Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Red Queen Theory

The recall of old employees was inevitable, but there was one name that truly surprised Michael.

Felicia.

To protect her reputation, she had indeed resigned from Osborn. Michael needed a secretary, and rather than going through the trouble of hiring a new one, it was much more convenient to bring in someone familiar. Besides, Felicia had already worked as a secretary for half a year and was well acquainted with the job.

Originally, Michael had considered appointing Gwen as his secretary—envisioning an arrangement where business and pleasure mingled, drawing a salary while dating. But Gwen refused; she still had her studies to focus on.

Compared to secretarial work, mathematics and physics interested her far more.

Since Gwen had no intention of taking the position, Michael saw no reason to feel guilty about hiring someone young and attractive.

What followed was quite a headache: Michael now had to juggle managing the company, developing new products, and occasionally accompanying Gwen on shopping trips.

How did Norman manage to do all this at once?

Well, Norman focused solely on research and running the company. His wife was already gone, and he paid little attention to his son, treating him almost as if he weren’t his own.

Faced with a string of troubles, Michael came up with an idea: develop an artificial intelligence assistant to support him.

Just like Tony—he only needed to voice his thoughts, and Jarvis would extract information from the database to assist him. Without the virtual projection and Jarvis’ database, Tony’s modeling process for designing the Iron Man suit would never have been so effortless.

Angel International did have its own artificial intelligence, but compared to Jarvis, it was more like artificial idiocy.

So Michael decided to design a new AI.

Keisha watched Michael as he diligently studied programming, and she couldn’t help but feel speechless.

Why bother learning programming when you have me, child?

Keisha said, “Stop studying. At your current pace, in a few days you’ll only be able to create a glorified digital fool.”

“Why?” Michael asked.

Keisha replied, “Haven’t you noticed? Jarvis belongs entirely in the realm of advanced technology. With your current programming language standards, you’re nowhere near true artificial intelligence.”

Indeed, at best, one could create a glorified idiot—no matter how fast it learned, it would still be bound by fixed routines.

The difference between wisdom and idiocy isn’t the amount of data stored, but the ability to adapt and create.

Michael felt helpless. “Then what should I do?”

Keisha answered, “You have two choices. One, I could let you copy a part of my code, but you’d need a consciousness transfer device. Two, I can give you a program formula with infinite potential. What do you think?”

Michael chuckled, “I believe it’s better to teach a man to fish than to give him a fish.”

Soon after, Michael succeeded in creating an artificial intelligence.

Within mere seconds, it replaced Angel International’s original AI, devouring it completely.

“So domineering—I like it.”

To possess such capabilities at birth; in Michael’s mind, only Ultron had ever been so formidable.

“Please give me a name, Master.”

Michael studied the floating virtual projection for a moment, then said, “I’ll call you the Red Queen.”

Sharing a name with the AI from Resident Evil—a film whose protagonist is named Alice, though the name itself originates from “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”

In that story, the Red Queen once told Alice, “In this world, you must run as fast as you can just to stay in place.”

Later, this became the basis for the Red Queen hypothesis in biology.

Essentially, the theory posits that life must constantly compete with other species in its environment; any halt in this evolutionary race results in swift elimination.

By naming his AI the Red Queen, Michael wanted to remind himself that in this world, it’s like rowing upstream: not advancing means falling behind. Only through constant growth can one avoid being swept away by the dangers of the future.

“Red Queen, create a Thor dossier. Key features: a fallen hammer, a hammer no one can lift, a blond man—Thor.”

“Dossier created.”

“Monitor for related news and notify me immediately.”

Thor seemed to have fallen in New Mexico.

“Yes, sir.”

Staring at the large spherical projection before him, Michael found it increasingly displeasing.

He decided to redesign the Red Queen’s projection, modeling her facial features after a blend of his and Gwen’s, and fashioned an eight-year-old blonde girl.

To avoid monotony, he added a wardrobe and accessories database, allowing her to learn fashion on her own.

Finally, the image of a little girl holding a rabbit appeared before Michael, her voice sweet and childish.

“Sir, I think this look is more likely to evoke people’s protective instincts.”

Michael nodded. “Very good. Also, from now on, just call me ‘Sir,’ Red Queen.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Help me construct a data model for the Spider Suit.”

“Enlarge the shoulders.”

...

George looked at his daughter and asked, “Do you know what Michael’s been up to lately?”

Gwen replied, “Managing the company, reorganizing the new Angel International.”

George pondered for a moment. “No, I mean, do you know what he’s actually been doing?”

“Managing the company, inventing things on the side,” Gwen answered, a hint of confusion in her tone. What exactly was her father getting at?

After a brief hesitation, George asked, “Do you know how he got controlling shares in Osborn?”

Gwen gave her father a peculiar look—was he suspecting Michael of being a criminal?

“Yes. He threatened a mob boss named Kingpin and directly got a huge stake. Why don’t you go arrest him?”

Are you sure about that?

George nodded uncertainly, “I was just asking, nothing more.”

Gwen rolled her eyes at him and walked away, leaving George alone with his worries.

Kingpin.

If all these incidents were orchestrated by Kingpin, it would make perfect sense.

Most of the heirs to Osborn’s shareholders had met untimely ends—the scenes cleaned with professional precision, leaving little trace.

George knew of Kingpin’s existence, but there was nothing he could do.

Even the mayor of New York had to show Kingpin respect; forty percent of all crimes in the country were connected to him.

Even so, the president wouldn’t touch Kingpin. The reason was simple: as long as Kingpin remained, the underworld maintained order and profits were shared with the president.

If Kingpin fell, the link between the president and the criminal underworld would be broken—not only cutting off revenue but also losing all influence.

Thus, Kingpin was crucial to the entire country.

Of course, the common people surely didn’t need Kingpin, nor did they need rampant crime.

George disliked Kingpin as well, but his hands were tied.

He couldn’t fathom how Michael managed to threaten Kingpin, or what leverage he had.

Rumor had it that Hell’s Kitchen was littered with bodies—many of them Kingpin’s former lieutenants.

Could Michael have been responsible?

Michael: I didn’t do it; I have no stomach for such things.

In truth, it was all Kingpin’s own doing. He couldn’t allow anyone to know he had a son, or Richard would be in danger.

Anyone who had ever seen Richard—whether a trusted lieutenant or a street thug—was eliminated by Kingpin himself.

Corpses littered the streets, and many speculated on the reason for Kingpin’s rage—yet none dared provoke him, paralyzed by fear.