A university lab late at night had its own special magic. The ventilation systems and refrigerators hummed quietly, and the air smelled of ozone, alcohol, and something sterile. Peter Parker, despite the late hour, looked not tired but, on the contrary, full of energy. In his element.
"Done," he said, with the pride of a scientist displaying the fruits of his labor. He carefully handed me a small vial of dark glass. The liquid inside looked perfectly transparent. "Fifty milliliters. 99.98% purity, checked on a chromatograph."
I carefully accepted the vessel, feeling its pleasant coolness. Fifty milliliters. Ten doses of the Muscle Stimulator. Ten injections of super strength. Everything inside was elated.
"How much do I owe you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even.
"Um, well..." Peter hesitated, scratching the back of his head guiltily. "The reagents came out to about 300 dollars. I'll have to order new ones for the lab. I think I got a little carried away with the volume; I wanted to achieve maximum purity by fractional distillation, and that required a stock... I probably should have made less, or it gets expensive..."
"No, no, what are you talking about," I hurried to reassure him, seeing genuine embarrassment on his face. It was even touching. "It's not expensive; it's perfect. Money is not a problem at all. Here, take it. This is for the reagents and for your time."
I handed him five crisp hundred-dollar bills. Peter's eyes widened.
"Five hundred? That's... too much for twenty minutes on the synthesizer! I can't take it..."
I saw his simple, slightly worn clothes, his scuffed sneakers. I knew he needed the money. But simply handing it over was impossible—his pride wouldn't allow it. I had to approach it from a different angle, turning it not into a handout, but into a logical and fair reward.
"Peter," I changed the subject, confusing him. "Where do you live?"
"Uh... in Queens, why?" Ah, as I thought, this version with the aunt, and hopefully alive Uncle Ben.
"Alone or with family?"
"With my aunt and uncle," his voice already showed bewilderment.
"I see. You're studying at a prestigious university, living in one of the most expensive cities in the world, in a non-cheap neighborhood, working part-time for Connors... Tell me honestly, do they pay normally for it?" I asked the last question gently, without pressure.
Understanding flashed in his eyes. He looked at his hands, then at the bills in my palm. He understood that I was not trying to humiliate him, but simply stating a fact. He, a genius, who is forced to count every penny. He no longer objected and, carefully taking the money, stuffed it into his jeans pocket.
An awkward silence ensued. To break it, Peter returned to the only topic that connected us.
"So why stimulate the metabolism of chlorella, after all?" His scientific curiosity overcame his embarrassment. "Using an active substance based on testosterone... that's a very non-trivial approach to working with plant cells. I haven't even found similar studies."
Crap. He's too smart. A simple excuse won't do here.
"Let's just say it's my strange hobby," I chuckled, trying to look like an eccentric enthusiast. "A long-term project to study hormonal analogues for launching cascade reactions of lipid synthesis. Most likely a failure, but the idea got stuck in my head. Don't bother your head with it."
I saw that I hadn't completely convinced him, but he at least pretended to accept the answer. It was time to wrap things up.
"Anyway, I'll go. Thanks again so much. Listen, would you mind if I sometimes write to you with strange scientific questions? As a more experienced colleague in the trade."
This phrase hit the mark. Peter's eyes lit up with a fanatical gleam.
"Of course, it won't bother me!" he replied with a sincere smile. "Write anytime. I won't keep you. Bye."
We shook hands, and I left the laboratory, feeling like a second-rate spy who had just recruited a valuable asset.
In the taxi taking me through the night city, I allowed myself to relax. Ten doses of the stimulator. If the System values them the same as the Potion of Intellect, that's 200 OP for the first one, plus 9 more smaller ones. In total—a mountain of points. I haven't spun the Gacha since the time I got Extremis and a box of ore. The next two "spins" cost 300 and 350 OP. After creating the stimulators, I probably have enough for both, and if I don't, I'll quickly get the remainder. What will I get? Another impossible blueprint? Or maybe another cheater item, incredibly useful right now?
"We've arrived," the taxi driver's voice pulled me out of my dreams about items of rarity above "common".
After paying, I got out of the car and went into my garage—my fortress, my workshop. The precious vial of testosterone took pride of place on a special stand. I stood there for several minutes, just turning the upcoming process over in my head, tuning in to work. Today had exhausted me, but right now, before the final push, I felt an incredible surge of energy.
"Phew..." I exhaled, banishing all unnecessary thoughts. "Alright. Let's get started."
The process was like a surgeon's dance. No haste, every movement precise. First of all—activation. In a glass flask on a magnetic stirrer, I measured out exactly 5 milliliters of synthetic testosterone. The liquid lazily splashed, reflecting the light of the lamp. Then I lowered a small square of titanium mesh into it. Turning on the heating and stirring, I set the temperature to 80 degrees Celsius. The quiet hum of the stirrer became the only sound in the garage. After a few minutes, under the influence of heat and the titanium catalyst, which ruthlessly "tore" stable molecular bonds, the transparent liquid began to turn cloudy, turning into an active, unstable nitrogenous suspension.
I cooled the ready-made base in an ice bath and then sent it to the centrifuge. At high speeds, it separated the unreacted residues and microscopic impurities. I introduced several milliliters of a colloidal solution of palladium into the purified, almost weightless suspension. If the knowledge etched into my brain was to be believed, microscopic palladium ions would immediately begin to "envelop" unstable molecules, as if placing them in individual cells. They prevented them from breaking down prematurely and, more importantly, ensured their safe removal from the body after use.
The final touch: a couple of milligrams of BSA powder for better absorption and dilution with a mixture of distilled water and isopropyl alcohol to the desired concentration. That's it. The preparation was ready. I carefully poured the ready-made dose into an automatic injector, resembling a futuristic syringe pen.
[Created Potion "Muscle Stimulator." Difficulty: Normal. Received +200 OP!]
Yes! 200 OP, just like for the first dose of the Potion of Intellect. But this time I didn't have to risk my life for a Ghost Orchid. Just pure science, chemistry, and a bit of Arcanum tech-magic that I don't yet fully understand.
I spent the next hour and a half in a state of flow, repeating the procedure nine more times. It was meditative, almost hypnotic work.
[Created Potion "Muscle Stimulator." Difficulty: Normal. Received +150 OP!]
[Created Potion "Muscle Stimulator." Difficulty: Normal. Received +100 OP!]
[Created Potion "Muscle Stimulator." Difficulty: Normal. Received +50 OP!]
[... Received +40 OP!]
...