Chapter 1557 An Indescribable Rage
"Isolde, the facility needs medical geniuses like her. Why would the leadership ever allow her to leave?" Zaid asked, genuinely perplexed.
Isolde took a sip of water, her voice tinged with confusion. "I still haven't figured that out. How Octavia managed to leave... even Manuel couldn't have had the authority to release her. I'm quite curious about him—his position wasn't particularly high, roughly equivalent to mine."
She was considered core personnel, yet still a step below true leadership. If she couldn't release someone, how could Manuel possibly have done so?
Zaid listened intently, though he had no part in these matters.
"And this Calla keeps opposing me," Isolde said, rubbing her temples. "She vetoed your chairmanship proposal and spoke disrespectfully to me on the phone."
Calla enjoyed the leadership's favor, operating with near impunity within the facility. Isolde couldn't risk confronting her directly—she could only vent her frustrations in private.
Zaid remained silent. He had never met Calla, who spent most of her time sequestered in the research lab. Perhaps if he could communicate with her, he might acquire the subject.
"Has leadership reached a conclusion about the subject's destination?" he asked.
"Not yet. He is too dangerous. If the chairmen don't want him, and if core personnel reject him as well, I might be able to secure him for you."
"Thank you, Ms. Porter."
As Zaid rose to leave, Atlas entered the room and began attending to Isolde's evening routine.
The next morning at 5:30, Zaid spotted Atlas leaving Isolde's room. The timing indicated he'd spent the entire night there—doing what, exactly?
Atlas hadn't expected to be seen. His eyes brightened momentarily. "Zaid," he called out.
"Why are you coming out of Ms. Porter's room?" Zaid asked directly.
"I was keeping... keeping her company."
"What do you mean by 'company'?"
A sense of foreboding crept over Zaid before Atlas replied, "Breeding things. Isolde... likes it."
Zaid froze, taking a full ten seconds to process what he'd just heard. His brow furrowed as he finally grasped Atlas's meaning.
He mentally calculated their ages: Isolde was fifty, while Atlas was only twenty-seven.
'He's not doing this willingly,' Zaid realized.
The customary warmth drained from Zaid's face. He knew Atlas's emotional world was like a blank canvas—beyond mimicry, he had virtually no experience with outsiders.
Only when imitating Zaid could Atlas engage in lengthy conversations or appear at ease. Back at the facility, he was just a boy.
He rarely showed his true nature outside, always playing a role, becoming someone else.
"How did you..." Zaid began.
No normal twenty-seven-year-old man would willingly be involved with a fifty-year-old woman.
"Zaid, I... Isolde... requested. I wanted to make you happy," Atlas stammered, barely able to form a complete sentence.
His face reflected a childlike innocence. Before the age of five, he had only known the facility's white coats, transparent glass, and cold instruments. He had no concept of seasons.
The first time he went outside, even a gentle breeze against his cheek had amazed him. He would collect leaves on every outing, treasuring them like artifacts.
Zaid suddenly realized he had never truly tried to understand his blood relative. He didn't know when Atlas had begun sleeping with Isolde, nor what manipulation she had used to lure him to her bed.
Atlas understood nothing of such matters.
"Zaid, are you angry?" Atlas asked anxiously, perceptive enough to read Zaid's mood.
Zaid remained silent. He was indeed angry—a peculiar, indefinable anger.
By all accounts, he should be ruthless, stopping at nothing to achieve his goals. Isolde was already working to secure his chairmanship; if Atlas could keep her happy, shouldn't that be beneficial?
Yet he felt a powerful, hidden rage rising within him. Not just anger, but humiliation.
He had worked so hard, secured the BK organization, and was about to claim his place in the facility. He had become someone of consequence, with wealth to match.
So why couldn't he protect his only family member?
Or rather, why had he never even considered protecting Atlas?
In his eyes, Atlas had always been his shadow—an obedient, unquestioning shadow.
Whatever Zaid asked him to do, even if it meant certain death, Atlas never hesitated.
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