The door exploded inward in a symphony of splintering wood and tactical violence. Black-clad figures poured through the breach like death incarnate, their military-grade gear gleaming under harsh fluorescent lights that suddenly felt too bright, too exposing.
Flash-bangs detonated in perfect sequence—BANG! BANG! BANG!—filling my quarters with blinding white light and thunder that should have left me deaf and disoriented on the floor.
Instead, I stood exactly where I'd been, completely unharmed, my hand still resting protectively on Zero's shoulder.
*Well, this is inconvenient. I just performed life-saving brain surgery and now I have to deal with Adam's tantrum in the form of armed psychopaths.*
"Target acquired!" the squad leader barked into his comm, voice muffled by his tactical mask. "Dr. Shen An and Subject 06 confirmed. Weapons hot—execute with extreme prejudice!"
Eight assault rifles swung toward us with military precision that spoke of serious training and serious intent to paint my walls with our internal organs. I adjusted my glasses with the kind of clinical calm that had gotten me through medical school and spoke a single word that would rewrite the rules of engagement.
"Zero."
The effect was instantaneous and absolutely devastating. Zero's head snapped up like a puppet whose strings had been pulled by a master, his blindfolded face turning toward me with the devotion of a weapon recognizing its true owner. The confused, lost expression vanished, replaced by something far more dangerous—absolute obedience mixed with barely contained violence that promised beautiful carnage.
"Yes, Master?" His voice was soft, almost reverent, but I could hear the promise of death underneath like a blade hidden in silk.
The first gunshots rang out like thunder in the confined space. I sidestepped with fluid grace that would have made a ballet dancer weep with envy, bullets whining past my head close enough to part my hair but never quite finding their mark.
*Time for a practical anatomy lesson. Let's see how well they remember their medical training.*
"Sternocleidomastoid muscle, right side," I called out, voice carrying the authority of a professor delivering a lecture to particularly dense medical students. "Carotid sinus pressure point. Non-lethal takedown—we want him conscious for questioning."
Zero moved like liquid death given form, crossing the room in a blur of motion that defied human physics and several laws of biology. His fingers found the exact spot I'd indicated with surgical precision, applying pressure that was calibrated to the milligram. The first soldier dropped like a marionette with cut strings, unconscious before his body hit the ground.
**[LIVESTREAM - VIEWERS: 23,847,291]**
→ @BloodRose_666: DID HE JUST TURN ZERO INTO A LIVING ANATOMY TEXTBOOK?!
→ @ChaosQueen: He's calling out body parts like he's teaching a medical class
→ @ShadowLord donated 10,000,000 credits: "MOST EDUCATIONAL MASSACRE IN HUMAN HISTORY"
→ @OmegaLover: The precision is terrifying and beautiful and I'm here for it
→ @Anonymous_7749: This is better than any medical drama ever made
"Posterior tibial nerve, left ankle," I continued, dodging another spray of bullets with minimal effort that made it look like I was dancing through raindrops. "Sever cleanly but don't damage the surrounding tissue. We're doctors, not butchers."
Zero's hand moved like a striking viper, finding the nerve cluster behind the second soldier's ankle with the accuracy of a guided missile. The man screamed as his leg went completely dead, crashing to the floor in a tangle of useless limbs and shattered pride.
This wasn't a fight—it was a masterclass in applied human anatomy, with Zero serving as my most precise surgical instrument.
"Brachial plexus, C5 through T1," I instructed, stepping around a wild burst of gunfire like I was avoiding puddles on a rainy day. "Temporary paralysis of the dominant arm. Remember—we want clean nerve disruption, not permanent damage."
The third soldier's rifle clattered to the ground as his right arm went limp, Zero's strike hitting the nerve cluster with the kind of accuracy that would have made neurosurgeons weep with professional jealousy.
*Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful technique. He's learning so quickly.*
"Vagus nerve stimulation, anterior neck," I called out as the fourth soldier tried to flank us with the tactical awareness of a concussed goldfish. "Induce vasovagal syncope—make it gentle."
Zero's fingers found the pressure point at the base of the man's neck with the delicacy of someone handling a butterfly's wing, and the soldier dropped like a stone as his own nervous system betrayed him in the most elegant way possible.
The squad leader was screaming orders into his comm, but his men were falling too fast to coordinate any meaningful response. This wasn't combat—it was systematic dismantlement of human machinery by someone who understood exactly how every component worked.
"Too slow," I said coldly as Zero hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking down the fifth soldier, my voice carrying the kind of disappointment that could crush souls. "Precision is worthless without speed. Again."
Zero's response was immediate—a blur of motion that left the remaining soldiers on the ground in various states of consciousness and mobility, each one taken down with textbook precision that would have earned perfect marks in any medical examination.
The entire engagement had lasted less than thirty seconds, and my quarters now looked like the aftermath of a very educational natural disaster.
The squad leader, realizing his elite team had been systematically dismantled by what appeared to be a medical demonstration, activated his exoskeleton's self-destruct sequence with the desperation of someone who'd run out of better options.
The mechanical suit began to glow with ominous red light as its power core prepared to overload and turn us all into component atoms.
*Suicide bomber. How tediously predictable. Don't these people have any imagination?*
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the dissolved remains of Zero's kill switch—the Hacker's Key, now reduced to metallic fragments floating in whiskey like the world's most expensive cocktail garnish. But fragments were all I needed to rewrite reality.
**[SYSTEM ALERT: HACKER'S KEY ACTIVATED]**
**[ADMINISTRATIVE OVERRIDE ENGAGED]**
**[TARGET: MILITARY EXOSKELETON SYSTEM]**
**[ACCESS LEVEL: DIVINE]**
Golden threads of pure data flowed from my fingertips like liquid starlight, invading the exoskeleton's systems with the authority of a digital god who'd grown tired of mortal limitations. The suit's self-destruct sequence stuttered, then died as I rewrote its core programming with casual efficiency.
The squad leader collapsed as his armor became a prison, every joint locked in place by my override commands that turned his million-dollar war machine into the world's most expensive straightjacket.
**[LIVESTREAM CHAT]**
→ @BloodRose_666: HE JUST HACKED MILITARY HARDWARE WITH WHISKEY FRAGMENTS I'M SCREAMING
→ @ChaosQueen: The casual way he disabled a suicide bomber like it was Tuesday
→ @ShadowLord: This man is operating on a completely different level of existence
→ @Anonymous_0001: Most overpowered medical professional in recorded history
→ @OmegaLover: The way Zero looks at him like he hung the stars I'M EMOTIONAL
The room fell silent except for the groans of wounded soldiers and the hum of disabled electronics. Zero stood among the carnage like a beautiful angel of death, his pale skin splattered with blood that wasn't his own, looking like art come to life.
But when he turned to face me, all that lethal grace vanished like smoke. He tucked his hands behind his back like a child who'd been playing in the mud, afraid of getting his parent dirty with his messy fingers.
"Master," he whispered, voice small and uncertain in a way that made my chest do things that definitely weren't covered in medical school. "I'm... I'm not clean. Don't want to dirty you."
*This deadly weapon is worried about getting blood on my shirt. The irony is not lost on me, and neither is the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious.*
I pulled out a pack of alcohol wipes and approached him with the same care I'd use for a priceless surgical instrument. Zero stood perfectly still as I cleaned the blood from between his fingers, his breathing shallow with something that might have been reverence or might have been something far more dangerous.
"Your strike on the brachial plexus was three millimeters too deep," I said conversationally, working the antiseptic between his knuckles with gentle efficiency. "We'll address that in your next training session. Precision is everything."
Zero's entire body shivered at the promise of correction, his devotion so intense it was almost tangible in the air between us. "I'll be perfect next time, Master. I swear it. I'll never disappoint you again."
I finished cleaning his hands and stepped back, satisfied with my work. Zero immediately moved closer, drawn by some invisible force that made him want to stay within arm's reach like a satellite orbiting its star.
I picked up the squad leader's comm unit and spoke into it with the tone of someone delivering a terminal medical diagnosis.
"Adam, your elite task force is absolute garbage. I recommend immediate cremation to prevent the spread of tactical incompetence to your remaining assets."
The response was immediate—a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush and probably violated several communications protocols. I was about to deliver another cutting remark when the world tilted sideways without warning, my vision blurring as the cost of using the Hacker's Key hit me like a sledgehammer to the temporal lobe.
Zero caught me before I could fall, his arms steady and warm around my waist like he'd been waiting for this moment. "Master? Are you hurt? Tell me how to fix it."
*Just psychic exhaustion from rewriting the fundamental laws of digital reality. Nothing a good night's sleep and possibly some very strong coffee won't fix.*
Before I could answer, the facility's intercom crackled to life with a voice that made my blood run cold as arctic wind.
"Magnificent," the voice purred, cultured and precise as a scalpel cutting through silk. "Absolutely magnificent. Such precision, such artistry, such beautiful control. It was like watching a master surgeon perform the most exquisite operation."
**[SYSTEM ALERT: S+ THREAT DETECTED]**
**[SUBJECT 02 - DR. WEISS: APPROACHING RAPIDLY]**
**[DANGER LEVEL: MAXIMUM POSSIBLE]**
**[RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE EVACUATION OR PRAYER]**
The blast doors at the end of the corridor hissed open with mechanical finality, revealing a tall figure in a pristine white lab coat that seemed to glow with its own inner light. Dr. Weiss stepped into view like death wearing a medical degree, his surgical mask doing nothing to hide the predatory gleam in eyes that had seen too much and enjoyed every second of it.
In his hand, a bone saw gleamed under the fluorescent lights like a promise of beautiful agony.
"Dr. Shen An," he said, voice carrying the enthusiasm of a collector who'd found the perfect specimen for his private museum. "I've been watching your work with the most intense interest. Such beautiful technique, such exquisite control over your living instruments. I simply must have you on my table."
His gaze fixed on my weakened state with the intensity of a shark scenting blood in the water, and his smile was the kind that belonged in nightmares.
"You look tired, Doctor. Perhaps you'd like to rest? I have the perfect place—my laboratory. We could explore the mysteries of your unique physiology together. I promise it will be... educational."