Chapter 3: The First Tools

His father, misinterpreting his son's cold resolve as a sign of mature acceptance, was pleased. The next day, he personally escorted Argus down into the sterile, humming heart of the System.

"You see the world as a system of moving parts," the Duke said, his hand on Argus's shoulder, a gesture of proud initiation. "That is why I have shown you this. Because you, more than your brothers, can understand the logic. The necessity."

Argus played his role with chilling perfection. He was the dutiful son, the brilliant researcher who, after his "discovery," was granted full access to the facility by a father eager to cultivate his genius. He learned its secrets, optimized its grotesque efficiencies, and earned the trust of everyone within its sterile walls, all while plotting its complete and utter demise.

His first move was to acquire his two subordinates. They were not pawns to be sacrificed; they were to be architects of the new world.

He approached the creature in the cylinder—Subject Zero. Late one night, when the laboratory was empty, he stood before the darkened tube. The creature's clouded grey eyes followed him. Argus deactivated the nutrient flow and the neural suppressants. For the first time in what was likely decades, the creature was truly awake.

A voice, not of sound, but of pure thought, echoed in his mind. …Who are you?

“A new variable,” Argus said aloud, his voice soft in the humming chamber. He placed a hand on the cold glass. “I saw you. You saw me. Your perception is a unique skill. A useful one.”

Useful? We are fuel. We are forgotten.

“To them, you are. To me,” Argus said, a thin, predatory smile on his lips, “you are the first tool I will use to dismantle this entire, wretched world. Swear yourself to me, and I will give you a purpose beyond this glass prison. Refuse, and I will have you scheduled for incineration by morning.”

There was a long silence. Then, the voice came again, devoid of hope, but filled with a new, cold clarity. …Command me.

Argus smiled. He had his first architect. He would call him Echo.

His second was a discarded hero, a Demonic shadow-mage named Seraphina. She was kept in a state of shattered madness in a high-security wing, her powerful illusions siphoned to power the kingdom's surveillance network. Using his authority, Argus had her scheduled for "disposal" due to "diminishing returns." He intercepted the transport, killing the guards with cold, silent efficiency.

He did not offer her vengeance. He stood before the broken, cowering hero and showed her the truth: the system, the ledgers, the cold, irrefutable logic of the world's corruption.

"I do not seek to destroy the innocent," Argus stated, his voice a calm, level thing in the darkness. "My targets are the parasites. The ones who feast on the suffering of others for their own gain, regardless of their species. The farmer who toils honestly is not my enemy. The nobleman who built his fortune on a mountain of corpses is. This world does not need a hero to save the good. It needs a surgeon to cut out the rot."

She looked at him, her sanity slowly returning, her eyes filled not with gratitude, but with the dawning horror of understanding. She saw the terrifying precision in his madness. This wasn't a blind rampage; it was a targeted purge. She pledged her loyalty not as a follower, but as a partner in the great, terrible work to come.