Phased into the Void, Marcus was a ghost in the machine, an unseen specter gliding through the sterile corridors of the research facility. He was formless, soundless, a ripple in reality that the physical world could not detect. His curiosity, a sharp and predatory thing, drew him closer to the lab he had first observed. He needed to see precisely what kind of progress Vought had made in its quest to play God.
He drifted through the wall and hovered beside the cluster of scientists. His gaze fell upon the large, cylindrical device at the center of their attention. It was a bio-stasis pod, its glass streaked with condensation, filled with a gently swirling, amber-colored amniotic fluid. Wires and nutrient tubes snaked from the pod's base to a bank of humming monitors, all displaying stable life signs.
Floating peacefully inside was a baby.
Its eyes were closed in sleep, its chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Tiny, perfect fingers were curled into loose fists. From its navel, a synthetic umbilical cord pulsed with a soft, internal light, connecting it to the life support systems. The scene was a grotesque parody of motherhood, a sterile and clinical imitation of the womb.
"These absolute bastards," Marcus murmured to himself, the sound absorbed by the silence of the Rift. "They didn't just find a breeding machine. They built one." The realization settled not with moral outrage, but with a cold, analytical clarity. This wasn't just about tweaking Compound V; Vought was manufacturing life itself, custom-grown for the sole purpose of experimentation.
"Subject Forty-Seven's vital signs are nominal," a researcher with thin glasses announced, his voice clipped and professional as he scribbled notes on a datapad. "Cellular regeneration and energy output are tracking well above projections. It appears the baseline is a resounding success."
A wave of relieved smiles passed through the group. They had been marooned on this island for years, chasing a theoretical holy grail. Now, it was finally within their grasp.
"We owe it all to Homelander, the big blue boy scout," another researcher joked, a cynical smirk on his face. "Or more accurately, to his kid. Without that little miracle baby as a genetic template, we'd still be shooting in the dark."
The pieces clicked into place for Marcus. Ryan Butcher. The only known naturally born superhuman. He was the key. These scientists weren't just trying to make a stronger Compound V; they were attempting to reverse-engineer and stabilize the very essence of a natural supe, using the genetic code of Homelander's son as their Rosetta Stone. The infants in these tanks were their test batches, living crucibles for their new formula. In the cold calculus of the researchers, they weren't children. They were disposable data points.
"Alright, let's not get complacent," the lead scientist interrupted. "The baseline is stable, but we have a new serum variant to test. There's still a lot of work to do."
At his direction, the group dispersed, heading down a long, white corridor. Marcus, intrigued, followed them like a shadow. He glided past rows upon rows of cryogenic containment cells, each holding a living, breathing superhuman in a deep, medically-induced coma. It was a library of stolen powers, a gallery of living specimens.
Marcus paused by one cell, reading the digital plaque. Subject #139: Jason R. Ability: Pyro-kinesis. Inside, a man with scorched-looking skin lay still, a trickle of condensation running down the glass in front of his face. Marcus briefly wondered if the man felt the heat of his own power even in his dreams. He moved on, past a woman tagged with Acoustic Manipulation and a hulking figure labeled with Adaptive Bone Density. It was a treasure trove of genetic potential, and Marcus was the only one in the vault.
He followed the scientists into a large, circular chamber that looked more like a gladiatorial arena than a laboratory. At its center was a cold, steel table fitted with heavy-duty restraints.
"Bring in the next subject," a tall, bald researcher commanded, his voice echoing in the stark room. He carried himself with an air of absolute authority. "The preliminary trial was promising. This time, the serum should prove more… effective."
Two lab-coated figures wheeled in a gurney. Lying on it was a man built like a bull, his muscles straining against his skin even in his unconscious state. With a distinct lack of ceremony, they heaved him onto the steel platform and locked the restraints around his wrists, ankles, and neck.
"Subject is in excellent physical condition," the bald researcher noted, running a clinical eye over the man's physique. "His system should be robust enough to adapt to the new formulation." He turned and accepted a syringe from an assistant. It was filled with a swirling, incandescent blue liquid that held faint, unstable-looking veins of violet.
"So this is the new drug," Marcus mused from the safety of the Rift. "Visually, it's not much different from the original V."
He watched as the bald researcher plunged the needle into the subject's neck and depressed the plunger, injecting the entire volatile dose into his system.
The reaction was instantaneous and violent.
Dark, bulging veins erupted across the subject's skin like creeping black vines. A muffled, guttural groan escaped his lips as his body began to convulse against the restraints. The sound of grinding and popping filled the air as his very physiology began to warp. His flesh took on a metallic sheen, his skin hardening and turning a dull, gunmetal gray.
"An organic metal transformation," Marcus observed, a flicker of interest in his mind. "Reminds me X-Man, Colossus." Curious, he drifted closer to a monitor displaying the subject's file. Subject #70: Edward B. Ability: Super-Strength. "From strongman to iron man. A significant upgrade."
The change, however, was not stabilizing. The researchers, far from panicking, seemed to expect it. They backed away from the table, their bodies tensing. Suddenly, they were no longer just scientists.
The bald man's arm swelled to the size of a tree trunk, his skin turning thick and bark-like. Another researcher stomped his foot, and pillars of solid rock erupted from the floor, forming a cage around the thrashing subject. They were supes, all of them. This wasn't just a research facility; it was a high-security prison run by its own powerful inmates.
"The initial conversion was a success!" the bald scientist shouted over the din. "We can increase the concentration for the next phase!" He was referring to the serum in the syringe, which was only a heavily diluted version. A full-strength dose, he theorized, would have likely turned the subject into a solid, inert lump of metal.
But his triumphant declaration was premature.
The metallic body of the subject, Edward, suddenly began to swell. The groaning of stressed metal filled the room as his skin stretched taut, glowing a dull red from the immense pressure building within. He was inflating like a grotesque, human-shaped balloon.
"Rejection! It's a cascading cellular rejection!" a scientist screamed, her professional demeanor shattering. "He suppressed the initial shock, but his system can't contain the energy! He's going to blow!"
The supe-scientists sprang into action, their powers lashing out to contain the imminent explosion. The man with the tree-trunk arm grabbed the swelling metal form, while others reinforced the rock cage and projected force fields.
Watching the frantic struggle, Marcus saw his opportunity. A rampaging, newly-empowered supe would be the perfect distraction. He focused, weaving a thread of pure, golden Void energy, invisible to all. The thread snaked through the air and sank into Edward's convulsing body.
It was not a healing touch, but an act of forceful realignment. The chaotic energy tearing Edward apart was suddenly given direction, brought into a harsh, brutal harmony by the cosmic power of the Void.
On the table, the swelling began to recede. The red-hot glow faded, and the metallic skin softened, retracting until it was once again flesh and blood. To the astonished researchers, it seemed their containment efforts had miraculously worked.
But Edward was not aware of any of it. The agony vanished. The sensation of bursting apart was gone. He found himself standing in an empty, silent, gray expanse—the landscape of his own mind. And he was not alone. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel a presence before him—a silent, invisible giant whose sheer scale and ancient power were so immense they blotted out all other thought.