“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, you heard the report card . . .” Stricken picked up a remote control from one of the desks. One wall screen began flashing through various interior shots, the growth vats, the glowing cylinders of alchemical slime, and then finally the testing center. “If we’re going to use these things to save the world, I think it’s time we conduct a more in-depth field test.”

The camera was fixed on a man sitting cross-legged on the floor of a padded room, staring off into space. His bare torso was hooked to several different monitoring machines. Every muscle group stood out with perfect definition. It was like he’d been sculpted by an artist whose only instruction had been to demonstrate perfection.

“The first prototype . . .” Foster whistled. They’d all seen what these things were capable of, and the oldest was special even by Nemesis standards. “Poor Franks will never know what hit him.”

The man appeared to be an ideal human specimen, but he was so much more. He was a blank slate on which could be inscribed the perfect soldier. Other than the nearly inhuman level of muscle tone, he appeared to be a white male in his twenties. They’d varied the genetic mix in each tank so that he could have assets available to blend into any culture. Stricken had to admit, he felt a little proud. He’d played god and gotten away with it. He had to wonder if Konrad Dippel had felt like this when he’d electrocuted a slab of meat and brought Franks to life.

The first prototype was staring directly into the camera.

* * *

He could smell his visitor approaching.

The albino had the scent of dark magic on him. He’d been touched at some point in his life and it had left him twisted. There was a blight on his soul, but unlike most damaged humans, the one called Stricken had embraced the darkness and used it to make himself stronger instead. He had a lust for power that was rare amongst mortals. It would be wise not to underestimate the albino.

The door of his cell opened and Stricken entered, alone. He was not afraid. Stricken believed he was in control. They had surgically implanted a device inside his skull, and should he rise up against his creators, they would destroy this body.

That was unacceptable.

“Looking good there, my badass genetically engineered killing machine.”

He remained seated as Stricken approached. If he moved too much it would pull the needles and sensors from his body and that would upset the doctors. Their poking and experiments were tiresome, but the indignities were a small price to pay to have a physical body. It was not right to treat a prince like this, but he would bide his time, and once ascended, he would remember every single insult inflicted on him by these humans and he would repay each one a thousandfold.