trigger warnings : blood, violence
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧
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A sleek Corvette pulled up to the curb of the garage, the driver's window sliding down to reveal a stunning woman with pretty eyes and a sly smile.
"What's your name, angel?" she called out to the gorgeous redhead in a low-cut, skintight black dress. Not revealing enough to be labeled "inappropriate," but enough to be more than a little distracting.
Glancing up from her phone, her incisive eyes met that of her admirer. She wore an all black, kevlar suit that hugged her curves as much as it served to protect them, giving her unique lilac-blue eyes, now more of a darkened violet in the shadows of the garage, a much stronger effect, if that was even possible.
The question had the redhead blushing, which was a very new sensation. She didn't get flustered very easily.
"Cassie Flores," she replied, sauntering up to the vehicle to lean through the open window, her arms crossed against the window frame. "What's yours, stranger?"
Truth didn't dare look away from her eyes, well aware that it'd be that much harder to abstain from openly admiring the woman before her. Not that that was very difficult because Natasha's eyes were just as captivating as the rest of her.
"I'm afraid I'm not giving out any names tonight, darling," she drawled out. "But, in an act of good faith, how about I give you a ride instead?"
Natasha couldn't hold back her smile.
"You drive a hard bargain, princess."
Once Natasha was settled, Truth started the drive to Alexandria, Virginia, a short thirty-minute commute from the Triskelion. As planned, they used the time to go over the parameters of the mission.
Natasha would be going undercover as a waitress, acting as Truth's eyes and ears. Her one goal was to identify their target and plant a bug on him, which would hopefully give them some clue as to what he was up to.
"Can I ask how the whole 'monitoring' thing is supposed to work?" Natasha had asked at one point. "We don't have any facial recognition software, no comms, and no recording devices other than the bug."
"Don't need comms when you have telepathy," Truth reminded, "and the same goes with FRS and recordings. Monitoring means I'll be following you mentally—I'll see and hear what you see and hear. I also have hyperthymesia—a perfect memory. I already took a look at the official guest list, which I'll use as a cross-reference, and anyone I don't recognize I can upload into the system."
Natasha blinked.
"That sounds...complicated."
Truth smirked.
"Not really. Despite how it sounds, it actually takes little to no effort for me to do. I'm used to processing a lot of information at once."
"Which is why you get overstimulated sometimes," Natasha guessed. "Like at the grocery store or the Canteen."
"Exactly. I hear everything tenfold, and my awareness is divided. I've definitely gotten better at it, but if I'm not focused enough it starts to get to me."
Natasha leaned forward, resting her elbow on the console with her chin on her closed fist, listening to Truth intently as she drove.
"How do you manage it all?" she asked.
"Compartmentalize. Tune out all the excess stuff to stay sane, only focusing on what I need to. I give myself breaks, meditate...it's definitely resulted in me having a lot of hobbies to distract myself. It's also why I listen to music a lot—it blocks out everything else when I can't."
Natasha liked learning more about this side of Truth Castello. She felt as though she was seeing another part of her that not many people were privy to, and, for some odd reason, it greatly pleased Natasha to know that Truth had given her that privilege after the entirety of everything.
"Anything else I should know before things start getting serious?"
Truth glanced away from the road for a moment to meet her eyes briefly.
"If at any point during this mission you feel uncomfortable, tell me. We don't have to do the telepathy if you don't want to—not a lot of people like the idea of having someone else 'in their head,' though it...doesn't really work like that. You control what I see. It's like I'm peering at the pages of a book, but you're turning the page. If you don't want me to see or hear anything, then you can skim past it. I can promise you that I won't ever purposefully invade your privacy like that."
Natasha nodded.
"I know. I trust you."
Truth met Natasha's eyes once more, a hint of a smile on her lips.
"I trust you, too."
Truth dropped Natasha off near the entrance to the venue well before the start of the party. With Natasha as a waitress, it was customary for her to arrive before the guests and be ready to serve at any and all times. S.H.I.E.L.D. had already moved around the roster, so no one should question her place tonight—and, if they did, the records would show that she's a new transfer, starting her first night on the job.
The early start also gave some Truth time to set up. She parked the car in a secluded, forested area a little ways behind the building, which should give her some privacy, but also keep her close enough to step in at any time if she had to. Her suit was already on, all of her weapons and gadgets in place. The only thing she didn't have on her was her whip, which she'd thrown into the backseat after she'd picked the car up from S.H.I.E.L.D. She didn't expect to have to use it, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Taking out her S.H.I.E.L.D. issued computer, she pulled up the blueprints of the building in the corner of her screen as a reference. She'd already studied it beforehand, but it would be helpful to have it in sight if at any point in time she lost Natasha or needed to guide her out of a tough situation.
As she was opening her cross-reference sheet, Natasha directed a thought to her.
Can you hear me?
Truth smirked to herself.
Loud and clear, Widow. Having doubts already?
Considering that you're hundreds of yards away with several walls of concrete between us, I was maybe a little skeptical. Concentrating on Natasha's view, Truth noticed that she was busy setting up behind the bar. How are you supposed to hear me when crowds of people start walking in?
Easy. Your mind would be the easiest for me to locate because it's familiar to me now. Everyone has a signature specific to them—some kind of frequency or feel that separates them from everyone else. Because I know your signature, I know what to look for if I ever lose track of you.
Natasha hummed quietly to herself. She was alone at the bar as of now, the other waitresses setting up their stations in other rooms, but she kept her eyes peeled on her surroundings.
What is my signature like?
Tapping on the keys of her laptop, Truth thought about the question for a moment.
It's like the ocean, she realized. Guarded, full of secrets, but a calm, steady focal point. I've met people who have loud, obnoxious minds, and others with fleeting, shallow thoughts, but yours are direct, focused, and honest. It's alluring, like the distant sound of a light rain. I could fall asleep just listening to it.
As she answered, Natasha slowly lost focus on cleaning the wine glass in her hand, fully absorbed in the way Truth spoke.
The way she spoke about her.
Truth Castello spoke about Natasha Romanoff in ways she didn't know how to comprehend. She kept thinking she's not talking about me, but she most definitely was. It made Natasha feel lightheaded, and she had to take a few moments to breathe before she picked up the glass again to resume her task, keeping herself focused. They couldn't afford for her to be distracted, no matter how impossible that was when she was with Truth.
The first couple of guests walked in at 7:03 p.m., introducing themselves to the host, who Truth identified as a member of the U.S. Department of State. As people began trickling in at a steady rate, Truth read off the names to Natasha, identifying ambassadors and delegates and other important figures in the international world of politics. A lot of "big name" people were there, and so was a lot of security.
Our target just arrived, Truth announced as Natasha was serving a middle-aged couple two glasses of champagne. On your six.
With a friendly smile, Natasha turned away from their table, her eyes locking onto a man wearing a simple three-piece suit, far cheaper than any hat anyone was wearing tonight. He shook hands with the host, fiddling with the hem of his baby blue jacket as he scanned the crowd.
His name is Joseph Getty, one of Cybertek's scientists, Truth continued. He came alone, and...he's looking for someone, but it doesn't look like they're here yet. Seems to be out of his depth.
That was an understatement. To Natasha, he looked like he wanted to bolt at the slightest trigger.
Less work for me, Natasha replied. She headed back to the bar to pick up a couple more pre-made drinks. Are we sure Cybertek sent him? He wouldn't be my first choice as a salesman.
Looking into it now. He's nervous, though—thinks he's being stood up.
Natasha thought about this as she strolled toward the front of the room, where the guests seemed to huddle in groups, stopping to talk to a familiar face or forge prolific connections. Here, she overheard several political conversations, everyone aiming to fix their own agenda.
The political world wasn't so much different from the world of espionage. Maybe a little less murder and treason, but the sentiments were still there.
After handing out a couple more drinks, Natasha did an about-face, intending to head back to the bar for another refill when she bumped into the person behind her, who was also struggling to navigate through the crowd.
The collision had Natasha—now Cassie—fumbling with her serving tray, desperately trying to keep it from clashing to the ground and alerting her boss of her mistake as she gripped the man's lapels to keep from falling.
"I'm so—oh my God, I'm so sorry," she stuttered as an arm slid across her lower back, keeping her balanced. Now that she was stable, she managed to once again balance the tray on her palm, her fingers gripping the edge just in case. Glancing up, she met a pair of dark eyes and blushed, embarrassed. "I'm—I'm so sorry, I didn't see you—"
"It's—no, it's perfectly fine, it's my fault," the man insisted. Then, upon realizing that he was still holding onto her, he gave a nervous laugh and put some space between them, notably looking anywhere but her cleavage supported by the little black dress. In an attempt to make things less awkward, he gestured to her empty tray. "At least there weren't any drinks on it! That would've been..."
"Bad?" Cassie guessed, trying to catch her breath after the almost accident. She looked down at the floor nervously before glancing up once more with a shaky chuckle. "More like I would've been sent home on my first day."
"It's your first day?" he questioned, bringing a hand up to scratch his head. "I mean, wow, I just—I just never would've guessed."
Cassie pursed her lips, unsure if that was meant as a compliment or if he was making fun of her.
"Thanks," she said, though she didn't really mean it. Eyes darting for an exit, Cassie gestured to the general direction of the bar. "I should probably—"
"Yeah!" he exclaimed, moving aside so she could squeeze past him. "Please. I didn't mean to, uh, distract you or anything..."
"It's fine," Cassie assured, scooting past him as she used her thumb to gesture behind her. "I'll just—"
"Yeah! Have a great, uh, rest of your night."
Once alone behind the safety of the bar, Natasha shed her act as she put up her tray and opened a new bottle of wine.
Bug's planted, she updated. Also, that man is not here for Cybertek.
Got it, came Truth's reply, and, what makes you say that?
He doesn't have an ounce of field experience. He's awkward, pulls at his suit uncomfortably as if his mother bought it for him, and I'd be surprised if he's ever had a girlfriend.
Aw, but he sounded charming, Truth joked. He did his best. Gold star for effort.
Natasha refrained from rolling her eyes, but ended up filling the next round of glasses with a hint of a smile on her lips.
Well, I have a feeling that some time tonight he's going to get his gold star revoked.
You're probably right about that, Truth agreed. And, you're also probably right about him and Cybertek. You don't think he's a double agent, though, do you?
Well, Natasha said, we're about to find out.
It was another thirty minutes before Natasha spotted Getty disappearing into one of the halls surrounding the expansive room.
And, it was only a couple minutes after that when Truth heard other voices through the bug. She quickly checked to make sure the output was syncing to her laptop correctly before filling Natasha in.
I'm still keeping tabs on you, Truth informed, but I'll be bouncing back and forth to monitor Getty and figure out who he's with. If you need to tell me anything or are in some kind of trouble, just call out to me.
How do I do that? Natasha asked. I'm assuming I'm not supposed to just shout out your name in a room full of old men trying to play nice.
No, Natasha. Just...think really loud, like you're extending your thoughts to me. I promise it's not as hard as it sounds, and you've done it before.
Natasha thought about this for a moment.
When did I—
Natasha!
So, just like that?
If Truth could've accurately transmitted her groan of annoyance, she would've. Instead, she gave Natasha a little taste of her irritation before tuning into the meeting, leaving Natasha to fight the urge to laugh as she filled another glass.
The room Getty entered was lavish with expensive couches decorated with floral fabric and trims of gold, a rich brown coffee table seated in the middle of the space beneath a glass chandelier. A number of people were already in the room, and Truth did a quick mental scan to determine their identities. Most were bodyguards posted at the windows and doors, blocking every point of escape, and others guarded a woman who, through the eyes of Getty, looked stern and determined, the greys of her hair a token to the trials of her life.
Truth recognized her. She was a popular politician, one who was steadily building her political standing in D.C., aiming to make a place for herself in the Capitol. Other than that, Truth didn't know much about her, let alone why she was in contact with Cybertek or why she needed a security team of a dozen at an event that already had it's own expansive set of security.
"Took you long enough," Judy Warner sniped at the man, standing to meet him with an angry glare. Truth frowned at the woman's rudeness. "Where is it?!"
Getty fumbled, attempting to take something out from the inside of his jacket, only his nerves and the intimidating woman in front of him had him scrambling.
"Uh, there was a, um..." Eventually, he pulled it out, revealing a small black tablet with the Cybertek logo on the back. Though unseen by the scientist, a number of the men in black suits removed their hands from their concealed weapons. "The, um, product you asked me for? There was a slight...complication."
"We don't have all day," she snapped. "Where is it?"
"It's not—" Getty stopped himself, forcing himself to calm down as he unlocked the tablet. "I don't have it, but if you just let me show you—"
"What do you mean 'you don't have it'? I gave you two days to have it ready by tonight."
"And I would've but...they moved it," he said. He moved to sit in an empty seat with Warner stepping over to observe. On the screen was an intricate floor plan, though Getty was doing too much on the screen for Truth to get a good look at it. "It was supposed to be in storage, but, by the time I got there, it was no longer there and I swear I looked everywhere, and it was there the day before—"
"Spit it out, Getty, I don't have all day," Warner griped.
"It's...it's at an auction."
He pulled up a screen, giving them a view of an invitation to a gala in Germany, hosted by—
"Fuck," Truth muttered, the word sharp in the silence of the car.
It was hosted by Alec Keil. The man who was now working with HYDRA.
"How do you get in?" Warner questioned.
"You need an invite. And, because I helped design it—"
"You have one," she finished. Getty looked back at her, his face hopeful.
"Exactly! The gala's only tomorrow night, and, I mean, you have the money, right? I can get you in and it'll be yours."
Warner stepped to the side, looking at the scientist intently.
"Is the invite specific to each person?" she asked. "For instance, would it be possible that anyone could use your invite to enter the auction without you being there?"
Truth!
Almost immediately, Truth shifted her attention from the meeting, relying on the bug to stay in the loop as she located Natasha on the main floor of the estate.
I'm here, she replied. What happened?
We've got company. Natasha glanced at one of the windows in her line of sight. They were hard to spot in the dark, but she was able to track their movement. People in black uniforms surrounding the building. There has to be more than a dozen.
"I mean," came Getty's voice through the bug, "yeah, I guess. It's not unusual to have a plus one, and I've known people who sent others in their place for these kinds of events."
Everything seemed to freeze in that moment, the air tightening as though anticipating the brunt of a storm.
"So, in other words..." Truth heard the familiar click of a loaded gun. "You're no longer needed."
Truth slammed her computer shut, jumping out of the car.
Natasha, get down!
The rain of gunfire was instant, followed by a chorus of screams and chaos as guests scrambled for cover, tables and chairs and statues crashing to the ground as the bodies dropped in bulk, blood splattering onto the floor. Natasha stayed crouched beneath the bar, pulling two knives out of her thigh sheaths as she assessed the situation, her eyes adjusting to the new blanket of darkness surrounding her as the lights shattered above. In just a few moments, the room quieted, the silence of the dead drowning out the cries of the living, though Natasha could still hear the thunderous steps of the soldiers as they stormed past. Just as Natasha's muscles tensed, feeling a presence much too close for comfort, Truth's voice cut through her mind.
Do not engage, she ordered. Pursing her lips, Natasha sat back on her heels at the command. They aren't here for you.
That was somewhat reassuring.
How many? she asked.
Couple dozen, Truth answered. She now observed the scene from the vantage point of a tall tree hidden in the foliage behind the estate, spotting Warner and her guards sneaking out through a back entrance, away from the soldiers and their merciless reign of terror. Shifting her weight, she watched the soldiers through the fourth-floor window, following them as they found the body of Joseph Getty and began tearing the room apart quickly and efficiently before moving to the next room.
They're hunting her, she realized. They think she has what they're looking for.
Well. It certainly explained her bodyguards. Her paranoia seemed to be reasonable, now, considering the circumstances.
Something was telling Truth that there was a lot more happening at this event than S.H.I.E.L.D. had bargained for.
They're leaving, Truth informed Natasha once she caught sight of the armed soldiers exiting the building in perfectly ordered lines, searching the outskirts for anything they missed before piling into their all black, bulletproof SUVs. Squinting, Truth managed to catch a glimpse of a white mark on the sleeve of a soldier, finding the overlapping circles familiar.
Though, if that symbol was what she thought it was...
Once her side was clear, Truth dropped down from her branch, landing on the soft grass in a crouch before making her way to the building.
Is everything okay? she questioned.
Natasha stood up from her cover, taking in the destruction left behind. The lights were still off, but she could see people moving, tending to the person next to them who was either sobbing or injured or both. She didn't see many bodies, which was surprising considering the amount of gunfire.
Peachy, came her reply. Sheathing her weapons, she stepped from out of the bar to help one of the other waitresses up. What's the plan now?
Studying the side of the estate, noting the dents and weathering in the bricks, Truth took a step back.
Gonna do a little scouting, see what's left. Do you have your phone on you?
Natasha snagged a device she'd spotted on one of the still upright tables. It belonged to one of the men she'd served, and she typed in the passcode she'd seen him use when he'd tried to charm her into a good time, with very little regard to the gold band on his left ring finger.
I have one now, she replied.
Truth snorted. With a short running start, she jumped, her right hand catching onto a small ledge a little less than a dozen feet off the ground. Truth pulled herself up easily, her feet finding purchase in the nicks of the hardened clay.
Call the authorities for me? she asked. I don't know if the alarm system went off, and I have a feeling that there's not much, if any, security left to call for backup. Also, I might be a minute, so don't wait up for me if you don't want to.
It only took Truth about a couple of seconds to reach the fourth-floor window, breaking the jagged edges a little more before she climbed inside, the glass crunching beneath her boots.
The room was shrouded in shadows, and it told a story of murder with an air of desperation and rage.
Truth stepped closer to the body once she'd identified it, being sure to sidestep the growing pool of blood.
Joseph Getty had been a tall, white man with brown eyes. He had an older brother who worked in the army with a family of his own. His father had died when he was a child, and his mother had recently been admitted into the hospital.
One of his last thoughts had been about her. He had hoped that he could visit her sometime this week, once everything had died down.
Truth lifted a hand to close his eyes.
"Aionía tou i mními," she muttered.
May his memory be eternal.
In her sweep of the room, she didn't find much amiss. There were no cameras, no items left behind in a rush. She was unsure if anyone actually lived at the estate, or if it was just a venue for public events such as this one. There were no picture frames or personal belongings, and she wondered at the history of the place.
She was sure that after this there would be little celebration held here anymore. They might see it as a bad omen of sorts, a beautiful architectural structure turned into a ghost story, haunted by the bad that outshines all the good.
Truth didn't like the feeling that death left behind. It was like it lingered in the air, like she could feel the souls of the dead brush past her as they left their bodies, could hear their last thoughts before they faded away.
As a kid it had been much easier to handle, if only because her abilities were not as strong as they were now and that Truth no longer turned a blind eye to humanity and all of its overbearing emotions that made living so much harder. But, even then, she'd avoided the touch of the dead like the plague. Once she completed a kill, she retreated so far into herself, numbing the lingering shadows to better forge herself into the weapon that they had wanted her to be.
But, she wasn't a weapon now. So, instead of ignoring the dead, she mourned them, committing their names to memory. Through her, her victims and the victims of others lived.
Unless they deserved it. In that case, Truth never spared them a second thought.
Sorting through some more broken glass, Truth eventually found something interesting. Brushing the debris aside, the Cybertek logo stared back at her.
It was Getty's tablet.
Picking it up, she tried to turn it on. The screen was cracked rather badly, but it was still manageable and seemed to be working just fine.
Grabbing a still-upright chair, Truth sat down as she stared at the device, typing in the code she'd seen Getty use when she was in his head. The screen opened to the gala invitation, which she took a picture of using her phone before she tried her hand at finding some more answers, her eyebrows scrunched in concentration.
A few minutes had passed when someone else entered the room silently. Truth didn't even look up from her task.
"Hey," Natasha said, moving to stand behind her.
"Hey," Truth replied distractedly. "Didn't feel like waiting?"
"Got bored. Authorities are on their way, but I had to walk a bit to find service. The rest of the guests and staff have moved into the back rooms, taking care of the wounded."
Truth hummed.
"How many dead?"
"Twenty-four by my count, but I haven't checked the rest of the building. Most were security guards."
The other assassin nodded. Then, with furrowed brows, she glanced up at Natasha.
"How'd you know I was here?"
Natasha raised a brow, glancing pointedly at the door that swung off its hinges.
"I followed the destruction," she explained matter-of-factually. "Used my deductive reasoning skills and figured you'd plant yourself right in the middle of the chaos."
Then she paused for effect, and Truth waited, suspicious of what she planned to say next.
"Also, I heard you rummaging around—"
Truth faced Natasha with a severely offended expression. To say such a thing to a professional spy was more than insulting.
"You didn't hear me."
Natasha simply looked back at her.
"Yeah, I did."
Truth studied her, trying to figure out what her play was. Truth had been immeasurably silent, even as she had climbed through the window and treaded lightly on the broken glass. It was more possible Natasha had sensed her presence, depending on how accurate her senses were, but to say that Truth was "rummaging around"? More so, she didn't understand Natasha's attempt to convince her when—
Truth gaped at her.
"Are you testing me, Romanoff?"
Natasha only smirked.
"You're testing me," Truth realized. Taken off guard, she turned back to the screen while shaking her head, unable to hide her growing smile at Natasha's ridiculousness. "You like playing with fire, don't you?"
Natasha's smile grew as well, and she moved to sit on the armrest of the chair, knees crossed, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs. Truth had the instinct to put an arm around her waist in support, but opted to simply shift over in the seat to give her more space, unsure if the other woman wanted her touch. For good measure, Truth kept her eyes trained on the screen before her, electing to ignore the warmth and closeness of Natasha's body beside her.
"So, you could tell I was lying?" Natasha asked.
"Yes," Truth answered, her eyebrows furrowed as she once again tried to navigate the complex system. "Though, you weren't full out lying. You didn't hear me, like I had said," she added with an accusatory glance, "but there was probably something else that led you to believe I was here."
Natasha's eyebrows rose, impressed with her accuracy.
"You're right. I didn't hear you, but I could feel some kind of movement nearby. Is it usually easy for you to tell the difference between a lie and a half-lie? How does that work?"
"Full lies are much more noticeable," she explained. "It's like this switch goes off in my brain and triggers my inducement as if I'm in fight-or-flight mode. What just happened was more of a combination of a sixth sense that there was more to what you were saying and my own 'deductive reasoning' that it was unlikely that you heard me."
Natasha nodded thoughtfully.
"So, if I said something like 'my favorite color is blue,' what do you get from that?"
Truth raised a brow at the question as she tapped at the screen.
"You have a favorite color?"
Natasha leaned closer, her arm brushing against Truth's shoulder.
"I don't know," she answered quietly, watching Truth closely. "Do I?"
After another failed attempt at getting pass a firewall, Truth leaned her head back against the chair in frustration, looking up only to find Natasha staring down at her, her eyes searching her face. With the slightest tilt of her lips, Truth studied her as well.
"That's a trick question," she concluded, her voice softer. "You don't have a favorite. Some are more likeable than others, but I don't think you dislike one over the rest. Does that answer your question?"
Natasha leaned her cheek on the palm of her hand, her elbow resting on the back of the chair as her hair acted as a curtain between them and the world, bringing their faces impossibly closer.
Truth didn't move an inch.
"How much of that was deductive reasoning?" Natasha questioned.
Truth hummed.
"Most of it is from who you are as a person." Then she smirked. "And, as much as I appreciate your curiosity, we have less than two minutes before the authorities arrive."
The words only incited another question in Natasha's mind, and she opened her mouth to voice it before thinking better of it, a frown forming on her lips. Truth's smile grew bigger at the sight, loving her innate curiosity.
"I promise you can ask me anything your heart desires as soon as I manage to break into this file."
Finally taking her eyes off of Truth, Natasha looked at the tablet, which was currently flashing in bold red ACCESS DENIED. After a gesture from the redhead, Truth handed it off to Natasha, who figured it out in less than twenty seconds, showing Truth an alternate screen of ACCESS GRANTED.
"How long were working on that again?" Natasha asked, her lips curving up.
With a frown, Truth took the tablet back.
"Shut up."
Quickly sifting through the unlocked information, Truth found a folder labeled as Project Deathlok. Opening it to reveal a hundred-page long document, Truth scrolled to a set of horizontal blueprints, both she and Natasha turning their heads to look at it.
"It's an implant of some sort..." Truth's eyes scanned over the tiny words, aware of their time running out. Upon first glance, it seemed to be a medical device—the little notes mentioned its success with spinal cord injuries, heart defects, and a few physical illnesses...
But then she turned to the last page.
Natasha's brows furrowed.
"Is that...?"
Truth pursed her lips together in concern.
The last image was a diagram, showing the placement of the implant and all of its consequential effects on the nervous and endocrine systems, the organs and cells. One important note was that all of these enhancements were only possible in growing cells, where the body is more susceptible to change.
And, if that wasn't enough of an indicator?
The image next to it was that of a human child.
The implant wasn't only just a medical device. It was a weapon designed to create enhanced soldiers with faster reflexes, heightened senses, and perfect health and physicality. It wasn't exactly a super-soldier replica, but it was close.
The only difference is that they intended to use it to weaponize children. And it was going to be showcased at an auction tomorrow night in Germany, advertising it to hundreds of people across the world.
Their time was running out.
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