The stillness of the warehouse was broken only by the faint hum of machinery and the slow, deliberate steps of Himawan as he paced across the floor. The body of the homeless man, his first experiment, still lay motionless in the corner, a grim reminder of the failure that had just unfolded. Yet, in Himawan's mind, this wasn't failure—it was progress. Every mistake, every misstep, was a lesson. It was through trial and error that true breakthroughs were made.
As the dim light from a flickering bulb cast eerie shadows across the room, Himawan stood before the metal table, hands resting on the cold surface. His red eyes were distant, focused inward as he sifted through the vast knowledge given to him by Doctor Genus. The experiment had failed, yes, but it had provided valuable data. The subject's body had rejected the serum—no, more than that, it had been overwhelmed by it. The transformation had been too rapid, too extreme for the human body to sustain.
He needed to refine the formula, slow the process, allow the body time to adapt. Rushing the experiment had cost him his subject, and while the man had been a mere vagrant, expendable in the grander scheme, the loss still stung. Resources were limited, and each subject needed to count.
Himawan reached for a notebook—an old, worn thing he had salvaged earlier that day. Flipping through the yellowed pages, he began scribbling notes, marking down observations and adjustments for the next trial. The knowledge of Doctor Genus guided his hand, showing him exactly where the flaws in the serum lay.
"The cellular structure couldn't handle the rapid mutation," he murmured to himself, jotting down the thought. "Muscle tissue expanded too quickly, resulting in tearing and internal hemorrhaging. Neural pathways overloaded... leading to cardiac arrest."
He paused for a moment, staring at the words. It was all so clear now. The human body, even one as resilient as those in the Marvel Universe, had limits. But that didn't mean those limits couldn't be pushed. He just needed to be more careful, more precise in how he applied his knowledge.
Trial and error.
The thought echoed in his mind, steady and relentless. There was no room for hesitation in his work. Himawan had always been methodical, a man who thrived on precision and control. But now, in this new world, with the power of the Scientist Template System backing him, he realized that sometimes progress came at a cost. Sometimes, control had to be sacrificed for the sake of discovery.
He glanced back at the lifeless body in the corner. It would have to be disposed of soon, before the stench of death became unbearable. But not yet. There were still things he needed to learn from the subject. The man's failure would not be in vain.
With renewed focus, Himawan began tweaking the formula in his mind. The key was moderation—starting with smaller, more manageable doses and allowing the body time to adjust before pushing it further. He would need to stagger the serum's effects, triggering gradual changes over time rather than all at once.
He walked over to a set of vials arranged neatly on a nearby shelf. Each one contained a different mixture, a different iteration of the serum he had developed. Some were more potent, others less so. It would be a matter of finding the right balance. Carefully, he selected one of the vials, holding it up to the light. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, its color a deep blue. This version of the serum had been designed to enhance muscle density without causing rapid growth. It was a more refined variant of the original formula.
"Perhaps this one will do," Himawan muttered as he set the vial aside. But he wouldn't test it just yet. There was still work to be done, and he needed to ensure the next trial was perfect—or as close to perfect as he could manage under these circumstances.
The system remained silent in the back of his mind, its presence no more than a faint whisper. Himawan had grown accustomed to its quiet watchfulness, its tendency to leave him to his own devices unless it deemed it necessary to intervene. The Scientist Template System wasn't here to hold his hand. It was here to provide him with the tools, the knowledge, and the guidance he needed to succeed. But the work—the actual work—was up to him.
He stepped over to the body once more, crouching down to inspect it closely. The man's muscles were still grotesquely swollen, the veins dark and bulging beneath the skin. The signs of strain were obvious—the body had been pushed far beyond its natural limits. Himawan reached out, pressing his fingers against the man's arm. The flesh was still warm, though rapidly cooling.
"A shame," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But you'll serve your purpose."
He took out a small scalpel from his pocket, its blade glinting in the dim light. Slowly, methodically, he made an incision along the man's forearm, watching as the skin peeled away, revealing the damaged muscle beneath. Blood pooled on the floor, thick and dark, but Himawan was unfazed. He was far too engrossed in his examination to be bothered by the grisly scene unfolding before him.
"The serum accelerated cell growth at a rate that far exceeded the body's ability to cope," he murmured, making mental notes as he worked. "Muscle fibers expanded too quickly, tearing under the strain... The neural pathways overloaded from the sudden influx of bioelectric activity..."
He stood up, wiping the blood from his hands with a rag. The experiment had provided him with plenty of information, more than enough to make the necessary adjustments. But there was one last thing he needed to check.
Himawan walked over to a set of equipment he had managed to procure—rudimentary tools for analyzing biological samples. It wasn't ideal, but it would suffice for now. He carefully took a sample of the man's blood, placing it under a microscope and adjusting the lens.
For a long moment, he studied the sample in silence, watching the cells closely. The serum had altered them in ways that were both fascinating and disturbing. The rapid mutation had caused the cells to split and regenerate at an accelerated rate, but the process had been chaotic, uncontrolled. Some cells had mutated too quickly, becoming unstable and eventually dying off. Others had adapted, but only partially.
"Too much, too soon," Himawan muttered, adjusting the focus on the microscope. "But there's potential here."
He stepped back, his mind racing with new ideas, new theories. The first experiment had been a failure, yes, but it was a necessary one. Every failed trial brought him closer to success. Every mistake revealed new possibilities, new avenues to explore.
Himawan turned his attention back to the vials on the shelf. There were still many more formulas to test, many more subjects to experiment on. The man lying dead in the corner was just the beginning. The Marvel Universe was filled with potential candidates—people who wouldn't be missed, people who could serve as the building blocks for his grand designs.
But for now, he needed to take things slowly, carefully. He couldn't afford another hasty failure. The next experiment would be more controlled, more precise. He would refine the serum further, tweak the formula until it was stable enough to use without killing the subject.
Trial and error.
It was the only way forward.