Dancer

A scream echoed through the lab. Inside the cage was a woman—or at least, part of one. Her upper body was human, with long black hair and a surprisingly pretty face. But her lower half was a monstrous fusion of limbs: four unnaturally long, spindly legs that seemed ripped straight from a Night Stalker.

"Night Stalker limbs…" Zack recognized the grotesque design immediately.

"Don't look at me! Don't look at me!" the woman whimpered, curling into the corner of the cage, trembling like a frightened animal.

Zack's eyes widened. "You can talk? You still have your mind?"

The woman nodded shakily, tears streaming down her face. Her voice was hoarse as she pleaded, "Please… don't hurt me."

Zack's shock quickly turned to grim resolve. "Relax. I'm not Samson. I'm here to kill him," he said firmly. He gripped his saw-chain sword, stepping closer to the cage. "I'm going to open this. If you've got any sense left, don't try to attack me. I won't hesitate to put you down." His tone was cold but steady.

With a swift swing, Zack sliced through the cage's lock. The door creaked open. "Come out," he said, stepping back.

After a tense moment, the woman hesitated before crawling out of the cage. When she stood upright, her towering figure nearly reached three meters, her elongated legs accounting for most of her height. "Thank you…" she murmured, bowing awkwardly. Fear lingered in her eyes as she glanced at Zack, her confusion about her future painfully evident.

"What happened to you?" Zack asked, his voice softer but no less serious.

The woman froze, her lips trembling. Then, in a choked voice, she began to recount her ordeal—how she'd been taken, experimented on, and turned into this living nightmare. Zack listened quietly to the woman's story, piecing together the tragedy she had endured. She was a prostitute, earning a living through dance to attract customers. It wasn't a glamorous life, but she hadn't done anything malicious. After the apocalypse, she had heard a broadcast about a survivor base and was lucky enough to join this group. For a while, it seemed like a blessing—until she discovered the truth.

The man running the base, Dr. Samson, wasn't just a tyrant—he was a sadistic monster. This so-called savior provided food, water, and shelter, even medical aid to some injured survivors. But his generosity came at a horrifying cost. His real motive was to ensure his "subjects" were healthy enough for his gruesome experiments.

When some survivors dared to resist, Samson revealed his true nature. He transformed into a monstrous half-man, half-wolf beast, ripping apart a rebel and devouring his heart in front of everyone. Terrified, many abandoned their humanity, choosing to follow Samson to save their own skins. Some even volunteered for his experiments. Worse, his subordinates scoured the city, deceiving or forcing others into Samson's operating room. The woman, now barely human, was one of his victims. Under his twisted experiments, she had been transformed into the grotesque figure standing before Zack.

"What should I call you?" Zack asked, glancing at her as she trembled, tears streaking her disfigured face.

"Morga…" she began but hesitated. "Just call me Dancer," she said finally, her voice bitter. Her name, given by her parents, no longer seemed to belong to her.

"Alright, Dancer," Zack said, nodding. "If you want to end it, I can make it quick." His tone was cold, but it wasn't from a lack of compassion. In Zack's eyes, sometimes death was a mercy compared to living like this. Survival took far more courage.

Faced with the option of death, Dancer froze. Did she really want to die? The experiments were excruciating, and surviving them required an unyielding will. Yet, the fact she had made it through proved her strength. "I want to live," she said finally, the determination in her voice overriding her despair. Even in her current state, she refused to give up.

"As you wish," Zack said simply. Without another word, he began inspecting the lab, checking for the equipment he needed. Once satisfied, he turned and headed for the stairs. Dancer hesitated briefly, then followed him.

Upstairs, the remnants of the survivors had gathered. Their fearful eyes darted between Zack and the towering figure of Dancer behind him. The sight of her grotesque form sent shivers down their spines. "Do you recognize any of these people? Are there any of Samson's men here?" Zack asked, his sharp gaze sweeping over the huddled group.

Dancer stepped forward, her elongated limbs carrying her across the room in just a few strides. The survivors recoiled, terrified. A couple of them screamed, only to have their mouths clamped shut by those beside them. "There," Dancer said, her voice shaking with anger. Her height gave her a clear view of a cowering young man in the corner. "That one. He's one of Samson's men. He… he raped me." Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her face. In this moment, she cared nothing for shame or decorum.

"No, no! You've got the wrong person!" the man stammered, trying to hide behind the others.

Before he could move, the sharp crack of Zack's F2000 rifle echoed through the room. The man's body jerked as the bullets tore through him, dropping him to the floor in a lifeless heap. "Anyone else?" Zack's voice was calm, but the cold steel in his tone sent chills through the remaining survivors.

Dancer scanned the group but shook her head. "No, they were likely deceived or forced here too," she said softly.

"Good," Zack replied. "Watch them. I'm going to have a little chat with Dr. Samson." The edge in his voice left no doubt about the nature of that "chat."

Without waiting for a response, Zack activated his thrusters and blasted through the building's shattered glass, soaring into the sky. As he turned in mid-air, he caught sight of the hospital a short distance away. Satellite images had confirmed Samson's location there after fleeing the lab. "Clever bastard," Zack muttered, smirking. "A rabbit with three burrows, huh?"

He didn't waste time. Hovering above the hospital, Zack opened the missile launch system on his shoulder. The targeting system locked onto the four corners of the building.

"Fire." Four micro-missiles streaked through the air, striking their targets with pinpoint accuracy. Explosions rocked the hospital, sending flames and debris skyward. The structure groaned and collapsed in a massive cloud of dust, the force shaking the surrounding streets.

"Air superiority makes life so much easier," Zack said to himself, watching the destruction below. His expression was calm, but his eyes burned with resolve.

A thunderous, enraged roar erupted from the dusty ruins of the building, shattering the tense silence. Moments later, a black figure burst out of the debris, cradling a corpse in his arms. His movements were frantic, his rage palpable as he charged out of the dust-covered neighborhood. "What have you done?!"

The figure—Dr. Samson, now a hulking werewolf—gently placed the lifeless body on the ground. His eyes burned red with fury as he threw his head back and roared into the heavens, his voice filled with anguish and hatred. "You ruined my research! You destroyed the hope of mankind!"