Chapter 9: Bloodlines
The stasis chamber reeked of chemicals and cold metal, like death had once lived here and only recently moved out.
Victor stared at the broken restraints, still stained with old blood—his blood, maybe. Or someone else who wore his face. He didn’t know which answer disturbed him more.
Selene didn’t speak. She watched him, trying to read the storm behind his eyes. For all her defiance, all her fire, she hadn’t expected this—the possibility that Victor wasn’t just hunted by Project Twelve, but from it.
“I need the truth,” she finally said.
Victor’s jaw clenched. He slipped the data chip into a portable reader, and a file decrypted on-screen. A photo. A medical report. Brain scans.
Name: Victor (Twelve)
Status: Compromised
Protocol: Divide and Reconstruct
Notes: Original subject demonstrated excessive autonomy. Created shadow identities to protect core self. Final version is unaware of primary source. Clean-up initiated. Ghost Protocol: ACTIVE.
Selene whispered, “You’re not the original.”
“No,” Victor said quietly. “I’m the one who lived.”
“And the original?”
Victor looked at the bed again.
“He’s out there.”
---
Three Hours Later – Underground Transit Hub, Berlin
Victor and Selene rode in silence on a private tram below the city—one of the forgotten escape routes from Cold War paranoia. Lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows as the tunnel stretched endlessly forward.
“Why would they split you?” Selene asked finally.
Victor leaned back, eyes closed. “I was unstable. Smart, lethal—but too aware. They couldn’t control me. So they fragmented me. Split memory from instinct. Gave each part its own body.”
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“Clone?”
“Possibly. Or transfer. Doesn’t matter. One half got rage. The other got reason.”
She looked at him. “Which one are you?”
He opened his eyes—quiet, cold, unblinking. “You already know.”
She nodded. “Then he’s rage.”
Victor’s lips barely moved. “And they just set him loose.”
---
Kyiv – Black Site Omega
It wasn’t on any map.
A facility buried beneath abandoned factories and Chernobyl-fueled myths. Radiation signs were just camouflage.
Inside, a man walked barefoot over glass shards.
Blood trailed behind him, but he didn’t flinch.
He wore Victor’s face.
But it wasn’t him.
His eyes were wild. Hungry. Free.
The staff called him “Twelve.”
He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.
They gave him a target list.
He threw it into the fire.
And then he walked into the control room, smiled at the techs, and locked the doors behind him.
Six minutes later, the entire compound was silent.
Everyone was dead.
And Twelve was gone.
---
Milan – Safehouse Echelon
Victor and Selene arrived just after midnight. The place was clean. Stocked. An old contact had prepared it—a hacker named Linn, who owed Victor three favors and his right hand.
Linn greeted them with a shotgun and a nervous grin.
“You’ve made enemies, man.”
Victor raised an eyebrow. “Which ones?”
“All of them,” Linn said, tossing the gun aside. “Interpol flagged you. NSA tagged your face. And someone just erased every record of you from every black-ops file I had access to.”
Selene leaned in. “You mean—”
“I mean,” Linn said, “to the world, Victor doesn’t exist anymore.”
Victor wasn’t surprised.
“They’re clearing the board,” he said.
Selene frowned. “And replacing the pieces.”
Linn nodded. “They’re calling him Red Victor. That’s what’s hitting the darknet feeds. Footage of him killing ex-operatives in Romania, Bangkok, and Pretoria. Two confirmed. Five missing.”
Selene stared at Victor. “He’s hunting everyone tied to the project.”
“Not just hunting,” Victor said. “He’s sending a message.”
“What message?”
Victor’s voice was a whisper.
“I remember everything.”
---
The Revelation
Later that night, while Selene slept, Victor stood alone on the balcony.
Rain fell like whispers from ghosts.
He watched the city pulse below—oblivious, living, warm.
He didn’t belong here.
Not anymore.
He felt her approach. Selene, barefoot, silent.
“You ever think you were never supposed to survive?” she asked.
“I don’t think I was supposed to be born,” he replied.
Selene looked at him carefully. “But you were.”
He glanced at her. “Do you regret staying?”
She shook her head. “No. Because you might be the echo…”
She touched his chest.
“…but you’re the one who bled for freedom.”
They stood there a moment, the rain washing away what the fire couldn’t.
Then Victor turned away.
“We leave tomorrow. We find Twelve.”
Selene nodded. “And when we do?”
Victor didn’t hesitate.
“We end him.”
