The moment Old Veteran—aka Jack Oldman—pulled out the safety pin, a signal hit the central control room, then zipped through a secret backdoor at light speed, landing in some government lab in the States. Alarms went nuts, and a bunch of guys in lab coats freaked out: "What do we do? What do we do? Level 1 experimental subject's busted loose, we gotta report this—now!" "But who do we call? Mr. Donald Zade's already over there, let him handle it, right?" "Him? You think he can manage? Should we kick this up to someone higher?"
Suddenly, the door banged open. A crew of beefy, uniformed dudes marched in and lined up, military-style. Click, click, click—the sharp sound of high heels hitting the tile got louder, and just that noise had the lab coat guys sweating bullets. They traded nervous glances: "Could it be...?" "No way..." "It's her..." One guy wiped his forehead, cold sweat pouring as soon as she stepped in.
Finally, the woman behind those footsteps strode in. She was tall, white, with fiery red hair and eyes, stern, icy, and drop-dead gorgeous, rocking a sharp military uniform and a black cape over her shoulders.
She stepped inside, gave the lab coat crowd a chilly once-over, and spoke, her voice cold as a Chicago winter: "By order of the family head, all positions held by Donald Zade are revoked. From now on, Tiberia Laboratory is under my command—Phaffis Zade."
"M-Miss Zade..." one lab coat guy stammered, "Level 1 subject's loose, what do you want us to do...?"
"Terminate it, now. I don’t want that thing laying a finger on any of our 'guests' in the fortress. Once it’s dead, grab some tissue samples for research." She glanced up at the big screen, where Donald Zade was howling on the ground, missing an arm. "Standard weapons won’t cut it. Send in the gunships—missiles, now."
"But... Mr. Zade is still in there..."
"That loser’s been riding Tiberia’s payroll forever and hasn’t done squat. Twenty years and Sophia’s formula is still stuck in neutral. All he’s got to show for it is a cheap knockoff. He’s not worth saving—don’t waste a second on him."
"Uh..." The guy tried to say something, but one icy look from her shut him up instantly.
"Even with missiles, there’s no guarantee we’ll put it down." She frowned, eyes flashing with fire. "Donald’s an idiot—he deserves what’s coming."
............
Remote Pacific island, fortress in the mountains.
Donald Zade was off to meet Phantom Mask, but honestly, it didn’t change a thing. Over in the Black Fist Arena, fighters and super soldiers were still beating each other senseless. In the guest hall, the VIPs sat quietly, stewing over the day’s drama. Soon, muffled gunshots and alarms echoed, but staff hustled in to calm the crowd. The guest hall got a classy apology from an old butler. The arena? Armed guards popped a few escapees, and then it was business as usual.
The event organizers said: Just a 'minor hiccup,' folks, we’ll have it sorted in no time.
Just as they said, the gunfire died down quickly. Fighters and bosses went back to dying as usual, but the big shots in the guest hall felt something was off. If things were really under control, Donald Zade should have shown up to apologize and get back to business. After all, Tiberius Laboratory was here to make money, not serve coffee. But Donald was nowhere to be seen—the only sound was the whirring of helicopter blades.
One sharp-eyed big shot glanced out the window and saw an armed helicopter hovering over the opposite corner of the fortress for a couple seconds, then a flash of fire shot from its launcher, slamming straight into the fortress.
"What the heck?!"
Before the shout was even finished, the fortress corner exploded in a fiery blast, the building collapsing in a shower of debris. The shockwave rattled the coffee cups on the tables, sending coffee everywhere. Then came the boom, and everyone instinctively ducked for cover.
"What the heck just happened?!"
All the big shots crowded to the window, watching as the armed helicopter slid this way, its underbelly machine gun spinning up and laying down a deadly whip of bullets. Something was tearing down the corridor at full speed, and the helicopter was hot on its heels, blasting away.
Down the corridor, Jack Young was sprinting like his life depended on it, burning every ounce of juice to dodge the reaper on his tail. Just a minute ago, in the rotunda, when Old Veteran—Jack Oldman—had declared, "Everyone listens to me now," fate decided to throw a curveball—a missile smashed through the wall with a deafening crash. Chaos went off like a bomb. Amid flying debris and blazing fire, even Jack’s lightning reflexes only managed to shove Jonathan Black toward what looked like the safest spot.
After that, Jack launched himself through the air, dodging the flames. Then the shockwave hit, blasting him like a cannonball deep into the hallway. The soldiers blocking the way? Perfect human stepping stones and crash pads. Like Master Wong’s legendary Foshan Shadowless Kick—a classic move from southern Chinese martial arts where the kicker seems to strike without leaving a shadow—Jack booted four guys aside, flipped, and landed in a solid stance.
The soldiers were about to open fire on Jack when—boom!—a shadow crashed in right behind him. Unlike Jack’s acrobatic landing, this guy plowed through a whole row of soldiers like a wrecking ball before finally standing up. It was Old Veteran—Jack Oldman. He was still on fire, his body charred and armor plates blown off, looking totally wrecked.
But even as he hit the ground and got up, his wounds had already healed a ton. "ROAR!" Old Veteran—Jack Oldman—let loose at the blasted wall, venting his rage at the gunship. The chopper wasted zero time and lit him up.
BZZT! The gunship’s cannon was nuts—it punched straight through the outer wall and shredded the corridor. Jack took off, hauling ass deeper down the hallway. Whoever the chopper was after, it sure wouldn’t mind turning him into hamburger. The soldiers didn’t even try to stop Jack—they were bawling and running for their lives. The gunship was mowing down everyone in sight, friend or foe, turning soldiers into flying meat confetti. Way worse than getting iced by the enemy.
Old Veteran—Jack Oldman—might be all 'greened up,' but he knew when to bail, so he booked it. With Titan Spirit Method cranked up near Level Five and his bone armor, he was basically a human tank—nothing could stop him. He grabbed a guy and chucked him straight at Jack.
Jack, quick as ever, dodged like he had eyes in the back of his head. He turned to see Old Veteran—Jack Oldman—charging in, grinning like a maniac, swinging soldiers around like giant throwing axes.
"This dude just won’t quit—" Jack’s eyes flashed cold. With Old Veteran—Jack Oldman—wrecking the place, there was no way out from under the gunship’s crosshairs. If he wanted a shot at escaping, he’d have to deal with Old Veteran first. Fighting him head-on with the chopper blasting away? That’s a death wish. But maybe he could get clever—let the gunship do the dirty work and take Old Veteran out!
Just as Jack crouched to charge, his ears perked up—whoosh! Another missile incoming!
BOOM! Another insane explosion tore through the corridor, fire blasting everywhere. The infrared targeting system locked right onto Old Veteran—Jack Oldman’s—spot, and the missile blew his section of hallway into a crater. The gunship’s cannon zeroed in, hell-bent on turning Old Veteran into roadkill. Debris and smoke everywhere, but Jack knew the big guy wasn’t dead yet.
Because right in the middle of all that smoke, Jack could feel that wild, freaky green energy raging—no way Old Veteran—Jack Oldman—was down for the count.