CURRENT DATE CORRELATION: 1947 AD
LOCATION: NEW YORK SECTOR / SOUTH BROTHER ISLAND LABS
OBJECTIVE: ZERO-POINT ANOMALY PROTRACTED HARVEST
Inside the subterranean fabrication bays beneath South Brother Island, the hum of the manufacturing relays had dropped into a rhythmic, sub-audible vibration.
David stood before an isolated, pressurized workstation, his hands shifting fluidly between flesh and living liquid-metal as he fine-tuned three distinct containment canisters resting on the clean obsidian bench.
To the untrained eye of an SSR agent, Zero Matter was an inexplicable, miraculous mystery. To a mind forged in 2123, it was a volatile, extra-dimensional darkforce frequency bleeding through an unshielded tear in the quantum veil.
When the atomic testing in the California desert triggered the rupture, Isodyne Energy would not find an orderly power source. They would find an infinite, hungry void.
"Mortal flesh was never engineered to carry such a load," David muttered to the empty bay, his green eyes scanning the energy simulations flashing across his internal optics.
In the historical streams of the timeline, an unenhanced human actress named Whitney Frost would stumble into contact with the substance, gaining matter-absorption at the catastrophic expense of her sanity and cellular stability. Her nervous system lacked the thermodynamic architecture to regulate a cosmic vacuum.
David, however, was an entirely different biological equation.
For nearly five millennia, his defining asset had been absolute, conscious command over his own molecular matrix down to individual quarks and protons. He could shift his skin to obsidian, dissolve his limbs into fluid tendrils, and command his cellular density with mathematical precision. But that mastery had always been strictly confined behind the boundary of his own epidermis. He was the undisputed master of his own vessel, yet the external world remained governed by ordinary, unbending physics.
Zero Matter, if systematically filtered and integrated into his Techno-Organic marrow, offered the bridge.
The substance naturally collapsed the spatial and electromagnetic bonds between external matter, drawing surrounding energy into its localized singularity. If David could metabolize that darkforce frequency without succumbing to its chaotic pull, the absorption would not grant him arbitrary, godlike creation powers. His mind did not operate on fantasy; he could not conjure castles out of empty air.
Instead, it would project his native biological command outward.
His cellular dominion would extend beyond his skin, creating an invisible, five-meter sphere of absolute molecular influence. Within that personal radius, the atomic bonds of air, stone, steel, and kinetic force would become as malleable as his own clay. A bullet entering his perimeter would not simply be deflected by armor; its atomic lattice could be commanded to soften into lead dust before touching his clothes. Solid concrete walls could be made to part like liquid under his palm.
It was an evolutionary step forward, earned through the logic of his own engineered foundation.
Yet, as an engineer whose survival was rooted in deep, methodical mistrust, David refused to gamble on assumptions. Because the exact physics of the California rift remained volatile, he built three distinct containment solutions:
Canister Alpha was a heavy, triple-walled cylinder forged from his refined Vibranium-Techno-Organic composite. Designed to handle the phenomenon if it manifested as raw kinetic shock or intense, high-yield exotic radiation, its interior lattice hummed with a passive 432-hertz dampening harmonic meant to absorb and calm the frequency instantly.
Canister Beta was lined with microscopic, silver-threaded alchemical conduits transcribed directly from Jason Blood's Camelot archives. If the substance behaved as an extra-dimensional fluid with an intrinsic, corruptive consciousness akin to ancient Chthonic blood-magic, Beta's localized binding wards would lock the entity into a permanent stasis lock.
Canister Gamma was an inverted magnetic pinch-trap, powered by a miniature liquid-core thermal cell. If the anomaly emerged as a weightless, spatial tear that devoured all physical matter, Gamma generated a localized gravitational vacuum that would suspend the anomaly in zero-point equilibrium, keeping it isolated from ambient air and mortal touch.
The door to the fabrication bay hissed open with a soft, hydraulic breath.
Selene stepped into the room, her slippers silent against the obsidian floor. She wore a flowing robe of dark violet silk, her long hair falling loose down her back, carrying a pair of small, crystal vials filled with stabilizing tinctures she had prepared in the upper conservatory.
She set the vials down beside the canisters, leaning her hip against the bench as she looked over the three heavy metal housings with an amused, appreciative smile.
"Three cages for a beast you have yet to see, David?" she purred, her crimson lips curving as she reached out, her cool fingertips lightly trailing along the seam of Canister Beta.
"Redundancy is the only defense against cosmic volatility," David replied smoothly, his hands returning to smooth, pale human flesh as he locked the final seal on Gamma. "The mortals in California are playing with an atomic match near a tear in the sky. When the rift cracks open, I will not waste operational seconds testing theories in the dust. We secure the sample, contain the spill, and let Peggy Carter clean up the human wreckage left behind."
Selene chuckled, a rich, dark sound that vibrated with ancient pride. She stepped into his space, her hand resting naturally against the center of his chest, her dark eyes looking up into his with complete, unshakable confidence.
"Then let them light their little fire in the desert, Administrator," she whispered, her smile sharp and dangerous. "We will be waiting in the shadows to take the dark."