My lab hummed with the quiet, comforting resonance of machines that hadn't existed in any natural century. A blend of Victorian-era brass and circuitry from a thousand alternate timelines, all woven together by my own designs. I stood in the center of it, surrounded by diagrams hovering in mid‑air, chemical models rotating autonomously, containment shields flickering with faint blue light. But none of them mattered—not compared to what sat on my desk.
The Tesseract.
The Space Stone.
The infinite lattice of cosmic geometry and impossible physics contained in a single glowing cube.
I rested my hands behind my back, staring at it in silence. The radiance pulsed slowly—like a heartbeat. My heartbeat.
Because for now… no one else in the O5 Council knew I had it.
I wasn't stupid enough to announce it. No, that would spark a war within the Council immediately. Julius and Darius would want it for tactical supremacy. Cleopatra would want economic applications. Sun Tzu would want strategic transport capabilities. Victor von Doom… well, Doom wanted everything.
Lincoln would smile politely and try to negotiate some ridiculous "shared custody plan," and the Archivist would want to lock it away in a vault of forgotten timelines where even I couldn't retrieve it without seventeen biometric locks and a philosophical puzzle.
So no—this remained my secret.
At least until the Civil War embroiled everyone else so deeply that they'd forget to ask the obvious question: Has anyone found the Tesseract yet?
That gave me time. Precious time.
And my newest anomalous ability? It made everything easier.
Elemental Transmutation—true, absolute control of the entire periodic table.
Any material I understood down to its atomic structure, I could create from thin air. Platinum flowed like water in my hands. Diamonds grew under my fingertips in perfect lattice formations. Vibranium, Adamantium, Uru—all of them were within reach if I devoted enough study to their molecular nature.
And now, with the Tesseract before me, the possibilities multiplied infinitely.
I walked closer, letting the glow illuminate my face. The cube vibrated faintly, reacting to my proximity. It knew I was here. The Space Stone always recognized potential wielders.
My workstation flickered to life as I activated a containment lattice—one I had built specifically for handling cosmic artifacts. Dozens of arms extended, each tipped with sensors, scanners, thaumaturgic amplifiers, and reality-resonance gauges. As they began their delicate dance around the cube, the lab filled with data.
Streams of unreadable cosmic symbols. Equations that broke conventional constants. Spatial coordinates pointing to locations that did not exist in linear geometry.
Perfect.
"Elemental transmutation will assist greatly," I murmured to myself, picking up a crystalline tool. A diamond-tipped probe—one I had shaped atom by atom. "If I can replicate the cube's casing material…"
The outer shell of the Tesseract was not simple crystal. It was a rigid, quasi-stable spatial matrix—solid geometry imbued with cosmic force. Creating a duplicate could give me a containment vessel strong enough to channel the Stone's raw power safely.
The first readings were promising.
The Tesseract's energy pulsed again, brighter this time, as if acknowledging my interest. I smirked. "You're not going anywhere. Not until I've extracted everything you can offer."
I tapped a console, bringing up a holographic design of my next project.
The Spatial Resonance Engine.
A device capable of harnessing controlled micro‑expressions of the Space Stone's power—teleportation, spatial folding, dimensional compression, and possibly even gateway creation. If it worked, the Foundation would no longer need to rely on slow transport, risk‑heavy portals, or unstable wormholes. We could materialize anywhere. Escape anywhere. Extract anomalies with zero exposure. Deploy O5‑assigned Red Hand soldiers directly into conflict zones without leaving a trace.
But only if I completed my research before the others discovered the cube.
I moved to another station, where frozen Asgardian and Frost Giant tissue samples rested in cryo‑vaults. Their biology had been a goldmine—temperature‑resistant cell structure, anomalous density, unique energy-channeling pathways. I had used them to create advanced bio‑armor, regenerative serums, even environmental resistances for Death Trooper clones.
And now, with my element-manipulation ability, I could refine these even further.
Asgardian bone strengthened with nanoforged vibranium. Frost Giant thermal resistance layered with carbon‑diamond shielding. Biological frames optimized at the atomic level.
I placed a hand on one of the samples and exhaled, feeling atoms shift under my will. The crystalline frost melted into a perfect molecular structure I could manipulate like clay. Absolute control. Precision beyond any mortal scientist.
Rick Prime would be proud, I thought to myself, smirking slightly.
But the real prize remained the glowing cube on my desk.
I approached it again, activating a spatial harmonic tuner. As the device hummed, the glow of the Tesseract intensified—its light bending subtly in ways that defied three-dimensional logic.
My sensors went wild.
"Spatial flux… increasing by 12 percent. Stable. Good."
I adjusted settings.
"Dimensional echo detected. Repeatable. Containable."
Another adjustment.
"Power output spiking. But controlled. Perfect."
The Stone was responding. Allowing me—me, not the Council—to study it. That alone was a sign that whatever destiny the Stone assigned… it chose me as its researcher, if not its wielder.
Not yet.
But soon.
A loud alarm blinked silently across my private display—a reminder I had set earlier.
The O5 Council meeting is in 5 minutes.
I glanced at the cube.
They still didn't know.
And they wouldn't—not until I had extracted every advantage imaginable. The Civil War would distract them long enough. Politics, influence, strategy, economics—they'd be drowning in agendas while I mastered a cosmic artifact.
I pressed a hand onto the containment field, letting the hum of infinite space resonate beneath my palm.
"You," I whispered, "are going to change everything."
The Tesseract pulsed once in reply.
As if agreeing.
And I turned away, already planning my next experiment.
I had months—maybe even a year—before the others questioned anything.
And by then?
I would have more than research.
I would have mastery.
I would have power equal to any god.
And the Foundation would unknowingly sit atop a revolution they could never hope to control.
Not unless I let them.
Not unless I chose to share.
And I rarely shared anything.