Sometimes forward motion is the result of a powerful kick in the ass.
An unknown philosopher.
*******************************
A day off! How long I had waited for you!
My mood soared beyond the clouds. I wanted to sing, dance, and embrace the entire world. Though perhaps not the world—two beautiful women would be better. And not merely embrace them, but that was beside the point.
The first thing I spent money on was a gigantic hot dog with every available topping. Mmm. Yes, it was junk food, and the sausage turned out to be soy, but it was still far better than the instant packets on which I had lived for the last month.
Connors brought sandwiches and other small things, of course, but mostly instant mashed potatoes and noodles. What else could he bring when the laboratory's only household appliance was an electric kettle? Besides, the man had only one arm, which limited the number of bags he could carry.
Naturally, I did not return empty-handed from my nocturnal trips into the city either, and I found places where I could eat something resembling a proper meal. But consuming a hot 'lunch' at an all-night diner once a week and buying sausage and milk did not mean one had not grown sick of instant noodles during every other meal.
The hot dog was, without exaggeration, a pleasant change. The idea of arranging a feast appealed greatly to me. The restaurant could wait, however. First I needed to do what I had dreamed about throughout the long, lonely days spent in Connors's laboratory—something extremely difficult to accomplish in the middle of the night, when normal people slept and not every store remained open.
After finishing the sausage in its bun, I headed for an electronics and appliance store I had noticed some time earlier. During five years at university, I had become accustomed to music accompanying every journey to my alma mater. Without a player, I now felt distinctly uncomfortable. At first the novelty of my circumstances distracted me, and the laboratory computer allowed me to open not only news sites but music as well. Still, I had no intention of living permanently without the ability to play something appropriate to my mood whenever I wished.
I entered the store, found the correct department, began examining the price list, and... The selection of music players disappointed me completely. There were many models, certainly, but every product presented by the constantly smiling salesman — who supplied a mountain of advice whether needed or not; the service was good but painfully intrusive — looked fragile.
My liver told me I would never enjoy a peaceful life. The final straw came when he attempted to sell me a PINK player covered in rhinestones because it was the most fashionable model of the season. My left eye began twitching. One might ask how a black mass of slime could display such effects, but apparently it had been absorbed among the conditioned reflexes written into my motor control.
Gathering all my willpower —one must not murder idiots in the middle of a store full of witnesses and security cameras— I heroically escaped into another department. They sold mobile phones there. A pleasant young woman offered a professional smile and asked how she could help. I asked whether they had an exceptionally difficult-to-destroy phone with a large memory and a price below two thousand dollars. My joy knew no limit when she brought out precisely what I needed.
The saleswoman began advertising the item. Something about a titanium body, vibration damping, and a hundred gigabytes of memory. All I had to do was nod and mentally proclaim, 'My precious. Our precious. Gollum, Gollum.' Thus, after paying fifteen hundred dollars, I became the happy owner of this monster of engineering and a set of headphones.
I could not load music at the store; they offered no such service, and American copyright law was severe. That had already caused me a number of unpleasant moments while searching for tracks on the laboratory computer. The next destination was an internet café. After paying for two hours online, I filled my new toy almost to capacity with music. Yes, piracy was difficult here, but thanks to our courageous privateers, everything was perfectly accessible on Russian servers. Worlds and eras might change, but the Russian attraction to free goods remained eternal—and that was good.
Evening gradually approached. My stomach suggested that something should be placed inside it, preferably something hot, meaty, and large. Then, as though the world had decided to reward me for all my good behavior and unparalleled devotion to study, I emerged from the internet café and saw a person whose appearance sent a shock through my entire being and made my organism come to attention.
Felicia Hardy passed me in a light summer dress, universal sorrow on her face. Slightly above average height—around five foot seven—blue eyes, a pretty face, and a magnificent wave of golden hair falling to her waist. Mmm. Yes. In Parker's place, I too would have tried to court her.
From Peter's memories, I knew that in addition to her charming appearance, she possessed a remarkable mind, though, again according to Spider-Man, she occasionally activated the classic blonde mode. She also had a genuine talent for attracting trouble to her shapely rear. The memories helpfully reported that in the last six months alone, someone had nearly killed her three times and kidnapped her once.
Is it love or not, I could not simply pass such an iconic character. As a true fan of the Marvel universe and, in general, not especially old, but one-hundred percent an idiot (one should judge oneself honestly) I was prepared to look like a complete fool while attempting an introduction. Sometimes it was better to act and lose, knowing you had tried, than to do nothing and torment yourself forever with the question, 'What if it would have worked if I'd dared?' Without postponing the matter, I caught up to the young woman and decided to introduce myself.
"Forgive me for interrupting, but could you help me with something?" I asked with a slight smile and a shallow bow.
*******************************
Felicia Hardy.
Felicia's day had been unpleasant.
Her mother was planning another reception where she would once again discuss market trends, profitable investment opportunities, and other financial matters with business partners, while her daughter would once again be besieged by various 'admirers.' Some wanted a potential instrument of influence over her mother. Others simply wanted to add the heiress to her family's considerable fortune to their 'collection.'
Normally, to escape such attention, Felicia attended those functions with a companion.
Unfortunately, despite all her preparation, the last reception had proved worse than any before it. Parker had made a poor escort, and to make matters worse she had been kidnapped by an inventor-scientist who had lost his mind and equipped himself with two pairs of mechanical 'arms.' The memory of Parker worsened her already bleak mood. He was strange. On one hand, he had not been afraid to enter Octavius's lair and deliver the ransom for the hostages. On the other, whenever the slightest danger appeared, he hid or vanished so rapidly that over time it began to look repulsive—as though he cowardly abandoned her to save himself. Even Harry Osborn displayed some resemblance of courage at such moments.
His constant lateness hardly needed mentioning. Who needed such an unreliable boyfriend? The alternatives, however, were no better. Take Flash Thompson, captain of the university football team, who also tried to court her according to his own limited understanding. Honest, straightforward, strong—and utterly incapable of sustaining a conversation on any subject not related to his beloved football. He treated her like a beautiful doll and continually tried to get beneath her skirt. The only truly useful aspect of being with him was his readiness, desire, and ability to drive away the 'hunters.' But who needed that ability packaged with everything else?
Walking down the street, Miss Hardy unconsciously grimaced.
The latest performance by those two had been beyond every boundary. Parker had either drunk for courage or traded brains with Thompson. First, they nearly started an actual fistfight in front of her. Then the delightful pair decided to treat her like a prize in some competition.
Idiots.
At moments exactly like that, Felicia sometimes felt an unbearable urge to raise her face to the sky and loudly ask whether, in this enormous city, there was not even one normal man. The question had troubled her for years, and the coming reception made it especially urgent. Ordinary girls had no shortage of boyfriends. Only she had been cursed with the alternatively gifted.
She had done nothing bad enough to deserve such punishment from above. Throughout her life, the younger Hardy had tried to be a good person and not become arrogant because of her wealth and position. She wore ordinary clothes she bought herself in ordinary stores. She used neither a personal driver nor security. She did not waste money or look down on people because of her family's social status. She treated every classmate equally and studied earnestly, never skipping even subjects she would never use.
Yet only fools clung to her.
Admission to Columbia University was not easy. One had to be far from stupid. Why, then, was she nearly forced to take the first step herself? And if only it involved a man she genuinely liked, someone with whom she had sincerely fallen in love. Such things happened, did they not? Felicia would gladly experience the feeling. What girl did not dream of meeting the man of her dreams? But the horror and tragedy lay in the fact that she had to approach and invite not a handsome man whose appearance made her heart beat faster, but the same 'barely acceptable companion-fools' whose only purpose was to let her breathe at social events.
How had it come to this? Why? What had she done to deserve it?
Even ignoring the money, she was not ugly. Nor was she such a complete fool that a decent man would be ashamed to stand beside her. Why had she never met even one simply good, reliable man in all her life? Why did everyone else have childhood friends, sensible admirers, a dependable male shoulder, while she alone had to chase not love but merely something tolerable? Who had cursed her?
These cheerless thoughts had circulated through Felicia's mind all day, occasionally displaced by immediate business. The moment she was left alone with her thoughts, however, even temporary improvements vanished and dark melancholy returned with several new arguments painted in especially black colors. Now, her almost masochistic self-humiliation only tightened the spiral of unhappy memories. She no longer hoped a fresh idea would suddenly appear and allow her to fix everything. She expected only that a thought repeated ten times might lose its sharpness and finally release her from depression.
That was why the pleasant male baritone calling to her was unexpected.
"Forgive me for interrupting, but could you help me with something?"
Felicia turned and saw a tall young man in an expensive leather coat standing before her in a polite half-bow with a slight smile. She did not know him, though he looked at her as though recognizing her rather than addressing the first woman he happened to meet. Peter looked at her in exactly the same way when he unexpectedly encountered her—with open directness and a kind of inner happiness that always disarmed her despite his previous unreliability.
It was strange enough that Felicia spent a moment desperately trying to remember where they had met. Judging by his age, he might attend her university. Yet she could not remember anyone like him, so she simply raised one eyebrow in a silent question: And now what? Perhaps it was not especially polite, but at least she would not embarrass herself.
"I understand this may sound foolish, but I'm new to the city and would like to have dinner at a good restaurant. Do you happen to know a suitable place? Preferably nothing too loud or pompous—somewhere comfortable."
"A comfortable little restaurant?"
Miss Hardy had to admit that the stranger had surprised her. His answering nod also confused her. Felicia knew one place that fit the description, on the waterfront not far away, but the prices were painful. After another glance at the coat (which fitted him perfectly and had clearly been made to order) she gave him the directions.
"Go straight down this street, turn left after three buildings, and about two hundred yards farther you'll see a green sign. But I should warn you that the prices bite."
"Oh, that isn't a problem," the stranger said with a smile. "Please accept my sincere thanks. And although I realize this is extremely bold, perhaps you could help me with one more thing?"
Still smiling politely, he gave her something resembling the pleading look of a hungry puppy. Felicia smiled involuntarily.
"That depends on what it is."
"My request will probably make you think I'm an idiot, but I honestly don't know what else a man can do in a situation like this." He looked away with visible awkwardness, awakening amusement and curiosity in Felicia. "You see, when I saw you, it felt as though a truck had fallen onto my heart and was still lying there. I know that sounds foolish and terribly conventional, but I've never felt anything like it, and I don't know what else to say or how to say it. So... would you perhaps agree to save me and join me at that restaurant? And tell me your name?"
The man's expression became even more like that of a soulful, hungry puppy, and Felicia barely restrained a giggle.
"Actually, when a gentleman meets a lady, he's supposed to introduce himself first," Hardy reproached her unsuccessful but entertaining admirer while suppressing a smile.
"Oh! Please forgive me." The stranger looked genuinely embarrassed. "Walter. Walter Mayer."
"Felicia Hardy," she introduced herself graciously and noted that her new acquaintance showed no reaction to the surname Hardy.
"I'm delighted to meet you."
Walter sounded entirely sincere.
"So... will the beautiful lady rescue the uncouth barbarian she has struck down from sorrow and despair?"
"Hmm..." Felicia examined him again with an appraising gaze.
It was all rather foolish and even awkward, but within less than a minute of conversation her funeral mood had transformed into a desire to smile. Besides, compared with Flash and Peter—and every other man she knew, none of whom would have possessed the courage to introduce themselves in the way Walter had, much less directly admit such things; men were apparently terrified of telling a woman first that they liked her, forever inventing excuses for their interest—Mayer did not look bad at all.
He had also approached her first and clearly not because of her family's position or money. That had not happened in a long time. In principle, she did not object to accepting the invitation.
*******************************
Walter Mayer.
After some hesitation, Miss Hardy agreed, and we set out for the restaurant she had recommended while chatting casually about nothing in particular. More precisely, she chatted casually about nothing in particular. I boiled my brain trying not to embarrass myself and to make the conversation pleasant for the young woman rather than depressing her with the realization that she had met an inarticulate idiot.
It was not a simple task.
Making a good impression on a woman is difficult by definition, and doing it flawlessly at any hour of day or night is a skill possessed only by very particular citizens such as Casanova, Lovelace, and Don Juan—men whose names became common nouns.
The problem was worsened by the fact that I had enjoyed very little practice in interpersonal communication during the last several weeks. And what practice I did have... no, one could not compare a life-hardened university professor with a young woman.
Still, I appeared not to fall face-first into the mud. At least, I desperately hoped I did not.
I managed to guide the conversation toward university life. Felicia attended the same Columbia University where Connors taught, so the subject was familiar to her, while my own student years remained fresh enough to provide easy common ground. I also revealed my cover story. I had moved to New York only a month ago, after living and studying for a long time in Russia despite being a full-blooded German. At present, I was practicing under Doctor Connors. Curt became an especially rich subject once we reached the restaurant, because Felicia knew him. What could draw a woman into conversation more effectively than discussing a mutual acquaintance?
My lamentations about the fact that the peace-loving professor was secretly a terrible tyrant who loaded his students with knowledge without mercy or compassion worked particularly well. My dramatic reenactments of the inhuman treatment inflicted upon one unfortunate me repeatedly produced Felicia's bright laughter. Miss Hardy naturally contributed several amusing stories from her own university life and seemed to enjoy telling them.
We separated late in the evening, both thoroughly satisfied with the other's company.
I accompanied her home—a respectable penthouse almost in the city center. At the door, we exchanged phone numbers, giving purpose to my purchase that morning, and agreed to meet again at the university. I kissed her hand goodbye and thanked her once more for the wonderful evening. At the same time, I collected DNA samples and left several hundred of my cells on my new acquaintance. The history of repeated kidnappings involving, I hoped, my future girlfriend was something I disliked intensely.
As I walked away from her building, I felt her thoughtful gaze on my back. It seemed life was improving.
*******************************
Felicia Hardy.
Felicia stood by the window watching Mayer's retreating figure and involuntarily wondered whether her appeal to heaven had been heard—whether she had finally met a normal man. Throughout dinner, she had not once caught Walter looking at her with lust or calculation, and she knew how to recognize both. Yes, Mayer had openly admired her all evening. But his gaze had never contained the desire to get her drunk and drag her into bed immediately after dinner. He had not ordered alcohol at all, for that matter.
Her new acquaintance was charming and sustained conversation well, but more importantly he had genuinely enjoyed speaking with her rather than merely arranging his face into an interested expression. Felicia could recognize that too. He had also paid for them both immediately and automatically. It was a natural enough gesture, but she had experienced every variety of behavior in her life, and one could always see when someone acted from obligation and manners and when the conduct was so natural that he never even considered it.
That earned him another point. So did accompanying her home. Thompson had never once thought to do that. One could still have suspected he expected the evening to continue, but by then Felicia had already mentioned that her mother was waiting at home. Even a complete fool would not have expected anything. In the end, she was prepared to admit to herself that she would not object to meeting the German again.
A new smile appeared on the younger Hardy's face. The day had begun terribly and ended very well.
*******************************
Walter Mayer.
I was preparing to visit New York's less respectable districts, both to stretch myself and replenish the wallet I had bled heavily that day, when the corner of my eye caught a red-and-blue figure swinging between buildings on ropes fired from his hands. Pain, hurt, and disappointment from the former Symbiote rushed over me in a hot wave, just as they had when I first became aware inside the alien organism. No—not just as before.
Now I was healthy and full of strength. The feelings were many times brighter and stronger. My mind flooded with vague, fragmented memories full of outrage. 'I' found a host, learned the principles governing his species, compensated for his mistakes in combat, helped him master the most viable and successful behavioral pattern discovered in his genetic code—and even refined that pattern using his memories. The objective was to raise him to the summit of the local biosphere's food chain and thereby create the best possible conditions for collecting genetic samples.
Yes, the Symbiote had possessed intelligence unlike anything human. It had a priority mission, but within the mission it enjoyed broad freedom for creativity and individuality, especially because no one had imposed a deadline. From its point of view, it had behaved with extraordinary generosity and kindness toward the host. It could have devoured him, especially given its poor condition after reaching Earth. Instead, it chose a humane and merciful approach, though it did not use either concept. And in return...
It had been betrayed.
Betrayed in its best feelings. Literally bitten by the hand it fed, if one attempted to interpret its perception of the events. The cocktail of its emotions now seethed inside me as rage, insult, and a thirst for revenge. All the more so because I, personally, now had reasons of my own to take revenge.
A bloodthirsty grin spread across my face.
First I met such a magnificent woman. Now I would beat Parker senseless.
Today truly was a holiday.
I slipped into the nearest deserted alley, assumed the form of the Nazgûl, and rushed after Peter.
*******************************
Peter Parker, better known in certain circles as Spider-Man.
As usual, Peter was making an evening circuit of the city and watching for injustice and crime when a rapidly approaching foot entered his field of vision. Then darkness came.
Spider-Man regained consciousness on a roof, bound in something suspiciously similar to his own webbing. His head ached badly, and a salty taste filled his mouth. He jerked once, then again, trying to escape the restraints. It was useless. The only comforting fact was that the mask remained on his face. His identity was safe. 'Well, I seem to spend far too much time captured or tied up lately. I'll develop a phobia at this rate,' Peter thought with his habitual trace of sarcasm.
"Awake at lassst," a frightening, hissing voice said with peculiar intonation. "Don't sstruggle. It won't help."
Turning toward the sound, Spider-Man saw a tall figure wrapped in a dense black robe that looked heavy even from a distance. Beneath the hood was a void of solid darkness. The only part visible beyond the cloak—the hands—was hidden beneath thin leather gloves fitted like a second skin.
"Uh, forgive me, pal, but you might want to update your wardrobe. You have a serious excess-of-gloom problem. Maybe add some pink?"
The prisoner continued practicing sarcasm despite the very real chill running down his spine.
"Sstill laughing? Laugh while you can, Sspider. Or would you prefer Peter Parker?"
Every trace of amusement vanished from the captive. Slowly, Peter understood that he was in trouble. Serious trouble.
"What do you want?"
He tried to hide the rising fear beneath anger. Not fear for himself, but for Aunt May, Mary Jane, Felicia...
"Only to talk. If I wanted you dead, you would have died—or surrendered your body to me—a month ago. But firsst..."
The silhouette approached and delivered several extremely painful blows, punctuating them with hisses.
"That is for the blaster. That is for the bell tower. And THAT is for those damned sstairs I had to crawl up out of the basement while licking EVERY FILTHY SSTEP WITH MY ENTIRE BODY!"
The last blow hurt particularly badly. 'Blaster. Bell tower. He knows who I am. Could it be?' Spider-Man always thought very quickly in extreme situations.
"The suit?"
If the creature had survived, his peaceful life was over.
"Not anymore." The voice changed. The hissing vanished, but enough cold remained to supply two Antarcticas. "I was trying to help you, you ungrateful idiot! After falling from orbit! Half-conscious! Without eating for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years! I was a half-dead lump of slime barely aware of itself! I saved your life, made you stronger, helped solve your problems, and raised your social status according to criteria of success and proper behavior extracted from your own brain and based on the strongest members of your species! And how did you thank me? Did you consider increasing your food intake so it would support two organisms? Did you try to establish contact? Ask what I needed? NO! You threw a comatose creature into a torture chamber and gave it a lobotomy, destroying almost every trace of self-awareness, memory, and its former personality! So consider the beating punishment for cruelty to animals and be grateful I didn't break your neck."
"I didn't know," Peter whispered, stunned and lost as his entire world overturned.
"Of course you didn't know!" the furious voice thundered from beneath the hood. "Still, in part I owe you something." The intensity eased as his opponent made the unexpected admission. "My former personality shattered into dust, and the new one arose only because of you. Because I am the person I am now, I value my current life—not the thing I barely remember but know was profoundly different from me." With a single movement, the creature tore Parker's bonds apart. "That is why I came to warn you. You already know I can penetrate a host's structure and improve it. I can also analyze acquired material. Your evolution is still continuing. You're changing—almost invisibly for now, but more and more with every day. Your final form will no longer be human. I'm not even certain you'll be able to control its animal instincts."
Peter recoiled. He did not want to believe the creature's words, but something compelled him to listen to the black suit.
"If you don't believe me, ask someone you trust. There are no debts between us now. I'm not your enemy. Perhaps someday I can become your friend, since much of my personality is your reflection. If you need help, you'll be able to find me. For now—farewell."
The hooded figure simply stepped from the roof. Left alone, Parker replayed the strange conversation with the even stranger being again and again. His spider-sense had not responded to it. The creature truly had not intended to harm him. His thoughts were chaos. He had to verify the Symbiote's warning, and if it proved true, search for a cure.
*******************************
Mayer again.
The conversation with Parker had been much harder than expected. I had nearly broken both my brain and my vocal cords, but the Orochimaru style had been worth it. At first I desperately wanted to strangle him. I restrained myself, though I did take a little blood. His material was excellent. Afterward, I had to improvise almost completely, playing with facts and presenting the truth so that he developed a particular impression of me.
I hoped I had achieved the objective. It was vitally important that Spider-Man consider me an ally. Well, perhaps not literally vital, but far too much in this universe revolved around Peter Parker's personality and actions to ignore the possibility of an alliance. Would the events of the X-Men, Fantastic Four, Hulk, or Iron Man cartoons occur in this world? The dog knew. Even without them, Earth faced several possible apocalypses directly connected with my recent conversational partner.
I had no desire to meet the end of the world as an unsuspecting victim who could influence nothing. I needed Spider-Man, at least so I could keep a hand on the pulse. Thus ended the day. Dawn already brightened the horizon, and it was time to return to the laboratory.