Returning home through the evening streets of Queens, Peter was thinking. Simultaneously, he noted with bitterness how painfully slow and... dull this process had become.
Standard thinking after several hours of brain work accelerated by the Intellect Potion felt like a cruel joke. Like a blind man given sight for a couple of hours, shown the world in ultra-high resolution with all its invisible patterns and connections, and then had his eyes gouged out again, leaving only a memory of light. The world, which just now was a crystal-clear data stream, turned back into a murky, slow river. His own mind, which he always considered his main asset, now seemed sluggish and ineffective.
But even so, Peter adapted. He forced himself to get used to the old, unhurried thoughts, to the absence of thousands of brilliant ideas per second, to the non-absolute memory. And now, in this habitual slowness, he was thinking about John.
An ordinary guy. Studying in the same classes as MJ, who, however, couldn't really tell anything about him. Nondescript clothes, nondescript appearance, complete, all-encompassing... ordinariness. Peter himself would have been the same if not for his passion for science. Но Peter, unlike John, didn't have recipes.
Recipes that turned his scientific worldview upside down. Recipes that, as he now understood, hardly even a genius of the level of Reed Richards or Curt Connors could create. Those worked within the frameworks of physics and genetics. And John's "alchemy" seemed to simply ignore these frameworks, forcing reality to obey its own, alien logic. And all of this came from a guy who, by his own admission, had no scientific base. So from where?
Alright. Whatever. Peter wisely decided not to meddle in affairs not his own. The time would come when John would tell him himself. And if not, there would be reasons for that. All he could do on his part was keep his secret. And he knew how to keep secrets...
That thought flowed smoothly to another, most serious and carefully guarded secret of his. A secret he had uncovered almost by accident, simply by applying the scientific method where others saw only coincidences.
The identity of Spider-Woman. His laboratory colleague, Gwen Stacy.
Naturally, she had no idea he knew. And Peter himself... he simply couldn't help but notice. First, there was a hypothesis born from a simple comparison of facts: the moments of Gwen's sudden absences from work ("I urgently need to go to the doctor," "family problems") matched with striking precision the appearance of the heroine on the city streets, as blared by news sites.
Out of curiosity, he started a password-protected file on his computer. A spreadsheet. In one column—the time and reason for Gwen's absence. In the other—the time and place of Spider-Woman's appearance according to news and police reports. After a month of observation, the conclusion was obvious: in all that time, Gwen Stacy in the lab and Spider-Woman on the streets of New York had never been in two places at the same time. The correlation was one hundred percent.
After that, Peter began to notice small details. A small abrasion on her cheekbone that she tried to hide with foundation the day after Spider-Woman stopped a robbery by flying through a storefront. A deep scratch on her forearm, matching perfectly with a news photo where the heroine dodged a criminal's knife. A slight limp after a hard landing he had seen in an eyewitness video.
But most of all, he was struck by her unnatural regeneration. Abrasions and bruises that would take a week to heal for an ordinary person vanished overnight on her. Even the phrase "heals like a dog" was inappropriate here. This was a biological anomaly.
Naturally, Peter didn't mention his observations and suspicions to anyone. Not even to Gwen. Why? To burden her with another secret, another reason for concern? He respected heroes who sincerely helped others. As Uncle Ben once told him when the first report on Spider-Woman was shown on TV: "With great power comes great responsibility." Gwen used her power responsibly. A bit recklessly and risky, in his modest view, but who was he to tell her what to do?
At least, who was he before? A scrawny student, almost without friends, living off his uncle and aunt.
And who is he now?
The past evening changed everything. Now he knew how to create a combat stimulant that turns a human into a predator. He knew how to create a muscle stimulant whose working principle still made his scientific gut cringe. He knew how to create "Proteus"—a fabric decades ahead of modern technology. In his head, in his hands, there was now real power. Power capable of changing the world.
And with it, as the voice of his uncle persisted in his memory, comes responsibility.
What was the point of all these stimulants, of the cool protective fabric, if they were just going to gather dust in a box at John's? Isn't it irresponsible—to possess power and not use it for good? He could become a real hero. The one he had always dreamed of being in the depths of his soul...
But those were thoughts for neither today nor tomorrow. He needed to think everything through thoroughly, work with John, possibly even discuss this moment with him. Who knows what other surprises this guy would bring? Especially considering his last "task."
Ghost Orchid. A special flower Peter had never heard of before, and which was the key component of the Intellect Potion. The task set by John was simultaneously simple and incredibly complex: to understand what the alkaloid "Phantasmin" contained in the flower's pollen was. Analyze its structure, properties, and find a way to synthesize its analog. John helpfully left him one flower in a special container, having previously instructed him on care. And those instructions... again went beyond the bounds of science. However, Peter was starting to get used to this madness.
But beyond the Orchid itself, John left him something much more valuable. The recipe for the Intellect Potion itself. This wasn't just a list of ingredients. It was an act of the highest trust that Peter simply could not and did not dare betray.
And he didn't plan to. On the contrary, he was going to give 200% in studying this strange flower. He would build a theoretical base, formulate dozens of hypotheses, conduct all possible analyses to have something to lean on before the final brainstorming session. A session he would conduct under the effect of his own, self-created Potion.
Besides the synthesis of Phantasmin, they faced other, even more ambitious tasks. Improve the Potion, possibly change its form factor to tablets or capsules. And ideally... achieve a permanent effect. At that thought alone, Peter's breath hitched. A permanent, irreversible intellectual buff. That was a goal worthy of a genius. And these temporary sessions of "insight" needed to be spent with maximum benefit.
Peter walked along the night street, a light smile playing on his face.
Intellect. The thing he was secretly proud of all his life.
It turns out it can be several orders of magnitude cooler. And Peter was in incredible anticipation of what other peaks he was destined to conquer.
***
Creating Blade's alchemical grenades turned out to be a surprisingly meditative process. This was thanks to the "Master Clockmaker." A skill that, as it turned out, extended far beyond gears and springs. It gave me non-human precision and accuracy in movements, turning dangerous work with volatile chemicals into a calculated dance. Not a single extra drop, not a single wrong movement.
In four hours of focused work, I created five copies of each of the three grenades. And the result more than pleased me.
[Solar Flare potion created. Difficulty: Low. Received +100 OP!]
[Garlic Cloud potion created. Difficulty: Low. Received +100 OP!]
[Silver Gel potion created. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +50 OP!]
Subsequent crafts brought fewer points, but in total from all fifteen potions, I received 630 OP. With the 50 I already had, the final balance reached a solid 680 OP. Tomorrow this figure would become even larger when I set about the "Beast Potion." But for now—sleep. Naturally, before bed, I spent part of the savings on "Forge the Universe" for 400 OP.
[Information package received (Common) – Master Gourmet (Dungeon of Delicacies). Unlock cost: 200 OP]
Your refined sense for culinary and alchemical delights has reached perfection. This passive skill completely neutralizes any negative effects from food, drinks, and potions... Your body extracts the maximum from every dish or elixir, enhancing their positive effects by 15%!
Dungeon of Delicacies? Is the System an anime fan? I smirked, but immediately gave the mental command: "Unlock!". Without the slightest hesitation. A passive skill giving immunity to poisons and toxins is already priceless in itself. But enhancing positive effects by 15%?! That's a direct upgrade to everything I do! My stimulants will become more powerful, the Intellect Potion—more effective. If only this effect were here, I would still take it. The remaining 80 OP isn't much, but that's a work in progress, and permanent passive enhancements are the foundation of my future power.
In a blissful mood, I took a shower and went to bed. Но sleep was short. Around three in the morning, I was torn from Morpheus's embrace by an annoying ringtone. An unknown number. I already guessed who it was.
"Yo, kid! The best blood-sucker gutter on the line!" Blade's irritatingly energetic voice for three in the morning burst into the sleepy silence.
"Yeah, figured..." I croaked into the phone, trying to pry my eyes open.
"You sound kind of sour, didn't get enough sleep?" After a short laugh, Blade got to the point. "Reason I'm calling. Your muscle stimulant is top-tier stuff. Even works on me, and I'm like already super."
"That's good," it really would have been a shame if it didn't work on those who are already beyond human capabilities. Though something told me that on someone like Steve Rogers or the Hulk, the effect would be minimal...
"Good isn't the word! I had some real fun today in a gothic dive in the Meatpacking District. Ran into a couple of purebloods; they almost pinned me. My 'Beast Potion' is strong stuff, even for me there are comedowns. So, I just started running out of steam, and then your stimulant... You should've seen how the creatures were surprised when I got a second wind, lethally surprised, ehe-heh."
He sounded sincerely pleased. And this was the ideal moment.
"Hm, yeah... About the 'Beast Potion' by the way..." I paused, savoring the moment. "I've tinkered with the recipe a bit. It doesn't have side effects now."
Silence fell on the other end of the line. So sudden and deep that I even checked if the call had cut off.
"...Whad?!" he finally squeezed out. His voice was no longer energetic, but stunned. "You're joking, I hope? It's been less than a day, when the fuck did you find the time?! An entire vampire clan relied on that crap, they improved it for centuries, but even so the side effects are still a nightmare! Are you some secret love child of Reed Richards and Tony Stark?!"
"I won't go into details, but it's not a joke," my voice at three in the morning sounded perfectly steady and confident. "And yes, the improved 'Beast Potion' is now available for 'sale' from my side too."
I intentionally emphasized the last word. Blade was silent on the other end for a second, processing the information.
"Fair enough, it's a deal," he finally replied, and the former relaxedness was gone from his voice, replaced by business notes. "But at least give a rough price list. So I know what to expect."
"Simple. Rare ingredients, unique recipes, useful connections, information. Possibly interesting artifacts and technologies not available to the public. Money doesn't interest me much. Although," I paused, "stimulants, both combat and muscle, I can sell for it. Let's say ten grand an injector."
"Phew," Blade whistled in surprise and respect. "I see you play big, kid. I respect that. Only why didn't you say anything about your 'knowledge-expanding' potion?"
"Because it is incomparably more valuable. It's not for sale for money."
"Ooh..." he exhaled. "Now I want to take it even more. Alright, I hear you. Common goods—for cash, exclusive—for something more interesting."
"In short, yes. Bring, for example, a dozen Ghost Orchid flowers—you get at least one Potion in hand. By the way, about connections... Who in this city can sell a gun? No licenses, no extra questions, and at a decent price." A question that had interested me for quite a while, but I didn't want to deal with shady "not-suspicious-at-all" sellers in places like Hell's Kitchen, so I'd been putting it off; now it was time to take security more seriously.
"I'll give you that info for free, consider it a bonus for the stimulant," he answered without delay. "You can turn to the same Lucas. He'll get anything your sick imagination is capable of, as long as there's money. Even a tank. Но if you want to feel it first, shoot it, choose for yourself... then go to my brother, Frankie. Only he... he's a guy with principles. Chooses his clients carefully."
Frankie? Could it be Frank Castle? The Punisher? The thought made a chill run down my spine. I wisely kept this question to myself.
"Alright, listen, Eric, I..." I yawned demonstratively into the phone.
"Got it, got it, don't fall apart. I'll swing by during the day for the barter. Will you have time to make the improved 'Beast Potions'?"
"Yes. Send the info on Frankie via text. I'm going to sleep."
I ended the conversation and, without wasting a second thinking it over, immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Sunday morning turned out surprisingly sunny. In a high mood after a quick breakfast, I went down to the garage. All ingredients, including those synthesized by Peter, were laid out on the clean workbench. The instructions were in my head, and thanks to the "Master Clockmaker," they weren't going anywhere. Picking up a flask, I began to perform Alchemy.
First, I created the original "Beast Potion" according to Blade's recipe. Subconsciously, the process felt... crude. Unstable. Like I was assembling an engine with a sledgehammer. It's not surprising, considering I know that this potion, for all its positive effects, is really dangerous!
[Beast Potion created. Difficulty: Normal. Received +150 OP!]
Right, only 150. Not 200 as I'd calculated. Now—the improved recipe from Peter. Working with it was completely different. Elegant, precise, stable. Every stage subconsciously felt right. I wonder if it's the system affecting me or the master clockmaker skill? Regardless, the first improved stimulant is ready!
[Ultimate Predator Serum created. Difficulty: Normal. Received +200 OP!]
The system even gave it a different name. Now it's clear. Side effects for the System are an indicator of product imperfection, for which it cuts the final reward.
Over the next couple of hours, I created four more "Beast Potions" (purely to farm OP) and ten "Ultimate Predator Serums"—my new flagship product. In the end, my balance is now 1070 OP. Enough for two spins.
I was already opening the system window, anticipating a new portion of luck or disappointment, when the silence of the Sunday morning was torn by the low, guttural roar of a powerful engine. A black 1969 Dodge Charger pulled up and stopped at my house; despite its year of production, it was in perfect condition, clearly maintained with love. From it, with lazy grace, stepped out a man who was synonymous with the word "Armageddon" for vampires.
Alright. The spins can wait a bit.