Chapter 54: PROJECT · The Destruction-Compatible Host

“Alright, I’ve hacked into the western surveillance feed. They won’t be watching this side for a while. Go in from over there.”

Kiwi glanced at Roland and White as she spoke.

Roland nodded lightly, tapped the ground with his foot, and vanished on the spot. By the time White turned his head, Roland was already inside the factory.

Seeing that, White’s mouth twitched. Are you serious…? I haven’t even started moving yet!

With no choice left, he rushed forward and vaulted over the wall with a single leap, landing along the outer perimeter of the factory.

“What’s the route from here?”

White asked over comms. Roland glanced back at him, suddenly feeling that he really didn’t need this guy following him—but since he was already here…

“Just try to keep up. Don’t worry about anything else.”

He flickered forward in a short blink, crossing five meters in an instant and appearing behind a shipping container. The passing Maelstrom member nearly jumped out of his skin.

“What was that sound?”

He looked around nervously, finding nothing. A cold shiver crawled up his spine—he could’ve sworn he felt a gust of wind behind him.

The dim yellow lights and the deep, jagged shadows cast by the massive red containers only made everything feel more unsettling.

He shuddered and turned to leave.

A wet, slicing sound cut through the air. Agony bloomed in his chest—and before he could scream, a sharp crack snapped his neck.

“You enter from that side. I’ll take the other.”

Roland pointed toward a room not far from the dead Maelstrom member—one that led directly to the second floor of the factory. Then he disappeared back into the darkness.

“Fine, you’re the boss. Whatever you say…”

White looked exasperated but didn’t argue. He searched the body, fished out an access card, and walked toward the door.

…

Meanwhile, the six eyes on Roland’s helmet slowly lit up. Instantly, the combat system tagged every figure in sight, marking them with a bright inverted triangle over their heads.

He tightened his grip on his Thermal Katana, tapped the ground lightly, and bounded up to the top of the All Foods factory.

Outside, Kiwi and the others froze at the sight.

“Hey… are all your squad members this insane?”

Golor couldn’t help asking. Kiwi’s lips twitched, but she said nothing.

Swish—

A streak of red light flashed. Roland calmly sheathed his blade. Three bisected corpses lay on the rooftop. He walked over to the access door and pulled it open with a firm twist, metal groaning under his grip.

“Kiwi, where’s their production workshop?”

“I’m sending you the factory map. The section I blacked out—that’s where the workshop is.”

“Received.”

Buzz—

A streak of light flickered across the floor as Roland moved, slipping perfectly out of sight of every Maelstrom member before stopping in front of the workshop door—an electronic lock standing silently before him.

Just as Roland was about to ask Kiwi if she could crack it, footsteps echoed down the hall.

He glanced back—and vanished.

“Don’t you think those Biotechnica guys are way too jumpy? It’s just a small company. No way they’ve got the firepower to hit our turf.”

“Who knows. Either way, it’s not a bad thing for us. Extra high-end Militech weapons? Great news. If we wanted to buy that stuff, it’d bleed us dry.”

None of them noticed the figure perched silently above them, watching.

“I’ve got the door code. It’s 50462.”

White’s voice suddenly came through the comms, making Roland pause. Honestly, he’d only sent White that way to keep him out of trouble… but this was a pleasant surprise.

White, meanwhile, sat in the surveillance room. Two Maelstrom members lay dead at his feet, blood pooling from their slashed throats.

He wiped all recorded footage, disabled the recording system, and used the monitors to track everyone else’s movements.

That’s when he saw it—a hulking figure sitting on a sofa in the center of the first floor.

The thing had to be nearly two-and-a-half meters tall. All four limbs looked cybernetic. Its face no longer resembled anything human—just six glowing red lenses.

“If I ever had to fight that thing… I’d be screwed…”

With the code in hand, Roland dropped back down after the two guards entered, landing without a sound.

He punched in the code. The door slid open—and the stench inside made his expression shift instantly. He activated his helmet’s filtration system as a suffocating odor slammed into him.

“Damn… this smell is brutal…”

“You’ll get used to it. Look at me—I don’t even notice it anymore.”

Roland eyed the two figures ahead. He didn’t attack. Instead, he circled around them to check the raw materials they were using.

Before long, he found a row of machines grinding away under red lights—processing all sorts of grotesque insects, some disturbingly familiar.

He quietly activated his recording function, documenting everything, then continued onward.

A faint groan caught his attention. Roland turned toward the sound, walking deeper until a scene like a butcher’s slaughterhouse unfolded before him.

Blood-soaked cyberware lay discarded to one side. On the other, bodies—dead or barely alive—were piled high.

The weak groaning came from the person lying atop the mound.

“Host, that individual is compatible with the Destruction template.”

Roland paused. Then he stepped forward, climbed over the corpse heap, and lifted the person down.

The man was practically a human stump—one eye gone, his mouth stripped to exposed muscle and teeth, his entire form warped into something grotesque.

His remaining eye burned with pure, undiluted hatred.

“Kill… them…”

The voice seeped out like air leaking from a broken pipe, barely audible.

Roland didn’t respond. He placed his hand at his thigh; a small compartment slid open, ejecting a vial.

He injected it into the man.

“Haah… grr…”

“Hold on to your hatred. From today onward, your life belongs to me.”