Chapter 220
Raven
I forced Marianne's vacant smile onto my face. Let them see empty-headed enthusiasm. Let them think I was too stupid to understand the implications of what I was seeing.
But my mind raced behind the mask.
Some of these techniques—the neural interfaces, the accelerated healing, the genetic modifications—I'd heard whispers of them in Bloodline. Projects the organization had discussed but never managed to complete. Resources they'd tried to acquire but failed to obtain.
How much of this is Bloodline's stolen research? How many of these techniques did they develop before they tried to perfect me?
Nash's thumb stroked once along my ribs.
Breathe.
Right. Breathing. I could do that.
"But surely," Nash drawled, playing his role to perfection, "if you can enhance humans like this, the profit potential is unlimited. Why do you need our investment at all?"
The Surgeon paused. For just a moment, his mask slipped. Something cold and hungry flickered behind his eyes.
"Because, Mr. Goodman, what I've shown you so far are merely the successful experiments." He turned toward the back of the laboratory, where a massive cylindrical tank dominated the space. "But I have encountered one... frustrating limitation."
We approached the final tank.
And my entire world stopped.
The woman floating in the tank was naked, suspended in that same viscous green liquid. Her body—muscular, scarred, perfect in its deadly grace—was instantly, horrifyingly familiar.
Because I was looking at myself.
Not Raven Martinez. Not this teenage body I'd been shoved into.
Phantom.
My body. My real body. The one I'd spent sixteen years honing into the perfect weapon. Every scar in the right place—the slash across the ribs from that disaster in Belgrade, the bullet graze on the left thigh from Cairo, the knife wound on the right shoulder from that clusterfuck in Moscow.
Even the small birthmark on her right hip.
My birthmark.
But her face—
Oh God.
Where the face should be, there was only smooth, featureless skin. Like an unfinished sculpture. Like someone had forgotten to add the details.
And clutched in her right hand, fingers locked in the grip I'd taught myself over years of training, was my knife.
My KA-BAR. Custom grip. Carbon steel blade. And etched into the handle in letters so small you'd need a microscope to read them: Phantom.
The room tilted.
Nash's arm locked around my waist, holding me upright. To everyone else, it probably looked like a husband steadying his wife who'd had too much champagne.
Only I felt how his entire body had gone rigid as steel.
"Fascinating, isn't she?" The Surgeon moved to stand beside the tank, one hand pressed against the glass like a lover's caress. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the original subject of this magnificent creation—the legendary assassin known only as Phantom."
He paused, letting the name sink in. Maria Santos gasped. Chen Wei's eyes widened.
"Sixteen years ago, I handpicked her from ten thousand candidates. Ten. Thousand. The strongest, fastest, most ruthless killers on the planet—and she was the only one who survived my selection process."
His voice took on an almost reverent quality, like a master craftsman describing his greatest work.
"Phantom wasn't just a killer. She was the apex predator of our species. Reflexes that could track a bullet's trajectory mid-flight. Pain tolerance that allowed her to perform surgery on herself without anesthesia. Spatial awareness so acute she could navigate a building blindfolded using only sound and air currents."
"But I heard she died, how did you even manage to clone her? " Maria Santos asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the floating figure.
"She did." The Surgeon's smile turned predatory. "In a plane crash over the Atlantic. Very tragic. Very... convenient."
He knows. He fucking knows.
"It took me three months to track down this knife. Five million dollars to acquire it from a private collector who didn't even know what he had." The Surgeon's hand traced patterns on the glass. "But it was worth every penny. You see, Phantom was meticulous. She maintained her weapons personally. Never let anyone else touch them."
"Which means," Chen Wei leaned forward, understanding dawning, "her DNA—"
"Everywhere." The Surgeon's grin widened. "Skin cells. Hair follicles. Even traces of blood from minor cuts. I had enough genetic material to map her entire genome. To replicate every advantage that made her the world's deadliest assassin."
Nash leaned forward, and I recognized that shift in his posture—Anthony Goodman sensing a lucrative opportunity.
"So once you perfect this process," he said slowly, "you could produce... what? Ten of her? Twenty?"
The Surgeon's smile widened. "Try hundreds, Mr. Goodman."
The room exploded into excited chatter.
"My God," Maria Santos breathed, clutching her champagne glass. "An army of perfect assassins. We could—"
"Overthrow any government we choose," Chen Wei finished, eyes gleaming. "Eliminate any political obstacle. No security detail on Earth could protect their targets."
Chandler laughed, sharp and greedy. "Forget governments. Think about the private sector. Every oligarch, every cartel boss, every corporation with dirty work to do—they'd pay billions for access to even one of these."
"Exactly!" The Surgeon spread his arms wide, basking in their enthusiasm. "No more training programs that take years. No more unreliable human operatives who develop inconvenient morals or loyalties. Just pure, reproducible lethality. Six months from conception to deployment."
"Six months?" Maria Santos's voice pitched higher. "That's—"
"Revolutionary," The Surgeon finished. "The original Phantom took sixteen years to create. These clones? Half a year. And if one is captured, killed, or compromised—"
"You just grow another," Nash said flatly.
"Precisely." The Surgeon turned back to the tank, his reflection overlaying the floating clone. "Imagine the implications. Special forces units composed entirely of perfect soldiers. Protection details that never sleep, never hesitate, never fail. Covert operations executed with surgical precision by operatives who can't be interrogated and won't be missed."
Chen Wei stood, moving closer to the glass. "We wouldn't just be selling a service. We'd be selling invincibility."
"We'd be reshaping global power," Chandler added, voice hushed with reverence. "Whoever controls this technology controls the world."
The Surgeon nodded, letting their excitement build to a fever pitch.
Then his expression soured.
"However—"
The single word cut through the room like a knife. All conversation stopped.