"...Norman added you to a blacklist? But you're Harry's girlfriend! ...wait, MJ, don't cry..."
The names "Norman" and "Harry" acted like an electric shock, instantly dispelling sleep's remnants. I sat up in bed, listening. Seemed Harry Osborn had made some important decision, and his all-powerful father was cleaning up after him. Question, what decision? Everything revolving around the Osborn family could at any moment pour out into an unpredictable cocktail of madness, serums and gliders. Better be prepared.
"...No, however closed this boarding college is, internet access and communication with the outside world are basic human rights, especially in Europe!" Peter fumed.
Europe. No contact with Harry. The puzzle was coming together.
"Yes, of course, I'll look for information. You try on your end to get through to Norman anyway. It looks too strange and hasty, Harry flying off to another country..."
"Or is it another country?" flashed through my mind. Peter meanwhile finished the conversation and, turning around, finally noticed me. I'd already exited the bedroom, leaning shoulder against the doorframe. His face displayed a whole gamut of emotions: confusion, worry and anger.
"Something happen?" I asked in the most innocent tone I could manage, pretending I'd just woken up.
"Happened!" he plopped on the couch. "MJ's boyfriend, Harry, called her this morning and declared he's flying to Switzerland. To some closed boarding college named after some Eldbach Steurlich. For three years, John! No internet, no cell communication, not even mail! Absolute vacuum in the twenty-first century, can you imagine?!"
"Hmm. And? Harry's Norman Osborn's son, happened to cross paths once," I explained under Peter's surprised look. "Who understands these rich people," I shrugged, intentionally playing the uninterested skeptic to make Peter lay out more. "Won't be surprised if for them such boarding schools are just an upbringing element. Establishing connections in their circle, away from us plebeians."
"That's just it, this is absolutely not Harry's style!" Peter jumped up. "He studied in regular schools his whole life! He hated all those business meetings his father dragged him to, constantly grumbled that he was forced to meet others' standards!"
"Well, ideal moment to mature and start meeting them. Norman probably thought so," I continued my line.
"Harry would've warned! He definitely would've told MJ!" Peter almost shouted. "They have a serious relationship, they've been together since high school, he adores her! And here... just a cold call. Statement of fact. No complaints, no explanations. Just accepted and broke with his closest person after his father! As if it wasn't him."
"Hmm... If everything's as you say, then indeed strange." I pretended to think. "Maybe it really wasn't Harry speaking at all?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, hired voice imitator. Or program. And Harry himself is already long flying somewhere in handcuffs under guard supervision. And Norman himself initiated the call so nobody would meddle in their affairs and search for his son."
Peter froze, pondering my words. Though I myself didn't fully believe this theory, it sounded sufficiently comic-book-like to be true.
"This..." he frowned. "This is crazy, but... quite in Norman's spirit. He's sometimes completely unpredictable. Once he personally came to pick up Harry from school and even gave me a ride. And once came to my birthday!" surprise mixed with old memory sounded in his voice. "Aunt May was shocked then. Billionaire sitting in our kitchen devouring her apple pie, when each his hour costs more than her annual salary... My point is, his actions don't always yield to ordinary logic."
"Well then, already have something to start from," I said with a smile, satisfied with gathered information. I wasn't going to meddle in Osborn affairs, but didn't dissuade Peter either. Let him dig. Norman surely thought through a cover story, meaning this college really exists.
"Yeah... um, John... I'll probably go," Peter muttered guiltily, getting up.
My smile instantly vanished.
"What? Right now? What about work on the Elixir?" icy notes sounded in my voice. "We agreed. Today should've brought real benefit."
"There's MJ... She's really bad... She doesn't understand anything..." under my heavy gaze Peter's voice grew quieter. "I must support her. But I'll return, honestly! Tonight..."
He literally backed toward the exit, torn between duty to his friend and obligations to me. I stayed silent, letting him fully feel my silent condemnation. There it is. Real world interference. All this friendship, relationships... anchors dragging genius to daily routine's bottom...
But still, damn! I mentally cursed, looking at Peter. Why did I forget that behind his monstrous intellect still hides a complexed youth hopelessly in love with a typical girl? And now, when he's got a chance to be her "knight in shining armor" or just a shoulder for tears, he of course won't miss it. All our work and all plans, all this recedes to second place before teenage hormones' call. Fine, I'm above this. The Elixir can wait.
I forced myself to exhale, removing the icy mask of irritation from my face. Control. Main thing, control.
"Ahem... Fine," my voice sounded deliberately calm. "Just unexpected. But I understand. What time should I expect you?"
"I'll try to return after lunch," he answered with relief. "Just MJ needs to talk it out, and she... she talks a lot when upset."
"Alright, I understand. Main thing, you don't talk much," I warned, looking him straight in the eyes.
"Of course, John!" Peter nodded seriously, instantly catching the hint. "Personal is personal, and secret is secret. I know how to keep secrets! Don't worry."
He called a taxi, quickly threw tablet and notebook in backpack, but then, thinking, left the backpack with me, a silent pledge of his return. Peter was already at the door when his phone rang again. He looked at the screen.
"Doctor Connors?" he muttered thoughtfully. In this moment a chill ran down my spine. Bad premonition.
"Put on speaker, please," I requested. Peter nodded puzzled but obeyed.
"Hello, Peter? Tell me, how's your schedule the next two weeks?" a tired and concerned male voice sounded from the speaker.
"Um..." Peter looked at me meaningfully. "Except for a couple personal projects today-tomorrow, other days relatively free so far. Why?"
"Excellent. Can you please starting Thursday substitute for Gwen and work in the lab during her hours? Salary, naturally, we'll increase."
Something happened with Gwen?
"What about her?" Peter voiced my silent question.
A heavy pause hung on the line. Connors's voice became quieter, genuine grief sounded in it.
"She... Her father died. Captain George Stacy. Right now she's in no condition for work or studies. I understand her perfectly."
Oh. There it is. Key spider event. Cruel. And however cynical this sounds, probably it had to be this way. In a number of multiverse versions I remembered from meta-knowledge fragments, preventing such events, Uncle Ben's death or Captain Stacy's, led to catastrophes. To such global clusterfuck compared to which Chitauri invasion was child's babble. We're talking about entire realities' destruction. So no. I definitely wouldn't meddle in this under any circumstances, however cruel toward Gwen this was...
"Yes... yes, I understand, Doctor Connors," Peter answered stunned. "Let her accept my condolences... Of course, I'll substitute for Gwen, don't worry."
The call ended. Peter, lowering the phone, froze, staring with empty gaze at the door. Heavy silence hung in the living room.
"Did you know?" his voice sounded unexpectedly cold and quiet, and the question itself, though strange, was quite logical considering I'd asked to turn on speaker.
"How would I?" I calmly met his gaze. "I heard Gwen's name for the first time from you couple days ago, not to mention her father. Just second unexpected call this morning, intuition whispered something's wrong. So asked to turn on speaker."
And indeed... September 22, Tuesday. Fantastic Four launch into space. Harry Osborn disappears in Europe. Gwen Stacy, current Spider-Woman still without serious opponents, loses her father, turning point for her becoming on the path of fighting someone more serious than back-alley scum. Three extraordinary events in one morning. Two of them directly touched Peter, who in such stories across the vast multiverse often is either a connecting link or catalyst for all sorts of shit.
Perhaps this is just paranoia. Or perhaps "Master Watchmaker" is speaking in me, noticing details and assembling them into a single mechanism. And right now it literally screamed at me that existence's gears had come into motion. Something big had begun.
"Yeah... sorry..." Peter shook his head, driving away suspicions. "Just... two shitty news items in one morning. Fine, I'm off. Stay in touch."
He left, and I remained alone in the house's silence. Left to myself, I thought what to do. The answer was obvious. Enough delaying. Time.
I opened the System interface. "Technologies" tab. My finger hovered without hesitation over the needed line. "Technological Modernization." I pressed the confirmation button. Numbers on the OP balance changed from 1100 to 400. In the same instant my world exploded.
This wasn't just a headache. This was... Clusterfuck. The sensation as if my skull was splitting apart from inside to pour in molten metal of knowledge. Before my eyes at light speed flashed blueprints, diagrams, physical laws, chemical formulas, materials science principles and quantum engineering. Millions of gigabytes of information poured directly into my brain. I managed only to take a step toward the couch before my legs buckled, and darkness swallowed me, and the poured knowledge turned out to be just the iceberg's tip. Because after darkness came dreams.
I definitely dreamed something. Something viscous and surreal that broke through even residual pain in the skull. Red, dusty planet under an alien sun. Giant, chitinous humanoid-cockroaches whose chirring echoed in bones. And I, one of hundreds of colonist-scientists, surviving in this hell. Memories of high-tech laboratories on distant, blue Earth evoked acute, almost physical longing. Here though, on Mars, had to create from trash. From centrifuge, 3D printer and couple lenses I assembled a laser cannon. Electronic grenades with absurd effects. Exoskeleton for left arm, which I remembered punching clean through one of these monsters' body. Ideas swarmed in head, but equipment... outdated, from twenty-first century... it was shackles. But I-the-scientist didn't give up. Until one of the creatures proved too fast. Its limb, sharp as obsidian, pierced my armor and body clean through. And here I am. Woke up.
"Fuck!" I sharply sat up on the couch, convulsively feeling my stomach. Intact. No wound. "What the hell was that?! Why so real?!"
Memories. They didn't disappear with the dream. Experience. Really lived experience of survival on hostile planet, experience of brilliant engineer forced to create in total deficit conditions. All this was now part of me, like someone else's archive loaded directly into brain.
"And this is just an 'unusual' skill..." I muttered into emptiness.
I was about to rush to the garage to check how this new firmware works in practice, but the phone vibrated in my pocket. Blade. I remembered my thoughts about September 22. This definitely isn't coincidence.
"Yo, greetings, rookie!" an indecently pleased, bass voice of the coolest vampire hunter sounded from the receiver.
"Hi. What's with such joy?"
"Ho-ho! That noticeable? Fine, won't hide. I finally nailed one slippery, crafty-ass scum. Pureblooded first generation. Made him swallow silver till he couldn't."
I mentally ran through vampire hierarchy. Pureblooded first generation, third strongest, right after Progenitor and his Descendants. Serious prey.
"All thanks to your miracle-potion," Blade continued, and genuine gratitude sounded in his voice. "I swear, in my almost two hundred years I've never felt my brain work this clearly. All leads, all rumors, all info from my sources, living and not... all this shit just assembled into one perfect picture. I suddenly clearly understood where this creature sits. In San Francisco, imagine! Bastard was blowing cash in casinos and screwing whores. Well, I dropped by to visit him. Threw him the wildest night of his pathetic un-life!"
"Glad to help. Now you understand why this elixir is priceless to me."
"You said it. So, I haven't gotten to the main point! I wasn't hunting him just for kicks. He's Vhau's 'son.' You get it?"
"Not really," I strained my memory, but alas.
"Ah, yeah. I only explained in general terms. Credit of trust, all that. Short version, Vhau is one of five surviving Descendants. And he's such scum the others look like just kids with fangs next to him. I've been searching for him the last ten years. And now I've got a chance he'll come out to me himself to avenge his 'boy'."
"What about the other Descendants?" I asked, greedily absorbing information. This was priceless intelligence.
"Of five only two are more or less adequate. Already known to you Dracula, he's gathering vampire 'civilians' under wing, yeah, there are such. And Marak, crafty bastard-researcher, Mystiel clan founder. I periodically visit him to make sure he's not using virgins for experiments. Holding up so far." He paused. "Two remain. Such creatures rumors about them leaked even to humans. Nosferatu and Lamia. And yes, it's exactly what you imagined. Ugly bald ghoul and snake-girl. Unlike Vhau, whose Krieger clan is most warlike, these two are cowardly bastards. Hiding in planet's darkest caves hoping nobody cares about them. But don't worry, Uncle Blade will get them too. Let them hope, because hope is a fragile thing."
"So first Vhau, and what about the Progenitor, you said..." I began, but Blade interrupted me.
"First Vhau. As for their daddy, Varnae..." Blade chuckled. "Yeah, I remember what I said. Incredibly strong bastard who'll twist me into a ram's horn. But he doesn't care about this world. He's myth, legend. Possibly he's not even in our reality anymore. His children's squabbles are his children's problems. I'll bet my left fang he won't give a damn even if I cut them all down to the last one."
"Clear. Good luck with that. So you only called to brag?"
"Shit, no. Completely slipped my mind. Can I swing by tomorrow evening? Just getting back from that City of Sin."
I calculated. Peter and I should work today and tomorrow. Thursday he starts his shift at the university.
"Yeah, no problem. What for though?"
"Remember I mentioned an interesting thing? That it's definitely worth trading for your consciousness-expanding potion?"
"I do," I answered, feeling intrigue ignite.
"Well tomorrow we'll talk. Be there."
He hung up. Asshole. I leaned back against the couch, and the day's events crashed down on me like an avalanche. Reed Richards. Harry Osborn. Gwen Stacy. And now Blade's crusade against the vampire world's upper echelon. September 22 turned out rich with events.
I urgently needed to understand what beast I'd obtained. What "Technological Modernization" was in practice. I got up and resolutely headed to the garage. The external world's chaos will wait. Now is time to create. Time to check what the genius from Mars in my body is capable of.