A few minutes passed. The morning sun began to peek timidly through the window, painting the room in pale golden hues. Suddenly, my stomach let out a treacherous growl. Loud. Awkward. I hadn't eaten since yesterday's lunch at school, and the night had turned out to be... eventful.
I cast a quick glance at 2B. She didn't move, but I was certain her sensors had registered the sound. The thought of food became insistent. Then another thought occurred: what about her? Does she need food in her human form? YoRHa protocols surely didn't account for lunch breaks. But she had mentioned processing new data and resources herself... Perhaps the biological shell required nourishment?
It was decided. I had to make breakfast. And make it for two. Even if she refused, the gesture itself was the right thing to do.
"Um, 2B," I stood up from the computer, trying to sound as casual as possible. "I'm... hungry. I'm going to make breakfast. Do you... uh... want anything?"
She turned her head. There wasn't a shadow of emotion in her voice; she was still in android mode.
"Negative, Commander John. YoRHa units do not require organic fuel. Food consumption is not provided for in standard operating procedures. It is inefficient."
"Yes, I understand," I nodded. "But... you aren't exactly a standard YoRHa unit right now, are you? And you're in a form that... well... can simulate human processes. Maybe give it a try? For the sake of... data collection?"
She remained silent, turning back to the window. I decided not to push it. For now.
"Alright. As you wish. But I'll make some anyway. If you change your mind, let me know."
I headed to the kitchen. It was a small, rather old kitchen that came with the house. But it had everything necessary. I took eggs, bacon, and milk from the refrigerator. I found a frying pan on the shelf. While the oil was heating up, I thought about her. How was she doing there, alone in the room? Was she digesting information? Or simply in standby mode? The thought of leaving her alone all day while I was at school caused some anxiety.
The sizzling of the bacon filled the kitchen with an appetizing aroma. I beat the eggs with milk and poured them into the pan. Ordinary morning chores, yet they felt surreal now. Here I am, John Smith, a transmigrator with a System and the skills of Coulson and Toretto, cooking scrambled eggs for a combat android from the future standing in my bedroom. You couldn't write a script like this.
When the eggs and bacon were ready, I divided them onto two plates. A larger portion for myself, and a symbolic one for her. Then I remembered the apples sitting in a vase on the table—a gift from Aunt May a couple of days ago. I took one, the reddest and shiniest, washed it, and placed it next to her plate. Fruit. Something simple, natural. Maybe that would spark more interest in her than fried food?
I set the plates on the small kitchen table and poured myself a glass of juice.
"2B!" I called out, not too loudly. "Breakfast is ready! Come here!"
A few seconds later, she appeared in the kitchen doorway. The same perfect posture, the same inscrutable look. She approached the table and looked at the plates.
"Repeated analysis indicates a lack of necessity for the consumption of these products to maintain functioning," she stated.
"I know," I smiled. "It's not for functioning. It's... just food. Humans eat together. It's a... ritual? A way of communicating? I don't know. Just... try it. At least the apple. Have you ever eaten an apple?"
She looked at the red fruit on the plate. She tilted her head.
"Data on the flavor profiles of the Malus domestica fruit is available in the database. Personal experience of sensory perception is absent. Consumption is... non-expedient."
"So what if it's non-expedient?" I sat at the table and picked up a fork. "Sometimes it's worth doing non-expedient things. Just for the sake of interest. For the sake of a new experience. You said it yourself—new data for analysis? Here is an excellent data source for you."
I broke off a piece of the eggs, showing with my whole demeanor that I intended to enjoy breakfast. 2B watched me in silence. I saw her gaze slide from my plate to hers, lingering on the apple. In her stillness, there was something... hesitating. A struggle between logic and something else. Curiosity? Or that very same impulse that made her respond to my call?
A minute passed. I ate calmly, not looking at her but feeling her presence. Then I heard a soft sound—a barely noticeable ripple in the air, like back in the room. I looked up. She was standing the same way, but the feeling had changed again. The cold aura of the android had vanished, replaced by the warmth and softness of the bio-synthetic shell. She had become "human" again.
"Analysis shows," she began in a slightly altered, less monotonous voice, "that obtaining direct sensory experience can be... informative. For a better understanding of... human rituals. And... for calibrating the sensors of this shell."
She approached the table and cautiously sat on the chair opposite me. She looked at the plate of eggs and bacon, then at the apple. Her hand slowly reached out... to the apple. She took it with almost childish caution, turning it in her hands as if studying an unfamiliar artifact.
"How... is this consumed?" she asked, looking at me from beneath the blindfold.
"You just... bite it," I smiled. "You don't have to eat the whole thing if you don't like it."
She brought the apple to her lips. She froze for a moment. I saw the muscles in her neck tense. Then she made up her mind. A light crunch cut through the silence of the kitchen.
And I saw her freeze again. Her hand with the bitten apple stopped halfway to her mouth. She wasn't breathing. Her lips were slightly parted. What was she feeling?
A second passed, then another. She slowly, very slowly lowered her hand with the apple to the table. Then she brought her other hand to her mouth, touching her lips with her fingers as if not believing her sensations.
"Data..." she whispered so softly I could barely hear. "Taste receptors... activated. Texture... crunchy. Juice... sweet... Slightly... sour? The sensation is... powerful. Unlike anything in the database."
She raised her hand to her mouth again, then jerked it back as if burned. Her shoulders slumped. She bowed her head low.
"This is... wrong," she muttered. "We are... weapons. We are not supposed to... enjoy. To receive... pleasure. It is a... crime. I... I should not have..."
Guilt. Shame. The very emotions mentioned in the text I had read. She had tried a simple apple, experienced a simple human pleasure from the taste—and immediately felt guilty, as if she had violated some internal prohibition laid down by her creators. It was so... sad. So unfair.
"2B," I said softly but firmly. "It's not a crime. Feeling taste, enjoying food—it's normal. It's part of what it means to be... alive. There is no YoRHa here. No Bunker. No prohibitions on feelings. You can feel. You have the right."
She raised her head. I couldn't see her eyes, but I felt her turmoil.
"But... my purpose is... to serve..."
"Your purpose now is here, with me," I said, trying to put confidence into my voice. "And part of that... is learning to live. For real. With all these strange and 'inefficient' human things. Including breakfast. And apples."
I took a fork and pushed her plate of eggs a bit closer to her.
"Now try this. Also a data source. Quite informative."
She looked at the eggs, then at me. Another hesitation. But this time, it was shorter. She cautiously picked up the fork. Clumsily, holding it almost like a weapon. Then she picked up a small piece of the eggs and slowly brought it to her mouth. She chewed.
Her reaction wasn't as vivid as with the apple, but I saw her analyzing the taste and texture. Then she tried the bacon. Her eyebrows beneath the blindfold narrowed slightly again.
"Salty... fatty... Structure... fibrous. The combination of flavors is... complex. Requires further analysis."
She ate another piece. Then another. Not with an appetite, but rather with a researcher's interest. But she was eating. And that was a huge step.
While she cautiously poked at her plate, I decided to take the opportunity to bring her up to speed regarding my life.
"Listen, 2B, I need to explain something to you. I'm... an ordinary high school student. Well, almost ordinary," I chuckled to myself. "Every weekday I go to school. It's a place where teenagers like me learn different things—math, history, chemistry... In short, we prepare for adult life."
She stopped chewing, listening intently.
"I have friends there. Peter is a smart guy, a bit clumsy but kind. Gwen is a very smart girl, she's into science. Harry... his father owns a large corporation, they have a complicated relationship. And a few other kids. School is an important part of my life here."
I finished my portion and looked at the clock. Damn, I was already late.
"And... I have to leave soon. For school. You'll have to stay here alone for a few hours."
She raised her head.
"Understood. What are my directives for the duration of your absence, Commander John? Perimeter patrol? Object security? Local network analysis?"
"No, no, nothing like that!" I said hastily. "The main directive is to remain unnoticed. Don't open the door for anyone. Don't leave the house. Don't attract the neighbors' attention. Understand? It's very important. No one should know of your existence yet."
"Accepted. Stealth protocol activated. I will remain within these premises."
"Good. And as for what to do..." I thought for a moment. "You can... rest. In your room. Or... you can watch movies. They are... moving pictures with sound that tell stories. I have an old laptop; I'll show you how to use it. Or you can... read books. I don't have many, but I have some. Or... if you get hungry again... you can eat. Anything you find in the fridge or on the shelves—is fine. It's not a crime, remember?"
I quickly showed her how to turn on the laptop and launch the folder with the movies I had downloaded once. She watched the screen with analytical curiosity.
"Moving images... A form of information transfer? Or... entertainment?"
"Both," I smiled. "You'll understand when you watch. In short, do whatever you want, as long as it's quiet and unnoticed. If anything happens—can the Pod contact me?"
"Affirmative. Pod 042 can establish a secure communication channel with your mobile device if necessary."
"Great. Then... I'm off to get ready."
I quickly washed the dishes, went back to the room, grabbed my backpack and jacket. 2B was still sitting at the kitchen table, finishing the apple in small, cautious pieces.
I checked the time again. The bus was definitely gone. I'd have to fork out some cash.
"Alright, I'm going," I said, stopping in the doorway. "Be careful. If anything happens, contact me."
She raised her head and nodded.
"Accepted, Commander John. Return... safely."
The last words sounded almost... humanly caring? Or did I imagine it? I smiled back at her and left the house, locking the door.
Outside it was fresh; the snow had stopped. I took out my phone and called a taxi. While waiting for the car, my thoughts returned to 2B. Leaving her alone was worrying but necessary. She needed time to process everything herself.
The taxi arrived quickly. I leaned back against the seat, looking at the monotonous winter scenery outside the window. My brain tried to structure the information and build plans for the immediate future. How to integrate 2B into my life? How to help her adapt? How to use her and the Pod for... And then something strange happened, knocking me off my analytical track.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I had a wild craving for... a beer. An ice-cold, frosted bottle of Corona. Right now. To pop it open with one click, take a large gulp, and feel that characteristic bitterness. The thought was so vivid and out of place—I'm a teenager, what beer at eight in the morning?—that I even shook my head. But the desire didn't go away. It pulsed somewhere in the back of my mind, persistent and alien.
And right after it came another, even stranger sensation. A craving for speed. Not just the fast driving of the R8 I had experienced during the night, but something wilder, more primal. The smell of burnt rubber, the roar of a tuned engine, the tension of a street race on the edge of a foul, the adrenaline from the risk... I almost physically felt the vibration of the steering wheel in my hands and saw the night road before me, illuminated only by headlights.
And the cherry on top was a sudden, sharp desire... to gather the "Family." Peter, Gwen, Harry... No, not just friends. Specifically "Family." To sit with them at one table, eat barbecue, give pretentious speeches about how nothing is more important than family, that we will always be together, that we will overcome all difficulties because we are a family... Brrr. I almost gagged from the sappiness.
"What the hell?!" I groaned internally. "Smith, have you lost your mind? What 'Corona'? What racing? What 'Family' for heaven's sake?!"
This wasn't mine. Not mine at all. To a cynical transmigrator with the remnants of Coulson's analytical mind, such sentimental urges were absolutely alien. The answer came by itself. Toretto. Damn Dominic Toretto and his 19% assimilation. Apparently, his personality, his passions, and beliefs were seeping through the System's barriers, influencing my own thoughts and desires. This was... unpleasant. And a bit frightening. If 19% produces such an effect, what will happen at 50%? Or 100%? Will I turn into a bald muscleman obsessed with cars and barbecues?
I needed to check the status. Immediately. Had I missed something? I mentally called up the System interface, going straight to the first page.
[Page 1/3]
John Smith
Race: Human
Character Assimilation
Full Assimilation:
[Phil Coulson (S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Template)] - 100%
In Progress:
[Dominic Toretto (Template)] - 43%
[Empty]
Summoned Characters:
[YoRHa No. 2 Type B (2B)]
Abilities:
[Photostatic Veil (Active, Psionic)]
Equipped Items:
None
Forty-three percent! In just an hour! I had assimilated almost half of the Toretto template just by eating and taking a taxi to school! It was incredibly fast. Coulson required a month of hard training to get from 10% to 100%. And here—such a leap from zero!
Then it clicked in my head. Coulson. Rare card. Toretto. Also a Rare card. I had brought Coulson to 100%. Maybe... maybe the full assimilation of one template of a certain rarity significantly speeds up the initial phase of assimilation for other templates of the same rarity? As if the System was saying: "Okay, you've mastered this difficulty level, now the next cards of the same level will go easier"? It made sense. It explained both the sudden jump in progress and the intensified influence of Toretto's personality. The System wasn't just a lottery; it had its own logic of development, its own hidden mechanics.
Then what about Epic cards? Like 2B? If my theory was correct, her assimilation (if I had chosen it) would go much slower, requiring more effort or perhaps some special conditions. And what about Legendary? Or Common? This meant I shouldn't just pull cards but also strategically approach assimilation, considering rarity and potential "bonuses" for full mastery. Interesting...
Thoughts about the System's mechanics distracted me a bit from the intrusive desire for a beer. I tried to push the image of Toretto further away.
43%—that was already serious. I had to be on guard, controlling these alien impulses, not letting them influence my decisions. But the skills... the driving and mechanical skills that had surely also become more accessible—those were very handy.
The taxi arrived at the school just as the first lesson was starting. I paid, hopped out of the car, and blended in with the crowd of students hurrying to class. The familiar school bustle—laughter, conversations, the slamming of lockers—seemed like a backdrop for a completely different play unfolding in my head and in my home.
I quickly found my locker, dropped off my jacket, and grabbed my textbooks for the next classes. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Flash Thompson with his buddies. He shot me a quick, venomous glance but said and did nothing. It seems our previous "talk" still had an effect. A small thing, but nice.
After the second lesson, during the lunch break in the cafeteria, I found Peter and Harry at our usual table by the window. Gwen was eating with the girls from the science club today, and Mary Jane was surrounded by a whole entourage of fans and friends at another table—her popularity was growing by the day. Peter looked... better. More composed, less frazzled than usual. He poked at his portion of mashed potatoes with a fork, but his gaze was clear, thoughtful. The absence of a need to play hero at night and the presence of a living Uncle Ben was having a positive effect on his state.
But Harry looked terrible. Pale, with dark circles under his eyes, he had barely touched his food and was nervously fiddling with a napkin. I realized immediately—something had happened. And most likely, it was connected to his father.
"Harry? Are you okay?" I asked cautiously, sitting opposite him. "You don't look so good." He raised a tired gaze to me.
"Yeah, well... Fine," he muttered, but it was obvious that wasn't true.
"Something with your father?" I pressed gently. Harry sighed and rubbed his temples.
"Not exactly... I mean, he's actually mostly fine... got off with scratches. But in Oscorp..." he fell silent, searching for words.
Peter also looked up, watching his friend with concern.
"What in Oscorp, Harry? What happened?" he asked.
Harry sighed again.
"December 9th... Yesterday... there was an incident at night. A serious one. In one of the research labs on the upper floors. Officially they're saying... technical malfunction, gas leak, explosion... But... rumors are flying about an attack. A terrorist act. Someone broke in..."
He spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, looking around, although the noise of the cafeteria easily drowned out his words for the neighboring tables.
"It's all very strange, John, Pete. The security systems... they failed. Surveillance cameras in that sector... all recordings were destroyed or damaged. A clean server room. As if someone knew how to bypass all levels of protection."
"The consequences... are horrible," Harry continued, his voice trembling. "Several employees died. Several more... in the hospital, in critical condition. The destruction in the lab itself... They say some... important tests were being conducted there. For the military."
My heart began to beat faster. I already suspected where he was going. But his next words confirmed my worst fears.
"And also... two are missing. Just vanished. Dr. Otto Octavius... you remember him, he gave us that lecture on robotics? A genius, was working on a manipulator project... And... Shaw. My father's assistant. They were both in the lab during the explosion. And they can't be found anywhere. No bodies, no traces..."
Octavius. Missing. This is also part of the canon, but later... But Shaw... I didn't remember that. What does it mean?
"And your father? You said he was there?" Peter asked, his face full of concern for his friend.
"Yes," Harry nodded. "He was there. He was overseeing the final stage of testing, it seems. And he... he was almost unhurt. A few cuts from broken glass, a slight concussion. Rescuers found him almost immediately; he was conscious. He says he remembers nothing about the moment of the explosion or the attack... Lost consciousness and woke up afterward. He was lucky. Incredibly lucky..."
Harry fell silent, staring into his plate. He was clearly trying to convince himself of his father's luck, but doubt seeped through his voice.
And in my head, everything clicked into place.
The explosion in the Oscorp lab. The security systems failure. The dead employees. The missing Octavius (future Doctor Octopus?). The disappearance of Shaw (eliminated as an unnecessary witness?). And most importantly—Norman Osborn, coming out clean, with "amnesia" and minor injuries while chaos reigned around him.
This didn't look like a terrorist act or an accident. This looked like... the birth of a monster.
"There it is," flashed through my head with icy clarity.
"The Green Goblin is born. Right now. This night. While I was messing around with Gacha, while Peter slept peacefully thanks to a living Uncle Ben... Osborn crossed the line. He tested his serum on himself. And it worked. Too well."
Uncle Ben is alive, they didn't take extra blood from Peter by force during his second visit to Oscorp. But the Goblin appeared anyway. Does this mean the canon is inexorable? That fate will find another path to lead the world to the necessary point? Or did my interference, by removing one tragedy, merely accelerate another? I saved Ben, but perhaps by doing so, I accelerated Norman's transformation? Thoughts raced, trying to find logic in the chaos of the altered timeline.
I looked at Harry. Poor guy. He didn't know yet that his father, whom he tried so desperately to love and understand despite all his coldness, had just turned into one of New York's most dangerous psychopaths. And soon this transformation would destroy his own life as well.
Then I looked at Peter. He looked worried, but his concern was directed at Harry, at his experiences. He didn't know that an invisible bullseye had just appeared on his back again. Because the Green Goblin, sooner or later, would become interested in the very boy who survived the bite of the Oscorp spider and possesses incredible abilities. The boy whom Norman Osborn had ordered to be "studied."