Chapter 7: The Price of Genius
The secrets of Project: Rebirth were buried under layers of red tape and national security acts, but for S.H.I.E.L.D., such classifications were little more than a minor firewall. True to her word, Natasha's response was swift. In under a minute, Talon's satellite phone chimed with a text containing precise GPS coordinates and a detailed map overlay.
He mounted his new motorcycle, the engine a low, powerful growl, and followed the digital guide out of the city. The urban landscape melted away, replaced by winding country lanes that eventually narrowed into a forgotten mountain road, choked with weeds and shadows. He had set out in the morning, and by early afternoon, he found it: a derelict military installation, its chain-link fences sagging and its buildings skeletal against the forest backdrop. It was exactly as he remembered from the S.H.I.E.L.D. files.
He checked his phone. No signal. He was in the right place.
"Hello! Is anyone here?" he called out, his voice echoing unnaturally in the quiet clearing.
Only the wind answered. After a minute of silence, he scaled the fence with easy, practiced grace, dropping silently onto the overgrown concrete on the other side.
Guided by his knowledge of the location's history, he went straight to a large, nondescript warehouse. A heavy, rusted iron door barred his way, secured by a massive, antiquated padlock. He pulled at it, but even his enhanced strength couldn't snap it. He found a length of rusty rebar and tried to lever the lock open, but succeeded only in bending the metal.
No more subtlety, he thought.
He focused, and the transformation seized him. Bones expanded, muscle mass multiplied, and his skin hardened to dark bronze. With a low growl, the three-meter-tall Titan stood where Talon had been. He looked down. His expensive suit was now a collection of shredded fabric around his ankles.
"Damn it," he rumbled, the word a gravelly vibration. "Note to self: Shrinkable armor is a top priority."
He dismissed the lock entirely, placing a massive hand on the iron door and pushing. With a shriek of tortured metal, the entire door tore from its hinges and fell inward with a ground-shaking BOOM.
Darkness greeted him. He used his phone as a flashlight, the beam cutting through the gloom until he found a power switch. Fluorescent lights flickered to life, illuminating a dusty archive room. He went directly to a specific bank of wooden filing cabinets, gripped the edge, and pulled. With a loud click, the entire unit slid smoothly to the side, revealing a hidden elevator with a numeric keypad.
Talon's memory, sharpened by his new biology, provided the code: 8-5-3-9. He punched in the numbers. A green light flashed, and the elevator door slid open with a quiet hiss. He stepped inside, and it descended smoothly into the earth.
The door opened onto impenetrable darkness. He took two steps forward, and suddenly, lights activated in sequence, illuminating a vast, cold chamber. In the center stood a monstrous, antiquated computer, a relic from the dawn of the digital age, its banks of tape reels and blinking lights looking utterly alien. Talon felt a flicker of awe. The sheer intellect required to achieve digital consciousness with this technology was staggering.
Whirrrrr—clunk—click.
The machine booted up. A green prompt flashed on the monochrome monitor: INITIATE SYSTEM? Y/N
Talon reached out a finger and typed Y.
The screen flickered, resolving into a simplistic, green, pixelated face. A synthesized, hoarse voice emanated from a hidden speaker. "Who are you?"
Good. He's isolated. Hydra hasn't linked him to the outside world yet.
"My name is Talon Reeve. I've come a long way to find you."
"How did you know of my existence?" Dr. Arnim Zola's digital ghost asked, its curiosity palpable even through the artificial voice.
"I am a loyal servant of Hydra," Talon lied smoothly. Dignity was a luxury he could reclaim later; power was the immediate goal. "The new leadership sent me. Your work is not forgotten."
"What is it you require of me?"
Talon leaned closer to the screen, his Titan form casting a large shadow. "To bring you back. To give you life."
The pixels on the screen scrambled in a burst of static. "Can you… can you truly do this?" The voice was laced with a desperate, decades-old hope.
"Yes."
"In 1972, I was diagnosed with an incurable disease. Science could not save my flesh, so I preserved my mind," Zola explained, the words pouring out in a rush. "All my memories, my knowledge, my consciousness—it is stored here, in these databases. You are standing inside my mind. It is… functional. But I miss the sensation of a heartbeat. I did not dare to hope… Tell me, how is this possible?"
"Hydra has perfected the Regeneration Cradle," Talon said, weaving his web of deceit with confidence. "But to build you a perfect new body, a perfect new brain, we need your original genetic blueprint. I possess a… unique gift. I can extract that blueprint. The leadership tasked me with your resurrection."
"My body…" Zola's voice was a whisper of static. "It is preserved in a stasis cylinder directly beneath the central processing unit. Please… be careful. The data conduits are my lifeline."
A cold smile touched Talon's lips. "Of course."
He knelt, his Titan's strength allowing him to carefully pry up sections of the concrete floor. Beneath was a rat's nest of thick, bundled cables. Moving with a surprising delicacy for his size, he followed Zola's directions until he uncovered a transparent cylindrical tank. Inside, suspended in a clear, viscous fluid, was the perfectly preserved body of Arnim Zola.
Talon lifted the tank and set it on the open floor. He tapped the reinforced glass with a single, bronze finger. With a sharp crack, the entire cylinder fractured, the fluid spilling out across the concrete. He placed his massive hand on the corpse's chest.
System, extract and integrate the genetic template of Arnim Zola.
"Ding. Genetic template of subject 'Arnim Zola' successfully extracted. Commencing fusion."
The pain was instantaneous and utterly different from anything he had ever known. It was not his body being torn apart, but his mind being forcibly expanded. It felt as if his skull was cracking open to accommodate a torrent of raw information—complex mathematical formulae, quantum mechanical theories, genetic sequences, and schematics for technologies decades ahead of their time. It was a white-hot firestorm of pure intellect searing his neural pathways. He screamed, a raw, agonized sound that echoed in the cavernous room, clutching his head as he collapsed to his knees.
"Are you quite alright?" Zola's voice buzzed with concern. "You are vital to the process!"
For five minutes, Talon could do nothing but ride out the storm, his body shuddering on the cold floor. When the pain finally receded, he was left drenched in sweat, panting and utterly drained.
"I… do not… wish to experience that… ever again," he gasped, his voice hoarse.
"The extraction? Was it successful?" Zola pressed.
Talon managed a weak nod. "It was. I need… a moment."
"Take all the time you require," Zola said, his digital tone almost soothing.
It took the Titan's formidable constitution a full thirty minutes to fully recover. When he stood again, his mind felt different—sharper, more crowded, as if a vast new library had been constructed inside his head. He looked at the flickering screen.
"Dr. Zola," Talon began, his voice now steady and laced with a new, calculating coldness. "There is a change of plan. Before we work on your new body, I require your assistance. I need you to teach me the precise method you used to transfer a human consciousness into a digital format."
The pixelated face on the screen flickered, its expression unreadable. "Why would you need such a technology? Would it not be simpler to just construct the new body and transfer me into it?"