S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion, deep-level archives.
The air here had a unique scent—a mixture of disinfectant from the sterile environment, the fine dust of old paper, and the dry, cold chill of some climate control system.
Paul's fingertips gently brushed across a yellowed manila folder. Stamped in red on the cover were the words "TOP SECRET" and a faded codename: "Project Rebirth."
This was the original file for the legendary Super-Soldier Serum.
He opened it, revealing a trove of handwritten notes, complex chemical formulas, and several blurry experiment photos. The handwriting was messy yet forceful, belonging to his grandfather, Howard Stark.
Paul could feel Howard's fervor and struggle through these notes. He had tried to replicate Dr. Erskine's formula, but every attempt failed at the final step. The serum either became inert or created uncontrollable monsters.
"So that's how it is…" Paul's gaze locked onto a series of calculations that Howard had crossed out in red ink.
In Howard's view, these were failed paths.
But within the thinking model of Paul's mind, fused with the genius of Hiro Hamada, these discarded data points were like scattered puzzle pieces pointing to an entirely new direction.
The problem wasn't the formula, but the energy model during the catalysis. The "Vita-Rays" used by Dr. Erskine weren't just radiation; they were a form of energy resonance at a specific frequency, meant to stabilize the unstable mutagens in the serum.
Howard had gone down the wrong path. He tried to brute-force the result, ignoring the delicate balance of the process.
In Paul's mind, countless streams of data washed over him like a waterfall. The blueprint for a more stable, more perfect serum formula was constructed in just a few short minutes.
The flame of scientific discovery burned fiercely within him—the ultimate thrill of creation.
But he didn't move.
He just looked on quietly, then nonchalantly flipped past those critical pages as if he were merely browsing. He knew that in every corner of this room, micro-cameras were faithfully recording his every move. That old fox, Nick Fury, would never miss an opportunity to observe him.
Paul even deliberately paused at an obviously flawed formula, frowning and showing a "confused" expression, then shook his head slightly and closed the file.
If you're going to act, you have to go all the way.
He needed Fury to believe he was just a gifted teenager curious about his grandfather's legacy, not a monster who could casually crack S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest secrets.
Putting down the Super-Soldier file, Paul turned to another, more tempting target—Pym Particles.
This file was even more incomplete than the serum's, consisting of little more than conceptual descriptions and scattered experiment logs. Hank Pym had taken all the core technology with him, leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. with nothing but an empty shell.
"Unable to restore the core equation… as expected."
Paul wasn't disappointed. A technology like Pym Particles, capable of altering the atomic distance of matter, was practically a product of another dimension. Recreating it from scratch was a fool's errand.
But he had another way.
If you can't *produce* water, find a way to *collect* the rain.
His gaze didn't linger on the abstruse theories but shifted to a blurry schematic in the file. It was a prototype of a device Dr. Pym had used in his early days to collect and store the particles.
Though the structure was crude and its principles unclear, for Paul, it was enough.
His eyes lit up, and deep within his pupils, countless blue data streams flickered rapidly. His brain, now a supercomputer, began to reverse-engineer the operational logic of the collection device.
Electromagnetic field confinement, spatial curvature folding, quantum state capture…
Wild and audacious concepts collided and merged in his mind.
He became completely immersed, his fingertips unconsciously tracing patterns in the air as if sketching an invisible, intricate instrument. It was the pure, unadulterated ecstasy of a creator.
An hour later, Paul left the archive room, thoroughly satisfied.
As the heavy alloy door slid shut behind him, the look of curiosity and confusion vanished from his face, replaced by a profound calm as still as an ancient well.
Walking down the sterile, brightly lit corridor leading to the surface, the world around him was pure white.
But in the depths of Paul's consciousness, a vast and magnificent virtual space was silently taking shape.
This was his divine kingdom, a realm belonging only to him.
In that moment, his consciousness split into three.
The first virtual "Paul" stood in a biology lab filled with precision instruments. On the virtual screen before him was the molecular structure of the Super-Soldier Serum, improved by him. He began to meticulously run simulations, adjusting every parameter, his goal to create a controllable enhancement drug that perfectly unlocked human potential with zero side effects.
The second virtual "Paul" was in a massive heavy machinery factory. He floated in mid-air, waving his hands as countless parts materialized, rapidly assembling around a complex spherical core. He was designing the Pym Particle collection device. He didn't need to understand all the mysteries of the particles; he just needed a "bottle," one that could contain this god-tier power.
The third virtual "Paul" existed in the strangest environment of all.
It was an endless darkness, illuminated only by the faint light he himself emitted.
He wasn't performing any calculations or designs. He was simply standing still.
Suddenly, three things materialized in his hand.
A vial of perfect serum, glowing with a faint golden light.
A small cluster of Pym Particles, shimmering like stardust, constantly changing form.
And… a nanoscale microrobot, almost invisible to the naked eye, the ultimate miniaturization of Baymax's core technology from his memories of Hiro Hamada.
This "Paul" had no expression on his face, but his eyes were deeper than the starry sky.
What was he planning to do?
Merge these three pinnacle technologies of the Marvel world?
What would that create?
A legion of nanobots that could change size at will and possessed superhuman strength?
No.
That was thinking too small.
The third "Paul" slowly extended his hand, holding the three items in his palm. They didn't merge physically, but on a higher dimensional plane, their information began to interweave and entangle.
The serum represented the limit of "Life."
The Pym Particles represented the limit of "Space."
The microrobots represented the limit of "Information" and "Control."
When the three fundamental elements of Life, Space, and Information were governed by a single, unified will…
In the real world, a small, uncontrollable smile crept onto Paul's lips.
It was a smile tinged with mystery, a hint of madness, and above all, the anticipation of unveiling a world-shaking secret.
He remembered when he first crossed over, the stream of information that flooded his mind, calling itself the "Celestial's Messenger."
What exactly was that "Celestial"?
Was the "newbie gift package" sent merely to help him, a transmigrator, survive in this world?
Or perhaps…
Behind it all lay a grand design that spanned cosmic dimensions?
The third virtual avatar began a new project.
The project's name wasn't defined by any known human language.
It was a symbol, an sigil from the "Celestial," imprinted upon his very soul.
Its purpose was singular—
To decode the source code of the universe, and then… become the new "God."
***
Meanwhile, in the Triskelion's highest surveillance room.
Nick Fury stared intently at the screen showing Paul's retreating back.
"What did he look at?" Fury's voice was low.
"Sir, the 'Project Rebirth' file and the incomplete 'Pym Particle' archive," the agent beside him reported. "He spent seventeen minutes on the serum file, forty-three on the Pym Particles. No abnormal behavior. Facial analysis indicates he was in a state of confusion and curiosity for most of the time."
"Confusion? Curiosity?"
A glint flashed in Fury's single eye.
He felt something was wrong.
This boy, from the moment he appeared, had been an enigma. He was too calm, too smart, and… too fast.
So fast that it made him, a veteran spymaster, feel a pang of apprehension.
"Continue surveillance," Fury finally ordered. "Classify him as a highest-level threat… Alpha-level."
The agent froze for a second. Alpha-level was an internal designation reserved for entities or events capable of destroying the world.
"Sir… he's just a kid."
Fury didn't answer. He just watched the lean figure disappear around a corner on the screen and muttered to himself.
"A kid?"
"I just hope that what we're facing is really just a 'kid'…"
He didn't know that at the very moment he felt this unease, a storm was just beginning to brew in that "kid's" mind—a storm powerful enough to overturn the very foundations of the universe.