One year later.
Marcus stood in his private laboratory—not the Brooklyn facility, but a much more discreet location he'd established six months ago specifically for the antidote research—and listened to the old man deliver the news he'd been waiting for.
Dr. Harrison Wells, a researcher in his sixties with gray hair and liver spots on his hands, was practically vibrating with excitement. The man had been working on this project for over a year, and it showed in the dark circles under his eyes and the coffee stains on his lab coat.
"Mr. Reid," Dr. Wells said, his voice shaking slightly. "The permanent NZT antidote has been successfully synthesized. As long as you inject it, you'll be permanently immune to the side effects. No more withdrawal. No more dependency. You can take NZT indefinitely without any negative consequences."
Marcus remained calm, though internally he felt a surge of satisfaction.
Finally.
"Show me the data," he said.
Dr. Wells handed him a tablet displaying the test results. Marcus scanned through them with his NZT-enhanced brain processing the information at superhuman speed. The numbers were solid. The enzyme profile was stable. The molecular structure matched what he'd been hoping for.
It had worked.
Compared to the three or four years it had taken in the original timeline—when Senator Eddie Moran would eventually have access to government resources and unlimited funding—Marcus had cracked it in just over a year. Much faster.
But then again, he'd had advantages the original timeline didn't.
The Year in Review
Getting to this point hadn't been easy, even with Marcus's enhanced intelligence and substantial financial resources.
The key breakthrough had come from an unexpected source: a mutated flower called rock larkspur.
Marcus had known from his metaknowledge of the TV series that rock larkspur—specifically a new variety that had been exposed to radiation—was the critical component. The oil extracted from its seeds was what made permanent immunity possible.
Finding it had been... challenging.
Rock larkspur wasn't exactly sold at your local garden center. The specific mutated variety Marcus needed existed in only a handful of places worldwide, mostly in research facilities studying radiation effects on plant biology. Getting access to those facilities, obtaining samples, cultivating the plants, and extracting usable quantities of seed oil had taken months of work and cost him millions of dollars.
But it had been worth it.
With the rock larkspur oil secured, Marcus had thrown everything at the antidote research. Eddie had been invaluable during the early stages—his intuitive leaps and creative problem-solving had accelerated progress significantly. The guy's NZT-enhanced brain had identified synthesis pathways Marcus's more methodical approach would have taken months to discover.
Then, about six months ago, Marcus had made a decision that had dramatically accelerated the research: he'd given NZT to all his researchers.
It was a calculated risk. More people knowing about NZT meant more potential security leaks. But the potential reward—having an entire team of superhuman intelligences working on the problem simultaneously—had been too good to pass up.
And it had paid off.
With a full team of NZT-enhanced researchers, they'd first developed a temporary antidote that provided immunity for twenty-four hours. Then one that lasted a week. Then a month.
And now, finally, the permanent version.
Marcus looked at the vial Dr. Wells was holding. Clear liquid, slightly viscous, completely unremarkable in appearance. But that small amount of fluid represented over a year of work, tens of millions of dollars in research costs, and the solution to NZT's deadliest flaw.
"Excellent work, Doctor," Marcus said, taking the vial. "Prepare three more doses. I want backups."
"Already done, sir." Dr. Wells gestured to a small refrigerated case on the lab bench. "Four doses total, as you requested. Stored at optimal temperature. They should remain stable indefinitely."
Marcus nodded approvingly. "And the other projects?"
Dr. Wells's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "The side-effect-free NZT variant is still under development. We've made progress, but we're looking at another year or two before we have something viable. The molecular modifications required are... complex."
"And the permanent enhancement project?"
"That one's more problematic." Dr. Wells pulled up another set of data on his tablet. "The goal was to use NZT to trigger permanent changes in brain structure—essentially rewiring the neural pathways to maintain enhanced cognition even without the drug. But we've hit a wall."
"What kind of wall?"
"Energy consumption. A permanently overclocked human brain would require massive amounts of glucose, oxygen, and other nutrients to sustain itself. We're talking about doubling or tripling your body's baseline metabolic rate. Even with optimized supplementation protocols, the human body simply can't provide enough fuel. You'd have to eat constantly, and your cardiovascular system would be under extreme stress."
Marcus frowned. He'd suspected this might be an issue, but hearing it confirmed was disappointing.
"So it's not possible?"
"Not with current human biology, no. Maybe if we could engineer significant changes to your metabolism, your cardiovascular capacity, your digestive efficiency... but at that point, we're talking about fundamental genetic modification. That's well beyond the scope of this project."
Marcus filed that information away. Genetic modification wasn't off the table forever—just not feasible in this world with this timeline.
"Understood. Thank you, Doctor. You and your team have done exceptional work."
Dr. Wells smiled, pride evident on his face. "It's been the most fascinating project of my career, Mr. Reid. I mean that sincerely."
"I'm glad to hear it. Now, I need you to begin shutting down the lab. Destroy all sensitive documentation, wipe the computers, dispose of the equipment properly. I want no trace of this research left behind."
Dr. Wells blinked in surprise. "Shutting down? But sir, we still have the other projects—"
"Those projects are concluded," Marcus said firmly. "We got what we came for. The rest is no longer necessary. You and your team will be compensated generously for your discretion, but as of today, this facility is closed."
The System's Message
Marcus's decision to wrap up the research and close the lab hadn't been arbitrary.
Six months ago—right around the time he'd started giving NZT to his researchers—he'd received a notification from his system.
It had appeared in his vision like always, a semi-transparent blue screen that only he could see:
[System Notice: Plot Alteration Detected]
You have significantly altered the fate of multiple individuals in this world and changed key plot events. Reward: 5 Origin Points.
Warning: Your authorized time in this world is limited. Time remaining: 6 months.
To extend your stay beyond the authorized period, you must expend Origin Points. Cost: 1 OP per year.
Marcus had read that notification three times, processing the implications.
Five origin points. That was substantial—it brought his total to five, since he'd spent two to travel here initially.
But more concerning was the time limit.
He'd been in the Limitless universe for about a year at that point. Apparently, the system only allowed him eighteen months total before he'd have to start paying to stay longer.
Marcus had done the math. If he wanted to wait for the TV series timeline to unfold—which would take another four years—he'd need to spend four origin points. That would leave him with only one OP remaining.
Was it worth it?
The TV series would feature more developments in NZT research, including the FBI's involvement and potentially other advanced variants of the drug. There might be valuable technology, information, or resources he could acquire.
But four years was a long time. Four years of his life spent in this world, waiting for events he already knew about, spending precious origin points just to stay.
And there was another factor: he couldn't guarantee those five origin points included future plot changes. The system had said he'd "altered the fate of multiple individuals" and "changed key plot events."
Well, if the movie plot had changed, the TV series plot—which was a direct continuation—had probably changed too. Eddie's trajectory was completely different now. The FBI might never get involved with NZT. Senator Moran might never exist.
Which meant the TV series events might not happen at all, or might happen completely differently.
Spending four origin points to wait for a timeline that might not even occur seemed foolish.
Marcus had made his decision that day: he'd finish the antidote research and then return to the Marvel universe. He'd spend the remaining time training his body, consolidating his knowledge, and preparing for what came next.
Now, with less than a month left in his authorized time, he was ready.
Preparing to Leave
Over the next week, Marcus methodically dismantled his operation.
The Brooklyn laboratory was cleaned out first. All the NZT production equipment was either destroyed or sold off piecemeal through intermediaries. The researchers were paid their final salaries plus generous severance packages, along with stern reminders about their NDAs. The building itself was sold through the shell corporation that owned it.
The secret facility where Dr. Wells had worked was handled more carefully. Marcus personally oversaw the destruction of all research documentation, the wiping of computer systems, and the disposal of specialized equipment. Nothing could be left that might allow someone to reconstruct their work.
Well, almost nothing.
Marcus kept detailed documentation of the antidote synthesis, the rock larkspur cultivation protocols, and all their research findings. But those documents were encrypted and stored on a secure drive that would be coming with him. The physical equipment and any evidence that might point to his involvement were destroyed.
As for the researchers themselves? Marcus gave them each a substantial payment—enough to retire comfortably—and made it crystal clear that speaking about the project would be both financially ruinous and potentially dangerous to their health.
Most of them were smart enough to read between the lines.
The Distribution
But Marcus wasn't just destroying evidence and covering his tracks.
He was also ensuring that NZT wouldn't remain a secret controlled by a single government or corporation.
The United States government would eventually discover NZT—Ivan Pharmaceuticals was based in the US, after all, and it was only a matter of time before someone in law enforcement or intelligence stumbled onto the drug. When that happened, the US would move to secure a monopoly on cognitive enhancement technology.
Marcus found that idea... distasteful.
Not because he had any particular loyalty to other nations, but because he understood how power worked. A monopoly on something as significant as NZT would give the US an insurmountable advantage in every field—technology, economics, military capability, scientific research. The global balance of power would shift dramatically.
And Marcus preferred a world where no single entity held absolute power. Chaos was easier to exploit than order.
So he'd spent the past month carefully distributing NZT and its antidote to various parties.
China received a package through carefully laundered channels—enough NZT-49 samples and documentation to allow their scientists to replicate it, along with information about the antidote. Marcus had no particular love for China, but they were the most obvious counterweight to US dominance.
Russia received a similar package.
The European Union got theirs through a contact at a Belgian research institute.
India, through a pharmaceutical company in Mumbai.
Even smaller players got pieces of the puzzle—Israel, Japan, South Korea, Brazil.
Marcus made sure the distribution was messy, untraceable, and impossible to stuff back in the bottle. By the time the US government realized what NZT was and moved to control it, the cat would already be out of the bag.
Let them all scramble for advantage. Let them all enhance their scientists and researchers. Let the whole world's cognitive capacity increase simultaneously.
It would be entertaining to watch from afar.
And maybe, just maybe, it would result in faster technological progress that Marcus could eventually exploit.
Physical Preparation
While dealing with the laboratory closures and NZT distribution, Marcus had also been preparing his body.
The system had made it clear: when traveling between worlds, he could only take what his body could carry. Anything beyond his body weight plus one kilogram would require spending origin points—one OP per hundred kilograms of additional mass.
Marcus had five origin points now. He could theoretically spend one to bring back a hundred kilos of equipment—weapons, technology, supplies.
But he'd decided against it.
First, origin points were too valuable to spend on equipment he might not need. He didn't know what challenges awaited him in the Marvel universe, and burning an OP on firearms that might not even be useful seemed wasteful.
Second, he had something better than weapons: knowledge and enhanced cognition.
Over the past year and a half, Marcus had trained obsessively. Not just his mind, but his body.
He'd hired personal trainers, nutritionists, and sports medicine specialists. He'd followed scientifically optimized workout regimens designed to maximize strength, speed, endurance, and flexibility. He'd studied martial arts—not just one style, but multiple: Krav Maga for practical combat, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for grappling, Muay Thai for striking, boxing for hand speed and footwork.
He'd trained with weapons too—knives, improvised weapons, even firearms, though he wouldn't be able to bring guns back with him.
The results had been dramatic.
Marcus had transformed his body from that of a malnourished slave to that of an elite athlete. His hand strength exceeded 200 kilograms. Combined grip strength from both hands surpassed 400 kilograms. His cardiovascular endurance, reaction time, and flexibility were all in the top percentile for human performance.
But it wasn't just physical training.
Marcus had also absorbed knowledge at an unprecedented rate. With NZT keeping his brain in constant overdrive, he'd mastered subjects that would normally take decades to learn.
Physics, chemistry, biology, medicine, engineering, quantum mechanics—he'd achieved expert-level proficiency in all of them. He'd learned multiple languages fluently. He'd studied military tactics, survival skills, first aid, and field medicine.
He'd even studied topics that might seem frivolous but could prove useful: lockpicking, social engineering, body language analysis, negotiation tactics, basic acting.
Marcus Reid had become a polymath, a Renaissance man armed with the accumulated knowledge of modern civilization and the cognitive capacity to actually use it effectively.
And now, finally, he was ready to go back.
The Weight Problem
One week before his time expired, Marcus began the final preparation: reducing his body weight.
This was the tricky part.
Marcus had gained significant muscle mass over the past year and a half. He was heavier now than when he'd first arrived—probably by a good fifteen or twenty kilos.
But when he returned to the Marvel universe, he needed to look like the same terrified slave who'd disappeared for a few seconds (from their perspective) before reappearing. Any significant change in his appearance would raise questions he couldn't answer.
So Marcus had spent the past month carefully losing fat while maintaining as much muscle as possible. It was a delicate balance—losing weight quickly enough to hit his target without sacrificing too much strength.
Intermittent fasting, cardio, caloric restriction. Not pleasant, but necessary.
He'd also been practicing his "act." The way that version of Marcus had moved—beaten down, cautious, fearful. The posture, the body language, the microexpressions. Marcus had spent hours in front of a mirror, perfecting the performance.
When he returned to the Ten Rings camp, he'd need to seem like the same person. Weak, scared, powerless.
Right up until the moment he wasn't.
Final Preparations
On the last day, Marcus stood in a small, rented room—paid for in cash, no records, no traces—and laid out everything he was taking with him.
First, the clothes. He'd kept his original outfit from the Marvel universe—the dirty, torn clothes he'd been wearing as a slave. They were disgusting, smelled terrible even after washing, and wearing them again made his skin crawl. But they were necessary for the disguise.
Second, the NZT. He'd carefully calculated the weight allowance and packed exactly one hundred pills of NZT-49 into a small, sealed container. At roughly 0.5 grams per pill, that was fifty grams. Add the container, and he was still well under his one-kilogram limit.
Third, some small items for self-defense and utility. Poisoned needles—thin, easy to conceal, potentially lethal if used correctly. A small multi-tool that looked innocuous but could serve multiple purposes. Some basic medical supplies.
Marcus had weighed everything precisely. Total extra weight: 998 grams. Just under the limit.
The rest was just him.
He looked at himself in the mirror. The makeup he'd applied made him look more gaunt, more exhausted. The dirty clothes hung on his frame. His posture was hunched, defeated.
He looked like a slave who'd been beaten and starved for weeks.
Perfect.
Marcus checked his system interface one more time:
[Heaven's Plundering System]
Host: Marcus Reid
Age: 20
Items: 100 NZT-49 pills, poisoned needles, miscellaneous survival tools
Abilities: None
Origin Points: 5
Everything was in order.
Marcus took one last look around the small room. This world had been good to him. He'd gained wealth, knowledge, power, and most importantly, the solution to NZT's fatal flaw.
But it was time to go back.
Time to face Raza and the guards who'd beaten him.
Time to ensure Tony Stark's rescue went smoothly.
Time to start reshaping the Marvel universe to his advantage.
Marcus closed his eyes and focused on the system.
Return to Marvel Universe.
The world dissolved around him.
Epilogue: The Limitless World
After Marcus departed, the Limitless universe continued without him, though his impact rippled through it in ways that would take years to fully manifest.
Within six months, rumors of a "miracle drug" began circulating in intelligence communities worldwide. At first, the reports were dismissed as fantasy—a pill that made you superintelligent? Ridiculous.
But then the evidence became impossible to ignore.
Scientists in China began publishing breakthrough papers at an unprecedented rate. Revolutionary advances in quantum computing, materials science, fusion energy research. Their work showed a level of innovation and insight that seemed almost superhuman.
Russia followed shortly after, with sudden leaps in military technology and cryptography that caught Western intelligence agencies completely off guard.
The pattern spread—India, Israel, Japan, South Korea, Brazil, several European nations—all showing inexplicable surges in scientific and technological capability.
The US intelligence community scrambled to understand what was happening. The CIA, FBI, and NSA all launched investigations. It took them eight months to identify the common thread: NZT.
By then, it was too late to contain it.
The FBI raided Ivan Pharmaceuticals and seized control of the company. They confiscated all existing NZT stockpiles in the United States and classified the drug as a national security asset. But the cat was out of the bag—dozens of countries had samples and synthesis protocols. Some had even begun producing their own improved variants.
The global balance of power shifted rapidly. Nations with access to NZT and its antidote gained enormous advantages in every field. Those without it fell behind at an alarming rate, creating new geopolitical tensions.
The UN convened emergency sessions to discuss the "cognitive enhancement crisis." Some nations called for international treaties banning NZT. Others argued it was already too widespread to control and pushed for regulated global distribution.
The debates raged on.
Meanwhile, scientists enhanced by NZT—in labs across dozens of countries—continued their work. Some focused on refining the drug, reducing side effects, increasing duration. Others explored adjacent technologies: neural implants, genetic enhancement, artificial intelligence augmentation.
The pace of technological progress accelerated dramatically. Breakthroughs that would have taken decades happened in years or months. New fields of study emerged. Old limitations crumbled.
And somewhere in all that chaos, a few people wondered about the mysterious Marcus Reid—the man who'd appeared from nowhere, built a pharmaceutical empire, solved NZT's deadliest flaw, and then vanished without a trace.
But those people found nothing. Marcus Reid's identity was a carefully constructed fiction. His laboratory had been destroyed. His researchers had scattered and refused to talk. His bank accounts had been emptied and closed.
It was as if he'd never existed at all.
Only one person might have known the truth: Eddie Moran, the struggling writer who'd briefly worked in Marcus's lab before disappearing himself around the same time.
But Eddie wasn't talking either.
Some said he'd died from NZT withdrawal.
Others claimed he'd taken the antidote and moved to some remote location to live in peace.
A few conspiracy theorists suggested he'd made a deal with the FBI and was now working in some classified facility.
The truth remained unknown.
And in the end, it didn't matter.
The world had changed. Marcus Reid had ensured that.
And he was long gone, pursuing his own goals in a different universe entirely.
PLZ THROW POWER STONES.