*(Approximately 1000 words)*
The first thing Alex Kane truly remembered—beyond the instinctive blur of warmth, milk, and muffled voices—was the sensation of *knowing* something was different.
He was six months old, cradled in his mother's arms after a twelve-hour shift at Queens General Hospital. Elena Kane smelled of antiseptic soap and faint lavender from the cheap body wash she used to feel human again. Her heartbeat was steady but tired, a rhythm Alex could almost map in his mind like lines on a screen. When his tiny fingers wrapped around her index finger, something flickered inside his consciousness.
A translucent panel appeared in his vision, floating like an augmented reality overlay only he could see:
*[DNA Sample Acquired: Elena Kane (Maternal Human Baseline)]*
*[Analysis: 99.7% standard Homo sapiens genome. Detected traits – Enhanced Empathy (occupational adaptation from nursing), Moderate Physical Resilience (survivor of early hardship), Minor Metabolic Efficiency.]*
*[Selective Replication Available. Copy? Y/N]*
Alex's baby brain processed it with startling clarity. He didn't have words yet, but he had intent. *Yes. Empathy. Just a little.* He focused, and a gentle warmth spread through his chest like sinking into a warm bath. The exhaustion radiating from his mother sharpened into something he could name: bone-deep fatigue mixed with quiet pride, worry about bills, fierce love for the squirming infant in her arms.
He stopped fussing so much after that. When Elena came home shattered, he would reach up, pat her cheek with surprising gentleness for a baby, and stare into her eyes until she smiled despite herself. "You're such a good boy, Alex," she'd whisper, kissing his forehead. "Mommy's little helper."
He wasn't trying to be a saint. He simply understood, earlier than any child should, that keeping her happy and healthy meant keeping his only anchor in this dangerous new world stable. Family first. Always.
By age two, the interface had become second nature. He tested it obsessively in secret.
At the playground near their cramped one-bedroom apartment, another toddler shoved him off the slide. Alex hit the mulch, scraped his knee, and—while the other boy's mother rushed over—managed to snag a single blond hair from the kid's sweater.
*[DNA Sample: Michael Torres, age 3. Analysis: Standard human. No notable enhancements. Minor traits – Early coordination development. Copy?]*
Useless. He discarded it mentally. But the next week, when Michael fell and started wailing, Alex toddled over, patted his back, and said his first full sentence: "It okay. Mommy come."
The other boy stopped crying almost instantly. Alex felt the shift in emotion like turning a dial. Empathy wasn't just copied; it was refined.
Elena noticed. "You're so sweet with the other kids, mijo. Where'd you learn that?"
Alex just smiled his gap-toothed smile and hugged her leg. He couldn't say, *From you. And from every person I touch.*
Age four brought kindergarten. Public school in Queens was loud, chaotic, full of opportunity.
His teacher, Mrs. Ramirez, had beautiful cursive handwriting and endless patience. One day Alex "accidentally" tugged a long black hair from her cardigan when she bent to tie his shoe.
*[DNA Sample: Maria Ramirez, age 34. Analysis: Above-average verbal intelligence, strong emotional regulation, pedagogical aptitude. Minor linguistic talent (bilingual fluency).]*
*[Selective Copy Options: Emotional Regulation +0.4σ, Verbal Reasoning +0.7σ. Copy?]*
He took both, selectively. His sentences grew more complex overnight. Teachers started calling him "gifted." Classmates gravitated toward him because fights seemed to dissolve when he was around—he could sense rising anger and defuse it with a well-timed question or joke.
He wasn't a peacemaker for the greater good. He did it because bullies disrupted his focus, and he liked the calm circle of friends that formed around him. Tommy Chen, fat and bespectacled; Sofia Alvarez, fast-talking and fearless; little Jamal who drew superheroes on every scrap of paper. They were his people now. Protecting them meant protecting his slice of normalcy.
Money came next.
By age five (2000), Alex remembered the dot-com bubble, 9/11 (still three years away), the iPod launch, Google going public. Small things, but compoundable.
He started "playing investor" with Elena. She thought it was adorable when he pointed at the newspaper and said, "Mommy, buy that one. Apple make music player soon."
She laughed, but she listened—just a little. Twenty dollars here, fifty there, funneled into index funds and a few individual stocks he insisted on. When the 2000 crash hit, he told her calmly, "Don't sell. It come back. Wait."
Elena stared at her eerily prescient five-year-old. "How do you know these things, baby?"
"TV," he lied, hugging her. Inside: *Because I watched eleven movies about the future.*
The account grew slowly—nothing dramatic yet. Enough for new shoes, a better TV, an extra twenty in the emergency jar each month. He wasn't building an empire at five. He was planting seeds.
Longevity was the real obsession.
He read every children's science book the library had, then begged Elena to borrow adult ones on genetics and aging. Telomeres. Oxidative stress. Caloric restriction. He copied minor resilience traits from anyone who looked unusually healthy—an old man at the park who still jogged, a nurse coworker of Elena's who never got sick.
Each copy was tiny, fractional. But stacked over time? He felt his own small body recovering from colds faster, scrapes healing cleaner. He shared the subtle resilience with Elena too—slipping traits during hugs, during story time. She started looking less haggard, laughing more easily.
One night, age six, Elena tucked him in and whispered, "I don't know what I did to deserve such a special boy."
Alex reached up, touched her cheek, and copied one more sliver of her stubborn strength.
"You deserve everything, Mom," he said seriously. "I'm gonna make sure you live a long, long time."
She kissed his forehead, thinking it was childish sweetness.
Alex stared at the ceiling after she left, interface glowing faintly in his mind.
*[Current Status: Cumulative enhancements – IQ +1.1σ, EQ +1.4σ, Physical Resilience +0.8σ, Projected Lifespan Extension: +4–7 years (baseline human).]*
*Not enough,* he thought. *Not nearly enough.*
Outside, Queens hummed with distant sirens and late-night arguments. Somewhere in the city—maybe the world—people with real power were living their lives. Tony Stark was probably building his next weapon in a cave somewhere (no, wait—timeline check: still weapons phase). Mutants were hiding. Gods walked among men, unaware or uncaring.
Alex closed his eyes.
*One step at a time. Collect. Grow. Protect what's mine.*
He drifted to sleep dreaming of glowing interfaces, blood samples, and a future where no one he loved ever had to die too soon.
(Word count: 1012)