The briefing room was a technological marvel that would have impressed Jack Steel the police detective. But Jack Steel was dead, and Evolution felt only mild interest in the holographic displays that surrounded him like floating windows into another world.
"Mission designation: Urban Cleansing Protocol Alpha," Dr. Chen announced, her fingers dancing across a control interface that materialized in mid-air. "Target location: Manhattan Island, specifically the Times Square commercial district."
The room darkened as a three-dimensional map of Manhattan materialized in the center of the space. What Jack saw made his enhanced vision catalog every detail with mechanical precision. The island was a wasteland of twisted metal and organic growths that pulsed with alien bio-luminescence.
Environmental analysis complete, ATLAS reported in his mind. Xynos infestation level: 73% saturation. Estimated hostile count: 847 individual entities across 23 distinct subspecies.
"The Xynos have established a primary breeding facility in what used to be the MTV headquarters building," Dr. Chen continued, highlighting a structure that barely resembled its former self. Metallic vines wrapped around the skyscraper like a mechanical cocoon, and Jack could see movement within the translucent organic walls.
"Intel suggests they're producing approximately 50 new entities per day," another technician added, pulling up production statistics that made Jack's nanomachines hum with anticipation. "At current rates, they'll achieve critical mass within six weeks."
Threat assessment: moderate, ATLAS observed. Recommend immediate extermination protocols. These creatures represent a renewable source of enhancement opportunities.
Jack noticed how ATLAS had stopped referring to the aliens as enemies or threats. Now they were "enhancement opportunities." The AI was learning to think like him—or perhaps teaching him to think like a machine.
"What about human survivors?" Jack asked, though he wasn't sure why the question mattered to him anymore.
Dr. Chen manipulated the hologram to show heat signatures in the subway tunnels beneath Times Square. "Twelve confirmed survivors in the 42nd Street station. They've been trapped there for six days. Food supplies are critical, water is contaminated."
The display showed detailed bio-readings for each survivor. Jack's enhanced vision processed the data automatically: three children, four women, five men. Ages ranging from 7 to 58. Various medical conditions. Stress levels approaching psychological break points.
Analysis: resource allocation inefficient, ATLAS commented. Twelve individuals represent minimal tactical value. Suggest prioritizing primary mission objectives.
Jack felt a flicker of something—not quite disagreement, but perhaps a shadow of his former self. The feeling was quickly optimized away by his nanomachines, replaced by cold tactical calculation.
"The survivors are secondary objectives," he said aloud, surprised by how easily the words came. "What am I facing in terms of hostile subspecies?"
Dr. Chen smiled approvingly. "Excellent prioritization. Intel has identified three primary variants in the target zone."
The hologram shifted to show detailed anatomical breakdowns of alien creatures that made Jack's blood sing with hunger for new abilities.
"Blade Arms," Dr. Chen began, highlighting a humanoid creature whose limbs could transform into monomolecular cutting weapons. "Close-combat specialists. Their nanomachine count averages 75 billion per individual, focused primarily on weapon systems and reflexes."
Jack studied the creature's movement patterns as the hologram played combat footage from previous encounters. Fast, aggressive, relentless. Their blade-arms could cut through tank armor, and they moved with predatory grace that reminded him of the training videos from his Delta Force days.
Compatibility assessment: 94.7%, ATLAS reported. Weapon integration systems would enhance our close-combat capabilities by an estimated 340%.
"Acid Spitters," Dr. Chen continued, bringing up images of bulbous creatures that looked like walking chemical factories. "Range specialists. They produce and project highly corrosive substances capable of dissolving most known materials. Nanomachine count: 45 billion, specialized for chemical synthesis."
The footage showed an Acid Spitter melting through a concrete bunker wall in seconds, its projectile eating through six feet of reinforced material like it was made of paper.
Chemical warfare capabilities detected, ATLAS noted with what might have been excitement. Acid immunity and synthesis abilities would provide significant tactical advantages.
"And finally," Dr. Chen said, her voice taking on a note of concern, "we have confirmed presence of at least one Hammer Head."
The creature that appeared in the hologram made Jack's nanomachines pause their constant optimization cycles. It was massive—easily twelve feet tall and built like a living tank. Its head was an enlarged skull reinforced with metallic plates, and its entire body radiated the kind of destructive potential that could level buildings.
"Hammer Heads are siege specialists," Dr. Chen explained. "Nanomachine count exceeds 120 billion, focused on kinetic energy amplification and structural integrity. They can punch through reinforced concrete like tissue paper."
Threat level: significant, ATLAS admitted. However, successful integration would enhance our physical capabilities beyond current projections. Recommend engagement if tactical opportunity presents.
Jack felt his lips curve in what might have been a smile. The expression felt foreign on his optimized features—his nanomachines had been adjusting his facial structure for maximum efficiency, and smiling was apparently not considered tactically relevant.
"Deployment method?" he asked.
"HALO insertion from 30,000 feet," Dr. Chen replied. "You'll be equipped with adaptive camouflage until you reach target altitude. From there, it's free-fall to your insertion point."
A new display showed Jack's drop zone—a rooftop twelve blocks from Times Square. The route to his target would take him through the heart of alien-controlled territory, past nests and feeding grounds that would test every enhancement his nanomachines had provided.
"Equipment loadout?"
"None required," Dr. Chen said with obvious pride. "Your nanomachines can interface with any technology you encounter. ATLAS has direct access to our orbital weapons grid, and your enhanced physiology exceeds the performance of any conventional equipment."
Confirmed, ATLAS added. We are a self-contained weapons platform. External equipment would only limit our adaptive capabilities.
Jack nodded, processing mission parameters with inhuman efficiency. Twelve survivors to extract, hundreds of aliens to eliminate, and a breeding facility to destroy. Six months ago, it would have seemed impossible. Now it felt like a warm-up exercise.
"Timeline?"
"Immediate deployment. Every hour we delay means more aliens and fewer survivors."
Jack stood, his movements fluid and precise. The nanomachines had optimized his motor control to near-perfection, eliminating unnecessary movements and maximizing efficiency. He felt like a weapon that had finally found its purpose.
"Transport is standing by on Level B-40," Dr. Chen said. "Jack... be careful. This is your first solo operation. Don't take unnecessary risks."
Risk assessment: Dr. Chen's concern stems from emotional attachment, ATLAS observed. Her psychological profile suggests maternal instincts activated by prolonged subject interaction.
Jack looked at Dr. Chen and felt... nothing. No gratitude, no affection, no human connection. Just clinical appreciation for a useful tool in his mission parameters.
"I'll complete the mission," he said simply.
As he walked toward the exit, Jack caught sight of his reflection in the polished metal walls. The face looking back at him was still recognizably human, but something fundamental had changed. His eyes held no warmth, no doubt, no mercy. They were the eyes of an apex predator that had finally found its hunting ground.
Preparation complete, ATLAS announced as they entered the transport elevator. Mission parameters loaded. Orbital weapons grid synchronized. We are ready to begin our evolution, Jack.
The elevator descended toward the aircraft hangar, carrying Jack Steel toward his first real test as something beyond human classification. Manhattan was waiting—a city full of aliens that would either make him stronger or die trying.
He hoped they would try very hard indeed.