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Unknown - 10 years ago -

"It's not going to work."

"Pass me the eye."

"But sir, I don't think it's stable eno—"

The glare he shot across the room silenced the man instantly. A glare that could kill. Literally.

"I said, pass me the eye." His voice was deeper than the sea, laced with fury.

Hesitating, the assistant gently picked up the small mechanical orb, only for it to be ripped from his hand by no one other than the devil himself.

He swallowed hard.

"Does the eye have extraocular muscles?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." That voice could freeze hell over. Especially for Ashton.

"S-Sir, maybe we should get a—a professional?"

The devil didn't even glance up as he connected the eye to the socket, his tone venomous.

"The so-called professionals handled the organs. I'm more than capable of doing the eyes. So shut it. I don't need your input. It will wor—"

The room pulsed red, then white.

Red. White.

A high-pitched buzzing filled the air as the girl on the table began to shake violently.

"This is all your fault," the man hissed, voice brimming with fury as he turned to strike Ashton—only to find him gone.

"That little—argh!"

He grabbed the second eye from the tray, forcing it into the empty socket, wires sparking as he struggled to connect nerve endings to machine.

She needed to be still. But time was running out.

He would never get another chance like this. Never find another girl, half-dead on the pavement, perfectly suited for his vision.

This was his moment. He would take it.

The final connection clicked into place. He reached for a thin plastic straw-like device, plunging it into her arm and injecting a dark liquid.

The trembling subsided. Her body stilled.

The red blood inside her began to drain—replaced by something... else.

Something blue.

Not the colour blood should be. But exactly what he needed.

Blue like the chemical-synth organ fluid.

Blue like control.

Blue like death.

*********************

A few hours ago

Blood.
Blood.
Blood.

Blood covered the walls like paint as I stepped over the many corpses scattered across the floor.

The room, once bright and vibrant, now reeked of death—its walls coated with the aftermath of something no one could have predicted just hours before.

Families unaware that their last goodbye... was their last.

It wasn't just the end of their lives. It was the death of legacies. Futures cut short.

Present

Look—I get it. It's sad. Tragic, even. But it's kill or be killed. Survival or death.

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