Chương 30: The Standoff

Dr. Haider's projection shifted toward her, voice steady.

"I told you—you should've brought security. I didn't think they'd be this brazen." He glanced off-screen, processing.

"But I should have." His projection typed frantically off-screen as though sending an urgent message.

"Don't engage, Kelly. Just cooperate. You're worth too much—they want you walking, not bleeding out." Kelly counted twelve gunmen blocking the lab's double doors. EQ range: 4. 5 to 5. 9. Three carried the Deadqueen's tech—one moved through walls, one teleported, and one held a rifle that probably used tachyon particles: faster-than-light signals that could send information back in time—aiming the gun a second into the future, letting it aim where she was going before she moved. Then there was Reggie.

Genetically enhanced. Biomagnetic. Bioelectric. Likely heir to something criminal or worse. And close. Kelly blinked twice, enough to ping Haider through her private line—without anyone listening in.

"For the record? I was kinda hoping this would happen. Just didn't expect it to be this theatrical." One of the suits stepped forward, voice smooth, practiced.

"We knew you were dying the moment you stepped into the building, Ms. Voss. The scanners flagged your DNA before your boot hit the tile. Anomalous integration, unstable molecular decay. Fascinating stuff." He gestured casually toward Kelly.

"And while Dr. Haider secured our cooperation, our operative informed us of your capability, despite your low rating—which we chose to overlook, given your value." A pause.

"But here's the problem. The product doesn't work without the part you didn't share. And we don't waste prototypes." Reggie shifted beside him, faint arcs crackling at his fingertips as though he'd stuck them in a fusion socket, the floor humming under his boots. The Deadqueen-tech trio fanned out—one slipped through the bench like walls were optional, another blinked sideways without bothering to walk, and the last had his rifle trained exactly where she was thinking of dodging. Wow, these guys really move quick!

If this is how fast they mobilize, did that mean Payne, the 7. 0 EQ merc she'd fought, was out on another job? Or was he already en route? She hoped so! That one's score was so high she was bound to get a few Titles if she fought him while outnumbered. Kelly pinged Haider, intent on executing the plan her previous spontaneous combustion had forced her to execute, and the new plan the sight of Deadqueen tech had forced her to come up with on the spot.

"I'll handle it. Been meaning to trim the gene pool anyway." Dr. Haider's voice cracked through the interference.

"Are you out of your mind?! They're killers—this isn't a joke!" Kelly rolled her eyes and stepped forward with a gait that suggested she was late to a brunch reservation.

'Killers? Oh no—men with guns and matching vests. Whatever shall I do.' Dr. Haider's panic buzzed in her head like a broken fridge magnet... Dang, he still thought this was going sideways. That was adorable. One of the suits stepped forward, adjusting his cuff.

"You were set to leave with compensation and rights. That arrangement depended on good faith. You presented a solution that doesn't function." He paused.

"We value inventors, but we don't support misuse of company resources—""Fine. Okay. Jeez." Kelly wheezed the words loud enough to carry, dragging one foot as she turned and wandered toward the desk where her "failed" prototypes sat. Her hand drifted lazily over the table, stopping just long enough to make sure every eye followed it. The future-tracker stepped forward to intercept, rifle raised, eyes locked ahead.

"Hold it." She turned with an exasperated look, eyes already on the one giving orders.

"Tell me, do you practice looking that smug in the mirror before threatening younger people, or does it just ooze out with the cowardice?" She spun back toward the desk, muttering something under her breath that sounded a lot like "Mushy." The teleporter appeared in a whirl of displaced air and clamped a hand on her wrist, grip built for breaking bone. Kelly's grip held firm, both hands full of syringes.

"Shut your mouth and stand still," he snapped, grip tightening, voice cutting through the room. Wow. She eyed his grip like she was grading a project, and thought: that's the voice of a man who definitely wins arguments at home. Then she said it out loud. The teleporter yanked her forward by the wrist and drove a pistol toward her head in a short, tight arc—quick, practiced, not showy. EQ readout flashed: 5. 7. About fifty percent stronger than she was. Odd.

Anyone holding Dead-tech should be stronger—strong enough to stop others from stealing it, unless they planned to let the entire squad handle its protection. She adjusted her balance mid-step, already reading angles. Power didn't matter if you knew where it would land, and he was so mad he was telegraphing his swing that Kelly could have seen the blow coming from Utah.

The immortal intern tilted her head just enough to let the pistol skim past—eyes wide, sharpened by muscle memory; she'd watched gun rounds and collapsing buildings aim for her skull. The [Giantbane] title locked in, feeding a ten percent speed surge through her limbs. She drove the syringes in her left hand into her thigh, then jabbed the last one into the bare meat of his wrist before he could recover. A sharp grin cracked across her face— first try!

She'd cooked this up back in Loop #111 right after that Vaughn-bred 7. 0 EQ freak Payne turned her ribcage into a blender. Couldn't even land a punch back then, let alone tag a moving wrist mid-swing. But pain taught fast. Syringe timing, angle, grip—none of it just came to her. She bled for it. Burned for it. Blacked out chasing one question:"What if I just stuck the bastard first?" And now? It worked! He couldn't regenerate, hopefully—so he'd drop screaming while his body rewrote itself on the fly.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. If he didn't survive, she was keeping the gadget.

Rifles snapped up. A volley of thin, flat plates burst out—silver wafers with teeth. Mid-air, they veered. Reggie barely lifted a hand. The plates twisted toward her, skipping physics like stones over glass. They latched on—ribs, shoulder, thigh. Electricity punched through muscle. Kelly dropped. The teleporter shrieked. Blood sprayed from his wrist in wild, broken lines.

"You bitch! I'll tear your arms off! I'll crush your skull with your own boots!" He blinked out with a crack and slammed into the floor five meters off, thrashing and snarling like a jammed machine chewing its own gears.

"Y—you kiss your s-squad with that mouth?" she muttered through clenched, twitching teeth, voice skipping with current. She was definitely taking his gear.

"Bag and tag her," Reggie said flatly.

"And somebody pick Greg up off the floor." The twelve gunmen stepped forward, moving as one unit. Sparks crackled under their boots—trails of electromagnetic pull skimming the floor as Reggie raised one hand. The desk behind Kelly screeched, vials and injectors yanked clean off its surface and flung to the far wall. Kelly kept her eyes on the vat of acid these idiots had wheeled in at her request. Two feet away. She needed one. Lights popped overhead. Reggie squinted.

"What's wrong with him, anyway?" A couple of mercs glanced at the writhing teleporter and shrugged. One of them nudged a boot at the teleporter's twitching leg. Kelly coughed out a laugh. Guess he's not a fan of needles. The phaser glanced down at the teleporter's twitching form and muttered, "I think he's dying. I'll grab one of the scientists." He turned, phasing through the doors with a faint hum.

The nearest guard to Kelly took a step forward, pulling out a pair of cuffs, the metal clinking softly as he readied them. Kelly's muscles burned as her cells were torn and healed in real time. Sure, she could've pulled the plug, looped back, restart the day clean. That option was always there just a heartbeat and a plasma burn away. But that'd mean giving up mid-run. And Kelly didn't break loops for fear or failure. She broke them to win. To progress.

Eleven guns and one angry bio-heir stood between her and the next step forward. More Traits. More Titles. More Variables to research. 11 guns? That wasn't a wall. That was a test. And she'd failed prettier ones than this. Failure was just another step to progress. As the guard slapped the cuffs over her wristband, Kelly's body relaxed, her muscles finally unwinding from the tension of cellular destruction, and her gaze drifted to the empty space in front of her.

She ignored them, her expression empty, as though they weren't even there. [Rare Trait: "Lesser-Lycanthrope" gained!] Ugh. She hadn't been keen on the werewolf option, but circumstances hadn't allowed for precision. The batch she'd stabbed into herself had held stronger candidates—weird snake sinew with its bone-deep durability and dense tensile muscle fibres, larger green humanoid tendons that adapted under pressure, even that calcium-loaded swamp mutant with the explosive tongue.

Any of them would've made better upgrades. But this is what came through first... hopefully her blood would integrate the rest just as quickly, a few seconds were not too bad. [Lesser-Werewolf] it was, for now.

"Wasn't even my top pick," she muttered, blinking as the notification flashed. Desperate times, desperate measures. Kelly thought the word'Status' and sent a sharp mental command to her background AI: cough up the EQ score and slap it on the panel. [Name: Dr. Voss. Race: Human Title: Giantbane (II) Rank: F- EQ: 4. 26 Traits: Mana Incompatibility (X), The Aberration of Mana (I), Primordial Blood (I), Mer-Blood, Troll-Marrowed (I), Troll-Strength (I), Lesser-Lycanthrope (I) Skills:] Titles could boost her EQ when she equipped them. But traits? Traits couldn't be "turned off." They were more permanent. While titles were like her ceiling—her peak—traits were her floor, the foundation. And her foundation had risen. Kelly mentally nudged her background AI:"Next time my EQ spikes, let me know before anyone else does."

Then she focused on the new trait—Lesser Lycanthrope. [Lesser Lycanthrope (Rare, I-Grade): This being's physiology is partially merged with elements of lycanthropy, granting innate, subtle enhancements aligned with werewolf biology for a permanent, minor increase in base strength. While incapable of a complete transformation, partial transformation is possible in heightened emotional circumstances; the individual's body instinctively triggers minor physiological shifts under heightened stress or adrenal stimulation. During such events, muscle density moderately increases, enhancing physical strength by a further 10%. Concurrently, sensory acuity—including sight, hearing, smell, and reflexive response times—experience a parallel improvement of roughly 10%. These enhancements activate subconsciously and are tied directly to the body's natural fight-or-flight response, requiring no deliberate control or conscious effort.]"Fight or flight... Synthetic adrenaline, maybe?" she muttered under her breath, tone light, eyes wide and tracking. If the Trait was triggered by real stress, it could be triggered by fake stress. Panic—chemical or virtual fear cycles, sensory overlays. Instead of the transformation being reactive, it could be permanent.

She could even get rid of the dog stuff and keep the strength. Maybe. The trick was keeping the trigger alive. Her back flexed—nothing dramatic, but the fibers felt heavier. The panel called it "partial." That was like being given a jetpack and told it was a strong pair of shoes. But why was it just partial? That wasn't how augmentation worked.

"Where's my monster?" she said quietly, teeth visible now. Her breath hitched as the effect hit—then stalled. She was supposed to blow up into a seven-foot wolf-thing—bones stretching, voice cracking, whole skeleton rebuilt like a weapon. Instead, the change stalled. Ten percent muscle, sharper hearing, a nose that maybe sniffed a little better. Great. She got the sampler version. The trait spliced in clean, but the output came clipped. That meant someone tampered mid-write.

Either the Status Panel ran it through hacked acquisition rules, or something else rewrote the finish line. Like a firewall slamming down on anything past I-grade. Now that she was thinking about it, every Trait she picked up came through at that level. Instead of being raw, the behavior was managed. Traits came filtered. And if something was editing her biology while she worked? She'd find it. Then tear it out.

The cuffs yanked her upright, locking tight across the wrist plating and grinding into half-healed nerve ports. Her skin itched weird. Muscles clenched in short bursts like her body was figuring out if it should upgrade or explode. But instead of twitching in pain, it was twitches of recalibration. The head scientists scurried into the room to stabilise the guy she'd given a forced evolution without healing. Kelly hardly paid attention, her head down in thought, mouth twitching with soft happiness at a new toy.

A new variable. [Rare Trait: 'Lesser-Mimic' gained!]