"It's easy for you—you merely change armor. We have to change species!"
A creature's complaint while being upgraded in 'Heroes of Might and Magic.'
**************
Walter Mayer. Toward morning.
Oh, what a Cat. She had read me perfectly. How did she do it? How could anyone fail to love such a miracle—sweet, sensitive, beautiful, and intelligent? Her excessive curiosity was inappropriate in certain matters, however. Extremely inappropriate. I needed lessons in secrecy. Where could one obtain those? Meanwhile, slender fingers tipped with sharp nails traced across my chest, sending a pleasant shiver through my entire body.
"Mrrr."
The young woman, now wearing nothing but the cat ears, pressed closer and continued drawing thoughtful patterns on my chest. Then her expression changed almost imperceptibly, and a stern investigator appeared before me. I was doomed. If my will to resist had not been completely broken, the furry-eared saboteur had damaged it badly.
"Darling," Felicia began sweetly—I almost no longer flinched at the word—"explain what has been happening to you lately. I'm worried." She casually leaned more of her magnificent chest against me. "You haven't been yourself. Tell me. Perhaps we can think of something together."
What a voice. What intonation. Was that merely because I loved her, or could Miss Hardy enchant any male this way? Wrong thought. I needed an answer before the pause became suspicious. Think, Walter. Think. I had underestimated her power. In this position, no intelligent thought could enter my head. Entering combat mode would be excessive. Fine. I would tell her in the vaguest possible terms. I sighed theatrically.
"I didn't want to involve you, but it appears I have no choice."
"Exactly," the young woman confirmed with satisfaction.
A slap sounded.
"Ow!"
Felicia grabbed the injured portion of her body—the one people usually sat upon.
"Don't become arrogant," I said with a smirk.
She bit my ear and stuck out her tongue.
"A kindergarten. Very well." I grew serious. "There is a possibility that a little girl has become trapped in a terrible situation."
"What kind of situation?"
"It involves a mutant, but that isn't important. A creature is tormenting her, and I cannot reach the creature yet. That is why I'm furious."
I stroked Felicia's back.
"Perhaps you should contact the police?"
No fear or revulsion at the word 'mutant.' A good sign.
"What would I tell them? I have no evidence. Even if I did, what use are the police?"
"Can nothing be done?"
Her voice held real concern and sympathy. She truly was precious.
"Of course something can be done. I'm already doing it. I asked acquaintances to gather information and hired several others. I may need to leave for a few days soon, so you'll have to fend off the crowds of admirers at all those banquets and charity evenings by yourself." I ended with a cheerful smile, shifting away from the unpleasant subject.
"Idiot," Felicia answered, smiling. "Perhaps I'll fall in love with someone else. That will teach you."
"Then I'll have no choice but to acquire a harem and drown my grief in debauchery—ow!"
She bit my ear again.
"What was that for?"
"For the debauchery. As for the harem, you and I will discuss that separately," Miss Hardy promised. "And now..." Her voice became a languid whisper. "Come here."
We were late to the university that day.
Felicia truly was a treasure. After spending time with her, my anxiety receded. Confidence in my own strength returned, along with faith that the story would end happily. I tackled the laboratory sessions with renewed energy (which meant playing 'Holy Inquisition' with the students. I gave them passing grades eventually, but first I devoured their brains with the pleasure of a true illithid. I should not be the only person suffering under Connors.) I continued training with Blade as well. His elderly mentor Rick had grown worse, so the hunter decided to remain in the city for some time. During our exercises, Blade hinted without subtlety that he would be extremely grateful for help with Rick's condition. I promised to consider the problem.
Then the seed I had planted long ago—the idea that I was useful and valuable as a geneticist—finally bore fruit. Spider-Man brought me that serum. It happened several days after my memorable conversation with Felicia. Evening had fallen, and I was preparing to leave the laboratory when a badly battered Peter climbed through the window.
"Walter," he rasped. "Help me."
I examined his cellular structure. Holy soul, God, mother... his body was going insane. For appearance's sake, I pricked him with a syringe, placed blood beneath the microscope, and voiced my thoughts.
"What the hell? Your organism has gone mad and is changing rapidly. Have you just returned from Chernobyl?"
Parker handed me a half-empty tube.
"This was supposed to reverse the changes."
I placed the contents beneath the microscope while discreetly pouring a little into an empty tube hidden in my sleeve. What did we have here? Well, damn. I was observing a process I had seen before. Spider-Man's organism was evolving at full speed, and his animal component was becoming dominant. I chewed thoughtfully on the tip of a fingernail.
"Tell me, Spider. Are you secretly a billionaire with many relatives waiting for your death? No? Then this is strange. Some 'joker' gave you, under the name of a treatment that reverses evolution, a drug that stimulates it—and specifically strengthens the 'animal' component. An ordinary human would become faster and stronger while developing animal instincts. In your case, matters are far worse."
"Can anything be done?"
His voice carried despair. His emotions were horrifying.
"I can try to reverse the process. The serum itself gives me several ideas, but I will need time."
Peter's body arched violently, and he fell to the floor.
"Fuck."
What else was one supposed to say while watching four additional arms grow from a man? Unlike the cartoon, the process was not instantaneous. It was long and extremely painful. He would also become terribly hungry afterward. That sensible thought prompted me to call a pizzeria and order five large pizzas with double meat. While the food traveled, I could help Parker slightly. I filled a syringe with my cells and injected them into the unfortunate man. It would not remove the new arms, but it would block his nerve endings. Otherwise, the pain might destroy his sanity. When Peter recovered somewhat, food and several pieces of news awaited him.
"It isn't as bad as it could be. I understand the general mechanism of the transformation, and it can be reversed. Developing an antidote will require time. Do you have somewhere to go?"
The mutant looked up from consuming food. He had simply lifted the lower half of his mask and was eating while half his face remained plainly visible. A master of secrecy. He nodded. The bastard was lying. I could feel it. That was his problem.
"It would also help to speak with the creator of this 'medicine.' Unless they intended to eliminate you through an elaborate method, they should participate in the research."
"No. Dr. Crawford warned me about possible consequences, but I didn't listen." He lowered his head penitently.
"Fine. I won't lecture you or explain what an idiot you are. Where does she live, and how can I contact her?"
Parker gave me the address. As if I had not possessed enough trouble. We agreed to meet in the laboratory every evening and exchange news. Spider-Man was already leaving when he stopped on the windowsill and turned back.
"Walter, thank you. For everything."
"There is nothing to thank me for yet, my friend. Not yet."
Spider-Man left. I had to study the substance thoroughly and contact Dr. Crawford. I also needed to observe Kingpin's conflict with Silvermane, the activity surrounding Xavier's school, and my personal life. Any day now, I should receive Kimura's trail.
An assistant. I urgently needed an assistant. Why was Federico taking so long?
*******************
Maria Crawford. Geneticist.
The woman was preparing for bed when the doorbell shattered the night's silence.
"Who the hell is it now?"
The geneticist had only just restored order after the modest rampage Spider-Man had caused. She understood that the mutant had been near his limit and that constant pain had not improved his mood, but why destroy the laboratory? Maria entered the hall and opened the door. A young man in an expensive leather coat stood outside.
"Young man, do you know what time it is?" she began irritably. "Whatever your business, you could have come tomorrow."
The doctor tried to close the door, but the young man's foot blocked it.
"Tomorrow may already be too late, Dr. Crawford. Spider-Man took your serum... and now he has problems. Serious problems."
Her irritation vanished instantly, and she nearly dragged him inside by the collar.
"So he couldn't endure it after all," the woman muttered. "I warned him the medicine might play a cruel trick. What exactly happened?"
The geneticist suspected she would not sleep tonight. She needed to stimulate her organism slightly, and what could serve that purpose better than coffee? Maria filled her cup with classic espresso and placed another before her nighttime guest.
"Spider-Man came to the university laboratory where I study and work in a severely battered condition. More than battered—his cells appeared to have gone mad. Tests showed changes throughout his genetic structure."
The young man sighed wearily.
"Near the end of our conversation, he began growing two additional pairs of limbs."
The woman choked on her drink.
"Cough... addit—cough—additional limbs?"
"Yes. He now possesses three pairs of arms, and the process will not stop there. I managed to slow the mutation slightly, but anything more requires someone who knows exactly how the serum operates. Spider-Man said he received it from you."
"Yes, but it was still unfinished. I warned him." She sighed. "Nothing can be done about that now. Will you help develop an antidote, Mr...?" Her expression asked the question.
"Walter Mayer. And that is precisely why I came."
"Then let us begin. Time is valuable."
***********************
Walter Mayer.
Working with Maria Crawford unexpectedly taught me a great deal. Curt specialized primarily in radiation and its effects upon organisms. Other fields of neogenics were secondary to Connors. No one could know everything about everything. My new acquaintance, by contrast, specialized in microbiology and the effects of chemical preparations on the genome. I also discovered a universal law. Coffee. No scientist could live without it. An acquaintance from my former life had said that coffee was not a stimulant. Coffee was fuel. I saw living proof. We drank approximately three liters during the night, though that might have been connected with the late hour and the radical measures required to resist sleep.
Returning to Dr. Crawford's work, we possessed the original substance, the modified but treacherous serum based upon it, my observations of Parker's evolution, and my experience with Morbius. Finding the error in the previous 'medicine' took relatively little time. Correcting it progressed much more slowly. Eventually, the woman surrendered.
"No. I can't anymore." She yawned. "Everything is swimming before my eyes. In this state, I'll mix something that grows him a tail." Another enormous yawn followed.
"You're right. We should stop for today." I yawned involuntarily too.
"When do we continue?"
"Mm. Here again, perhaps six in the evening?"
"That won't work. I meet Spider-Man around that time."
"Fine. I'll begin alone. Come as soon as you can—or better, bring Spider-Man with you."
We parted there. Maria's research had created more questions than answers, but I knew one thing with certainty: I would test this serum on myself only under the most extreme circumstances. Advancing Symba's evolution sounded delicious, but what would happen if his instincts rose to a new level? I had no desire to risk my mind for an uncertain effect and unknown future advantages. To hell with such prizes. I felt perfectly comfortable without them. Without Crawford's data, I would definitely have tested the serum—if not upon myself immediately, then at least upon a detached fragment. The policy of 'think first, act second' was beginning to bear fruit.
One week. An entire week was required to derive the final formula and synthesize the necessary substance, despite Curt and Spider-Man joining the research. The Spider decided to impress us with his knowledge. Connors walked around looking profoundly thoughtful afterward. A teacher had little difficulty recognizing a student's habits, especially when that student had once been his graduate assistant. We were extraordinarily fortunate. Even with our existing foundation, such research could have required years. At last, the ceremonial moment arrived.
We injected Parker with the antidote through his lower-left arm. Using the opportunity and a respectable pretext, I assisted the antidote through the cells inside the experimental subj—meaning, patient. In particular, I had to separate the extra limbs carefully from Peter's body, then heal and conceal the points of removal. I had no idea how the cartoon had solved that problem. This reality had already proven much bloodier and less forgiving than the animated universe. That was not important.
When the 'extra' arms detached by themselves and clean skin remained behind, I had to imitate everyone else's surprise and suggest theories explaining the phenomenon. The others were satisfied, while Curt smiled at me knowingly. I also stabilized the results of the new treatment. Peter no longer needed to fear becoming an attractive chitin-covered monster with mandibles. We celebrated with a grand drinking session, naturally at my instigation.
The treacherous Russian German corrupts America's finest scientists—mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha! By the end, Parker was declaring eternal love for all of us and even wanted to remove his mask. We barely persuaded him not to, arguing that knowing his identity might endanger our carcasses. The less one knew, the more soundly one slept. Had we suggested that he was drunk and might regret the action tomorrow, he would have torn the mask off out of stubbornness. Appealing to his sense of responsibility succeeded. Spider-Man's neogenic nightmare had ended.
The following day, the soldiers contacted me and reported where Kimura could be found.