American Comics : God Of Avengers

Scott Lang and Luis walked down the street in heavy silence, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the hum of city life. The confrontation with the three gang-affiliated car thieves had left a bitter taste in their mouths.

Scott clenched his fists tightly.

"Damn it. I really wanted to punch those guys," he muttered.

Luis gave him a wry look. "Yeah, and then they'd break our legs. Come on, man. You saw the way they moved. They've done that kind of thing before."

He paused, his voice lowering to a more serious tone. "Word is, those guys are connected to The Hand — that creepy, shadowy Japanese organization based in Hell's Kitchen."

Scott blinked. "Wait, that Hand? The secret ninja death cult?"

Luis nodded gravely. "Yup. Not the kind of people small-time crooks like us want to mess with."

Scott sighed. "Whether it's power, numbers, or connections, we don't stand a chance."

Luis placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You okay, man? You've looked off since this morning."

Scott exhaled slowly, eyes distant. "I lost my job."

"What?!"

"Yeah... boss found out about the record again. Said I was 'bad optics' for the company."

Luis winced. "Man, that sucks."

They stood in silence for a few beats as the city moved around them — alive, glittering, and full of opportunity for everyone but them.

Scott looked up at the towering skyline of New York. He felt like a shadow in a world of light. A broken piece in a perfect puzzle.

Luis, ever the optimist, clapped him on the back.

"Well... we still gotta eat, right? Maybe it's time we figure out our next hustle."

Scott nodded hesitantly, but his gaze remained dark.

---

Meanwhile, in the basement lab of the safe house, Nathan was hard at work.

He stood over the operating table wearing white latex gloves, a surgical mask around his neck, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The air smelled of antiseptic, metal, and something burnt.

On the table lay X-24, still paralyzed from the neurotoxin, though his eyes flicked about wildly — a prisoner inside his own body.

Blood stained his skin, and long incisions ran down his arms and chest. But even as Nathan worked, the flesh beneath his scalpel slowly regenerated, stitching itself together with terrifying speed.

On a nearby table, a sleek laptop blinked with active data logs.

Nathan typed rapidly.

> [Epidermis incision recovery time: 15 seconds.]

[Deltoid muscle incision recovery time: 60 seconds.]

[Anterior tibial muscle: 55 seconds.]

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The keys echoed in the silent lab.

"This gear is functional," Nathan muttered, "but nowhere near what Stark Industries or S.H.I.E.L.D. would offer. No AI assistants. No automatic diagnostics."

He scoffed. "If I had one of Tony's suits here, I could have J.A.R.V.I.S. or F.R.I.D.A.Y. logging this stuff in real time while I focused on experimentation."

He wiped sweat from his brow and whispered, "Too slow. But once I acquire Osborn Corp, everything will change. They have enough tech to build ten labs."

He glanced back at the clone.

X-24's eyes were wide with fear, his jaw twitching as if trying to speak.

Nathan leaned closer and chuckled softly. "This neurotoxin... better than expected. Still working after all this time."

He tapped the clone gently on the forehead. "Sorry if I creep you out with the talking. When you spend long hours cutting open bodies, you need something to keep your mind centered."

He paused. "Don't worry. I'm not insane. Just focused."

The clone trembled.

Nathan turned back to his computer, inputting more data.

Then, with a gleam in his eye, he dropped a fresh blood sample onto the slide beneath an electron microscope.

On the screen, a vivid double helix appeared — spiraling, symmetrical, beautiful.

DNA — the molecule of life.

He zoomed in.

Two strands of deoxyribonucleic acid twisted around a shared axis, revealing their delicate bonds and chemical complexity.

Long polymers of nucleotides, each base pair a story. A code. The very blueprint of a living weapon.

"These are the strands that hold the essence of what makes you a monster," Nathan whispered.

But he didn't stop there.

He increased the magnification — past the basic double helix.

Now he saw something far more intricate.

A superhelix.

The already-twisted DNA was coiled again, layered with further complexity — folded into chromatin structures, looped, packaged like secrets waiting to be unlocked.

This is where the mutation lives. Not just in the DNA — but in the way it's folded. Organized. Compressed.

Nathan stared at the screen, awe and ambition warring in his expression.

"No wonder you heal like a god. Your genome isn't just altered — it's optimized. Weaponized."

He leaned back, exhausted but thrilled.

"This is the key."

---

Still, as he stared at the data, a wave of fatigue crept in. There was too much to process.

Thousands of nucleotides. Billions of base pairs. And this was just the start.

"If only I had Essex's full database…" Nathan muttered.

"They've clearly mastered this field. Creating clones like you... they must have the complete sequencing. Advanced tools. Maybe even AI-designed gene therapies."

He shook his head.

"But I can't get that. Not yet."

He closed the computer screen for now and leaned on the desk.

"I need to proceed the old-fashioned way."

He turned toward a separate console, one designed for testing serum on living subjects.

"To analyze the effects of genome modifications... I'll need test subjects."

His fingers hovered above a keyboard.

"Mice," he murmured. "I'll buy some lab mice."

He pulled out his phone and tapped open a local scientific supplier catalog.

"White mice. Rabbits, if they have them. And maybe a few primates in the long run."

Outside, the clone's eyes widened.

Nathan barely noticed.

He was already planning the next stages — gene splicing, retroviral injections, mutation mapping.

Everything was moving forward.

---

Meanwhile... just outside the villa...

The trio of car thieves had arrived.

One of them — the techie who once worked at Stark Industries — crouched by the front gate, his laptop balanced on his knees.

"Give me a second…" he muttered, typing furiously.

Lines of code ran down the screen.

His fingers flew.

A moment later—

Click. Whir.

The gate unlocked with a soft mechanical creak.

The others stared in awe.

"You actually did it," one whispered.

"Of course I did," the techie grinned. "This gate's encrypted, but not Stark-level secure. Child's play."

They exchanged excited looks.

"Let's go inside. That guy has to be loaded. Look at this place."

They stepped through the gate.

Unaware of what was happening inside.

Unaware of the monster strapped to a table.

Unaware of the man who talked to himself while slicing flesh and mapping evolution.

They thought they had found a wealthy loner to rob.

They had no idea they had walked into the lair of a modern-day Frankenstein.