Duval made no effort to conceal his delight.
He carefully observed the Xenomorph endowed with vampire genes and named it the Blood Xenomorph.
Compared to names like the Newborn, this sounded rather ordinary, but compared to specialized variants like the “Frost Xenomorph,” it was acceptable enough.
The Blood Xenomorph possessed the standard physical characteristics of a Drone Xenomorph: it walked upright, stood roughly 2.5 meters tall, and had a smooth, elongated head.
An array of dorsal tubes protruded inexplicably from its back, resembling high-tech interfaces designed to connect with large machinery.
Encased entirely in a hard, shock-resistant exoskeleton, it was clear that standard large-caliber firearms would have a hard time inflicting any real harm.
After all, even a Drone Xenomorph spawned from a normal human host would not suffer lethal damage from large-caliber gunfire.
Furthermore, the Blood Xenomorph could draw additional energy from blood.
Ordinary Xenomorphs had to consume massive amounts of flesh and blood just to maintain their stamina.
“In terms of societal role, the Blood Xenomorph definitely corresponds to the Drone Xenomorph from *Alien 1*—one caste higher than the Runner.” Duval admired the creation before him, while the remaining vampires were frozen in sheer terror.
“W-What on earth is that thing?!” “Parasitism?” A spider-like creature had burst from an egg to latch onto a face, died for no apparent reason, knocked the victim unconscious, and then a fast-growing, giant humanoid beast had burst out of the victim’s chest.
This sequence of events seemed to follow a strict linear logic, linked by clear cause and effect, but upon closer thought, it was fucking absurdly unscientific.
The vampires finally understood why this human cared so much about whether they were dead or alive.
Unfortunately, it was too late.
Having confirmed that the parasitism worked, the remaining two Xenomorph eggs bloomed one after another, completing the process.
Dennis tried one last ditch effort to save himself, pointing out that Duval only had three eggs, which could only infect three vampires.
What were the rest of them supposed to do?
Surely they wouldn’t be turned into food?
Duval offered thoughtful words of comfort, assuring him that he couldn’t bear to turn them into mere food—though Dennis could rest assured that not a single one of them would escape.
Immediately after, deep within the shadows of the cave, a presence that had remained completely motionless—the Xenomorph Queen—stirred.
Right before everyone’s eyes, after a brief period of gestation, she laid an egg on the spot through her ovipositor.
“So *that’s* what that tube is for.” Dennis suffered a complete mental breakdown and fainted in despair as a Facehugger pounced toward him.
Before long, six Blood Xenomorphs—far more powerful than their vampire hosts—stood obediently before Duval.
All of them were ravenous.
Upon receiving Duval’s permission, they began tearing into and devouring the remains of their former hosts.
“All the small animals nearby have been eaten clean.
Looks like I’ll need a different approach to secure a steady food supply…” Several food suppliers across New York City soon received large food orders.
The next few days were surprisingly tranquil.
No more vampires came knocking, likely because their initial assumption was that the missing vampires had been hacked to pieces by Blade.
In the abandoned building next door, however, a group of people arrived during the daytime and set up a meat shop on the spot.
This blatant, unbothered lack of cover earned Duval’s genuine appreciation.
*Since when was surveillance conducted so openly and aboveboard?* “Hey guys, you do know these two buildings are marked for demolition, right?
I heard they’re building a massive office complex here,” Duval shouted across to them.
“We know, but opening a cooked meat business here before the official demolition seems pretty lucrative.” Duval nodded repeatedly in agreement.
“Then why does your cooked meat shop only sell raw meat?” This time, the agent had no answer.
Duval surmised that cooking raw meat into cooked dishes increased overhead costs, which touched on professional integrity.
But claiming to sell cooked meat while actually selling raw meat touched on money, making it much easier to embezzling budget funds from higher-ups.
The meat shop owner felt incredibly unlucky as well.
As a cheap clone of Dum Dum Dugan, he was merely imitating a certain Level 8 agent’s playbook: tell ordinary people you’re FBI, tell FBI agents you’re CIA, tell CIA agents you’re FBI, and when the two agencies compare notes and start bickering, only admit you’re a SHIELD agent when you run out of lies.
Besides, nobody could ever remember SHIELD’s full acronym anyway, let alone know what the hell the organization actually did.
Yet he had crossed paths with a stickler who possessed actual clout—George Stacy.
Damn it, the man was just doing routine work, authoritatively dispatching the local police precinct to conduct a preliminary check.
If SHIELD relied entirely on its own personnel to investigate the world’s countless suspected paranormal incidents, they would have worked themselves to death long ago.
Even with his prime self producing a vast army of clones linked via cloud memory sharing, they still couldn’t handle it all!
Now he had no choice.
It was his assignment, so he had to step up and handle it personally.
The only saving grace was that the target had Blade vouching for him, confirming he wasn’t a bloodthirsty villain who slaughtered innocents indiscriminately and possessed a basic moral compass.
“What clearance level are you?” Look at that—the target who could command weird creatures was leaning over his dilapidated, breezy window frame again, yelling across to him.
“Yesterday I was Level 3; today I’m Level 2,” he replied, unsure whether this assignment was currently considered a success or a failure.
Not that it mattered—he was just a worthless clone anyway.
At least things were progressing steadily and hadn’t reached the point where he needed to call in backup.
That was good enough.
Plus, he could help his prime self scam a bit of extra budget out of that stingy bald director.
Duval stared at the man across the way.
He was now fully convinced that this guy belonged to SHIELD.
As a specialized agency tasked with monitoring global superhuman incidents, backed by the five permanent members of the UN Security Council, keeping a close eye on extraordinary individuals was their duty.
However, Duval was quite surprised that the person sent to watch him was so remarkably candid.
“Even if Blade hasn’t formed the Howling Commandos yet, he must have established contact with SHIELD—he might even be a high-ranking agent already.” In the future, Blade would become a Level 10 agent of SHIELD.
It was completely normal for SHIELD to find out about Duval’s dealings with Blade.
After all, the existence of the Xenomorphs would be exposed sooner or later; hiding them forever was impossible.
Precisely because of his open interactions, SHIELD didn’t classify him as a high-risk threat—at least not yet.
And “not yet” was exactly what Duval needed right now.
Duval liked honest people; it meant he didn’t have to waste unnecessary brain cells on them.
In particular, once he learned that the man spying on him went by the name Dum Dum, Duval immediately grasped his identity.
Dum Dum was also a Level 10 agent with the ability to share a memory backup across his clones, a gift that earned him the privilege of being one of SHIELD’s ultimate workhorses.
Duval showed no aggressive reaction to this face-to-face surveillance.
In an era where superhumans were hardly rare, SHIELD’s job was precisely to track and evaluate every anomalous individual.
If a target was confirmed harmless and their abilities were unimpressive, SHIELD would simply archive the information, withdraw their personnel, and leave them alone—so long as they didn’t commit crimes.
…
Nick Fury stared blankly at the report in his hands.
“The target is suspected of conducting secret biochemical experiments, funded through Blade?” “Yes.
According to those police officers, he can command strange yet powerful creatures and captured several vampires alive.” “No, that’s not what I’m emphasizing.” Fury tapped his finger on the desk, raising his voice.
“I’m asking: a guy like this registered a company called Weyland Biotech to conduct *legal* biochemical research?” He placed heavy emphasis on the word “legal.” Those weird creatures were certainly worth paying attention to.
In a world crawling with lunatics, anyone brave enough to stick their head out had something real up their sleeve.
Fury’s point was crystal clear.
He leveled an intense glare at his old friend Dum Dum.
“This guy named Duval—whose man is he?”