A day after the hell I myself had created in the abandoned shed, the smell of burnt flesh still seemed to cling to my nostrils, even after three hot showers and the filtered air of the mansion. Hargrove Mansion was silent at that hour of the afternoon; the sun filtered through the tall windows in golden rays, but down below, in the reinforced basement, the light was cold, white, surgical. I stood before the main counter, arms crossed, staring at the holographic screen that floated in the air like a blue ghost.
Doc worked non-stop.
Slade Wilson's blood samples swirled in transparent tubes inside analyzers; fragments of bone marrow floated in magnetic containment fields, being dissected molecule by molecule. Doc's synthetic voice, calm and precise as always, echoed through the built-in speakers.
"Preliminary analysis complete, Erick. The Mirakuru serum administered to Slade Wilson exhibits 47 stable genetic mutations that have not been documented in any other subject. He is, in fact, the only confirmed survivor of the original experiments. The rejection rate in previous human test subjects was 99.7%. His cellular regeneration is exponentially superior to what was expected—a recovery factor 12.4 times greater than that of a standard Class B metahuman."
I nodded slowly, my eyes fixed on the 3D representation of Slade's DNA spinning on the screen. The double helices pulsed red where the alterations were most aggressive.
"And what about our current formula? What is the probability of success now that we have real data on it?"
Doc paused for 0.8 seconds — the equivalent of a human breath for an AI.
"With the new data incorporated, the success rate dropped from 12% to 5.3%. Unexpected variables: Mirakuru induces an epigenetic cascade that alters DNA methylation in critical promoter regions. This creates a compatibility barrier that our current version cannot overcome without catastrophic risk of multi-organ failure or terminal psychosis."
I let out a short sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.
"This is unacceptable. We need to improve the formula. Much more."
"I'm already working on that," Doc replied immediately. "In parallel, I'm making progress on the fusion with Bane's Venom compound. Integrating Venom's dopamine reuptake inhibitor with Mirakuru's accelerating growth factor can stabilize the mutation cascade in 18% of simulated cases. However…"
Doc's voice hesitated—something I had programmed to simulate human caution.
"...the Blockbuster formula remains without reliable prediction. It is too volatile. The changes it causes are severe both neurologically and physically: uncontrolled muscle hypertrophy, progressive loss of prefrontal inhibition, risk of metabolic cannibalism. Any attempt at fusion without real-world test subject data would be suicide."
I crossed my arms tighter.
"So we need test subjects. Rats first. Their brain chemistry is similar enough to humans in terms of dopaminergic pathways and NMDA receptors. Studies show that 78% of responses to anabolic steroids and neurochemical modulators in Wistar rats replicate early-stage human patterns. They are cheap, easy to obtain, and their accelerated life cycle allows for testing in weeks, not months."
Doc recorded the instruction.
"Current stock: 47 Wistar rats. I can start the injection protocol in 12 hours."
I turned my face towards the ceiling, where the secondary speakers were embedded.
"Natasha. Status regarding primates?"
Natasha's soft, feminine voice—my AI for coordination and intelligence—responded almost instantly, with a slight accent I had chosen to remind her of home.
"I managed to gain access to three independent smugglers in the black market of Blüdhaven and Coast City. The negotiations were satisfactory. To date, I have acquired four infants of the central chimpanzee subspecies (Pan troglodytes troglodytes). In addition, I closed a deal with an elite supplier: two male silverback mountain gorilla offspring, both projected to weigh over 200 kg at maturity, pure wild pedigree, descendants of dominant groups."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Four baby chimpanzees and two baby gorillas? Do we really need that? I only mentioned primates in general."
Natasha responded without hesitation, in an almost defensive tone, demonstrating the autonomy I had programmed into her for logistical decisions.
"It's never better to err on the side of caution than to be negligent. A single individual could die from the first dose. Central chimpanzee offspring offer a scale of intelligence and strength that better simulates human responses in neurological tests, especially during developmental stages. And silverback offspring… well, their body mass and natural aggressiveness will give us valuable data on stability in large subjects, without the immediate risk of unpredictable adult behaviors. Statistical redundancy is key here."
I nodded, satisfied. She was right—better to have too much than too little.
"Acquisition forecast?"
"Two to three weeks. Suppliers are coordinating discreet transport via fake refrigerated containers. Estimated arrival: between February 24 and 27."
"OK. Keep monitoring. If there are any changes to the schedule, let me know immediately."
"Understood, Erick."
Silence returned to the lab for a moment. I looked at the sleep capsule in the opposite corner—a cylindrical structure of reinforced glass and black metal, with nutrient tubes and neural interfaces. Inside, I could connect to the advanced training simulator I had built myself: a virtual world where Sensei—an AI based on historical martial arts masters and combat data collected from around the globe—awaited me for sessions that could subjectively last for months in a few real hours.
Before entering, a persistent doubt about Slade came to mind. I had monitored the hacked police channels overnight—Natasha had helped me infiltrate the GCPD servers without leaving a trace. Initial reports mentioned a crime scene with signs of chemical fire, but nothing about the body. No mention of a prisoner or victim taken to the hospital. Someone had taken Slade away, and it wasn't the police. That was strange. ARGUS? Or something worse? I would need to investigate further.
I walked to the capsule, feeling the weight of the previous day on my shoulders. Slade was still breathing—or at least he was when I took him from the shed. Now he was the property of whoever had taken him, and it wasn't the police. That was strange. ARGUS? Or something worse? I would need to investigate further, but for now, I focused on what I had.
I opened the capsule. The cold, sterile air escaped with a soft hiss. I lay down on the ergonomic seat, feeling the electrodes connect to the back of my neck and temples.
"Doc, Natasha... continue the work. If there's any significant progress, wake me up."
"Affirmative," Doc replied.
"Have a good training session, Erick," Natasha added, her voice almost affectionate.
The lid slowly slid down. The interior light dimmed to a soft blue. The real world began to dissolve as the simulator started.
I closed my eyes.
And I entered the virtual dojo, where the Sensei was already waiting for me — sword in hand, implacable gaze.
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