43
I leaned back against the couch, closed my eyes, and prepared for a series of painful but necessary neural downloads. I would go in descending order, from general to specific. First, the NE-mage information package. Essentially, this was the knowledge base on all key scientific disciplines accumulated by twenty-first century humanity over hundreds of years. The foundation that would greatly simplify my interaction with Peter and prevent me from feeling inadequate against other geniuses of this world.
System window. Technology tab. Unlock for 400 OP.
Fortunately, I didn't pass out. The headache was there, but tolerable. It felt like someone was trying to forcefully stuff the entire Encyclopedia Britannica into my skull, passing each page through my optic nerve. It was like a migraine during a strong magnetic storm, when you were additionally trying to solve integral equations. My head hummed from the overload. Either the NZT, working as a neural coolant, had smoothed the side effects, or due to the impersonal and fundamental nature of this knowledge, the effect was supposed to be like this. In any case, I was pleased that everything had gone relatively harmlessly.
The next information package: "Individual Armament - XCOM Philosophy."
Again, the technology tab. Unlock for 200 OP.
The effect was different. Not voluminous, but sharp. My head was pierced by a short, surgically precise pain, as if a needle had been stuck into my brain and twisted. And the next second, I suddenly felt uncomfortable. My ordinary T-shirt and loose sweatpants suddenly didn't seem like clothing; they seemed like a set of vulnerabilities. The materials weren't breathable; they easily absorbed sweat. Sweat meant extra smell. Extra smell meant attracting attention. My sneakers were tight and also didn't breathe. Foot ergonomics were disrupted, which led to decreased endurance. A bright logo on my chest was a target. Everything should be comfortable, practical, non-restricting, and faceless. Everything attracting attention should be eliminated.
"Stop that!" I mentally barked at myself. Here, in the depths of the protected base, nothing threatened me. I would still have time to remake my wardrobe and habits to match this newly formed, paranoid philosophy.
With difficulty calming my suddenly awakened inner tactician, I, holding my breath, shifted my gaze to the next, most desired, and most frightening item. The improved Extremis recipe. Honestly, it was a little scary to unlock it. This was, damn it, a super-soldier serum. What if it turned out to be really possible to create? Would I risk it? What if the formula was just good but not ideal, and refinement could take months or even years, even with Peter's genius and my knowledge?
Okay. I would decide as I went. Strength was a tool, and I was supposedly an engineer.
Unlock. Minus 500 OP!
This time, my head wasn't just pricked. The back of my head felt like it had been struck with a white-hot poker. Before my eyes, for a moment, flashed fractals of double helices and nanorobot diagrams. With bated breath, I began analyzing the flood of information that crashed over me.
Well... This... this was truly the pinnacle of bioengineering. A project at the intersection of virology, genetics, and nanotechnology. The Holy Grail of transhumanism. The process was incredibly complex, requiring unique reagents, much more advanced equipment than I had, and the deepest understanding of the process. But it was more than real.
A couple of days of hellish work, and at the output, you could get a unique virus-vector that would rewrite cell DNA, integrating genes for extreme thermal resistance and accelerated regeneration into them. But the virus was only half of the equation. The second half was bioelectric nanites: programmable nanomachines that integrated with the nervous system and created a new "interface" between the brain and modified cells.
As a result, the user gained the ability to consciously control thermogenesis. The nanites intercepted neural signals and transmitted commands to the cells to "heat" or "cool down." This was the key. Stability. The brain and body began working in symbiosis with the virus, not fighting it. No random overheating and explosions.
Yes, this wasn't just serum. This was a stable and controllable techno-organic platform for total human modification. An order of magnitude higher and safer than the original, unstable formula. And also... Extremis truly endowed the bearer with an entire complex of interconnected improvements. This wasn't only about regeneration and thermogenesis. This was about bone density, muscle fiber elasticity, neural signal speed, metabolic efficiency. This was a complete system upgrade, turning a human into a full-fledged superhuman.
The technical data in my head began giving way to something more intuitive: a user manual for my own potential evolution. An ability plan, each of which was more stunning than the previous.
Superhuman strength. This wasn't just muscle building, but a complete restructuring of the muscular system at a cellular level. The virus rewrote genes responsible for producing myostatin, a protein that, like a strict overseer, suppressed muscle tissue growth. By "turning off" this genetic limiter, Extremis launched explosive growth of muscle fibers, making them not only larger but significantly denser. In addition, the virus improved mitochondrial function, turning each cell into a more efficient "power plant." What was the result? The ability to lift from two to five tons. Strength sufficient to punch through brick walls and bend steel beams as if they were cardboard. Yes, not Hulk level, but far from peak human like Black Widow, who, compared to these indicators, was like a three-year-old child compared to an adult. This was a completely different order of power.
Superhuman speed and reflexes. Obviously, brute force was nothing without speed. Here, the bioelectric nanites played a key role. They not only served as an "interface" for controlling heat but optimized the entire nervous system. This was somewhat like upgrading a biological computer. The nanites wrapped nerve fibers with an additional synthetic myelin sheath, essentially improved insulation for wires. This allowed nerve impulses to pass at a speed five to ten times exceeding human. In the synapses, the nanites acted as catalysts, accelerating chemical reactions. At the output, my reaction became practically instantaneous. I could literally dodge bullets if I saw the shooter. The world, by will, would turn into a frozen picture through which I could move. At short distances, my running speed could reach eighty to a hundred kilometers per hour.
Superhuman endurance and resilience. A direct consequence of the two previous improvements. Extremis changed muscle cells so they produced significantly less lactic acid, and additionally, what was even more genius, recycled it into additional energy, turning the poison of fatigue into fuel. On top of all this, constant micro-regeneration made all tissues, bones, muscles, and skin denser and stronger. I would be able to conduct combat at peak capabilities for several hours without the slightest signs of fatigue. My body would become capable of withstanding blows that would break bones or kill an ordinary person.
Regeneration: Biological Phoenix. This wasn't just accelerated healing. This was literally complete body reassembly at a cellular level. Minor wounds, like cuts and bruises, would heal in seconds, leaving behind only a light, warm glow that quickly passed. Bullet wounds would heal in two to five minutes. But the most amazing thing was lost limbs. They could completely regenerate in fifteen to twenty minutes. The process, described and visualized in my thoughts, looked creepy and fascinating at the same time. At the wound site, tissues first charred and turned into smoldering ash, from which then, like from molten wax, new, perfect flesh would form. Effectively, the bearer could survive practically any physical damage, including through-and-through wounds of vital organs. The heart, lungs, even part of the brain, all of this could be restored. Complete immunity to all known diseases and toxins was merely a pleasant bonus.
Thermogenesis: Pocket Star. And finally, the crown of creation. The ability to generate extreme heat, the most powerful weapon, which was essentially even more interesting than super-strength. I would be able to heat any part of my body to a temperature of approximately three thousand degrees Celsius. This was enough to melt steel, concrete, and practically any known material. I would be able to concentrate heat in my palms, creating the effect of a plasma cutter, or release it as an omnidirectional thermal wave. Thanks to the nanites, temperature control was absolute and most precise, from light heating to dry clothes to maximum combat power capable of incinerating armored vehicles.
This wasn't just a recipe. This was literally the blueprint of a demigod. And now it was in my head, waiting for me to gather the courage to build it.
Perfect? On paper, definitely. But the engineer in me quickly silenced the enthusiasms of the aspiring-to-divinity dropout. Every perfect system has vulnerability. Extremis had three, and each was frightening in its own way.
First, the metabolic feedback loop, or more simply, energy burnout. Super-regeneration and thermogenesis were not magic. This was physics, requiring a colossal amount of energy, which the virus drew directly from the bearer's cellular metabolism. With normal use, this was unnoticeable. But after a very serious injury or prolonged use of thermogenesis at peak power, I risked falling into a state of metabolic shock. My body would instantly burn all reserves of glycogen and fats, and then, in a desperate attempt to sustain life, begin devouring my own muscle tissue. Most likely, I would simply lose consciousness from a hypoglycemic coma. But if I remained conscious, I would be absolutely helpless, experiencing weakness and uncontrollable trembling. This was the devil's bargain: the power of a star, but the engine ran on your own flesh. Full recovery after such a "burnout" might require several hours and the absorption of tens of thousands of calories. However, this was a red line that you still needed to try hard to cross.
The second weakness I liked much less, especially as an engineer. Nano-interface vulnerability. The nanites were the most complex microelectronics. Which meant they were vulnerable to the same thing any electronics was vulnerable to. A powerful, focused EMP pulse could temporarily "blind" or completely "burn" them. But what was scarier, some mega-cool hacker, of which there were enough in this world, could theoretically write a digital virus that, through a radio signal, would intercept control over the nanites. This thought made me go cold. To imagine that someone like Doom or Reed Richards gained access to your nervous system. At best, when losing control, I would lose the ability to control thermogenesis, and Extremis would "roll back" to an unstable, dangerous version. At worst, the enemy could force my body to overheat, turning me into a walking plasma bomb, or, conversely, block regeneration at a critical moment. My greatest strength would become my executioner. No one should know about this vulnerability. This backdoor needed to be closed. Modify the nanites, create an impenetrable firewall for them. This would definitely be my personal task and item number one for refinement.
The third weakness was the most mundane and therefore the most annoying. It concerned not Extremis itself, but the necessary equipment and reagents for it. By rough estimates, this would cost millions of dollars. There wouldn't be enough space in the laboratory room; part of the equipment would have to be placed in the hub. Turn to Blade for money again? He had already given me an entire kingdom. To ask him to furnish the throne room too would be the height of audacity.
But even with money, one key reagent needed to be obtained, and this was very, very difficult, and a second one needed to be created by myself in the most difficult conditions. Okay, plans needed to change urgently. The idea to take out a casino under NZT, which flashed through my head, was tempting but stupid. Showdowns with the gambling mafia were the last thing I needed now. So, it was time to patent "Proteus" and earn as much money as possible in the shortest time.
The patent was needed not only for money. This was primarily a strategic move. It was necessary for establishing certain connections and as a guarantor of protection for Peter and me. I would become too valuable an asset in the eyes of some people to be simply removed. Of course, the fact that, for other people, I would become a thorn in their side, I conveniently overlooked. But these were risks that would have to be accepted. The main thing was to manage to create Extremis by the time when ill-wishers moved to active actions. Ideally, of course, for a hypothetical SHIELD to reach out to me and offer a contract and protection. Considering our screw-up with Fisk, this was more than realistic, but...
"Yo, daddy's in the building!" Blade's cheerful voice rang out.
The heavy elevator doors opened with a hiss, and the vampire hunter stepped out into the hub, interrupting my intense strategic session. I even flinched from surprise.
"What's up? How's scientific life?"
"Good health to you too. Science is moving, but it could be better," I chuckled, greeting the dhampir. "By the way, there are two pieces of news. Bad and very bad. Which one should I start with?"
"I hope this isn't about the healing potions?" he immediately clarified. Receiving my negative nod, he exhaled with visible relief. "Then let's start with the bad. I'll leave the very bad for dessert."
"Fisk is most likely alive." At these words, his face, previously relaxed, instantly petrified.
He was silent for a second, and then a sinister grin appeared on his lips.
"You think so too?"
"Yes... Everything went too smoothly. In addition, I know for sure that there are metas capable of transforming into other people. I wouldn't be surprised if Fisk had someone like that in his service. And the capitalization of his fund... it's already beginning to recover."
"Makes sense," Blade nodded, his grin becoming even wider and more predatory. "But this is even better. Frank will deal with this bastard himself. For real. What's the second piece of news?"
"A hunt for me and Gwen will most likely start soon, if it hasn't already started."
"No, Fisk is unlikely to want to mess with me again, or you... Damn, you're right," he slapped his forehead. "Fucking special services. Everything constantly gets leaked, analyzed, regurgitated, and ultimately, interesting personnel are either left alone or they try to suck them into the abyss of their intrigues."
"Yeah... Gwen, in theory, can still be left alone. I don't think her identity was a secret to them before this. But me... this is something new and incomprehensible."
"Well, hang in there, kid. You're not stupid, and now you have a cool base and lab. I think you'll manage." Here, the dhampir finally noticed Peter, who silently and tensely analyzed our dialogue. "By the way, I'm Eric. To my people, Eric or Blade."
"I'm Peter Parker," Peter answered, shaking the extended powerful hand. "A colleague and friend of John's. But... can you explain to me what's going on at all? What do Gwen Stacy and the dead Wilson Fisk have to do with this? And what hunt from the special services?"
"Long story," I sighed. "I'll tell you later. Now Eric needs to perform his healing duties, and we need to do ours."
"Oh, you seemed to mention something about 'Proteus'?" Peter immediately perked up, trying to latch onto something familiar in this flow of madness.
"Yes, it will be."
"But this will take a lot of time, and it's already quite late and..."
"Yes, we'll solve this problem first," I said, handing Eric two vials of potion and briefly explaining the instructions: he would pour the vial for Frank himself and use his mental abilities to make Uncle Ben drive home and drink it there. "But what's harder to solve is the laser sight on my forehead."
"Don't worry," Blade encouraged me, patting my shoulder. "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. And special services don't kill outright; they first try to use. So you'll get out. Okay, I'm off. I'll most likely return tomorrow. See ya."
And he left, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And with Peter, who, judging by his face, had no fewer thoughts.
"Am I... also at risk?" he asked carefully when the elevator doors closed.
"You're the bearer of unique knowledge and my closest associate. So everything is possible," I answered with a sigh. "But in principle, if you don't stick out for now, there's a chance they won't touch you. The main thing... um, stick with me and everything will be fine. I hope."
"Confidence you certainly don't lack. But okay, I'm not one of those who escapes to the lifeboat at the slightest trouble on the ship," Peter said firmly. "Better tell me, what kind of adventure did you have? I understand Gwen was there too? She, by the way, said she wants to return to the lab starting tomorrow. Is this because of you? And how will you solve the problem that it's late now and..." Here Peter yawned infectiously.
I sat down on the couch, ignoring his questions. Fatigue was a bottleneck, a constriction that prevented us from moving forward. Time to expand it. Going to the technology tab, I spent the last 300 OP on the fatigue pill recipe.
"Huh, this will be easier than I thought," I muttered, getting up from the couch after a dozen seconds. A simple and elegant formula blossomed in my consciousness. "Let's go, Peter. Before I tell you about Wilson Fisk, we will fight the very concept of fatigue. Because while we sleep, the draugr levels up, and we need to be stronger than the draugr!"
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