1

The scientist fell to the ground, among the creatures he had helped to create.

The force of the impact broke his spine. Sylvester didn't need to use night vision mode or examine him closely to be sure of that.

He was just thankful he hadn't gone too far.

This was good, so he couldn't even try to run away. He would have no choice but to lie there, praying that it would all be over soon as he was torn to pieces. But he hadn't thrown him down to die on impact. That was too easy, he didn't deserve that mercy.

"No, no, please, I can help you! Not like that!"

At least he didn't dare ask for help from one of his victims. If there was even a spark of conscience left inside them, and he hoped not. He hoped those poor creatures weren't trapped in the hell of their own bodies, waiting for release.

Instead, he pleaded with him. The scientist wanted him to get him out of there.

He wanted Sylvester to kill him, even, but not like that. That was the point. That it was a worse way to die than anything he could do to it with his bare hands, no matter how hard he tried to be creative.

"I'm begging you! I can give you information, don't let me…"

Of course, it was shameful enough that he dared to beg in general. To think himself entitled to value his life, when he had destroyed the lives of so many others. And why?

Why, exactly?

Sylvester didn't much care. There was no explanation.

He just wanted to see them suffer and die, and he was going to get what he wanted.

Those poor creatures swarmed on the monster like ants on a sugar cube. And they began to prepare him for feeding time. His screams soon ceased. Not because he had already died, but because he soon lost the ability to scream. He knew from his own experience that there came a point when the pain got so bad that you couldn't even scream.

His pieces started flying off. They were splitting it up, but not equally. They were fighting for their food.

He saw them nibbling at arms and legs, now separated from the body, too.

For most people, even knowing the circumstances, this would be a grotesque spectacle, but not for Sylvester. He grinned from ear to ear, satisfied.

The satisfaction didn't last long, though.

Things didn't go wrong. It was impossible for him to escape the justice he deserved with a broken spine and him watching. The satisfaction didn't last long because he simply still had a lot of work ahead of him.

He set off before the attention of those poor creatures could be focused on him, now that there was no one else left.

Sylvester had to release them from their suffering. Free them all, whether they were conscious in there or not. No, he couldn't know that to begin with, so he had to act as if they were. Assume the worst.

But not like that. Not in a straight fight.

He'd destroy the whole thing.

This hell had no place in the world of humans, so he would make sure to wipe it off the face of the earth.

2

She turned another corner into a hallway just as sterile and metallic as the previous dozens, maybe more so. But now something changed. Instincts alerted her to danger at just the right moment. That's why Cynthia jumped back immediately afterwards, without wasting even a millisecond.

Had it been otherwise, she would have been shot in the head.

It wouldn't have killed her even if it had hit her squarely, but it wouldn't have been pretty either. In any case, she had managed to barely dodge the shot and was now backed up against the wall.

Guards.

"Good. I was starting to get bored."

In fact, the strange thing was that it had taken them so long to show up. There were cameras all over the compound, and that was just the ones she'd seen while running at full speed, she hadn't exactly stopped to admire the sights and smell the roses.

Maybe they had been too busy with her boss.

And they would still be busy. Sylvester wouldn't be defeated in a place like this, but apparently they already had time for her, or had gathered enough courage to take turns being slaughtered.

"How many? "Ryan's voice behind her. She had almost forgotten not that he was there, still alive, but that he existed at all.

Well, he was still there, but he didn't look alive at all. He was already as pale as a corpse. Not to mention his choppy breathing and shaky legs. It said a lot about him that he had made it this far, but she didn't think he was going to make it much further.

No matter how much willpower he put into it, the world didn't work that way.

"Eight," she replied. Not really knowing why she had bothered to take a look, check it out, or answer his question.

"Okay."

That was all he said. Well, gee, what good had it done her to have told him and him to know?

"Let me go first. I'm already dead."

She hadn't expected that request. If he wanted to die faster, that was up to him, she couldn't care less. However...

"I can manage on my own."

"I know. But... let me."

Cynthia thought about it, but not for too long. Ryan probably wasn't going to be much help whether he came first or after her, it looked like a slight breeze might knock him to the ground, but at least it would be a distraction. Seconds, minutes? She didn't know, but either way was good enough for her.

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So she let him do what he wanted. Cynthia stepped back, leaving him a clear path, and waved her hand for him to hurry up.

To get out at once.

Cynthia couldn't see what was happening, but the sounds told him enough, told the whole story. The guards were firing on their location to keep them trapped and for the possibility of hitting them through the wall, as they carefully approached them.

Ryan gathered strength in his body on the verge of collapse and left the cover running with the last spark still burning inside him.

It would soon be extinguished.

Cynthia emerged a short time later, mere seconds later, both revolvers raised and firing. Not worrying too much about the bullets reaching that asshole, but not intentionally aiming at him either. The guards would kill him. And if not, that's what poison was for. There was no need to get her hands dirty. Although getting rid of a man like him would more likely clean his hands.

In any case.

The fight in the hallway went as follows. It was very quick, but when you were betting your life a second tended to feel like an eternity.

Ryan ran toward the bullets. He couldn't protect the rest of his body, so he at least raised his arms in a cross to protect his head. He would think that as long as he didn't get his brains blown out, he was still in the fight.

Like all people with such dangerous jobs, his cybernetic modifications were extensive. A few bullets didn't sign his death warrant. But, even putting poison aside, that didn't mean it was a good idea.

To her surprise, Ryan didn't collapse even before she reached the guards.

He stayed on his feet and, when he managed to get there, grabbed one of the guards by the throat and slammed him against the wall. The wall was filled with cracks from the impact. He had monstrous strength. Still, she had handled him with ease that night. Because she was strong. And because he had a more than obvious weakness. He needed to get close before he could do anything.

The guard's gun even flew from his hand. In the next second, he twisted his throat. It sounded like a dry twig snapping.

A barely suppressed scream of pain. It came not from Ryan, but from one of those who had been about to shoot him in the back. Cynthia's bullet had hit him squarely, blowing off one of his hands and causing the weapon to fall.

Of course, they pumped him full of bullets anyway. She couldn't stop each and every shot.

Ryan was shaken, staggered backwards. But to her surprise he still refused to go down. What a stubborn bastard, huh.

With her appearance, they suddenly didn't know who to focus on, so they didn't fully concentrate on any of them.

Ryan rammed another one of them to the ground. He then lifted him up, holding him by his legs only... and spun him around. The human shield took a few bullets for Ryan, but she didn't think that was the main thing. He released him. He knocked down two other guys like bowling pins!

Cynthia kept firing. She couldn't keep the trigger pulled all the time or the mechanisms would heat up, but still the rate of fire of her revolvers was overwhelming.

So was their power. Every time a bullet hit the mark, a part of their bodies exploded.

So it was easy.

Either kill them outright or after Ryan softened them up. Either way, it was over before any of them realized it. And he was still standing. Even though he looked so weak and frail, not even the dozen bullets inside his body had taken him down. He wasn't even leaning against the wall to keep himself upright.

It bothered her.

"Why are you trying so hard? You're not going to be rewarded in the end. You're just going to die. No, you're already dead."

Something was bothering her, even though nothing would change. Even though nothing should change, even. Wasn't he suffering as much as possible before he died as she'd wanted to?

"You're the one who convinced me to get up."

That was true, too.

"Yes, but..." Cynthia couldn't protest, so she decided to keep her mouth shut for the moment. But in any case she had other priorities. He was here to, well, not save people. That was already impossible. But cleaning up this place would make sure it wouldn't happen again, and that would have to be enough. "Forget it."

Yeah. It would have to do.

Cynthia raised a revolver and shot one of the guards in the face, to make sure he was really dead. His head popped off like a piñata and none of the fallen bodies flinched.

3

Sylvester swung the katana, splitting his head in half. He had been the last guard standing. With the blow, he was gone forever. And seconds later he couldn't be said to be standing either.

He had taken care of a security squad with his own hands.

"Well, I can't turn them all into food. Unfortunately."

Although it was exactly what they deserved. Sylvester kept moving forward. He wiped his blood-soaked katana by brushing it against the wall.

Leaving behind a thick, zigzagging red line that trailed away from the corpses strewn around him.

Like footprints marked in the snow.

He reached the control room. No, to what was surely just one of many like it. This pen was full of helpless animals as well. Since they were helpless, he finished his work quickly.

He didn't kill them all. Some managed to flee, but he didn't care. They wouldn't get very far.

There was only one survivor inside the control room, but he had not escaped. His body was slumped against the control console. He didn't have the strength to stand because his arm had been severed.

Blood flowed out from under him and onto the floor. Whimpering, he cradled the stump his right arm had become.

It looked like a serious wound and it was. But it was enough that he wasn't going to die immediately.

Sylvester grabbed his hair, pulling his head back. He actually wanted to grab his skull that hard. He wanted to crush it with his bare hands.

"Open the cages."

"What?"

"You heard me. Don't make me repeat myself, otherwise what I'll do first is not to cut your neck but your other arm."

With the only arm he had left, the animal touched some buttons and pulled some levers. Did he think he could waste time? Fool him so easily?

"I need proof that you are really doing something."

"The camera in the center. Please."

Yes. In the chamber, Sylvester saw a cage open and the poor creature inside slipping out, tasting the closest thing to freedom he'd ever had.... For how long? He didn't even want to think about that.

In any case...

"I said the cages. All of them."

"I can't. Not from here. Wait, wait, I'm telling you the truth." All it had taken was a slight movement of his sword. He hadn't even meant to threaten him, to tell the truth, it was an unconscious movement. "Why would we design a system to open all the cages at the same time? I can't even... I can't even open all the ones that are there like that. I have to go one by one."

"Well, come on. Hurry up."

Sylvester didn't think the prey was lying to him.

Not on his knees in front of him, without an arm and the sword close to his neck. Nor did he think he had any reason to go out of his way to deceive him or waste his time.

It wasn't an excuse, but he doubted he had any sort of personal motivation to have become a part of this. Research interest, or whatever it was.

No, he just wanted money. And he sure wanted to live more than that.

Sylvester wouldn't let him live, of course, but there was nothing wrong with letting him fool himself for the moment.

Besides, what he was saying made sense. It was just that he still wasn't thinking clearly out of anger. He watched him repeat more or less the same process to open another cage, and another, and another, and another....

Too many.

What kind of monster could work here day in and day out as if everything was fine?

There were too many.

Guards appeared through the doors at the other end of the room, weapons raised, ready to shoot. And that's what they did. But none of the bullets hit him, as he used that animal as a shield.

He had served his purpose.

All he could do, in any case, though not all that he had wanted.

Sylvester could already see and hear it through the cameras and microphones all over the compound. Those monsters being slaughtered by their own creations. And he too had a massacre ahead of him, nothing more than that. Completely one-sided. They were nothing but idiots with rifles and guns. He was used to fighting things that were monsters inside and out.

He took care of all the guards that had burst into the control room by running at them so fast it was as if they had lined up for him.

Nothing but chunks of meat on the chopping block.

His initial move was to kill three with a single sword slash. He tore them apart in a tenth of a second and reached the hallway through the open doorway so fast that most of the corpses hit the ground only afterwards.

He was vaguely aware that his priority having come in here should have been to meet up with Cynthia, as much as she could handle herself and especially with Ryan's help.

But, well.

Only vaguely.

Sylvester pushed his hair, damp with blood, back with one hand.

He was grinning from ear to ear, and why not? The mess he was making all over the compound was filling the hole in his heart. It was the closest thing to justice left on this dark and twisted island, this reflection of hell.

Indeed.

If he couldn't give those kids a happy ending, he would at least give them a massacre.