An accident had occurred.
But it wasn't the kind the recorder had hoped for.
"What the hell is that thing? Why are there suddenly lacerations appearing on the test subject? And the wounds are still increasing!"
The data tech's panicked voice echoed through the room, disbelief etched across his face as he stared at the screen.
The monitor displayed a full 3D model of the brute's body. The sensors and data collectors accurately projected each new wound onto the visual.
Just moments earlier, the model had only registered minor bullet "bruises," as if a plastic mannequin had been gently dented by pressure.
But in an instant, cut after cut began appearing across the brute's virtual body—like someone had gone mad with scissors, hacking away at a synthetic doll.
And it wasn't just wounds—the test subject's physical energy consumption was spiking fast.
Moments ago, even under a hail of gunfire, his combat status had looked like he was enjoying a spa. The bullets barely harmed him—like getting scalded in a hot tub.
Now? It was like he was rolling across a floor lined with razor blades.
"I don't know either! Something's gone wrong. The subject is... it's like he's fighting a ghost—no, it's a Sandevistan! Someone is using a speedware module. I've never seen a Sandevistan user move that fast before!"
The recorder couldn't hide his shock. His voice rang through the room, rising in panic.
The team leader's brow furrowed sharply. He shoved the recorder aside and peered coldly down at the street, his expression turning grim.
His cyberoptics zoomed in—amplifying his vision to the max. What had seemed like streaks of motion now resolved into blurs. His neural reflex boost implant kicked in.
The street below was no longer a blur of light. It had become ghostly shadows.
Light couldn't be tracked—but shadows could.
He just barely made out a solidly built figure wielding a blade, relentlessly carving wounds into the brute's flesh.
"This Sandevistan user is extremely capable. Must be a merc from the area near Afterlife. Skilled with blades," the team leader said coolly.
"The subject's subdermal armor can handle conventional rounds, but not monomolecular blades. What's the current performance of the combat algorithms? Any chance he can fight back?"
The data tech's face turned grim. He stared at the growing injuries on the 3D model and replied helplessly:
"Based on raw numbers... the subject will likely be taken down in two minutes. Even if we push the Berserk module past safe limits, it'll only buy three at best."
He never would've predicted this—no matter how wild his imagination.
One second, the brute had been cutting through enemies like a god, immune to bullets like steam in a bath.
The next, he was a slab of meat waiting to be butchered—every slice and strike dictated by the mood of some unexpected intruder.
"Fucking hell—why did some wildcard have to show up now?!"
The recorder cursed under his breath, face pale. Despite being shoved, his eyes hadn't left the street once.
A corporate order took precedence over everything. Even with a gun to his head, he had to keep filming until the end.
"Team lead, should we call cleanup to extract the body?" the data tech asked.
The team lead ignored him. Eyes cold, he stared blankly as the ghostly blur rescued the hostage from the brute's grip and gently laid them beside a burly man.
He zoomed in further.
Once the phantom had completed the extraction, they inevitably exited timeslow.
That gave the team leader his best chance to observe.
A black jacket. On the back: a snarling white wolf with jaws wide open. In his hands: a katana glowing with embedded LEDs. His face—surprisingly youthful. A teenager?
What the fuck... where the hell did a kid like this come from with that level of power?!
Test subjects used in live trials like this were always the best of the best—top-tier specimens both physically and mentally.
In the team leader's assessment, if this brute fought recklessly and caught his targets off-guard, he could probably solo a full MaxTac squad.
And yet, even with that much firepower, the brute had zero chance against this teen—this unknown intruder.
"Got it all on camera?" the team leader asked suddenly.
The recorder hesitated, almost nodding—then remembered protocol. He held back and replied:
"Yes. It's all recorded."
"Good. As for cleanup—forget it," the team lead said icily.
"We're not authorized to interfere with experiment outcomes. Anything that happens during a field test is permitted. Remember what the director said."
"So we're just gonna sit here and watch?"
The recorder was visibly frustrated. A smooth test run would've looked great on their reports.
The test subject's destruction was inevitable—corps didn't care about losing one prototype.
But the experiment wasn't even ten minutes in when this dumb bastard came charging in with a sword.
Sure, they got the data... but this was going to be a mess.
The team leader shot him a cold look and said plainly:
"Know why I'm the team lead and you're not?"
The recorder froze, silent for a long while, then chose not to answer.
"Because I know what the research division really wants. They don't care about boring, perfect test results. They'd love to see chaos—something strange, unexpected. It gives them more material, more angles to write into reports, and better justification to ask for more funding."
"Trust me. Every critical datapoint has already been captured. And now, we've got extra intelligence. Let research worry about the outlier. We'll get praised regardless..."
"Because we just gathered something new."
The team leader's shadowed gaze returned to the boy with the blade. He watched as the teen lunged at the brute again—and for the first time, a smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
No idea who the hell this punk was.
Didn't matter.
They'd file a report.
Whether that intel was useful... wasn't their problem.
After all, they didn't work in intelligence.
Field testing of new products was always the final phase of development.
The man had done this job long enough to know: field testing didn't even matter that much. As long as nothing broke during use, the product was greenlit.
As for the boy?
He was an external variable.
One that wouldn't affect the final report.
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