Hearing this, most of Simmons's anger melted away. Everything was for the sake of longevity; if restoration was possible, it was naturally the best choice.
Use this result to silence the family's critics and secure his own position.
"Once the experiment succeeds, I'll inspect it. Prove your loyalty and the family won't be stingy. Finish the experiment and I'll pull you in as a peripheral member and give you partial command of the Far East Fleet." Simmons knew the trick of wielding a stick in one hand and a carrot in the other.
But Daniel saw it all, inwardly sneering at the naïveté. "I'll do my best. I need a unit to help clean up refugees in Vadoren—kill them as they flee."
"I'll handle that." Simmons was satisfied; the man was asking to be watched—exactly what he wanted.
Each got what they needed: one wanted data to extend life, the other wanted resources to grow his power.
All of it was watched by a slender figure—skin white as snow, breathtakingly young, the spitting image of Ada, yet not Ada. It was Ada's daughter, Jordana.
Inheriting Ada's temperament, Jordana loved adventure and the thrill of toying with foolish men as a spy.
Activating her cloaking, Jordana swaggered out of the hall; no one noticed her.
She knew the Oil-Field Base's layout inside-out, even the deepest level where a secret, fully-operational lab bred massive bioweapons.
Chapter 597: Carla's Honeymoon Trip
To support his family, Chris worked solo as a mercenary; Claire supplied him with the best current weapons and armor, and Chris fed back usage data so their maker, Emma, could improve them.
With the bio-experiments on hold, Doctors Annette and Rebecca enjoyed a rare holiday on Goddess Island—sunbathing, exercising, or chatting with their daughters.
The rest, bored, helped Alexia finish her Spaceship; in a month it would make its maiden voyage, needing multiple satellites for signal relay—plenty of prep work left.
Eddie, escorted by Carla, arrived in the Middle East for some rare couple-time.
"Sweetheart, why here?" Eddie eyed the wasteland—burned-out cars, scattered debris, bleached bones along the road—pure post-apocalypse.
"It's fun, and interesting. I want to see what that good-for-nothing did to my Pupa Virus." Carla wore her classic azure dress and gloves, short hair neat and sharp; with Ada-level beauty she looked every inch a siren.
Jessica and Lisa followed close behind—who else would guard her 24/7? Bodyguards this devoted were the industry's gold standard.
They ignored the scorching heat; Daylight on skin automatically triggered Photosynthesis, converting solar energy into stored power.
Turning heat into clean energy—Carla's final upgrade, dubbed Natural Adaptation.
She could stay unharmed in any situation.
Even a tsunami wouldn't stop her survival.
Space's harsher conditions were another matter—unrealistic for now.
"Got a target yet? Feels nice—sometimes I think how lucky I am, having such a gorgeous wife." Eddie chuckled, simple and happy.
Carla curved a smile. "You're great. Is this my make-up honeymoon?"
"I hear honeymoon couples soon have kids—what do you say?" Eddie grinned wickedly, eyes gleaming.
"Sounds like you're looking forward to it. Why?" Carla crossed her legs, chin propped on one hand, sitting in the off-roader, gazing unblinkingly at the man.
"You're my wife—of course I'm excited." Eddie didn't hide it.
"It's just because you're the only one who hasn't had kids yet; hubby instincts kicking in." Jessica, in ten-centimeter heels, drove smoothly from the wheel, showing none of the usual 'lady-driver' nerves.
That remark surprised Carla. "Jessica, I thought you didn't like talking to me much."
'I just don't like talking much; it has nothing to do with people.' Jessica offered the explanation in a flat tone. Her daughter was still being raised by others; in her own eyes she was a wife first, a mother second.
While they were speaking, a checkpoint loomed ahead. Several masked men in ragged clothes, clutching assault rifles, signaled for the car to stop.
Jessica ignored them; her high-heeled foot slammed the accelerator and the car roared straight through.
The masked terrorists leapt aside, cursing in the local tongue behind their masks. They tried to fire, but the vehicle had already vanished from sight.
The checkpoint was smashed; the terrorists had no choice but to rebuild it if they wanted to keep stopping cars.
What they would do with any car they caught was anyone's guess—robbery, kidnapping, or worse.
A King Cobra slithered up unseen and sank its fangs into one masked terrorist's foot as he worked.
'Ow—damn it, what bit me?' The man yelped, grabbed the snake, and ripped it away, tearing out a chunk of his own flesh along with it.
To his horror, the wound began to heal at speed, as though flames were knitting the flesh together.
He tore off his mask, revealing an ordinary face—until you noticed the dozens of eyes of every size covering his forehead, each blinking independently, grotesque and all-seeing.
The cobra whipped around his arm, trying to crush it and force him to let go.
Instead of releasing, the man lifted the snake and started biting its head.
Only then did the cobra realize the hunter had become the hunted, but its struggles came too late.
In moments the entire snake was swallowed, bones and all, leaving only a shed skin as evidence.
'Tasty—very tasty.' The terrorist licked his lips, pulled his mask back on, and walked off reeking of blood.
Carla frowned toward the scene. 'Those things have turned into beasts. Heh—Daniel, you useless hack, you actually managed to perfect the virus this far. I underestimated you.'
'It's just a common strain, nothing special. Come on, let's see what Simmons's people are up to.' Eddie sounded bored.
These so-called Demon-Corpses were no longer human; human and insect genes mixed, so any injury could trigger grotesque mutations. They ate anything, even filth.
Carla narrowed her beautiful eyes. 'I doubt Simmons would risk this. If anyone finds out he released a virus, it's a death sentence—even his family would abandon him instantly.'
'Life is the cheapest thing here. Using terrorists to spread it just gives him clean data. To Capitalists, lives are disposable.' Eddie shrugged.
'Aren't you a Capitalist yourself?' Carla teased with a smile.
'No, no—I'm just a rich man, not a Capitalist.' Eddie refused the label.
They hadn't driven ten minutes before a second checkpoint appeared.
These men were ragged and armed, looking more like bandits than local soldiers.
Chapter 598: Who's Scheming Against Whom?
'Again? How annoying.' Eddie lit a cigarette, impatient. This was the third checkpoint—would it ever end?
Carla stepped out in high heels, a bright red scarf around her neck.
The instant her foot touched the ground she flicked her wrist; one gunman's arm tore off. A casual squeeze of her hand exploded the heads of the mercenaries about to fire, reducing them to paste.
As their bodies collapsed, parasites began to writhe out, centipede-like creatures bursting from the skulls.