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Philip was busy assembling the documents necessary for his application to become a chair in the

research facility.

As he prepared to submit his paperwork, a commotion erupted in the main hall, accompanied by the

panic-stricken cries of the researchers.

Rushing to the scene, Philip discovered a figure restrained by a thick chain. The captive appeared to

be in his late teens, with fiery red eyes emanating a fierce hostility.

Despite being hit with a tranquilizer, the young man did not fall; instead, he bared his teeth and snarled

at the approaching scientists.

A frown creased Philip's brow until Isaac approached him.

"This is one of the latest 'superweapons' developed by our research, don't let his youthful appearance

fool you. He's taken the lives of at least a thousand people."

A thousand people?

Isaac's lips curled into a smile. "Shocking, right? The researchers locked him up with thousands of

other kids in a basement room. Only those who survived seven levels of challenges made it out alive,

and he's the sole survivor. They've monitored him and estimated that he's killed about one thousand

and one hundred people. His genes have been modified; his bare hands can tear a person apart."

The research facility was truly crossing into the realms of the macabre.

"Tear apart with bare hands? Is that even possible?"

Philip's demeanor remained gentle, yet his gaze on the chained young man was filled with intrigue.

"It's possible. There are warrior nations in history, every citizen a born fighter, and others known for

their sturdy skeletons, stronger than the average human. The boy before you is a monster, an

amalgamation of various genetic modifications."

Considering the researchers had managed to transfer memories from one individual to another,

creating a monster through genetic fusion seemed trivial.

"How strong is he?"

Isaac's grin grew wider. "He's the ultimate weapon at the moment. Masterful with firearms, each shot is

a headshot, and in hand-to-hand combat, he's invincible."

Philip's curiosity deepened. If he became president, could he take this 'weapon' out for a spin?

"However, he's also been implanted with an aggression gene; he's hostile towards others and can only

be controlled by his master."

"Who's his master?"

Isaac chuckled, knowing Philip was hooked. "He's just a prototype for now, without an owner. Everyone

is the same in his eyes. We'll see who he ends up with eventually."

A glint of desire flashed in Philip's eyes. With such a weapon, eliminating rivals like Ian would be

convenient.

Unfortunately, the facility's executives had yet to decide who would receive this living weapon.

He sighed, a trace of regret in his breath.

Elsewhere, Ian's men had already infiltrated the building complex.

That evening, Ian himself entered, disguised as a refugee along with two others.

The place was a sanctuary for refugees, no matter their nationality.

Following a welfare center worker, Ian received a room number and was shown to his own space.

The room was modest, about 160 square feet, with a private bathroom—a paradise for refugees.

Ian didn't touch anything inside. Instead, he stood in the hallway, lost in thought.

The smell in the room was very bad. After all, many people had lived in this room. He was standing in

the corridor outside and struck up a conversation with a neighbor.

The neighbor, who had been there for six months, greeted Ian warmly.

"You're new here, right? You're in luck."

"Why am I lucky?"

"To be taken in here is fortunate. I've been here for six months and gained nearly twenty pounds. Not

only do they provide shelter, but also three square meals a day." Coոtent оf Draмaոovеls.cом

The man spoke with envy, "But with my health, I might not last the night. Chances of such good fortune

falling on me are slim."

Jobs on Wall Street? Earning dollars? Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

This sounded eerily similar to those tales back home, of people being smuggled abroad for work only to

end up enslaved by human traffickers.