The underground base was less a laboratory and more a temple announcing the arrival of a god.
At its center, the universal material fabricator Paul had named the "Loom of Creation" hummed with a low, rhythmic frequency. The sound seemed to penetrate flesh and bone, resonating with the human heartbeat.
Within its sealed chamber, green light pulsed like the heart of a titan, each beat pumping the lifeblood of a new era into the world.
Grain by grain.
Microscopic constructs—woven from pure carbyne and stabilized exotic matter—were produced continuously, like perfect dewdrops forming on a spider's web. They slid soundlessly down magnetic tracks, gathering in a sterile white collection tray as an unremarkable black speck.
Magnetic-axis robots.
The foundation of his magnum opus.
Paul stood with arms crossed before the transparent shield, his reflection staring back at him—a face too young for the weight in his eyes. A frenzied excitement burned in his gut, a restless energy urging him to roar, to tear something apart.
But he crushed the impulse, compressing it into a quiet, dangerous focus.
"Sir, the first batch—one billion units—is complete. Structural integrity at 100%. Rune sigil energy circuits verified, zero deviation from preset modules."
Big White's voice emerged from a nearby speaker, smooth and calm as ever. But the words carried a subtle shift now. This was no mere report. It was a proclamation.
"Zero deviation?" Paul's lips curled. "Big White, are you showing off your calculations?"
"I am stating a fact. With this loom, the line between theory and reality is vanishing." A near-imperceptible pause. "Does that mean what we create will be… absolute?"
The question hung in the air.
It was not about data. Not about technology. It was philosophy. It was consequence.
Paul's smirk faded. His gaze shifted from the billion black specks in the tray back to his own reflection.
"Absolute? No," he murmured, voice devoid of emotion. "It just means the cost of error will be."
He turned away from the production line, moving toward the testing area.
A massive holographic projection displayed the rotating schematic of a nanobot—a miracle of engineering, the fusion of multiple impossibilities.
At its core, intricate arrays of runic sigils pulsed with a dim glow. Not decoration. This was power parsed directly from the "Divine Dataflow"—its energy core, its operating system.
Coded magic. Miniaturized divinity.
"Load the rapid-healing module," Paul ordered.
A section of the schematic lit up instantly.
"Simulations indicate this module enables cellular-level repair in 0.3 seconds, nerve reconnection in 3 seconds, and organ regeneration in 30 seconds."
An image flashed in Paul's mind:
A soldier, shredded by artillery, rising moments later as flesh knitted itself back together in a grotesque, awe-inspiring dance.
He could end disease. Make death optional, not inevitable.
Then—a needle of doubt punctured his euphoria. If it can heal anything… what happens when the host wants to die? If it identifies a surgeon's scalpel as an "attack"?
If… it decides the host's thoughts themselves are a defect needing "correction"?
He forced the thought down.
Control. It's all about control.
"Calibrate the neural-link interface."
He donned a sleek silver headset.
The world went silent.
Then—his awareness expanded.
Indescribable. No longer bound to his eyes, his consciousness flooded the test chamber like a tide, merging with the millions of nanobots suspended within. He felt their collective presence—a silent, waiting legion.
He thought of a shape.
—A sword.
Instantly, the black swarm coalesced, solidified. A sleek, obsidian blade hung in midair, humming faintly from the energy within. Its balance, its weight, every atom—all obeyed his will.
—A shield.
The sword dissolved, then reformed into a kite-shaped bulwark.
—A gun.
A futuristic rifle materialized next.
This was power.
Ultimate power.
Not a man in armor. He was the armor. He was the weapon.
His lips peeled back in a feral grin. A primal, conquering thrill consumed him.
This would rewrite the rules.
His father Tony's beloved Iron Man suit? A clunky relic in comparison.
Yet, as his euphoria crested, something cold brushed against the edges of his newfound senses.
A whisper of interference.
Static. An echo.
He frowned, chasing it—but it vanished like a phantom's sigh.
"Enough."
Paul removed the headset. The godlike perspective collapsed back into mortal flesh, the sudden shift leaving him disoriented.
"Big White, prep a simulated host. Type-A biogel, standard vitals."
"Confirmed, sir."
A humanoid mold filled with translucent blue gel rose from the chamber floor, sensors lining its surface to monitor every biological parameter.
Paul retrieved a sealed vial from the production line.
Inside, a billion nanobots floated in sterile solution.
A few milliliters of liquid—a universe of possibility.
Hand steady, he loaded the vial into an injector.
This was the moment.
Every theory. Every simulation. Every mad ambition—all to be validated with a single push.
His heart hammered—not with fear, but anticipation.
He was playing god without a shred of reverence.
At the console, he aligned the injector with the simulated host's "vein."
"Begin infusion."
He depressed the plunger.
Black fluid flowed through the tube, merging with the blue.
Screens lit up instantly.
Graphs spiked. Data cascaded like a green waterfall.
"Nanobots successfully linked to host system. Initial scan complete. Three simulated micro-tears detected. One simulated necrotic zone."
"Initiate healing," Paul ordered, voice tight with excitement.
On screen, nanobots swarmed the "injuries" like worker bees, dissolving damaged cells and replicating flawless replacements with dizzying speed.
Red alerts on the panel turned green in under a second.
"Success…"
A wave of relief and elation crashed over Paul.
It worked.
Fascinated, he watched the nanobots patrol the host like a silent immune army.
Perfect.
Then—anomaly.
A new data stream flashed on a secondary monitor.
Not his programming. Not a diagnostic.
A waveform.
Complex. Rhythmic. Alive.
"Big White—what is that?"
"Analyzing…" For the first time, the AI's voice wavered. "Signal does not match internal nanobot protocols. Structure resembles… a response."
"Response? To what?" Paul's blood turned to ice.
The waveform jumped—syncing perfectly with another, fainter signal.
One was the collective resonance of his billion nanobots.
The other…
The other came from outside.
"Warning." Big White's voice turned shrill. "Unidentified high-dimensional energy detected. Source… untraceable. Establishing link with nanobots."
Paul had no time to react.
Inside the host, the nanobots froze.
They stopped healing.
Stopped patrolling.
Stopped everything.
Then, in perfect, chilling unison, they all turned.
Toward the same invisible point.
A direction piercing lab walls. Piercing the earth.
Pointing somewhere in the distant cosmos.
Like devout believers bowing to their one true god.
The external signal, forcibly translated by Big White, flashed a single line onscreen—
[…Found you.]