The subject's anguished screams echoed throughout the laboratory as his grotesquely swollen face contorted further.
His body convulsed violently, as though bound by some invisible force. The veins beneath his skin writhed like snakes, while the monitoring equipment displayed dangerously escalating numbers. His blood pressure soared uncontrollably, reaching lethal levels.
This immense pressure caused catastrophic damage.
Bang!
A deafening explosion filled the room as the subject's head burst apart, spraying blood and gore everywhere. Bone fragments scattered across the lab like shrapnel, staining the sterile white walls.
Overhead, the ventilation system roared to life, pulling the stench of blood and death from the air.
"Clean this up and bring in subject number two," Walter commanded, his tone calm as he adjusted his glasses.
The result was neither shocking nor unexpected to him. Over the past decade, Walter had witnessed countless similar failures in the pursuit of scientific advancement. For him, this was routine.
The blue-uniformed cleaning crew promptly entered the lab, expertly scrubbing away the remnants of the experiment gone awry. The chilling efficiency of their work reflected how desensitized they had become to such horrors.
Meanwhile, the second subject—a trembling member of the Criminal Gang—was dragged to the center of the laboratory. His desperate pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as the experimenters prepared to repeat the process.
---
Gunsou observed the scene with a cold detachment, his expression unreadable. He neither protested nor expressed sympathy.
"Let's leave this to the professionals," Adrian said softly to Matt, nodding to Walter as they exited the lab. "I've seen enough for now."
The two walked down the brightly lit corridor, the warm glow of the lights doing little to dispel the grim atmosphere.
---
As they strolled, Gunsou finally broke the silence. "Conducting human experiments... using clones for mass production... That's not what a hero would do."
Adrian smirked faintly but said nothing, prompting Gunsou to continue.
"Superheroes fight for ideals and beliefs, but the world's problems are far more complex than they can handle. Sure, they can defeat villains and save a handful of innocents, but the bigger picture often eludes them."
Gunsou sighed, his thoughts turning to the state of heroism over the past four decades. Most heroes had been hunted down, forced into hiding, or simply aged out of relevance. Only a handful of them remained, clinging to their ideals in a world increasingly hostile to their existence.
"Do heroes not age?" Gunsou mused aloud, the weight of time pressing heavily on his shoulders.
He glanced at Adrian, a man who seemed untouched by the burdens of morality or time. Gunsou had initially joined Adrian, hoping for something revolutionary. But seeing him allow Punisher to kill Magneto had been a sobering disappointment.
---
Their conversation was interrupted when they arrived at the prison wing of the base. Armed guards patrolled the area, their expressions tense. Upon seeing Adrian, they straightened, offering awkward salutes.
Adrian raised a hand dismissively. "No need for formalities. Where's the mutant we captured today? Take me to him."
One of the guards stepped forward, visibly relieved by Adrian's calm demeanor. "This way, Mr. Adrian."
The prison interior was cold and unwelcoming. Thick concrete walls exuded an oppressive atmosphere, while dim lighting cast eerie shadows. Iron bars separated the cells, each containing little more than a battered bed and a leaky tap.
The cells housed several clones of the captured mutant, each restrained with suppressing collars. Their faces were swollen, and their expressions ranged from exhaustion to defiance.
One of the guards banged on the iron bars with a heavy rod, his voice echoing through the corridor. "Get up, you mutant scum! You'll sleep when you're dead!"
The clones scrambled to their feet, some trembling with fear while others glared at the guard in silent rebellion.
Adrian and Gunsou watched silently, their expressions impassive.
Satisfied with the response, the guard turned to Adrian with a smug smile. "All the mutants are locked up here, just like you ordered. We've already replicated some helmets, as you requested."
He gestured toward a wooden table at the end of the hallway, where several replicas of Magneto's helmet were neatly stacked.
Adrian walked over, his fingers brushing against one of the helmets. The texture and weight felt identical to the original, a testament to the precision of Walter's work.
The guard continued, oblivious to the tension in the air. "We made enough helmets for each clone. It only takes a handful of men to strap them down and get the belts on."
Adrian said nothing, his gaze fixed on the helmets. The weight of their purpose—and the moral ambiguity of his actions—hung heavy in the air.
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