The grounds of Facility 222 were empty.
Not abandoned in ruin. Not scarred by combat. Not marked by struggle. Empty in a way that felt deliberate.
Urth stood at the edge of the clearing, his expression carefully neutral as his eyes swept across the terrain. The soil was undisturbed. No trenches. No blast impressions. No bodies. No blood. The wind moved through brittle grass with a quiet whisper, as though the land itself refused to testify to what had happened here.
That alone unsettled him.
Facility 222 should have been chaos.
The prototypes housed within were unstable aggression constructs, neural loops programmed for elimination without comprehension or restraint. If they had been released, the area should have borne evidence of horrific violence. The absence of destruction suggest
