Aria's enhanced brain began processing the data, transforming raw information into a living, breathing story. The list wasn't just names. It was a record of human potential turned into weapons, of scientific limits broken and moral lines crossed.
The names fell into distinct categories:
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Genetic Architects (127 individuals)
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Primary researchers responsible for genetic modification protocols
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Led by Dr. Elena Reyes and her core team of genetic engineers
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Included specialists from MIT, Stanford, and classified government research facilities
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Cybernetic Enhancement Specialists (214 individuals)
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Experts in neural interface design
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Pioneers in human-machine integration
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Recruited from top military research programs and cutting-edge tech corporations
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Psychological Conditioning Experts (156 individuals)
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Specialists in human behavioral modification
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Experts in trauma-based learning and neural reprogramming
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Many with classified backgrounds in military intelligence and experimental psychology
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Funding and Administrative Oversight (312 individuals)
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Government officials
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Private sector investors
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Black budget administrators who ensured Project Nexus remained invisible
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Test Subject Handlers and Medical Staff (391 individuals)
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Direct supervisors of experimental subjects
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Medical professionals who monitored and documented genetic modifications
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Ethically compromised individuals who treated human lives as mathematical variables
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Each name represented a calculated risk, a piece of a grand experiment that sought to redefine human potential. Some were true believers in scientific progress. Others were mercenaries of knowledge, selling their expertise to the highest bidder.
To Aria, they were equations waiting to be solved—exact calculations of retribution. Every single one of you will pay, she thought, her neural pathways burning with a cold, methodical rage. These weren't just people who had experimented on her; they were architects of a systematic destruction of childhood, of humanity.
The genetic architects who mapped her DNA like a sterile blueprint. The cybernetic specialists who saw her as nothing more than a living algorithm. The psychological conditioning experts who tried to strip away her humanity—piece by calculated piece. The administrative overlords who funded her suffering from sterile boardrooms. The medical staff who documented her pain with the detachment of lab technicians counting cells.
You thought you were creating a weapon, her mind whispered, a dangerous edge of anticipation building. You have no idea what you've actually created.
This list wasn't just a record. It was a hunting manifest. And she would be the most precise predator they had ever engineered—their ultimate, unintended creation.
Aria's fingers moved across the interface, her enhanced vision reading information faster than any normal human could process. Names became patterns. Patterns became plans. And plans transformed into a complete understanding of the project that created her.
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Krell watched, his cybernetic eye processing data streams in synchronization with Aria's neural interface. "1,200 people," he muttered. "And now they'll become 1,200 targets."
Her response was a smile that didn't reach her eyes—a predator's calculation disguised as human emotion. "Not targets. Loose ends."
Aria's fingers traced the data core's interface, her neural systems processing the complex information. Her voice was cold, calculated. "These records about Project Nexus—we're not selling. Everything gets erased."
Krell's cybernetic eye flickered, processing her statement. "The information could be vitally important. Certain parties would pay—"
"No," Aria cut him off, her tone absolute. "Some secrets die here. Project Nexus ends now."
Her neural interface began a comprehensive deletion protocol. Names, research data, genetic maps—all would be systematically destroyed. Not leaked. Not sold. Completely and irrevocably erased.
"Everything else," she said, a hint of pragmatism entering her voice, "we can monetize. But Project Nexus dies with this deletion."
Krell nodded, understanding that when Aria made a decision, it was final. Some information was too dangerous, even for their mercenary standards. And Project Nexus would remain nothing more than a ghost—untraceable, unrecoverable.
As Krell processed the data, Aria's fingers paused over the interface. For a moment, a rare vulnerability flickered in her eyes.
"After we sell the information," she said, her voice carefully neutral, "will you come find me?"
Krell's cybernetic eye flickered, processing more than just the data streams. He understood the subtext—this wasn't a request for companionship, but a tactical inquiry.
"Find you?" He let out a short, dry laugh. "Aria, we're not friends. We're business partners. Mercenaries. I don't do clean-up work unless there's a profit margin."
Her smile was a predatory curve, sharp and dangerous.. "Exactly. I always work better alone."
The unspoken truth hung between them: their partnership was efficient, but never permanent. Aria was a lone wolf, engineered for survival, not companionship. Krell respected that more than any emotional attachment.
The facility's destruction was a choreographed symphony of meticulous planning.
Krell's cybernetic eye scanned the complex, mapping out critical infrastructure with microscopic accuracy. "Residential sectors are two kilometers east," he muttered, projecting a holographic overlay. "We need methodical elimination. No collateral."
Aria's fingers moved across a compact demolition interface, her enhanced vision parsing structural vulnerabilities. "Targeted charges," she responded. "Focused compression points to contain the blast."
Unlike typical demolitions that would obliterate everything, they were engineering a controlled implosion. Specialized micro-charges would be placed at specific load-bearing points, creating a contained collapse that would:
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Minimize external damage
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Prevent debris from reaching nearby colony sectors
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Destroy all sensitive research materials
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Leave no traceable evidence
"Subatomic compression charges," Krell explained, his voice clinical. "They'll create a localized gravitational collapse. The facility will essentially fold in on itself."
Aria's smile was electric, a thrill of anticipation sparking in her eyes.. "No shockwave. No widespread destruction. Just a methodical elimination."
Each charge was placed with exacting accuracy—not just to destroy, but to protect. The nearby colony would feel nothing more than a minor tremor, mistaking it for routine geological activity.
"Clean?" Aria asked, her voice as cool as the evening wind.
Krell's cybernetic eye scanned the complex, thermal imaging confirming their calculated approach. "Precisely. Not a trace."
The facility didn't explode outward; it imploded—a precisely contained collapse, folding in on itself like intricate, destructive origami. Data cores liquefied, research archives disintegrated into microscopic dust, settling within the building's footprint.
Instead of a crater and widespread devastation, the facility simply vanished. Compressed into a dense mass no larger than a small vehicle, it left no shockwave, no debris field—just a perfect erasure. Thermal imaging revealed only a quickly cooling point of heat, easily mistaken for a minor geological event.
"Subatomic compression," Krell observed, his voice a low hum against the settling dust. "Textbook execution."
No records. No survivors. No evidence.
"If this facility exists," she murmured to Krell, her voice low and precise, "there are others. Identical. Hidden. Waiting."
Whatever organization funded a facility like this, didn't create a single experimental site, or a single data core. They created networks. Intricate, interconnected systems designed to remain invisible, to survive even when individual facilities were destroyed.
Her neural interface began compiling a new list of locations to investigate. Each entry represented a potential target, a coordinate woven into the complex web of Project Nexus.
The 1,200 names from the data core weren't just a record. They were a map. A blueprint of connections that could lead her to every single facility connected to the project that created her. Some would be active. Some abandoned. But all would hold pieces of the larger puzzle.
Where elimination had always been her primary strategy, information was becoming increasingly valuable. Not from sentimentality. Not from some misplaced sense of mercy. But from pure, clinical pragmatism.
Some targets would talk. Not because she would persuade them. Not because she cared about their stories. But because information was currency, and she was about to become the most precise collector in the universe.
Krell's cybernetic eye flickered with a hint of dry humor. "So," he said, a playful edge to his voice, "have you changed your mind about the inefficiencies of interrogations?"
Aria's lips curved into the ghost of a smile—sharp and knowing. "Some people," she responded, her voice low, "just need different levels of persuasion."
Interrogation wasn't a softening of her approach. It was an expansion of her operational parameters.
Revenge was no longer the sole objective. This was about systematic eradication. Every facility, every researcher, every trace of Project Nexus would be meticulously identified and permanently erased.
TARGETS FOR ELIMINATION: 1200