Chapter 18
I spent almost an hour cleaning. An hour during which my newfound Master Clockmaker skill waged a merciless war on chaos. Every tool lying at the wrong angle, every drop of reagent on the countertop was taken as a personal insult. This wasn't just cleaning; it was calibration. Aligning my world with my new, crystal-clear perception.
While my hands worked, my head thought. There were many thoughts, but they no longer swarmed in panic. The mind of a master was considering the current Vampire problem not as an existential threat, but as a malfunction in the complex mechanism of my survival. A malfunction that needed to be fixed. And the fact that I hadn't yet found an elegant solution wounded my new essence.
I didn't want to sleep. The adrenaline from the day's events and the awareness of my position worked better than any coffee. Since that was the case, there was no time to waste. I decided to replenish my stock of Potions of Intellect. All the components were at hand, and thanks to my clockwork skill, the process went like clockwork. Every movement was precise, every measurement perfect. I even noticed a couple of minor design flaws in my own Marx Generator, which could be fixed later.
[Created Potion "Potion of Intellect." Difficulty: Normal. Received +30 OP!]
...
[Created Potion "Potion of Intellect." Difficulty: Normal. Received +10 OP!]
Five flasks brought a total of 80 OP, bringing my balance to an even 200 OP. A nice bonus. When I finished, the horizon was already painted in pinkish tones. Dawn. Since they didn't show up during the night, it meant my lair wasn't compromised yet. After setting up a simple tripwire alarm at the entrance to the garage and the house, I collapsed onto the bed without undressing and instantly passed out.
Waking up at one in the afternoon was unpleasant. No motivation, no overflowing energy like the previous days. Just dull apathy, irritation, and a cold understanding that every hour of delay was an hour I was giving my enemies. It wasn't just a fox that was knocking at the door; it was kicking it down.
I didn't hesitate to open one of the freshly brewed flasks. The familiar cold of the Potion of Intellect banished the apathy, replacing it with sharp, analytical clarity. Sitting down in front of the laptop, I began to organize my thoughts.
Assets:
Skills:Master Clockmaker—invaluable for crafting, but useless in combat. And my main trump card—the Inventory touch. The ability that took out the Vampires along with the car. It still pleases me immensely that Vampires, as the undead, are considered "non-living" by the System. This is my joker, and if the enemy finds out about it, I've lost.
Equipment:UV Projector "Daylight". Ten Muscle Stimulator injectors. A legal self-defense kit: powerful pepper sprays, a couple of electroshockers, a tactical baton. And a heavy Level 4 body armor. I tried it on—thirteen kilograms felt like a cast-iron slab. But under the influence of the stimulant, I would not only be able to walk in it but also run.
Resources: About $19,000 in cash. My Honda. And the Toyota with Vampires inside—a potential kinetic weapon. I could drop it from a great height or materialize it in the path of an enemy. The idea of finding something more massive, like a train car, was tempting but impractical. Vampires, judging by my meta-knowledge, are almost always incredibly fast and agile. You don't need brute force against them, but accuracy and cunning.
Problem:
I'm being hunted by a clan, family, or just an organized group of supernatural predators.
Possible Solutions:
Run. Move to another city, country. But that's not life, but survival in constant fear. They will find me. If not today, then in a week or a month. You can't run away from yourself or your problems. Option rejected.
Fight. The only logical path. But with reservations. I'm a weakling in a direct confrontation. Even with the stimulant. With body armor, a spotlight, and the Inventory, I'll lose to a squad of experienced Vampires. So, I can't fight head-on. I need to fight asymmetrically, using my main advantage—intelligence. The problem is exacerbated by the fact that I can't just stop the problem; I need to SOLVE it, eradicate it so that they leave me alone, which means I need an ultimate solution. Not a conditional Necronomicon from Arcanum, which I've been subconsciously thinking about for a long time, no, I need heavy artillery!
I leaned back in my chair, allowing my enhanced brain to sift through terabytes of information gleaned from my past life. Comics, movies, TV series, fan wikis... All this seemingly useless geeky trash was now my main armory. The brain built schemes, discarded options, looked for connections...
And found it.
The picture came together. As if the last tumbler in a complex lock clicked, opening the door. In this world, if I was lucky, even in this city, there was one character. Not a hero in shining armor, not an almighty cosmic being. But a specialist with a narrow focus. Someone for whom fighting Vampires is not just a mission, but a life's work. Someone who possesses the knowledge, experience, and weapons capable of solving my problem once and for all.
The plan is insane. Dangerous. The probability that they would at least not want to listen to me, and at most simply kill me when I tried to contact them, was high.
But it was the only plan that could work.
All that remained was to find him. Eric Brooks, aka Blade, aka the coolest Vampire Ripper in the area, aka one of the representatives of the "shadow" side of this world, hidden from the eyes of ordinary people, just like the Vampires themselves. Memory helpfully provided information that he was either a half-vampire, without the weaknesses of ordinary bloodsuckers, or an ordinary but damn well-trained person, possibly possessing Chi. In general, different versions of Blade exist in the multiverse. I could only hope that mine would be adequate enough.
So, the plan was accepted. Crazy, but the only right one. The most difficult part remained: finding a person in a world of billions who most likely didn't want to be found. How to get in touch with him? I don't have a single clue, just a name and scraps of meta-knowledge. I can only rely on the digital footprint, weak as it may be, and a brain boosted by the Potion of Intellect.
Another question arose: how to get him interested? Would he, the legendary Blade, possibly the best vampire hunter in this world, care about the problems of some no-name guy that Vampires, whom he slaughters in droves, want to kill? Maybe not. But I wasn't going to come empty-handed. Social capital among the "figures" of this world is priceless. Especially among those who won't want to dissect you in an underground laboratory. And situations like mine are the best way to earn it. The main thing is that both parties benefit. And I have something to offer. It's not for nothing that I bear the self-proclaimed proud title of a garage proto-genius.
Let's get started.
I launched a virtual machine on my laptop, connected to a VPN, routed the traffic through several countries, and only then opened the Tor browser. Of course, this is not one hundred percent protection, but in the terabytes of junk Internet traffic that spills into the network every second, my harmless request for the rather commonplace name "Eric Brooks" should drown without a trace.
Naturally, searching social networks was discarded immediately. That would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack, after first dumping a dozen more such haystacks on it. My approach was different. The Potion-enhanced brain worked like a search algorithm, cutting off gigabytes of unnecessary information according to clearly defined criteria.
Name:Eric Brooks (or Brook).
Ethnicity: Black (probability >98%).
Origin: British (probability >80%).
Physical Data: Athletic or heavily athletic build.
Additional (optional): Possible military past.