Endzone: Simulated Apocalypse

"I was made a killing machine. Who am I to argue with destiny?"

*****

- 22 Years Ago, Earth -

"Between mother and child, we can only save one. We're terribly sorry, but… there is nothing we can do."

A man in a formal business suit, faced with this heartbreaking news, didn't even flinch. Instead, in a calm manner that would seem impossible to some, he spoke.

"… Save the child."

"I-I see… but are you sure? You can still have another baby if you choose to save the wife, but if your wife dies-"

"Save the child," the man reiterated, in a more forceful tone this time. He did not lose his temper, only stated this as if it was his final verdict.

"A-All right."

The nurse who had delivered this news hurried back into the surgery room, and alerted the doctors inside of the man's choice. The mother, being unconscious, had no complaints.

And as such, the number one assassin of the underground was born—Jace Silverdale, soon-to-be known as the fearsome, unparalleled, Cyanide.

*****

- 5 Years Later -

The boy was raised in a rather strange facility. It was a school, yes, but he was the only student. Instead of being taught by teachers, he was taught by machines, comprised of intelligence of all the top minds of the world. He had no social interaction, but that was fine. After all, as long as he was strong enough to take on anything alone, what need was there for friends? Allies? They would merely be burdens, possible candidates of betrayal.

The boy's father, the founder of this place, called it the Infinite Room, and the project name given to it was Project: Infinite. It was a place of infinite knowledge and power, with the purpose of raising the ultimate human being—and his own son was its first test subject.

And as it turns out, the education was successful.

By age 1, the boy could perform advanced algebra and soon calculus.

By age 3, the boy was fluent in all languages of the world.

And by age 5, the boy had martial skills on par with any master across all the lands.

His intelligence was unparalleled, and no IQ tests could measure just how smart and complex the boy's young mind truly was.

Given all this evidence, the conclusion was clear—Project: Infinite was a flourishing success.

The boy, of course, had no idea about all of this. He simply thought this was the education everyone else received, and took it as granted. It never occurred to him that he was something special, and that he was unlike any other child. He thought that not having a mother and only seeing his father's face through a glass pane—and very rarely at that—was something simply normal.

That is, until that day.

Yes… that day, when the boy's life was changed forever.

*****

The boy was six at the time this occurred.

"Sir, the project's public release is scheduled for tomorrow," a man said to the boy's father, bowing deeply. "All preparations are complete. This should go without a hitch."

"Good," the boy's father said, observing his son through the thick glass windows of the training facility. Inside, the child with handsome teal hair and white highlights sat in his chair, calmly solving advanced partial differential equations like they were a breeze. "And you have made certain nothing about this project has been leaked to the outside, I trust?

The man nodded. "I assure you, sir, not a word of this secret project has been leaked. After all, why would I betray you, the man who saved me from the slums?"

"Hmph. It's good that you know your place, Sakamoto," the boy's father grunted, then turned away from his son and began heading to his private office. "I saved your life. Do not ever forget that."

The other man, hearing this, smirked evilly, and whispered:

"… Fool."

BOOM!

"—!"

Suddenly, the doors the boy's father had been about to walk through were blasted open by an explosive, and he hurriedly dodged out of the way, just barely making it out alive.

"W-What…" His eyes widened as out from the gas, a masked man stepped through, wide grin plastered over the uncovered bottom-half of his face.

"Hah… blowing shit up never gets old."

"You're a fuckin' maniac, Demo," another man muttered, emerging from behind him. Two more followed, each with some sort of mask covering their face and outfits of different styles that covered their entire bodies with gloves to make operations untraceable.

"What is the meaning of this…?!" The boy's father roared in anger, flying to his feet and glaring at the intruders.

"What's the meaning of this…?" The masked man named Demo laughed, arching his head back. "Oi, geezer, are you slow in the head, or what? Can't you tell?"

"Stand down, Demo. How many times do I have to tell you to be polite to our victims?" The slim man with a top hat and a monocle who spoke earlier said again with a chuckle and stepped forward, holding a handgun in his gloved white hand and a knife in his other. "Allow us to introduce ourselves. We are professional assassins, proudly known as the Royal Thieves. My name is Anthrax—pleased to make your acquaintance."

With a smile, the man named Anthrax bowed, and the boy's father was left in a stunned state, but did not lose his composure and instead got into a fighting stance. He didn't try to call guards. If these people were truly who they stated they were, all the guards would already be dead by now.

"Professional assassins, huh… and who made this request, exactly?"

"Well, I'm afraid it is our policy to not reveal the identities of our clients," Anthrax said with a 'no-can-do' shrug, then smirked thoughtfully. "… Though I suppose if you're wondering who sold you out… take a good look behind you."

The boy's father slowly turned around and saw Sakamoto, pointing at him and laughing like a psychopath.

"… Sakamoto. So, it was you."

"O-Oh, HAHAHA! That expression is GOLD, Mr. Silverdale! You really think I am grateful towards you, after all you've done to me is force me to work day and night? I would rather be in the slums!" He cried. "Yes, it WAS me! These guys came to me, offering a large amount of money so long as I told them about this proj-"

BANG.

Faster than anyone could've even reacted, John Silverdale had pulled out a revolver from his pocket and shot Sakamoto straight in the forehead. The young man, still shocked at what happened, promptly collapsed to the floor, dead. He would never find out.

"Oho… not bad, not bad at all," the only woman of the Royal Thieves said, holding a sniper and giggling seductively. "I wasn't expecting a half-strong opponent. Hey, Anthrax, let me take care of this one, mkay? I'll treat you in bed later~"

"… No."

"Eh…?"

All of a sudden, Anthrax's originally wistful expression turned serious, and he stared at the seemingly aged, washed-up man before him—John Silverdale—through his monocle. He was like a completely different man—perhaps this was his true self.

"Stand back. This one… is too much for you to handle."

Slowly, John turned around, a glare of hatred in his eyes, and looked at the other man as if gauging his power level. Anthrax, meeting his gaze, narrowed his eyes.

"… That revolver. Where did you get it from, Mr. Silverdale? Or should I say… Venom?"

At this, John Silverdale gave a dark chuckle.

"How surprising… despite quitting the underground so many years ago, I am still remembered to by that name. Looks like the saying is true—you can never truly run away from your past."

"… Heh. Ain't that right," Anthrax matched the older man's chuckle with one of his own, then cocked his neck left and right. "The four of you, stand down. This one… is mine."

"Oh? Some personal feud to settle, I presume?" The only man who had not spoken yet thus far finally asked. "Very well. Bringing emotions into missions is generally frowned upon in the assassins' world, but I shall allow it this time."

"Heh… that look in Anthrax's eyes tells me he's goin' all out," Demo snickered. "This'll be a blast! And I love blasts!"

"Hehehehe~! I don't usually like to agree with our resident demolitionist, but I must say… it's been a while since I've last seen our leader unleash all of his power. I'll allow it as well. Just don't blame us if you get killed~"

The three other Royal Thieves backed away, leaving only Anthrax and ex-Venom facing each other, weapons drawn.

"I looked up to you, y'know," Anthrax said, a crooked smile on his face.

"Is that so?" Venom raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, as if this interested him a bit, but just a bit and nothing more.

"But then, when I finally challenged you… you just quit. Ran away, like a coward. Said you would just 'offer' me the spot. Do you know how annoyed that made me?"

"Ah… I remember now," Venom inhaled deeply, reminiscing about the past. "You wanted the number one spot… so I gave it to you. I wasn't ready to die yet—there was still a wish I had yet to accomplish, a wish I could not fulfill in assassination."

"Oh? And what was it?" Anthrax asked, furrowing his brows. Venom, after some hesitation, turned to the glass chamber, where a child sat inside. By now, he had noticed all the commotion, and was now staring at his father and Anthrax, blinking periodically with a blank, pragmatic expression that should not have belonged to a six-year-old by any means. After a short silence, Anthrax laughed.

"Ahahaha… I get it now. This entire facility, and even your own wife and son… ha. You're one crazy bastard, Venom. Unfortunately…"

Suddenly, Anthrax disappeared, moving so fast it was almost like teleportation, and suddenly reappeared behind Venom, knife in his left hand ready to stab down.

"… I'm an assassin, and you're my target."

"…!"

Venom, sensing him, immediately turned around and planted a kick straight into Anthrax's abdomen.

Or at least, he tried to.

"… That's one," Anthrax whispered, and shot his gun—from in front of Venom.

The aged man's eyes widened as his chest was penetrated by the bullet, and he knelt forward, rapidly out of energy and lifeforce.

"I've…"

"You've become weak, Venom," Anthrax said, walking closer and finishing his sentence for him. "After so many years of not moving your body, you're no longer in the shape you used to be. What you kicked just now was nothing but an afterimage."

"…" Venom was silent, accepting his defeat. There was nothing he could do. He was 60, and his body simply was not able to muster out even one final surprise attack.

Anthrax, walking closer, pointed his gunpoint directly at the back of Venom's head and turned his gaze towards the child inside the glass chamber, watching the scene unfold without even batting an eye.

"… Don't worry, Venom. I'll take over your wish for you."

"…"

To the bitter end, Venom was silent. It was impossible to tell what emotions he was holding, and nor did it really matter. After all…

Anthrax pulled the trigger.

… He was a dead man, anyway.

Venom's body fell backwards, collapsed, spurting blood all over the floor, and Anthrax slowly turned to the glass chamber before kicking it open without any hesitation. Then, walking closer to the child inside, he bent down and stared into his emotionless, empty yet calculating eyes.

"Oi, boss, what're ya doin' with the kid?" Demo asked, arching an eyebrow. "Just get rid of him already, and let's go get our paycheck!"

"… No," Anthrax said without looking away from the child's eyes. "This kid… will be my student."

"H-Huh…?" The woman's eyes widened slightly. "You, Anthrax, taking on a student…? Hey, Yune, what do you think about this…?"

"… Hmph. It is true, I sense great potential coming from that child," the man named Yune said, closing his eyes. "This is Anthrax's decision to make, not ours."

"Well… I guess it could liven up things 'round here," Demo chuckled. "I'll show him how to blow shit up!"

"Just don't end up blowing HIM up…" The woman muttered, rolling her eyes. "Well, either way, Anthrax, we'll be waiting for you outside. There's not a lot of time—it won't be long before the police arrive, and I don't want to have to deal with that again."

Anthrax gave a brisk nod to them as they exited the scene, and then turned his gaze back to the child.

"… Kid. What's your name?"

"… Name?" The child echoed, teal eyes shining against the light. "I… don't have one."

"… Heh, is that so?" Anthrax gave a light chuckle, then picked the kid up and let him ride on his back. "That means I have the right of naming you, doesn't it?"

The child did not respond, but whether that was because he didn't want to or didn't know how to was a question for the gods.

"From now on, you're going to be named after me, kid," Anthrax said. "And since my name is a deadly chemical… how about…"

He smirked widely, nudging the child.

"… Cyanide?"