And so everything in this world proceeded as usual—except for everything else, which resolutely went wrong.
The Prophetic Sisters.
***********************
Walter Mayer.
A fight with an enormous slime-like abomination, a kiss with an attractive girl, and the final release provided by testing my armor against Logan's claws had finally beaten my brains back into place. Enough rushing blindly, Walter. Use your head.
Silvermane had somehow made contact with that creature. That meant she maintained connections with the outside world and might even accept contracts. Reaching her would be difficult, but entirely possible. I only needed to remain calm and search for contacts among elite mercenaries.
It was unpleasant to admit, but the girl had endured that hell for years. She could survive several more weeks. If I exposed myself by acting hastily, I would fail to rescue her and place myself in danger as well. Nazgûl had appeared in the city too often lately. Therefore, I would sit still and gather information.
I would have to approach Curt and his friends. If they learned why I wanted to find that filth, I would wager they might even pay me. Former officers either became complete animals or retained their concepts of honor and military duty until death. Exceptions only proved the rule. Connors's friends belonged to the second category. That settled the issue, but nothing could be done before morning.
Since I had time, I should examine my new trophies. Delicacy number one—and the most important—was Wolverine's genome. My clawed friend unexpectedly proved to be an 'energy-user' as well. Unlike Kimura, his ability did not strengthen the organism's structure. It improved general survivability, stimulated regeneration, and supplied the body with the energy required for it. Something else was even more interesting.
Cell division had been studied thoroughly. Information for the new cell's structure came from the DNA chain inside the mother cell's nucleus. To prevent failures and copying errors, nature had made those chains symmetrical, allowing copying to proceed 'from both ends'—a redundant system. Yet with every division, a segment was 'bitten off' from both ends of the chain. That was not immediately dangerous. It was merely the organism's natural limit. Everyone had heard that a cell could divide only a finite number of times. The reason was precisely that 'biting.' The ends of a DNA chain consisted of 'empty DNA.' Losing it caused no disruption. Once it was exhausted, errors and failures began appearing in the organism. Humans called that process 'aging.'
Logan simply lacked the 'biting' mechanism. Logical, really. Otherwise his regeneration would kill him faster than enemy attacks. He would therefore live until someone succeeded in killing him. Considering his other traits and reinforced skeleton, he had little reason to fear accidents such as poisoning, crushing, burning, and similar inconveniences. Impressive.
I also understood his built-in blades. The mechanism was elegant. The blades rested between the wrist and elbow joint. When needed, specialized muscles pushed them through the fist. The hand had to be positioned properly at that moment or the wrist could be damaged. The blades pierced muscle, which regenerated instantly around them and fixed the weapons securely in place. I sighed mournfully. Once again, I would have to empty my supplies of milk, cottage cheese, and other calcium-rich foods.
Two hours, a great deal of cottage cheese, and several calcium-gluconate tablets later.
Shrrk-shrrk. Shrrk-shrrk. Three blades slid from each fist and withdrew again. Good. Now to disable the nerve endings in those areas. The pain vanished quickly, but I was not a masochist. Why endure discomfort when it could be avoided? My claws also differed from Logan's. Their length was similar—a little over eight inches—but there the resemblance ended.
First, I removed the older retractable blade from my arm and transferred the systems for injecting poison and my own cells into the claws. Small channels now performed those extremely useful functions.
Second came their color. I had expected milky-white or yellowish bone. After acquiring Kimura's ability, however, my bones had taken on a smoky-blue shade and resembled weapon steel. Not bad. Not bad at all. The sample quietly taken from the monster while I incapacitated it offered nothing new. Its structure was unstable and defective. It operated on the energy-user principle, but lacked even the slightest capacity to acquire energy naturally. That was why it attacked every light bulb it encountered. It could absorb electricity a little, though with monstrous losses.
At last, we reached the most pleasant part: Rogue's samples. I had failed to obtain her complete genome. That would have required delicate cellular analysis—effectively sending a 'probe' into the nucleus. My method—cough—allowed only general conclusions and a rough understanding of how her ability worked. I had to admit, it was impressive. Allow me to explain the cause of my enthusiasm.
Rogue was another energy-user, but her primary ability was not energy absorption. It was far more interesting. A Symbiote could examine genetic code, copy it, and adapt its host organism to the acquired information. Under ordinary conditions, without conscious pressure and rational optimization, that process required anywhere from ten minutes to several days.
One young woman performed the same trick instantaneously. A touch was enough, and she acquired a complete set of the victim's properties and characteristics. That was only half the process. Using an ability required energy. The girl could not collect it from the environment, but she could absorb it from living beings. She first took whatever they had accumulated. If that was insufficient, she began draining their cells directly. The transformation did not threaten to turn her into some tentacled monstrosity. Alterations based on physical traits required either enormous energy or a great deal of matter—hello to several hundred pounds of meat.
For energy-users, however, Rogue was the embodiment of a nightmare. Their transformations were much 'cheaper.' Not cheap enough for Anna to maintain them permanently, admittedly. Nor could she gather energy from several people for a single transformation. She absorbed DNA along with the power, and integrating that DNA required energy too. Once the stolen energy ended, her structure returned to its initial state and the acquired abilities disappeared.
There was a possibility that draining a powerful energy-user completely—or nearly completely—would provide enough power for a permanent transformation. Finding such an energy-user would be difficult, however, and no one could guarantee the donor's survival. That applied to ordinary mutants. For me, such a drain was not a problem.
My gift had therefore consisted of some of my own advantages: flight and increased physical capabilities. Her loss of consciousness showed that enough energy had been transferred for the transformation. It was hardly painless, so a sensible organism shut down perception. I was uncertain about the impenetrable skin. To copy that feature fully, she would have needed to embrace me for far longer than three minutes.
Even with only those improvements, however, she would probably want to ask me many questions. There had not been many people in her recent life who could touch her bare skin without collapsing. I wondered what she was thinking now.
****************************
The morning after the battle. Charles Xavier's Academy. Anna Marie's room.
Rogue opened her eyes. The familiar ceiling. Had it all been only a dream? Contradictory feelings seized her. On one hand came relief. She had not truly been forced to jump from an aircraft onto an enormous repulsive creature. Who in their right mind would invent a plan in which she played the central role? Everyone kept insisting she was only a child, after all.
On the other hand came a faint regret that it had been a dream. No person with such abilities could exist in the real world. Rogue lowered her head sadly. Of course. Only a dream. People capable of touching her safely did not exist. Even Logan, with all his strength, lost consciousness after ten seconds. Still, the dream had felt so real.
The girl closed her eyes and once again saw the man's face in her mind: flawless pale skin, aristocratic features, white hair, and dark eyes watching her with a certain sly amusement. No. Men like that did not exist. A pity. The girl's melancholy thoughts were interrupted by a ball of positivity bursting into her room, shouting cheerfully and waving its arms.
"Eee! You're finally awake! I've been waiting forever! How long can you sleep? Come on, come on—tell me everything!"
Jubilee Lee—because it was indeed her—was an exceptionally energetic fifteen-year-old who could not remain still for longer than two minutes and seventeen seconds. They had once measured her maximum period of rest. She lasted longer only when tied down.
"Uh... tell you what?"
Anna had not yet recovered. Such an assault could confuse someone fully awake.
"What do you mean, what?" The unstoppable girl was nearly running across the ceiling. "Yesterday, you and the Professor left without telling anyone anything. Then, during the night, Wolverine carried you back asleep like a real marmot—and looking extremely unhappy. Someone had torn his costume open too. There was a huge hole across his chest. So there! We've imagined every possible explanation, and the adults are silent as though their mouths are full of water!"
Jubilee completed her concise introduction.
"Then it wasn't a dream?" Rogue replayed the previous evening. When she reached the kiss, her cheeks turned pink. "So he really exists?"
She should not have said that. Judging by her friend's expression, no one would leave the room until Jubilee learned every detail.
"Now begin again, with much more detail."
Anna sighed mournfully. A year under the same roof as this menace had taught her one lesson: never stand between Jubilee Lee and something that interested her.
"Fine. Listen. It began when the Professor rolled into my room..."
Approximately half an hour later.
"No way! He actually caught you in his arms and put you safely on the ground? That's wonderful!" Her friend's delight quickly became mild suspicion. "Nothing else happened?"
"Uh... no. Nothing."
The tips of Rogue's ears turned treacherously red.
"Anna Marie, did you really think you could fool me? I can smell an interesting story, and yours is clearly far more interesting than you're pretending!"
The smaller girl pressed her attack.
"Well, I, uh... Hey! Why do I have to report anything to you?"
Rogue continued blushing. The indignant counterattack failed too.
"Aha! So something did happen!" Jubilee fastened onto her victim. "Confess!"
The girl—or perhaps still a child—continued torturing her friend.
"Fine, fine. Just leave me alone. He... kissed me too."
Rogue said it and turned completely crimson.
"Aha! That's why you're blushing and floating in the clouds! Rogue is in love! Rogue is in love!"
The little brat rejoiced.
"I am not in love! And anyway, it's my personal business!"
The girl finally snapped.
"Sure. With your help, John can probably throw his favorite fireballs now—and without a lighter," Jubilee continued teasing.
"You little—"
Anna found a pillow and launched it at the walking disaster. The pillow struck its target. The target said, 'Ow,' but only while flying into the corridor together with the projectile. The short flight ended with a landing on her backside. After forcing her eyes to focus again, Jubilee asked:
"Anna, what do you eat for breakfast? I want some too... but don't do that again. My whole life flashed before my eyes."
"I would like to know what that was myself. I think I should visit the infirmary."
Still mildly shocked, Rogue put herself in order and went toward Dr. Hank's domain.
************************
Walter Mayer. Morning.
Morning had arrived. I needed to go to the university and pretend everything was normal. Sit through classes. Help Curt with the students. Meanwhile, somewhere, a child would be tortured. Damn it. What was wrong with me? Children were always suffering somewhere. In Africa, someone constantly died of starvation or endured something worse, yet their troubles did not concern me. Yes, but you had not seen their faces or heard their bones breaking beneath heavy boots. To hell with it. Do not think about it. I needed a distraction. Perhaps invite Felicia to the theater? Possible, but first I had to see Curt. I reached the university in record time. Doc was preparing a room for the demonstration of another experiment.
"Walter, your timing is perfect. I need—" He looked at me, and Connors's good mood vanished. "What happened? You look terrible."
"Doc, I need you to contact your army friends. It's important."
"All right. But for heaven's sake, explain what is happening."
"Let us say that I continued experimenting with my abilities and accidentally uncovered an extremely—let me emphasize, extremely—disgusting story involving one particular individual."
"What happened? Answer me already!"
Doc had evidently adopted my mood and was beginning to work himself up too. Calm down. The last thing I needed was an appearance by the Lizard.
"You have a daughter. How old is she now?"
"Uh, twelve. Why?"
Good. He had stopped escalating.
"Because while we stand here talking, a certain creature is amusing herself by torturing a girl of approximately eleven."
I forced down the flood of hormones before combat mode arrived. Curt changed completely. The gentle, peaceful scientist withdrew. In his place stood the hard military doctor who had mercy-killed hopelessly wounded men to end their suffering and personally fired back at attackers. His voice turned to ice. It was a tone meant for giving orders.
"Who and where?"
"A mercenary named Kimura. She works for a man she called Dr. Rice. If I knew where, I would already be there."
"Wait until evening. I will contact our friends now."
The doctor entered his office. Time crawled toward evening at the speed of a wounded turtle. Curt and I somehow completed the laboratory sessions, but our thoughts remained far from science. Felicia noticed my condition and tried to lift my mood while casually asking what had caused my apparent depression. She truly was a miracle. We agreed to visit the theater that evening. A Russian company was touring with Griboyedov's 'Woe from Wit.' In my former world, I had managed to see the play once and remembered it entirely positively. I wondered how it would sound in English. We agreed that I would collect Felicia at nine and reserved tickets. Hopefully, the performance could distract me from gloomy thoughts.
Connors did not fail me. At six in the evening, I met three former servicemen who had previously assisted with my documents and the legalization of my money.
"Curt informed us that you have an urgent matter, Mr. Mayer?" The final two words carried mild mockery. "Our previous business proved highly profitable, so you have our complete attention."
No 'good evening.' No 'how are you?' Straight to business. I respected that.
"A mercenary named Kimura and a certain Dr. Rice. I need the most complete information you can find."
The three exchanged glances.
"Rice? Are you certain?"
"Yes. Do you know something?"
I straightened sharply.
"Dr. Rice was killed by the experimental subject of some biological-weapons project. I don't know the details. The story is old—twenty years, perhaps more."
"He had a son, I believe," the second officer added. "It may be him."
"As for the mercenary Kimura," the third began, "I believe we can help one another. You see, Walter, that woman has become intolerable to many people. She has influential patrons, however, and the properties of her organism provide excellent protection. Dealing with her is usually more trouble than it is worth."
"I don't care. Tell me where I can find her."
"Do not hurry, young man. We believe in your talents, and therefore wish to offer you a contract. Kimura's head is valued at twenty million dollars. We will provide all the information in our possession if you agree to fulfill the contract. Naturally, ten percent commission belongs to us." A predatory smile appeared. "Would you like time to consider?"
What was there to consider? I would have buried that creature for free.
"I accept."
"Excellent. We shall contact you within several days. Have a good evening."
The soldiers left. Curt also prepared to go home, while I needed to ready myself for the theater. Gods, there was never enough time. I needed to split myself in two.
*************************
Felicia Hardy.
Walter had not been himself today. He was nervous, twitchy, and far gloomier than usual. Something serious had happened. What could she do? Only remain near him and provide support—if not physical, then emotional. But what had happened? Curiosity and concern for someone close to her gnawed at the young woman all day. No. Something had to be done.
He had invited her to the theater. The theater was fine, but how could she make him talk? He was impossibly stubborn, keeping everything inside and blaming his mood on autumn melancholy. As if she believed that. Very well. Heavy artillery would be required. Forgive me, darling, but you brought this upon yourself.
She did not want them to keep secrets from one another. Shared secrets were welcome. Individual ones were not. The young woman smiled like a predator as a cunning Plan formed inside her charming head. Certain supplies would be necessary. Walter had once made the mistake of mentioning that he liked cats. Then there were his scratches behind her ear and his habit of calling her 'Kitten.'
Very well, Mayer. You were doomed. He would find no arguments against THIS. Felicia opened the internet and found the address of a small shop selling cosplay accessories and anime-related merchandise.
"There you are," she purred.
*********************
A little later. Inside a small shop.
John stood behind the counter and suffered from boredom. No income. The girls who had visited recently were either far too young—twelve or thirteen—or far too plain. Then the door opened, and She appeared. Magnificent pale hair fell in waves to her waist. Blue eyes, a beautiful face with perfect features, and a figure... Mm. The young man swallowed the saliva gathering in his mouth.
"How may I help you, miss?"
The young woman looked around uncertainly.
"I need a set of cat ears and a tail. One black pair and one white pair."
*************************
Walter Mayer. Evening.
The theater left a mixed impression. The actors performed wonderfully, and I had no complaints there. But Griboyedov in English... The language simply could not transmit every subtlety of the work. It could not. One had to either rebuild the play fundamentally—at which point it would no longer be Griboyedov—or watch and listen in Russian. Perhaps I was biased. Felicia seemed to enjoy it. Speaking of Felicia, I periodically caught her watching me thoughtfully. My instincts suggested that 'this buzzing was not without reason,' but I could not identify the trap.
We decided to spend the night at my place. Mrs. Hardy had returned to the city some time ago, and we wanted privacy. The journey passed without incident. We caught a taxi and rode home. Hm. This was Felicia's first visit to my apartment. I should show her around. Where to begin? The study or the bedroom? No. If we began with the bedroom, the tour might never leave it. The study, then.
The tour lasted approximately half an hour. Felicia spent twenty minutes of it practically drooling over the blades in my study. Who would have expected her to be attracted to weapons? Admittedly, I sometimes found it difficult to look away from them myself, but I was a man. It was expected of me. Only the bedroom remained. At the door, Felicia asked me to wait inside and went to the bathroom. I removed my slippers and sat on the bed wearing only a shirt and trousers.
Then she appeared in the doorway. Pale hair lay freely across her shoulders. A white top concealed firm breasts and matched white lace panties. White ears and a tail completed the image. This incarnation of perfection walked toward me and sat beside me on the bed.
"What's wrong, kitty?"
I sat with my jaw hanging open, unable to believe my eyes. My breath stopped, and my face grew somewhat pale. Blood control had nothing to do with it. The blood had migrated urgently to another part of my body all by itself. Then came the finishing blow.
"Nya?"
I could endure no more and seized her parted lips in a kiss.