The night before the experiment.
The air at Camp Lehigh was thick with a stifled excitement.
Tomorrow, they would head to a secret laboratory in Brooklyn.
A mortal would be raised to godhood, or reduced to ashes on the way there.
Lynn walked through the brightly lit camp.
His destination was Dr. Abraham Erskine's office.
A single lamp.
A half-empty bottle of whiskey.
A weary old man.
Dr. Erskine was staring blankly at the notebook on his desk.
"Doctor, are you creating a better man, or making a more powerful weapon?"
Lynn's voice broke the silence in the room.
Dr. Erskine started.
When he saw it was Lynn, his tense shoulders relaxed, and he gave a bitter smile.
"Sometimes I ask myself the same question."
He drained the whiskey remaining in his glass, and the fiery liquid made him cough.
"When I escaped from Germany, I saw it."
"I saw with my own eyes how that man who called himself Superman trampled everything underfoot. He had power, but not a shred of compassion."
Dr. Erskine's gaze grew distant as he recalled the past.
"My life's work has been about proving one thing... that a good man can become greater."
As he spoke, he reached out unconsciously, picked up the notebook from his desk, and tucked it into the inner pocket over his left breast.
"Steve is a good boy."
Erskine's voice was full of affection and concern.
"But I'm afraid... afraid that this gift I'm giving him will become a curse that crushes him."
"You're not giving him power, Doctor."
Lynn walked over to the desk and refilled his empty glass.
"You're simply giving him a suit of armor that can bear the weight of his goodness."
Lynn spoke gently, like a patient listener.
"Do you remember the problem you encountered while perfecting the final formula? How did you solve it?"
He guided the doctor's thoughts with the tone of someone discussing an academic question.
Sure enough, Dr. Erskine was drawn in.
He emerged from his anxiety as a creator, and the light of a scientist rekindled in his eyes.
Out of habit, he pulled the notebook he had just put away from the inner pocket over his left breast and opened it to a page.
It was covered with dense German text, chemical equations, and symbols Lynn couldn't understand at all.
"Here, do you see? The peptide chain structure of the trans amino acids was always unstable, until I... I found inspiration in an extract from a rare orchid. It was like a key that locked the entire structure in place."
Erskine tapped the complex string of formulas with his fingertip.
His face glowed with the joy of having solved a great problem.
Lynn's gaze rested on the notebook for less than a second before he looked intently at the doctor's face, pretending to listen closely.
The inner pocket over his left breast.
The place closest to his heart.
How ironic.
"Doctor, your life's work will change the world."
Lynn spoke with heartfelt emotion.
Only the object of that emotion was entirely different from what Erskine understood it to be.
Erskine was deeply moved by his words.
He closed the notebook, returned it to the inner pocket on his chest, and patted it.
"Thank you, Lynn. Having someone like you understand me is the greatest piece of luck I've had on this trip to the United States."
"Whatever happens tomorrow."
Lynn reached out and clasped the doctor's somewhat rough hands.
"You are a hero of this age."
Dr. Erskine's eyes grew moist, and he gripped Lynn's hands tightly in return.
The best angle to strike was from the side and behind, completing the extraction in 0.3 seconds.
Probability of success: 90 percent.
He released the doctor's hands and turned to leave.
"Get some rest, Doctor. Tomorrow, the whole world will see your masterpiece."
The door closed softly, shutting out the light from the room.
Lynn stood in the shadows outside the door.
The warmth and admiration faded from his face, leaving only an icy calm.
The map was written in an indecipherable script.
Erskine's notes combined cutting-edge biochemistry with an encryption method only he understood.
Trying to crack it by force was nothing but a fool's dream.
He needed a key.
A genius who could read the indecipherable script, and even translate it into plain language.
A face appeared in Lynn's mind, sporting a flashy little mustache and always confident to the point of arrogance.
Howard Stark.
The temporary workshop at Stark Industries was always a mess.
Blueprints, parts, empty liquor bottles, and cigar butts were piled everywhere.
Howard Stark was hunched over a stack of blueprints,
a pen clenched between his teeth as he frowned over the energy circuit for an antigravity stabilizer.
"I brought you some lubricant, for your brain and your throat."
Lynn set a bottle of fine Scotch whiskey beside him.
Howard looked up, saw Lynn, and grinned.
"Only an interesting fellow like you would come looking for me at a time like this, instead of running off to church to pray like those idiots."
"I have more faith in science, Howard. Especially your science."
Lynn unscrewed the cap and poured a glass for each of them.
"Go on, what crazy idea have you got this time? Or do you want to discuss Soldier Boy's energy conversion rate?"
"Something like that."
Lynn swirled the amber liquid in his glass.
"I'm writing a more in-depth report on him, but I've found that the public has grown numb to the idea that 'he's strong.' I want to explain that strength from a more scientific perspective."
"For example, I heard Stark Industries has an experimental 'spectrum analyzer.' Is it precise enough to analyze the internal differences between individual red blood cells?"
The question successfully sparked Howard's desire to show off.
"More than that!"
He took a hefty swig of whiskey and waved a hand.
"My baby can distinguish the different marks left in your blood's molecular structure by the liquor you drank last night and what you're drinking now! It can see everything!"
"Then..."
Lynn asked, pretending to be casual.
"If there were a kind of... very special blood, one that was itself the final manifestation of a... well, how should I put it, a 'formula,' could that machine reverse-engineer its composition?"
Howard paused and narrowed his eyes at Lynn.
"Your ideas are always so... dangerous, Mr. Reporter."
"In theory, yes, but it would take a massive amount of data comparison and computation. It would be harder than finding a particular grain of sand in a pile."
"I see."
Lynn nodded and tipped back the rest of his drink. He seemed a little drunk, and his speech grew halting.
"Howard... tell me... isn't this world amazing?"
"Information... we're always writing it on paper... carving it into stone..."
He dipped a finger in some whiskey and drew shapeless circles on the table.
"But... what if there were a substance... a liquid... that could record information itself?"
"Like DNA... but instead of a genetic code, it recorded a set... a set of complex chemical formulas..."
"Do you think there's a way... to analyze the molecular structure of that liquid... and read the formula right out of it? Like a record player reading a record?"
Lynn's voice grew softer and softer.
Finally, he slumped onto the table, drunk and unconscious.
The entire workshop fell silent.
Only the aroma of whiskey and Howard's increasingly heavy breathing remained.
The drunkenness on Howard Stark's face vanished without a trace in a matter of seconds.
His genius brain seemed to have been struck by the lightning of creation!
Reading the "information" contained within it by analyzing its molecular structure?
This wasn't science!
This was... this was magic!
No!
This was science!
The craziest, most wonderful scientific concept, at least fifty years ahead of its time!
He stood up and paced back and forth across the workshop.
He muttered to himself.
"Vibration frequencies... molecular bond angles... isotope markers... my spectrum analyzer... add a high-speed centrifuge for separation... my God... my God!"
He snatched a napkin from the table and began scribbling furiously on it.
He had to catch that fleeting spark of inspiration.
Howard happened to glance at Lynn, who lay "unconscious" on the table.
His gaze changed completely.
He was no longer looking at an interesting reporter, but as if he were looking at another version of himself!
A kindred spirit with a devilish imagination, held back by a career in journalism!
"Lynn! You fucking... you're a genius!"
Howard slapped Lynn on the back, but Lynn only mumbled something incoherent in his sleep.
Lynn's face was buried in the crook of his arm, and no one saw the curve of his lips.
Howard was tempted.
Tomorrow, Dr. Erskine would create a hero.
And he would use the light and chaos of that hero's birth to quietly take the formula.
Then he would use the key to open a door for himself.
This world was so much fun.