6:00 AM | Adrian's Safehouse, Metro City
The knock came at exactly six o'clock in the morning.
Three sharp raps against the wood. Not hurried. Not tentative. Just precise. The kind of knock that spoke of someone who measured everything even the force behind their knuckles hitting a door.
Adrian groaned from somewhere deep in his chest and rolled over, eyes still glued shut with sleep. His phone screen glowed accusingly at him from the nightstand: 6:00:00 AM.
Of course. Aveline didn't do late. She probably had an internal atomic clock synchronized to some government satellite.
He dragged himself out of bed, back protesting, neck stiff from sleeping at odd angles, and pulled on yesterday's shirt. It was wrinkled beyond redemption and smelled faintly of old coffee and exhaustion. His hair stuck up at angles that would make a scarecrow jealous.
When he opened the door, Aveline stood on the threshold like a statue carved from black marble and discipline. Wearing the same clothes from yesterday like some video game character.
"Your shift concluded," she said flatly. "Mine begins."
Adrian blinked at her through bleary eyes. "...Morning to you too."
She stepped inside without waiting for invitation, her gaze sweeping the room with mechanical efficiency windows, exits, shadows, every detail cataloged and filed away.
Adrian rubbed his face. "Give me ten minutes. Shower. Coffee."
Aveline moved to the couch and sat down, posture rigid, hands folded in her lap, back perfectly straight. She looked like she was made of right angles and military discipline.
"Acceptable," she said.
Adrian disappeared into the bathroom.
Water hissed to life behind the bathroom door.
Aveline sat perfectly still. Her face remained neutral, professional. But her eyes moved constantly, building tactical maps.
Bathroom: 8-12 minutes. Door lock: 4 seconds. Window: 18 inches, north-facing jump survivable with injuries. Primary defensive position: kitchen corner. Secondary: bedroom doorframe. Tertiary: bathroom window, 68% probability of functional mobility post-landing.
When Adrian emerged fresh clothes, damp hair, marginally human Aveline sat exactly where he'd left her. She hadn't moved.
"You sleep okay?" Adrian asked, pouring coffee.
"Sleep duration: six point two hours. REM cycles: optimal. Yes."
Adrian glanced at her over his mug. "...Right."
Clinical. Factual. Like she was reading off a diagnostic report instead of describing how she slept.
Adrian pulled out the panic button. "You keep this on you at all times. Any trouble, you press it."
Aveline took the device, examining it with detached interest turning it over, studying the button, the casing, weight distribution. Her fingers traced the edges with clinical precision.
Then she pocketed it without a word.
She extended her wrist. "Responder unit. Synchronized to panic button frequency. Response time: eight minutes maximum from NPU headquarters. Seven if traffic permits. Six if I violate speed regulations."
She unclipped it with practiced efficiency and handed it to Adrian.
He fastened it to his wrist. The metal was cold.
"Let's hope we don't need it," he said quietly.
"Hope is statistically irrelevant," Aveline replied, her voice carrying the same neutrality as always. "Preparation determines outcomes. Hope does not."
Adrian looked at her for a long moment, searching for humor, for sarcasm. Found nothing. She meant it completely.
He almost smiled. "Of course."
Aveline stood, smoothing her shirt in a gesture so subtle it was almost imperceptible.
"Yuki remains indoors at all times," Adrian said, his voice clipped and precise. "No external visibility through windows. Doors locked. Biometric security active. Perimeter monitoring continuous."
"I know," Aveline said, nodding once. "We'll be fine."
"If hostile contact occurs, press panic button immediately. Do not attempt direct engagement. Evacuation protocol supersedes all other considerations. Understand?"
"Got it."
Adrian moved toward the door. Paused with his hand on the knob. Didn't turn around.
"Don't die," she said, her voice flat and clinical. "Replacement partner requisitions involve excessive paperwork. Processing time: four to six weeks. Operational delays are unacceptable."
Adrian blinked. Then laughed, short, surprised, caught off guard by what might have been humor or might have been pure efficiency.
"I'll do my best."
He left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Subject departed 06:14:33. Asset: Tanaka, Yuki. Status: sleeping. Threat level: minimal. Variables: within acceptable parameters.
The mask didn't need to be warm for Adrian. He already understood what she was.
8:30 AM | The Drive to NPU Headquarters
The Lamborghini carved through morning traffic like a blade through silk. Adrian's hands rested lightly on the wheel, his mind elsewhere as the city blurred past in shades of gray and steel.
His thoughts drifted.
Yuki's smile over dinner. Aveline's cold efficiency. How briefly normal had felt. How temporary.
The radio played something low and instrumental.
Two weeks. Maybe three.
Then Nexo distributes VX-1.089. And cops start dying.
He tightened his grip on the wheel.
Not on my watch.
NPU Headquarters - Elias's Office
When Adrian walked in, Elias looked like he hadn't slept in days. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His desk was buried under case files, empty coffee cups forming a graveyard near his keyboard.
"You look like hell," Elias said.
Adrian dropped into the chair. "Back at you."
Elias slid a thick folder across the desk: TANAKA, YUKI - SWORN TESTIMONY - CLASSIFIED.
"Read it yet?"
"Skimmed," Adrian admitted. "Didn't go deep."
"You should. It's worse than you think."
Adrian opened the file.
SWORN TESTIMONY - YUKI TANAKA
The words blurred together clinical language, scientific jargon, percentages that couldn't be real. Then the details sharpened.
VX-1.089: Experimental enhancement serum. Intended to increase muscle density by 40%, reaction time by 35%, cognitive processing by 25%.
Actual results: 99.7% fatality rate within 72 hours.
Survivors: 0.3%. Transformation irreversible. Physical mutation: yellowish-green skin, extreme muscle distortion, loss of higher cognitive function, violent behavior resembling rabies.
Test subjects: Expendable personnel. Janitors. Disposal workers. People no one would miss.
Disposal: La Sangre Nera contractors. Bodies incinerated at 1500°C. No records. Complete erasure.
Distribution timeline: Two to three weeks. Buyers: law enforcement agencies across 12 states. Marketing: "Performance enhancement serum." Failure rate: undisclosed.
Buyer awareness: None.
Adrian's hands trembled. They were selling it to cops who thought they were getting an edge. A way to protect themselves.
99.7% would die screaming within three days.
He closed the folder carefully. "They're selling it to cops."
"Who think they're getting enhancement serum," Elias finished. "Not a death sentence."
"Two weeks?"
"Maybe three if we're lucky." Elias rubbed his face. "We're out of time, Adrian."
Adrian leaned forward. "We submit what we have. Now."
Elias shook his head. "We're missing physical samples. No vial. No autopsy reports. Just testimony and circumstantial evidence."
"Then we submit partial evidence and buy time," Adrian countered. "Force them to respond."
"They might reject it outright."
"Or grant an extension for evidence gathering. Give us subpoena power." Adrian's voice strengthened. "If we wait for perfect evidence, cops die. If we submit now, we force their hand."
Elias stared at him, weighing options. Then nodded slowly.
"I'll file it today. Response time: twenty-four to seventy-two hours."
"Then we wait."
Silence stretched between them.
"How's Yuki holding up?" Elias asked finally.
"Better than expected," Adrian managed a small smile. "Scared, but resilient. Reads romance novels. Does yoga. Tries to pretend things are normal."
Elias smiled faintly. "Better coping mechanism than most."
"Yeah."
Pause.
"And Aveline?" Elias's expression darkened.
Adrian laughed bitterly. "Efficient. Terrifyingly so. Like watching a machine operate."
"You're trusting her."
"I'm understanding her," Adrian corrected. "Different thing. I don't trust her like a friend. But I trust her to do what's tactically optimal. Right now, that's keeping Yuki alive."
Elias's expression remained dark. "Just remember what I said. Psychopaths don't love. They don't care. They own. They possess. If she decides you're hers, that's not protection. That's obsession."
"I know," Adrian said firmly. "But right now, she's the most competent protection Yuki has. I'll take competent over warm any day."
Elias didn't look convinced.
But he didn't argue.
8:47 AM - THE ALARM
BZZZT. BZZZT. BZZZT.
Adrian's wrist exploded with sound and vibration.
Both men froze.
Red light flashing. Alarm blaring.
Panic button activated.
Adrian's blood turned to ice.
"No—"
Elias was already standing. "GO."
Adrian bolted from the office, phone in hand, boots pounding on tile, people scattering as he sprinted for the exit.
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please—
8:32 AM | FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLIER - Adrian's Safehouse
Yuki had woken at seven-thirty.
Shower. Fresh clothes: jeans and cream sweater. Tea steeped for three minutes. Then settling on the couch with her book and headphones.
Coffee at Midnight. Chapter seven.
Peaceful.
Aveline sat across the room near the window, not facing Yuki but the street. Watching. Always watching. Silent. Posture perfect, hands folded, expression neutral.
But her eyes moved constantly. Tracking cars. Pedestrians. Shadows.
Yuki removed one earbud, glancing over. "You ever read for fun?"
Aveline looked over, and her expression shifted softening into something thoughtful, almost gentle. A small smile touched her lips. "You know, I used to. When I was younger." Her voice carried a warmth that hadn't been there with Adrian. "Now it's mostly case files. I miss it sometimes getting lost in a story."
Target: civilian witness. Emotional investment required. Adjust parameters. Warmth increases compliance.
"What are you reading?"
"Romance." Yuki held up the book, almost defensive.
"Why would anyone judge?" Aveline's expression was genuinely curious, warm. "Stories about connection, about choosing love when it's hard? That sounds brave to me."
Yuki blinked, surprised. "Thank you."
For ten minutes, Yuki talked enthusiastically about the book. Aveline listened with what appeared to be genuine interest, asking questions, making comments that showed engagement.
Building rapport. Creating positive association. Lowering defenses. Heart rate: elevated but stable. Speech patterns: enthusiastic, trusting. Stress markers: decreasing. Profile: developing as expected.
But her face showed only warm interest.
"That actually sounds really good," Aveline said, her smile genuine-looking. "Maybe I should try fiction again."
Yuki grinned. "I have like six more. You could borrow one."
"I might take you up on that." Aveline's voice was soft, encouraging. "After this is all over."
Futurepromise. Assuming safety. Reducing anxiety. Compliance probability: increasing.
Silence settled, comfortable now.
8:45 AM
Then Yuki asked: "What do you do for fun?"
Aveline's expression turned thoughtful, vulnerable even. "Honestly? I'm still figuring that out." A rueful smile. "I spent so long being good at my job that I forgot to be good at... living. Work, train, sleep, repeat. Efficient but empty, you know?"
Vulnerability. Self-disclosure. Creating relatability. Making herself incomplete, searching, safe.
"That's really honest," Yuki said quietly.
"You deserve honesty." Aveline met her eyes, sincere. "You've been incredibly brave."
Yuki smiled warmly. "Thanks, Aveline. You've been really kind."
"It means I'm doing something right." Aveline's smile was gentle, almost sisterly.
Positive reinforcement loop established. Bond strengthening. Trust metrics: optimal. Performance effectiveness: successful.
They settled back into quiet.
Yuki returned to her book, content.
Aveline returned to watching the street, face pleasantly neutral.
But her eyes never stopped moving. Never stopped cataloging.
Asset status: comfortable. Threat level: minimal. Emotional investment from asset: increasing at projected rate. Compliance probability: 94.7%.
The viper sat perfectly still, wearing its human skin for the one who needed to see it.
Waiting.
The digital clock read: 8:47 AM letters gleaming crimson
Yuki tilted her head, studying Aveline with genuine curiosity. "Don't you ever just want to... relax?"
"Relaxation decreases operational readiness," Aveline replied, but her voice carried a gentler quality than the clinical flatness she used with Adrian. Almost patient. Almost warm.
"But you're always ready. Don't you get tired?"
Aveline's lips curved into something that almost resembled a smile soft, understanding. "I do. Sometimes. But staying sharp keeps people safe." She glanced at Yuki, and her expression held what looked like genuine concern. "Keeps you safe."
Asset responds well to protective framing. Maternal undertones increase trust metrics. Continue.
Yuki laughed softly, something easing in her shoulders. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"I've been told." Aveline's voice carried a warmth that made the words sound almost affectionate.
Yuki smiled and returned to her book, settling deeper into the couch, comfortable now, trusting.
Aveline said nothing. But for just a moment, something flickered behind her eyes calculation running beneath the warm surface, assessing value, categorizing utility.
Resilient. Adaptable. Compliant. Excellent asset parameters.
Then it was gone, buried beneath another gentle smile.
8:42 AM | Adrian's Safehouse
Movement caught Aveline's eye.
Two black SUVs rolled to a stop across the street engines purring low and predatory, windows tinted dark as obsidian. No license plates. No markings. The kind of vehicles that didn't exist in official records.
Professional. Deliberate. Hostile.
Six men emerged in synchronized precision. Tactical gear, body armor, weapons concealed but unmistakable from the way they moved. Weight distribution. Shoulder bulges. Controlled aggression radiating from every step.
Nexo contractors. Or La Sangre Nera operatives. The distinction didn't matter.
What mattered was that they were here.
And they were here for Yuki.
Aveline stood in one fluid motion. Her expression shifted immediately the warmth draining away, replaced by something colder, sharper. But when she spoke to Yuki, her voice was still gentle, still protective.
"Yuki, sweetheart, I need you to listen very carefully." She kept her tone calm, soothing, like explaining something to a frightened child. "There are some people outside. I need you to go upstairs to the kitchen and stay there. Keep the door open—don't close it, okay? I'll handle this."
Yuki looked up from her book, confusion bleeding into terror. "What—"
"Hey." Aveline's voice dropped, warm and reassuring. She touched Yuki's shoulder gently. "I've got you. I promise. But I need you to move now. Can you do that for me?"
The kindness in her voice, the gentle touch it bypassed Yuki's panic, spoke directly to her need for safety.
Yuki nodded, dropped her book, and ran.
Asset secured. Now for the variables.
The moment Yuki disappeared up the stairs, Aveline's expression went completely blank. The warmth evaporated like it had never existed.
She drew her weapon, positioned herself at the top of the stairs, and waited.
Cold. Focused. Empty.
The Breach
The men moved with military precision trained, coordinated, no wasted motion.
First attempt: biometric lock. DENIED.
Second attempt: electronic lockpick. The device hummed, probing for vulnerabilities. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
DENIED.
Then they abandoned subtlety.
One man stepped forward with a battering ram solid steel, forty pounds of devastating force.
BOOM.
The entire house shuddered. The door frame cracked.
BOOM.
Wood split. Screws tore from moorings.
BOOM.
The door exploded inward in a violent shower of splinters and twisted metal.
They were in.
Aveline stood at the top of the stairs, perfectly still.
Gun drawn. Posture relaxed but ready. Eyes flat as glass.
The first man through was massive six-three, two-forty pounds of muscle and armor, rifle raised to firing position.
He swept the room, scanning for targets.
Found one.
Their eyes met.
CRACK.
The gunshot was deafening. The bullet caught him directly between the eyes. His head snapped back violently. Blood misted the air in a fine crimson spray. His body crumpled, rifle clattering to the floor.
For just a moment barely perceptible Aveline's expression shifted.
Her lips curved upward.
Not satisfaction exactly.
Pleasure.
Pure, cold pleasure at the perfect execution. The clean kill. The problem eliminated with surgical precision.
Variable neutralized. Optimal outcome achieved.
Beautiful.
Then the mask returned. Neutral. Cold. Focused.
One down.
The second man entered immediately faster, smarter, using his fallen comrade's body for cover.
Aveline adjusted her aim with mechanical precision.
CRACK.
Center mass. The bullet punched into his chest plate Kevlar and ceramic absorbing the impact. He staggered but didn't fall.
Body armor. Heavy grade. Military surplus.
Recalculation required.
CRACK.
Headshot. Clean. Instant. His skull opened in a burst of red and gray. He dropped without a sound.
Two down.
The third man was already moving closing distance fast, using his fallen teammates as obstacles, bringing his rifle up to swing at her head like a club.
Aveline saw it coming.
Father's voice: "Guns are inefficient during close combat. Muzzle length requires space. Distance nullifies advantage. Close quarters: knives. Always knives."
The rifle swung toward her skull.
Aveline dropped low. The weapon passed inches above her head.
Her hand moved to her boot.
SNAP.
A blade ejected from the toe four inches of surgical steel, spring-loaded, designed for exactly this.
The man recovered from his swing, already bringing the rifle back around.
Too slow.
Aveline pivoted and drove her right leg upward in a devastating high kick.
The blade punched through the underside of his jaw, driving upward through soft tissue, through tongue, through the roof of his mouth, piercing into his brain with anatomical precision.
His eyes went wide shock, pain, confusion.
Then nothing.
He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
Three down.
Aveline retracted the blade with another click. She stood, breathing steady, pulse barely elevated.
Her eyes glinted bright, sharp, alive.
That smile again. Wider this time. Genuine.
Effective. Clean. Perfect.
For just a moment, she allowed herself to appreciate it. The elegance. The beauty of technique executed flawlessly under pressure.
Then business returned.
The Operators
Two more entered.
And everything changed.
These weren't contractors. These were operators.
Bigger both over six feet, heavily muscled. Better armored full tactical loadouts with Level IV plates, helmets. Moving with coordinated precision that spoke of special forces training. Spetsnaz, Delta, SAS something in that tier.
One went left, one went right. Flanking positions. Crossfire setup. Professional kill zone.
Aveline's mind calculated with cold precision:
Two hostiles. Heavy armor. Professional tactics. Ammunition remaining: fourteen rounds. Engagement probability: unfavorable. Direct confrontation: 68% suboptimal outcome. Injury probability: 34%. Death probability: 12%. Alternative solution required.
But her eyes flickered with something else.
Interest. Anticipation.
That smile again sharper now, almost predatory.
Let's see how they handle fire.
She turned and sprinted upstairs.
They pursued immediately no hesitation, perfect coordination, weapons up.
The Kitchen
Aveline burst into the kitchen, moving with absolute focus.
Yuki stood at the doorway, gripping the frame with white-knuckled hands, tears streaming down her face, terror radiating from every trembling muscle.
"Don't move," Aveline commanded and her voice was different now. Not warm. Not gentle. Flat. Clinical. The mask completely dropped.
Yuki's eyes widened at the change.
"Keep that door close. No matter what happens. Don't open it."
Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Close. Getting closer.
Aveline's hands moved with blinding speed:
Gas stove first burner.
She grabbed the knob and twisted it to maximum without pressing the ignition.
Click-click-click.
No flame. Just gas. Hissing. Invisible. Deadly.
She moved to the second burner. Third. Fourth.
All of them wide open. Gas flooding the kitchen in a rapidly expanding cloud of volatile fumes.
The smell hit immediately sharp, acrid, unmistakable.
Yuki's eyes went wide with horror. "What are you—"
"I said don't move." Aveline's voice was ice.
She pulled out her lighter standard issue, military grade, designed to work in any conditions.
The operators hit the top of the stairs. Boots heavy on hardwood. Weapons raised.
Aveline turned to face them.
For just a moment one frozen heartbeat her eyes met Yuki's.
And Yuki saw it.
Really saw it.
The smile. Wide now. Genuine. Ecstatic.
Pure, unbridled pleasure shining in those dark eyes like sunlight through a cracked window into something dark and hollow and utterly inhuman.
Not the warmth from before. Not the gentle protector. Not the caring friend.
Just the viper.
And it was enjoying this.
Yuki's breath caught in her throat, horror blooming cold in her chest.
What is she?
Aveline's smile widened another fraction like she knew Yuki had finally seen, and didn't care anymore.
The performance was over.