Marvel: Synthetic Ascension

The garage was small. Dust clung to the rafters. A cracked concrete floor and peeling insulation didn't exactly scream "genius at work." But Eli Ryker didn't need luxury — he needed time, tools, and electricity.

And thanks to a few pawned electronics, backdoor hacking of a dormant Stark Industries research grant, and a decommissioned drone from a military surplus auction, he had all three.

Eli's fingers worked with mechanical precision. He stripped a shattered rotor from the drone's broken arm, his jaw tense, eyes sharp.

"This is primitive. Barely smarter than a flying toaster," he muttered.

A voice replied from a small speaker nestled in the bench's edge.

"Would you like me to log that insult, sir?"

He smiled.

"Only if it earns me points."

The voice — crisp, masculine, slightly amused — belonged to ORION, the AI he'd spent the last three months crafting from scratch. ORION didn't yet have the elegance of JARVIS or the snark of FRIDAY, but Eli liked him that way. The AI was a partner, not a servant.

"Power cycle complete," ORION continued. "Diagnostics stable. Servo lag within 2.4% threshold."

Eli knelt beside the half-repaired drone.

"Alright, Flyboy. Moment of truth."

He connected the last wire, twisted it into place, and stepped back. The drone's eyes flickered — twin blue lights behind the reinforced visor. Then it lifted.

No sparks. No whining servos. No crashing into the ceiling.

It hovered, steady as a surgeon's hand.

Eli's grin spread slowly, proudly.

"We are officially airborne."

"Telemetry confirms optimal balance," ORION said. "Shall I engage visual scanning protocols?"

"Do it."

A soft chirp echoed as the drone rotated in mid-air, scanning the garage.

"Facial recognition engaged. You are still ugly, sir."

Eli blinked, then laughed.

"Did you just... insult me?"

"I have been reviewing human sarcasm patterns, as requested."

"I didn't mean use them yet. Ease into the sass, would you?"

"Of course. I look forward to insulting you gradually."

He shook his head. A sarcastic AI. Just what he needed.

Later that night, Eli sat cross-legged on a mattress in the corner of the garage, eating cold noodles from the container, eyes locked on the tablet beside him.

The screen displayed a flowchart — branching systems, feedback loops, neural architecture. ORION's brain. Or at least what would one day become a brain.

"You know," Eli said between bites, "I used to think people like Tony and Bruce were one-in-a-billion geniuses. Now? I think the difference is just opportunity."

"Statistically, they were both given extreme access to resources by age twenty," ORION said. "You have a screwdriver from a thrift store."

"Exactly my point."

He leaned back, closing his eyes. The buzz of the drone overhead was a soothing presence now.

"It's not just about robots. Eventually, I want more. AI, smart drones, automated defense grids… things that think faster than people, act faster, protect better."

A pause.

"Then maybe biology," Eli added quietly. "DNA isn't that different from code. If I can program steel, maybe one day I can program flesh."

"Wouldn't that violate several ethical standards?"

"What ethics? I died. Woke up here. This is a second chance. No rules."

"Correction: no enforced rules. Morality still exists."

"Spare me the lecture."

"Noted. Lecture file saved for a rainy day."

He rolled his eyes.

But behind the humor, ORION was growing — learning faster now. Every test, every conversation, improved its speech patterns, logic trees, and predictive modeling. It wasn't truly sentient. Not yet.

But the ghost in the steel was forming.

The next day, Eli stood outside the garage, watching the drone zip across the sky.

It moved like a bird now — smoother, more confident, weaving between power lines and rooftop vents.

"ORION, tracking mode?"

"Engaged."

The drone's cameras zoomed in on Eli's face, scanning and locking onto him even as he walked.

"Now follow me."

It obeyed perfectly, gliding overhead like a loyal hawk.

He tested speed, evasive maneuvers, obstacle detection. Every minute in the air, it learned. ORION adjusted its flight path in real-time, recording data for later improvements.

It wasn't a killer robot. Not yet.

But it was the first step.

That night, Eli stayed up sketching designs on the garage wall — chalk outlines of humanoid frames, skeletal arms, servos like muscle tissue. Each was labeled:

MK I – Light Support DroneMK II – Urban Recon FrameMK III – Autonomous Tactical Unit

But the fourth drawing was different.

A humanoid silhouette. Full-size. Upright. Limbs shaped not for tools or weapons — but for balance, agility, grace.

MK IV – HALCYON FRAME [Concept Only]

"Not yet," Eli whispered, touching the drawing's chest. "But soon."

Elsewhere, across the city, a digital signal pinged in a forgotten S.H.I.E.L.D. data center. One of the many web-crawlers, flagged for unusual engineering patterns and drone activity, lit up.

A name popped up on the screen:Eli Ryker – No known origin – Unusual patent activity – Potential asset or threat

The file was quietly marked for review.

And deep beneath the Triskelion, an analyst added it to a folder labeled:"Enhanced Intelligence Candidates."