The air in the lab was deathly still.
On the main screen, the cold words ["...Found you."] burned into Paul's retinas like a brand from the abyss.
That signal from the depths of the cosmos, lofty and untouchable, had announced its presence before receding like the tide, vanishing without a trace.
The billion nanobots inside the simulated host body snapped out of their eerie "pilgrimage" posture and resumed their patrol procedures as if nothing had happened.
Everything had returned to normal.
But Paul knew—nothing would ever be the same.
His back was already drenched in cold sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs as if trying to break free.
"Big White, sever all external network connections. Activate the lab's highest-level physical isolation protocol."
Paul's voice was hoarse, every word gritted out between his teeth.
"Protocol activated," Big White replied, its tone steady—though the flicker in its ocular scanner betrayed the rapid calculations churning in its core program. "Paul, the energy signature of that signal source far exceeds any known technology on Earth. I recommend immediate destruction of all nanobot samples and termination of the project."
Destroy them?
Paul spun around, his gaze locking onto the sealed nanotech syringe on the workstation, its surface glinting ominously.
Fear, like icy seawater, flooded his limbs.
That unknown entity—that god—had found him.
It had effortlessly breached Stark Industries' top-tier firewall, ignored the laws of physics, and linked directly to his creation.
In the face of such power, the technology he prided himself on was like a child's toy, fragile and useless.
Destroy them—then what?
Cower in the dark and wait for the next "visit"? Wait for it to erase him like an ant underfoot?
No.
The fear in Paul's eyes receded, replaced by a madness born of desperation.
The Stark bloodline had never lacked gamblers.
The greater the danger, the harder he would push forward!
That thing controlled the nanobots through external signals. But what if… what if the host itself was a perfect, closed biological system? What if power and commands came solely from the host's brain and bioelectricity?
Could it still hijack them so easily?
It was an insane idea—a reckless gamble with no theoretical basis.
But Paul had no other choice.
He needed power—power to challenge the unknown. And the syringe in his hands was his only hope.
"Big White, prep the medical stasis pod. Set it to stealth mode. I need absolute silence."
"Paul, your heart rate has exceeded 160 BPM, and your blood pressure is spiking. This violates all safety protocols for human trials. My programming cannot allow—"
"Execute the order!" Paul snarled, the fanaticism in his eyes triggering a momentary logic conflict in Big White's core.
He strode to another machine labeled Magnetic Axis Robotic Resizer and placed a container holding billions of micro-machines inside.
"Initiate resizing. Target scale—nanoscopic."
A low hum filled the air as the material inside the container visibly collapsed, condensing into a vial of metallic-black liquid.
This was his trump card—the true Bloodspear nanobots.
Grabbing the syringe, he marched toward the pod without hesitation and lay down inside.
"Paul…"
"If I fail," he said calmly as the transparent lid hissed shut, "package all the data here—including the signal's records—and send them to Tony. Then activate the lab's self-destruct protocol."
Without waiting for a response, he raised the syringe to his carotid artery.
The cold needle pierced his skin, and he slammed the black liquid into his bloodstream.
BOOM.
As a billion nanobots flooded his body, Paul felt as though his soul had been thrown into a blazing furnace.
Consciousness was ripped away, plunging him into an ocean of code and data—Lune Corporation's vast knowledge bank.
He witnessed the brutal disassembly of his cells, the breaking and reforging of DNA chains. His body was being torn apart and rebuilt—piece by piece—into something new.
The pain was indescribable.
Every cell shrieked. Every nerve burned.
Yet his consciousness clung to one sliver of clarity, channeling every ounce of focus into constructing a mental firewall deep in his mind, reinforcing it with Lune Corporation's foundational logic.
He didn't know how long it lasted—an eternity, or a single second.
When awareness returned, he was still inside the pod.
Had he… succeeded?
Slowly, he lifted a hand. It trembled with exhaustion—but beneath the weakness, an unfathomable strength pulsed in every fiber of his being.
"Big White, scan my body. Check for any external signal links."
"Scanning… No external signal sources detected. Your physiological structure has undergone fundamental alterations. Cellular activity has increased by 372%. Metabolic rate is twelve times the human baseline. Paul, you—"
For the first time, something resembling confusion crept into Big White's voice.
Paul ignored it, staring instead at his right hand.
A thought flashed through his mind.
SNIKT!
Three gleaming metal claws—twenty centimeters long, sharper than surgical steel—sprang from between his knuckles.
Paul gaped, his heart slamming against his ribs.
He'd actually—
Almost numbly, he raised his left hand and dragged the razor-edged claws across his forearm.
A deep, bone-exposing gash split open instantly—only to close within seconds. The flesh writhed and knit itself back together, leaving no scar behind.
"Holy shit…"
Awe and exhilaration surged through him.
This was beyond anything he'd imagined.
Regeneration. Wolverine.
He had done it!
Leaping out of the pod, he paced the lab, soaking in the raw power thrumming through him.
With this strength… even that thing wouldn't be invincible.
"It's perfect! A goddamn masterpiece!" His laughter rang through the empty lab.
Then, in its usual monotone, Big White cut in.
"Paul, current calculations estimate that sustaining your nanobots' activity will require 5,000 calories and 300 milliliters of specialized nutrients… per hour."
Paul froze mid-step, his grin vanishing.
"What?"
"To put it simply," Big White continued, projecting an energy-consumption schematic, "your body now operates like a supercar engine. To maintain peak performance, you must constantly supply premium fuel—if intake ceases for over three hours, the nanobots will begin breaking down your nonessential tissues to sustain themselves. This process is irreversible."
Paul's excitement seeped away, replaced by grim realization.
He stared at his hand—the same hand that had filled him with euphoria moments ago—and suddenly felt its weight.
He'd gained the power he craved…
But he was no longer human.
He was a monster—one that would starve without endless feeding.
The lab's emergency lights flared to life, painting Paul's face in bloody red.
Big White's voice turned urgent.
"Paul—Tony's transmitting an emergency alert. His vitals are unstable… and the Mark III's life support systems have gone offline."