CEO loves me with all his soul.-Chapter 127. Cheif Argo

Doctor Naehr stared down at the hamburger in his hand like it had personally insulted his genius.

It was supposed to be a "double bacon gourmet supreme" or something with at least five adjectives on the label. But as he chewed it, the bun felt like sponge, the meat like cardboard, and the pickles—well, what sort of masochist put soggy pickles in a scientific mind’s lunch?

He chewed mechanically, staring into the air with dead eyes. Around him, the underground city buzzed with life, steam rising from grills, flashing lights from stalls, and people selling everything from tech to turmeric. He stood in a shadowed alley, still wearing his long lab coat like a badge of mad power and mild theatricality.

"Disgusting," he muttered, spitting a bit of lettuce out with dramatic flair.

He was just about to toss the hamburger into a nearby trash can when his sharp, dark eyes spotted someone sitting by the wall.

That beggar again.

The same filthy, smelly, suspiciously symmetrical beggar from the day before—the one who’d brought him food to the lab. Something about him was... off. Not that Doctor Naehr was particularly good at reading people. His talents leaned more toward rewriting genomes and laughing maniacally in dim lighting. But still...

There he was again. Same ragged outfit. Same hunched pose. But this time, the "beggar" was just sitting there with a crusty paper cup and looking very much like he’d given up on life.

Doctor Naehr tilted his head.

Something stirred in his stomach. Not hunger. He was sure of that. No, this was something... weirder.

"Why," he said to himself slowly, "do I feel... intrigued?"

Across the street, in a half-crumbling building, three officers and one communications tech were watching through high-grade binoculars.

Lieutenant Clara: "Um. Guys. Guys. Why is Doctor Naehr... crouching?"

Analyst Jay: "He’s crouching next to Chief Argo."

Rookie Tom: "Is this part of the plan? I don’t think this is in the plan."

Inside his ear, Chief Argo heard the confused whispering but could only sit very, very still.

Doctor Naehr, with all the grace of a scientist who hadn’t spoken to a civilian in months, walked over slowly and... crouched down. He was now at eye level with Argo. Their knees almost touched. The lab coat flared around him like an overdramatic vampire cape.

"Are you hungry?" he asked solemnly.

Chief Argo blinked.

"Do... you wish... for sustenance?"

The burger was suddenly held out like a holy offering. Argo stared at it. There were teeth marks in it. A half-squashed pickle dangled out.

"...I’m good," Argo said hoarsely in his best pitiful voice.

Doctor Naehr, unfazed, placed the hamburger on the ground between them with a strange look of paternal fondness.

"I, too, have tasted disappointment," Naehr said philosophically. "Burgers that betray you. Fries that lack crisp. Humanity, flawed in its form."

Chief Argo blinked again. Was... was this a therapy session?

"I—uh..." Argo scratched his fake beard. "Okay?"

Doctor Naehr suddenly leaned forward.

"You have... symmetrical cheekbones."

"Pardon?"

"I’m never wrong," Naehr said cryptically, eyes narrowing. "The golden ratio of your skull shape is... unsettling."

Back in the surveillance van:

Clara: "WHAT IS HAPPENING."

Jay: "He’s flirting. I think he’s actually flirting."

Tom: "I need to bleach my eyes."

Back on the curbside, Doctor Naehr sighed and stared off into the distance.

"I used to believe humanity was salvageable. That we could fix it. Evolve it. But lately, I wonder... is it perhaps, more beautiful... broken?"

Argo cleared his throat awkwardly.

"...Want me to tell you a joke?" he offered.

Doctor Naehr blinked slowly, as though Argo had just offered him the secrets of the universe.

"...Yes."

Argo panicked. He hadn’t prepared for this.

"Uh... okay. Uh... So a genome walks into a bar—no, wait, it walks into a DNA helix and... uh... says, ’I feel twisted.’"

There was a pause.

Doctor Naehr blinked again.

Then he laughed.

It was a long, eerie, gleeful laugh. He clapped his hands like a child being shown a magic trick.

"Twisted! Ha! Because it’s a helix! Excellent. You have a sense of humor. I knew it."

Argo, desperately trying not to sweat through his disguise, nodded with a weak smile. "Sure. Ha ha. Twisted."

Doctor Naehr stood up with the flourish of a Victorian magician. "You. I shall name you... Beagor."

"Pardon?"

"Beggar. Plus Igor. It’s symbolic. You have potential."

Back in the building, Clara was choking on her protein bar.

Jay: "We need to extract the chief. This is turning into a B-grade villain romance."

Tom: "No. We need to film this. This is better than reality TV."

Doctor Naehr patted Argo’s shoulder once—light, awkward, almost fatherly. "You’re too good for these streets. You deserve... something greater. Someday, you will evolve."

He turned and left, walking with the deliberate pace of a man who believed his every step was in slow motion.

Argo just sat there, stunned, staring at the half-eaten burger still warm beside him.

"Did he just... name me?" he muttered.

Clara’s voice crackled in his ear: "Chief. You okay?"

"...I think I was just recruited into his cult."

.

Chief Argo wandered deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of the underground Apex facility, now completely alone and blending in as the so-called "Beagor". He kept the oversized hoodie and ragged scarf tightly wrapped around him as he moved silently past various doors and vents, all while pressing a tiny recorder button tucked into the inner lining of his coat.

The facility was more than a lab. It was a city.

The deeper he went, the more signs of the grotesque blend between unregulated science and totalitarian secrecy began to show. Posters with slogans like "Evolve or Expire" and "Equality Through Enhancement" lined the walls. A digital billboard over a main corridor blinked through messages about daily shift changes, genome treatment progress, and nutrient rations. The guards, dressed in matte gray uniforms, stood like statues at junctions, their gazes scanning but not truly alert.

Argo ducked into a side corridor marked "Sanitation Unit 4." There, the stench hit him first—an acidic, metallic scent of chemicals and decay. He followed the odor to a chute system labeled "Genomic Waste Disposal."

A tattered operations log hung beside it. Argo snapped a few photos and then skimmed the log. One entry caught his eye:

"Subject batch 217 failed. 34 casualties. Scheduled for bio-acid dissolution at 02:30 hrs."

He kept his breath steady, pressing down the bile that rose in his throat. Thirty-four people.

Another note read:

"Two lab technicians from the East Wing requested immediate transfer after exposure to Subject 314. Pending approval."

That matched what he’d been hearing in rumors—scientists were fleeing the inner labs. Something inside had gone beyond even what they signed up for.

Still disguised, Argo made his way toward what appeared to be a break room. Two scientists in white coats were having a quiet conversation, and he lingered just outside the door, crouching to tie his shoelaces that didn’t exist.

"Did you hear Zenya moved into Doctor Naehr’s sector permanently?" one asked.

"Of course, she did," said the other with a scoff. "She practically worships the man. Everyone knows she’s infatuated. But she’s also one of the few who understands his model architecture."

"Love and madness," the first muttered. "A perfect Apex match."

Argo’s eyes narrowed. Dr. Zenya was one of the few scientists Naehr trusted. That meant she might hold key information. He made a mental note to pull her personnel file later.

Another scientist walked into the room, yawning. "Did you guys hear about Subject K-9 from yesterday?" he said. "Survived full exposure. Again."

"That can’t be right. That’s the third one this week."

"It is right. Central Lab’s losing its grip. They’re pushing the experiments harder and faster."

Argo had heard enough. Slipping away, he moved toward a maintenance tunnel that led to another sector. He passed a few other delivery men and custodians—all too exhausted or apathetic to care about a newcomer.

New n𝙤vel chapters are published on fre(e)webnov(l).com