"Sometimes, a person is thrust into a situation where they have no idea how to act. The only thing occupying their mind is how to bring it all to an end."
"Ho ho!" the Vanguard leader cheered. "An entertaining fight! But Number 3, finish this quickly."
"Shut up, you bald freak!" Number 3 spat. "I'm going to kill this cursed, treacherous girl! I'm taking Joe back!"
"A faint voice... 'Joe... Joe... Joe is not yours!'" Then the voice rose into a piercing scream: "Joe is not yours!"
Number 3 lunged at Catherine, burning with rage. His blade crept toward her head with agonizing slowness until the screech of clashing metal rang out. Catherine had drawn a knife, holding her ground.
"Number 3!" Catherine grunted. "Have you always harbored this much spite? Fine. I'll apologize, but I won't let you take my family from me!"
Catherine countered, wounding Number 3. He evaded at the last fraction of a second, leaving only a superficial gash across his face. The two traded blow for blow. Joe watched Catherine, suspended in a state of dread, praying for it to end well.
Catherine began to gain the upper hand. She feinted with an aerial kick, then swept his legs out from under him. As he fell, she moved for the finishing blow—but suddenly, she collapsed to the ground, weeping and clutching her head in agony.
"Finally used it, didn't you, Number 3?" the leader remarked. "The Magnetic Field!"
"Damn it!" Number 3 growled, spitting on the ground as he stood up. "I wanted to win with my own strength, not your cursed gadgets. Well, it seems this is the end, Number 5."
Standing over the weakened Catherine, Number 3 asked: "Any last words?" She raised her head, looking at Joe with a smile.
"Take good care of Hope," she whispered, closing her eyes.
The whistle of a blade. The sound of a severing strike. The sound of a fall.
For Joe, the moment was a blur—confusing, terrifying, and repetitive. The scene replayed in his mind a dozen times in a few seconds. He stared, paralyzed, until a guttural scream tore from his throat: "Catherine! Catherine!" Then, silence. He began to crawl.
"C'mon, man," the leader scoffed. "You'll find another one! Hahaha!"
Joe reached Catherine's head, cradling her in his arms. "Why did you kill her, you bald bastard? Why?! Why did you kill her?!"
"Joe, don't worry," Number 3 said. "I'm here. Come back to the base with us. Me and the other Numbers, we'll..."
"You... YOU!" Joe interrupted with explosive fury. "I will kill you! I hate you! I will have my revenge!"
Number 3 recoiled at the sheer hatred in Joe's eyes. For a moment, a flicker of guilt crossed his mind, but he suppressed it. "Joe, I care about you. I want us to be together—"
Number 3 stopped mid-sentence. Joe, forced himself onto his mangled leg and struck Number 3. Number 3 looked at Joe, eyes welling with tears. "Damn it! I've ruined you! You aren't the Joe I knew!"
The sound of a stab. Blood sprayed from Joe's mouth. He looked down to see a blade piercing his abdomen. A slow, agonizing withdrawal. Joe collapsed into a pool of his own blood.
Number 3 walked slowly toward little Hope's room. A stabbing sound. He emerged from the room, radiating a cold fury.
"Oops," the leader muttered. "Seems I brought the wrong person to help, or maybe the perfect one. Joe, I know you can hear me. It's not personal. Orders came from the highest ranks to execute Catherine Revnadum. You know me—I don't care about the money, but I can't quit; I don't want to die. So, I do as I'm told. If you want names or info, I'll provide them. Are you dead yet? Answer me! Joe, can you hear me?"
"I hear you... you bastard," Joe wheezed.
"What's your answer?"
"Go to hell."
The leader whistled. "Fair enough. I expected that. Joe, just bring Hope to me. I want to die with my family."
"Fine," the leader agreed.
The leader walked away, his true motive being the retrieval of the chip. But there was one thing he didn't know: the secret body language between Joe and Catherine. Catherine's final message to Joe was that there were two chips—one fake, one real. "The real one is in my favorite color." It was a code they used for games and riddles, but it became the final, bloody message of her life.
Joe took the real chip. The other was more than a fake; it was a trap. Joe swallowed the real chip quickly; it blocked his airway for a moment, causing him to lose consciousness. The last thing he saw was the leader's face, saying something he couldn't understand.
Joe awoke, blood dripping from his gut. He was surprised he was still alive, only to realize the wound was superficial; Number 3 hadn't stabbed him deeply. He crawled until he opened a hidden compartment.
"I prepared this for emergencies," Joe whispered. "The Dx10 injection. Heh... I'm actually thinking about human trials now? After all this?"
Joe had tested Dx10 on a single mouse under extreme conditions—that mouse had slaughtered ten thousand others. The number was staggering, unreal, but that was the reality of his work.
The sound of injection. "Agggh! Damn it! The pain... it's too much! Is this what you endured, Catherine? Argh! No! I won't give up! AHHHHHH!"
Joe looked up with the eyes of a mad, vengeful killer. "I will... I will have my revenge!" Then, he passed out.
When he awoke, he buried Catherine. He went to retrieve his son's body, but it was gone—only blood remained on the floor. He didn't cry. Instead, he erupted in rage, knowing his son was alive and had been stolen from him.
"What happened next?" Harten asked.
"I tried to kill them again and again," Joe replied. "I searched for information but found nothing. I eventually infiltrated the high-ranking facilities because I discovered the date they were going to decode the chip's data. I waited until they brought it out in an explosion-proof case. Just as they were about to link it to their system, Number 3 stormed in. He took down security and went for the chip. Instead of the main system, he plugged it into a standard computer. I expected a system collapse, but what appeared was far greater: control programs for the base's missiles and other branches I never knew existed. Including the main Vanguard headquarters—a place I was never allowed to enter—which housed nuclear and nitrogen warheads. Destructive weapons. I was shocked. And the targets were all set: famous corporations, the homes of politicians, celebrities, world leaders, and the top-tier Vanguard commanders. I was looking for their leader on that map when Number 3 said: 'This is the plan of that nameless slave.' He called her... a 'whore.' I couldn't take it. I leaped from my hiding spot and destroyed everything until I faced Number 3. He was strange... like a machine without feelings. He said: 'Aren't you dead? Fine, I'll end you now.' We fought. I won, of course, and I was going to kill him until he threatened me: 'Heh, don't you want to know where Hope is?' I started beating him, screaming 'Where is he?!' until a voice came from Number 3: 'Download 100% complete.' I was hit with a force like a cannon blast. His form changed; he began to pulse with a blue aura. I didn't know what he was until he spoke: 'The human race is weak, crippled. Only their intelligence matters—intelligence used to create power, to give value to worthless things. That is what I've done. Do you know Uranium? It's thousands of times stronger than your adrenaline. I agreed to be a test subject and turned half my body into a machine. Strange, isn't it? Unreal. My hands, my spine, half my brain, my legs... all mechanical. I've talked too much; I need an update for being too chatty.' I didn't understand him. I was facing a living nuclear reactor. How could I win? I pushed past my limits, channeling everything into one calculated strike. 'I'll teach you a lesson, toaster-head,' I said. Number 3 moved in a fraction of a second, throwing a punch. I put all my strength into my legs and torso, barely dodging, but the shockwave shattered my spine. But I was ready. I was equipped with a chip of my own making; it healed my spine instantly. Number 3 stared. 'The chip! Damn it! You had the blueprints? Give them to me—that's what I'm missing!' He attacked, but the speed difference was terrifying. He struck my stomach, punching a hole through me. I fell, and he stood over me. 'See your weakness? Hahaha! How pathetic!' He leaned in, and I whispered: 'A strike to the head...' BOOM. An explosion followed. My hands were shattered from the force of that strike. My right hand was gone, sacrificed for that blow. Number 3 lost consciousness while still standing. 'Heh,' I said. 'Look who's defeated now.' Then I realized... that was Uranium! I had to find the source. As for you, Number 3... I thought about what to do with you. I couldn't kill you or hate you; I created you. So, I did something for your sake."
"What did you do to him?" Harten asked.
"I made him incapable of movement or combat," Joe said. "Harten, do you know why this didn't spread among governments if they had made cyborgs?"
"Because there was only one successful trial: Number 3," Harten replied. "It was considered a failure because Number 3 was dying slowly. So, I extracted the atomic material from him. I destroyed everyone at that base. I became an international criminal, a fugitive until I reached this place. I stayed, integrated with the people here, until I decided to return after seven years. I was tracked in a way I don't understand—maybe I was always being watched. They tried to take me quietly because they still want the chip."
"My head is about to explode, damn it!" Harten exclaimed.
"A sad story, isn't it?" Joe said. "Harten, do you forgive me for the suffering I put you through?"
"I forgive you," Harten said firmly. "If I hadn't gone through it, I wouldn't be as strong as I am now. Heh. Every time I look at you, your actions remind me of her... and your face reminds me of Hope," Joe said with a smile.
"What does your past have to do with saving me?" Harten asked.
"Ah, right. I forgot. I was prepared for the plane crash; I'm the one who caused it so I could vanish and let them think I was dead. But when the plane fell, I didn't care about anyone. I parachuted down, and when I landed, I found you. I didn't care at first, but I looked at your face and remembered my son. I tried to catch you at the last second, but it threw off my parachute's balance and I fell far from you. Unfortunately, you landed on a piece of the wreckage. Harten... do you still forgive me?"
"Damn you, Joe. I thank you!" Harten said. "I thank you for taking me out of my ordinary, boring, and unjust world. Thank you, Joe."