Stark Industries, secret underground laboratory.
The cold metal walls reflected an eerie blue light, and the air was thick with the unique scent of ozone mixed with high-grade lubricant.
Paul stood before a massive, silver-white stasis pod, performing a final check on the dozens of biodata cables connected to his body. The end of each cable pulsed with a faint green glow, like fireflies converging on the pod's core processor.
There was none of a teenager's typical excitement on his face, only a composure that bordered on cold.
He had barely slept since being ejected from that forcibly terminated memory a few days ago.
The absolute terror in his mother's eyes.
Obadiah Stane's hypocritical face on the news.
And the final piece of Baymax's analysis: the "third-party encrypted data signature"—one that wasn't his own—hidden deep within the data packet of his grief.
Each piece of information was a sharp thorn pricking at his nerves.
This virtual reality system he had built with his own hands was not just for validating technology; it was his only weapon. A scalpel that could dissect memory and cut straight to the truth.
"Baymax, run a final system diagnostic," Paul's voice echoed in the empty lab, devoid of any fluctuation.
"Diagnostic complete. All parameters are normal. Life support systems are active. Brain-computer interface synchronization is preset to 99.7%. Paul, are you certain you want to conduct the first phase of testing yourself? According to my calculations, the risk factor is still above the safety threshold."
Baymax's soft, mellow electronic voice emanated from the ceiling speakers, tinged with a hint of imperceptible concern.
Paul didn't answer. He only gave a deep look at a faded photograph taped to the stasis pod's inner wall. In the photo, a gentle, beautiful woman of East Asian descent held a baby, her smile radiant.
He reached out, lightly tracing the woman's cheek on the photo before lying down inside the pod.
A cool gel slowly enveloped his body, insulating him from all external sound and light.
"Begin," he commanded in his mind.
The stasis pod's hatch sealed shut without a sound, plunging the world into pure darkness and silence.
[Virtual Connection Program Initiating...]
[Neuron Signal Synchronization... 10%... 30%... 70%...]
[Synchronization Complete.]
[Welcome to the 'Origin' System.]
The moment the countdown finished, the endless darkness was replaced by a blindingly pure white.
Paul found himself standing in an infinitely stretching white space. The ground beneath his feet was white, the sky above was white, and white walls extended in every direction. There were no boundaries, no reference points, not even a shadow.
It was like a pure white prison.
But he felt no panic. Instead, he felt a unique sense of satisfaction—that of a creator.
To maximize system resources for data simulation and the physics engine, he had set the initial interface to the simplest state of "nothingness." Every bit of processing power had to be put to its most critical use.
"Excellent," Paul praised inwardly.
He raised his right hand, and with a thought, a semi-transparent blue operations menu materialized before him. It listed thousands of commands and options, shimmering like a river of stars.
He didn't rush to try out the cool features. His first action was to tap the bright red "Emergency Exit" button in the top right corner of the menu.
[Confirm Exit?]
"Cancel."
Confirming his escape route was secure, Paul let out a sigh of relief. No matter how confident, a competent engineer always prioritizes safety.
He scrolled through the menu, his gaze landing on "Physical Asset List."
"Summon: Laboratory console, unit three."
The command was issued.
In the white space before him, countless blue data streams began to converge, intertwine, and solidify. In just three seconds, a metal console, identical to the one in his real-world lab, appeared out of thin air.
Paul walked over and reached out a hand.
The instant his fingertips touched the metal surface, he felt a cold, hard texture. He knocked on it with his knuckles, producing a crisp "tap, tap" sound, indistinguishable from his memory.
He could even smell the faint, residual scent of machine oil on the console.
"Not bad."
He was satisfied with the system's fidelity.
But it wasn't enough.
"Summon: Mark II gauntlet."
The data streams surged once more.
A steel gauntlet, gleaming with a silver metallic luster, hovered before him. It was the same version Tony had crash-tested, with every scratch and rivet perfectly replicated.
Paul slipped his hand inside. It was a perfect fit.
He flexed his fingers. The metal joints whirred with a smooth, faint clicking sound, and the weight felt just right.
"And now..."
A playful smile touched the corners of Paul's mouth, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
He raised his armored right hand, aiming at an empty spot nearby.
"Summon: Tungsten carbide sphere, thirty centimeters in diameter."
An inky-black metal sphere appeared in response, resting silently on the white ground and exuding a sense of immense weight. It was one of the hardest metals on Earth.
Paul took a deep breath, and the repulsor light in his palm suddenly flared to life.
"Energy output, thirty percent."
*VMMMM—!*
A scorching beam of energy erupted from his palm, striking the tungsten carbide sphere with pinpoint accuracy.
There was no earth-shattering explosion, only a piercing shriek.
The spot on the sphere's surface hit by the beam instantly glowed red-hot. Then, with that point as the epicenter, spiderweb-like cracks rapidly spread across its surface.
The next second.
*CRACK!*
The entire sphere shattered, exploding into hundreds of fragments of varying sizes that scattered in all directions.
Paul walked over, crouched down, and casually picked up two fragments.
He carefully examined their fractured surfaces. The texture of each break was completely unique; he could find no repeated patterns. This meant that for every simulation of destruction, the system was performing real-time calculations via the underlying physics engine, not just applying pre-rendered textures.
"Perfect."
Paul stood up, his expression filled with confidence.
The test of the basic system was complete, and the results exceeded his wildest expectations. Both sensory simulation and physical calculations had met his highest standards.
Now, it was time for the real test.
He summoned the operations menu again. His fingers flew across the virtual screen, locking directly onto a special option highlighted with a red border.
—[Brain Overclock Mode]—
This mode was the true reason he had created this virtual world.
It could accelerate his thought processes by several dozen times, giving him the ability to, within the ever-shifting torrent of memory, capture the most fleeting yet critical pieces of information.
Like the transient fear in his mother's eyes.
Like the mysterious third-party signature hidden in the deepest layers of the data.
His breath quickened slightly, his heart thumping powerfully in his chest.
The truth was within reach.
He extended his finger, slowly and firmly moving it toward the red option.
Just as his fingertip was about to touch the virtual screen—
*Vmm.*
The entire white world, without any warning, shuddered slightly.
The sensation was incredibly strange, like watching a movie when the film reel suddenly skips a frame.
It all happened in a flash, so fast that one might dismiss it as an illusion.
But Paul's movement froze in mid-air.
His pupils contracted to pinpricks.
*It wasn't an illusion!*
His brain made the judgment in a hundredth of a second. He knew every line of code he had written. The system's underlying logic was as stable as a rock; such an unprompted, global shudder was absolutely impossible.
Unless...
A cold thought, like a serpent, slithered up from the depths of his heart.
"Baymax," his voice came out dry and hoarse. "Scan the system logs. Right now. 0.3 seconds ago. Search for any anomaly reports."
"Scanning... Paul, the system logs are clean. No anomalous fluctuations or error codes have been detected."
Baymax's reply made the blood in Paul's veins feel as if it were turning to ice.
No anomalies?
That was the biggest anomaly of all.
It was like a master hacker had breached the system without leaving a single trace.
The hidden "third-party encrypted data signature" deep within his mother's memory...
The "unknown AI intervention" warning that had flashed for an instant in the Stark Industries core database...
Paul snapped his head up, surveying the pure white, seemingly perfect virtual world he had created.
At that moment, he felt a bone-deep chill.
This wasn't his laboratory.
It wasn't his sanctuary.
It was a prison.
And he wasn't the only inmate. Here, in this white world, another, unseen 'thing' was hiding.
It was watching him.
Paul slowly retracted his hand, his eyes locked on the still-flashing [Brain Overclock Mode] option.
He knew that pressing this button could lead him to the truth behind his mother's death.
But at the same time, he might completely expose himself to the unknown enemy lurking in the shadows.
To press, or not to press?