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Chapter 48: Tech Opera
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[I see it. Adam's brilliant. I see the vision...]
[Hello? Are u gonna continue? Tell us the vision!]
[The vision is... Give me a few months, gotta go get milk.]
[????????] [...] [...] [...] [Lmao.] [Lol]
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Adam's demeanor shifted again. The revolutionary was gone, replaced by the charming host.
"But enough of such dreary topics! This chili, if I do say so myself, has achieved a perfect harmony of capsaicin and umami. The secret, I've found, is a dash of dark chocolate and a full bottle of a robust stout…"
He chattered endlessly, effortlessly steering the conversation back to food, then to music, then to the absurdities of modern life.
The heavy mood slowly dissipated, forced out by the sheer force of his charisma.
By the time evening fell and the X-Men prepared to leave, the dinner felt like a bittersweet dream.
Anna lingered, her desire to stay written plainly on her face. But Adam, after a brief, intense session testing her control over her absorption power, shook his head.
Unfortunately, she wasn't ready, but he doesn't mind having her by his side, so he told her she can join when he launches his own company, but she must think it through.
It isn't safe by his side, and it isn't the peaceful life she may want.
Anna would merely smile gently at his words. She felt like he was very smart at some things, but at others, he lacked understanding.
When she is by his side is when she feels safe, no matter the trouble around him.
After they had gone, the brownstone felt too quiet. Adam spent the rest of the evening on the phone, a whirlwind of calls to lawyers, financiers, and PR firms.
The launch of Cypher Industries was imminent.
Finally, he descended back into his workshop. The time for talk was over. Now was the time for creation.
He had a very specific project to complete, and he needed it done quickly. He was about to become the CEO of what he hoped would one day become a major corporation.
He would be in the public eye, and appearance mattered. It mattered for publicity, for perception, and most importantly, it mattered for [Information].
He had long come to understand that [Information] was not solely fed by the observers from his previous world.
It also drew sustenance from this one; from the observations, emotions, and data generated by the people here.
The intensity was lower, but the potential was vast. To truly harvest it, he needed to expand his influence.
He needed to be known, to be seen, to be unforgettable.
And to do that, he needed to look the part. He needed to be memorable, powerful, and just enigmatic enough to be fascinating.
He needed his eye back.
His goal for the night was to manufacture a cybernetic replacement. A project of such complexity; requiring intricate micro-engineering, neural interface design, and optical sensor programming; that it should have taken a team of scientists years, if not decades.
Adam, however, could cheat.
He gathered the necessary components: refined metallic scraps, rare minerals, and a crystalline lattice he had been cultivating in a chemical bath.
Settling before his workbench, the glow of the monitors reflecting in his single gorgeous eye, Adam Cypher began to work.
The impossible was simply a deadline he hadn't yet met.
The creation of the cybernetic eye began not with soldering irons, but with code.
Adam's 3D biopolymer printer hummed to life, its laser sintering a milky-white, medical-grade polymer into a perfect, hemispherical shell.
This was the foundation.
The outer surface was engineered to be perfectly biocompatible, preventing irritation, socket erosion, and the chronic strain that plagued lesser prosthetics.
It was the canvas.
Next came the iris. He didn't settle for a static, painted replica. Instead, he engineered replaceable lenses to switch the cybereye's color whenever he wishes.
Adam never missed an opportunity to be memorable; it was the core tenet of generating [Information].
Unforgettable visuals were a currency he intended to spend lavishly.
The internal chassis was a skeleton of woven carbon fiber, light and strong.
Into this framework, he installed the primary optical sensor; a high-resolution, global-shutter camera chip, the kind used in professional cinema rigs, miniaturized to a terrifying degree.
Surrounding it was the micro-lenticular lens system, a complex array of movable lenses no larger than a grain of sand.
This system provided autofocus that put a hawk's eye to shame, a telescopic zoom capable of reading a license plate from a mile away, and gyroscopic stabilization that could cancel out even the tremor of a heartbeat.
Then came the more exotic functions. Using schematics he'd learned from Forge's designs, he integrated thermal imaging and low-light photon amplification systems.
Cramming this much processing power and sensory input into such a small space created its own problem: energy.
The solution was elegant, if temporary. First, he used the same technology that powered his tiny mechanical spiders, the tiny power banks.
Then he used bioelectric coil designs to make a tiny generator, nestled against the orbital bone, harvested the natural electrical signals from his body's nervous system.
It was a low-power, passive system, incredibly stable but ultimately finite for the demands he would place on it.
The bioelectric trickle would slow the drain, but the internal battery would eventually deplete.
It was a stopgap, but for now, it was enough. A more permanent, enigmatic power source was a problem for another day.
With the physical assembly complete, the true operation began. Adam sterilized his workshop, transforming a section into a makeshift operating theater.
The multi-jointed mechanical arms, usually tasked with welding and assembly, were fitted with micro-surgical tools and disinfected til as pure as can be.
He lay back in a reclining chair, his head held steady. Then, he closed his one good eye.
His consciousness flowed out into the local network controlling the mechanical arms.
He became the surgeon and the patient simultaneously.
Through the arms' camera feeds, he manipulated and watched as one arm gently held the cybernetic implant, while another, tipped with a microscopic scalpel and manipulator, began the delicate work.
Joshua's healing had been a blessing.
The young mutant's power couldn't regenerate a whole new organ, but it had perfectly restored the damaged tissue, clearing away scar tissue and creating a pristine, healthy bed for the implant.
The mechanical arm made a minute incision, and the cyber-eye was settled into the socket with micrometer precision.
Another arm, moving with an inhuman steadiness, began the process of attaching the polymer shell to the remaining ocular muscles.
Fine, bio-compatible micro-filaments were woven into the muscle tissue, creating a direct link.
When he willed his eye to move, the artificial muscles in the chassis would respond in perfect sync.
He spent hours on calibration, his mind directly interfacing with the eye's microprocessor.
He tested the zoom and the thermal vision. He mapped the movement until it felt as natural as breathing.
Yet, a master engineer observing the procedure would have been baffled and confused.
Adam had done nothing to connect the device to his optic nerve or his visual cortex.
He had completely skipped the most critical, complex part of any neural interface.
This was how Adam cheated.
He didn't need a brain interface because he was the interface. His cyberpathy wasn't just about talking to machines; it was about perceiving through them.
The cybernetic eye was not an organ; it was simply the most advanced camera he had ever owned, permanently mounted in his head.
Just as he could tap into security feeds across the city and process that visual data in his mind, he could now process the live feed from this camera.
He could move it naturally because it was physically attached to his eye muscles, and he could control all its advanced functions because his mind was the operating system... Through Cyberpathy.
The eye saw, and Adam perceived. It was seamless.
He opened his good eye and stood, walking to a full-length mirror. The calibration was perfect.
The cyber-eye moved in perfect unison with its organic counterpart.
He cycled through the colors before settling on a cool, stormy grey to contrast with his natural hazel.
The effect was striking. The slight, unnatural sheen of the polymer and the almost-too-perfect grey iris didn't look human, but it looked cool.
It looked advanced. It looked like the future.
"Goddamn," Adam whispered to his reflection, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. "I look absolutely gorgeous. And far, far too memorable."
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