“Well, that couldn’t have gone any better to be honest. Gotta love when a plan goes off without a hitch.” Vergil says on a video call, rubbing his hand on his chest and checking his nails.

  “Without a hitch?” Larry says, face in his palm. “Prehistoric Kid changed the weather with a punch, as if all of his actions weren’t impossible to hide already.”

  “The Director will keep Ste-51 off our trail Larry, for their own sake as much as ours.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you worry too much Lare Bear?” Vergil teases.

  “You don’t take this seriously enough.” Larry mutters.

  “Course I do! Watch this,” Vergil clears his throat, “What a shame that Parker totally definitely died, that mega punch for sure, without a doubt, scattered all his particles to the wind!” Vergil knocks his fist against Ray’s containment pod before it’s hoisted up by a helicopter. “Good thing we managed to collect plenty of energy to keep Arch chugging along!”

  “This is a secure line Vergil.” Connors rubs his temple, “There’s no need for this.”

  As competent as the man is, he’s also one of the single most grating people Connors has ever had to deal with in his life, and he’s had to shake a lot of pompous hands. Still, he’s also one of the most loyal, which makes him invaluable.

  “Nothing is ever as secure as anyone thinks, boss.” Virgil winks, “Don’t worry Doc!” He grins as he goes back into performance mode. “Ray might be dead, and PK might have gotten away, but we have ourselves a consolation prize.”

  Vergil waves the helicopter off and waltzes across the grassy field, pointing the camera at a splash of green blood. He zooms in, showing various insects and other arthropods feeding off the green liquid. Most simply drink, collect a high value meal and make their way off, most.

  Connors watches one of the hundred, if not thousands of ants, as it drinks, then it suddenly keels over, dead. A butterfly lands and sips in the green, the veins in its wings quickly glowing the emerald shade. It tries to fly away, but its exoskeleton suddenly splits, scales and feathers pouring out of it. It falls to the ground, its body continuing to swell, until it pops like a pimple, Vergil blocking the viscera so it doesn’t mix with Timothy’s blood.

  Vergil moves the camera, and points it as the raptor, pinning something down. He walks over and around to get a clear view of a giant Mosquito, blue-green scales replacing its exoskeleton. Its abdomen now looks like a thick, stubby lizard tail, and white fur grows around its head and thrax. Its wings look like a hybrid of insect and pterosaur wings, red with black splotches and reflecting beautifully in the sun.

  “Looks like the overgrown lizard’s blood is even more than what we were hoping for.” Vergil flicks the mutant's antenna, then sighs. “Looks like I’ m going to have to cancel my dinner plans, no lobster mac for me.”

  “Stop... stop joking about eating me.” Larry grumbles.

  “How much blood is there?” Connors asks.

  “Gallons back at the power plant, Ray messed up our superhero real good.”

  A blessing and a curse then, it was always the plan for Prehistoric Kid to apprehend Ray, to fake his death. Vergil would gather data on the full extent of the child’s powers, and use the information to curb the Director’s want to interfere. But this blood? The Tyrannosaur’s cells were charged with energy, but it was nothing like this.

  Grant taps his finger against his desk as he watches the mosquito struggle to escape. A blessing and a curse, the blood will nigh guarantee a satiated Director, but also will attract the attention of Scalpel.

  Hell it has Grant’s attention, what exactly did it do that insect? Did it hybridize it with multiple other species all coiled up in that oh so complex genetic code? Is it stronger, more durable, than it should be? Does it have accelerated healing, a vulnerability to electricity? Just how much does this insect have in common with Timothy Chapman, and does it hold the secret to curing Larry Carsus?

  “I’d suggest a clean up via more official channels, say there’s a biohazard and that yadda yadda,” Vergil continues. “Which is true I guess, don’t even need to add another lie to the pile.”

  “I already assumed there was going to be some sort of fallout, a hazmat team is already on their way.”

  “A step ahead of me? You’re making me feel inadequate, boss.”

  “Just make sure there’s no other mutants that get loose, Vergil, let’s make sure the rest of the day also goes without a hitch.”

  “Righty O! See you all at home soon sweeties!”

  Grant leans back in his chair and pinches the ridge of his nose. He looks over to his woodpecker, to Ophelia’s books, and wonders what she’d do if she found out about all this.

  After all, she nearly recruited Prehistoric Kid to their internship program, she was impressed with the boy. What would she do if she found out Grant is using him like a pawn? Or maybe something like a Rook or Knight, is more astute.

  “Want to wind down with Brandy and chess?” Grant looks at Larry, still hunched over, face still in his human hand.

  “How can you think of… drinking, at a time like this?”

  “I’m not going to get drunk and spill all of our secrets, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m worried that we’re going to end up dead. ”Larry shakes his head, “Grant, we can’t do this.”

  “We need to do this Larry, or are you really content with staying under Felix’s boot for the rest of your life?”

  “No, of course I don’t want to! As soon as we found out he worked for the Nazis I said we should leave, run.”

  “Don’t do this again.” Grant pours his glass.

  “But you were the one who wanted to stay, convinced me to stay, and now look at me! I'm the one paying for all the blood on both our hands.”

  “Once he’s dealt with Larry, we can make things right.”

  “Dealt with.” Larry shakes his head, “You’re understating him, putting too much faith in Vergil, in a child.”

  “The child is the perfect opportunity damn it!” Grant slams his fist on his desk. ”We just need to position him against Scalpel. Make sure he's at his strongest, then—”

  “Hope that Scalpel or Director doesn’t have anything as strong as him, Grant? That they don’t have any other irons in the fire besides Arch and the Sites?”

  “I’m done sitting back and doing nothing, having my fortune, my future dictated—”

  “Done having yours dictated, but not done dictating.”

  God Grant hates when Larry gets like this, is bad enough that most of the time he’s sniveling, spineless, and then he decides to finally grow one at the worst moments.

  “Damn it Carsus, you took the money too!” Grant slams back his Brandy.

  “Because you put me in debt!”

  “Stop pretending like your hands are clean in this!” Grant shoots up from his desk, knocking his chair over. “Who dismembered still living anomalies, people, immune to anesthesia, under his direction? Who’s created abominations never meant for sentience, who recorded the data of them going mad? Who’s, personally, grafted anomalous skin onto unsuspecting volunteers? Homeless, high, just trying to get their next meal? Watch them die and incinerate their bodies? You, Doctor Carsus,” Grant jabs his finger into Larry’s exoskeleton, “you and me both. At least I have... have the wherewithal to be tired of it.”

  Larry shrinks away, but his claw flexes, holes opening between his fingers, a brown liquid dripping out.

  “Go on, do it,” Grant straightens his back, adjusts his tie. “Use your powers on me, turn me into one of your freakish thralls.”

  Larry stares at the ground, at the pooling bile coming from his hand.

  “No? Why not? You want out don’t you?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “Stop it Grant.”

  “If you do it, you can tell Scalpel all about everything we’ve been up to, blame it all on me and Vergil.”

  “Stop.”

  “Become his right hand man, you’d like that, wouldn't you?”

  Larry flex both his hands, and the pores shut.

  “No, I didn’t think so.” Grant turns his back on Larry and walks back to his desk.

  He grabs another class, fills it to the brim, then forces it into Carsus’s human hand.

  “Drink.”

  Larry keeps his eyes on the ground, and takes a sip.

  “Good man.” Grant pats his shellfish half. “I know you’re scared, but you don’t need to worry, I have enough guts for the both of us.”

  ***

  “You failed.” Dove sneers through a flurry of feathers.

  “I don’t need a daily check up, child.” Grant taps the amber on his cane as he watches scientists feed small amounts of Prehistoric Kid’s blood into a machine.

  “You didn’t secure Raymond Parker or the source anomaly.” Dove stands beside him, curiously watching the processes.

  “Would you like to know what they’re doing?”

  Her eyes light up for a moment, and then she tries to snuff the shine out.

  “Hardly.” She scoffs.

  “Mhmm, what are you doing here girl?”

  “As I said, you failed Connors, I’m here to see the extent of it.”

  “The extent?” Grant scoffs, “I didn’t fully succeed, but the extent of what I accomplished more than makes up for any losses the Director perceives.”

  “I never took you for delusional, Doctor.” Dove says smugly.

  “And I didn’t know you and your master couldn’t see the bigger picture.”

  “Tsk.” Dove glares through her mask, “Explain then.”

  “I know you didn’t quite make the cut, but all the candidates for Vanguard are supposed to be nigh geniuses, are they not?”

  “I did make the cut.” Her confident facade falters, “Just not the Harbingers.”

  “The silver and purple flash is wondrous, isn’t it?”

  “Stop dancing around the subject Connors, this stalling won't help you.”

  “We anticipated the possibility that Ray would become unstable, gorging himself on all that energy, so we took measures to collect his energy should he destabilize and die. We collected more than enough energy to continue to power Arch, we will continue to run off the grid and remain undetected.”

  He still needs to have a conversation with Ray, get that Ace into his sleeve. It should be simple enough, Vergil agrees, after all, Raymond is of simple mind. An offer of money, power, revenge, and stabilizing his form should be all that’s needed.

  “For how long?” Dove tilts her head.

  “Assuming we maintain our current levels of operation, five years.”

  “And what about the boy playing pretend?”

  “He defeated Ray in single combat, blew away miles of cloud cover with a single punch, what about him? How does your master expect me to deal with that level of power? I’d be more concerned with how the Director will keep the rest of the 0-6 from investigating.”

  “The matter is handled, unlike the Prehistoric Kid.”

  “If you ever meet him, don’t add that ‘the’ to his name. I expect he’d run it into the ground.”

  “Glad to see you have a sense of humor in the face of your dire situation Connors.”

  “Because it isn’t dire, it’s only been hours and Prehistoric Kid’s blood is already providing more than we could ever dream. It in and of itself is an energy source, a source anomaly.”

  “All the more reason to capture Prehistoric Kid, something the Director will now be in charge of.”

  “Excuse me?” Grant feels his face go hot as he glared down at the child, grinding his teeth.

  “He’s decided that, if Scalpel had never put a normal human in charge, none of these complications would have occurred.” Dove shrugs and paces to the guardrail, leaning her back against it.

  “Complications when dealing with anomalies are inevitable, tell them—“

  “It doesn’t even start with the escape, that explosion should’ve never happened, the pretend hero should’ve never gotten his powers.” She paces over to an elevator and presses the call button.

  “He can’t do this, he—“

  “You forget your place, Doctor,” Dove mocks as the elevator arrives. “The Director will be visiting soon, and I’ll be making a preliminary list of assets to liquify, try your—”

  Grant stops listening, his heart skips a beat, and sweat quickly builds on his brow, as a slender, mechanical finger stretches through the door. Five more follow, creep behind Dove without a sound, without her noticing, and plucks the mask from her face.

  Her wings explode from her back, fractal lights forming in her hands and crystalizing into a scimitar and shield. She wheels around in the air, shield and sword raised, only to stop dead in her tracks.

  “Sc- Scalpel!” Her wings and weapons dissipate and she falls to the ground. “I’m sorry! I would-

  I didn’t—”

  “Fraulein Dove! It's been years!” Scalpel outstretches his arms, and those spider-like fingers, embracing her. “Look how you’ve grown! I remember when your half dead corpse was smuggled out of Site-51 and delivered to me,” He chuckles. “A shame the cosmic energy altered you so, I would’ve loved to get a close up look at Herr MacArthur’s work.”

  Words keep trying to form on Dove’s lips, but each time they fail her, and she just stands flabbergasted. It’d be a satisfying sight, if Grant’s skin wasn’t crawling, if he wasn’t also terrified.

  “Still making you wear this hm?” Scalpel brings the mask to his face, “You tell your Director I said your face is far too pretty to hide.” One of his fingers moves under her chin, its tip opening into a clasp and grabbing a hold, moving her head around as his spectacles zoom in and out. “Too pretty, and too soft.”

  “I- I’m here to form a preliminary list for—”

  “Oh I know my sweet.” Scalpel tilts her chin further up, “tell our little Director that I’ve decided to handle things here personally.” He finally lets her chin go, then tosses the mask off the catwalk and out of sight.

  Grant takes a hesitant step forward, “Must you bother the girl Felix?”

  “Bah.” Scalpel says and ruffles her hair, “Children are made to pester and to be pestered, you’d know that if you ever settled down.”

  “As if you don’t have anything to do with that, keeping me as busy as you do. How is your boy, by the way?”

  “Daniel is doing magnificent!” Scalpel leaves Dove and snatches Grant’s hand, shaking it and patting his shoulder. “He’s already smarter than us all put together, I promise you.”

  “Oh? No chance it's just a prideful father boasting.”

  “Not an iota of one.” Scalpel almost challenges.

  Grant chuckles nervously, “Honestly Felix, I was expecting you to show up, but not this soon.”

  “Oh my boy, I just couldn't resist!” Scalpel turns to Dove, “You may go now fraulein,” then back to Grant. “Even just from your initial findings, my interest in the blood is peaked! The boy as well, oh I have so many ideas my friend!” Scalpel clasps his hands together.

  Grant glances at Dove standing there, stunned, and can’t help but feel a small pang of sympathy for the child before she teleports away. After all, he’s been through what just happened plenty of times.

  “I assume you want hands on with the samples?” Grant asks as he guides Scalpel into the lab.

  “Oh you know me so well,” He chuckles.

  As soon as they enter, Scalpel begins to pluck anything and everything that catches his eye, and then approaches a centrifuge. His fingers stretch out and clasp onto equipment all over the room, pulling the machinery towards him despite some weighing in excess of a thousand pounds.

  He flips switches and plugs things in, mixes solutions in test tubes and watches the bubble.

  “Tell me Herr Grant, where is Herr Carsus?”

  “He’ll be here soon, he’s undergoing some pain therapy at the moment.”

  “Ah, an unfortunate side effect of his new body, but he is truly beautiful now, isn’t he?”

  Grant opens his mouth to answer but Scalpel quickly moves on.

  “Speaking of beautiful, Prehistoric Kid, his psychological profile mentioned an intense hatred for street drugs?”

  “It would appear so, yes.”

  What sort of line of questioning is this? Never in his life would Grant guess that Scalpel’s first question about Prehistoric Kid would be about his psychology. If anything, Grant expected Scalpel to ask if he had found any practical uses of the blood to create new anomalies.

  “Ah, excellent, wunderbar!” The German chuckles. “And mein Gott! Despite its complexity this DNA is shockingly easy to work with!”

  For someone as... anonymously intelligent as Scalpel, Grant is sure it is. While he and Carsus needed the madman’s tutelage to become as skilled as they are today, they’re still leaders in all things genetics related, and they had done plenty of work on the Tyrannosaur specimen. Yet, they had barely begun piecing together even the inkling of ideas on how to properly use Timothy’s blood.

  “What exactly are you doing Felix?” Grant asks, stepping to Scalpel’s side.

  “Look here my boy, a few chemicals here, a bonding protein there, and voila, look how it bonds with this fly DNA, dog DNA, human DNA.”

  He makes it sound so simple, but it’d take Grant and a room full of the best and brightest hundred years to barely see results like these. He wants to know how Scalpel did it, how he even thought to do it, but after all these years, he knows there’s no point in asking.

  “It instantly mutates, hybridizes, and then the DNA returns to normal. For the most part.” Scalpel shrugs, “Look, the more you do it, the more the DNA unravels, like being exposed to nuclear energy. Though, I suspect there’ll be more and less compatible individuals.”

  “This is amazing as usual Felix, but what does it have to do with your question?” Grant raises an eyebrow.

  “The Director was very eager to capitalize on recent events, do you know why?”

  “Ambition?”

  “That, and he’ll need a new project soon enough.”

  Grant shudders at the implication.

  “In order to expedite things, and help achieve our goals, I’ve decided to opt into a bit of a game.” Scalpel chuckles, and holds a vial of green blood in front of his face. “We just need to lure the pieces onto the board. Say my boy, if there was to be a new designer drug that hits the streets, what would you think of the name, Fossil Fuel?”