The First Kill

As he entered the room, the sight at its center seized his attention.

This was no operation to heal a patient. It was a dissection in progress.

A gaunt Mutant prisoner was strapped to the operating table.

The green light on his Suppression Collar blinked, showing it was still working and had stripped him of any ability to resist.

Heavy-duty restraints bound his limbs to the edges of the table. His skin had turned an unnatural blue-white from lack of blood. His chest had been split open lengthwise, and an instrument held his ribs apart, exposing the organs still faintly moving beneath them.

On the heart monitor beside him, the line that had once marked his vital signs had long since flattened into a straight red line.

Yet the two masked doctors in sterile gowns standing around the table had not stopped. They deftly drew spinal fluid with a special syringe and collected the last blood draining from his heart.

One had even removed the dark red, motionless heart whole and carefully placed it on a white tray lined with sterile gauze. Other organ samples sat in the tray, soaking in pale yellow preservative.

Seeing the slaughterhouse-like scene in person hit harder than any movie ever could.

Russell's face darkened. His stomach churned, but stronger still was the chill that sank into his bones.

If the system had not arrived, if he had not awakened a new Mutant Ability last night, he would be the one lying on that cold table, carved up and sampled like a lab animal.

As if sensing his change in mood, Doctor Caspin, the man at the head of the table, carefully set his scalpel, slick with blood, on another tray.

He raised his head and looked at Russell through his glasses. There was not a trace of compassion in his eyes, only an almost arrogant calm.

"No need to feel uncomfortable, Number 47... or should I say, Bertrand Russell." Caspin's voice was cold, as though he were stating a simple fact.

"In a sense, every one of you sent here is a life brought into being by Agravall Experimental Base. Your Genes and mutations were always a testing ground for human evolution.

"Using your bodies to provide data for humanity's evolutionary blueprint, to help eliminate the Mutant threat and achieve the great goal of a society of pure humans—that is your innate value. It is also your honor."

As he spoke, a nearly fanatical excitement kindled in his cold eyes when they settled on Russell.

He was no longer looking at a failed specimen awaiting disposal. He was appraising a valuable addition to a collection.

"Don't worry about the procedure." Caspin's tone even took on something that might have been called gentle.

"We'll administer enough nerve-paralyzing and cardiac-suppressing drugs beforehand to ensure you feel no pain during the dissection. And..."

He paused, pride entering his voice. "Given your unique genetic origins, your body may qualify to be made into a permanent specimen and displayed in the future R Project memorial hall. Later generations will be able to view it and commemorate this milestone in biochemical agents."

At the mention of the R Biochemical Agent, Caspin's practiced indifference vanished, replaced by something close to reverent pride.

Just then, the laboratory door opened again, and Conrad's hulking figure squeezed through.

He had clearly heard the latter half of Caspin's speech. Malice nearly spilled from his eyes as he looked at Russell, though he plastered on a fawning smile for Caspin.

"You're right, sir. It's a blessing from God that these filthy, disgusting Mutant freaks get to serve as material for your great research. If it were up to me, I'd have put a bullet in each of them long ago and sent them to Hell to keep Satan company."

Caspin ignored the flattery. He expertly peeled off his bloodstained latex gloves, dropped them into a designated biohazard bin, then unhurriedly put on a fresh pair.

Out of habit, he pushed his gold-rimmed glasses back up his nose with his right index finger and turned to Edith, the blonde, blue-eyed assistant who had been silently taking notes.

"Edith, verify the next subject's identity." His voice returned to its emotionless efficiency.

"Once it's confirmed, begin preparations. We have six more operations today. The schedule is tight, so don't waste time."

"Yes, Doctor Caspin." Edith raised her head and looked at Russell. Her gaze passed over his blue eyes without a flicker of emotion, as if she were checking the label on a shipment.

"Test subject Number 47. Original name: Bertrand Russell. Genetic source: combined gene sequences of Magneto and Professor X..."

Russell listened in silence as she read out the cold inventory of what he was to be used for.

Conrad, behind him, had already grown impatient. The moment Edith finished speaking, he nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, that's him. Number 47. Russell." He reached for Russell's shoulder with a large hand, just as he had done countless times over the past month, intending to drag him to the table.

This time, his hand closed on empty air.

The level-one failure who had always taken everything without complaint merely shifted half a step to the side, seemingly by chance, and avoided his grasp.

Conrad froze. Then his face twisted with fury at the challenge. "Huh? Still acting up when you're about to die, kid? Sounds like you're itching for a taste of the electric shock first."

Without thinking, he yanked the black remote for the Suppression Collar from his uniform pocket with his left hand and slammed his thumb down on the prominent red punishment button.

A cruel thrill had already spread across his face, as if he could hear Russell convulsing under the high-voltage current and howling on the floor.

But then—

Pfft!

Something pierced flesh.

The pleasure on Conrad's face froze.

He felt warmth on his forehead and raised a hand in confusion. His fingertips met liquid mixed with soft tissue.

Agony struck. His vision blurred, then plunged into eternal darkness.

His massive body toppled forward like a felled log. From the ragged hole in his forehead, a red-and-white mixture gushed onto the floor.

On the concrete wall behind him, a scalpel that had been lying in an instrument tray was buried to the hilt. Only its handle remained visible, trembling slightly.

[Psychic Telekinesis Control experience +0.5]

"Aah!"

After a brief, deathly silence, Edith let out a scream of terror sharp enough to pierce eardrums.

"Oh my God...!"

Another young researcher cried out, dropping his clipboard with a clatter.

Under everyone's horrified gaze, Russell raised a hand and gripped the metal Suppression Collar around his neck.

He gave it a light squeeze. The sturdy alloy shell caved in and twisted like a brittle eggshell. Then he pulled it off as casually as an unwanted accessory and tossed it beside Conrad's still-twitching corpse.

The intricate circuit board inside the collar was charred black, and several key components had visibly shifted out of place.

[Fear Emotion Points +1]

[Fear Emotion Points +1]

[Shock Emotion Points +1]

Emotion Points began ticking up on the panel.

"Guards! Shoot him! Shoot that monster dead!"

Doctor Caspin was the first to recover from his shock. His face deathly pale, he shrieked at the two armed guards by the laboratory door, who were just as stunned as everyone else.

Bang! Bang!

Training took over. The guards raised their pistols, aimed at Russell, and pulled the triggers without hesitation.

Several .45-caliber bullets tore through the air toward the unarmed young man standing in the center of the room.

Russell did not even move his feet.

With a mere glance, he stopped the bullets less than half a meter away, as though they had struck an invisible wall.

Then... they turned a full hundred and eighty degrees.

Pfft! Pfft!

The duller sounds of bullets tearing through flesh rang out one after another.

The two guards who had just fired jerked violently. Blood burst from the centers of their foreheads at the same instant. Their expressions froze in shock and confusion before they fell backward without a sound.

[Fear Emotion Points +1]

[Fear Emotion Points +1]...

Some might have suspected Conrad's death by scalpel was a coincidence or a trap laid in advance. But the sight of bullets stopping in midair and flying back to kill their shooters laid supernatural power bare before every survivor.

"Your ability... it's awakened?!"

Doctor Caspin pointed at Russell, his finger and voice shaking uncontrollably. Behind his glasses, his eyes widened with disbelief and horror.

"Is it Magneto's ability? Metal manipulation? That's impossible! Your genetic sequence was clearly a failure. Unless..."

His words cut off.

Three scalpels had risen slowly from separate instrument trays and now hovered around him in silence.

Their sharp tips pointed precisely at his temple, heart, and forehead from three directions.

The icy breath of death closed around his throat.

Every trace of color drained from Caspin's face. Cold sweat instantly soaked the back of his sterile gown.

"No... wait, you can't kill me. I'm a Major in the American Army and the senior project lead at the Agrawal Base. If you kill me, you'll be making an enemy of the entire nation, and you'll be hunted down by the whole world with nowhere to run."

He screamed incoherently, trying to use his status and power as a final shield.

But Russell looked at him as though he were a noisy insect.

There was no hesitation in his eyes, only a cold, bottomless intent to kill.

Caspin's last shred of composure collapsed.