What type of scientist is the most feared: the scientist who arbitrarily uses other helpless people for their selfish experiments or one who experiments on himself? If Joe could give an answer then it would be the scientist who is willing to be more cruel towards himself. The most feared scientist was one deranged enough to gamble with experiments for fun, regardless of their success or failure. His already darkening heart had the resolve to use others for his own benefit, but Minerva tightly held onto him, anchoring him to humanity. As cruel as he deemed himself to be, Joe couldn't visualize himself eviscerating homeless people for his own benefit. It was quite hypocritical, however, it was just Joe's way of slight atonement for the massacre.

Ah, morality was such a thin line, the only thing keeping him from going completely cuckoo and unprincipled.

Another reason he couldn't actively use human experimentation during the clinical trials was the lack of enough time. Joe would rather use himself as the subject to save time and efficiency. Also, there was something that made him go with such an insane idea. It was the existence of Med-Pod 3000. He couldn't keep it a secret from Minerva forever as she was currently his most trusted assistant. Um, not fully trusted since I don't trust myself somehow on some occasions. Anyway, Joe chose to trust Minerva since he was ultimately her creator...her god. There goes the minuscule signs of an encroaching god complex.

Minerva's answer to Joe's quagmire toward a stable, permanent upgrade of NZT-48, was based on numbers and simulated probabilities. Her approach was sound and believable with high chances of success, however, nothing was ever perfect. The universe wasn't so generous to hand you all the answers you could be looking for. She sought to screw you in the first instance. Failure was just part of the equation known as scientific research. Joe tested the failure. When he took the first developed experimental NZT-99, despite its supposed hundred percent efficacy and minimal drawbacks, he faced bitter consequences.

Some might say he was self-destructive, but he hadn't been that careless whatsoever. He had the perfect mice specimens bioengineered for experimental drugs to be his first test subjects. The results were positive and the mice showed increased brain activity and obscene levels of alertness. On further observations, Joe didn't notice any huge side effects. But there goes the big question? How will the experimental NZT-99 interact with human physiology?

Like a Sekiro enthusiast, Joe didn't show any hesitation toward researching the outcome. With Minerva monitoring his real-time biosignature and Med-Pod 3000 on standby, Joe thought nothing could go wrong and he paid for it. If he had been one step slower from Med-Pod 3000, then he would have been rendered a vegetable. Forever.

According to Minerva's analysis, the first iteration of NZT-99 had unpredictable neural pathways restructuring, and if Joe hadn't reacted fast enough... Well, let's leave it at that. Being in a vegetative state was just a mild consequence compared to the brain going full-on Victoria Neuman.

Did the failure make Joe fearful? No, it even made him more incensed, and more motivated to perfect the flaws in NZT-99.

Fear of death? He had died once and he knew it better than anyone, however, that didn't mean he wanted to die again.

Such a contradictory thought. It was better to die a regretless death than to die a meaningless death.

The second attempt wasn't as bad as the first one, but it had a self-imposed time limit of twenty-four hours. So much for permanence.

In the middle of his lab, surrounded by white speckless walls and futuristic holographic content, Joe absent-mindedly did some curls with the dumbbells as he gazed at the report presented by Minerva. He was dressed in his lab coat, but he didn't seem to mind.

"So, you're suggesting we integrate CRISPR tech into the mix?" Joe asked calmly, increasing the intensity of his reps.

"It's a suggestion. I'm trying to look at the solution from another angle instead of a unified approach," Minerva explained confidently.

"Pretty crazy, but...I like it. Thanks, Minerva. Perhaps that might be the missing link to our series of failures."

"Let's give it a go. There's nothing to lose anyway except me altering my neural physiology and, well, it gives me the creeps." Joe chuckled as he methodically placed the dumbbells on the floor.

"You've grown stronger. I can't believe you are now casually lifting dumbbells weighing 150 kg each. It's almost unnatural when just a few days ago you were barely able to deadlift 100 kgs," Minerva commented as Joe removed his lab coat, exposing his beautifully toned arm muscles and chest.

"It's a surprise to me as well. I think it's partly the influence of the original NZT-48, the remnants of NZT-99, my own genetics, and..." Joe crossed his arms which inadvertently made his triceps stand out.

"I think the Med-Pod also plays a major role. During my intense workouts and battle training, I undergo destruction, but when I lay on the Med-Pod, I get reborn. This perpetual cycle of destruction and reconstruction of tissues, and muscles may have slightly upgraded my body."

"Oh? That's honestly a feasible explanation. However, I think it isn't a long-term thing. Your body probably won't cross a certain restrictive line."

"And that's what makes me human. I may be intellectually special, but the flesh is weak," Joe acknowledged Minerva's facts. A small silver-colored robot, about 100 centimeters tall, with wheels on its feet, moved toward Joe with a glass of cold water in hand.

"Master, please drink from this cup to sate your thirst." The little robot's voice was mechanical and cranky compared to Minerva's. It was even more formal.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"Bee, you're always so considerate of your master," Joe laughed, taking the damp cup from its robotic hands. In one gulp, he emptied the cup.

"That's refreshing," Joe sighed in satisfaction as he returned the cup to Bee's outstretched hands.

Looking down at the cute robot with a goofy look, Joe rubbed its metallic head with a smile on his face. "You can now go, Bee. You did a good job."

"Thanks, Master. It's an honor," Bee replied as it nodded its little head in odd fashion. It was a hilarious scene.

As Bee retraced its previous route, Joe cast a reminiscing glance at it.

"I still don't understand why you made that defective thing. You could have certainly made it better, but why didn't you?" Minerva's curious voice shattered his reverie.

"Oh, the way I made him reminds me of myself. I created him in the spur of the moment after being woken up by the haunting dreams of souls I took." There was a sad tone to his voice.

"Are you suggesting that you're defective, Joe?"

"I...I don't even know anymore," Joe shook his head as he sighed deeply.

"Sometimes I wonder what goes through your head. You can be unstable, fun, serious, cold, insane, caring... You have so many qualities that I find surprising each day I keep knowing you. If you are defective, then everyone in this universe is as defective as you. Humans are defective, but that's what makes them interesting. Instead of uttering gibberish like that, why don't we improve and break those boundaries?"

"..." Joe remained silent at Minerva's calm but sharp outburst. 'She has grown. I can see the maturity in her holographic eyes. Maybe she's going to help me reach the end of the road of this thing called 'existence.' Minerva, Oh Minerva, you are starting to remind me of my late mother somehow.'

"You know what, Minerva?"

"What?"

"Let's finalize this shit."

It's been five days since Joe bought the warehouse and remodeled the interior to something dreamy. On the fifth day after promising himself to finalize the whole experiment, Joe successfully incorporated his own genetic information into the creation of NZT-99. All along he had only been lacking that brave but seamless integration of pharmacological agents and genetic codes.

"Beginning cognitive test alpha. I'll be injecting the first dose of the customized NZT-99," Joe gently swirled the blue solution inside the transparent vial as he stared at the camera.

"Minerva, you ready?"

"I can't have you leaving me a widow."

"Nah, that's not happening on Friday," Joe said nonchalantly as he positioned the vial above the opening of the pressure syringe. A surge of excitement ran through him as he thought about the variables and mishaps. Only someone as crazy as him would think not of the success but the fuck-ups.

"5,4...1, let's level up!" Joe aimed the syringe 30 degrees above his median cubital vein and unhesitatingly shot the contents into his system. There was a temporary sting at the injection site before the NZT-99 began spreading in his bloodstream. Well, and it did happen. You are wondering what exactly?

Joe felt his mind go supernova! Colors exploded inside his consciousness like a cluster of shooting stars. The world around him suddenly came to a halt.

And then...darkness followed next as his mental realm collapsed. Was that hyperstellar journey going to do him in or remodel him into a being that has achieved cognitive ascendance?

While Joe's world was being swarmed by unceasing darkness, another man at the other side of the city was battling his own demons.

***

The scene from the shipping dock massacre haunted George's dreams, robbing him of peaceful sleep.

Whenever he closed his eyes, vivid images flashed through his mind: bloodied dismembered bodies strewn across the dock, the horrific facial expressions frozen on the victims' faces.

But it wasn't just the gruesome memories that tormented him. The relentless pressure from the press hounded him day and night. The public demanded answers he couldn't provide. His superiors breathed down his neck, expecting results that seemed increasingly out of reach.

All of these factors added up, chipped away at his cool and left him psychologically exhausted.

"The same things in a loop." George furrowed his brows and began massaging his temples to, at least, alleviate the throbbing headache. With a deep sigh, George climbed off his bed.

'If I'm experiencing these terrible nights, I wonder what the killer might be experiencing. Are they the type to eat meat after butchering their fellow humans and sleep nicely after that?' George thought as he went out of his room.

"But the case is slowly reaching a dead end which only makes matters worse. There's no substantial incriminating evidence and the only thing we got from a witness was a shadow of something nonhuman." George opened the tap and poured himself some water.

"Our only hope is Detective Becker who also seems to be drawing at straws. Time's running out, dammit." George unintentionally used excess force to put the cup on the counter which produced a loud bang. He was damn well frustrated—frustrated by his sense of responsibility, lack of ability, and how well-executed the murder was.

"What if our target isn't even human? That's ridiculous even thinking about that." George exhaled soundly, his head lowered in slight defeat.

"Dad?" A sleepy voice suddenly broke George Stacy's thoughts.

George sighed, slowly turned, and found his only daughter, Gwen, standing in the doorway.

"Hello, sweetheart. Did I wake you up?"

"I'll have to be deaf to not notice that disturbance," Gwen scoffed while smiling at him.

"But you are worrying me, Dad? I've noticed your night routine for some time now." Gwen walked over and stood beside him.

"Is it the shipping docks murder?"

"I wanted to say that nothing's bothering me, but you beat me to it. Always the clever one, Gwen." George forced a smile as he gently patted Gwen's head.

"I understand the pressure you're facing from all sides, but don't forget you have me, okay? Don't I confide in you whenever I've some bad days at Oscorp?" Gwen leaned in and embraced him.

"Look at who's lecturing who. I can't believe you've already grown to this level."

"That's embarrassing, Dad. Do you think I'll remain a kid forever?"

"Sometimes, I honestly wish it were like that."

"Oh c'mon, mom would have jumped to scold you for that."

"Oh, really? I thought I always won."

"Hehe, keep lying to yourself."

The lines around George's eyes softened, years seeming to melt away as the corner of his mouth twitched upward. For a moment, he looked like the carefree father Gwen remembered from her childhood.

"Thanks, Gwen, for the distraction. I think my head feels a little less heavy."

Gwen glanced up at his graying hair and grinned.

"So tell me about the case, if you don't mind?"

George groaned, his eyes widening in realization. "You—"

"No, no, no. I don't want to hear anything about confidentiality." Gwen waved her index finger at him.

"You should sleep well because tomorrow you need to go to work, Gwen."

"Are you for real? I'm not falling for that."

A shrewd smile formed on George's face as he thought of something devious that might disorient Gwen.

"So when did you make Joe your boyfriend? I heard you calling for him in your sleep."

Gwen froze, her arms still wrapped around her father. Her face flushed crimson, spreading to the tips of her ears. She stammered incoherently, then bolted from the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the tile as she fled.

George's hearty laughter reverberated in the Stacys' Residence much to Gwen's extreme embarrassment and dismay.

…

[Word Count 2260]