Chapter 1545 Young Killer, Deadly Weapon
Zaid was preparing the necessary documents for his chairman application when a commotion erupted from the main hall—loud noises followed by panicked shouts from the research staff.
He rushed to investigate and found a young man, appearing to be in his late teens, restrained by heavy chains. The boy's eyes glowed crimson, radiating aggression. Despite being injected with sedatives, he remained standing, baring his teeth and snarling at any researcher who dared approach.
Zaid's brow furrowed as Isolde appeared beside him.
"This is our latest weapon," she said, her voice tinged with pride. "Despite his youthful appearance, he's killed at least a thousand people."
"A thousand?" Zaid echoed.
Isolde's lips curved into a smile. "Surprised? The research team locked him in with thousands of other children in the lowest level. Only those who survived seven trials could live. He was the only one. According to surveillance, he eliminated approximately eleven hundred others. His genes have been modified—those hands can literally tear people apart."
The research facility's creations were becoming increasingly disturbing.
"Tear people apart with bare hands? Is that even possible?" Zaid maintained his gentle expression, though his eyes gleamed with fascination.
"Absolutely. You know there are certain ethnic groups naturally predisposed to combat, and others with unusually dense skeletal structures. What stands before you is a monster engineered from multiple genetic combinations," Isolde explained. For a facility capable of memory transplantation, creating such a creature through gene fusion was relatively simple.
"How powerful is he?" Zaid inquired.
Isolde's smile widened. "Currently our most lethal weapon. He's proficient with various firearms—perfect headshots every time. And in close combat? Unstoppable."
Zaid's interest deepened. If he became chairman, could he take this weapon outside?
"However," Isolde continued, "we've implanted aggression genes. He's hostile to everyone except his master."
"And who might that be?"
Isolde chuckled, having anticipated Zaid's interest. "He's only a prototype—he doesn't have a master yet. Everyone looks the same to him. We'll see who gets him eventually."
Desire flickered in Zaid's eyes. With such a weapon at his disposal, eliminating Raymond and his associates would be effortless. Unfortunately, the facility's leadership hadn't decided who would receive this lethal gift.
He sighed with disappointment.
Meanwhile, Raymond's men had infiltrated the buildings. By evening, Raymond himself had entered, all three disguised as refugees.
This place specifically housed refugees of all nationalities. Raymond followed a welfare center worker who assigned him a room number and showed him to his quarters.
The room measured approximately 160 square feet with a private bathroom—practically paradise for a refugee.
Raymond avoided touching anything, his gaze darkening as he surveyed the space. This welfare center had existed for years with the same number of buildings, yet they never reached capacity. Rooms always remained available, suggesting the population was steadily decreasing. Where these people went remained unknown.
The room reeked from its many previous occupants. Raymond stood in the hallway, where he happened to greet his neighbor.
"You're new today, aren't you? Lucky bastard," said the neighbor who had been there for six months, his tone enthusiastic.
"Lucky how?" Raymond asked.
"Getting in here! I've only been here half a year and I've gained over twenty pounds. They don't just provide housing—they give us three meals a day," the man explained.
Raymond raised an eyebrow, feigning casual interest. "New people arrive every month. I thought I wouldn't get a room, but this building seems to have plenty of vacancies."
"That's because you don't know—smart people here get jobs in Vistalia, supposedly at the Wealth Light Valley Street financial center. Every two months, they select about a dozen people. I've heard these folks have been sending substantial money back to their families."
The man's voice dripped with envy. "But with my poor health, I could die tomorrow. Such opportunities probably won't come my way."
Working at Wealth Light Valley Street? Earning money?
Was it really about earning money? Or were they being tricked into slavery?
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