Qatar, Doha. The opening ceremony of the World Cup dazzled with all the spectacle expected from the world’s biggest sporting event. Drones danced above the stadium. Fireworks exploded in synchronized glory. Flags waved. Anthems soared.But beneath the lights and music… a shadow moved.Robin Ashwood sat inside a secure transport vehicle, staring at the massive stadium gates through tinted windows. Beside him sat a representative of the newly formed Global Sports Integrity Commission (GSIC) a silent man named Director Vano.He handed Robin a lanyard. VIP clearance. No national crest. Only one emblem: Observer-01Vano spoke in a hushed tone. “We’ve reason to believe five players across three nations are synthetic infiltrators, descendants of the Echelon project.”Robin’s heart thudded. “I destroyed the lab.”Vano nodded. “But not the backups. Echelon’s data was spread through redundant satellite nodes. One survived. Sabine still holds it.”Robin stared out the window. “Which nations?”Va

Four Days Until the Final. Lusail Stadium shimmered under the Qatari sun, a monument to modern football’s glory. But beneath the polished glass and steel, Lurking in the shadow of the game’s greatest moment Was Sabine Virell’s masterstroke.Inside a GSIC safehouse, Robin, Layla, Ashar, and Director Vano gathered over blueprints of the stadium. Ashar pointed to a hidden sub-basement chamber beneath the player’s tunnel. “Signal Node Theta is buried here. It links all known Omega units through encrypted uplinks. If we sever it before kickoff, Sabine’s neural leash breaks.”Robin tapped the blueprint. “And if we don’t?” Raya’s voice crackled through a secure call.“She flips the switch during the trophy ceremony. Every clone reveals themselves. Publicly. Global broadcast. No turning back.”That evening, Robin received a private video file. It was Sabine. Still dressed in black, standing inside what looked like a luxury villa overlooking the Gulf. “You can’t stop this, Robin.People don’t

London – 48 Hours After the Final. The city lit up like a cathedral of celebration. England hadn’t lifted a World Cup trophy in decades, and Robin Ashwood’s final goal had sealed it in storybook fashion.His face was everywhere billboards, news channels, cereal boxes. He was no longer just a footballer. He was a symbol. But symbols cast long shadows. And in that shadow, something monstrous stirred.Robin returned to the house his mother still lived in, the same street where his dreams were once laughed at, beaten down, and rebuilt every evening with a worn-out ball.His mother hugged him so tight, he almost dropped the golden medal around his neck. “You’ve made the whole country proud,” she whispered. “But most of all… you made me proud, Robin.”He looked into her eyes. They were soft. Weathered. Real. But something in his gut stirred uneasily.That night, at a secret debriefing, Director Vano slid a photo across the table. It was taken from a high-range surveillance drone outside Zur

Santiago Bernabéu Stadium – Madrid, SpainOpening Night – The Europa Super League KickoffThe world had never seen a season opener like this. A hundred thousand fans packed the iconic Bernabéu. Drones zipped overhead. Fireworks painted the skies. But no one cared about the theatrics. Everyone came to see one thing: Robin Ashwood vs. Monarch.The headlines were everywhere: “The Human vs. The Hybrid.”“Ashwood’s Legacy Tested by His Clone.”“Is Football Still Human?”For the first time, the world wasn’t tuning in for goals. They were tuning in for truth. Monarch was unveiled by Real Madrid like royalty. Dressed in the new white and gold strip, he stepped onto the pitch with grace that bordered on surreal. Cameras captured every movement. He didn’t blink under the flashbulbs.Commentators tried to remain neutral. “There he is. Monarch, heightened reflexes, precision balance, neurological micro-response integration…”The other said it bluntly. “He’s a clone. And tonight, we find out if ma

Glacier Base – Sublevel 9Red Alert. 02:17 Local TimeThe air turned thick, humming with static electricity. Red strobe lights strobed through the crystal-glass walls, casting distorted reflections of Robin's own face, except they weren’t his, They were his replicas.Behind each pod: A Robin Ashwood. Eyes closed. Muscles twitching. All suspended in pale fluid. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. And now, they were waking up.Layla’s voice burst through the earpiece again. “Robin, get out now! They’ve lifted the neural locks. Those clones aren’t just sleeping, they’re syncing. Sabine just started the final sequence!”Robin turned to Sabine, still standing by the console, calm as ever. “You’ve lost control,” he said coldly.She looked at him, almost amused. “No, Robin. For the first time… I have it.”Sabine pressed two fingers to her bracelet, Behind her, Unit #17 one of the newly awakened clones jerked, then moved fluidly from the pod. Eyes open. Alert. Calculating. Sabine spoke with chilling clar