Land in Manhattan remained worth its weight in gold, even under the shadow of war.
A brand-new skyscraper was under construction, its steel framework gleaming in the sunlight as it reached for the sky.
It had no name yet, but Lynn had already chosen one for it.
At the other end of the city.
Another "temple" had quietly been completed.
Dr. Phineas Horton stood in the center of his new laboratory.
There were no tangled wires or scattered blueprints.
Every instrument sat quietly in its proper place.
This place was fifty years more advanced than even the perfect laboratory of his dreams.
The walls were made of a special alloy that blocked all prying eyes.
An independent power supply system could provide enough electricity for all of New York City.
This was no laboratory.
It was a womb for creating miracles.
"My God..."
Dr. Horton murmured to himself.
He reached out a thin, withered hand and gently ran it over the casing of a German-made centrifuge, as though caressing a lover.
Lynn Morris walked in.
Horton turned around, his eyes blazing with irrepressible excitement and fervor.
"Mr. Morris! Do... do you see this? This is... this is..."
He was so excited he could barely speak, like a child eager to show a parent a new toy.
"Doctor, I never hesitate to invest in genius."
Lynn looked past the excited Horton to the deepest part of the laboratory.
There, the experimental subject "Number Three" floated silently in a pale green nutrient solution.
The body's perfectly defined muscles formed a strange harmony with the horrifying burned-out cavity in its chest.
A perfect shell.
An empty soul.
Without wasting words, Lynn placed a silver metal briefcase on the central console.
"Click."
The latches on either side of the case sprang open.
Horton stared fixedly at the case.
An eerie blue glow spilled out, illuminating Horton's bloodshot face.
A syringe lay on the black velvet lining inside the case.
The Super Soldier Serum.
Horton's body began to tremble violently.
He was not kneeling to Lynn, but worshipping the liquid that radiated a sacred glow.
"Blood of God..."
His voice was hoarse and dry.
"I see it... the perfect... foundation..."
Lynn took out the serum and slowly turned it between his fingertips.
"Your previous creations all failed."
Lynn walked up to Horton and looked down at him.
"Do you know why?"
"Because... because..."
"Because your foundation was too weak."
Lynn hit the nail on the head.
"You tried to use mortal cells, a fragile carbon-based structure, to support your vision of a perfect life-form."
"It was like sculpting a god out of clay. No matter how skilled you are, it's still clay, and a single downpour can wash it away."
"That's right... that's right! The substrate! Its fragility limited my creations!"
"Now."
Lynn gently placed the serum in Horton's trembling hand.
"I give you the blood of a god."
The touch of the serum made Horton shudder as though he had been shocked.
He raised his head, tears mingled with wild joy streaming down his aged face.
He looked at Lynn, the regard he had once held for a "kindred spirit" now replaced entirely by fervent devotion.
"I will create a true god for you!"
He raised the serum high and roared with fervor, his words almost an oath.
"A perfect creation that transcends every human weakness!"
"He will be your shadow, your sword, an extension of your will in this world!"
"He will not have Number Three's confusion, because your will shall be the sole meaning of his existence!"
"He will be loyal to you alone! Forever and ever!"
Lynn silently watched Horton's mad display, his face still expressionless.
This was exactly the result he wanted.
A loyal madman who could create miracles.
"Very good."
Lynn turned and walked toward the laboratory exit.
"Begin your work, Doctor."
"Miracles need time to take shape!"
Horton's voice rang out behind him.
The alloy door closed, shutting away everything inside the laboratory.
Lynn walked down the passage.
He did not care what Horton created.
A god?
A demon?
A monster?
It made no difference.
As long as he held its chains firmly in his own hands, it was a perfect tool.
Johann Schmidt...
Didn't you want to see a good show?
Weren't you looking forward to me coming before you?
Don't be impatient.
I'm preparing the most magnificent funeral for you and your pathetic Hydra empire.
A week later, an encrypted phone call broke the quiet of Lynn's office.
The call was from Dr. Phineas Horton.
His voice was no longer simply fervent; it was tinged with an anxiety bordering on madness.
"Mr. Morris! The prototype... the prototype is complete!"
"But! There's been a little... a little problem that desecrates the miracle!"
Lynn leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the desk.
"Get to the point, Doctor."
"Energy! It's energy conduction!"
"The Blood of God-the Super Soldier Serum-has reshaped its cellular structure. It is a perfect biological miracle! But I can't design a stable energy circuit for it!"
"When energy is fed into the core I designed, more than 90 percent of it dissipates during transmission!"
"This perfect body will be burned to ashes by its own energy the moment it awakens!"
Energy circuit?
Transmission loss?
A name came to mind.
You conceited genius, it's time for you to shine again.
"Calm down, Doctor. It's not your fault. You're just missing the right tool."
"I'll put that tool in your hands."
After hanging up, Lynn took a blank document from the safe.
Pen in hand, he fell into thought.
A few seconds later, he wrote in large characters across it: "Foresight Holdings: Future Energy Project Proposal."
The next day.
Lynn arrived at Howard Stark's private villa on Long Island.
Shirtless and covered in grease, the man was tinkering with a strange-looking engine.
Several blonde women in bikinis stood nearby, handing him chilled champagne.
"Morris? You damned vampire, what are you trying to squeeze out of me this time?"
Howard turned his wrench with a series of clicks.
"An idea, Howard."
Lynn put the proposal down on a reasonably clean table.
"About the future."
Howard wiped his hands dismissively.
He picked up the proposal and casually flipped through a few pages, the mockery on his face growing more pronounced.
"A biological battery? Storing and releasing electrical energy by mimicking the function of cellular mitochondria? Lynn, do those so-called scientists of yours have paste for brains?"