The facility didn't just sound alarms—it screamed.
Klaxons wailed in overlapping frequencies, creating a dissonant symphony that would drive most people to their knees. Red emergency lights strobed in rhythmic pulses, turning every corridor into a nightmare carnival. Automated systems kicked in: bulkhead doors grinding shut on rusted tracks, ventilation systems reversing to create positive pressure zones, fire suppression systems priming with ominous hisses.
The clone stood in the center of the control room, surrounded by corpses and the spreading root system he'd grown through the floor. The wood pulsed faintly with his heartbeat—he could feel it, an extension of his body that reached through concrete and rebar like nervous system tendrils.
This is what you are now, he thought distantly. Not human. Not entirely.
The PA system crackled again, but this time the voice was different—cold, modulated, utterly devoid of panic:
"Attention all personnel. Asset SP07 has achieved active status. Current threat level: Undefined. Initiating automated countermeasures. Human personnel are advised to evacuate to designated safe zones. Lethal force is authorized."
A pause. Then:
"Self-destruct protocols have been placed on standby. Authorization code Omega-Seven-Seven is now active."
They'll burn this whole place down rather than let me escape.
Peter's horror surged: There might be others still alive in the pods—
If there are, they're already dead, Hashirama's presence countered with brutal pragmatism. Focus on survival. Everything else is sentiment.
The clone pulled a battered tablet from one of the dead maintenance workers, fingers flying across the cracked screen. Chen's memories provided security codes; Hashirama's tactical mind parsed the facility layout; Peter's scientific background helped him understand the technical readouts.
What he found made his blood run cold.
PROJECT WEBBORN - FINAL STATUS REPORT
- Total subjects created: 47
- Viable subjects: 1 (SP07)
- Subjects terminated due to cellular degeneration: 38
- Subjects terminated due to psychological instability: 6
- Subjects terminated due to uncontrolled mutation: 2
- Current facility status: DECOMMISSIONED
- Scheduled demolition: 14 days
- Special note: Subject SP07 displayed unprecedented genetic stability. Recommend immediate harvest for—
The text cut off there, the document incomplete.
Harvest. They were going to cut him apart and study the pieces.
The sound of boots echoed down the corridor—multiple sets, moving in tactical formation. Professional. Coordinated.
The clone's enhanced hearing picked up their radio chatter:
"Team Alpha approaching control room. Beta, secure the north exit."
"Copy. Thermal imaging shows one target, multiple corpses. Possible enhanced strength."
"Rules of engagement?"
A pause. Then:
"Shoot to incapacitate. Command wants it alive if possible. But if it becomes too dangerous... kill it."
It.
Not him. Not even the clone. Just it—a thing, a problem, a malfunctioning piece of equipment.
The wood beneath his feet stirred, responding to his anger. The roots thickened, pushing through concrete like fingers through soft earth. He could feel the entire room's foundation—every pipe, every support beam, every weakness in the aging infrastructure.
I could bring this whole section down, he realized. Bury them all.
But that was just anger talking. Hashirama's strategic mind asserted itself, cold and calculating:
Structural collapse would trap you as surely as them. You need an exit strategy. Use their tactics against them.
The first team breached the doorway in textbook formation—three men with ballistic shields, two with rifles, one with what looked like a high-voltage capture device trailing cables.
The clone had already moved.
He'd pressed himself against the ceiling—not climbing, but merged with it, his body partially phased into the concrete through a technique that felt instinctive, natural. Peter's spider-powers and Hashirama's wood release combined into something new: he could temporarily bond with any surface that contained organic material or mineral compounds, becoming part of the structure itself.
The team swept the room, weapons raised, clearing corners with professional efficiency.
"Control room is compromised. Multiple casualties. No sign of the target."
"Thermal?"
The tech checked his scanner, frowning. "Negative. Either it fled or... wait." His frown deepened. "I'm getting a weird reading from the ceiling. Heat signature is dispersed, like—"
The clone dropped.
Not onto them—that would be predictable. Instead, he landed behind them, between the team and their exit, and pushed.
Wood exploded from the floor in a forest of spears, erupting so fast the men didn't have time to scream. The ballistic shields were useless—the roots grew through them, through body armor, through flesh and bone with the inexorable patience of nature reclaiming concrete.
One man got a shot off. The bullet caught the clone's shoulder, spinning him halfway around.
The pain was distant, abstract. He watched his own flesh knit itself back together in real-time—Hashirama's healing factor was insane, burning through reserves of chakra but keeping him functional. The bullet pushed itself out of the wound, clattering to the floor.
The shooter's eyes went wide. "Jesus Christ—"
A root punched through his chest, lifting him off the ground. The man's rifle clattered to the floor.
Silence fell. Six men dead in less than ten seconds.
The clone stood among them, breathing hard, feeling the chakra drain. The healing was expensive. He couldn't do that indefinitely.
Learn from this, Hashirama's voice instructed. Fast kills. Don't get hit. You're strong but not invincible.
More boots. More teams converging. He could hear them in the corridors—at least twenty personnel, all armed, all moving to contain him.
They'll funnel you toward kill zones, Peter's tactical knowledge supplied. Box you in. You need to—
The sprinkler system activated.
Not water—something thicker, with a chemical smell that made his eyes water instantly. Tear gas? No. Something worse. His enhanced senses recoiled, and he felt his grip on the transformation technique slip.
Aerosol sedative, Hashirama recognized. Mixed with something else. They're trying to suppress your abilities.
The clone stumbled, feeling his muscles go slack. The wood he'd grown began to wither, roots retracting as his chakra flow disrupted.
No. No no no—
A section of floor lit up with crackling energy—electrified plates he'd missed in his scanning. He leaped backward on instinct, but his movements were sluggish, uncoordinated.
A new voice boomed through the PA system, this one human, male, authoritative:
"Subject SP07, you are surrounded and outmatched. Stand down and you will not be harmed. Resist further and we will be forced to terminate you. You have ten seconds to comply."
The clone swayed, vision blurring. The sedative was working faster than his body could filter it. Through the haze, he saw new figures entering the corridor—not regular security, but something worse.
They wore full hazmat suits with reinforced plating. Each carried weapons he didn't recognize: some kind of energy projector that hummed with contained power. A containment team. Specialists.
Eight seconds.
His legs wouldn't support him properly. He crashed to one knee, gasping.
This is it, Peter's voice whispered, resigned. We tried.
No, Hashirama's presence growled. You have one advantage they don't expect.
The clone's eyes focused on the sprinkler system above—specifically, on the pipes feeding it. Old pipes. Metal pipes. And running through the walls beside them: the facility's ancient, overworked electrical conduits.
Five seconds.
He slammed both palms against the floor, ignoring the electric shocks, ignoring the sedative making his thoughts swim. Every last reserve of chakra flooded into the root system, pushing it deep, deep into the walls—
The roots found the water pipes first. Wrapped around them. Crushed them.
High-pressure water exploded into the walls, flooding electrical systems that had been jury-rigged decades ago and never properly maintained.
Then the roots found the power conduits.
The facility's entire eastern wing went dark as circuits overloaded, transformers exploded, and electrical fires erupted in the walls. Emergency lighting failed. The electrified floor went dead.
In the sudden darkness, the clone moved.
He wasn't trying to fight anymore. He was trying to a
survive.
He ran—stumbling, still half-poisoned, but moving. Behind him, he heard shouts of confusion, the crash of equipment, someone screaming about an electrical fire.
Ahead: a maintenance shaft, its grate already rusted through. He didn't slow down, just crashed through it and into the narrow tunnel beyond.
Behind him, something massive began to groan—deep, structural, the sound of a building that had been abused for too long finally giving up.
The PA system crackled one last time:
"Critical system failure. Initiating emergency evacuation. All personnel—"
Static consumed the rest.
The clone crawled through the darkness, following air currents that promised an exit, his body still fighting the sedative in his veins.
Survive, he thought. Just survive.
Behind him, the facility began to tear itself apart.
End Chapter 3