The lab was deathly silent.
Only the low hum of the supercomputer filled the air, like the breath of some ancient slumbering beast. Above, a holographic projection of a human gene sequence labeled "Locked" hovered motionlessly, emitting an eerie blue glow. It loomed like an insurmountable chasm between mortals and gods.
Locked away…
Those words carried more impact than any complex scientific terminology.
This wasn't a flaw, nor regression—it was a deliberate, precise seal.
Paul's breath hitched as an invisible weight pressed against his chest, suffocating him. He reached out, fingers tracing the virtual gene chain, yet it felt like touching a cold, unyielding barrier.
"Who… locked it?"
His voice was barely more than a whisper, fragile in the emptiness of the lab.
"Sir, there are no records of this phenomenon in any database," replied D.A.V.E., his tone sterile yet sending a chill down Paul's spine. "From an evolutionary standpoint, this level of universal, engineered gene silencing contradicts all known models of natural selection. It more closely resembles… a patch."
"A patch?" Paul's gaze sharpened.
"Affirmative. One designed to correct a 'vulnerability'—or restrict a function. Notably, this 'patch' is absent in Mr. Odinson's genetic structure, as well as all Asgardian samples. Their gene clusters remain fully active. This could explain their innate combat prowess and energy manipulation capabilities."
D.A.V.E. paused, his display flickering briefly before delivering an even more chilling hypothesis.
"In other words, sir, it is not that Asgardians evolved to harness divine power. Rather… humanity was stripped of the potential to become gods."
Boom.
The words detonated in Paul's mind like thunder.
A surge of indescribable rage and frustration, mixed with the electrifying thrill of discovery, flooded his veins.
He had always accepted human frailty as inevitable—believing technology was mankind's sole weapon against fate.
Now, the truth lay bare before him: Humanity was meant for more. A path to power, to godhood, had been stolen from them.
Who?
Odin? The ancient Celestials? Some unknown civilization, shackling human potential for their own hidden agenda?
He couldn't fathom the answer.
This secret was too vast—its implications beyond Earth's comprehension. Trying to break this lock now would be like an ant challenging a tsunami.
Paul stared at the gene sequence, the fire in his eyes cooling into something calculating. Ruthlessly rational.
He was no dreamer.
If this door was barred, he'd forge another path.
If the divine road was sealed…
He would carve a mortal ascent to heaven.
A frenzied idea took root in his mind—spreading like a virus until it consumed every thought.
"D.A.V.E."
His voice was unnervingly calm.
"Sir?"
"Archive the 'Genetic Lock' project. Highest priority, long-term observation." Paul turned away from the taunting hologram. A different fire burned in his eyes now—the mad spark of a creator. "Initiate a new project."
"Project codename… Bloodshot."
D.A.V.E.'s display flickered as if processing the unfamiliar term.
Paul didn't wait for questions. He strode to another console, fingers flying as streams of code and schematics cascaded across the holograms.
"Remember those nanites from Wakanda? Crude. Too large. Too limited."
His words came faster, excitement bleeding through.
"Design a new generation—phage-scale micro-machines. They'll be my hands. My army."
"One core function: repair. Cellular-level, indiscriminate restoration. Broken bones, torn muscle, necrotic tissue—so long as raw material remains, they'll rebuild everything."
On screen, an impossibly intricate nanobot model materialized.
"But sir, how would such a swarm integrate with a host? Even compressed, their energy demands—"
"Pym Particles," Paul cut in, slashing a hand toward another schematic. "We shrink trillions into the bloodstream. They live inside me. Dormant until trauma triggers activation."
"And for power—" Paul's lips split into a razor grin. "We just discussed it. The 'Divine Serum.' I can't replicate Asgardian bio-factories yet, but I can make a lite version. The Super-Soldier Serum's ultimate evolution. A nutrient cocktail packing enough energy to fuel the nanites!"
Nanobots. Pym tech. Super-serum.
Three in one.
This was Paul's endgame—to recreate Bloodshot's bleeding-edge tech in reality.
To craft himself an immortal body.
"Spin up the virtual lab. Maximum time acceleration."
Paul shrugged off his coat, eyes blazing like never before.
"Sir, the biological, ethical, and technical risks all classify as—"
"Execute, D.A.V.E." Paul's voice brooked no argument.
He was done waiting.
Let whatever force chained humanity bear witness—even a caged ape could sharpen a stone…
And shatter its prison.
"…Affirmative."
This time, D.A.V.E. offered no protest.
Hnnnnn—
The lights dimmed, replaced by surging tides of blue data, engulfing Paul whole.
Virtual lab: online.
The vault door thudded shut, sealing the world away.
Darkness. Silence.
Outside, the last sliver of sunset vanished beneath the horizon.
Night fell.
Deep within every human, the genetic lock slumbered on, unknown.
But in a nondescript New York basement…
A boy was forging a key—one built from code and steel—
To steal back godhood itself.