"La Sangre Nera deals with the survivors. Quietly."
Something cold and solid settled deep in Adrian's chest. It wasn't shock shock implied surprise, and there was nothing surprising about evil when you'd spent enough time studying its tax returns.
This was colder than that. A recognition, spreading through him like ice water in his veins, the way you recognize your own reflection in a funhouse mirror distorted, but undeniably there.
"So there's no mercy. No second chances. Just disposable labor and calculated profit margins."
Marcus nodded, the motion grim, final. "Welcome to Nexo's employee benefits program. The dental coverage is also terrible."
Adrian turned the page. Part of him a small, increasingly irrelevant part wanted to stop. To close the folder and pretend he'd never seen it, maybe go get a coffee and contemplate a career change.
Accounting, maybe.
Something with less existential horror and more spreadsheets.
But he couldn't afford ignorance. Not now. Ignorance was a luxury that got people ground into paste under corporate boots.
Also, he was terrible at math.
[SECTION: PROJECT ASCENDANT — ENHANCEMENT SERUM PROGRAM]
Stated Objective: Transform the human body into an optimized soldier platform, operating beyond natural physiological limitations. You know, like a comic book, but with more organ failure.
Mechanism: Forced cellular overclocking resulting in rapid, uncontrolled growth of muscle tissue and neural system enhancement. Think of it like overclocking your computer, except the computer is a human being and when it crashes, it screams.
Casualty Rate: 99.7% (effective survival probability: 0.03%)
Documented Results:
Catastrophic Collapse: Subjects experience massive internal hemorrhaging, cardiac rupture, multi-organ failure. Death typically occurs within 3-6 hours of injection. Subjects often express regret during this period. We do not listen.
Mutation: Physical transformation into unstable biological forms. Common variants include shambling "zombie" types with zero cognitive function (think of your least competent coworker, but worse), or hypertrophic "giant" forms driven purely by aggressive impulses and what we can only assume is profound existential rage.
Containment Protocol: La Sangre Nera enforcement units routinely eliminate experimental failures in underground laboratory facilities. Bodies disposed of per standard contract terms (see Appendix D: "How to Make a Person Disappear Like They Never Existed, a Legal Primer").
Translation: Nexo promises super-soldiers. Reality delivers mountains of corpses and biological nightmares that require immediate termination. Marketing is currently working on better messaging.
Adrian's cigarette had burned down to a long cylinder of grey ash between his fingers. He hadn't felt it. He stubbed it out in Elias's steel ashtray, grinding it with enough force to threaten the structural integrity of both cigarette and ashtray.
"So ninety-nine point seven percent die," he said slowly, letting each word drop into the quiet room like a lead weight, or a body. "And the lucky point zero three percent who survive…" He looked up.
His eyes were dark, haunted by a future he was already seeing play out in high definition. "What do they become? Broken tools? Walking weapons? Both? A really unpleasant surprise at the company Christmas party?"
Marcus's jaw tightened. A muscle jumped under his skin like it was trying to escape. "The survivors are unstable. Physically enhanced, yes, but mentally fractured. They're not useful for long. And they're certainly not controllable. Most of them can't even remember their own names after forty-eight hours."
Elias's hands were fists on the desk. His knuckles were the color of bone, of skull, of things that should stay buried. "They're manufacturing a weapon that kills its own user. Every single time."
"Except," Adrian added, his tone flattening into something dangerous, something that tasted like gunpowder and resignation, "they keep trying anyway. Because eventually, maybe they'll get it right. And then what?"
He took a breath that didn't quite fill his lungs. "An army of chemically lobotomized super-soldiers with the life expectancy of a mayfly and approximately the same decision-making capacity."
He lit another cigarette. His hands needed the ritual something to do that wasn't reaching across the desk and shaking the truth out of the world until it apologized.
"You know, nothing says 'ethical pharmaceutical research' quite like a ninety-nine percent fatality rate and having organized crime on speed dial for body disposal. Really hits all the marks for corporate responsibility."
[SECTION: VIRAL STRAINS — CONFIRMED SAMPLES]
(Additional strains suspected but unverified through available samples. We're sure they're delightful.)
HX-13 "Reaper"
Primary Effect: Liquefies living tissue from the inside out through aggressive cellular breakdown. Exactly as pleasant as it sounds.
Casualty Rate: 99.9%
Treatment Options: None confirmed. Rumors of an unstable experimental antidote remain unverified and, frankly, sound like wishful thinking from the ethics committee we definitely don't have.
Notes: Death is excruciating and typically occurs within 24-36 hours of exposure. Subjects remain conscious throughout most of the process, which is either a design flaw or a feature, depending on who you ask. (We didn't ask.)
VX-7 "Goliath"
Primary Effect: Triggers exponential muscle growth and severe skeletal distortion. Think bodybuilder, but wrong. Very, very wrong.
Casualty Rate: 99.8%
Survivors: Exhibit extreme violence, severe brain damage, complete loss of higher cognitive function. Effectively weaponized biological entities without control mechanisms. Like releasing a tiger into a shopping mall, except the tiger used to be your accountant.
Notes: Early-stage purchases confirmed from law enforcement agencies and private military contractors under the belief these are "safe enhancement options." They are not remotely ready for any form of deployment. If released to general populations, predictive models suggest global outbreak scenarios within 2-3 weeks. But the quarterly earnings look fantastic.
Adrian stared at the two strain designations. A genuine, physical nausea rose in his throat, bitter and hot. He hadn't felt that in years not since the Hailstorm outbreak, not since he'd stopped letting himself feel things in any meaningful capacity.
His hands had begun a faint, betraying tremor. He clenched them into fists on his knees until it stopped.
"Law enforcement is actually buying this?" His voice cracked. Just a hair. Just enough to notice. "They genuinely believe they can turn beat cops into controlled weapons? What's the pitch—'protect and serve, now with more uncontrollable mutation'?"
Marcus nodded. His expression was carved from the same stone as a grave marker, the kind that says "beloved husband and father" and means "we're all pretending this makes sense."
"Through private channels, yes. They think they're getting safe, regulated enhancement compounds. They have absolutely no idea what they're actually purchasing. The sales team is very good."
Elias closed his eyes. It was a long, slow blink, like a man trying to wipe an image from his mind trying and failing. When he opened them, it was with visible effort. "If even one of these vials gets loose in a major population center, we're not looking at a local crisis. We're looking at city-wide catastrophe. Possibly worse."
Adrian forced air into his lungs. Steady. Even. Professional. "So we've established that Nexo is basically speedrunning the apocalypse. Fantastic. Really excellent work, everyone."
The sarcasm was a blade, honed sharp by despair and approximately three hours of sleep over the past forty-eight hours. "I'm sure there's a corporate bonus structure for 'most efficient path to human extinction.' Probably ties into stock options."
[SECTION: DISTRIBUTION & COVER-UP OPERATIONS]
Enhancement serums and viral agents remain in pre-market development phase. (Legal insisted we include this disclaimer.)
Current Buyers: Law enforcement agencies, paramilitary organizations, private security firms, select government entities (specifics redacted because we like not being indicted).
Failure Management: Mafia-affiliated clean-up crews dispose of failed test subjects. Families receive "accidental workplace death" settlements with comprehensive non-disclosure agreements. Grief counseling not included.
Official Company Statement: "Tragic health benefits program accidents." (PR is very proud of this one.)
[FINAL ASSESSMENT]
Nexo Pharmaceutical's corporate empire is constructed entirely on the systematic sacrifice of its lowest-tier employees.
Their so-called "miracle science" consists of unstable experimental compounds with casualty rates exceeding 99%.
Primary beneficiaries: Nexo's founding executives, private investors, and contracted criminal organizations managing evidence disposal. Everyone wins! (Except the janitors.)
STATUS: ACTIVE OPERATIONS
Threat Level: EXTINCTION-CLASS
The folder snapped shut. The sound was small in the quiet office, but final. Absolutely final. Like the click of a lock, or the closing of a lid, or the sound a coffin makes when they seal you in for the long dirt nap.
Adrian sat perfectly still. The air in the room felt thick, heavy with the weight of the words now trapped inside their heads. He looked at Elias. Elias looked back. No words passed between them. What could you possibly say?
Sorry your species is doomed?
Have you considered switching to decaf?
At least we'll all die together?
The documentation had said it all. It had screamed it.
Marcus stepped forward, his shoes whispering on the linoleum like secrets. He broke the silence, and his voice was low. Surprisingly steady. Steadier than a man with a seven percent survival probability had any right to be.
"There's a window," Marcus said, each word careful, precise, the way you handle live ammunition or family heirlooms you're about to pawn. "West wing guard rotations. Every night from 1:00 to 1:45 AM, there's a blind spot in coverage. The security post goes completely unmanned. It's our only viable entry point."
He pulled a small, folded schematic from his inner pocket. The paper was thin, almost translucent, like it wanted to disappear before anyone could blame it for what was about to happen. He spread it on the desk like he was dealing a deadly card in a game nobody wanted to play.
His finger which only trembled slightly, which was honestly impressive given the circumstances tapped specific points.
"The archives are located in Vault A-13. The access corridors have pressure-sensitive floor plates. Calibrated to trigger alarms at 100 pounds of weight." He looked up, meeting their eyes. "I can temporarily patch the SentinelGrid system. Make it accept up to 200 pounds of distributed weight."
He let that hang for a second, the way you let bad news settle before you make it worse.
"The patch will hold for exactly 2,700 seconds. Forty-five minutes."
Marcus paused. Let the number sink into the room like a stone in water. "After that, it resets automatically. No warnings. No grace period. Just instant alarm activation and a very short, very exciting conversation with Nexo security."
Elias's jaw was a rigid line. Adrian could hear the faint grind of his teeth, like tectonic plates trying to start a fight. "Two hundred pounds maximum. Furniture pathways only. Absolutely zero margin for error." His voice was wire-tight, stretched to breaking. "If that patch fails even one second early—"
"Sirens go off immediately," Marcus interjected. "Full facility lockdown within thirty seconds. At that point, extraction becomes nearly impossible. Survival probability drops to—" He paused, did the math in his head. "Well. Let's just say 'not good' and leave it there."
He took a shallow breath. "I can trigger a phantom security alert on Level 2. Split their response teams. Create confusion. It'll buy maybe two minutes of chaos. Maybe. Depends on how quickly they realize it's fake."
Adrian's grin was a sharp, weary, unhinged thing. It felt strange on his face, like borrowed clothing that didn't quite fit. "One person. Light and fast. I'll travel like I'm trying to make weight for a flyweight boxing match. Hell, I'll leave my belt behind if it helps. Maybe my dignity too, but I lost most of that in 2019."
Elias stared at him. The stare lasted an eternity, or several eternities, or however long it takes to watch your life flash before someone else's eyes.
In it, Adrian saw the captain weighing catastrophic risks against operational necessity.
Weighing lives against information.
Weighing one stubborn agent against the end of the world.
Weighing whether anyone would actually miss him at the department Christmas party.
"This is completely reckless, Adrian."
"It's also the only clean shot we're going to get this week," Marcus replied. His voice was quiet but firm a man who'd already accepted his odds and made peace with the actuarial tables.
"If we wait, they'll patch the security gap or rotate the guard schedules. This window closes permanently after tonight."
He held Elias's gaze. "If you want to strike at the operational heart of Nexo, you can't afford to wait for a safer opportunity that's never going to come. This is it. This is what we've got."
Tense silence filled the office. It was a physical thing, like smoke, choking and thick. Outside the window, the city continued its blissful ignorance. Lights twinkled. Cars honked. A world utterly oblivious to the rot festering in its basement, planning its demise in quarterly installments.
Elias shifted his gaze. From Marcus, to Adrian, and back again. He let out a long, heavy exhale. It wasn't a sigh. It was a surrender. Or an order. Or both somehow, simultaneously, in the way only senior officers can manage.
"Majority decision," Elias finally said, his voice flat, stripped of all emotion except a thin layer of resignation. "You want tonight? Fine. We move tonight. God help us all."
"Bold of you to assume He's still taking our calls," Adrian muttered.
Before the captain could reconsider, before Adrian could let himself think too hard about survival statistics and pressure plates and the fact that his life insurance was woefully inadequate, he stood. The movement was decisive, final, the kind of standing up you do when you're committed to a very stupid idea.
He flicked his cigarette into the ashtray. Watched the ember glow once, brightly, like a final thought or a dying star, before it died.
"Midnight preparation," Adrian said. His voice took on the clipped, professional tone he used when death was on the agenda and small talk felt inappropriate. "We meet at South Metro at exactly 00:00 hours. We move at 00:59:30 for the system patch. Entry at 01:00 sharp."
He looked between them. Memorized their faces. Just in case this was the last time he saw them as anything other than crime scene photographs. "I handle infiltration solo. Light, fast, minimal equipment. No backup. No cavalry. Marcus, you manage the technical patch and trigger the diversion alert at exactly 01:02. Elias—"
He met the captain's eyes directly. "You coordinate extraction once I signal. Clean, simple, professional."
And if I don't signal, make sure my browser history gets deleted haha...ahem..
Elias nodded once. A single, sharp dip of the chin. It was the kind of nod that carried the weight of after-action reports and memorial services and awkward conversations with next of kin.
Marcus's hands trembled. Then he forced them still through what looked like pure, agonizing willpower and possibly several deep breathing exercises. "Understood."
Adrian stepped out of the office, the folder tucked like a toxic secret under his arm which was accurate, because it was literally both toxic and secret. His strides were long, deliberate, final.
The hallway outside felt colder. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing uncertainly, as if even the electricity was nervous about what came next.
The city, visible through a distant window at the end of the hall, already felt smaller. Like it was beginning to fold in on itself under the weight of what was coming.
He found the stairwell. Always the stairs. Never the elevators
Elevators were coffins that moved, and he preferred his coffins stationary, thank you very much.
He lit a fresh cigarette halfway down the first flight. The smoke curled up towards the buzzing lights, a grey ghost in the yellow glare, looking for an exit that didn't exist.
And Adrian felt it.
The countdown.
It began in his mind with a silent, metallic tick.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Midnight was coming.
And with it, answers.
Or death.
Probably both, if he was being honest with himself.
Which he usually was, in those final moments before doing something spectacularly stupid.
The city sprawled below through the narrow, grimy stairwell window. A million lights twinkled in the dark, beautiful and ignorant, like stars that didn't know they were already dead.
"Well," Adrian muttered to himself. The words echoed slightly in the concrete hollow, talking back like a ghost with nothing better to do. "At least it'll be interesting."
He took another drag.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Forty-five minutes to get in, get the files, and get out.
Forty-five minutes before the alarms screamed.
Forty-five minutes before every dark thing in that building came looking for him.
He exhaled smoke.
"Plenty of time," he lied to himself.