Ethan didn’t move for a few seconds. He just stood there on the sidewalk as the light breeze brushed against him, hands limp in his pockets.

  His mother’s voice from the vision echoed faintly, ‘Go where you’re wanted. Where you’re loved.’

  He blinked hard, and the pressure behind his eyes startled him. He almost never felt tears threaten twice in a single day. His emotional system ran tight, efficient, contained. Whatever Amy had done reached a part of him he kept buried deeper than his crafting identities, deeper than Oscorp pns.

  He took a slow breath.

  Another.

  A third—until the trembling in his hands stopped.

  Anyone walking by would have seen a quiet kid zoning out after school. Only Ethan knew his entire nervous system was trying to recalibrate.

  He straightened, forced his heartbeat into a steadier rhythm, and resumed walking as though nothing had happened.

  By the time he reached the pharmacy, the emotional flicker was gone. Or at least hidden well enough for him to pretend it was.

  He had always carried the echo of his mother’s warmth with him anyway, tucked into the back of his mind like a forbidden comfort he wasn’t worthy of deserving. Now, for the first time, it felt like he might be ready to accept it.

  It didn’t weaken him.

  It unnerved him.

  And—strangest of all—he couldn’t bring himself to reject it.

  Ethan carried a small list folded into his palm as he walked into the pharmacy. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like an errand list: toothpaste, bandages, rubbing alcohol. What he actually needed was something very different.

  The fluorescent lights hummed above, reflecting off neat aisles of medicine and hygiene products. Ethan moved casually, the way a bored teenager should. But his eyes scanned bels with the focus of a surgeon.

  Glycerol. He plucked a bottle off the shelf, tucking it under his arm.

  Sterile saline packs. Not essential, but useful for diluting samples.

  Pstic syringes and pipettes. Cheap, flimsy, but enough for temporary measures.

  In his head, the calcutions were already running: glycerol at 10–20% concentration should protect proteins and nucleic acids in Roughhouse’s blood, preventing freezer burn. Sterility was a joke here, but contamination didn’t matter unless he pnned to transfuse—which he didn’t. This was about preservation and study.

  When he dumped the pile on the counter, the cashier raised an eyebrow. “Science fair coming up?”

  Ethan smiled thinly. “Something like that. I’m just doing an experiment with my little brother this weekend.”

  The lie rolled easily off his tongue. It wasn’t worth drawing attention by being too clever. He swiped his card, collected his bag, and walked out into the cool afternoon.

  Felicia’s apartment was his next stop. The building was nicer than he expected—clean hallways, a faint trace of expensive perfume lingering in the stairwell. He rang the bell and waited.

  The door cracked open.

  Felicia Hardy stood there, towel wrapped around her, another clutched in one hand as she dried her hair. Her skin gleamed with the faint sheen of fresh water.

  For half a second, Ethan froze.

  Felicia raised a brow. “Well, this is bold. Most guys at least buy me dinner before showing up like this.”

  Ethan coughed lightly into his fist, forcing the atmosphere back into something manageable. “I’m not here for that. Save that kind of talk for Peter.” He held out a sleek bck card.

  She blinked, accepted it, and slid out a card. “What’s this?”

  “Double what you spent patching up Delih,” Ethan said ftly. “It wasn’t your responsibility. Consider it an apology for the inconvenience.”

  Felicia smirked, her lips quirking as she twirled the card between her fingers. “Careful, kid. You start buying me off this easily, I might get ideas in a few years.”

  Ethan met her gaze without flinching. “Don’t. I like our current retionship the way it is.”

  That got a ugh. She stepped aside as though to invite him in, but Ethan was already turning away. “I have to go,” he said over his shoulder. “Once the undromat is finished, I’ll set up the equipment in the basement for you. It’ll only be the bare minimum, so you’ll have to let me know ter if you want any specialized.”

  Felicia leaned against the doorframe, watching him go. “Thanks, kid, I’ll be sure to do that. I’ll get in touch ter.”

  Ethan didn’t look back, but he filed the thought away.

  The Newark Print Shop was louder, busier, but in a way that pleased him.

  Workers wheeled in equipment, power tools buzzed, and dders leaned against fresh paint. The presses were nearly ready, wires dangling where final checks still had to be made. The contractor greeted him with a nod. “Oh, you were with that other guy, right. Well, let him know another day or two, tops. Then it’s yours.”

  Ethan walked the floor, eyes flicking across the machines, the offices, the ventition. On the surface, it would be a newspaper. But beneath it—beneath his guidance—it would be a mouthpiece. A machine that would allow him to control the narrative and in turn control the people’s minds.

  He paused in the middle of the room, taking in the hum of construction. ‘Oscorp’s fall could be our first issue. A story to light a fire under the city. From there, it spreads. We won’t just report news. We’ll shape it.’

  A faint smile tugged at his lips. He left the workers to their noise and slipped back into the streets.

  By the time Ethan returned to the hotel, the day was cooling into evening. He carried the pharmacy bag carefully, not because it was fragile, but because he didn’t want to have to go back to buy some more.

  Inside his room, he locked the door, id everything out on the desk, and went to work.

  The glycerol mixed easily with sterile saline. He worked slowly, deliberately, even though the tools were crude. Pipettes, pstic tubes, a borrowed funnel. All temporary, but enough. He went to the fridge, unscrewed the canister, careful not to waste a drop of the Asgardian blood inside, and introduced the solution. Then he sealed it tight, beled it with nothing more than a bck marker line, and pced it in the small freezer compartment above the fridge.

  Behind more of the untouched soy products his mother insisted on buying, the canister slid neatly out of sight.

  Ethan stood there, hand still on the fridge door, staring at it for a moment longer.

  ‘This is a seed of potential. Asgardians aren’t gods—they’re biologically perfected humanoids. If I can unravel the genome, map the resilience, then every limit humanity has pced on itself begins to crack. Strength. Healing. Longevity. All locked in those strands of DNA.’

  He closed the fridge with a quiet click.

  Later, tea in hand, he sat at his desk with his ptop, its glow painting his face pale in the dark room. He began searching. Not the surface-level fluff that high schoolers skimmed for science projects, but the in-depth studies buried in academic journals and restricted forums.

  Fields I need to master by next week:

  Advanced genetics, specifically CRISPR-Cas9 techniques.

  Comparative xenobiology—though in this world, it wouldn’t be theoretical.

  Hematology and protein structure stability.

  Viral vectors for DNA splicing.

  Stem cell regeneration.

  The deeper he dug, the longer his list grew. Not just knowledge, but equipment.

  Equipment list:

  Core Genetics & Molecur Biology Equipment

  PCR Thermal Cycler – amplifying DNA segments.Centrifuges (standard + high-speed ultracentrifuge) – for separating psma, cells, proteins.Spectrophotometer / Nanodrop – measuring DNA/RNA/protein concentrations.Electrophoresis system – agarose + polyacrymide setups for DNA/protein analysis.Autocve & Sterile Hoods – sterilizing media, maintaining aseptic environments.Microscopes:High-quality optical microscope (basic cell inspection).Confocal microscope (detailed 3D cellur imaging).Electron microscope (eventually — extreme resolution).Cell Culture & Biotech Gear

  Laminar Flow Hood – sterile space for working with cell cultures.CO? Incubators – for growing human/animal cells.Bioreactors – to grow cells at scale (test organoids or tissue samples).Cryogenic Storage (liquid nitrogen tanks) – long-term cell/blood storage.Cell Counters / Flow Cytometer – analyzing poputions of modified cells.Tissue Dissociators / Homogenizers – breaking down tissue samples.Chemical & Preparation Equipment

  Refrigerators & -80°C Freezers – separate from hotel fridge storage, proper b-grade.Bances & pH Meters – precision measurement.Vortex mixers & hot ptes – mixing/reaction prep.Gas cylinders (CO?, O?, nitrogen) – for incubators and experiments.Custom cryoprotectant solutions – beyond glycerol (like DMSO).DNA Editing & Sequencing

  CRISPR-Cas9 kits (commercial versions exist, but Ethan needs custom psmids for Asgardian DNA).Gene Sequencer (Next-Gen / Illumina-style) – reading the Asgardian genome.Psmid prep stations – building and editing DNA vectors.Electroporators / Transfection systems – introducing edited DNA into cells.Digital & Data Infrastructure

  Bioinformatics workstation – high-end PC rig with specialized DNA mapping software.Private databases – both hacked academic archives and his own data storage system.Simution software – predicting protein folding, mutation effects (like AlphaFold-level).Safety & Support Systems

  Ventition / Fume Hoods – to avoid toxic buildup.Emergency showers / eyewash stations – standard in bio bs.Backup generators – b cannot lose power mid-process.Waste disposal protocols – or Ethan risks leaving incriminating biohazard trails.Future Additions

  Automated Robotics Stations – streamline repetitive pipetting/testing.Synthetic Organ Printers (Bioprinters) – experimental, but could build tissues/organs.Mass Spectrometer – analyze proteins/metabolites in Asgardian blood.Nanotech fabricator (very long-term) – to integrate genetic engineering with material science.

  He wrote it all down, neat and methodical. His handwriting was steady even as exhaustion tugged at his body.

  When he leaned back finally, rubbing at his eyes, he let himself think it: One step closer.

  The blood was safe—for now. The paper was nearly ready. The network was growing.

  Tomorrow, he’d begin looking for a warehouse to make Luc Moreau’s. The b would come after.

  He closed the ptop and the room fell into darkness, save for the thin spill of light from the hallway. For a long moment, Ethan just sat there, fingers steepled, staring at nothing.

  He didn’t usually hesitate before moving.

  Now he did.

  He stepped quietly out of his room and into the suite’s small living area. The lights were off, but he could hear them—his parents—moving faintly behind their bedroom door. His mother’s soft hum. His father’s low voice as they spoke about something mundane, the way couples did when winding down from the day.

  Normally, he avoided moments like this.

  Too intimate.

  Too much space for attachment to root itself where it shouldn’t.

  Tonight, he found himself standing there longer than he intended, drawn toward the sound without meaning to move.

  His hand drifted up to his chest.

  The phantom sensation of his past mother’s warmth lingered there.

  He swallowed and turned toward the kitchen, telling himself he just needed water. A practical excuse. Something he could believe.

  But when he cracked open the fridge, the cold air spilling over him, he didn’t reach for a bottle. He stood there instead, letting the chill ground him while he listened to the quiet murmur of his parents through the wall.

  It didn’t hurt the way it usually did.

  It didn’t tighten his throat with fear.

  It felt… real.

  Possible.

  The fridge light reflected faintly on the canister hidden behind soy products, but tonight he didn’t obsess over its position, or calcute risk scenarios, or imagine threats crawling through the walls.

  He simply closed the fridge gently, careful not to let the tch click too loudly.

  His parents’ voices paused.

  He froze—old instinct screaming danger—until his father’s ugh drifted through, warm and unbothered.

  For reasons he couldn’t name, that eased something in him.

  He turned away, heading back to his room—but halfway there, he hesitated again. Then, almost mechanically, he doubled back and approached their door.

  He didn’t knock.

  He didn’t speak.

  He just stood near it, close enough to feel the warmth and catch their soft, muffled voices, and finally let himself breathe.

  One second.

  Two.

  Three.

  Then he whispered—barely audible, “…Goodnight.”

  On the other side of the door, his mother’s voice softened, as though she somehow sensed him, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  Ethan exhaled shakily.

  He returned to his room, closed the door silently, and slid into bed.

  He didn’t think about Oscorp.

  He didn’t visualize the b equipment list.

  He didn’t simute threat models until sleep cimed him.

  Instead, sleep found him quickly—quietly, without a fight.

  And for the first time in two lives, he dreamed without fear.