Columbia University, New York City – 1944
The lecture hall was packed to bursting. Students crammed shoulder to shoulder, professors lined the walls, and at the back sat a row of stern-faced military officers in pressed uniforms. Word had spread fast — the seventeen-year-old prodigy was speaking today.
At the chalkboard stood Christopher Justin Reeves. Thin-framed glasses perched on his nose, sleeves rolled up, chalk dust clinging to his fingers. His presence commanded the room, not with age or stature, but with raw intellect.
On the board stretched equations most of the audience couldn't begin to parse.
"Energy cannot be created or destroyed," Chris said, his tone calm, assured. "But it can be repurposed. Redirected. And if energy shapes matter, then it stands to reason — matter itself can be rewritten. Biology included."
The crowd murmured, struggling to keep up.
Chris smirked faintly. "Or, in simpler terms — given the right application of energy, men can be remade stronger, faster, more resilient. Superhuman."
The room went silent. Some scoffed. Others leaned forward, captivated. The men in uniform exchanged meaningful looks.
When the lecture ended, the students erupted into chatter. But the officers and government men waited, patient and still. As the hall cleared, one of them — a sharp-eyed colonel — approached the podium.
"Mr. Reeves," he said, extending a hand. "United States Science Reserve. We've been following your work."
Chris arched a brow. "Have you? Most of my papers aren't even published yet."
"That's why," the colonel replied evenly. "Because you're working two decades ahead of the rest of the world."
Behind him stepped a young doctor, blond and neatly dressed, with a clipped German accent. Dr. Frederick Vought.
"I've read your theories on molecular re-sequencing," Vought said. "Brilliant. Primitive compared to what I'm working on, but brilliant."
Chris tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "And you are?"
"Dr. Frederick Vought. I've developed a serum — unstable, volatile, but with potential. With your help, we can stabilize it. Imagine, Mr. Reeves: an army of perfected men. Super soldiers to win this war."
Chris considered him coolly, then glanced at the soldier leaning against the wall nearby. He was tall, broad-shouldered, in his early twenties. He looked bored, but his sharp eyes flicked over Chris with quiet curiosity.
"What's with the babysitter?" Chris asked.
The colonel chuckled. "That's Corporal Cecil Steadman. He's not here to babysit. He's here to make sure you remember the world isn't just chalkboards and equations."
Cecil pushed off the wall, offering Chris a hand. "So you're the genius they're dragging out of school. Gotta admit, you don't look like much."
Chris smirked, shaking his hand. "Funny. I was just thinking the same thing."
For the first time, Cecil grinned.
And in that moment, two paths crossed — the soldier and the scientist. Neither knew it yet, but their bond would shape the future of the world.