Dr. Genus listened to his clones debate in silence.
"That thing's barely entered maturity," Clone 21 said, voice tight. "If it loses control, it'll destroy the entire base!"
The clone swallowed hard. Something haunted flickered behind his eyes—memories best left unexamined.
"The finished combat models," Dr. Genus interrupted, tone flat, "would be slaughtered. You all saw the earthquake he generated with ambient energy leakage."
The clones fell silent.
"Even Carnage Kabuto—our ultimate weapon, our trump card—has less than thirty percent probability of victory by my calculations."
Dr. Genus adjusted his glasses, expression grim.
"And at this point, do any of you have better suggestions?"
The clones exchanged glances. Nobody spoke.
The answer was written on every face: No.
"Number 21. Number 42." Dr. Genus's voice carried a slight tremor. "Proceed to the bottom level. Release Carnage Kabuto."
The control room went deathly quiet.
The intruder was terrifying—but he was still human. Still rational. He'd entered peacefully, proposed cooperation, hadn't immediately started killing.
Carnage Kabuto was different.
The incomplete creation required mass slaughter to regain sanity after each deployment. It needed to kill something—anything—to burn off the bloodlust that came with consciousness.
And aside from Dr. Genus himself, the House of Evolution only had one type of personnel.
Mass-producible. Expendable. Replaceable.
The two named clones went pale. But they nodded.
"Finally our turn," Clone 21 said quietly.
Clone 42 managed a bitter smile. "Yes. Time to dedicate ourselves to humanity's evolution."
Jordan walked deeper into the facility.
The corridor opened into a vast underground chamber—walls and floor constructed from high-strength alloy. Combat testing arena, clearly. Dr. Genus had carved out serious space for his experiments.
Even underground, the overhead lighting made the area feel oddly open.
Through the Mind Network, Jordan heard every word of the conversation happening in the control room behind him.
Interesting.
Each of Dr. Genus's clones maintained identical thought patterns and value systems to the original. Complete personalities. Genuine willingness to die for the research.
Not one had chosen betrayal.
How exactly did he manage that? Jordan wondered. What kind of psychological conditioning—or genetic programming—creates that level of loyalty?
Worth investigating later.
Bottom Level – Carnage Kabuto's Prison
Clang.
The heavy iron gate swung open.
Darkness pressed against the threshold like something physical. Somewhere in that black void, chains rattled softly—then went silent.
The two clones carrying submachine guns stepped through the doorway. Sweat already ran down their faces.
"Where..." Clone 21's voice cracked. "It's so dark. I can't see anything."
They inched forward. Step by careful step.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Their own footsteps echoed back at them. The only other sound was their hearts hammering against their ribs—too fast, too loud, drowning out everything else.
The darkness ahead felt wrong. Like it contained something vast and hungry. The submachine guns in their hands suddenly felt pathetic. Toys against a nightmare.
Hot breath washed over the backs of their necks.
Both clones froze. Their faces drained of color.
"It's..." Clone 21 could barely form words. "Behind us."
The enormous shadow loomed over them. From the outline—visible now only because it blocked even deeper darkness—it resembled a giant rhinoceros beetle scaled up to monstrous proportions and standing upright on two legs.
Iron chains bound its limbs and neck. The metal links hung slack and silent.
It's been behind us since we opened the door, Clone 42 realized with sudden, terrible clarity.
He pushed up his glasses. Smiled bitterly.
"From the very beginning..."
An armored fist punched through his torso from behind.
The force didn't just pierce—it erupted. Clone 42's body tore apart before pain signals could reach his brain. Torso shredded. Limbs scattered in different directions across the cell floor.
"DON'T COME NEAR ME!!"
Clone 21 spun around, finger already crushing the trigger.
BRATATAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT—
Bullets hammered into the massive shadow. Metal-on-metal impacts rang through the cell. Muzzle flash strobed the darkness, illuminating the creature in snapshots—
Brown chitinous armor. Muscular humanoid limbs. Insectoid head topped with a long, forked horn. Three and a half meters of biological weapon, every centimeter covered in hardened keratin that resembled medieval plate armor forged from organic material.
The House of Evolution's greatest achievement.
Carnage Kabuto.
Click-click-click.
The gun emptied.
Deformed bullets scattered across the floor—crushed, flattened, useless. They hadn't even scratched the carapace. Just left faint wisps of smoke.
Decades of genetic engineering, human evolution made manifest, and conventional firearms were completely obsolete.
"Only two?" Carnage Kabuto's voice rumbled through the cell. Bored. Almost disappointed. "Far too few this time."
Clone 21 scrambled for the spare magazine in his pocket—
A brown, armored fist filled his vision.
CRUNCH.
A human-shaped bloodstain marked the wall. Carnage Kabuto raised its fist, watching crimson drip down its armored forearm. The insect wings on its back buzzed. Its massive frame lifted smoothly into the air, drifting back toward the deeper darkness.
Clang.
The iron door opened again.
Two more clones entered the cell.
Clones 72 and 33 were sweating, but their expressions held more composure than the first pair. They'd had time to prepare mentally. To accept what was coming.
"Carnage Kabuto," Clone 72 called out. "You've already killed two people. Surely that's enough?"
"There's an important task that requires—"
Wind.
A massive gust of displaced air.
Both clones exploded into red mist before they could finish the sentence. Blood and foam splattered across the walls, the floor, the iron door.
In the darkness, Carnage Kabuto's eyes glowed with predatory satisfaction.