Chapter 221
Raven
The single word cut through the room like a knife. All conversation stopped.
I maintained Marianne's vapid smile, but my pulse kicked up. In my experience, however was never followed by good news. And judging by the way The Surgeon's jaw had tightened, whatever came next was going to be expensive.
Or impossible.
Or both.
The Surgeon stepped away from the tank, his reflection distorting across the curved glass. "As brilliant as this technology is, we've encountered one... frustrating limitation."
Nash's thumb traced another circle against my ribs. Steady.
Right. Breathing. I could do that.
The Surgeon pressed a button on his tablet.
The clone convulsed.
Her body went rigid, muscles locking, fingers clawing at nothing. Where her face should be, that smooth expanse of skin began to ripple—like something was trying to break through from underneath.
Jesus Christ.
The clone thrashed against her restraints, movements jerky and uncoordinated. Like a puppet with tangled strings. Her head whipped from side to side, and that featureless surface seemed to bulge where eyes and mouth should be—features trying to form but failing, over and over.
It was worse than if she'd had a face.
So much worse.
Then she went limp. Just... stopped. Like someone had flipped a switch.
The liquid in the tank rippled once, then stilled.
The faceless head lolled forward, blank and empty once more.
"As you can see," The Surgeon said, voice flat with disappointment, "we have a problem."
Chen Wei leaned forward, champagne forgotten. "What happened?"
"I can replicate the hardware." The Surgeon gestured at the floating body. "Perfect muscle memory, enhanced reflexes, accelerated healing. Every physical advantage that made Phantom the deadliest weapon on Earth. But I cannot replicate the software."
He tapped his temple.
"Consciousness. Self-awareness. The ability to think, adapt, improvise. Without it, these clones are nothing more than expensive vegetables. They can't follow orders because they don't understand language. They can't execute missions because they have no concept of objectives or consequences."
Maria Santos set down her glass with a sharp click. "You're telling us we just invested in meat puppets?"
"Extremely advanced meat puppets," The Surgeon corrected. "But yes. Without a functioning consciousness, they're useless."
Nash shifted beside me, and I felt the subtle tension in his frame. Anthony Goodman's greedy anticipation giving way to something sharper.
"So you're selling us a scam," he said, voice dangerously soft. "Is that what I'm hearing?"
The Surgeon's smile was thin. "Not a scam, Mr. Goodman. A work in progress."
"Sounds like semantics to me." Nash stood, pulling me up with him. "We've wasted enough time on fantasy science. Come on, darling. Let's find investors who actually have a functional product."
Oh, I see what you're doing.
Playing the disgruntled businessman. Forcing The Surgeon to either let us walk or reveal his real hand.
The Surgeon held up one finger. "If you'd allow me to finish—"
"I've heard enough." Nash turned toward the exit, his grip on my hand tightening in silent communication. Stay in character.
"I have a solution."
We stopped.
Nash glanced back, skepticism written across his borrowed face. "Does it involve actual science? Or are we venturing into fairy tales?"
The Surgeon's expression never wavered. He simply walked to a holographic display and swiped up. An image materialized in the air above the conference table.
My heart stopped.
It was my necklace. Satan's Heart. Rendered in perfect three-dimensional detail, rotating slowly in the blue-tinged light.
"Gentlemen and ladies," The Surgeon said softly, "allow me to introduce the key to everything."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except stare at that image while my mind screamed warnings.
He knows. He fucking knows what I'm wearing right now.
"What is that?" Chen Wei asked, squinting at the hologram. "Some kind of jewel?"
"Not just any jewel." The Surgeon zoomed in on the pendant's core, revealing intricate crystalline structures that seemed to pulse with internal light. "This is what we call a Quantum Consciousness Anchor. Or, as it's known in less scientific circles—"
He paused for dramatic effect.
"The Heart of Satan."
Chandler laughed. "You're joking."
"I assure you, I am not." The Surgeon pulled up additional files—historical documents, blurry photographs, classified reports with heavy redactions. "During the Cold War, both the United States and the Soviet Union conducted experiments in consciousness transfer. The goal was to create soldiers who couldn't truly die. Kill the body, the consciousness transfers to a new host."
He gestured at the hologram.
"This device is the prototype. The only one that ever worked. It was lost when the facility conducting the research was destroyed in 1983. Eventually, it ended up in Bloodline's possession—until Phantom stole it five months ago."
My chest tightened. Shit.
Maria Santos raised an eyebrow. "Then acquiring it again must be a long-term project for you."
"No need." The Surgeon's smile widened. "I've already located it."
The room went silent.