Amalgam

"Halt! Hands behind your head and get down on the floor right now! Stop or we will use lethal force!"

Gunfire shattered the sterile quiet of the corridor. Bullets chipped into the reinforced concrete, throwing sparks and dust into the air, but Eva was already moving. Ducking low, she threw herself around a corner into a maintenance conduit, vanishing from their line of sight just before the next volley tore through.

Behind her, heavy boots slid to a stop, followed by the click of a radio. "Command, this is Team Two. Target broke through Sector 4 and is heading toward the Experimental Workshop. Requesting immediate backup. Main elevators are already locked down — she’s got nowhere left to run..."

The door hissed shut as Eva stumbled into the cold, blue glow of the DNA storage vault. The room felt like a subterranean server farm, only instead of computer racks, towering climate-controlled glass cases lined the walls, each humming softly as they preserved thousands of serums, culture vials, and bio-samples.

Leaning against a steel frame, Eva pressed a hand against her ribs. When she pulled it away, her fingers were slick with dark, fresh blood. She wheezed, gritting her teeth against the burning ache in her side.

"Incompetent, backstabbing vermin... Every single one of the! Those pathetic little lab rats turning on me... those meatheads thinking they can put their filthy hands on me... and the board. Sitting on their asses in Atlas City, sipping scotch while they sign away my life's work.. Parasites! Thieves!"

She dragged herself past the displays, barely glancing at the labels passing in the gloom: PROJECT XIBALBA, PROJECT CHIMERA, PROJECT LAZARUS, PROJECT EIDOS, PROJECT DIANNO...

Finally, she reached the locker at the very end of the row. Behind the reinforced glass sat a single auto-injector containing a unrefined compound: PROJECT DRAGOS. Her life's work. Her masterpiece.

Breathing hard, Dr. Karyanova slammed her bloodstained palm onto the terminal.

"DR. EVA KARYANOVA. SENIOR GENETICIST. LEVEL FIVE CLEARANCE: ACCESS GRANTED."

The seal hissed open. Eva snatched the heavy injector from its cradle, turning toward the exit just as the vault doors were forced apart. Five tactical operators poured in, assault rifles raised, crimson laser dots instantly converging on her chest.

"Drop the cylinder, Doctor! It doesn’t have to end like this. Step away from the case!"

Eva wiped a cold smear of sweat and blood from her forehead. She looked at the guns, then down at the vial in her grip.

"You're right... It's far too late."

Without a split second of hesitation, she slammed the injector straight into the side of her neck and drove the plunger home.

... ... ...

Her eyes blew wide. A violent spasm seized Eva's entire frame, the empty casing clattering to the floor. Karyanova dropped to her knees, clawing at her throat as her veins turned pitch black.

"Hot... god, it's — burning — " she choked out, shaking uncontrollably.

The reaction took hold in seconds. Her right arm suddenly ignited, while her left hand froze over with jagged, pale blue rime that cracked against the floor. A sickening crunch of snapping bone echoed through the vault as two leathery wings tore through the back of her Eva's coat, spreading wide. From the base of her lumbar, her vertebrae forcibly elongated, ripping outward into a scorpion's tail that curled high over her head.

"It hurts — damn you, it hurts!!"

Then the screaming stopped.

"No... no, wait. It feels... good!"

Eva pushed herself up from the floor.

"Oh, you fools... This is even better than I calculated! MUAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Prague was completely gridlocked, but for once, nobody seemed to mind.

It was a historic morning in the Czech capital. Today marked the prelude to the signing of the National Partnership Treaty — a landmark agreement designed to let Evolons serve their home countries directly without being forced under the ECA's thumb. The Agency would keep its registry, of course, but it was still the biggest regulatory shift in a generation. The historic Old Town Square was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with news vans, nervous diplomatic security, UN delegates, suited agency bureaucrats, and crowds of ordinary locals who had only showed up for the free beer and sausage vendors.

Frida Sandersten, head of PR and official spokesperson for the ECA, stepped up to the outdoor podium. She raised a hand to quiet the reporters, cleared her throat, and leaned into the microphone cluster.

"Thank you, everyone. Please, settle down. While the official ratification begins tomorrow morning, early tallies confirm that the majority of member delegations have already pledged their full support. Today, we are taking the first real step toward a world where metahumans and baseline humans work together as equals. The future of global security has never looked brighter—"

The sky cracked open.

A fireball dropped out of the smog, obliterating an ECA promotional booth fifty yards away. The blast wave shattered nearby shop windows and sent wooden shrapnel spinning through the crowd. Before the smoke could clear, a figure leaped down from the roof of an adjacent townhouse.

"My, my... Did someone forget to send me an invitation to the party?"

Two security guards raised sidearms, shouting commands, but Eva didn't even break stride. A lance of pale frost shot from her left palm, encasing one guard's hands and weapon in solid ice. At the same time, a beam of solar energy flashed outward from her chest, incinerating the second guard's vest before ripping a furrow across the pavement. The raw light sheared into the front row of the crowd, setting nearby vehicles alight and turning the square into immediate chaos as hundreds stampeded over to escape.

Frida stumbled backward behind the podium.

"Wait-wait! Whoever sent you... was it the League? Whatever Omen is paying you, the ECA can double it! Triple it—" Frida stopped, her voice dying in her throat as the smoke drifted away. "...Dr. Karyanova? Eva?!"

With a single push of her wings, the Amalgam cleared the distance and slammed onto the podium, shattering the microphones.

""In the flesh, Frida darling," Eva sneered, leaning forward until her burning aura singed the PR manager's hair. "As you can see, Project Dragos is functional. Beyond functional! Now tell me... why are your knees knocking together? You sounded so brave on that termination call three weeks ago. Where did all that corporate swagger go?!"

Her tail snapped like an whip behind her, venom dripping onto the ground.

"You and those desk-bound parasites thought you could rip my magnum opus out of my hands and hand it over to that incompetent hack, Fitzpatrick? I engineered the genetic sequence! I stabilized the impossible! It belongs to me!!!"

"Eva, please! I'm just the spokesperson! It was a board mandate — it came from the executive council! I didn't have a say in it!"

Eva didn't listen. Her clawed hand shot out, clamping around the collar of Frida's blazer. The massive wings snapped open, catching an updraft of heated air that launched them straight into the sky.

The square fell away beneath them in seconds, shrinking into a burning speck as Eva dragged the screaming woman up, up, and out toward the spires of St. Vitus Cathedral. Hovering high above the city, the cold wind whipping between the gothic arches, Eva pulled Frida inches from her grin.

"Excuses, excuses... In the corporate world, darling, performance is everything! Consider this your... exit interview. I’m placing you on indefinite, unpaid leave. They always say it's lovely to see Prague... and die!"

The last few months had been rough on the League.

There had been a time when Omen’s syndicate held dominion over large swaths of the globe, back when the mere mention of a supervillain commanded obedience. In developing nations, the League had effectively usurped local authorities, buying civilian loyalty with infrastructure, protection, and generous aid programs. At least, that was how it used to work.

Lately, the tide had turned hard against them. The ECA was expanding, embedding its tendrils into every regional government. Villain numbers dwindled month by month: some were dead, some had retired into obscurity, and plenty more had cut deals to trade their rogue status for pardons and better salaries. Even the myth of Omen was fading. Almost no one saw her in the flesh anymore, sparking whispers that the underworld's matriarch was long dead.

It made sense, then, that Holdem Point was practically a ghost town. Tucked away under the frozen Arctic pack, the bunker had once been one of the League’s premier subterranean havens, discreet enough that most street-level villains didn't even know it existed. Now, the mess halls were vacant, the power generators ran on low hums, and the air was dead quiet...

... ... ...

Which made the front door getting blown off its hinges all the more shocking.

"God, it is freezing in here. And dusty. Frankly, I'm shocked the agency hasn't dragged you lot out by your collars already!"

Eva walked past the shattered bulkhead and stepped into the center of the recreation lounge.

"At ease, whoever's left hiding in the dark. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Eva Karyanova. Former lead geneticist for the Evolon Control Agency. And no, before you scramble to consult your obsolete registries, I am not a natural-born Evolon — though as you can observe, I possess the biological traits of several of them simultaneously. You may refer to me as 'The Amalgam'. A bit theatrical for my tastes, but I’ve been told your syndicate appreciates a dramatic moniker..."

She crossed her arms, one smoking with heat and the other frosted over in pale rime, inspecting her fingernails with total disdain.

"The short version: my spineless superiors tried to steal my magnum opus, revoked my clearance, and handed my laboratory over to an incompetent sycophant. Naturally, I want them wiped out. And you people, pathetic as you currently seem, happen to share that objective!"

A shark-like grin spread across the Amalgam's face.

"I come bearing gifts. I have coordinates for fourteen black-site laboratories, clearance codes for their defense nets, and complete dossiers on ECA classified research pipelines — including the legendary Darkwater Sanatorium, a facility I doubt your dwindling intelligence network even knew existed. I might even be persuaded to stoop down and fix your laughingstock of an R&D department..."

Her grin soured instantly.

"In exchange, my terms are non-negotiable: a fully funded bio-synthesis laboratory built to my exact specifications, private luxury quarters with a functioning whirlpool bath, and a personal Italian chef flown in directly. Do not offer me military rations or whatever frozen garbage you've been eating out here. Go on — tell your handlers. I don't have all century!"