The last scream died out, leaving only the satisfied growls of the grotesque creatures and the sickening sounds of tearing flesh. Clara remained motionless, her entire body rigid. Fresh blood splattered on the floor, on the banquet table, even on her pale face. The pungent metallic scent of blood and the foul stench of the monsters assaulted her nostrils, making her want to vomit.
The scene before her eyes... a living hell. Bodies lay strewn about, no longer intact. The hideous creatures bent over, devouring the bloody feast. They growled, clawed, their sounds a torture to her eardrums.
Clara squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the horrifying images, but they were burned deep into her mind. She had seen what humans could do, and what non-humans could become.
The growling gradually subsided. The creatures seemed sated. They lifted their heads, their jaws smeared with blood and gore, their bloodshot eyes sweeping across the room. Clara held her posture, not even daring to breathe deeply. She knew a single small movement could draw their deadly attention.
Then, in the pool of blood and bodies, a composed figure stood up.
Jonathan.
He stepped away from his seat, his polished leather shoes treading on fresh blood, yet his demeanor was as leisurely as if strolling in a garden. He didn't look at the corpses, nor did he show any disgust or fear towards the vile creatures. His face was perfectly calm, even tinged with a cold satisfaction.
Johan Richardson stepped down from the platform, his excited expression not yet faded. He looked at the chaotic scene with an evaluative gaze, as if inspecting the results of an experiment.
"The results are excellent, Mr. Goldsmiths," Richardson said, his voice exhilarated. "More effective than anticipated."
"They are magnificent products," Jonathan replied, his voice even, as if discussing a luxury commodity. He turned to look at the creatures licking blood from the floor. "The potential of 'the Project' is still immense."
The Project. These creatures were the result of "the Project" whose data Clara had seen in the East Wing? Those terrifying gene and biological research efforts had created these man-eating monsters? The brutal truth slammed into Clara.
Jonathan walked slowly through the room, passing close by where Clara sat. He stopped directly in front of her. Clara looked up at him, her eyes filled with undisguised fear and revulsion.
"You didn't run," Jonathan said, his voice still calm. He leaned down slightly, his deep eyes locking with hers. "A smart move."
Clara couldn't utter a word. Her throat was constricted.
"Those people," Jonathan's gaze swept over the corpses. "They were too weak. Too greedy. They didn't understand how this world operates. They thought money and power could buy everything. But there are some things... that must be paid for with blood."
He said nothing more, only a faint, cold smile. Then, he turned and ordered his bodyguards: "Clean up."
Jonathan's bodyguards and Richardson's staff began to enter, bringing specialized equipment. They dealt with the creatures professionally, seemingly accustomed to the sight. The creatures growled in weak resistance, then were finally subdued and led away through some hidden door. The room began to be "cleaned." Blood, flesh, everything was disposed of with chilling speed and efficiency.
Johan approached Clara, his face a mix of excitement and a touch of curiosity. "Madam Goldsmith truly has composure. I didn't expect you to remain so calm amidst that scene."
Calm? Clara wanted to scream at him how terrified she was. She wasn't calm; she simply didn't dare move!
Jonathan lightly placed a hand on Clara's shoulder, an action that seemed intimate but sent a chill deep into her bones. "She... has her own unique view of the world," Jonathan said to Richardson, his tone carrying an enigmatic implication.
The atmosphere in the room gradually shifted. The smell of blood still lingered, but the chaos had been replaced by the terrifying efficiency of the "cleanup." The lavish banquet table was now just a blood-stained wreckage.
Clara was led out of the room by Jonathan. She walked like a soulless shell, the horrifying scene still haunting her mind. Her parents... those guests... all had merely been prey in a brutal experiment.
On the way back to the Goldsmiths' mansion, Clara sat in the car, silent. Jonathan sat beside her, saying nothing. He was terrifyingly calm. He had shown her his true nature and that of the Goldsmiths family. This wasn't just ordinary crime. This was inhumanity of the highest degree, using humans as experimental subjects, as food for grotesque creatures born from "the Project."
She looked out the window at the pitch-black night. The world of "Chaos" wasn't just a luxurious mansion filled with secrets. It was a world where individuals like Jonathan Goldsmiths and Jonathan Richardson manipulated life and death, treating human lives as worthless.
Back at the Goldsmiths mansion, Clara immediately ran to her bathroom and vomited uncontrollably. She couldn't sleep. The bloody scene replayed constantly in her mind. The smell of blood, the screams, the monsters' bloodshot eyes, and Jonathan Goldsmiths' chillingly serene face as he asked, "This wine... does it suit your taste?"
Jonathan knew she was scared. He knew she was disgusted by him. But he didn't care. He had shown her his true self, as a warning, or a display of power.
The mission to kill Jonathan was no longer a choice. It was an imperative. He was a threat not just to her, but to the world. What if those creatures... got out?
Clara looked at the plastic card and the triangular key she had hidden so carefully. They weren't just clues to a secret. They were keys leading to the truth about what the Goldsmiths family was doing. The horrifying truth behind "the Project."
The fear was still there, but it was mingled with fury and an iron resolve. She had to learn more. She had to survive. And she had to put an end to Jonathan. He was at the center of it all.