[Location: Whitmore College – Maxfield's Lab] [Time: 4:00 PM – The Day After Tanner's Death]
The lab smelled of antiseptic and something metallic—like old pennies.
Dr. Wes Maxfield stood by a stainless steel table, looking at the slides I had brought him. He was a handsome man in a clinical, sociopathic way. He wore his arrogance like a lab coat.
"These samples," Maxfield said, adjusting his glasses. "You claim you found this tissue on a deer carcass in the woods near Mystic Falls?"
"Yes, sir," I lied seamlessly. "The cellular regeneration rate was... anomalous. The tissue seemed to be knitting itself back together hours after death."
It wasn't deer tissue. It was a swab of blood I'd wiped off a leaf where Damon had attacked Vicki.
Maxfield looked at me, his interest piqued. "You have a sharp eye, Mr. Cross. Most high school students are too busy huffing glue to notice necro-biology."
He walked over to a heavy, reinforced door at the back of the lab. There was a small, barred window at eye level.
"You said in your email you wanted access," Maxfield said, his voice dropping. "You said you weren't squeamish."
"I'm not," I said.
"Then look."
He slid the viewing port open.
I stepped forward and looked inside.
It was a cell. Inside, chained to the wall, was a man. But he wasn't human. His skin was grey, desicated. His eyes were black pits of hunger. He was thrashing against the chains, hissing, his gums receding to reveal fangs.
An Augustine Vampire. A test subject.
"He hasn't fed in three weeks," Maxfield said clinically. "We're testing the threshold of the starving brain. We're trying to isolate the aggression gene."
I stared at the creature. It was powerful, yes. But it was a beast. A rabid dog. If I injected myself with the Augustine serum, I would get strength, but I would lose control. I would be driven by a constant, burning hunger for vampire blood.
That's not power, I realized, a cold clarity washing over me. That's a disability.
I wanted to be the Upgraded Original—the Beast from the prophecy—but I wanted the version Lucien Castle created: refined, perfect, sane. I didn't want to be this... thing.
I stepped back from the window.
"Fascinating," I said, keeping my face neutral. "But crude."
Maxfield raised an eyebrow. "Crude?"
"He's starving," I said, putting on my 'Salaryman Consultant' persona. "Starvation degrades the data. If you want to study regeneration, you need a stable subject. You need better storage. Better preservation."
I looked Maxfield in the eye.
"I can organize your data, Dr. Maxfield. I can manage your samples. I can get you 'biological material' from Mystic Falls—it's a hotbed for animal attacks right now, as you know. But I don't want to be involved with... him." I gestured to the cell.
Maxfield studied me. He needed an assistant who could keep a secret. I was offering discretion and samples.
"You get access to the outer lab," Maxfield decided, handing me a keycard. "Equipment only. If you breathe a word of what's in the back room, I'll feed you to him."
I took the card. "Understood."
I walked out of the building.
I looked at the keycard in my hand. I had a lab. I had a place to store the Werewolf Venom and White Oak once I found them.
I didn't need the Augustine virus. I was playing the long game.
[Location: Wickery Bridge] [Time: 2:00 AM]
The town was under curfew. Police cruisers were patrolling the streets.
But I wasn't on the streets. I was under them.
I had parked my Jeep a mile away, deep in the woods, and hiked to the riverbank.
Wickery Bridge.
To the locals, it was just an old wooden bridge. To the History Council, it was a landmark built by the Salvatores.
To me, it was the Holy Grail.
The wood used to build this bridge came from the original White Oak Tree—the only tree in existence capable of killing an Original Vampire. In Season 3, Sage burns this bridge down.
I couldn't let that happen. Not without getting my share first.
The water of the river was black and rushing. I stood in the mud under the bridge, looking up at the ancient timber beams. They were massive, dark with rot and age.
I pulled the crowbar and the handsaw from my backpack.
I didn't need the whole bridge. I just needed enough to craft a weapon. Enough to grind into ash for the Upgraded Original spell.
Constraint: I couldn't compromise the bridge's structural integrity. If it collapsed, the Council would investigate.
I found a cross-beam near the support pylon that was partially obscured by ivy.
I climbed up the pylon, my boots slipping on the wet moss. I wrapped my legs around the beam.
Scritch. Scritch.
I started sawing.
The sound seemed deafening in the silence of the night. Every time a car drove over the bridge above me, the dust fell into my eyes, and I froze, pressing myself against the wood like a spider.
My arm burned. The wood was dense—magically dense? No, just old oak.
Ten minutes. Twenty minutes.
Snap.
A block of wood, about the size of a brick, came loose.
I caught it before it could splash into the river.
I held it in my hand. It was heavy.
White Oak.
This was the bullet that could kill Klaus Mikaelson. This was the base ingredient for the serum that would make me a God.
I shoved it into my backpack.
Then, I pulled out a jar of mud I had collected from the bank. I smeared it over the fresh cut in the beam, aging it, hiding the bright, new wood.
"Perfect," I whispered.
I slid down the pylon and landed in the mud.
Step 1 of the Great Work: Complete.
Now I just needed the venom of seven werewolf packs. Easy, right?
[Location: The Cross Residence – Living Room] [Time: 7:00 PM – The Next Evening]
The atmosphere in the house was tense.
My father, Robert Cross, was pacing the living room. He was wearing his best suit.
"I don't understand why they invited me," he muttered, adjusting his tie. "We've been here for two weeks."
"It's a town meeting, Rob," my mom said, fixing his collar. "They probably just want the new architect's opinion on the restoration projects."
I sat on the couch, reading a book, but I was listening intently.
The Founders' Council had summoned him.
This was my doing. Or rather, the result of my positioning. I had made sure my dad's resume highlighted his expertise in "Historical Preservation" and "Structural Integrity." The Council needed someone to fortify the town buildings against "animals."
"Dad," I said, closing my book. "It's an honor. You're part of the community now. Just go, nod your head, and agree that history is important."
"Right," he exhaled. "Right."
He left for the Mayor's mansion.
I waited until his car pulled away. Then I went to the window.
The sun was setting. The curfew was in effect.
But I had one more loose end to tie up.
The Gilbert Watch.
I had the broken one I traded Jeremy for. I had managed to pry the back open last night. The mechanism wasn't just gears; it was a spell conduit. It needed a crystal to be a weapon (the device that emits the high-frequency noise), but as a simple compass, it just needed to be attuned.
And I didn't want the Council to have it.
In the show, the Council asks all families to turn over their watches to "fix" them. If I gave mine up, I lost my radar.
But if I kept it, and they found out...
I needed a decoy.
I went to my room and pulled a box out from under my bed. It was a cheap, antique-looking pocket watch I had bought on eBay before we moved. It looked similar enough to the Gilbert device to fool a layman.
I smashed the face of the decoy watch with a hammer.
"There," I muttered. "Broken beyond repair."
If the Council came knocking, I'd give them the decoy. The real one stayed with me.
[Location: The Mystic Grill] [Time: 8:30 PM]
I shouldn't have been out. But I needed to maintain appearances.
The Grill was empty. Matt was wiping tables.
I walked in, taking a seat at the bar.
"Curfew breaker," Matt said, not looking up. He sounded tired.
"My dad's at the Mayor's," I said. "My mom is stress-baking. I needed air."
"Vicki's home," Matt said, his voice low. "She's... sleeping a lot. But she's eating like a horse."
"Trauma," I said. "It burns calories."
The door opened.
Stefan walked in. He looked stressed. He spotted me and walked over.
"Adrian," he said. "You shouldn't be out."
"Neither should you," I countered.
Stefan sat next to me. "I need to ask you something. About the other night."
"I told you," I said, sipping my soda. "Shadows. Fog. Scary guy."
"Did you tell anyone else?" Stefan asked intensely. "Your parents? The Sheriff?"
"No," I said. "Because I don't want to end up in a psych ward."
Stefan looked relieved. "Good. Keep it that way."
He hesitated, then reached into his jacket. He pulled out a small wooden box.
"I have something for you," Stefan said. "Since you seem determined to put yourself in danger."
He opened the box.
Inside was a keychain. It was a small glass vial filled with a dried herb.
Vervain.
Stefan was giving me vervain. He was protecting the human witness.
"What is this?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
"It's an herb called Vervain," Stefan said seriously. "It's... a good luck charm. Old Italian tradition. It protects against evil."
He pushed it toward me. "Keep it on you. Put it in your pocket. Wear it. Just don't lose it."
I looked at the vial.
It was ironic. I was already drinking the stuff. But accepting this solidified my alliance with Stefan. It made me his "protected human."
I took the keychain.
"Thanks, Stefan," I said. "I could use some good luck."
"Go home, Adrian," Stefan said.
I stood up.
As I walked out, I felt the weight of the White Oak in my backpack and the Vervain in my pocket.
I had the defense. I had the weapon material. I had the lab.
Now, I just had to wait for the Comet to pass and the Tomb Vampires to wake up.
Because when they woke up, I needed to steal something from them too.