Chapter 486: Activation

This wasn't anything major—just an artificial intelligence that had yet to be activated.

Katherine, the best swordswoman among the Sisterhood's artificial beings, had single-handedly wiped out the organization known as Vigilance.

She had done it with power armor, a chainsword, and a bolt gun.

The firefight in the bank had been a one-sided massacre.

Even high-caliber bullets couldn't stop Katherine.

Mr. Finch and Mr. Reese had no idea who she was or where she had come from.

But when she used her chainsword to saw a Vigilance member in half, everyone except their leader had surrendered immediately.

The problem was that Vigilance was already on the FBI's blacklist and had been officially designated a terrorist group.

Like most such organizations, it had been infiltrated by numerous undercover agents from intelligence agencies—agents who not only fed information to their superiors but also actively encouraged acts of terror to facilitate arrests and convictions.

Apart from their leader, no one really knew who among them was a genuine extremist and who was a planted informant.

Katherine had handed their leader over to Mr. Finch, and after that, Solomon had no further involvement.

He had neither explicitly ordered Katherine to eliminate the rest, nor had he commanded her to let them go.

What happened next, he didn't know.

Maybe the files contained the answer.

But those files were in Tita's hands.

As commander, she knew every detail of the operation.

Aside from the powerful artificial intelligence, Solomon had nothing but respect for Harold Finch and John Reese.

But he had no interest in joining their crusade.

They were plugging the gaps in a broken justice system—a thankless and exhausting effort.

Solomon had more important things to do.

The intricate philosophical debate between procedural justice and consequential justice was not today's discussion.

But it seemed Harold Finch had already guessed where Katherine had come from.

He had seen that model of bolt gun before.

However, Solomon had no desire to meet him right now.

The ever-polite Mr. Finch had also refrained from making direct contact, choosing not to demand that Solomon cease such brutal methods.

Samaritan.

That was the name of the artificial intelligence that had yet to be activated.

Now installed in the Eternal City, the AI constantly urged Solomon to destroy the two military-grade hard drives—to ensure no new, powerful artificial intelligence could be born.

But Solomon had delayed.

He would decide Samaritan's fate only after thoroughly examining its code.

More importantly, he wanted to study its architecture.

For now, Samaritan's servers had not been moved to the Eternal City.

This was part of a delicate balance between Solomon and the AI.

But such equilibrium wouldn't last forever.

Solomon had many projects that required a powerful artificial intelligence—such as the Mars Foundry Project.

Wakanda was not a country abundant in human resources.

High-tech specialists were not easy to come by.

An artificial intelligence would be essential.

The project that had birthed Samaritan had faced a turbulent fate.

Just as it neared completion, Harold Finch's AI had already been deployed.

To cut costs, the Samaritan project was terminated.

The primary developer had been one of Finch's university classmates—the same brain-damaged patient Solomon had once visited in the hospital.

Back when the man had been lucid, he had been one of the few polite Americans Solomon had ever met.

"What are you thinking about?"

Kaecilius held up the golden arrow.

Infused with Apollo's divine power, the arrow granted a measure of foresight—which was exactly why Kamar-Taj found them so troublesome.

(Aphrodite's lingerie was less of a headache than these damn arrows.)

"I rarely see you distracted."

"I think we should contact a professional body disposal service before we keep leaving unsolved mysteries for the local police."

Solomon shrugged.

He wasn't ready to let too many people know about the Eternal City just yet.

"This isn't good—it's a waste of public resources."

"We don't always kill those poor bastards." Kaecilius clapped Solomon on the shoulder. "As long as they don't kill anyone else."

"Come on—let's go drink some more."

"The Allfather always complains that beer is too weak, so he brews his own strong ale."

"He gave me a few bottles. Let's drink those beauties dry."

————————————

In this city of rock and shadow, lighting was crucial.

It was always night here.

It never rained.

A dark, eternal sky loomed above, while countless bulbs illuminated the carefully planned streets and alleys—designed by great artists.

Solomon gazed at the streetlights, their glow reflecting off the window glass.

He picked up a glass of whiskey—served over a single round ice sphere—and took a slow sip.

Lately, his craving for alcohol had been increasing.

Previously, he had mainly indulged in wine.

But he had developed a preference for stronger spirits—rum, whiskey, brandy, and vodka.

Whether neat or on the rocks.

He didn't want to get drunk.

But no amount of alcohol seemed to be enough.

A happy kind of problem—one brought on by the side effects of his stigmata and his powerful brain.

He could barely experience light intoxication.

Only certain types of alcohol could get him drunk.

Once his glass was empty, Stephanie immediately refilled it—swapping out the ice and pouring a fresh double.

She handed him the glass and poured herself one as well.

Neither she nor Solomon mentioned that incident.

She acted as if nothing had happened—as if she had returned to being the competent, sharp-witted woman she always was.

Diana shot her a glare, seemingly protesting that Stephanie had stolen her job.

"We've started buying up pharmaceutical company shares," Stephanie said.

"The investment into neuroscience research is underway."

"Whitehall won't suspect a thing."

"After all, human experimentation is already a major Hydra project. Baron Strucker and Dr. List are conducting their own studies."

"He'll just assume the Malick family has abandoned mythology in favor of science—he might even mock them for being behind the times."

"Good."

"Our scientific capabilities are still too weak."

Solomon cleared his throat.

"We need external scientists to work for us—all of them."

"As for Whitehall…"

"I've heard the stories about him," Stephanie said.

She settled onto Solomon's lap, her sun-kissed face bearing a natural expression.

"His rejuvenation isn't a secret within Hydra."

"No one knows how he did it."

"He didn't achieve anything," Solomon said flatly.

"He simply underwent an organ transplant—one that carries serious risks of rejection."

"But his test subjects are useful to us."

"To your father, too."

"The Kree's genes aren't that powerful."

"They were also test subjects—created by the Celestials."

"The reason Kree and human DNA can even be combined is because both originated from the same genetic engineering project."

"We can replicate Whitehall's success."

"Not just once."

"Many times."

"And at minimal cost."

Stephanie's eyes gleamed.

She immediately envisioned countless possibilities.

Then, she chose the most feasible one to speak aloud.

"If we can extend lifespans," she said, "we'll control all the world's capitalists and politicians."

"The wealthier a person is, the more they fear death."

"They fear aging."

"They fear losing their mind."

"They fear lying in bed, unable to control their bowels, forced to endure humiliating, rough cleaning."

"If they learn about life-extension surgeries, we'll be welcomed by the world's elite."

"We might even be able to reduce the cost of buying out pharmaceutical companies."

"All we have to do is promise to extend their lifespans."

"Of course, they won't behave completely."

"But we have armed forces."

"We can even use their own money to fund ourselves."

"An excellent plan."

Solomon ran a hand down Stephanie's back.

She laughed, pleased.

"But we have one major competitor."

"We need to destroy him first."

The sorcerer's voice was casual.

"Completely."

"This time, no contingency plans."

"He won't rise from the ashes again."

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