11 Project: Rebirth

At the Strategic Scientific Reserve HQ in Washington D.C., Colonel Phillips briskly approached Alexander and Peggy, an older gentleman in a brown coat and wearing wire-rimmed glasses accompanying him.

"Dr. Sterling!" the Colonel called out. "I'd like you to meet Dr. Abraham Erskine."

"Ah, Dr. Erskine and I are already acquainted," Alexander replied smoothly. "We met at an engineering conference back in 1934 in Geneva. It's a pleasure to see you again, Doctor."

Erskine's eyes lit up in recognition. "Dr. Sterling, indeed! Your forward-thinking ideas on synthetic biological systems were most memorable. It's quite the coincidence to encounter you here in such a different context."

Alexander offered a humble smile. "The feeling is mutual. I remember that your presentation on biomechanics and prosthetics was quite the standout."

Phillips observed the pleasantries before chiming in. "Well then, gentlemen, given your shared history, we're already at an advantage. There's much to discuss and little time to waste. Let's proceed, shall we?"

With a quick nod from both, the Colonel led the way through the double doors while Alexander, Erskine, and Peggy followed.

As they made their way through the bustling SSR headquarters, Alexander glanced around curiously, taking in the organized chaos of scientists and soldiers on various classified projects and missions.

"Will Howard be joining us soon?" Alexander inquired, his tone casual despite his underlying curiosity.

Colonel Phillips shook his head. "Stark's already here. Arrived first thing this morning, in fact." He paused, his expression growing more serious. "Wasn't sure we'd get him at first. I flew out to Los Angeles last week to recruit him myself. He turned me down flat, can you believe it?"

Phillips snorted. "But that very night, Stark's mansion was attacked by what we now believe was a HYDRA hit squad. Bastards wrecked half his cars and labs before he managed to fend them off. Next morning, Howard called me himself, saying he was in."

Alexander's eyes widened slightly, maintaining a neutral facade. The timing of that attack seemed incredibly convenient. He thought to himself, Not to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but...

"Well, I'm glad Howard came around, whatever his reasons," Alexander remarked mildly as they entered the laboratory wing. "His expertise will be invaluable."

He glanced sidelong at Peggy, who returned his gaze with a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. Clearly, she had caught the skeptical edge to his earlier reaction. Alexander made a mental note to himself that he would need to be careful around her sharp instincts.

Alexander followed Colonel Phillips into the conference room, his gaze immediately drawn to Howard Stark lounging casually in one of the chairs at the long table. Howard caught his eye and gave Alexander a nod of acknowledgement as he and Erskine took their seats.

Peggy efficiently distributed folders containing classified documents to each of them. Alexander flipped his open, scanning the contents. Design schematics, chemical formulas - it was a high-level briefing on Project: Rebirth and Dr. Erskine's super-soldier serum.

"Right, let's get started," Colonel Phillips began gruffly, folding his hands on the table. "You gentlemen are here because you are the best minds our country has to offer. Mr. Stark, we need your engineering brilliance to turn Project: Rebirth from theory into reality."

Howard smiled, twirling a pen between his fingers. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Colonel. Don't worry, I'll make sure your lab rats get the best cage science can build."

Phillips grimaced slightly but pressed on. "Dr. Erskine is our chief scientist spearheading the serum development. And Dr. Sterling—" His gaze shifted to Alexander. "Your expertise in genetics is crucial for guiding this project."

Alexander inclined his head, the weight of responsibility pressing on his shoulders. "Of course, Colonel. I'm happy to contribute however I can, but shouldn't we conduct animal trials first before proceeding to human testing? What if the serum has severe unanticipated side effects?"

Colonel Phillips shook his head, his expression hardening. "There's no time for that. We're already lagging behind HYDRA, and we can't afford delays. Project Rebirth will proceed with human trials, that's final." His tone brooked no room for further argument.

Alexander exchanged a subtle glance with Dr. Erskine. Neither of them seemed fully on board with the rushed testing schedule, but they were clearly outranked here. A sense of foreboding settled in Alexander's stomach, a grim reminder of history's dark patterns.

He thought back to the Tuskegee Syphilis Study he'd learned about in his previous life — In 1932, the U.S. Public Health Service began an experiment to observe the course of untreated syphilis in Black men living in Tuskegee, Alabama. A total of 600 impoverished Black sharecroppers, 399 with syphilis and 201 without, were enrolled as test subjects. Participants were told the federal government would provide them free healthcare for their syphilis, but that was a deliberate deception. The Public Health Service never informed them of their syphilis diagnosis nor treated them for it.

The government officials lied to the Tuskegee participants about the medical treatment they were receiving. They pretended to treat them for syphilis while actually giving them placebos and other ineffective methods, like mercury rubs. This experiment continued for 40 years, even though penicillin was already being used as a standard treatment for syphilis by 1947.

Now, with his little interfering in the timeline, he had already developed penicillin by 1934, and Sterling Enterprises was already mass-producing it for patients with syphilis. Who knew if the study was still occurring nowadays even with the treatment right before their eyes?

Colonel Phillips turned to Dr. Erskine. "Doctor, why don't you continue briefing us on the project's status?"

Dr. Erskine nodded, clasping his hands on the table. "Certainly, Colonel. It's true that HYDRA is already conducting human trials, though their version of the serum remains imperfect, at least from what I observed before being rescued by Agent Carter." He offered a grateful smile to Peggy.

Alexander, intrigued, leaned forward, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Speaking of which, Dr. Erskine, how did you ever get this super-soldier project off the ground in the first place?"

"Ah, yes," Dr. Erskine began, a hint of reminiscence in his tone. "The Germans had captured an American soldier during the First World War. His name was John Steele. Remarkably, he possessed incredible strength and durability far beyond normal human capabilities. The data obtained from studying Steele provided the foundation for the initial development of the super-soldier project, which the Germans codenamed Project Nietzsche."

At the mention of John Steele, Alexander's brow furrowed, a sense of recognition flickering in his mind. He recalled tales of a legendary World War I American soldier, an almost mythical figure who performed numerous missions behind enemy lines, acting as both a spy and a saboteur before being declared missing in action. The stories had seemed larger than life, but now, as the pieces began to fall into place, the legend of John Steele took on a new, startling reality.

***

A year and some change since we first rolled up our sleeves, dabbling in what I now reckon was Pandora's box, laced with scientific promise. Dr. Erskine's super soldier serum, a cocktail brewed for heroes, turned out more a concoction for nightmares. When Col. Walker Price and Dr. Wilfred Nagel joined our motley crew of me, Howard, and the good doctor himself, I thought maybe, just maybe, we'd crack it. But, oh, how naive we were.

Clinton McIntyre was the first to roll the dice with fate, a disgraced soldier with more hope in his heart than luck. The serum took him on a wild ride, all right, straight into a frenzy, then death's cold embrace—or so we thought. The chap's body lay there, refusing to rot, a morbid testament to our failure, boxed up like some grotesque keepsake.

The others, mostly African-American soldiers duped into thinking they were getting a mere tetanus shot, weren't so 'fortunate.' Their ends came with violence and agony, lives snuffed out in the name of progress. I still remember the letters, the lies we penned to their families. It's a wonder I sleep at all.

And then there was Isaiah Bradley, one of the 'lucky' survivors, if you could call it that. The serum, designed to elevate, instead fractured his mind, leaving him a prisoner within his own enhanced physique. The human brain, we learned, isn't quite designed for rapid, forced evolution. The super soldiers, while physically superior, were mentally teetering on the edge, vulnerable to the darkness of schizophrenia, paranoia, and a myriad of other psychological torments. It's a harsh truth, messing with nature's design like we did—no good comes without its shadows.

You see, this serum, this marvel magic, it's more than just a science project. It's about pushing the very limits of human potential. We're talking about protein and enzyme regulation, tweaking the body's machinery to work faster, harder, better. Then there were the hormonal changes, imagining a body so resilient, so enduring that it could withstand any battle, any challenge. And the epigenetics, now that was a trip, changing how the body reads its very blueprint without altering a single letter of its DNA.

We dreamed of muscles that wouldn't tire, wounds that would close like they were never there, a man turned into a living, breathing fortress. But every fortress has its cracks. The exaggerated thyroid gland responses led to impulsive, aggressive behaviors. Mental deterioration wasn't just a risk; it was a common reality for the subjects who survived. And sterility became an unintended signature of the serum, a future denied to those who survived our trials.

***

In the midst of our little scientific debacle, word got around that the Soviets were playing their hand at the super-soldier table with something called Black Window Ops. A female counterpart to our American muscle—how quaint. And as if the world wasn't already teetering on the brink, Pearl Harbor got a taste of war, sending the U.S. into a frenzy. Old FDR decided we needed a sky full of planes, fifty thousand of them, to be precise. Quite the shopping list.

So, Howard and I, we rolled up our sleeves again, this time for the war effort. His knack for innovation and my genetic know-how also landed us spots on a curious project, the Manhattan Project. You're probably scratching your head, wondering what business a geneticist has with atomic bombs. Well, curiosity didn't just kill the cat; it had a whole laboratory of surprises.

While the big brains were busy cooking up their atomic recipe, they got a side order of madness — testing radiation on folks to see if they'd sprout any latent abilities. Desperation's a strange muse; it makes you dance to tunes you wouldn't hum in your sanest moments. And dance we did, right over the ethical line. The subjects, poor saps, didn't know what hit 'em till it was too late, cooked from the inside out by our friendly neighborhood isotopes.

They were tossing around polonium, plutonium, uranium — the whole periodic table of horrors — into the mix, trying to see what would stick. Animal trials, sure, but who stops there when the stakes are world domination? Human trials, that's where the real action was. Dr. Stone and his gang, they had their own brand of 'fun' with radiation, treating patients and soldiers alike. A question of therapeutic value, they said. I say it's a question of how much you can sweep under the rug before someone notices the lump.

Chicago, Berkeley, New York — these places became petri dishes for human experimentation. Cancer, radiation sickness — you name it, they got it.

Now, amid this madhouse of a project, I stumbled upon a name that stood out: Adriana Soria. She was a soldier, plucked from the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps to join a special unit of the US Marine Corps, and now here, just a name on a list destined for the altar of science. I've realized that in this line of work, a certain detachment is necessary, a distance from the humanity of it all. Yet, something about her name gave me pause. And when the realization hit, I knew I had to intervene. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Speaking of which, Project: Rebirth wasn't sidelined; if anything, our jaunt into the Manhattan Project offered us a glimpse into a potential solution. Erskine and I had been wracking our brains, searching for something to temper the serum's volatile nature. Well, I knew... I mean, the concept was there, lurking in the back of my mind, but the practicality of it—that was Howard's domain. I dropped a few hints about utilizing radiation, which could be the missing puzzle piece in our equation. And boy, did he deliver. He named it Nitramene, an unstable compound with the potential to revolutionize our approach. Instead of wreaking havoc, this compound released radiation meant to heal, enhance, and stabilize—so we aptly named this radiation: Vita-Rays.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I made it my business to understand Nitramene's makeup. Quantum-Stabilized Unobtanium-235, or QsU-235 for those fond of acronyms. A concoction of Unobtanium-235, Vibranium Nano-Lattice, Tritium-Carbonite Compound, and a Xenon-Difluoride Matrix – a recipe for controlled chaos, you might say. And from there, the only hurdle left was the machine to emit these Vita-Rays in a controlled manner, to bind the serum to flesh and bone in harmonious concert and bring forth a super soldier not marred by madness or mutation. It was science, yes, but it felt like we were dabbling in alchemy, turning base elements into gold.

Speaking of Vibranium, two years ago, Howard, known for achieving the impossible, had somehow procured a sample of the rarest metal on Earth. But he didn't stop there; he also managed to obtain some soil and vegetation from the area where it was supposedly found. At this time, no one was aware of the heart-shaped herb — at least, I don't think anyone was. However, Erskine, ever the curious scientist, took particular interest in a type of grass growing from the Vibranium-enriched soil. It was almost serendipitous, Erskine told me, how John Steele's blood seemed to contain a compound similar to the one in the grass. He theorized that Steele, during his time in Africa in WW1, might have ingested a plant affected by Vibranium radiation, potentially explaining his enhanced strength and durability, akin to the survivors of our current trials. It was just a theory, of course, but a compelling one nonetheless.

This got me thinking. Our super-soldier serum, in all its iterations, primarily enhanced strength and durability. Yet, I knew that in the future, Steve Rogers, the serum's crowning achievement, would display enhancements that went far beyond these, including speed, agility, reflexes, stamina, and not least, intelligence. Why the difference? The missing link, it seemed, was a genetic predisposition to Vibranium, an inherent harmony with its radiation—something the Wakandans possessed but we lacked.

Wakanda, a land cradled by Vibranium, had its essence woven into the very fabric of its environment – the soil, the flora, and even its people. Generations of exposure meant that Vibranium was not an external agent to them but a part of their biological narrative. They wouldn't need Vita-Rays; their symbiosis with the meteorite's mild radiation was a natural process.

Our approach, in contrast, was like forcing a square peg into a round hole. We were outsiders trying to replicate a harmony that took nature centuries to perfect. The serum alone was insufficient; it needed the Vita-Rays, a technological crutch to simulate what the Wakandans achieved naturally.

***

In the meantime, I didn't let the grass grow under my feet. I saw an opportunity to advance my understanding of genetics and grabbed it with both hands. I roped Howard into my schemes, convincing him to help me construct the tools of modern genetics: thermal cyclers, electrophoresis systems, all the trappings of Polymerase Chain Reaction (PCR). I provided the vision, and together, we brought it to life.

Then there was DNA sequencing: manual Sanger sequencing. Today's scientists would balk at the tediousness of it all - manual labor, where a single error could send you back to square one. Yet, for all its drawbacks, it was enough for the moment. I wasn't looking for the subtle variations that differentiate one person from another. No, I was hunting for something rarer, something potentially revolutionary.

And that's when I found it. Not in the battered veins of the countless subjects who'd come through our doors, but in Adriana Soria's unique genetic tapestry. The X-gene, nestled on the 23rd chromosome, a tiny spark of potential amidst the mundane. It was a monumental discovery, one that could redefine human potential, but it was just a glimpse of what was to come.

I had a hunch, a theory that the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, those harrowing spectacles of human ingenuity turned destructive, would act as a catalyst. The surge in atmospheric nuclear energy, I suspected, would stir the genetic pot, accelerating mutations in the human genome. The aftermath could well be a new era, the dawn of the 'Children of the Atom', a generation born from the ashes of war and radiation. The rise of MUTANTS!