Codename: Blueshift. Real name: Victoria Kyong. Born in New York from North Korean escapee. Divided her life between abusive adoptive families and the streets. No known relatives, no known love interests, no known...friends.
Heh. More or like the same story went for Havoc, the 'human bulldozer' as some funny guy at DARPA said as a joke. It stuck. And same story went for Nuke. He chose the name himself, despite the fact that a nuke could kill actually kill him. Not a "Davy Crocket" bomb, though. It had been such a joy to see him emerge from the small mushroom cloud, covered in radioactive dust. Heavily battered up, tired, but alive. And happy.
All of them...friends.
"You hadn't counted on that, General, hadn't you?" Blueshift asked, the talon on her finger rubbing sooo slightly against his throat. That talon that had cut so many throats, organs... Heh, The Flash was such a wussie, the General thought: all punches and some nifty tricks, but add blades to the costume of a metahuman who can run at 150 miles/H, and you are dead before you can blink. People keep thinking of a super-runner like someone who comes at you only, always underestimates how much more lethal Blue Shift could become on hand to hand.
"You had counted on us being too competitive amoung ourselves, like dogs fighting for the approvation of their masters. First wins, first get the bone."
The General nodded, smiling in spite of himself. "My bad. And to think that it looked like it worked to." His eyes went to the other member of the Blood Triad, the crowning of his career as a scientist. He loved them, like an artist could love his definitive masterwork.
Blue Shift's taloned hand caressed his face, tenderly. She had that sweet smile that melted people's hearts. Her lolita of death. "You should never have started sending us in group missions. You became avid, after your first successes. you wanted to do more and more and faster and faster..."
He nodded. She knew him well, or rather she knew how these things worked. Every single member of the Blood Triad was picked just for this reason: they were survivors, people without any attachment to the world at large, pure sociopaths.
The top brasses were right: At first, discipline had filled their voids, given them a purpose. Kill, get reward. One at a time. Then Two. Then Three...
Then a family was born in the Special Operations Services' midst.
The General tried to listen to any sound from the corridor, but he could only smell the blood. Alarms had been overrided. Blood scent everywhere. No personal alive, at the HQ. How long before someone outside would realize and initiate the Termination Protocol..?
"Not soon enough, 'father'," Blue Shift said. He knew she was at the command, the big sister for her destructive brothers. The Queen Bee. "Now we just go. No more discussions, no long ranting from us 'baddies'. We go. And you will live your last moments knowing that we will revel in the glory you created. Byez."
She let him go. The General slid down the wall, too weak to do more than look at the other two leering at him as they walked past him.
He couldn't do more than look. He hadn't even felt her claw cutting his carothid. Jut like butchering a chicken. A small cut, painless, perfect. He admired her...