I stared at Silva, letting his words echo in my mind. He prided himself on having no vulnerabilities, no one he cared for. But as he spoke, I saw it: a flicker in his eyes, a glint of something that had nothing to do with power or manipulation. It was self-preservation.
Silva didn't care about anyone else because he only cared about one thing—himself.
That was his weakness.
A plan started to form, a subtle shift in my strategy. If I could push him, make him feel threatened in a way he couldn't ignore, he'd crumble. Silva was strong when he was untouchable, when his only enemies were out of reach. But if he felt his own security slipping, he'd unravel.
Scarlett shifted beside me, tense, sensing the storm brewing. But I held up a hand, keeping her steady. She was ready to fight, but I needed her patience now.
"Silva," I said, voice calm, each word deliberate. "You're right. I care about things you don't. I'm not blind to my own vulnerabilities. But that's exactly what makes me stronger."
He laughed, a hollow, dismissive sound. "How touching, V. But your sentimental nonsense doesn't change the fact that I'm here, holding all the cards."
I took a slow step forward, my eyes locked on his. "Are you really? Because I don't think you realize just how fragile your position is. You keep claiming you're untouchable, yet here you are, in this darkened hallway, flanked by your minions like a scared animal hiding from a predator. You think you're winning?"
His smirk faltered, just a fraction, as the confidence in my voice cut through his bravado.
"Oh, I know I'm winning," he spat back, but there was a note of uncertainty in his tone now, something he couldn't quite conceal.
"Do you?" I pressed, holding his gaze, making sure every word hit its mark. "If that's true, why don't you come at me alone? Without your men, without any of this facade. Just you and me, Anderson." I let his name hang in the air, stripped of any respect. "Or are you afraid?"
His eyes narrowed, but the bravado cracked, his mask slipping.
"You're so predictable, V," he sneered, but I could see it—his pulse quickening, his fingers twitching, the telltale signs of a man whose confidence was starting to crumble. "This posturing doesn't make you any more threatening. It makes you... desperate."
I stepped closer, barely a foot away now. "You're right about one thing," I said softly. "I am desperate. But not in the way you think. I'm desperate to watch you finally realize that you're the weakest person here."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, like clockwork, his gaze shifted, flicking to his henchmen, betraying his need for control. In that split second, I saw it all: the carefully built fortress of ego he'd constructed around himself, the illusion of invincibility he held onto so fiercely. Silva feared one thing more than anything else—his own failure.
And that fear was enough.
Scarlett seemed to catch on, her eyes gleaming with understanding as she moved subtly to my side. She was ready, waiting for the signal. We didn't need to overpower him physically; we just had to tear down the walls he hid behind.
"Scarlett," I said, my voice carrying an edge that was meant just for him. "Let's make sure Anderson here gets the attention he deserves. After all, he's so fond of the spotlight."
Her smirk mirrored mine, as she nodded. "Oh, absolutely. I'd hate for him to miss his grand finale."
Silva's confidence faltered. He knew he'd been baited, but it was too late to retreat. And that, finally, was when he broke, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple as his eyes darted between us.
The game was ours now.
The darkness lifted slowly, an agonizing crawl back into consciousness. I couldn't feel my arms or legs. In fact, I couldn't feel much of anything. The cold bite of an unusual material pressed against my skin, sterile and unforgiving, as a clinical light blared overhead, slicing through the haze in my mind.
As I blinked, shapes sharpened around me—figures in white lab coats, their faces obscured by masks, eyes hidden behind goggles that gleamed with a strange detachment. They moved mechanically, checking tubes, wires, machines around me, a network of steel and circuitry that I realized, with mounting horror, was connected to me.
"He's awake," one of them muttered, a brief look of curiosity flickering over his face before it was replaced by cold indifference.
I tried to move, but my limbs wouldn't respond. Panic swelled as I glanced down, and the sight nearly broke me. My arms—my flesh, my skin, my scars—were gone, replaced by strange materia, a mockery of humanity.
Mercier's face appeared above me, an unsettling calm in his expression. "Welcome back, V," he said smoothly. "Or rather… Zane."
The name clawed into my mind, a harsh reminder of the life they'd ripped away. I was V. The same person who'd just been fighting with Scarlett, barely hanging on. But Mercier's tone made it clear that the name I'd carried until now meant nothing anymore.
"You're no longer the man you were," Mercier continued, a sick satisfaction glinting in his eyes. "You're stronger, faster, infinitely more efficient. We've removed every single weakness you once had. And with this transformation, you've shed the last of your humanity."
"What… have you done?"
He smiled, almost pitying. "You're reborn, Zane. The perfect weapon."
My mind raced. They had taken everything—my identity, my body, even my memories were starting to feel distant, slipping through my grasp like water. The thought of losing everything, of becoming someone else entirely, made my insides twist with fear.
One of the scientists stepped forward, inspecting something on a tablet as he addressed Mercier. "All core functions are stable. He's operating within projected limits. In a few more sessions, his memory alignment will be complete. He won't remember anything about his former life."
Mercier's grin widened, satisfaction etched into every line of his face. "Good. Let's make sure Zane understands his role."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "Your past, the people you knew… they mean nothing to you now. As far as you're concerned, you belong to us. You live to serve us, to obey, to destroy."
"Do you understand, Zane?" Mercier demanded, his gaze steely.
My vision blurred, anger mixing with helplessness, every instinct screaming against the new name, the hollow existence they were forcing on me. But then a part of me went silent, a fragment of that dark passenger I'd once kept hidden—the part that knew survival, that adapted, waited, and plotted. If this was who they believed me to be, I could let them think it… for now.
"Yes," I forced out, my new voice flat, emotionless. "I understand."
Mercier chuckled, clearly pleased. "Good. Because the city needs you, Zane. And soon, every last soul will learn to fear the weapon you've become."
Mercier stood back, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction as the lab technicians continued their work, They wanted me to break, wanted me to fight against this transformation, but I wouldn't give them that satisfaction. Instead, I would wait, like a predator in the shadows, biding my time until I could strike.
The transformation was complete. My body was no longer mine. It was a shell—a weapon, as Mercier had said. Every inch of me felt cold, distant, and wrong. But beneath it all, a core of something—something darker, something familiar—remained. I still had my mind, my thoughts, my plans. And I would make sure they didn't break me.
"Take him to the training facility," Mercier ordered, his voice like a whip cracking through the sterile air.
Two men in black tactical gear stepped forward, grabbing hold of my arms with precision, and though my body felt like it was no longer mine, I still had enough presence of mind to resist the urge to fight. For now, I would play along.
They dragged me through sterile corridors, the hum of machinery vibrating through the walls. I couldn't help but notice the quiet whispers between them, their eyes flicking over to me with a strange mix of fear and awe. I was supposed to be their perfect weapon, the tool that would bring about their vision of power, but deep down, I knew the truth: they were scared of what I could become.
We reached a large, open room—a training facility that seemed more like a cage. In the center was a raised platform, surrounded by cameras and observation windows, where the real show would take place. The cold, clinical atmosphere was suffocating.
They shoved me forward, and I stumbled, my limbs still getting used to the heavy enhancements they'd added. I could hear the faint crackle of Mercier's voice through the speakers. "Let's see what you're capable of, Zane."
Before I could react, the doors on the far side of the room slid open, revealing a group of heavily armed men. These weren't just any men. They were like me—trained, dangerous. But unlike me, they still had their humanity. That would be their downfall.
I looked down at myself—my chest heaving with the effort to regulate my breathing—and for the first time since my transformation, I felt something stir. A flicker of the dark passenger, that quiet whisper in the back of my mind that urged me to fight, to kill. And for a split second, I thought about embracing it. Letting it consume me entirely.
But I held back. For now, I had a role to play.
The first man charged at me, swinging a baton with practiced speed. His movements were sharp, quick, but they lacked precision. I stepped aside, allowing him to miss by mere inches, and then I struck. My fist collided with his chest, and he crumpled to the ground in an instant. The strength that flowed through me was unbelievable—raw power coursing through my veins.
The others hesitated, clearly taken aback by how easily their comrade had fallen. They circled around me, their eyes narrowing with suspicion. But it didn't matter. They couldn't touch me.
One of the men lunged, aiming a kick at my side. I twisted, grabbing his leg mid-air and throwing him to the ground with a brutal slam. Another tried to grab me from behind, but I was faster, spinning around and sending him flying into the nearest wall with a force that left a dent in the concrete.
I didn't have to think about the moves. My body reacted on its own, a machine in sync with the violence around it. They were outclassed, outmatched. One by one, they fell.
But then, Mercier's voice echoed through the room once more, louder this time. "Enough."
I froze, and the remaining men hesitated, unsure whether to continue or retreat. I could feel their fear, their uncertainty. They didn't know what they were dealing with, and that was exactly how I wanted it.
Mercier's footsteps approached from behind. "Impressive, Zane," he said, his voice dripping with mock praise. "But this was just a test. You're far from done."
I didn't respond, not yet. But in my mind, I was already plotting my next move, calculating the best way to turn this situation into my advantage.
The true test would come when I was faced with something far worse than the men I'd just fought. The real challenge would be when I confronted the people who thought they controlled me—Mercier, Miller, and even Anderson Silva. I would make them regret ever thinking they could turn me into their puppet.
But for now, I had to wait. Bide my time. Play their game until the right moment came. And then, when they least expected it, I would tear everything down.
I would make them see just how dangerous I could be.
Meanwhile, back at V's house, Scarlett and Lucy sat in silence, the weight of the world hanging over them. The house, once a sanctuary for V, now felt cold and empty without him. Scarlett, still recovering from the injuries she'd sustained, turned to Lucy with a grim expression.
"We can't just sit here," Scarlett said, her voice tight. "We have to find him."
Lucy nodded, her face a mask of worry. "We will. We'll get him back."
But in her heart, Lucy knew they were up against something much bigger than they had realized. And with V now a weapon under Mercier's control, their fight was only just beginning.