Chapter 5: Scientific Pursuits
The world celebrated the end of the Great War with a frantic, desperate gaiety. The dawn of the 1920s brought with it the Jazz Age, a decade of flappers and financiers, of bathtub gin and soaring stock prices. The Sterling empire, having weathered and masterfully exploited the brief but brutal post-war recession, was positioned as a silent giant, its true size and influence known only to the handful of men at its apex. Publicly, Arthur Sterling, now entering his late teens, was a phantom. He was the boy-genius of Wall Street legend, a reclusive prodigy who had supposedly guided his father to unimaginable wealth before retreating into the esoteric world of academia. He was occasionally seen at a distance, a tall, severe figure attending a university lecture or Browse a dusty bookshop, his presence always creating a stir of whispered speculation.
This public persona was a meticulously crafted illusion. While the world saw a financial wizard, Arthur was shedding that skin. Finance had been the first stage of the rocket, necessary to achieve escape velocity from the constraints of ordinary life. It had given him what he needed: near-limitless capital and the power that came with it. Now, it was time to ignite the second stage, the stage that would carry him to the heavens. It was time to return to his first and truest passion, the one that had defined his previous life as Alexander Finch: the mastery of science.
His ambition had long since evolved beyond the mere accumulation of wealth. That was a game for mortals like Rockefeller and Carnegie. His goal was apotheosis. To achieve it, he needed to conquer not markets, but the fundamental laws of biology and physics. He was a 21st-century mind trapped in the flesh of a 20th-century man, a limitation he found utterly intolerable.
The transition began in 1922. Arthur, now twenty-two and having effortlessly acquired doctorates in economics and political science as a mere formality, summoned Charles and Silas Blackwood to the mansion. It was time to unveil the next phase of his imperative.
He stood before them in the library, no longer a boy in a custom-built chair, but a young man exuding an aura of authority that was absolute. "The Sterling industrial empire is stable and self-sustaining," he began, his voice calm and resonant. "But its growth is limited by the technology of the current age. We are reactive when we should be creative. To ensure our dominance for the next century, we must not only acquire innovation; we must become its source."
He gestured to a series of blueprints laid out on the vast desk. "I am proposing the establishment of the Sterling Institute for Advanced Research. A private, generously funded institution dedicated to pure scientific exploration, far from the stifling dogma of university politics and the short-sighted demands of corporate R&D."
Charles looked at the plans, his expression one of familiar, unwavering faith. "A noble, philanthropic endeavor, Arthur. A fine way to use our good fortune."
Silas, ever the cynic, squinted at the blueprints, his eyes sharp. "Philanthropy is for fools and saints, and I've never met a rich saint. What's the angle, boy? Patents? Weapons?"
"All of the above," Arthur replied without inflection. "The institute will produce proprietary technologies that will fuel our industries for generations. It will give us military applications that will make governments dependent on us. But its primary purpose," he said, his gaze turning inward for a moment, "is the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. To understand the very building blocks of life and the universe."
Silas grunted, a sound of grudging approval. He saw the potential for power. Charles saw a legacy. Both were correct, but neither could comprehend the true, terrifying scale of Arthur's ambition. The institute was not for humanity's benefit. It was a temple he would build for his own ascension.
The Sterling Institute was not constructed in New York City. Arthur purchased a secluded, thousand-acre estate in the Hudson Valley, surrounded by dense forest and rocky hills, accessible only by a single, private road. The public story was that it was a philanthropic retreat for scholars. In reality, under the direction of a team of tight-lipped architects and engineers bound by ironclad non-disclosure agreements, a scientific fortress was erected.
The laboratory was a masterpiece of anachronistic genius. Guided by the Great Sage, who held the blueprints of 21st-century technology, Arthur designed a facility that was fifty years ahead of its time. While other labs worked with glass beakers and gas burners, Arthur's institute featured sterile clean rooms with filtered air pressure systems, electron microscopes he designed himself based on future principles, and advanced chemical synthesizers capable of creating complex organic molecules on demand. Its beating heart was the "Computational Engine," a vast, temperature-controlled basement hall filled with hundreds of interconnected electromechanical calculating machines—a proto-supercomputer that could perform millions of calculations per day, all orchestrated by the Great Sage.
He staffed his institute with brilliant outcasts. A female biochemist from Cambridge who had been denied tenure for her radical theories on cellular metabolism. A German physicist who had fled academia after his work on quantum mechanics was dismissed as fantasy. A maverick Japanese biologist exploring cellular regeneration. He offered them what no one else would: unlimited resources, complete intellectual freedom, and zero pressure to publish. In return, he demanded absolute secrecy and loyalty. They worked in compartmentalized departments, each pursuing their own piece of a grand puzzle, never seeing the full picture that existed only in Arthur's mind.
With his cathedral of science complete and his acolytes in place, Arthur began his true life's work. He retreated from public life almost entirely, spending his days and nights within the institute's walls. His first and most secret project, known only to himself and the Great Sage, was codenamed "Project Chimera." Its sole purpose was the enhancement and perfection of its creator.
His first step was to prove a theory he already knew as fact. In his past life, he was a geneticist who had worked with CRISPR technology. In this era, the very concept of a genetic code was a vague, unproven hypothesis.
In the deepest, most secure level of the institute, in a laboratory accessible only to him, he set to work. Using a custom-built, high-powered X-ray crystallography machine of his own design, he began analyzing purified fibrous samples of deoxyribonucleic acid. The process was painstaking. The mathematics involved were staggering, requiring the full power of his computational engine.
Great Sage, analyze the diffraction patterns, he commanded, his eyes fixed on the faint, shadowy images projected onto the photographic plate. Calculate the helical parameters. Construct a three-dimensional model.
«Executing. Cross-referencing data with baseline knowledge of molecular biology from previous life. The pattern is consistent with a right-handed double helix structure with a diameter of two nanometers and a pitch of 3.4 nanometers. Ten base pairs per helical turn. Model construction complete.»
On a screen connected to the computational engine, a wire-frame image flickered into existence: the elegant, iconic twist of the double helix. He was looking at the blueprint of life, a secret he had "rediscovered" thirty years before Watson and Crick would famously stumble upon it at Cambridge. He felt a thrill of pure intellectual satisfaction. He had proven he could not just remember the future, but rebuild it. This discovery would remain the most guarded secret in his empire, the foundational text of his new science.
With the blueprint of life in hand, he could now begin to edit it. His ultimate goal was a complete genetic overhaul, but he knew he had to start slowly. He began by targeting the systems that governed aging and cognition.
"The human body is a masterpiece of flawed design," he dictated to his private logs, the Great Sage transcribing his thoughts. "It excels at short-term survival at the cost of long-term durability. Cellular senescence, telomere shortening, cumulative oxidative stress—these are not ironclad laws, but programmable limitations. They are bugs in the system. And I will debug myself."
He began designing a compound. It was not yet a super-soldier serum in the vein of Erskine's later work—that would be crude and unstable. This was something far more sophisticated, a multi-faceted biochemical cocktail designed for systemic optimization. It contained synthetic telomerase activators to halt the aging process at a cellular level, a potent blend of antioxidants to eliminate free radicals, and a series of synthesized neuropeptides designed to enhance synaptic plasticity and speed up neural processing.
For months, the Great Sage ran thousands of simulations, testing every combination of compounds, modeling their effects on his specific biology down to the molecular level. He was patient. He would not allow for flaws, for the unforeseen side effects that plagued the heroes and villains of the future he remembered. He was engineering his own evolution, and he would do it perfectly.
Finally, in the dead of a winter night in 1925, the formula was complete.
«Notice. The Chimera Compound, Formulation 734, is complete. All simulations indicate a 99.999% probability of success with zero negative side effects. The compound will enhance cognitive function by an estimated 18%, increase cellular repair efficiency by 40%, and effectively halt the aging process.»
The moment had come.
Arthur stood in the sterile silence of his personal laboratory. The air hummed with the quiet thrum of machinery. He was dressed in a simple white lab coat, his face illuminated by the cool, bright lights. On a steel tray before him lay a single syringe, filled with a clear, shimmering liquid. The culmination of years of planning, of building an empire, of pursuing forbidden knowledge.
He felt no fear. Only a cold, exhilarating sense of anticipation. This was the true test of his power—not over markets or men, but over his own biology.
He picked up the syringe, his hand as steady as a surgeon's. He swabbed his arm with alcohol, the scent sharp in the sterile air. He looked at his reflection in a polished steel panel of a nearby machine. He saw a young, handsome man with dark hair and intense eyes. A brilliant, powerful, but ultimately mortal man. A vessel of flesh and blood, subject to decay and death.
This is the last day I will be merely human, he thought.
With a smooth, practiced motion, he injected the compound directly into his bloodstream.
There was no sudden jolt, no painful transformation. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a subtle warmth began to spread through his veins, a gentle, pervasive energy that seemed to hum in tune with his own cells.
He closed his eyes, allowing the Great Sage to monitor the process.
«Analysis. The Chimera Compound is being distributed via the circulatory system. Cellular uptake is optimal. Telomerase activators are binding to chromosomal ends. Neuropeptides are crossing the blood-brain barrier. All biological markers are stable and positive.»
He felt it then. A profound, fundamental shift in his being. It was as if a dusty, clouded lens over his consciousness had been wiped clean. The low hum of the laboratory's ventilation system, previously just background noise, resolved into a complex symphony of distinct mechanical frequencies. The colors in the room seemed deeper, more saturated. His thoughts, already faster than any normal human's, accelerated to a speed that was breathtaking. Complex equations and strategic plans that would have taken him seconds to formulate now unfolded instantaneously, in their full, multi-layered complexity. He could feel the microscopic processes of his own body, the steady rhythm of cellular repair, the efficient metabolizing of energy. It was a state of perfect, harmonious efficiency.
He opened his eyes. He walked back to the polished steel panel and looked at his reflection again. The face was the same, but the eyes were different. They burned with a new, terrifying intensity. The power he felt was not just physical vitality or mental acuity. It was the power of control, of mastery over the very substance of his own life.
It was intoxicating.
A slow smile touched his lips, a rare expression of genuine, profound emotion. It was not a smile of happiness, but of hunger. He had taken his first taste of transcendence, and it was more potent than any wealth, more satisfying than any victory. It had not quenched his ambition. It had poured a universe of fuel upon it. The desire for more—more power, more knowledge, more control—was now a raging inferno within him.
His goal of rivaling the gods of the Marvel universe no longer seemed like a distant, arrogant dream. Standing there, in the heart of his secret temple, feeling the nascent power of a post-human coursing through him, it felt, for the very first time, like his manifest destiny.