The Atlas Biotech penthouse was very quiet, way too quiet compared to all the crazy stuff happening out in the world. Dr. Connors had already left, carrying out Sam's order like it was the most important thing in the universe. The Genesis Serum wasn't just some science project anymore—it was like a weapon, waiting to be dropped.
Sam didn't grab his phone or type an email. He didn't need to.
"AetherLink," he said.
The air shimmered in front of him, like heat on pavement, and then the AI's glowing interface appeared.
"All systems working fine, Host," the AI's calm voice said.
"Start Protocol: Prometheus," Sam ordered. "Phase One. Target acquisition."
The hologram burst into a cloud of lights, each one a person. Medical files, genetic info, donation history, political influence—all of it flashing and being sorted in seconds.
"Filters: terminal illnesses. Things nobody can cure. Positive impact on society. No rival company ties. Doesn't matter how old or rich they are," Sam said.
"Processing," the AI answered.
One by one, millions of points of light vanished until only one hundred were left. A hundred names. A hundred people who were dying, with no chance left—until now.
"Phase Two. Deployment."
All over the world, in hospital rooms, apartments, and fancy mansions, one hundred people suddenly got a message. It wasn't a phone call or email—it just appeared on their devices, plain and simple with the Atlas logo.
The message said:
> You have been selected for the Atlas Biotech Genesis Initiative.
Your condition has been approved for a new treatment.
This is not a trial. This is a cure.
One dose will arrive in the next hour.
A medical team is on standby.
The choice is yours.
—
At the Mayo Clinic, an old astrophysicist, barely alive after failed chemo, held the tablet with shaking hands. He thought he had already made peace with dying.
In Tokyo, a young teacher with muscular dystrophy saw the message and burst into tears.
In England, an old UN diplomat with Parkinson's read it on his computer and thought, this must be a scam.
But an hour later, small drones landed quietly—on balconies, in gardens, even at hospital windows. Each drone carried a small capsule with one glowing blue vial inside: the Genesis Serum.
The medical AI answered their questions calmly. The people made their choice.
One by one, they injected the serum.
—
72 Hours Later
The world lost its mind.
The Daily Bugle had the story on the front page. Not Spider-Man this time—no, it was the astrophysicist standing on a balcony, looking healthy, looking young.
The headline read:
MIRACLE CURE OR MAD SCIENCE? ATLAS BIOTECH'S "GENESIS" EXPLODES ONTO WORLD STAGE!
The article reported miracle recoveries from different people, all confirmed. Doctors and experts were freaking out. Nobody knew how it was possible.
—
At S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Nick Fury scowled at the news. Hill read reports off her tablet.
"It's real, sir. One hundred people. All fully healed. Better than healed. Stronger, even younger than before."
"Get me that serum," Fury growled.
"Sir, their facilities are impossible to breach. And the vials are locked to each person. They can't be used by anyone else."
Fury's one eye narrowed. "He's not just curing people. He's holding the strings. That's not medicine. That's control."
—
At Stark Tower, Tony tossed the newspaper on his desk.
"JARVIS, analyze the serum again."
"Same results, boss. Perfect code. No disease, no flaws."
"Nothing's perfect," Tony muttered. "So what are you hiding, Jackson?"
—
Back in Atlas Tower, Sam wasn't watching the news. He was watching the hundred green dots glowing on a map—each one a cured human.
His assistant's voice crackled through the intercom. "Uh… Mr. Jackson, Victoria Snow is here again. But she's not alone. She… brought people. Important people."
Sam smirked. "Send them in."
The doors opened, and Victoria walked in, looking sharp and serious. But she wasn't the one in charge this time.
At her side was a tall, older man. His face was lined with age, but his posture screamed authority. Sam knew him instantly: Senator Samuel Sterns, the Old Lion of the Armed Services Committee.
S.H.I.E.L.D. files had told Sam the truth: the Senator was dying from brain cancer.
The Senator didn't shake Sam's hand. He looked around, then locked eyes with him.
"Mr. Jackson," he said, his voice rough. "You've started a war without saying so. I'm here to talk terms of surrender."
Sam leaned back, cool and calm, and steepled his fingers.
"Senator," he replied, voice steady. "This isn't war. And there is no surrender. But by all means… have a seat. Let's talk."
---