Sunday evening. Time when normal people allow themselves to relax before the work week begins, gathering with family or friends. But I'd long since fallen out of the "normal" category. While I rest, some Draugr sharpens his axe. While I sleep, Thanos does another bicep set. Loki weaves his cunning intrigues, and Galactus, unburdened by morality, selects another planet with billions of sentient beings for dinner.
I'd be happy to lie down for a couple hours, the world definitely wouldn't collapse from that. The problem was that over the last week and a half, an avalanche of radical changes had occurred in me, and it wasn't just about the conditional bloodsuckers who'd scared me gray. My renewed nineteen-year-old body literally vibrated with excess energy it desperately wanted to direct somewhere. And my consciousness, remembering an adult's life, demanded this energy be spent rationally.
The Master Watchmaker skill threw more logs on this fire. It granted not just hand precision, but a flow state, the ability to completely concentrate on a task, detaching from the entire rest of the world. And the cherry on top, a simple but all-encompassing realization: I'm in the Marvel world. In a world where vampires aren't even middle of the food chain. And I have a cheat System capable of sculpting me into if not a god, then at least a demigod.
The recipe for success was simple: work. Create new artifacts, farm OP, improve myself in all aspects, build connections, relying on meta-knowledge that was no less a cheat than the System itself. Don't slack off. And one day I could arm wrestle Thor on equal terms, school Stark on engineering, and defeat Thanos with a snap of my fingers.
So now, instead of resting, I sat in my garage-laboratory. My hands moved with smooth, almost hypnotic precision. On the workbench lay a scattering of microchips, lithium-polymer cells, and inductance coils. I was assembling a custom power bank with wireless charging function and built-in low-power EMP emitter, a simple thing following an internet guide, but ideal for honing skills and farming OP drops. The soldering iron in my hand seemed an extension of my fingers. The world narrowed to the gleam of tin and precise contact placement. This was that very "flow," and in such moments the brain, freed from motor control, began living its own life.
And, of course, it turned toward girls.
I'd diligently driven away these thoughts recent days, but the hormones of a young body took their toll. Nineteen years, prime time, peak biological activity. And I found myself in a world populated by some of the most beautiful, strong, and interesting women ever conceived by the collective mind of comic-drawing men.
First to mind came Gwen Stacy. Spider-Gwen. That same girl who in her spider guise so impressed me in the first days. I didn't slack and found her page through Peter's friends. She was objectively flawless. Long golden hair, bright blue eyes, symmetrical face that belonged on Vogue's cover. What was she even doing in science? With such appearance any modeling agency would snatch her up. And especially, why did she need to risk this beauty and life to save ordinary citizens? Alas, I wasn't yet capable of comprehending the philosophy of heroism.
Who else? Of course, this universe's sex symbol, Natasha Romanoff. Black Widow. Super-spy, narrow-profile specialist, raised including to seduce and break such immature and hormonally-unstable youngsters as me. This was the major league, you wouldn't find her on social media. But who you would find was Jean Grey.
Red-haired beauty of eighteen, student at Professor Xavier's private school. She didn't particularly hide her identity, which was surprising. Though Xavier knew better, perhaps this was part of therapy for one of the planet's strongest and most unstable mutants, carrier of cosmic force capable of burning stars. She wasn't inferior to Gwen in beauty, but was a poisonous flower, touching which was equivalent to sticking your head in a lion's mouth.
Emma Frost. Susan Storm. Anna Marie, aka Rogue. Scarlet Witch. Captain Marvel. Elektra. Mystique. Felicia Hardy, Black Cat. Dozens, if not hundreds of interesting, damn dangerous and overwhelmingly sexy options. But this wasn't fanfiction where the inserted character was a priori the universe's center, and all beauties lined up in queue. These women had their own lives, their own romantic interests, their own tragedies and goals. I'd most likely never even cross paths with most of them. But purely aesthetically admiring, nobody was stopping me, right?
Enough self-deception. Of course, I, like any self-respecting man, wanted not just to admire. I wanted to win the best. And even though right now I myself didn't represent much, this would soon change. First, foundation. Strength, resources, safety. And only then, when I could guarantee not just my own life but a loved one's life, could I allocate some time to personal life.
[Created simple electro-mechanical construct "EMP-Powerbank." Complexity: Low. Received +100 OP!]
Device creating minor EMP interference, simultaneously performing functions of compact charging device.
Monotonous work drove away unnecessary thoughts, and the pleasant sound of the system notification finally returned me to a constructive course. Indeed, first airplanes, and girls, later. Or, in my case, first, OP farming to protect my ass, and only then, everything else.
It was gratifying that the System kept its word: my creations got brief descriptions. Though it was laconic to the extreme, this was already progress. Perhaps in the future, with the growth of system capabilities, which as I understood grew from the number of spins, descriptions would become more detailed, revealing hidden potential or unusual synergies. I mechanically, almost automatically, assembled three more such EMP-powerbanks. The process was honed to perfection: hands moved themselves while the mind was free, this simple craft symphony brought me another 300 points, bringing the balance to 340 OP. Exhaustion took its toll, and I, throwing tools on the workbench, went to sleep. Tomorrow was circled in my mental calendar with a thick red marker.
Waking exactly at eight AM without an alarm, another plus of the renewed young body, I quickly prepared breakfast of scrambled eggs and strong coffee. The beverage's aroma filled the kitchen while I settled with the laptop at the table. Today I couldn't miss one of the most important events, which for the whole world was a breakthrough, and for me, a starting point, the beginning of a new era. The final presentation of Reed Richards's space expedition.
8:30 on the clock. The timer on the news portal zeroed out, and on the screen appeared an image of a huge conference hall packed with journalists. The camera focused on the podium, behind which stood a man about thirty. At first glance, typical "nerd": slightly hunched, in a strict suit, with an intelligent but somewhat distracted gaze. But I wasn't fooled. This man was Reed Richards, intellect number one on planet Earth. And how often he was forgotten during global threats like Loki or Thanos frankly raised questions. With his brain, many crises would be solved at the inception stage.
Behind his back, like a support group, stood four people. The camera slowly passed over them, and my brain, based on studied reports, instantly issued a brief on each. Ben Grimm. Solidly built man, former military pilot and astronaut. In his bearing you felt a rock of confidence. Best pilot, Reed's loyal friend. And future tragic monster. Johnny Storm. The youngest, just twenty-five. Typical handsome heartbreaker with a disarming smile, but behind this frivolous appearance hid a doctorate holder in physics and brilliant mechanical engineer. Susan Storm. His older sister, elegant and beautiful blonde of twenty-seven. Biochemist, brilliant scientist. She held herself with dignity, but in her eyes read concern for the upcoming conference, and maybe the expedition itself. The fifth figure stood slightly apart, her face hidden by shadow and a dark mantle's hood. Intrigue. Main announcement. But for me there was no intrigue. I knew with almost one hundred percent certainty who this was.
Meanwhile Richards began his speech. His voice, calm and perfectly modulated, instantly filled the hall, riveting all attention to itself.
"We stand on the shore of the boundless cosmic ocean," he began, and in his voice was no pathos, just stating fact. "For millennia humanity has looked at the stars, asking: 'Are we alone in the Universe?' Today we're ready to take the first step to turn this question into an answer."
He pressed a button on the remote, and behind his back on a huge screen appeared a slide. Image of a planet shrouded in blue-green haze.
"TRAPPIST-1 system. Forty-four light years from here. Several years ago our telescopes discovered something incredible there. A planet in the 'Goldilocks zone,' possessing an atmosphere with clear signs of biomarkers, methane and oxygen." He paused, letting the audience grasp the statement's scale. "Our expedition's goal is simple and simultaneously grandiose: confirm or refute the presence of life beyond Earth. We'll make a landing, conduct spectroscopic analysis, map the surface, and collect samples. We'll touch a new world."
The next slide demonstrated a spaceship. Externally it looked quite ordinary, a futuristic shuttle, no more. But I knew: all the magic was inside. This was precisely where Richards's genius manifested in full glory.
"To overcome the colossal distance, our team developed the 'Vanguard of Starlight,'" Reed continued, and pride sounded in his voice. "Its heart, experimental engine with modified warp drive, based on hypothetical space-time compression, its energy drawn from a reactor stabilizing cosmic rays I've studied for decades. This engine will allow us to make the journey not in hundreds of years, but in several days."
There it is, I thought. The key element. Cosmic energy that will become their gift and curse.
Detailed infographics appeared on screen.
Engine: Modified warp drive. Uses energy drawn from reactor stabilizing cosmic rays to create micro-tunnels in space-time (Doctor Richards's adapted Alcubierre concept). Protection: Hull from alloy with unstable molecules, absorbing and dispersing cosmic radiation. Navigation: Quantum computer with AI. Crew: 5 people.
I mentally highlighted key words. "Cosmic rays." "Unstable molecules." The formula for catastrophe and heroes' birth was right before me.
"And, of course, such an ambitious mission would be impossible without the planet's best minds," Reed turned to his team. After introducing Ben, Sue, and Johnny, he turned to the mysterious fifth figure. "But even our efforts wouldn't be sufficient without the financial and intellectual support of our main investor and second scientific director. A man whose genius rivals the best minds of modernity."
The mantled figure stepped forward and threw off the hood. The hall gasped, then exploded with applause and camera flashes. Victor von Doom. Crown prince of Latveria. Polymath, genius in physics and robotics. Damn handsome, with aristocratic facial features and piercing gaze. At twenty-five he occupied second place in Forbes's world rating "top-30 under 30," yielding only to Tony Stark. He surveyed the hall with an imperious gaze and smiled slightly. A predator's smile, who knows the whole world lies at his feet.
I leaned back in my chair. The show had begun. The Fantastic Four and Doctor Doom were ready to head for the stars, toward their destiny. And I was the only viewer who knew how this flight would end.
On screen Reed Richards swept the "Vanguard of Starlight" image with a wide gesture.
"The expedition's duration won't take more than two weeks," his voice sounded confident, almost prophetic. "And who knows, perhaps already in early October humanity will step into a new era, the era of explored space!"
The hall exploded with applause. Reed patiently waited for the noise to die down, and his gaze became more serious. Next to him Victor von Doom stood with an impenetrable expression, as if carved from marble, perfect image of genius and aristocrat. Damn model appearance and overwhelming intellect, flashed through my head. Does this world even like balance? If a super-spy or world-class thief, then necessarily a supermodel. If a genius billionaire, then a charming handsome man like Stark or Doom. Even Peter basically just needed to bulk up and straighten his posture. Against their background my own ordinary appearance was slightly demoralizing. Though, to hell with these thoughts about life's unfairness. Should I complain, having what nobody in this world has?
"And now," Reed pronounced, "we're ready to answer your questions."
A forest of hands shot up. The most tense part began.
"Mr. Richards," the voice of the woman asking from the first row was sharp as a scalpel. "How do you justify the colossal expenses on the mission if the biomarker hypothesis proves false?"
The question hit the bull's-eye. I noticed how for a split second a muscle twitched on Reed's impenetrable face. Unlike Stark, he was clearly uncomfortable talking about money. Too much was at stake on this expedition, sponsored by a consortium of corporations and two countries. But he quickly composed himself.
"This mission's value isn't measured only by the search for life," he answered calmly. "Even in an 'empty' world we'll obtain invaluable data on planetary geology and suitability for future colonization. The technologies themselves created for 'Vanguard,' warp engine, protective alloys, are already a revolution that will pay for itself many times over in the future. Consider this not spending, but investment in humanity's very future."
"Next question!" the moderator indicated a reporter from the other end of the hall. "Why are you risking lives, sending a manned expedition, rather than a safer automated probe?"
"Because a probe is just a tool. It follows programming," Reed parried. "And our crew is a team of experts capable of adapting. No algorithm will replace a pilot's intuition, a biochemist's analytical mind, or an engineer's resourcefulness in an unforeseen situation. For a mission of this scale, where a discovery of the century is at stake, we need not automata, but the best minds and hands."
"Question about safety! What if your cosmic ray reactor fails?" someone shouted.
"The reactor has triple fail-safe system," Reed patiently explained, like a professor to students. "Magnetic limiters, emergency energy dump system, and backup thermonuclear source. We conducted fifty full-scale simulations. Not one failure."
"What are the personal risks for the crew? What if the mission fails?"
"Risk is an integral part of any great achievement," Reed answered, and his gaze became steel for a moment. "But we've done everything to minimize it. The ship is equipped with autonomous return systems, and each crew member underwent year-long training in extreme conditions. In case of failure, data will still be transmitted to Earth through quantum communication channel. The knowledge we obtain won't be lost."
And dozens of other questions. Smart and not so much. Richards deflected them with the confidence of an experienced fencer. He'd prepared monumentally. For one insane moment a crazy thought flashed through my head: what if?.. Become part of their crew, get superpowers... If I had invisibility, I might have tried sneaking aboard.
But reason immediately reined me in. Too many "BUTs." First, the security system of a world-level genius's ship would expose me in no time. This would at best lead to flight cancellation, and nobody would get their powers. At worst, I'd be considered a spy. Second, and this was main, there were no guarantees I'd like my transformation. Get Ben Grimm's fate? Become not a stone but tentacle monster? No thanks. If it works, don't touch it. I definitely wouldn't climb into this adventure, especially since the launch was already tomorrow. I'd soon have "Technological Modernization," and from there not far to "Extremis." We'd live well soon, even without cosmic lottery.
The presentation came to an end under another wave of applause. I closed the laptop just as a taxi pulled up at the house. Peter got out, backpack over shoulders and curiosity in his gaze.
Today's presentation would enter world history, and tomorrow even more so. But despite this, Parker and I were going to inscribe our own, albeit small, chapter into this history. A chapter dedicated to materials science and creating the perfect suit.