"So, what are you suggesting?" Blade asked as soon as we drove onto the avenue. His voice was even and devoid of emotion, but I saw how tensely he stared at the passing urban landscape.
I threw a short glance in the rearview mirror, making sure Gwen, huddled in the back seat, was also all ears. Her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of her mask lying on her knees. There was no point in hiding here and now.
"The plan consists of two stages, but in short: we smoke Fisk out of his hole, and you take him out with a sniper rifle," I started, watching Blade merge into the left lane. "Barging into the Empire State Building, that damn symbol of New York, is suicide. We risk not just drawing the cops' attention, but getting all federal services on our tail and the brand of terrorists to boot. We don't need that."
"Sounds sensible," Blade nodded, his eyes momentarily flashing in the dim light of the cabin. "A frontal attack is not an option. A lone diversion can't be pulled off either. That's not quite my profile, and our heroine," he barely noticeably nodded toward Gwen, "doesn't have the stomach for such a mess."
"I do too!" an indignant voice immediately came from the back. "I... I'll manage! I'm ready... I can neutralize someone like Fisk!"
"No," I shook my head, trying to make my voice sound firm but not too sharp. "It's not about courage, Gwen. It's about experience. You definitely shouldn't go against Fisk in his fortress. It's obvious that he's guarded by meta-humans, and he himself is far from as simple as he seems. You already took a serious hit from Shocker, and he's street scum compared to Kingpin. In general, sorry, but for an operation of this level, you have too little practice for now."
To this remark of mine, she said nothing. In the mirror, I saw her turn to the window, and her shoulders slumped.
"Right, settled that," Blade returned the conversation to the necessary track. "And how exactly are we going to lure this bastard out? That's the main difficulty. He can lock himself in his office for a week."
"That's why there are two stages," I replied, mentally scrolling through the blueprints in my head. "Drive to my garage. Within an hour, maybe an hour and a half, I'll put together a couple of gizmos for our performance." I shifted my gaze to Gwen. "And we need you for the most important part. You'll be our eyes. Please, watch the Empire State, make sure Kingpin doesn't bail. If you spot his motorcade or helicopter—follow him immediately, but unnoticed. And keep us updated. Your task is to not let him get away before we're ready."
Having discussed a couple more details, we dropped Gwen off at the nearest high-rise, from where it was more convenient for her to get to the center. Watching her go, Blade mashed the pedal to the floor, and we sped toward Bay Ridge, to the house and garage that in this short time had already managed to become home to me to some extent.
"So, genius, can you reveal the cards now?" Blade asked as soon as the garage gates clattered shut behind us. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the workbench.
After thinking everything through thoroughly once more and inwardly nodding to my "brilliant" and, I hoped, not too overcomplicated plan, I began.
"The first, and key, stage—completely de-energize the Empire State. Remotely. For this, I'm going to assemble a powerful, directed EMP gun now. You'll have to shoot. Twice."
"A poor hunter is one who shoots twice," Blade smirked.
"And a good one is one who kills two hares with one shot. We have a whole zoo here, essentially. The first target—the antenna complex at the very top of the tower. It's not just an antenna; it's a massive communication hub that broadcasts signals for a good half of the city. You'll need to hit right at the base of the mast. One precise pulse—and Fisk is instantly cut off from the outside world. No satellite, cellular, or radio communication. Total informational asphyxia. He'll find himself in a blockade. The second target—the technical floor. The gun's pulse will be wider; you'll aim at one of the floors in the range from eighty-seventh to one hundred and first. Hitting the conditional ninety-third will be enough. The main distribution boards, server rooms, and, most importantly, backup power systems are concentrated there. A strike on this nerve hub will cause a cascading failure and de-energize the entire building from within."
"Hmm, sounds pretty," Blade thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "But don't you think a paranoid like Fisk will just sit tight under guard? Doesn't matter if the lights are out. Within the next half hour, his techs will fix everything. And regarding the total communication blockade, you're possibly too optimistic. He surely has some protected wired lines. He'll just barricade himself and wait."
"Yes, that's exactly why the second stage exists," I mentally materialized Shocker's gauntlet from the inventory and placed it on the workbench with a dull thud. "To scare Fisk shitless!"
Blade raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"With this gauntlet?"
"With vibrations! We'll create an illusion of a structural threat to the building without causing it real harm. To do this, I'll calibrate this gauntlet. Instead of short powerful pulses, it will generate a constant low-amplitude infrasonic vibration, around fifteen to twenty hertz. Our Spider-Girl will place this thing in the basement complex. And the whole building will fill with a mounting, maddening panic hum. A hum you can't hide from behind a dozen guards. It will be an influence on the subconscious, on primal fear."
"Is that how vibrations work?" the skepticism in his voice diminished, but disbelief still remained. "I thought concrete dampens such things perfectly."
"Right, a simple vibration sent through concrete will fade after a couple of meters, you can't cheat physics," I smiled predatorily. "But we won't be influencing the concrete box, but the building's skeleton itself. Its steel frame! A skyscraper is a complex metal construction wrapped in concrete and glass. And steel is an ideal conductor for vibrations. All Gwen will need to do is find one of the central load-bearing columns of the frame, knock off some concrete or fireproofing, and attach the active gauntlet. From that moment on, the whole tower will become one giant tuning fork humming at an infrasonic frequency!"
Blade was silent for a few seconds, processing the information. Then a wide, almost insane smirk spread across his face.
"Fucking hell... I applaud your engineering genius!" he slapped my shoulder so hard I barely stayed on my feet. "And so, while the whole tower is de-energized, cut off from the world, and vibrating like a Japanese sex toy, Fisk will have to bail out urgently. But the elevators aren't working... Can a big guy like him even manage so many flights of stairs?"
"That's exactly it, he can't. And he knows it," I winked. "Someone like Fisk, with his paranoia and resources, would definitely have provided for such a scenario. One hundred percent he has a personal elevator powered from an autonomous, isolated system. And I wouldn't be surprised if its control cable is armored fiber optics that doesn't care about any EMP. That very elevator will become his only path to salvation. And our window of opportunity."
"Got it. The plan is fucking awesome, like your watch!" Blade nodded, his gaze becoming hard and focused. "A bit overcomplicated, of course, but the alternative—becoming persona non grata in all the States. So go on, work your magic. Use your craft magic or whatever you call it. Time's ticking."
Nodding, I set to work. My brain, turned into a super-precise quantum computer, had already broken down the entire process into thousands of parallel tasks, and my hands started moving before I could give them a conscious order. Blade silently moved the vise aside and cleared the workbench, becoming a silent assistant in my insane act of creation.
First thing—the frame and body. Everything's simple here. Grabbing a small but sturdy frame from an old server rack—the skeleton of a long-deceased IT dinosaur—from a pile of junk in the corner, I made the angle grinder shriek. A couple of precise cuts, a few clicks of the riveter, and the output was a rough, angular base resembling the skeleton of a futuristic rifle from the darkest cyberpunk dreams. Yes, it won't look pretty. It will be an ugly but lethal bastard of engineering thought.
The power source will be, naturally, the Palladium Reactor. Only it could output a pulse of the necessary monstrous power. Detaching it from the plasma barrier system, I inserted it into a specially prepared nest in place of the buttstock with a dull, pleasant click, connecting the cold-to-the-touch cables to the main converter. The reactor responded with an even, barely audible hum—the monster's heart began to beat.
Now the accumulators. The main thing in EMP is an instantaneous, almost unthinkable discharge of huge energy. I took a dozen of the most powerful high-voltage capacitors that used to be part of my Marx generator and set to the most painstaking part of the work—soldering. The acrid smell of rosin hit my nose. A spark, the hiss of solder spreading over the contacts like liquid silver. My fingers worked with inhuman speed and precision, and ten minutes later a battery lay before me, capable of lighting the fires of a small city block for one short moment, and in the next—extinguishing them forever.
Next—the emitter. Five magnetrons, ruthlessly ripped out of microwaves, I fixed on a titanium plate in the form of honeycombs. But the main magic was in something else. The hardest part—the phasing circuit. On a breadboard, I assembled a complex circuit of timers and high-speed thyristors. This nondescript board is the brain and the conductor. It will force the magnetrons to fire not in a chaotic chorus, but as a coordinated orchestra, with a calibrated delay in nanoseconds. My brain had already calculated the necessary intervals to create an ideal cone of constructive interference. I installed this entire construction in the center of a parabolic reflector from an old satellite dish, giving it the look of a lethal flower. Naturally, I wasn't thinking about any modularity or elegance. The only thing was that the Palladium Reactor, as the most valuable part, was easily detachable.
In the final, I just connected it all together. The reactor powers the capacitors; those charge in a couple of seconds with an ear-piercing, mounting whine; and then all the accumulated power on my signal goes to the phasing circuit, which releases it onto the magnetrons. The EMP gun, looking like a junk weapon from a post-apocalyptic movie, was ready. The main thing is that it works, and the system confirmed it!
[Created simple electro-mechanical construction "EMP Gun." Difficulty: Low. Received +100 OP!]
A device creating powerful directed EMP interference.
"Looks like shit," Blade honestly admitted, walking around my creation. "It won't explode in my hands, will it?"
"But it's effective. In limited time, it's hard to assemble something better," I replied, shrugging and throwing the gun into the inventory. "And regarding the explosion... Just aim in the right direction. I'll calibrate the gauntlet now, and let's go."
Here everything was an order of magnitude simpler. Not creating something from scratch, but rather "surgical intervention." Carefully opening the gauntlet's body with a diamond cutter, I found inside an interlacing of microscopic vein-wires, nerve-node boards, and miniature capacitors. My brain instantly analyzed the circuit. My goal—to bypass the combat system. Aha, here it is, the main power cable going to the combat energy accumulators. A click of the wire cutters. Done, the gauntlet is dead as a weapon. Now I could proceed with the modification. I soldered my cobbled-together step-down modulator into the circuit going from the internal battery to the vibration emitters. A simple circuit with a potentiometer for power adjustment and a frequency generator chip.
Turning on the gauntlet, I made sure there was no usual loud hum. But the workbench under it started to vibrate finely, and a barely perceptible vibration went through the floor. Taking out my smartphone and downloading the first spectrum analyzer app I could find, I held it closer. A clear peak appeared on the screen.
"What the..." Blade frowned, slightly shaking his head as if trying to get rid of an unpleasant sensation in his ears.
I silently turned a trimmer resistor on my board with a screwdriver. The peak on the screen slid left and froze at 18.5 Hz. Ideal infrasound. It instantly became uncomfortable in the garage. The air seemed to thicken, a slight nausea and a pressing feeling of inexplicable anxiety appeared. Setup complete.
As a final touch, I screwed several powerful neodymium magnets, ripped from old hard drives, to the back side of the gauntlet. I added a simple timer with a self-destruct mechanism—a small charge of plastic explosive enough to turn the circuit into melted slag. I ran a simple activation toggle switch outside. Now Gwen can reliably magnetize the gauntlet to a steel beam, and half an hour later it will just snap softly, destroying all possible evidence to hell.
"Done!" I exhaled, leaning back in my chair.
Two unique devices assembled in a little over an hour. I never would have thought I was capable of such a thing. Turns out, when pressed, the internal reserves activate, and I literally prove to myself on sheer grit that all limits are only in the head.
"Let's go," Blade nodded shortly.
Sitting in his black Charger, we again flew onto the streets and sped toward Manhattan. There wasn't a single signal from Gwen, which meant our target was still inside his tower of steel and glass.
The roof of the "230 Fifth Avenue" building was empty at such a late hour. The fashionable rooftop bar had long closed, and only the wind chased napkins and leaves across the huge open terrace. This very place became our meeting point. Gwen was already waiting for us, a small figure in her suit against the background of the giant Empire State Building spire piercing the clouds.
I silently handed her the modified gauntlet.
"The magnets are powerful; it'll stick fast to bare steel. Look for a load-bearing column in the basement or on the technical floor, as deep as possible. Flip the switch and leave. Don't be a hero. Remember, you're a ghost. Get in, do the job, get out. You have five minutes for everything."
She nodded resolutely; in her eyes under the mask read a mix of nervousness and steely resolve. Taking the gauntlet, she vanished into the night without extra words, gracefully vaulting over the parapet. Blade and I were left alone under the cold Manhattan sky. The five minutes had started.
Our observation point on the roof of the building located about 350-400 meters from the Empire State was ideal. From here a direct, unobstructed view opened up to the southern facade of the skyscraper, which now presented itself as a black spire piercing the clouds. The shooting angle was convenient enough to hit both the technical floors and the antenna complex crowning the tower. The night was our ally.
Briefly instructing Blade on the use of the EMP gun, I poked a finger at two key points on the dark silhouette of the building. In this regard, I trusted his superhuman precision more than any guidance system. Finishing, I stepped back a couple of meters, giving him space. My phone vibrated shortly—Gwen was already in position and waiting for the signal, waiting for the electricity to go out to install her "gift."
Blade switched the toggle on the EMP gun's body to charging mode. The gun's body responded with a high-pitched electronic hum, similar to the sound of an old photo flash charging, only a thousand times more powerful and shrill. This sound seemed to make the very air vibrate. Blade stood motionless, like a granite statue, holding the ugly weapon as if it were an extension of his hands. After three excruciatingly long seconds, the simple light indicator changed color from an anxious red to a confident green. Shot. He pressed the large button protected by a guard on the handle. All the energy accumulated in the battery of capacitors instantly dumped onto the phasing array of magnetrons.
For me, as an observer, it looked surreal. At the moment of the shot, the air around the gun's barrel ionized for a fraction of a second, creating a short, absolutely silent flash of pale violet glow, similar to light from a short circuit or a faint aurora borealis. Immediately after the flash, a wave-like distortion passed in the direction of the tower, like a shimmer over hot asphalt. This was the visible front of the EMP wave propagation. No cinematic electric spheres or flying lightning. Just a quiet flash, a light distortion of space, and a second later... The first shot hit the spire exactly.
Another three seconds of charging. Again the shrill whine and the green flash of the indicator. The second shot, aimed lower. And that was when the effect became truly tangible. The Empire State Building, one of the symbols of world civilization, blinked and went out. As if someone flipped a giant switch. Against the background of the glowing urban landscape, a black hole appeared, a void that swallowed an entire skyscraper.
"Right, we have about two or three minutes," I said shortly, handing Blade my Remington 700 sniper rifle. He silently accepted it, and I hid the cooling EMP gun in the inventory.
The calculations in my head raced with simulation speed. Fisk's penthouse is on the 80-85 floors; that's approximately 320-330 meters from the ground. The speed of his personal, protected elevator is about 6-7 meters per second. Pure descent time will take about 50 seconds. Let's add here the propagation of vibration through the steel frame, the mounting panic, the guard's bustle, time to the elevator and from it to the exit. Everything added up. Fisk should appear from the South service exit very soon.
Approximately a minute and a half later, Gwen's figure descended absolutely silently onto the roof next to us. She said nothing, just stared at Blade, who was already lying on the edge of the roof, pressed against the optical sight. The Remington has an effective firing range of up to 1000 meters. From the ballistic point of view, the rifle had more than a double reserve in power and accuracy, since the distance to the target was only 380-400 meters. But the main problem wasn't the distance. The main problem was the wind.
New York is an "urban canyon." The wind, hitting the facades of skyscrapers, creates complex, treacherous vortices, ascending and descending flows. Invisible rivers of air. A bullet, flying these 400 meters, can cross several such zones where the wind blows in different directions with different force. Even for a shooter of Blade's level, who thanks to his superhuman senses could literally feel these flows with his skin, making an exact correction was a task on the brink of art and luck. But I believed in him.
The wait stretched the nerves. And then, two minutes after the lights went out, a black armored SUV pulled up to the service exit. Another thirty seconds later, the service doors swung open, and several bodyguards spilled out first, quickly looking around. Another five seconds passed, and surrounded by a tight ring of guards, Fisk's stout, massive figure appeared in the doorway.
The world seemed to narrow down to the picture in the sight. A deep, calm exhale from Blade. A smooth press on the trigger.
A sharp, dry crack of a shot tore the night silence. A moment later, a barely audible dull smack reached us. The bullet easily pierced the skull, and the huge figure of one of the city's most dangerous bastards, not far from immortal after all, collapsed onto the asphalt like a bag of bones. A clean, ideal, inevitable shot.
"Pack it up!" I threw out.
Blade rose silently, returned the rifle to me, which I immediately hid in the inventory, and without hesitating, simply stepped off the edge of the roof, vanishing into the darkness. I grabbed Gwen by the waist, she released a web, and we flew down, feeling a wild gust of wind and a dizzying flight. A couple of minutes later we were already racing in Blade's Charger through the streets of New York, away from the extinguished giant, dissolving in an endless flow of lights.
"Awesome. Brother's avenged!" was the first thing Blade said as the garage gates clattered shut behind us. He slammed his palm against the dusty workbench with force, kicking up a cloud of steel shavings. The tension of the night finally let go, replaced by grim satisfaction. "Though, obviously, I won't be left alone after such a stunt. After all, I primarily killed Wilson Fisk, not Kingpin. One bastard less, but to the system I'm the killer of a public figure. So I gotta bail."
"Bail where?" I inquired, confused. I hadn't considered this option somehow. It's... well, it's Blade. A superhuman practically from the big leagues. It seemed he had nothing to fear.
"Doesn't matter where, main thing—out of the country," he shrugged, but there wasn't a drop of indifference in his eyes. "Unlike you, I showed my face. I'm known. And now not bandits will come for me, but guys in sharp suits with federal badges. So as soon as you cure Frank, I'll have a heart-to-heart with him, and goodbye, America."
"That's sad, of course," I exhaled. Realization hit me: now Blade's help, support, and connections in New York couldn't be counted on. We lost our main power asset.
"Don't sweat it, kid," he poked my shoulder in a friendly way. "Even being not in the US, I'll help however I can. You're like a brother to me now, got it? So reach out for any question; you have my contacts." He shifted his gaze to Gwen, who had been silent until then. "And you, Spider-Girl, don't worry either. Partially counted as one of us too. Glad you didn't start lecturing me about how 'we shouldn't sink to their level' and other blah-blah-blah."
"He... deserved it," reluctantly but firmly Gwen admitted, looking at the floor. It was a huge admission for her, and we both understood it.
"By the way, regarding help," I immediately seized the opportunity, addressing Blade. "I need a new place to work. A large, hidden from prying eyes room that I can use as a full-fledged base. The garage has become way too small and inconvenient for my projects."
Blade smirked.
"You're quick. You can use my base in New York. It's an underground complex, big enough for your toys. I'll send the address, I'll put you in the security system. My house is your house. Lots of cool stuff inside: armory, gym... You'll see, anyway!"
"Whoa... Thanks!" I thanked him sincerely. This was a princely gift.
"Thank you. Correct guys... well, and non-guys... should stick together," he winked. "Right, I'm off. Message me when you create the heal. I'll break into the hospital myself and make Frank drink it."
"Okay," I nodded.
Мы exchanged a firm handshake, and he left. Only Gwen and I remained in the garage. She slowly pulled off her mask, revealing a tired, pale, but still pretty face with traces of dirt on the cheek.
"Thank you..." she said quietly. "For helping avenge my father. And... for helping me look at my methods differently. After all... Yes. Some problems really do need radical solutions. Anyway, I don't even know how to thank you..."
"The best thanks will be if you return to Connors' lab and bring Peter back to me," I answered with a soft smile, satisfied that this night had brought so many fruits. "And... become part of our team!"
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Team?"
"Yeah," I nodded, realizing this night brought too many dividends to stop at what was achieved. "Not heroes in shining spandex, but not villains either. Just people who want to change this world for the better but don't quite imagine how yet. You saw what I'm capable of. Peter is capable of no less, and in some aspects more! With the support of such a strong meta as you, any problem will be manageable for us. And, as Blade said, correct non-guys need to stick together. What do you think?"
"That's... really unexpected. And pleasant," she bit her lip, considering my words. "I... I'll think it over. Preliminarily, I'm more inclined to agree than not. Just... so much has crashed down for now. Need to process it all."
"I'm not rushing you. You can give your answer at any time convenient for you."
Casting a grateful look at me and pulling the mask back on, Gwen left my garage as quietly as she appeared on the roof. Well, here I am alone.
Finally, this insane night was over. Insane and incredibly profitable. Truly, the greater the risks, the higher the reward. What's next? Thoughts, no longer spurred by action from NZT, flowed slower, but the plan was clear. Creating the Elixirs of Ash and Dawn, curing Uncle Ben and Frank. Hard crafting and studying technologies obtained from Fisk—possibly already in the new, spacious laboratory. Farming OP and becoming stronger.
I am very, very, very weak. And tonight clearly showed it. My brains, my gadgets... all that would have been useless if Blade had missed. And to hell with the fact that this night was his initiative; I myself agreed to participate. If not for him, I would have hardly survived this mess.
The night arc with Fisk was over. The effect of NZT had long since worn off, leaving behind a resonant fatigue in the head. On the cameras I seemingly didn't show my face anywhere; the relationship with Gwen went to a new level. I can sleep now. The morning promises to be busy: Lucas should just be delivering all the necessary ingredients for the heal. Time to rest.