was also a Level 10 agent. He possessed the ability to share a single memory archive with his clones, which had given him the honor of becoming one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s workhorses.

Duva showed no stress response to such close-up surveillance. In this era, where superhumans were hardly unusual, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s job was to investigate and assess every extraordinary individual.

If they confirmed that a target was harmless and that their special abilities were not particularly strong, they would put the relevant information on file and withdraw their personnel. As long as the target did not commit any crimes, S.H.I.E.L.D. would not pay them much further attention.

Nick Fury looked expressionlessly at the report in his hands.

"The target is suspected of secretly conducting biochemical experiments and obtaining research funds through Blade?"

"Yes. According to those officers, he can command strange but powerful creatures and captured several vampires alive."

"No, that's not what I'm emphasizing." Fury tapped the desk and raised his voice. "I mean, a guy like this registered a Weyland Biochemical Company and is conducting legal biochemical experiments?"

He put particular emphasis on the word "legal."

Those strange creatures were certainly worth watching. In a world crawling with lunatics, anyone who dared to stand out had to have some real skill.

Fury's meaning was perfectly clear. He stared down his old partner, Dum Dum Dugan. "Whose man is this Duva?"