If you Like this story! Check out my other story ! Lord of Chaos In Dc!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !
/*\
The metal door to the Morlocks' makeshift jail creaked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber that smelled of rust and mildew. In the center of the room, chained to a support beam with thick iron cuffs, was the man Callisto had mentioned. His head hung low, eyes dull and unfocused. A thin line of drool dripped down his chin as he mumbled incoherently, like a puppet with its strings severed.
"You're seriously keeping him here?" Aiden asked, frowning. "He's a dick, sure—but you can't exactly hold someone forever just for being an asshole."
Callisto crossed her arms. "It wasn't a sentence. I just didn't want him wandering off before we got to Charles. Didn't expect you to show up first."
Aiden nodded slowly. "Fine. Emma, it's your stage."
Emma stepped forward, her heels echoing in the silence, eyes narrowing as she examined the man's slack face. "This shouldn't take long," she murmured. She placed two fingers gently on his temple, her eyes going diamond-white as she slipped into his shattered mind.
For a moment, all was still. Then her expression tightened.
"…This is harder than it should be," she muttered aloud, brow furrowing in concentration. "There's a… resistance. I've broken through layered psychic defenses, alien minds, even Xavier's mental locks. But this? This isn't normal. It's fighting me."
Aiden took a step closer. "So it was a telepath?"
Emma didn't answer right away. Her lips moved silently as she pushed deeper. Then, her eyes snapped wide.
"No," she said breathlessly. "It wasn't a psychic at all. It was a drug. Some kind of chemical blocker—neurological sabotage. This isn't a mind I'm pushing through—it's a minefield."
Moments later, her eyes glazed over again as she began to speak in a monotone, narrating what she saw.
"I see the human—drunk, angry. He's in a bar near the edge of the zone. He's yelling… racist slurs… calling someone a freak… a lizard freak..."
Aiden's jaw clenched. "Leech."
Emma nodded slightly, still deep in the memory. "Leech retaliates. Emotionally unstable… He tells the man to take it outside. The man follows, drunk and stumbling. They move to a dark alley."
Suddenly her tone shifted—sharper, alert. "A dart. It hits Leech in the neck. He collapses, unconscious within seconds."
"Shit," Aiden hissed.
"There's a figure. Tall. Armored. They step out of the shadows, walking toward the drunk. They look at him for a moment… and say—'Human. Uninteresting.'"
Emma's breath hitched. "He jabs a needle into the man's neck. Fast. The man starts seizing—foam at the mouth—his body convulsing…"
She leaned forward suddenly, eyes straining.
"The figure's removing his helmet—I can almost see—"
Her voice cut off.
Then, violently, her entire body recoiled. Emma staggered back, gasping, as if she'd been punched in the chest. At the same moment, the man in the chair began to spasm uncontrollably, his mouth frothing, veins bulging at his neck and temple. A terrible gurgling sound rose from his throat.
"Emma, what the hell?!" Aiden snapped, eyes darting between her and the dying man.
"It wasn't me!" Emma shouted, horrified. "It was a trap! The needle—it had a failsafe! A chemical trigger that activates if someone invades the subject's mind!"
The man gave one final, shuddering breath—and then collapsed. Dead.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Callisto was the first to break the silence. "They killed him just for being close to it… just for witnessing something."
Emma's hands trembled. "I didn't think anyone could design something so… so vicious."
Aiden shook his head slowly, staring at the now-lifeless body. "No. Not vicious. Precise. Whoever's behind this—they don't want to be known. They don't want anything getting out."
Callisto looked at him, voice tense. "But this proves one thing. They're kidnapping, not killing."
Aiden nodded. "And it also tells us why."
"You know the reason?" Callisto asked.
Aiden crossed his arms, his tone cold and calm. "In the mutant war, there are always three camps. One: those who want us dead. Two: those who want to protect us. And three…"
He turned to face her, eyes burning with certainty.
"Those who want to experiment on us. Study us. Control us. Use us."
Emma's voice was quiet. "And those are the worst of all."
Aiden's fists clenched. "They think they can play god. But they just declared war on the wrong people."
...
Heavy footsteps echoed through a dimly lit corridor, the steel floor humming under each stride. The walls were sleek, sterile, and bathed in the cold blue glow of recessed lights. Shadows clung to the ceiling like silent watchers, and the air was thick with tension and antiseptic.
At the end of the hall, two guards stood at attention. As the figure in the long, dark coat approached, they stiffened, their hands instinctively tightening on their rifles. Embossed on his chest was a fearsome symbol—an eight-headed Hydra, each head snarling outward like a blasphemous deity.
"Hail Hydra," the guards said in unison, voices trembling.
The man's burning red eyes glinted beneath the overhead lights. His skin was the color of blood, taut across a skull-like face that carried no empathy, no warmth—only iron resolve.
"Hail Hydra," he replied, his voice as sharp and cold as winter steel.
Johann Schmidt—The Red Skull—the legendary face of Hydra and a symbol of unyielding fanaticism, walked forward without breaking stride. As the doors before him parted with a mechanical hiss, he stepped into the heart of the facility: a colossal underground laboratory.
The room was like something out of a nightmare. Dozens upon dozens of cylindrical containment tubes lined the walls, each filled with murky blue fluid. Inside them floated unconscious mutants—some peaceful, some twitching from internal pain—like exhibits in a twisted museum.
Massive drones hovered on tracks above, ferrying genetic samples, surgical tools, and unknown cargo. Mechanical arms extended from the ceiling, methodically injecting, dissecting, recording. Rows of sleek robots worked with clinical precision, carrying out procedures no human hand should ever perform. There was no shouting, no speaking—only the low whir of machines and the occasional beep of biometric monitors.
Not a single human worker in sight.
Red Skull's boots clicked against the metallic floor as he approached the central platform—where he waited.
The man wore no uniform, no armor. A white coat draped over his gaunt frame, stained at the edges with chemical burns and faint traces of blood. His black gloves moved deftly over a display of shifting DNA strands and cellular models. His posture was relaxed, yet calculating, like a man playing God and enjoying it.
"How is your work?" Red Skull asked, stopping just short of the platform.
The scientist didn't even look up. "Still ongoing… I need more. Gather more."
For a long moment, silence reigned.
Then Red Skull's voice dropped into a cold growl. "If anyone else gave me orders like that… they'd already be dead. But I suppose you're special."
The scientist finally turned his head, his eyes sharp and glinting behind thin-framed glasses. "I didn't come here to serve. I came to fulfill greatness. The peak of humanity is near. You do your part, and I'll do mine. Soon, you'll have your perfect weapon… and I'll have my perfect creation."
Red Skull sneered, a flicker of disdain in his expression—but said nothing. He knew this man was dangerous. Too dangerous to confront… yet.
Without another word, he turned and left, his coat sweeping behind him like a shadow given form.
Back on the platform, the scientist walked slowly toward one specific containment tube—larger than the others, lined with reinforced plating and layered biometric locks. He placed his hand against the glass, eyes soft with twisted affection.
Inside floated a figure. Muscular. Humanoid. Perfectly preserved. He looked asleep—but alive. His body glowed faintly with a strange energy, pulses running through veins that seemed engineered, not born.
The scientist whispered, as if to a child.
"Alpha… You will be perfection. You will defeat Aiden Blake. And when that happens… I'll show him that I can create more than nature ever could. The perfect body. The apex of evolution."
The tube emitted a low hum, as if it too were waiting.
/*\
If you Like this story! Check out my other story ! Lord of Chaos In Dc!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !