If you stole it quickly and left, that means you found it!
An epigraph on the Thieves' Guild job board.
********
Walter Mayer.
I reached home quickly. After barely fighting off another attempt to turn me into a bun—though I still had to devour an enormous bowl of navy-style pasta—I began a much more thoughtful analysis of my trophy. Hm. The longer I lived in this world, the more convinced I became that its concentration of geniuses per square mile was simply absurd. In my old world, science-fiction writers had described 'living water,' the memory of water, and even its will in works like 'Solaris.' Those had been fantasies. Here, however, I had a perfectly genuine sentient puddle.
My research suggested that the man whose DNA the water was currently simulating had indeed drowned. Under the influence of some unknown factor—which I definitely needed to obtain, because it would certainly be useful—his entire memory and perhaps even most of his personality had somehow been transferred into water. That sounded confusing, but I doubted I could explain it more clearly. Most of the information still reached me only at the instinctive level.
The research revealed several other interesting facts. First, water's memory was far from unlimited. If I poured the contents of my tube into ordinary 'empty' water, the information would be sufficient to restore the entire body, but the resulting body probably would not possess a personality. I could be wrong, of course. Confirming it would require looking deeper than I was currently capable of doing.
Second came the principle of 'recording' information onto water. I never understood how it happened. When I diluted the tube with ordinary water, the 'empty' liquid simply copied the information from the 'recorded' portion. But, as they say, breaking is easier than building. Erasing water's memory proved simple: it only had to be evaporated. The condensed liquid carried no information afterward.
Meeting this gentleman on the bank of even a small river was therefore completely out of the question. He would be practically invulnerable there and would command all the water in the river. I did not even want to imagine what he could do in the ocean. Freezing did not work. After thawing, the liquid retained its information. Thus, the proper weapon against our water elemental—and what else could one call an element that had acquired reason, other than perhaps a water spirit?—was an immersion heater.
Though I would not object to pouring liquid nitrogen over him and putting him in a freezer. Solely for the good of science, naturally. All of that was minor compared with the third discovery. I had learned exactly how Hydro-Man performed his tricks with water.
His body possessed a kind of affinity with all surrounding moisture. By tuning himself in the proper way, he could control nearby liquid. As I understood it, the more of his own body he involved, the more powerful the effect, but the less attention he could devote to maintaining his form.
When he struck Peter with water battering rams, for example, his arms turned transparent. He no longer possessed enough concentration to preserve a fully human appearance. His geyser trick transformed him entirely into water that maintained a human shape but no longer a human likeness.
Why was that discovery so wonderful? Allow me to explain. I understood the principle by which it worked. I could not reproduce Hydro-Man's tricks. Anything remotely impressive required six to eight liters of 'intelligent' water, and it had to be pure. The fact that the human body was mostly water did not help me.
But why insist on water? The same principle could be applied to almost any liquid, provided the composition of 'my' liquid was at least approximately similar to the target. And what did all humans, almost all mutants, and most animals, birds, and other creatures possess in common? Blood.
One could, of course, work through other bodily fluids, but that lacked aesthetic appeal. Though perhaps it would clarify what the author of the expression 'piss went to his head' had meant. I could not pass up such a useful prize. The necessary alterations proved surprisingly small. It bothered me that I did not completely understand the mechanism, but for now I would settle for copying it. After memorizing all of my organism's current parameters, as had become customary, I slipped inward.
A couple of hours later.
Whew. That had been harder than expected. The alteration itself was small but required extremely delicate work. I had to restart several times. Without my experience with earlier transformations and my effort to tear the mechanisms of energy absorption and conversion out of Symba, I would never have managed it. At best, I might have spent a month trying, with no guarantee of success. At least such minor changes required no additional fuel. I felt no desire to eat.
Very well. Time to test it. I concentrated and tried to imagine my blood seeping through my pores and forming a perfect sphere before me. Nothing happened.
"I don't understand," I muttered, scratching the back of my head. "Everything went properly. Perhaps I lack concentration?"
I spent some time trying to focus, to 'subjugate myself to myself,' and to visualize the result. Nothing helped. I could feel my blood perfectly, but I could not make it do anything. Frustrated, I decided to distract myself with the television. It was already after two in the morning, but the news channel operated around the clock. The remote usually lay nearby, so I simply reached out and took it.
My surprise was considerable when I realized that 'nearby' applied when I sat on the sofa. I was currently at the desk in my study, five yards from the desired remote. And yet it was in my hand. How? Hm. What was this? I sniffed the remote. It smelled of blood—my blood. Had I pulled it toward myself with my blood so freely and naturally that I had not even noticed? I understood nothing.
Then a theory entered my mind. It was so absurd that it might be correct. Why had I been trying to force my blood to act or imagining the desired action? This was not magic. I had no idea how people truly cast spells. The information gathered from countless fantasy stories was contradictory, and I doubted my former world's inhabitants had known the truth. Even if someone had, that did not mean they had written it down.
For now, I was operating only at the biological level. It was a highly unusual organism, but still an organism. Did we persuade an arm to pick up a glass? Did we visualize how it should do so? No. We simply reached out and took the glass. Why the hell had I made things so complicated? I had outsmarted myself. Fine. Let us try again.
Controlling blood was difficult. Using the liquid as part of my body felt like growing another arm—an almost completely atrophied arm that had also gone numb. Gradually, however, I achieved something reasonably functional. The talent offered little immediate benefit, but I hoped to develop it into another powerful weapon. If I could eventually manipulate others through their blood like puppets... Mm. One could not plant Symbiote cells in everyone, but leaving behind an unnoticed drop of blood would be much easier.
I paused in thought. Heh. I now resembled a Greater Vampire rather closely. Sunlight did not harm me. Silver had no effect. I could fly a little. Now I had begun learning something suspiciously similar to Blood Magic. Beautiful. The important thing was not to let Blade mistake me for Dracula. That would be awkward. My blood could now reshape similar liquid inside other organisms. If I added a few Symbiote cells as well... did that mean I could truly turn someone into a creature like myself merely by injecting enough of my blood? I would have to determine how controllable the process was. Federico might return with several future vassals, and enhancing them with my blood could make a powerful impression.
The world remained a treacherous thing. It refused to let me enjoy my entirely justified pride. I sensed the cells inside Silvermane moving toward the rooftop where we had agreed to meet should he acquire both the desire and the means to regain his youth. Had the plan truly worked? Would I obtain new samples without significant effort or risk? Excellent, if so. I assumed the form of Nazgûl and left through the window, activating camouflage out of habit. It was dark and the chance of being noticed approached zero, but why accept even a small risk when avoiding it cost nothing?
There was the kindly old man, standing on the rooftop with a large case and peering into the darkness. I landed silently behind him and spoke in the icy voice customary for this form.
"I see my offer interested you, mortal."
Mm. A standing jump of nearly ten feet while carrying a case. A combative old gentleman indeed. The 'combative old gentleman' clutched his heart and tried to recover. Perhaps I had overdone it. At his age, sudden excitement was dangerous. To his credit, he did not complain. If one was dealing with a demon, such behavior presumably came with the territory.
"Here. Thirty-three samples. I must say, obtaining them was extremely difficult."
He opened the case. It was a portable refrigerator.
"And the reward is correspondingly great."
I focused on the blood in the tubes and pulled. Sensing liquid separated from me was unusual, but my practice with detached Symbiote fragments had not been wasted. The tubes obediently rose into the air. Another effort shattered the glass and released the samples I desired so much. They flowed safely into the plate gauntlet formed by the Symbiote. For a moment, a flood of data seized my consciousness. Yes. Silvermane had done excellent work. Some of the specimens were extremely interesting. Analysis could wait. We had made a bargain, and the old man had fulfilled his part.
I returned my attention to the present. My small performance had clearly produced the desired effect. Emotionally, he was boiling, yet not one muscle moved on his face. I found myself respecting him more and more.
"Excellent blood. You shall receive your additional century of life. What age do you wish to resemble?"
Ah, the relief. He had evidently feared that I would simply wave goodbye and leave.
"I... would like to look thirty."
The old man had made his decision.
"As you wish." I began the rejuvenation.
The black robes of the figure beside the old man abruptly expanded and wrapped around him, forming a peculiar cocoon. For several hours, the robed being stood beside it. Then it tore the cocoon away, leaving on the rooftop a powerfully built man who appeared thirty years old, but whose hair remained completely gray.
The man stood, swaying slightly, and stared in disbelief at his own hands. They were young and strong, exactly as they had been so many years ago. He touched his face. The wrinkles were gone as well. The former old man reached into his pocket, found the mirror he had brought for the occasion, and stared greedily into his reflection. A stunned man barely into his thirties stared back. No liver spots. No wrinkles. The only detail that did not fit was his completely white hair, though even that had grown thicker.
"At your age, changing your nickname would be inconvenient," the demon said with the same cold indifference. "Your people will also find it easier to recognize you with that hair. Are you satisfied with the result?"
"Uh... yes. More than satisfied." The former old man did not answer immediately.
"Then my side of the agreement is fulfilled, and our bargain is complete." The robed figure rose into the air, clearly intending to depart.
"Wait. Would you consider another bargain?" Silvermane refused to waste his opportunity.
"What else do you desire?"
"Revenge. Help me crush Kingpin. I am prepared to offer a great deal for his head."
"The wars of mortals ceased to interest me long ago. Besides, you will now find allies more easily. I shall observe your battle... with one eye."
The dark figure lifted from the rooftop and rapidly dissolved into the night.
*****************
Silvermane. No longer an old man.
Incredible. The demon had truly kept its promise. A second youth. How marvelous. There would be no need to investigate that absurd idea involving the Incan Tablet of Time. More importantly, people would follow him now. His reign had not yet been forgotten, while Fisk had managed to infuriate everyone beyond measure.
It was unfortunate that the demon had refused to help. At least it had no intention of siding with Kingpin either, which was encouraging. Then the former old man remembered another benefit of youth and decided that the criminal war could wait one day. He pressed a button on his communicator.
"Sarah, my dear, reserve a table for two at a respectable restaurant. And don't forget to wear the evening dress I gave you recently."
The rejuvenated man smiled with satisfaction. It had been more than twenty years since he had been able to enjoy a woman's company, but restored youth had awakened his interest in the opposite sex once more.
*****************
Walter Mayer.
Apparently, it was destiny that I should gorge myself in this café after every transformation. Once again, I sat there devouring my fourth serving of something resembling ramen. The patrons watched me with mild astonishment, while the staff still remembered my previous visit and its fourteen portions.
Rejuvenating Silvermane without using the resources of his already decrepit organism had been expensive. I was ravenous. Fortunately, the ability Symba had given my body to feed on almost any radiation meant the energy for the transformation had effectively come from outside. I had only needed to supply matter.
I finally felt full after the eighth serving. It was half past seven in the morning, so I hurried home and then went to the university. Perhaps its laboratory equipment would help me squeeze something else from Hydro-Man's sample. Hm. Squeeze something from Hydro-Man. I was beginning to make puns.
What was wrong with the weather in this city? Or was Storm misbehaving? Yesterday had been a normal autumn day. Today, the thermometer showed seventy-seven degrees Fahrenheit, though at least the wind remained cool. I spent almost the entire day in the laboratory. I escaped only for lunch with Felicia, after which the fearsome Dr. Connors drove me back inside while she laughed.
Everything had begun so well. Then Doc had asked what I was working on. When he heard the answer, the scientific maniac entered a state of hyperactivity and began tormenting the unfortunate sample. Pardon me—he began 'conducting scientific research.' I was required as his assistant, so naturally I suffered too. Spider-Man saved me from complete mental collapse—or rather, his fight with Hydro-Man did. Sensing the arachnid's chaotic movements through my cells, I informed Connors of the situation and followed the disturbance.
Wonderful. A reservoir. Had Peter's survival instinct completely broken? Fighting that damned elemental on his own territory was a remarkably elaborate method of suicide. I activated camouflage and crept closer. Right. What did we have here?
Spider-Man. A redheaded beauty—not exactly a breathtaking beauty, perhaps, but certainly attractive. A statue of Hydro-Man. And an enormous pile of gold and jewels stolen from an exhibition. I had arrived at an excellent time.
Oh, Peter had decided to imitate Captain America and was explaining to the student how he had modified his webbing to fight such an enemy. An interesting solution. The boy was infernally intelligent... occasionally. Why tell Mary Jane about it now?
I understood that he liked her and wanted to spread his tail feathers, but he still ought to watch his surroundings. The statue did not remain a statue for long. As the saying went, water always found a crack. The elemental seeped through microscopic gaps in the webbing, and he was not in a pleasant mood.
Ah. I finally remembered what came next. Our 'living water' would soon be evaporated. I would not interfere. In canon, this event had consequences much later, and I saw no reason to alter this part of the story. There. The entire cheerful company left the stage and abandoned me alone with the treasure.
I would not take everything, but a couple of souvenirs—or slightly more—seemed appropriate. I reshaped my coat into something resembling a sack. Two small chests of gold coins entered it, followed by another containing gemstones and pearls. I cast a mournful glance at the wealth remaining behind.
"No. Greed is bad. The police should receive something too."
With those words, I disappeared beneath the water. I still had to leave the city and find a suitable hiding place. The starting capital for my organization was secured. Once Federico returned with his companions, we could decide how to sell the treasure. That evening, newspapers blazed with headlines such as 'Young Woman Discovers Pirate Treasure' and 'Lost Hoard Found.' Near the end, the articles reported that, according to Mary Jane Watson, the treasure had been stolen not by Spider-Man but by a certain Hydro-Man, whom Spider-Man had successfully eliminated.
Naturally, no one considered apologizing to the hero for the false accusations. The article also stated that a significant part of the collection remained missing. Coins and jewelry worth almost one hundred twenty million dollars had vanished without a trace. Hm. Had I chosen my chests that successfully, or had the people returning the gold also kept a few souvenirs? Whatever the answer, the story of the unruly water-man was over. Why did I still feel that I had forgotten something?
*****************
Hank. Also known as Beast.
onster awakened in a cell, chained hand and foot. Judging by the sensations in his body, someone had dragged him across the ground for a long time or kicked him enthusiastically. The last thing the mutant remembered was racing through the nighttime forest. Such runs before bed had recently become a habit. Wind against his face cooled his head and blew away gloomy thoughts. Then came a sound, a slight prick in his back, and darkness.
"Well, Dr. Hank McCoy. We meet again."
The voice was vaguely familiar. Beast raised his head and looked at the speaker. A tall man of about forty stood before him, powerfully built but not excessively muscular. Chestnut hair was combed back from a broad forehead. The scientist recognized him.
"Landon? What is the meaning of this?"