The next morning, Adam awoke to the soft murmur of the world outside his window. The library had grown silent, the books lying untouched as his mind raced. The information he had absorbed was overwhelming, but it was only a fragment of the whole picture. There were pieces he still needed to find, but his next step was clear. He had to push forward.
His body protested with every movement, the familiar ache in his limbs making him pause before rising from his bed. It was getting harder to ignore the warning signs, but Adam's resolve was ironclad. His grandmother would never understand the depths of his quest, nor could he expect her to. This was something only he could undertake.
With careful hands, Adam pulled out an old, disused medical kit from under his bed. The equipment was rudimentary—syringes, small vials, sterile bandages. He had once used them to tend to his frail body, but today they would serve a different purpose. He had no formal training in genetics, no access to a lab, but his knowledge of DNA and mutations had grown in leaps and bounds. He could make it work.
His first experiment would be simple. He needed a sample—his own blood. The thought of it made his stomach churn, but he steadied himself, focusing on the goal ahead. His fingers hovered over the syringe, trembling not from fear, but from the overwhelming need to understand what was happening inside him. His blood might hold the key to everything.
As the needle pierced his skin, a sharp pain shot through his arm. It was nothing compared to the pain that had plagued him over the years, but it was enough to make him pause. The blood filled the syringe, and he pulled it out with a deep breath. There was no turning back now.
Adam's eyes gleamed with determination as he filled the small vial. He knew the road ahead would be fraught with danger—both physical and mental—but he had no choice. His body was weak, but his mind, his resolve, was stronger than ever.
He set the vial aside and quickly began preparing the next stage of his experiment. He had read about CRISPR—gene-editing technology—and though he lacked the advanced tools, he had an idea of how to proceed with a makeshift solution. His plan was not to modify his DNA just yet; he needed to learn more about what was there before any alterations. But he needed to see if his theory was correct. The mutation wasn't just a flaw—it was a dormant power. And if he could awaken it, it could change everything.
Hours passed in a blur of calculations and makeshift equipment. His hands were shaking from both exhaustion and adrenaline, but he ignored it. His thoughts were consumed by the experiment, each moment feeling like an eternity. The air in the room seemed to thicken with anticipation as he finally completed his makeshift genetic analyzer—a crude setup of microscopes and chemical reagents scavenged from old science kits.