Chapter 185
Lynette's POV
I sat perfectly still in the leather chair. Watching that boy robot fold back into his child-sized form like nothing had happened.
My tea cup was warm in my hands. Steam rising. But I barely felt it.
Two or three years ago, the most advanced robots I'd seen could barely manage a straight line without constant updates. Their reaction time was terrible. Clunky.
These things were different.
Way different.
The speed. The adaptability. The AI sophistication.
They'd made breakthroughs. Not just in genetics. In everything.
I glanced at Kael. He was looking at the robots too. His face was calm. Professional. But I caught the slight tension in his jaw.
He knew. Same as me.
We were in deeper than we thought.
Belser settled into his chair across from us. That smooth smile never leaving his face.
"Impressive, aren't they?" He gestured to the robot children standing by the door. "The latest generation. Very obedient. Very capable."
I took a sip of tea. Buying time to think.
"How many do you have?" I kept my voice casual. Curious but not too interested.
"Ten units currently available for purchase." Belser leaned back. Relaxed. "They're perfect for high-security households. Bodyguards that never sleep. Never question orders. Never betray you."
I watched the girl robot pour more tea. Her movements were fluid. Natural. Almost human.
Almost.
"Can I buy these two?" I nodded toward the robots. "The ones here?"
Belser's smile tightened slightly. Just a fraction.
"I'm afraid these are internal models. Not for sale." He paused. "But I can arrange for you to view the commercial versions. They're nearly identical in function."
Nearly identical.
Right.
I noticed how the robots were positioned. Not randomly. They stood in a defensive formation. Covering the door and the windows. Strategic points.
These weren't products on display.
They were Belser's personal guards.
"Perhaps you'd like to see more of our research?" Belser stood smoothly. Walking to the wall where a massive screen descended from the ceiling. "Actions speak louder than words, after all."
The screen lit up. A man in a white lab coat appeared. Middle-aged. Tired eyes behind wire-frame glasses.
"You saw Dr. Domich on stage earlier. This is the methodology behind his work."
The video started playing. Dr. Domich's voice was flat. Clinical.
"The genetic serum is merely a catalyst. True enhancement requires comprehensive physiological restructuring."
The camera panned to a surgical table. A werewolf was strapped down. Restraints on arms, legs, chest. He looked young. Maybe twenty-five. His eyes were wide. Scared.
I felt my stomach tighten.
"The process begins with complete blood replacement." Dr. Domich gestured to IV lines. Lots of them. "We cycle the subject's blood three to four times. Removing impurities. Introducing the base serum."
On screen, silver-gray liquid pumped into the werewolf's veins. His body started convulsing. The restraints rattled.
Belser fast-forwarded the video.
I watched the werewolf's body change. Not transform. Change.
His muscles swelled. Bulging grotesquely. His skin darkened. Hardened. Cracking in places. His face distorted. The human features blurring. Disappearing.
The timestamp showed three hours had passed.
Three hours.
Three hours of conscious agony while they stripped away everything human.
I swallowed hard. Forcing down the nausea.
I'd seen the results. The empty-eyed guards downstairs.
But watching someone be torn apart and rebuilt while still alive...
That was different.
"As you can see," Belser said smoothly, "the transformation is comprehensive. The subject loses unnecessary biological weaknesses. Gains unprecedented strength and durability."
I set my tea cup down carefully. Didn't trust my hands not to shake.
"So your genetic drug is just the appetizer." My voice came out colder than I intended. "The main course is human experimentation."
Belser's smile didn't falter.
"I prefer to call it minor surgical optimization. We simply remove inefficient physiological structures. Allow the werewolf to reach their true potential."
Minor surgical optimization.
I almost laughed.
Three hours on that table. Awake. Aware. Feeling every cell restructure.
And they called it optimization.
Beside me, Kael was silent. But the temperature in the room felt like it had dropped ten degrees. I could feel the ice-cold anger radiating from him.
His fingers tapped once. Twice. Against the chair's armrest.
He was barely holding it together.
"The procedure takes approximately two weeks." Belser continued like he was discussing a spa treatment. "Success rate is seventy percent. Those who survive gain strength far beyond normal werewolves. Their skin can deflect bullets. They can lift several tons without strain."
I leaned forward slightly.
"And how long do they live?"
Belser paused. Just for a second.
"That varies by individual constitution. Conservative estimates suggest an average of two months."
Two months.
"So they get two months." I kept my voice level. "Two months of being a freak. Then what? They just die?"
"All soldiers face mortality, Miss—" Belser caught himself. I hadn't given him a name. "In our world, isn't death a constant companion?"
I felt anger surge hot in my chest.
Warriors should die in battle. With honor. With purpose.
Not on a surgical table. Not twisted into something unrecognizable. Not given two months as a walking corpse before their body gives out.
"There's a difference," I said quietly, "between dying in combat and being turned into a disposable weapon that breaks after sixty days."
Belser's professional smile finally cracked. Slipping into something colder.
"Is there?" He leaned forward. "Mr. Harrington came here to explore our technology. I assume Pinehollow Pack wishes to become stronger. To maintain its position."
He looked directly at Kael.
"The Harrington family didn't reach its current status through sentimentality. I'm sure sacrifices were made. Difficult choices. Necessary compromises."
The accusation hung in the air.
Kael's face was a mask. Completely expressionless.
But I saw his hand curl into a fist on the armrest. Knuckles white.
"In the werewolf world," Belser continued, voice hardening, "power is everything. Individual sacrifice means nothing compared to collective strength. Surely you understand that, Mr. Harrington."
I wanted to slam my fist through that smug face.
But I couldn't. Not here. Not now.
So I stayed seated. Hands folded in my lap. Face calm.
Inside, I was calculating.
How many guards between us and the exit. Where the cameras were. How fast those robot children could move if this went south.
Belser was testing us. Pushing. Seeing how far he could go.
Seeing if we'd buy into his philosophy.
That werewolves were just resources. Bodies to be used and discarded.
I glanced at Kael again.
He met my eyes. Just for a second.
And I saw the same cold rage I felt.
Good.
We were on the same page.
Belser stood. Walking to the window. Looking out at the dark ocean.
"Power requires sacrifice. Always has. Always will." He turned back to us. "The question is whether you're willing to make those sacrifices. Or whether you'll cling to outdated notions of honor and dignity while your enemies grow stronger."
His blue eyes were flat. Empty.
"In the end, only the strong survive. Everything else is just noise."