Capítulo 4: Chapter 4: Stark's Calculation
The metallic clang of boots against concrete filled the hall as Tony Stark marched in step with the line of inmates. Guards flanked them on either side, their eyes sharp and batons at the ready. The scent of disinfectant and faint decay lingered in the air, a constant reminder of Ryker's Island's cold, brutal efficiency.
Tony kept his head down, his gaze flicking subtly across the corridors as they walked. The worn steel doors, the reinforced glass windows in the control rooms, the dull hum of security cameras, he memorized it all. Every turn, every hallway, every exit point was meticulously logged in his mind.
'Three lefts to the canteen. Guard post by the south corner. Cameras are fixed, not tracking.'
The line halted, and the inmates shuffled forward, one by one, to collect their trays. Tony waited his turn, his expression neutral but his mind buzzing.
'Guards are distracted during service. Potential for leverage here. Supplies? Maybe.'
He reached the front, grabbing his tray of gray, unappetizing slop without complaint. His steps were deliberate as he moved to an isolated corner, his eyes scanning for anything useful, a loose chair leg, an unguarded tool.
Sitting down, Tony began eating slowly, still observing. He noted the guards' indifference, their tendency to look the other way unless a major commotion broke out.
'No help there. This place runs on its own rules.'
The scrape of heavy boots interrupted his thoughts. A thick hand slammed down onto his tray, smashing the meager food into a mushy mess.
"Well, well.." a gruff voice sneered. Tony looked up to see a broad-shouldered inmate with a cruel smirk. "Stark, huh? Big man in the outside world. Let's see how you do in here."
Tony glanced at the guards, who remained impassive, their faces unreadable. His mind filed the observation away.
'No interference unless it escalates. Useful.'
He turned back to the man, his lips curling into a faint smile. Without a word, he grabbed the plate and smashed it into the inmate's face. The man screamed, clutching his bleeding nose as he stumbled backward.
The reaction was immediate. Two of the man's friends charged at Tony, their fists flying. Stark took the hits, absorbing the pain, but his movements were calculated. He landed a solid punch on one attacker's jaw, sending him reeling, before catching the second with an elbow to the ribs.
The scuffle grew louder, drawing the attention of the guards. They stormed in, batons crackling with electricity. Tony braced himself as the first blow struck his side, sending a jolt through his body.
He fell to the ground, gritting his teeth as the guards turned their batons on the other inmates. Amid the chaos, Tony saw his chance. He lunged forward, slamming into one of the guards and grabbing a key from the man's belt.
Before the guard could notice, Tony swallowed the key and collapsed under the next electric shock.
Hours later, Tony sat in the dim confines of his cell, the ache in his body a constant reminder of the punishment. The guards had denied him dinner, but he didn't care.
He leaned over, gagging slightly, until the key emerged. Wiping it clean on his jumpsuit, he examined it closely before hiding it under the cot's thin mattress.
'Step one.' he thought, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.
He dropped to the floor, resuming his push-ups. The pain in his muscles only fueled his determination.
....
The sterile hum of the lab was Bruce Banner's constant companion. The days blended together in this windowless environment, the harsh fluorescent lights illuminating the endless lines of data scrolling across his screens. His workstation was meticulously organized, beakers, vials, and notes arranged in precise order. For Bruce, the lab was more than a place of work; it was his sanctuary.
On Monday, Bruce initiated the first phase of his serum modifications. He leaned over the monitor, carefully inputting the data he had spent months refining. The original super-soldier serum was remarkable but flawed. Steve Rogers' transformation had been an anomaly of perfection, but the same formula had caused catastrophic failures in others.
'Too unstable.' Bruce thought as he adjusted the molecular structure on the screen. His solution? Gamma radiation.
Gamma rays, he theorized, could stabilize the serum's volatility while amplifying its effects. Of course, the risks were extraordinary, but Bruce wasn't concerned about the nation's soldiers. He was concerned about himself.
The machine next to him beeped, indicating the completion of the first synthesis. Bruce retrieved the vial carefully, holding it up to the light. The liquid inside glowed faintly green, almost hypnotic.
'It's a start.' he thought, placing it into a cooling chamber for further testing.
On Tuesday, Bruce had moved on to simulated trials. The computer displayed holographic models of human anatomy, the serum coursing through translucent veins. He watched intently as the gamma-modified serum bonded with the cells, triggering rapid regeneration and muscle growth.
But something was off. The simulation glitched, and the model began to destabilize. The hologram's figure contorted unnaturally before collapsing. Bruce sighed, running a hand through his dark, unkempt hair.
"Too much gamma." he muttered. "Dial it back. Less radiation, more balance."
The rest of the day was spent tweaking the formula, running simulations, and analyzing the data. When the clock struck midnight, Bruce was still at his desk, scribbling notes furiously into his worn notebook.
Wednesday came, and progress was evident. The simulations were stabilizing, and Bruce's confidence grew. He tested microdoses on cell cultures, watching as they transformed under the microscope. The cells expanded, their structure becoming denser, stronger.
'It's working.' he thought, a rare flicker of satisfaction crossing his face.
But Bruce wasn't satisfied with just lab results. He began formulating a plan for self-administration. He wouldn't leave anything to chance; the dosage had to be perfect. This serum wasn't meant to serve anyone else, it was meant to transform him into something far beyond human.
By Thursday, Bruce felt the weight of his work. The serum was nearing completion, but he was meticulous, running the same tests repeatedly to ensure consistency. His hands trembled slightly as he loaded the final vial into the containment chamber.
"All or nothing." he whispered.
....
On Friday night, Bruce locked the lab behind him. For the first time in days, he stepped outside into the cool evening air. Exhaustion tugged at him, but his resolve remained firm.
Back in his small, spartan apartment, Bruce collapsed onto his bed. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it, the chance to rewrite his existence. For now, he allowed himself the luxury of rest.
----
Patreon: Mr_Graythorn
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