Vague suspicions are beginning to torment me...
Shpak has the tape recorder; the ambassador has the medallion.
From 'Ivan Vasilievich Changes His Profession.'
I had expected lengthy negotiations, arguments, or at least an attempt to send me along an interesting sexual route. Federico surprised me. Had his decision arisen from complete indifference toward his future? Or from my attempts to transmit the necessary emotions to the vampire? With a collection of my cells inside his carcass, that was not difficult. I needed someone to practice on. I had not yet achieved anything more serious than making my words sound more persuasive, but give me time.
I did not know, and it was not especially important. I now possessed my first vassal. Hm. The game of becoming a Dark Lord was gradually ceasing to be a game. Why did I need power over the world? I had wanted only comfort and domestic peace, though one should not forget the desire to acquire interesting things. Instead, I sank ever deeper into local intrigue and conflict. And I liked it. In that case, there was nothing to regret. But let us return to the fanged subject.
Why did I need a vampire at all? Simple. For all their disadvantages—quite repairable disadvantages, incidentally—they possessed several benefits. Besides considerable life experience, depending on one's luck, they were accustomed to the possibility of indefinitely long life. Unlike ordinary mortals, they would not require me to worry about their psychological state when their family and acquaintances aged and died. I had no intention of extending the life of everyone they knew. They were also inherently better material for transformation, though that was not decisive. The blood-drinkers' greatest advantage was their social position. The Red Kind had recently attracted more psychopaths from the younger generation, but most old, pure-blooded vampires still possessed substantial capital and connections throughout society. Logical. Living in the modern world without documents was difficult even for a vampire.
The Count would soon have work—so much that he would possess no time for boredom or melancholy. First, I decided to protect my investment through a series of transformations and modifications. I removed his sensitivity to sunlight by adding to his cells an element of Symba's structure that allowed me to absorb radiation across every spectrum. It was easier than the first time, but still difficult. The solution killed two birds with one stone: it protected him from sunlight and supplied his organism with large quantities of energy. The next step was rebuilding his digestive system according to Blade's pattern.
At the same time, I could determine what the Thirst actually was: an organism's need for energy, or a psychological distortion. I also increased the proportion of my cells inside the vassal. It was far too early to speak of complete trust. Additional insurance would not hurt. The Count regained consciousness immediately before dawn. He looked thoroughly battered. I was not in excellent condition either. Modernizing an organism not connected to me within only a few hours was difficult. Still, it was a substantial achievement. Not long ago, merely attaching an arm had required more time than a complete reconstruction did now.
"Well, Federico. Welcome to the future."
I removed the cold, commanding tones from my voice and smiled at my vassal. He no longer heard me. The vampire—though now he was perhaps something greater—stared with wide eyes at the sun rising into the sky. An indescribable expression froze on his dawn-lit face, and tears flowed from his eyes. (Note: verify whether I had modified his eyes sufficiently. Perhaps this was simply a response to irritation.) Several minutes later, the Count recovered somewhat. He bowed deeply with one hand pressed to his heart.
"Thank you, my Lord, for this priceless gift."
"There is no need. It is my duty toward a vassal. Recover and rest. In several days, when you have adapted to your new abilities, come to me. We have a great deal of work ahead."
I gave him my address and advised him to add ordinary human food to his menu. Then I returned to Felicia. The young woman was still asleep. Apparently she had moved a great deal in her dreams. The blanket lay on the floor, while Miss Hardy had somehow positioned herself across the bed and curled into a ball. The nights were becoming cold. I replaced the blanket and sat in the chair nearest the bed, considering everything that had happened recently.
Overall, matters were proceeding extremely well. My strength increased rapidly. I remained in the shadows and avoided attracting unnecessary attention, or fed my opponents misinformation. More precisely, I allowed them to arrange facts in the interpretation I desired. At least, I sincerely hoped so. Paranoia never slept. In any case, that side of life was proceeding well.
Next: my personal life. I allowed myself to admire the sleeping young woman for a while. I loved Felicia, and we were happy together. She seemed to love me too. Then why had I exposed her to such danger? I had controlled the situation, and in the worst case I could have reversed every change. What had prevented me from quietly burying Michael somewhere rather than arranging this entire circus? The obvious answer left my soul filthy and uncomfortable. Because this had benefited me. It had been the most convenient option, providing maximum profit at minimum expense. I had evaluated the risk involved as acceptable. It merely tickled my nerves pleasantly and made me squint in satisfaction.
Well. It seemed I would soon require a psychiatrist. The farther I went, the more tangled my desires and goals became—or rather, the less I liked the image revealed by my actions. Even my favorite music rebelled against me that day. How else could one describe the random selection of Epidemia's song 'Without Heart or Soul'?
The one, who has no heart and soul, Who doesn't know what hatred is like,
The one who has no heart and soul, Feels no pain
Their wishes are moved by cold clarity,
Fire doesn't warm and ice doesn't cool.
(Epidemia - Without heart and soul) (Эпидемия - Без сердца и души)
Stop! Enough! I switched off the player irritably. I felt as though I had just swum through a sewer—and the most pleasant part was that the sewer had been my own soul. What was happening to me? Was this the Symbiote's influence? A consequence of being transported into another world whose reality I had not yet accepted completely?
Or was this the true me? A calculating, selfish, cold-blooded bastard. What was I really like? I clasped my hands and rested my head upon them. Funny. I appeared to be beginning to despise myself. What could I do about it? Tell Felicia the truth? And say what?
'You know, darling, I'm actually a perfect killing machine from outer space containing the soul of a man from another world. In my world, people draw comics and make films about all of you.'
That would summon kind gentlemen with understanding smiles, a syringe of haloperidol, and a fashionable shirt with very long sleeves. And if I continued: 'I could have prevented every one of your troubles easily, but chose not to for my own clever reasons.'
Yes. Then demonstrate something impressive, such as turning an ordinary hand into a clawed paw. In that case, I would unquestionably be punched in the face—unless she ran away. (Though Felicia was courageous and decisive. If she ran, it would probably be after the fleeing villain.) She would be completely justified. No. I could tell her nothing, at least until she acquired her abilities.
My knowledge of a possible future was better left unmentioned forever. I grimaced. There I was, planning to manipulate and conceal the truth from perhaps the person closest to me in this world. I did not know where those thoughts would have led, though certainly nowhere good. Fortunately, Felicia woke at that moment and interrupted the act of self-flagellation.
The young woman swept the room with a sleepy gaze. Then her eyes found my exhausted, slightly unshaven face—I had to maintain the appearance of an ordinary human—and her beautiful blue eyes widened in surprise.
"Walter? What are you..." Then she apparently woke completely, remembered the events of the previous night, and evaluated my pale appearance. "Did you stay awake all night?"
"I simply couldn't sleep."
I spread my hands and smiled apologetically. Felicia rose from the bed and moved into the chair with me, pressing her nose against my shoulder in a gesture that had already become familiar.
"You saved me again and risked yourself... Why do you keep bothering with me? I bring nothing but trouble."
Her voice was quiet and pitiful. I stroked her head and let her speak. One could not hold everything inside, and yesterday she had been too shocked.
"I'm always unlucky. I've lost count of how many times I've been kidnapped or attacked, and the people around me suffer. Why would you want someone like me? I checked. You already have plenty of money, intelligence, and an attractive appearance. The girls in our year have practically declared open season on you and are willing to do almost anything for your attention. And you... why do you constantly risk yourself protecting me?"
The sobbing began again. The experience had struck her hard if she had even admitted gathering information about me. If my abilities had worked on a vampire, perhaps they would suffice to calm one unfortunate young woman. I moved back slightly and looked at my beloved. Yes. Her eyes were wet. I kissed Felicia gently and settled her on my lap, transmitting sensations of warmth, care, and peace at the same time.
"Why? A strange question. Because I love you, not some 'girls from our year.' I can even reveal a small secret: I fell in love at first sight. With one beautiful young woman who had sad eyes. I decided to drive away that sadness. I like your smile much better. As for trouble... I'm a durable creature and slightly lucky. Adventures like these are gradually becoming familiar and even enjoyable. Um... except for excessive attention toward you from members of the opposite sex." I ended jokingly. Felicia smiled timidly. "So consider me your guardian demon."
"A demon? Why not an angel?" Curiosity had replaced the sobs in her voice.
The Hardy clan's curiosity—and especially this young woman's—was a tremendous force. I was prepared to wager that Felicia herself had dragged her first boyfriend into bed, solely out of curiosity.
"Kitten, look at me. Where am I, and where are angels? Besides, I don't honor the commandments. At least some of them."
In fact, all of them, but it was better to remain silent about that for now.
"And which commandments do you dislike so much?"
Playful notes entered her voice. Whew. It seemed the breakdown had passed. My slight influence on her emotions had absolutely nothing to do with it. I had merely added a little persuasiveness to my words. Why did she need an answer she already knew? Then again, who prevented me from enjoying it?
"For example, the one about not committing adultery," I purred, drawing her closer.
When we finally separated, Felicia no longer sounded upset. She began interrogating me thoroughly—but first supplied breakfast and coffee. My attempts to help had been deemed ineffective and even harmful, so I was forbidden from approaching the kitchen at all.
"Darling," the young woman began in a honeyed voice. I flinched and nearly drowned in my coffee. What an ignominious death that would have been. Both the voice and the form of address were dangerous. "Where did you get friends like those? Who were they?"
"Oh, it is a highly dramatic tale of friendship and war between clans, love and betrayal, dozens of kidnappings and hundreds of battles, as well as one small kitten."
I began with the most serious expression possible, but could not hold it and burst out laughing.
"Walteeeer!"
Hm. When angry, her eyes acquired a greenish shade. Her face displayed, in enormous letters, the desire to perform something unnatural and extremely painful upon someone. I could even guess who. I preferred not to imagine precisely what.
"All right, all right." I raised my hands in complete surrender.
"It began when Blade—my aforementioned 'friend'—knocked me unconscious while I was walking home through the park. So now I have a kidnapping in my collection too. Anyway..."
The story took a long time. I had to omit certain details and present others differently from how they had occurred. The young woman ended convinced that I had simply been fortunate enough to notice her abduction and contact the 'appropriate specialists.' I escaped additional questions completely legally. I simply looked at the clock.
"Damn it! We're late for the university. Let's finish and run."
I began washing dishes with extraordinary energy. Felicia went to prepare and dress. Once again, I had pulled the wool over my beloved's eyes. Disgusting. But there was nothing else I could do, I hoped. One day I would be able to tell her the truth. For now, I was what I was—neither better nor worse. Away with doubts. Whatever happened, happened.
"Walter, why are you taking so long? You're the one who shouted that we're late!"
"Coming!"
I grabbed my coat from the hanger and followed the young woman out of the apartment.
********************
Silvermane.
The venomous old man was in an extremely foul mood. War with Kingpin was expensive. Unlike his opponent, however, Silvermane did not hurry to assault a rival headquarters or conduct open warfare in the city streets. The experienced intriguer acted far more subtly, delivering painful stabs against Fisk, depriving him of sources of income and the remains of his authority. Their weight classes were still too different. Without support from the other shadow rulers, Silvermane's defeat was only a matter of time. Sooner or later, the old man would be devoured. Who would follow an eighty-year-old grandfather who remained in this world through stubbornness and the desire to spoil his rivals' blood?
No one.
If only he were forty years younger. The man looked once more at the smooth, clean, wrinkle-free skin of his left hand and sighed heavily. Obtaining unusual blood had not gone smoothly either. His people tracked and captured one individual. Under interrogation, he admitted to being a vampire, and his blood was indeed unusual. A pathetic sight, truthfully. It could provide a form of immortality, but remaining an old man forever...
Silvermane shuddered.
The second acquisition had been blood from one greedy bit—mercenary. But two million dollars for five ounces... That was where success ended and failure began. According to the gathered information, Xavier's school was nearly the primary den of mutants in the country. Magneto concealed himself far better and possessed far fewer personnel. But it was still officially a school, which meant something as ordinary as a medical examination should occur annually.
The bribes had cost only one hundred thousand dollars. The result was an extraordinary medical commission presented as a statewide epidemiological check. Nearly one hundred tubes of blood came from the desired school. Completely ordinary blood, without the slightest sign of mutation. Silvermane had raged that day.
They even dragged in the laboratory workers who had collected the samples. The unfortunate young men swore that they had taken blood from Xavier's students. They passed polygraph examinations, and nothing changed. They spoke the truth—or rather, believed completely in what they said.
A rumor circulated through the city about a harmless disabled man in a wheelchair. It appeared the rumor was true. At least the operatives had worked blindly, convinced they were performing an ordinary medical examination. What now?
He desperately needed those samples. It seemed he would have to work with the fanatic mentioned by his informants. But should he? The old man sat at his desk for several minutes, tormented by doubt. Then he made his decision and summoned his secretary.
"Sarah, please connect me with Colonel Stryker's adjutant."
************************************
Peter Parker.
The photographer's day had gone badly. To be truthful, successful days had become a great rarity for Peter recently. After his encounter with Morbius, he had barely escaped. Once he reached home, he slept for almost an entire day. Mary Jane had become angry with him for reasons he did not understand and refused to speak to him (Chameleon had framed the young man very elegantly with the theater). Felicia had made it unambiguously clear that Parker could expect nothing beyond friendship, then hurried to a date with Walter. At least someone's love life was going well.
Pain twisted through Peter's entire body, forcing him to grind his teeth and hiss something obscene. After meeting the vampire, such attacks had become increasingly frequent. He had no opportunity to reach Connors or Mayer. Besides, they had said they could do nothing more. The vampire himself had vanished somewhere. Peter hoped the Nazgûl could deal with Michael if necessary. Spider-Man himself was in no condition to do so. Fortunately, other people capable of helping existed besides Dr. Connors and Walter.
Parker went to Xavier's school. Unfortunately, he heard nothing encouraging. The meeting proceeded with hostility and mutual distrust, though relations improved slightly later. The result remained unchanged. He would receive no help there.
"'I don't cure mutants. I only help them accept their true nature,'" he mimicked the bald professor. "I'd like to see him if his 'true nature' had eight limbs and lived entirely by instinct. Why do I constantly save this world, while the world doesn't care when I need help? With rare exceptions..."
The irritated photographer left one of the country's largest gatherings of mutants.
****************
Charles Xavier's School. Immediately after Spider's departure.
The elderly man in the wheelchair looked thoughtfully through the window their visitor had used moments earlier. One did not need empathy to understand Spider's emotional state when he left. Meanwhile, Xavier's students began their favorite activity: arguing among themselves.
"Why is he so upset? Being a mutant is far better than being an ordinary human," Wolverine reasoned.
"You know, not everyone is as lucky as you," Beast growled irritably. "Many people don't enjoy looking like monsters."
"But you aren't a monster," Jean began.
"Oh yes. Girls like large, soft things, and I even come in an unusual color," Hank concluded.
"Look. He has a sense of humor," Cyclops said.
Cyclops had never possessed a gentle disposition. After an emergency operation gathering one hundred samples of ordinary blood, he was sleep-deprived and therefore angry. Only Storm stood calmly in a corner. She was the team's oldest member and preferred not to participate in 'children's games.'
"Go to hell," Beast snorted and headed for the exit. "I'm going for a walk. I'll return late."
The Professor rolled his eyes. These were the finest representatives of the new generation of mutants—and Wolverine, one of the oldest X-Men.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please calm down. We are all tired and somewhat strained by this medical commission. Try to respect one another and forgive occasional hot tempers." Under the Professor's reproachful gaze, even Cyclops looked embarrassed. "We all need rest, so I will not detain you further."
Then Xavier added a telepathic message: 'Jean, Cyclops, Wolverine, please remain for a moment.'
When only those three remained, the Professor allowed himself to relax slightly and lean back in his chair. The shadows surrounding his eyes and the bend in his posture became obvious. Convincing ten minds of an alternate reality had been difficult even for him.
"Did you need something, Professor?"
Logan. Naturally, he lacked the patience to wait until Xavier explained why he had asked them to remain.
"Yes. Recent events concern me. Considering the ease with which Spider-Man entered our grounds, I believe our security system requires serious improvement. I ask you to address it. And one other matter..."
"What?" Cyclops and Wolverine asked almost simultaneously.
The Professor smiled.
"Logan, please watch Hank. Our hot-tempered friend struck a sensitive point. I doubt tracking our scientist without being seen will present difficulty for you."
Wolverine prepared to object, and Charles had to use the final argument. 'Otherwise, I swear to God I will fulfill my old promise and turn you into a five-year-old girl.'
"Uh. Fine. I'm going. I need to catch his trail quickly."
The mutant left the room. Cyclops joined him. Designing a new security plan would be long and tedious, so they might as well begin immediately.
"Professor?" Jean asked.
"Yes, my child. I believe you have noticed it too. Recently, I have sensed frequent bursts of psychic activity in the city."
"How powerful are they, Professor?"
"It is difficult to say with certainty. The first burst occurred rather far from us, yet it was no weaker than I am—and perhaps stronger," Xavier admitted. "The activity is now much weaker, but you understand."
"If that mutant loses control... the city could face extremely serious trouble."
"Precisely. Finding him must become our highest priority."