Massive Disaster II-20 (Patreon)

Massive Disaster II-20Nina took the last few steps down slow, bare feet against the cool metal, weight shifting deliberately with each step, her fingers ghosting along the rail. The quiet felt different. Not the usual deep-focus silence where Zedd tuned out the world, but something else. The air had that electric stillness, like the moment before a storm cracked open the sky.

The lab door hissed open before she reached for it. The usual low hum of activity greeted her—machines cycling through diagnostics, drones gliding in silent arcs, power converters thrumming against reinforced floors. No old grandpa music. 

No muttered cursing. 

No Zedd.

She scanned the space fast; half-built projects scattered across every surface, their neat arrangement betraying the chaos of progress. A half-assembled gauntlet lay in pieces near the holotable, its internal wiring exposed like something gutted mid-operation. She stepped over it, weaving between prototype casings and broken-down components.

"Zee?"

Her voice bounced, sharp against the reinforced walls. Nothing. Just the quiet whir of the drones shifting in response to her presence. Then… movement. A shadow flickering at the edge of the reinforced testing area, where the lights softened into a deep blue glow.

She found him there.

Zedd stood with his back to her, weight balanced too perfectly, head tilted at an angle that sent a ripple of unease through her stomach. It was the kind of posture he had when he was watching something, taking it apart in real-time, picking through every possible outcome before deciding how to act. His arms hung loose at his sides, fingers curled like he’d just let go of something mid-thought.

Nina took another step, careful. “Hey.”

He turned at the sound, and her breath hitched before she knew why.

The smile.

Not a smirk. 

Not that sharp, knowing half-grin he pulled when he thought he was five steps ahead of everyone in the room. A real smile. Open, effortless. The kind that should’ve looked good on him but didn’t belong here. Not after an all-nighter. 

She pulled up short, skin prickling. “…Hey?”

“Hey there, Neen,” he said, casual, too casual. His voice light, effortless in a way that put every nerve in her body on alert. Something was off.

She studied him. Looking for the usual tells—the strain in his shoulders, the tension along his jaw, the flicker of exhaustion dulling his eyes beneath those damn blue lenses. But there was nothing. No exhaustion. 

No static in his movements. 

Just… something too smooth. Too sharp.

"You sleep?" She asked, testing.

He grinned, easy, and shrugged. "No."

Yeah. Figured.

Her gaze flicked past him, trying to catch whatever he’d been so focused on, but he shifted—just slightly, just enough to block her view of the holotable. Alright.

"Can I ask you a question?" He stepped forward, hands sliding into his pockets, precision in the motion.

Nina frowned. The way he moved… something was wrong. 

Zedd was loose when he was relaxed, all lazy weight shifts and controlled imbalance, never fully still. But this? This was different. Measured. Every motion too fluid, too practiced. Like someone playing at being comfortable. Like…

“…Sure?” She crossed her arms, bracing. 

He tilted his head, that same off-balance ease, and asked, "Did you know that Alliance and Citadel censure laws don’t apply if you’re not operating in their space?"

Nina blinked. What.

"I—no, I mean, I guess that tracks, but—" She stopped. His expression. Why was he smiling like that?

“…Why?”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Four Hours Earlier

The vial sat dead center on the scanning plate, royal blue liquid catching the holotable’s glow, shifting under the light like something alive. Zedd leaned in, elbows on the table, chin resting against his knuckles, watching as ADAM’s breakdown scrolled across his HUD.

“Molecular analysis complete,” ADAM reported, cool and precise, voice cutting through the quiet hum of the lab. “Formula is a highly advanced bio-enhancement compound, designed for genetic-level alterations to the human genome. Components as follows—”

The list appeared in his peripheral, each component hovering in his HUD as ADAM read them off, methodical as ever.

“Concentrated testosterone extract, modified molecular structure, fifteen percent. Pituitary gland extract with isolated growth hormone, twelve percent. Adrenal cortex extract, selective enzyme inhibitors, eight percent.”

Zedd’s fingers tapped slow against the edge of the table, eyes narrowing behind blue lenses as the pattern started forming, like an equation solving itself in real time. Not just a stimulant. Not just an enhancement drug. This was—

“Synthetic thyroid stimulants, five percent. ATP-creatine phosphate concentrate, nine percent.”

His focus sharpened, something pulling at the edge of his thoughts, familiar, but wrong.

“Modified amphetamine compound, reduced toxicity, six percent. Liver extract, enhanced coenzyme factors, five percent.”

The balance. The specific mix. The way the compound worked together.

“Pyruvate catalyst derived from bacterial fermentation, five percent. Cerebral tissue extract with myelin-promoting factors, six percent—”

“Wait.” His hand shot up, cutting ADAM off mid-sentence. His gut twisted. Not from confusion, no, from recognition.

The vial. The color. The structure. The way everything fit.

He stared at the projection, his mind ripping through memories that weren’t his, but were definitely his own. Knowledge that shouldn’t exist here, but did. The way the compound boosted metabolism, accelerated healing, enhanced everything—

His stomach dropped.

“Holy shit,” he exhaled, more breath than voice. He sat back, dragging a hand down his face.

ADAM, silent for a full two seconds, finally spoke. “Clarify. Holy shit—what?”

Zedd let out a short laugh, barely a sound, just pure disbelief. “…It’s Captain America.”

The room was silent.

“Who is Captain America?”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Nina stared at Zedd, waiting for an explanation that didn't come. His expression had shifted, that excited openness sliding behind a more careful mask.

"No reason," he said finally, shrugging with deliberate casualness.

Nina's eyes narrowed. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"Only with you, babydoll." He moved past her toward the stairs, his hand brushing hers as he passed. "Want breakfast? I'm starving."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

He’d left Nina finishing her caf in the kitchen, mumbling something about needing to handle something in the basement, and two hours later, he was back, surfacing with two sleek, matte-black boards tucked under one arm. The weight was perfect; light but solid, like holding a weapon built too well to feel real. Electric blue accents chased the edges when he shifted his grip, catching the light in razor-thin streaks. They hummed, just barely. 

These weren’t production models.

The standard V-Glides were engineered for public use—practical, accessible, built with enough stability for anyone to pick one up and not immediately eat shit on the pavement. These? These were something else. The gravitational resonance matrix had been rebuilt from scratch, power distribution stripped down and pushed past every single limiter. No safety protocols. No speed caps. No idiot-proofing. Just raw, controlled force.

Zedd barely noticed when he hit the top of the stairs, mind still spinning through the final calculations—how much thrust could he push before destabilization? Could he fine-tune it on the fly? What was the risk factor for max-acceleration braking?—and then stopped.

Kai Leng stood by the entrance to the basement, still as a goddamn statue. Not leaning. Not shifting his weight. Not even breathing, from the look of it. Hands clasped behind his back, feet planted, eyes locked ahead.

No one should be that still.

Zedd tilted his head. "Morning," he said, brain still half-trapped in the spiraling loops of his own calculations. He flexed his grip on the boards, just to feel the weight shift. "Sleep well?"

Leng's eyes flicked to the boards. "Adequately."

That word. Like an android just barely remembering to sound human.

Zedd smirked. “Uh-huh.” He lifted one of the boards, holding it out. "Here."

A flicker. 

Barely anything, but he caught it. Leng hesitated—a fraction of a second, but long enough to register. Then, precise as ever, he took the board, testing its weight, running a thumb along the edge where the resonance field would engage.

Zedd didn’t wait for approval. He was already moving. “We’re going boarding.”

His bodyguard didn’t respond at first, the space silent for a few seconds.

"Boarding." Leng’s tone stayed flat, but Zedd didn’t miss the slight adjustment in his stance, like the sentence had forced his brain to shift gears.

"Yep. Outside. Fresh air. Sunshine." Zedd threw a glance over his shoulder, already halfway to the door, smirk widening. "You remember what those are, right?"

A second hesitation. Not long, but long enough. Then Leng nodded, tucking the board under his arm in a mirror of Zedd’s own grip. "You’re the superior."

The door hissed open.

Cold slammed into him like a head rush, sharp and clean. The lake’s metallic tang cut through the morning air, biting against his skin, winding up from the sheer drop below. Providence sprawled in the distance, sharp white structures against artificial blue, perfect and rigid and sterile. Zedd inhaled deep, letting the cold sink in, ground him.

Leng followed, silent, footsteps light over the gravel path. 

Like a ghost pretending to be a man.

Zedd stopped a few feet from the edge, rolling his shoulders before setting his board down. The resonance field kicked in instantly, a soft crackle of white-blue energy dancing along the edges as it lifted to knee height, waiting.

Leng’s gaze flicked over it, his posture never shifting. Watching. Calculating.

“These are running the standard kinesis matrix,” Zedd exposited at him, watching for any reaction. “No eezo. No mass effect fields. Just straight-up manipulation of zero-point energy. Same tech powering all our stuff, but—” He grinned, slow, sharp, heartbeat picking up because he knew what was coming next.

He looked at Leng and let the words hang.

"...Let's just say I took the safety protocols off for this batch."

Leng set his board down with the same mechanical precision he did everything else. No wasted movement. No hesitation. The board’s resonance field kicked in instantly, stabilizing at knee height, its energy signature a perfect match to Zedd’s.

"Is there a specific purpose to this exercise?" Leng asked, voice flat.

Zedd shrugged, stepping onto his board, the field adjusting to his weight like second nature. He barely noticed it anymore.

"Testing a theory," he said, keeping it vague. The truth was messier—his head felt like a live wire, still short-circuiting from the vial, from everything. He needed to burn off the static. And Leng. Something about the guy was setting his instincts off. Too precise. Too controlled. Like a machine running a perfect loop. 

Every person had a crack. Every facade had a weakness.

Zedd wanted to find Leng’s.

"First one to the edge of Providence wins," he announced, nodding toward the distant skyline.

Leng stepped onto his board with exactly the kind of posture you'd expect from someone who had never done this before. Stiff, measured, like he was calibrating his own balance against an unfamiliar system. Zedd watched with interest, a grin spreading across his face.

"I should warn you," he said, already shifting his weight forward in anticipation, "these aren't like the consumer models. They're a lot m-"

He didn’t get to finish the sentence.

Leng moved.

Not hesitantly, not like someone adjusting—just a shift of weight. A calculated fraction of movement. And then the board exploded forward with enough speed that Zedd barely registered it before Leng was already gone, a dark blur streaking off the cliff’s edge, vanishing like he’d never been there.

Zedd had half a second to process that before he saw it, a flicker.

A fucking smile on Kai Leng’s face.

"Son of a bitch," Zedd growled, then threw himself forward, the board kicking under his feet, the field snarling against gravity as it shot after Leng.

The wind ripped at his face as he dropped. The cliffside blurred past, streaks of jagged rock and scattered vegetation snapping by too fast to register. The board hummed beneath him, alive, raw power harnessed by sheer instinct. These models had no stabilizers, no automated balance assist, no guardrails. Just the field, his movements, and the constant razor-thin balance between control and catastrophe.

Below, Leng was already a dark streak slicing across the water, his board cutting through the lake’s surface at an angle too perfect for someone who was just ‘adapting.’ He leaned into the turns like it was muscle memory, body fluid, movements precise. Like he’d done this before.

Bullshit.

Zedd hit the lake seconds later, his board skimming inches above the surface, sending up a spray of displaced water in his wake. He pushed forward, narrowing the gap, the air thick with speed, wind resistance turning every second into a fight. Leng held the lead.

Not for long.

Zedd dropped his center of gravity, adjusted his angle, forced the field to compensate. The gap shrank. Leng was good—some kind of balance training, probably, but his foot placement was too efficient, too analytical. Zedd fought dirty.

He cut in from the side, pushing close.

Leng shifted.

Anticipated.

Then, at the last possible second, he banked. Hard.

Zedd almost missed it.

The board snapped into a brutal angle, kicking up a towering spray as Leng ripped across the lake, cutting an impossible turn. He was already repositioning before Zedd finished adjusting, already ahead, already reading every single move before it happened.

The bastard could board.

Providence loomed closer, structures bleeding into the horizon, gleaming white against the artificial sky. Leng glanced over, meeting Zedd’s gaze for half a second—before shifting his weight and kicking straight up.

Zedd had to force his board higher, fast, pulling a near-vertical climb as Leng vaulted over the first rooftop like he’d been born doing this.

No hesitation. No overcorrection. Just a seamless transfer of movement.

Zedd’s board hit the rooftop barely a second later, the field stabilizing inches from the smooth surface. Leng had already adjusted, weaving between ventilation shafts and structural ridges like he'd memorized the layout.

"Thought you'd never used one of these before!" Zedd called over the rush of wind.

Leng banked around a comms tower, keeping ahead. "I haven’t," he said, voice perfectly calm.

"Bullshit!"

"N7 training." Leng barely sounded out of breath. Like this wasn’t even pushing him. He shot off the edge of the roof at speed, dropping toward the next structure without a flinch. "Adaptability is mandatory."

Zedd followed, the freefall pulling at his stomach despite the field’s compensation. The instant their boards hit the rooftop, they were moving again, the impact barely registering before they were weaving through the dense skyline, carving tight turns around rooftop fixtures, pushing speed, pushing control.

"So," Zedd called, leaning into a sharp bank to keep pace, "you joined the Alliance at sixteen?"

Leng didn’t hesitate. No surprise, no curiosity. Just fact. "Yes."

Zedd watched him navigate around a communications array like he’d done this a thousand times. Controlled, deliberate. The kind of movement that wasn’t natural, not for someone new to a board. Adaptability, his ass.

"Lied about my age," Leng added after a pause, voice still neutral, empty. "2172."

Zedd did the math on instinct. Seven years ago. Made Leng... twenty-three? Twenty-four? Young for his service record.

"And the Medal of Valor?" Zedd pressed, pushing forward, boards almost neck and neck.

A frown. If Zedd hadn’t been watching, he might’ve missed it. "Raid of Entiyon. Two years in."

"Batarian slavers?"

"Yes."

Figured. They hit the edge of the next building at the same time, launching into open air, boards cutting through the skyline. For a second, just a second, they were weightless; pure speed, pure momentum, before gravity pulled them down. Leng adjusted first, angling his board down, diving straight for the gap between two buildings.

Zedd blinked. "You gotta be—"

Leng vanished.

“Fuck me!” Zedd cursed, tucked in, and followed.

The walls closed in instantly, the alley barely wide enough for the boards. Zero margin for error. Leng threaded it like it was nothing, head low, shoulders squared, his board cutting through the tight space like it was a natural extension of him. No hesitation, no wasted movement. Zedd bit down, muscles tense, every nerve in his body focused as he matched pace, the white walls a blur of motion, speed pressing in from all sides.

They burst into an open plaza, skimming across stone, fields crackling with energy. Pedestrians scattered, shouting, stumbling back, barely registering them before they were already gone, already past, just streaks of color, motion, force.

"N7 at twenty?" Zedd called, forcing himself to keep the pace, keep the pressure.

Leng nodded, sharp. "Same year I killed the krogan."

The edge of the plaza was coming fast, the skyline ahead rising like a wall. Leng didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t break stride. He just angled up, shifting his weight.

Zedd gritted his teeth. "You know," he said, pushing up to match him, "when I brought you on, I knew you were good. Didn't realize I was getting a fucking legend."

Leng’s face barely shifted, but something in his expression changed. Not pride. Not smugness. Something darker. Something that sat in his chest like weight.

"Not a legend," he said, tone flat. "Just good at what I do."

They hit the wall at speed, boards shifting from horizontal to vertical in a heartbeat. The resonance fields compensated, clinging to the surface, adhering like gravity didn’t apply. The incline pulled at Zedd’s muscles, demanding more force, more control, more strain. Leng climbed like he’d done it before.

Zedd pressed harder. "And what is that, exactly?" He felt the effort now, the burn. "What are you good at, Leng?"

Leng looked at him. For real. No mask, no polite detachment, no pretense. Just honesty.

"Killing," he said simply.

Then, quieter. Sharper.

"Killing aliens."

Leng shifted forward, board snapping ahead with a burst of acceleration that left Zedd in his wake. No hesitation, no warning, just gone. The guy was already cresting the next rooftop, disappearing over the ledge like he’d never even been there.

Zedd cursed, shoving his board forward, feeling the strain in the field as it fought to match the burst of energy. The moment he cleared the edge, he caught sight of Leng—half a rooftop ahead now, still pulling away.

Fuck that.

Zedd pushed. The board trembled, resonance field flickering under the demand, but it held. The skyline blurred, buildings a rapid-fire sequence of shapes and movement as they tore across the rooftops, dropping into maintenance tunnels, slicing through plazas. Every turn tighter, every maneuver more reckless.

Leng never lost speed. Never hesitated. If anything, he was getting faster.

Zedd leaned forward, cutting close on his turns, burning extra power on the straights. The city ahead was thinning, open space approaching—their unspoken finish line. Leng was still ahead, his board carving a clean, surgical path through the air, while Zedd forced every extra drop of power out of his own, field crackling from the stress.

He was gaining. Almost there.

Not enough.

Leng crossed first, banking hard into a slow, precise arc that bled off speed in a perfect curve. No excess movement. No wasted energy.

Zedd hit the same turn too fast, had to throw his weight back, his board snarling against the correction before finally slowing.

For a second, neither of them spoke. Just the hum of the boards, the pulse of distant city noise, adrenaline still thick in the air.

Zedd dragged in a breath, forcing his pulse back under control. "So," he exhaled, casual, like he wasn’t winded. "N7, huh?"

Leng stepped off his board in a single smooth motion, resonance field shutting down the second his weight left it. The guy didn’t look winded. Didn’t even look like he’d just been flying through the city at insane speeds. Just standing there, perfectly composed.

"It was a lifetime ago," Leng said, voice flat.

Zedd studied him. The guy had been perfectly controlled during the race—effortless. Not something you picked up in basic training. And yet he stood there like it had been nothing. Like the precision, the speed, the complete disregard for hesitation—none of it mattered. Like Zedd hadn’t seen the real version of him for a few seconds there.

"You're full of surprises, Leng," he muttered, stepping off his own board.

Leng’s face didn’t shift, but something flickered in his eyes. "As are you, Mr. Victors."

Zedd rolled his shoulders, picking up his board. "Call me Zedd."

Leng nodded, but the formality didn’t break. "As you wish."

Zedd almost called him out on it, but the moment passed. They started back toward the city, walking through the thinning mist rising from the lake. Providence loomed ahead, artificial lights cutting through the early morning fog.

An N7. Working for him. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Zedd had never given a shit about the Alliance. Never cared for the rules, the systems, the bureaucracy. Hell, he pretty much considered them Citadel dicksuckers. And yet here he was, with a former Alliance legend at his back.

Former.

That was the part that mattered, wasn’t it?

The official story—the bar fight, the krogan, the dishonorable discharge.

Too simple. Too clean.

There was more to Kai Leng.

And Zedd was going to find out what.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

The workshop still hummed when Zedd came back even as Leng had ghosted out, returning to his post like a statue. The guy had that weird, surgical kind of focus, but Whatever. That left Zedd alone, just him and the work, the way it should be. 

He set the board onto a diagnostic rig, watching as the holotable pulsed to life, scrolling through performance data. The field adjustments, energy efficiency, velocity strains—it all updated in real time, flashing numbers and projections across his HUD. Good, but not perfect. A slight delay in weight redistribution at max velocity, power fluctuation at lateral shifts above fifty degrees. Fixable.

"Run a full analysis," he muttered, already moving toward the far end of the room where the real work waited.

The nanomachines were still held in a controlled stasis field, just as he’d left them, floating in a carefully maintained suspension. Just in case. He’d spent most of the night testing them, logging their responses, tracking how they adjusted to every variable he threw at them. They weren’t sentient—no AI, no self-awareness—but damn if they weren’t adaptive. 

Organic in their own way, reacting, adjusting, improving.

"ADAM, pull up last night's memory simulations," he said, dropping into his chair. The holotable flickered, the projected display shifting to a live schematic of the nanoscale units, traced in thin blue lines.

The movement pattern was odd.

Not entirely random, but not entirely structured either. More like... muscle memory. No mind behind it, no intelligence, but something else. They weren’t just reacting, they were learning in a way that no basic programmed function should be able to.

"Molecular memory," Zedd muttered, tilting his head, watching as the structures shifted, altered, retained the adjustments they’d made even after complete reassembly. They didn’t just move. They remembered.

"Correct," ADAM confirmed, voice smooth, easy. "The structures retain spatial configurations despite full reconstruction."

Zedd dragged a hand through his hair. "Scaling test. Run it again."

The display shifted. One tiny machine unfolded, stretching, parts moving in a seamless expansion, shifting from microscopic to functional object in real time. No separation. No individual pieces. Just transformation.

A tool one second, a weapon the next.

Compressed nothing—becoming everything.

"Jesus," Zedd breathed, leaning forward, watching as the schematics looped through again, displaying different variations.  "They don’t just store configurations. They remember them."

"Correct. Functional macro-scale technology from limited material input."

Zedd barely heard him. His mind was already running ahead. Portable tech that fits in your pocket. Weapons disguised as other things. Maybe even medical tools traveling through the bloodstream, expanding to full scale inside the body.

And the memory function? That was the real shit. Materials that could remember their shape, even after being broken down completely.

He had something here. Something big. His hands were already moving, pulling up his aviators' schematics. He’d iterated on these for months, but this changed everything.

"Alright," he murmured, isolating the neural link node. "Ditch the rigid circuits. Swap in adaptive pathways. Let the molecular memory think ahead of the user—adjust in real time."

The simulation ran. Numbers shifted. 86% success rate. 92% efficiency improvement. 74% less power drain.

Yeah. That’d do. He was already grabbing tools when the door hissed open.

Didn’t need to turn. He knew the way Nina walked.

"You missed lunch," she said, voice easy, but watching him.

"Not hungry," Zedd muttered, twisting a frame component into place.

"Liar." A plate dropped onto the workbench, and the second he caught the scent, his stomach betrayed him.

Nina laughed, crossing her arms. "Thought so."

Zedd sighed, finally turning to look at her. She looked... tired. Not physically, but in that specific way she always got when she was keeping an eye on him.

"Thanks," he said, already biting into the sandwich. Holy shit, that’s good.

"How’d the calls go?"

Nina leaned against the workbench. "Three distributor contracts signed. Two pending. And," she shot him a knowing look, "Governor Shen-Abraham wants to expand V.E.S.T. production. Said he’s got buyers lined up on offworld mining stations that’ll pay premium rates."

Zedd blinked. "Already approved?"

"After seeing the safety stats? Yeah." She tilted her head. "What’d you expect? You built something that keeps people alive."

He nodded, chewing, processing. "Good. That’s... good."

You’re different today."

His jaw paused. Then kept chewing. "Different how?"

"I don’t know." She tilted her head. "More... excitable. Usually, when you get locked in like this, you disappear. But today…" She trailed off.

Zedd swallowed, watching her. 

Nina shook her head, but there was something knowing in her eyes. "Like you’re a little kid in a candy store or something."

Zedd set the sandwich down. Turned to her fully. "... You’re not wrong."

Nina’s eyes sharpened.

"I figured something out," he admitted. The words just... slipped out. Too fast. Before he could stop them. "Something big."

She held his gaze. "The thing from this morning? The one you wouldn’t tell me about?"

Zedd hesitated. Then nodded. "Yeah. That."

"And?"

He looked at her. At Nina. At the only person who never pressed too hard, never pulled too far, never made him say something before he was ready.

And the words just stuck in his throat.

Not yet.

Not until he understood it himself.

"And I’m still figuring it out," he said instead. "But when I do..."

He let it hang.

Nina didn’t push. Just read him. Then nodded. "Okay. Just don’t forget to eat. Genius still needs calories."

Zedd smirked. "Yes, ma’am."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "One last call with Redoubt’s procurement. Don’t stay up too late."

"No promises."

"Never are."

The door shut behind her, leaving Zedd alone again. The quiet settled, the hum of machines filling the space once more.

His eyes drifted to the secure containment unit in the corner—where the blue vial waited.

Captain America’s serum. Or something dangerously close.

He exhaled.

Then got back to work.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

By the time he finally looked up, the workshop was dim under the night-cycle lighting, everything cast in deep blue shadows. His back ached, shoulders stiff from being hunched over for— how long?

"ADAM. Time."

"23:47, boss." No pause. "You’ve been working for thirteen hours and twenty-three minutes since returning from your excursion with Mr. Leng."

Zedd made a noise in the back of his throat, not surprised. Time always blurred when he got like this—like sinking into deep water and not realizing you’re out of air until it’s too late. His stomach twisted again, reminding him he still hadn’t touched the food Nina left since those first few bites.

He glanced at it. Cold now. Whatever.

"Prep the stasis module sim for tomorrow." He rubbed his temples with one hand, tossing the rest of the sandwich into his mouth with the other. "Think I cracked the density fluctuation problem."

"Noted. Shall I power down auxiliary systems?"

"Yeah. Leave the holotable up." His feet were already moving—toward the secure containment unit.

The thing inside.

The blue vial.

It pulsed softly in the low light, shifting as he disabled the stasis field and pulled it free. The glass pressed cool against his palm as he carried it back to the workbench.

He set it down. Just stared at it.

This isn’t like the others. The nanotech? The stasis module? Those were extensions of the world, tools that could be wielded. This? This changed people.

Changed them fundamentally.

His reflection stared back at him in the glass, warped by the liquid inside. His pulse ticked up.

I could inject it.

He could. He could. Giving himself powers… who could blame me for doing something literally everyone wants?

"Boss," ADAM’s voice cut in, faster than usual. "That would not be an optimal course of action."

Zedd blinked, glancing down at his hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d picked it up again. Fuck.

"Y-yeah, yeah," Zedd muttered, running a hand through his hair as he lowered the vial down again. "I know.” Do I? He shook his head. “It wouldn’t work anyway, not like that. Would need... what, micro-injections to specific muscle groups? Full set-up. Probably more than one dose for real stability."

"Correct."

"And," Zedd exhaled, rubbing at his jaw, "not enough material for full-scale testing. We’d need more to figure out long-term cellular responses, neural effects, metabolic adjustments." His fingers tapped against the glass absentmindedly. "But..."

Silence settled again. The vial sat between his hands, practically humming with potential.

Weapons? Not yet.

But protectors? People who would and could stand against the kind of shit that crushed everyone else? 

His jaw tightened. The thought stuck this time. Superheroes are for kids.

Zedd leaned back on the workbench, crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. But we’re all children of Mother Earth.

His fingers tapped the table. Once. Twice.

Then he looked up.

"ADAM."

"Yeah, boss?"

Zedd exhaled slow.

"I need you to find someone for me."

A slight pause. "Who?"

His voice dropped to a murmur.

"... A Steven Grant Rogers."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

5k Words (100 FP)FAIL: Truth (800 FP) [Fullmetal Alchemist] {Skills Alchemy}: "Choose to lose either of the four. Your voice, your dominant hand, Your non-dominant arm, or your dominant arm. In return you gain the ability to perform alchemy without a transmutation circle and your knowledge of the science is expanded to the point where you have effectively mastered both simple and advanced Formulae.

Forge Points: 600