Massive Disaster 4-7 (Patreon)

Blue fluid, perfectly formulated. 99.3% biocompatibility, .3% margin of error—acceptable. Four centimeters of spine exposed, vertebrae glis

Blue fluid, perfectly formulated.99.3% biocompatibility, .3% margin of error—acceptable. Four centimeters of spine exposed, vertebrae glistening wet under the surgical lights. Pedro floated in suspension, lanky body buoyed by the semi-translucent medium designed to facilitate cellular transport across modified membranes. Neural readouts spiked and receded in waves across the monitor to Zedd’s left, patterns so far outside normal parameters that baseline medical systems would flag them as seizure activity. But this wasn’t a seizure; it was optimal neural plasticity—a brain redesigning itself in real-time to accommodate what was about to happen.

“Subject ANANSI’s vertebrae now exposed. Neural grafting can commence,” ANGEL reported in her warm Germanic lilt, something almost loving in the cadence.Zedd could feel the weight of the neural implant in his hand, the intricate biotech lattice with its microscopic connectors and nanofiber synaptic bridges. The product of eighteen straight design hours.

Perfectly machined. 

Perfectly balanced. 

Perfectly deadly if he was off by a millimeter.

“Making the insertion,” he muttered, more to himself than ANGEL. Even if he wasn’t wearing his micro-precision stabilization gloves, his now-enhanced muscles compensated for the subtle tremor that would have affected normal hands after four hours of surgery. While he had his misgivings and almost regretted injecting it into himself on a whim, the Rebirth serum had its benefits.He didn’t shake anymore at all, didn’t tire anywhere near as easily, and he didn’t need to stop and reconsider. Decisions came much quicker, actions followed immediately, consequences resolved themselves afterward. Live in the moment, fix the fallout later.

The spine-like implant slid into position, thousands of microscopic hooks finding purchase in bone and nerve alike. Blood bloomed into the blue fluid, turning it the color of cotton candy, the sight triggering a flash-memory of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor carnival when he was eight. Dad won him that stuffed—Focus.

“Integration at 89.6% and climbing,” ANGEL confirmed as multiple mechanical arms extended from her spherical body, manipulating a dozen instruments simultaneously around Pedro’s suspended form. “Neural adhesion rates exceeding projections.”

“Of course they are,” Zedd muttered. “Kid’s brain is practically begging for rewiring.” A faint smile tugged at his lips despite himself. Subject compatibility was always a gamble, but Pedro was practically a perfect match. Almost like the enhancement had been designed specifically for someone with his neural architecture—which wasn’t far from the truth. When Zedd spotted those spatial reasoning scores, he’d modified ANANSI’s final parameters accordingly. 

Opportunistic design was still design.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

His rig hummed loud.

Well, loud enough as his senses were enhanced, but months of heavy construction had gotten him used to loud.

Even still, it was just under the threshold of annoying.

Zedd tapped a few keys on the control panel, watching the injection rig spool up like a predator stretching its claws. A hundred needles gleaming under the lab lights. Honestly, they would’ve been beautiful if they weren’t all aimed at cutting into Patrick’s meat suit.

Meat… suit… Zedd blinked. Yeah… maybe I am losing it. Spending too much time around AI… and Leng is not good for anyone.

Patrick looked wrong strapped up like that—like someone had crammed a war tank into a museum display. He was already big, already scarred, and already quiet but too quiet when sedated.

Now, the man’s skin was mapped out with targeting points like some kind of anatomical bullseye. Zedd half-expected him to rip out of the restraints just on reflex. The man was built for violence, not vulnerability and it was weird seeing him subdued, like a bear stuffed in a sedan.

“ANGEL, initiate phase one,” Zedd ordered quietly, no hesitation to be found in his voice. “And accelerate the timetable by 2.1%.” Innovation didn’t wait for feelings and doubt… that was just a slower gut wound.

The needles dropped as one—no gradual insertion, just impact. They didn’t ease in; they claimed space, each driving to a depth Zedd had calculated down to the decimal. Subcutaneous, muscle, bone. A few found marrow. Patrick’s body jerked despite the sedation—primal instinct, fight even when the brain’s off.

Red welled up, tracing lines from every puncture site, crisscrossing his skin like some fucked-up map of the human circulatory system. Efficient, if you didn’t mind the aesthetics going to hell. Blood was inevitable—perforate a human with enough holes, and it’s not gonna stay neat. Zedd noted the pattern—consistent, no arterial breach. Messy but within parameters.

“Nanite infusion for Subject TITAN in process. Blood contamination minimal,” ANGEL’s voice chimed in, as smooth as ever.

Zedd’s eyes flickered over to her for a fraction of a second, before flickering back to the thick dark fluid threading through the tubes, metallic shimmer glinting under the lights. Trillions of nanites suspended in a protein-nutrient solution, practically dancing on the way in. He had to admit—it looked kind of alive.

Which to be fair… they were. These nanites were designed to perfectly attach and be nearly indistinguishable from subcutaneous human skin until they activated. A perfect mix of several different strains of nanotech with MELD being the primary substrate that served as the ideal glue between meat and metal.

Zedd blinked again. Again with the meat thing.

“ANGEL, move up 2.1% to 2.9% and increase viscosity by 0.3% in feeds 12 through 37,” Zedd muttered, spotting the lag on the absorption rate. Suboptimal. Can’t have that. The pressure adjustment hit fast, fluid surge causing a few extra streams of blood to spill from injection points. Patrick’s veins bulged, massive body trying to fight off the foreign invasion.

Zedd watched the display twitch and correct itself even as Patrick’s body kept straining, unconscious but still defiant. Part of Zedd liked that—proof he’d picked the right guy. You didn’t want someone who’d just roll over and take it. Guy’s physiology was all built to resist, reject, outlast. Exactly what he needed. My Colossus.

“Governor Shen-Abraham would call this over-engineered,” Zedd muttered, flicking a diagnostic readout away with a lazy swipe. Overkill was a hobby, not a flaw. Shen-Abraham had that sort of complaint with his more recent builds, the man unaware of the great many things he was hiding that were far more over-engineered underneath Providence.

The nanite solution was spreading—showing up on the monitors as veins filled with dark streaks. A hostile takeover. Perfect.

ANGEL flickered in the corner of his vision, diagnostic overlays popping up and closing in sequence, efficient and neat. The NetNavi didn’t say anything, just kept monitoring vitals. Zedd knew she didn’t approve of the blood loss—her risk algorithms were skewing rather conservative already and even his risk profile was already extremely low. Something to fix. Sometimes the method was as much about making a point as hitting the objective.

Patrick’s breathing hitched, and for a second, Zedd thought the sedation might wear off early. Nah, he realized as it resumed. Just the body trying to keep up. That or the nanites were already hitting something vital and deciding to restructure. Either way, it didn’t matter. Once the integration hit 30% and adapted to his underlayer, rejection chances would drop off precipitously.

Zedd’s fingers kept tapping, adjusting feed rates, making tiny tweaks to pressure—like fine-tuning a car engine mid-race. No one else would notice the difference. He’d know. That was enough.

“Adaptation rates stabilizing,” ANGEL noted calmly. Zedd nodded as he watched the dark fluid pulsing through Patrick’s veins, the last of the injection sites sealing up. Integration was a lot more steady now. No more blood, just the twitch of muscle fibers reconnecting in unfamiliar ways.

He leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “That’ll hold.”

Another check on the monitors showed the numbers all lined up. Readouts were balanced and Patrick didn’t look like he was dying anymore—just like he’d been thrown through a glass wall and survived with no broken bones.

Zedd let out a low, slow breath. “I should visit Daniel.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Bone saw whining, rib spreader cranking open with mechanical precision, blood slicking across the operating surface in abstract patterns that reminded Zedd of Rorschach tests—what did you see when you looked at the inside of a man? Hector lay splayed on the surgical platform, limbs secured with titanium clamps that wouldn’t give no matter how violently his body might seize during the procedure. Multiple robotic arms extended from ceiling mounts, each equipped with specialized tools designed for the GRIM enhancement protocol.Not just surgery—outright reconstruction.The first incision had been clean, a single precise cut from throat to pelvis. Zedd had made it himself, preferring the tactile feedback of blade through flesh over remotely operated tools for this critical first step. Blood flowed freely as mechanical clamps pulled Hector’s ribcage open with an audible crack, exposing internal organs visibly damaged by years of toxic exposure. The lungs bore the characteristic mottling of advanced pulmonary fibrosis, the liver showed the early signs of chemical degradation, and scattered throughout the torso cavity, tiny blue-black nodules of eezo-infected tissue glinted under the surgical lights.

“Commencing organ removal sequence. Subject vitals dropping but within tolerance,” ANGEL announced as the bone saw activated, beginning to separate the first limb—left arm, heavily contaminated with cancerous eezo nodules, beyond salvaging.

Robotic arms extracted the diseased lungs with methodical efficiency, the wet sound of tissue separating from cavity punctuating the otherwise clinical process. The blood-soaked organ was placed in a disposal container, syrupy red fluid dripping from its ruined alveoli. A synthetic replacement hovered nearby, its gleaming surface a stark contrast to the organic matter it would replace.

“Disgusting,” Zedd muttered, though the revulsion was professional rather than emotional—assessment, not judgment. Poor maintenance should offend any engineer. “Lungs at maybe 32% capacity, liver worse. Heart’s the only major organ not completely shot, and even that’s showing strain.” He reached elbow-deep into Hector’s chest cavity, manually severing arterial connections that the robotic arms couldn’t safely navigate through the mess of damaged tissue. “These cancer nodules have spread further than we thought. Increase extraction perimeter by 30%.”

“Compliance. Additional healthy tissue will be sacrificed to ensure complete nodule removal,” ANGEL confirmed, adjusting the surgical parameters accordingly.

The floor beneath the operating table grew slick with blood and discarded tissue—the price of transformation. Messy, but necessary. Sometimes you had to tear things apart completely before rebuilding them stronger. Entropy before order, destruction before creation. The universe operated on those exact cycles.

His hands worked almost independently from his thoughts, muscle memory and instincts he never trained guiding precise movements while his mind tracked a dozen different physiological markers. Hector’s vitals weren’t great, but they were stable enough to continue. The man was dying already—this procedure couldn’t make that worse, only potentially better. Sometimes rock bottom was the most stable foundation to build on.

“Synthetic Bio-Lung Array ready for installation.” ANGEL’s voice pulled Zedd’s attention back to the immediate task. Mechanical arms positioned the advanced replacement, its carbon nanotube alveoli and synthetic tissue matrix vastly superior to natural lungs—especially compared to the ruined pair they’d just removed. “Anchoring points prepared.”

“Install. Watch the neural connections—they need to be perfect for proprioceptive feedback.” The body needed to recognize these artificial components as self, not foreign. The brain had to be convinced. Tricked, if necessary. Whatever got the job done.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Pedro’s body suddenly convulsed, arms and legs thrashing against the fluid medium as neural pathways activated for the first time. Skin split open along programmed lines across his back, exposing muscle tissue ready for enhancement. The violence of the reaction was startling but not unexpected—new neural connections firing, brain trying to map unfamiliar sensory inputs, body responding to phantom commands.

“Hold him steady,” Zedd directed as ANGEL extended mechanical arms to pin Pedro’s limbs while carbon-nanotube actuators began threading themselves into the exposed muscle. “The muscle fiber restructuring is causing seizure response.” Normal, according to the simulations, but simulations didn’t capture the visceral reality of watching a body tear itself apart to rebuild stronger.

Pedro’s vitals spiked on the monitor—heart rate 172, blood pressure 160/95, pain response indicators maxing out despite heavy sedation. The readouts triggered a flicker of—not concern, exactly, but recalculation. Adaptation needed.

“His pain response is too active. Increase anesthetic by 15%.”

ANGEL’s monitoring system flashed yellow. “Caution—approaching respiratory depression threshold.”

“Do it anyway.”The adjustment took effect almost immediately, Pedro’s vitals settling into a more manageable range as his body continued its transformation. Muscles reformed with enhanced density, nervous system rewiring at the cellular level. Blood clouded the tank fluid, turning it from transparent blue to murky pink as hundreds of micro-incisions opened across his body, allowing the enhancement compounds direct access to tissue.

“Integration rates at 97.3% and rising. Subject displaying extraordinary neural plasticity,” ANGEL observed as Pedro’s transformation continued its course.

“Almost like he was made for this,” Zedd murmured, monitoring the cascade of changes flowing through Pedro’s system. The suspended body twitched occasionally as new neural pathways established themselves—expected response to the radical rewiring occurring at the cellular level.

A warning indicator flashed on the monitoring system. Pedro’s heartrate had spiked dangerously, body struggling to process the massive changes. Well, that was unexpected. Or rather, expected but not at this intensity. Adjust, compensate, solve.

“Cardiovascular stress exceeding safety parameters,” ANGEL warned, her tone shifting to something more urgent.

Zedd’s mind calculated possibilities, risks, interventions—a dozen different scenarios playing out simultaneously. Failure was not an option. Not with this subject, not with this procedure, not with his reputation on the line. “Administer stabilization compound beta-seven. His system just needs a push in the right direction.”

The compound would force homeostasis long enough for the enhanced cardiovascular system to take control. Risky, but calculated. 

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The nanite solution pumped faster through Patrick’s system, skin around injection sites turning gray then bruising black as microscopic machines forced their way through tissue. Blood and nanite solution leaked from some puncture points, dripping down the massive man’s body in thick rivulets.

“Nanite distribution at 32%,” ANGEL reported. “Initial subdermal layer forming.”

Integration was tracking, slow but purposeful, effective but unsteady, messy yes, but that was nothing but expected. Nanites continued their constant crawl through and beneath muscle tissue, digging into marrow, threading neural pathways like they had something to prove.

Patrick’s vitals flickered, stabilizing, then dipping again. His cranial coverage was still spotty, which was downright fucking unacceptable. You can’t leave a brain half-covered, he clicked his tongue at the thought. Not unless you’re aiming for seizures every time the lights come back on.

“Increase infusion rate in the cranial sector,” Zedd’s fingers flew across the holographic control panel, not bothering to look up as the haptics responded well enough that he had no need to. “Neural pathway coverage needs to be at one hundred percent.” Not eighty-five. Not ninety-fucking-nine. Half-measures meant half a brain, and half a brain wasn’t worth billions of dollars worth of proprietary and experimental technology.

Half a brain didn’t take fucking orders.

Or bullets.

The system response lagged for a second too long as it kicked up pressure, more than expected, and Patrick’s face twitched, almost like his body was remembering what pain felt like through the sedative fog. The man’s muscles seized and shook as his body trembled, skin rippling like something alive underneath… which… yeah, that tracked.

The red warning lights hit like a slap—pulse spike, blood pressure doing the tango. Patrick’s whole frame shuddered, muscles rippling under skin that suddenly looked wrong, like it didn’t fit right. Patrick’s body jerked against the restraints, veins bulging, blood seeping from his nose, ears, eyes.

The blood that was turning darker, shinier, and bubbling like a witch’s cauldron in front of him. Fuck me. That’s not just blood.

Zedd didn’t flinch, just gritted his teeth, mind slamming through potential fixes faster than the machines could scream. “Rejection cascade,” he muttered to himself, “14% probability my ass.” Numbers never had a sense of humor.

“Rejection cascade!” Zedd didn’t bother whispering this time as he shouted the words at ANGEL. “Anti-integration protocols now!.” Spasms hit, one after the other, muscles contracting hard enough to snap tendons if he wasn’t careful. Yeah, of course, So the body didn’t like foreign invasion, Tell me something I don’t fucking know.

“Subject’s rejecting the integration. Cellular breakdown approaching terminal threshold,” ANGEL chimed in, like he didn’t already fucking say that. He honestly didn’t know whether to appreciate the consistency or to throw something at her.

Not that he would, he wasn’t a dickhead.

“No.” Zedd didn’t even look at her. His hand already grabbed at the syringe from the tray—metallic-blue fluid swirling inside it. An emergency dose of concentrated MELD, made special for TITAN integration. Emergency being the key word here.

A needle went hard into the heart—quick, clean, precise. With a grunt, Zedd pushed the plunger hard, straight to the core and in seconds, the catalyst hit the bloodstream like a hammer.

Patrick’s heart rate spiked—like a jackhammer trying to get free of his chest and doing a damn fucking good job of it. Zedd’s hand remained on the pulse monitor, just to feel the rhythm as it sped up and up and then…

Fina-fucking-lly. The pulse finally slowed, the thing steadying up proper.

Before his eyes, the skin that had looked like it was boiling settled down, muscles eased up, and the darkened blood shifted to a more normal shade as the nanite integration process continued normally and the TITAN nanites went inactive.

“Cellular compliance increasing,” ANGEL reported, a hint of curiosity bleeding through her usually blank tone. “Rejection levels decreasing.”

Zedd snorted, wiped his hands on his translucent plastic smock, and didn’t even bother to hide the smirk he knew was written all over his face. “Knew it. You’re even stronger than you look.” Or luckier.

Both worked, honestyly. The TITAN nanites were a… fuckier process than genetic enhancement or cybernetic augmentation or even outright cross-recombination. These nanites permeated skin, bone, and marrow to form a fully integrated sybiosis within the body. The human immune system generally treated foreign material as a threat and MELD only went so far, especially when it was normally used for full-replacement, and not integration like what went into a person’s fucking marrow.

The level of stress and instability and other things that nanomaterials would cause on the body were bad enough but when you took into account the way the human body constanrly regenerated cells…

Zedd shook his head. That was something that would have to be replaced periodically as part of the symbiosis. It took him a while to figure out internal replication that way.

Patrick’s breathing evened out, chest moving like he hadn’t just been one bad cell division away from exploding. Still a little too fast, but it would hold. Zedd adjusted the cooling feeds, dialing back the heat before it could fry what was left of the organic parts. Heat was good. Melting wasn’t.

“Told you he’d hold,” Zedd muttered, more to himself than to ANGEL, as he tossed the syringe aside.

The vial slammed down to the tray and skittered to the very edge, the thing mostly spent and still leaking gray-blue MELD-fluid, a variant that would take him literal days to configure properly if he needed more.

Throwing his head back, Zedd exhaled slow, but didn’t dare relax completely.

Not until every light hit green and stayed there.

“Risk level reduced to tolerable,” ANGEL announced once more. “All systems going green, father.”

Zedd wiped his hands again, slower this time. The mess didn’t bother him at all, but it was still a lot. “If tolerable means not dead, yeah.”

Zedd’s mouth quirked sideways, almost a smile. Almost. “Not at all.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Robotic arms removed Hector’s left arm completely, the limb dropping into a waiting disposal bin with a wet thud. Bone, muscle, and skin—all contaminated with eezo nodules, all unsalvageable. The Kinetic Reinforcement Arm hovered nearby, ready for attachment—a mechanical replacement far superior to the cancer-riddled original it would replace.

“Neural bundle exposure complete,” ANGEL reported. “Prepared for cybernetic integration.”

Zedd personally oversaw the connection of artificial nerve endings to Hector’s remaining neural tissue, fingers working with inhuman precision thanks to his own enhancements. This was the critical junction point—where biology met technology in the most intimate way possible.

“This has to be perfect. The pain management systems won’t engage if we botch these connections.” His voice held no room for error. Neural integration determined whether this would be an upgrade or a torture device. The line between enhancement and punishment was microscopically thin, defined by precision rather than intention.

The mechanized limb was positioned over the shoulder socket, trailing bundles of artificial nerves like technological tentacles seeking connection. Metal prongs extended from the connection point, seeking out the exposed nerve endings in Hector’s shoulder. As contact was established, Hector’s body convulsed violently despite heavy sedation—the brain recognizing new input sources, trying to map unfamiliar sensations, building bridges between flesh and metal.

“Connection successful. Preliminary nerve response within acceptable parameters,” ANGEL confirmed as the limb’s systems initialized, metal fingers flexing in response to test signals.

One down. Zedd clicked his tongue, eyes narrowed slightly behind his blue visor. He had shifted his aviators, using their transformation ability to avoid switching eyewear. Three to go.

Both of the man’s legs, his other arn, and at least a couple dozen internal organs still waiting for their removal upgrades. Hector looked less human by the second and that was not a finished process. His limbs had been removed minutes ago, open stumps slick and glistening with red. Even patched over with a solution of Medigel and MELD, the red still shone through the blue.

The man’s torso was gutted at well, replaced with the kind of machinery that wouldn’t have been out of place in a top of the line combat mech or a personal spacecraft, not people.

His skull was open, head shaved, gray matter shimmering under the lights—neurons meeting metal. Zedd’s fingers were slick and thick with blood and cerebrospinal fluid, moving carefully and quickly even as the front of his surgery smock was covered with even more internal body juices. Some things needed human hands, even when those hands were barely human themselves.

“Unsurprisingly, brain surgery is the tricky part,” Zedd muttered with a little laugh, mostly to himself, not that ANGEL wasn’t listening and recording like a good girl. “One millimeter off and he’s a vegetable.” Not an exaggeration, no matter how much he wished it was. One wrong move and Hector’s brain would light up like a busted circuit. Zedd’s hands moved fast but precise, tracing neural paths like they were old streets he used to run, muscle memory kicking in and working alongside hands that were accurate to the literal micrometer.

Hector didn’t move. Couldn’t. Paralytics kept his remaining organic parts still, but even sedated, his body spasmed when the nanowires threaded into his cortex. Reflexive. Just biology screaming at the invasion. Zedd ignored it—had to.

One last calibration, and the neural interfaces synced up, status lights blinking green. Core systems replaced. Now for the power.

He keyed the release, and ANGEL’s arms lowered the Micro-Cell into the former slave’s still-open chest cavity. Robotic manipulators adjusted the core, the NetNavi moving according to plan as the arterial conduits began feeding power to the limbs, syncing with the makeshift heart.“Coolant flowing according to parameters,” ANGEL reported back to him what he already saw as blue fluid sprayed, washing out the blood over Hector’s body to properly reveal the network of chrome and synthetic muscle underneath.“Perfect.” Zedd stepped back, wiping a blood smear off his knuckles with the back of his sleeve. The coolant mist hung in the air, settling on Hector’s reconstructed body like dew.

The sole human surgeon in the room flicked a holographic toggle, and the external restoration phase started. Armor plates snapped into place, segmenting over the vital components. No point hiding the mechanics. Let Hector see what he’d become. Easier to accept when it’s not pretending to be human. 

“Don’t aim for human perfection.” His words were muttered but his eyes flicked to the side to see ANGEL still recording and he nodded at the NetNavi’s drone form. “Better for him to see the change. Less chance of the internal uncanny valley bullshit.”

Synthetic skin stretched over what remained of Hector’s face, seams visible around the jaw, eyes, and all the way down to the torso, where flesh met reinforced plating. One eye glowed faint white, calibrating to the new neural input. The other socket still empty, waiting for installation. Let’s fix that for Subject GRIM, now.

He adjusted the final optic, letting it click into place. The eye rotated, locked onto Zedd. No recognition yet—just automatic targeting, aligning visuals with motion. The power conduits under the translucent chest plate pulsed in rhythm, the mechanical pump replacing the heart keeping the system regulated.

He crossed his arms, eyes focused on the readouts on both the HUD in his glasses and the holograms in the air ANGEL both provided and monitored. The power distribution was optimal and the neural link held steady in the best way. All good news. Zedd couldn’t help the little grin tugging at his mouth as Hector’s brain activity flickered, stabilizing.

Zedd wiped a line of grease off his wrist, still watching the subtle rise and fall of Hector’s chest. “He wanted to live…” Zedd nodded to himself. “Now he’s practically immortal.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Hours of work, gallons of blood, and who knew how many technical miracles later, Zedd stood before all three transformed subjects. His lab looked like a combat zone—blood-spattered equipment, discarded organic matter, the accumulated debris of radical transformation. His own hands and clothing were stained with various fluids, eyes hollow from hours of intense concentration. 

Three distinct procedures. Three completely different approaches to human enhancement. One creator watching it all unfold according to plan.He glanced down at his blood-covered smock. Mostly according to plan. 

Recovery systems had initiated, all three men stable in their unconscious states as their bodies—or what remained of their original bodies—adjusted to enhancement. Monitoring screens displayed vital signs gradually stabilizing across all subjects. Three different solutions to human fragility. Three weapons forged in pain.

A holographic screen appeared to Zedd’s right, displaying a full-color image of a handsome young man in his late teens. Black hair, wearing a black bodysuit with two red shoulder guards and an upside-down red V symbol resembling an A on his chest.

“Talk about a hard day’s work, bossdad. This makes, what, four enhancements today, doesn’t it?” ADAM observed, his voice carrying that smooth, casual confidence that had been part of his programming from the beginning. His first VI turned AI turned NetNavi, and still his most reliable creation.

Zedd nodded tiredly, muscles aching from hours of surgical work even with his own enhanced physiology. “And they’ll be the last for today. Let’s hope they’re worth it.”

“Should I awaken them, father?” ANGEL asked, her accent somehow more pronounced in the quiet of the lab.

“… go for it.”

Vital signs increased across all three monitoring stations as neural activity spiked. Pedro’s tank opened, Patrick’s chamber unsealed, Hector’s support systems disengaged.

Three pairs of eyes opened.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

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