"BANG!"
"BANG!"
"BANG!"
Gunshots tore through the metal belly of the cargo ship, each blast echoing down the narrow corridors like thunder trapped in a steel cage. The floor vibrated beneath the chaos; the scent of gunpowder clung to the air as shadows darted between flashing muzzle lights.
No one—neither the invading tactical unit nor the criminals guarding the vessel—showed the slightest intention of surrendering.
"Secure the hostage!" the captain barked, voice steady despite the storm around them.
His team surged forward, ten figures clad in matte-black suits, armor hugging their frames, masked helmets making them look more like shadows than men. They moved with lethal coordination, honed by years of silent missions and unspoken trust. Their boots struck the grated floor in perfect rhythm, every motion practiced, precise, deadly.
Months of planning, surveillance, and undercover work had led to this moment. This ship—this floating nightmare—was their target. And tonight, it would fall.
Intelligence from a trusted informant had confirmed their worst suspicion: the cargo was not goods, but people. The vessel belonged to a powerful trafficking syndicate smuggling victims across the China Sea, bound for Europe's black markets. The team had seen horror before, but this? This was unforgivable.
Each soldier held one core belief: protect the helpless, even if it costs your life.
And tonight, many of them understood fully well… it just might.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the ship…
Sirens blared. The monitors in the control room flickered red. Men shouted over each other as panic erupted like wildfire.
"Wipe the drives! NOW—wipe everything!" Rambo roared.
The cold-hearted overseer of the ship's secret operation, Rambo's voice sliced through the noise like a blade. His hulking frame and scarred features commanded instant obedience. He wasn't just a criminal leader—he was the face of something darker, something the world wasn't meant to see.
His subordinates scrambled across keyboards, hands shaking as line after line of encrypted data vanished from existence. Every file tied to the project, every experiment log, every formula… all erased in seconds.
If the military seized even a fraction of this information, the consequences would be catastrophic. Years of clandestine research funded by billionaires and governments in the shadows—gone. The dream they chased, the evolution they intended to force upon humanity—dead.
Human nature itself would be rewritten if the truth leaked.
Rambo wouldn't allow that.
Through the smoke-filled room, he reached for a secure drawer, punching in a code only he knew. A small metallic click sounded, and he yanked out a single black USB drive—encrypted, untraceable, and the only surviving backup of their work.
He closed his fist around it.
They could rebuild everything from this… except her.
Rambo's eyes darkened.
"Kill all subjects and all doctors," he ordered, voice frighteningly calm. "Not a single one leaves this ship alive."
The room froze.
Doctors who had participated in the experiments went pale. Subjects—drugged, restrained, terrified—began to scream.
They all knew the rule: no loose ends.But this time, those loose ends were human beings.
Rambo had no sympathy. In his eyes, they weren't people—they were data. Failed iterations.
Before his men could move, he suddenly paused.
"Wait."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
He scanned the room, searching for a face that was missing—a face he obsessively monitored, day and night.
"Where," he asked quietly, "is Roselyn?"
Silence spread like frost.
Someone swallowed hard. "S-Sir… she was in the isolation lab. Locked down since dawn. She—she should be there."
"She should be," Rambo repeated, voice soft, dangerous. "But she's not?"
No one dared to answer.
In the blinking red emergency lights, his expression turned feral.
Roselyn Young wasn't just another subject. She wasn't replaceable. She wasn't disposable.
She was the key.
The anomaly in their experiment.The only one whose body had reacted differently.The only one whose genetic markers held the potential to finish what they started.
Without her…
There would be no evolution.No future.No him.
Rambo's voice dropped to a lethal whisper.
"Find her."
His men flinched.
"Bring her to me. Alive."
A beat passed.
"No excuses."
Far below, in the dim lower deck where the air was colder and the walls dripped with saltwater condensation, Roselyn Young ran.
Her bare feet slapped against the metal flooring, slippery with water and something darker. Her hospital gown fluttered behind her like torn white wings—mocking the ones she'd once imagined she had, the ones they'd cut away piece by piece.
Her breaths were ragged, each inhale burning her throat. She clutched her left arm where a needle had recently been ripped out, blood trailing down to her wrist.
Sirens screamed overhead. Men shouted commands. Lights flickered on and off, plunging her into bursts of darkness.
Roselyn didn't know who was attacking the ship.She didn't care.
All she knew—All she felt—was that this might be her only chance to live.
Her vision blurred. Her legs trembled. But she kept running.
She had to.
Because if Rambo's men caught her…If he caught her…
Death would be mercy.
On the main deck, the tactical captain signaled his team to split into two groups.
"Corridor A—take down the guards and secure the cells," he commanded. "Corridor B—you're with me. We find the main lab."
"Sir," one soldier said over comms, "we picked up thermal movement on the lower deck. One individual. Running."
"Hostage?"
"Possible."
"Then move!"
The captain tightened his grip on his rifle and sprinted toward the stairs.
The mission had changed.
They were no longer just shutting down a trafficking ring.
They were racing to save the life of a young woman who had no idea salvation was on its way.
A woman named Roselyn Young.
The girl the world would one day call the nightmare that survived.