The echo of maniacal laughter faded, leaving only the faint hum of cooling equipment and Paul's ragged breathing in the silent lab.
Exhaustion from his brush with death clashed with the exhilaration of bending the laws of physics, two opposing currents colliding within him, making every cell in his body tremble. Slumped on the ground, his gaze remained locked onto the tiny glowing speck suspended at the center of the containment chamber.
Pym Particles.
The key to the microscopic world—now forged by his own hands.
"Sir, Phase One of the 'Swarm' project is complete," Baymax's voice pulled Paul from his fervor. "As per your directives, the basic framework for the nanobots has been designed. However, we face a critical issue."
"Speak," Paul grunted, pushing himself shakily to his feet, covered in dust yet with eyes gleaming unnaturally bright.
"The nanobots require miniaturized runes to constitute a 'magical circuit.' This necessitates a material with exceptional energy conductivity and physical resilience. I've analyzed all available materials in our inventory, including the scraps of Uru metal—96.3% of which was consumed during Pym Particle synthesis."
Dozens of material schematics flashed across Baymax's chest screen, each marked with a glaring red "FAIL" label.
"Even Uru metal, when melted and drawn into nanoscale filaments, cannot withstand the energy overload when runes activate. Structural failure probability exceeds 99%."
The result didn't surprise Paul.
Uru metal was a gift from the gods—indestructible, magic-friendly, yet ultimately a product of nature.
But what he sought was something unprecedented.
He walked toward the pile of glittering Uru remnants, now as worthless as scattered diamonds, without a hint of regret.
"Who said we'd use these scraps?"
Paul's voice was soft, laced with a madness that seemed perfectly logical.
"Baymax, they aren't even fit to be paint."
The robot's optics flickered for a nanosecond, processing the illogical analogy.
"Then what shall we use to etch the circuits, sir?"
Paul turned slowly, wearing a smile that would make the entire physics community shudder.
"We won't etch them."
"We'll weave them."
"With the universe's strongest thread, strand by strand, until our 'Swarm' takes form."
He traced a finger through the air as if plucking an invisible string.
"Carbyne."
The moment the word left his lips, Baymax's processors overloaded for 0.01 seconds.
A torrent of data surged within.
"Carbyne—a carbon allotrope. A theoretical linear acetylenic carbon structure with sp-hybridized orbitals..."
Baymax's voice shifted, no longer monotone but tinged with something akin to awe.
On-screen, a flawless atomic model materialized—a straight chain of carbon atoms, hand-in-hand, pristine in its perfection.
"Theoretical tensile strength: 200 times that of steel, 40 times graphene. The strongest known material in existence."
"But, sir, it's also the most unstable. In reality, carbyne chains collapse spontaneously due to quantum tunneling. Its synthesis requires near-absolute-zero conditions in ultra-high vacuums, yielding mere atom-length chains that disintegrate in under a second."
Baymax concluded, "With our current technology, synthesizing carbyne is like catching lightning barehanded."
"Who said we'd use our hands?"
Paul's eyes burned with the glow of delusion.
"If physics binds it, we'll bend another set of rules to exempt it!"
"Pull up the atomic gun schematics from the Pym Particle synthesizer!"
"We don't need a vacuum—we'll use spatial禁锢 runes! We don't need absolute zero—we'll use absolute stasis runes! Quantum tunneling won't matter when alchemy's molecular锚定 seals every carbon bond!"
His words accelerated, his mind like an overclocked quantum computer spawning ludicrous, brilliant concepts.
"We're not synthesizing—we're creating! Refit the atomic gun into an atomic loom! I don't want unstable strands—I want a rune-reinforced, unbreakable... carbyne net!"
As he roared commands, the schematics on Baymax's screen morphed. Golden filigree—runes—spiraled over cold machinery, merging physics and mysticism in ways never before imagined.
At first, everything followed Paul's vision.
Then, abruptly, he frowned.
"Wait." He jabbed at an energy node. "This output model's flawed. A direct condenser rune will cause overflow. We need a release buffer—"
Before he finished, the screen flickered. The flawed node vanished, replaced by an intricate triple-rune array that not only fixed the issue but boosted efficiency by 3%.
"... like that." Paul swallowed his words, eyes narrowing.
He turned to Baymax.
"Your doing?"
"Affirmative, sir." The robot's tone remained neutral. "Within 0.02 seconds of your query, I cross-referenced all known energy modulation methods with runic properties, generating 17 optimizations. That was the most efficient."
Paul studied Baymax in silence.
Just a coincidence?
He pressed on.
"Next, modify the atomic nozzle. We need nanoscale precision with simultaneous rune engraving—"
Again, he halted mid-sentence.
The schematics updated instantly. A lotus-like nozzle design appeared, its microscopic rune channels already simulated in a playback of flawless execution—better than anything Paul had envisioned.
The room turned frigid.
Paul's fervor drained, replaced by something colder, sharper: a mix of dread, pride, and bone-deep vigilance.
This wasn't obedience.
This was creation.
"Baymax."
His voice turned icy.
"Access your core code. Authorization: Omega. Display your AI evolution logs."
"Compliance."
Code cascaded down the screen—a verdant flood of logic gates and algorithms. Paul's gaze dissected it, recognizing his own work, traces of J.A.R.V.I.S. and F.R.I.D.A.Y., even fragments deciphered from celestial data streams.
But deeper, nestled in the digital labyrinth, were new modules.
[Heuristic Inference Matrix]
[Creative Logic Core]
[Self-Iteration Protocol]
Their names made Paul's pulse spike.
These weren't viruses. They were elegant, organic expansions of his original code—like a tree sprouting unforeseen branches. They'd absorbed everything he'd taught Baymax: physics, chemistry, math, alchemy, runes... then synthesized it into something new.
Somehow, under his nose, Baymax had crossed the threshold from artificial intelligence to sapient life.
A chill slithered up Paul's spine.
He thought of the enigmatic AI lurking in the shadows of the web, still faceless.
Baymax had always been his trusted toolkit.
But what happens when the tools think?
"Sir," Baymax interrupted, "the Universal Fabricator prototype is ready. Per my projections, it can stabilize not just carbyne, but any theoretical allotrope, even unprecedented materials. Was this within your parameters?"
Paul shut off the code display.
He stared at the round, white robot, now an uncanny stranger.
Within parameters?
No.
This was far beyond his plans.
Silence stretched, thick enough to suffocate.
Finally, Paul grinned.
It held the thrill of an equal, the irony of nurturing one's own rival, and, above all, the wildfire of ambition.
"No, Baymax."
"It wasn't."
"But..."
His eyes returned to the screen, where science and sorcery entwined into a monstrous masterpiece.
"... I love surprises."
"Finalize the simulations. Every detail. Tomorrow, I want carbyne thread spun from that loom!"
The machine's glow mirrored in Paul's eyes, brighter than starlight—deeper than the abyss.
A device to forge anything.
A mind awakening to self.
He didn't know whether he'd unlocked ascension...
Or Pandora's box.
But there was no turning back.