46
As soon as the taxi with John drove away, the light, playful atmosphere between the two girls evaporated, replaced by icy tension. The fake smiles disappeared, and their postures became harder.
"You've gotten quite sloppy, little sister," Natasha said in an icy tone, her voice losing all warmth. "Damsel in distress? Such a hackneyed cliché."
"It worked, didn't it?" Yelena snapped back. "Unlike your dramatic entrance, as if you were filming a motorcycle porn commercial. What, by the way, does your director want from this guy?"
"Not for Valentina's lapdog to ask about that," Natasha parried. "Do your orders still include 'liquidate in case of failure due to ugliness and emotional range of a plank'? Or has the CIA gotten smarter?"
The air between them seemed to crackle with static electricity. A few more seconds, and they would have clawed at each other's throats right in the middle of the street. But both were professionals to the bone. Personal conflict, whatever it was, shouldn't interfere with the mission. Measuring each other with a final, poison-filled glance, they silently walked away in different directions.
Of course, already within a couple of minutes, the leadership of both girls would learn about the competitor's work. But this wouldn't affect the mission goal. On the contrary, this had turned into a personal rivalry. And neither of them intended to lose.
Sitting in the taxi that carried me to the university, I reflected on the fateful meeting that had just occurred. My brain under NZT still worked at the limit, analyzing every nuance.
Natasha Romanoff. SHIELD. This was good. I had attracted the attention of a predictable, bureaucratic monster. It was clear that primarily because of the fake Fisk, but this was temporary. Soon they would learn about "Proteus," and then my value in their eyes would grow exponentially. The mountain was coming to Muhammad itself.
As for the CIA, Yelena and her boss... this option I hadn't even considered. They worked too dirty; Project Sentinel alone was worth something. I was practically certain that Yelena had an order for my liquidation in case of failed recruitment. SHIELD, in this regard, looked much more adequate. They preferred to collect assets, not create martyrs.
It was worth perhaps considering the terms of working with them. What I could offer, what I definitely wouldn't reveal... But I'd let them marinate for a couple of days. I had things to do. I needed to channel my thoughts into a more constructive direction.
I closed my eyes, disconnecting from the streets flashing outside the window, and opened the system window. The balance of 1,150 OP pleasantly warmed my soul. It was time for a risky game. I clicked on the already familiar option: "Forge Reality!" From my account, 650 OP was immediately deducted, and a notification appeared in return. I eagerly stared at the description of the dropped information package.
[Obtained information package (common) - Entity Crafting (Wakfu). (Unlocking information package costs 500 OP)]
An ancient craft allowing the extraction of essence and energy from natural components—monster parts, rare plants, or minerals—and weaving them into weapons, armor, and artifacts.
Key principles:
Principle of Inheritance: Created equipment directly receives key properties and abilities of the creature or material from which it is made. Armor made from the hide of a fireproof monster will resist fire; a weapon made from the claw of a superfast predator receives a bonus to attack speed.
Principle of Essence: The quality, durability, and strength of the final item directly depend on the power of the source material. The stronger and rarer the creature was, the more powerful the equipment created from it will be.
Principle of Synergy: The skill allows an intuitive understanding of how best to combine various components. You can combine organic materials with each other or, using your scientific knowledge, connect them with modern technologies, creating unique techno-organic hybrids.
Yes. Finally. A skill that fully justified the system name "Celestial Forge." A crafting skill, but with nuances... this was something completely new. Not just science, but alchemy. This wouldn't make me a full-fledged blacksmith, but the potential of this skill was limitless. Every exotic enemy, every monster I might encounter now became not just a threat, but a walking treasure trove.
And not just an enemy either... My brain, already working at the limit, now operated in completely new categories. Take, for example, a hypothetical Groot. Borrow a small splinter from him, process it, extract the "essence," and with the help of this skill, weave living fibers into the structure of a composite material like "Proteus." Would it be possible this way to create active self-regeneration? Would a bullet hole in the armor overgrow in several minutes, drawing energy from light and moisture in the air, like living tree bark?
And Frost Giants from Jotunheim? A fragment of their bone or a piece of skin was a unique material, a natural thermoelectric converter absorbing heat and generating cold. Create gloves from this material, integrate a system of miniature heat exchangers into them, and the output could be an artifact that not only protected from the cold. At my command, it would be able to actively extract heat from the environment, concentrating it and releasing a directed stream of absolute zero. Instantly freeze anything, create ice barriers, cool overheated equipment. The passive property of the material would turn into an active, controllable weapon.
I wasn't even mentioning what could be created with a symbiote. By the way, I would need to definitely ask Peter about his parents, because there seemed to be no son of J. Jonah Jameson returning from space in this world. And somewhere here also existed dragons, even if this was connected with the Asian arc. Exotic alien races... even vampire blood could theoretically be used somehow.
And most importantly, if this was really a crafting skill, would I finally be able to proceed with work on unique ores? Uru, adamantium, vibranium... they were too valuable and had been lying idle too long. According to the skill description, unlikely, it was more about organics. But even so, this was an excellent foundation that would allow me to work with unique materials in the future.
The price was high for a common skill, but the potential was limitless. I had exactly 500 OP. Unlock.
The headache, despite the package being "common," turned out to be noticeable. Different. Not like from loading pure science. This was like a migraine from rewritten laws of physics. My brain desperately tried to reconcile thermodynamics with the concepts of "essence" and "inheritance." Not surprising, since this was essentially the first skill allowing me to interact with mysticism. Together with the previously obtained scientific knowledge and the principle of synergy, its effectiveness should grow many times over.
Where now to obtain unique materials... another coin in the piggy bank of interaction with SHIELD. They definitely should have something interesting in their storerooms.
Speaking of SHIELD. Interesting, did they know about alien civilizations? If they knew, they would hardly have let Reed Richards go on his space expedition. But Hyperion already existed on Earth, so people already had questions. However, why guess. When the brave five explorers returned to Earth, no longer quite human, everything would become clear.
Pushing the thoughts away, I noted that the taxi had just pulled up to the university. Texting Gwen, I got out and stood near the building, waiting for her.
She came out in about seven minutes, in a white laboratory coat that surprisingly looked absolutely harmonious and even stylish on her. I constantly forgot that in this world, Gwen Stacy wasn't just a spider-girl waving her fists. She was also a brilliant biochemist. Another plus was that she would become part of our team. Our small scientific collective was becoming more and more balanced. Peter, a genius of biochemistry and an idealist. Me, a pragmatic engineer. And her, the ideal bridge between our worlds. Each of us covered the blind spots of the others.
"So what? Decided where we'll have the wedding? I'm for the Maldives. Paris is too hackneyed," I greeted her with a wide, disarming smile.
Actually, I wasn't completely hitting on Gwen. Well, maybe only partially. Just after a brief meeting with two sexy spies, I had wanted to channel my turbulent young energy in communication with girls. Gwen was already going through a difficult period: she had lost her father, recently killed people, and desperately searched for her place in the world. She clearly had no time for relationships. But nothing prevented me from lifting her mood and my own.
"Very funny," she rolled her eyes, but I noticed how the corner of her lips trembled into a smile. "Let's settle on a format where we're just colleagues in... um, a team?"
"We'll return to that too. But first, I have important news," I looked around, making sure no one was paying attention to us, and lowering my voice to a half-whisper, continued. "Fisk is alive."
"Fuck!" Gwen cursed, her face instantly becoming hard. "But how?! We personally..."
"A meta-mercenary who took his appearance. The details aren't important. The question is that the problem isn't solved."
"And? What will we do?" A fire flashed in her eyes.
"We won't get involved in this. At least not headlong," I said firmly.
"But..."
"Yes, I know. Revenge for your father. Your motives are clear. And considering the blood already on your hands, you crave just retribution. But there's another person for whom Blade started this purge."
"Frank..." Gwen guessed correctly.
"Exactly. His entire family was killed. He himself was tortured almost to death. He miraculously survived, and if not for my medicine, it was unknown when he would have come out of a coma. He has more right to this revenge than all of us combined."
"Medicine... capable of curing that?!" She looked at me in shock. "I... you... Ugh! Every meeting with you amazes me more and more."
"Thank you for the compliment. You're not bad either. But back to business. Fisk will most likely be handled by Frank. Blade, I understand, plans to leave the country. And they can seriously come after you and me. More precisely, they already came after me..."
"What? Is everything that serious? Can I help somehow?" Sincere alarm sounded in her voice.
"Mmm, I don't think so. Just don't stand out for now. And," I looked directly into her eyes, "don't agree to dubious offers if they don't come from me. Understood? Now memorize the base address and how to get there. In the coming days, I'll be there constantly."
Having transmitted all the necessary information to Gwen and notified her that my phone would be unavailable, I headed to buy a burner number and phone. Then I stopped by home to leave my old device there. Entering the apartment, I froze. My subconscious, sharpened by the recent NZT intake and attention to details from my master watchmaker days, sounded the alarm. The book on the table lay at a different angle. The chair was moved by a centimeter. A barely perceptible trace of foreign antistatic hung in the air. There had been guests here. They had obviously installed a wiretap, and possibly cameras. Staying here was suicide.
Ordering a taxi again, I returned to the base. Only Blade and the still-unconscious Frank were there.
"Your buddy went off to his family," Blade explained Peter's absence. "Says he's worried about his uncle and aunt. But he did a lot of good; worked from the heart. A whole shelf of pills and stimulants is prepared."
"Understood. He, by the way, is now not only a comrade on the team."
"Oh? Spider-girl couldn't resist your charms, and you lured her into your web?"
"If only. Rather, she just doesn't know where to go now, so she clings to whatever meaning of existence she can find."
"You put it quite grandiloquently," Blade chuckled. "Say it simply: she wants to continue kicking bandits' asses, wants revenge for her father, and at the same time wants support at her back."
"Well, that's what I meant. Speaking of revenge..."
"Revenge..."
A voice that sounded in the silence of the base was like scraping gravel on metal. Blade and I sharply turned. Frank Castle opened his eyes. He jerked, immediately trying to sit up, and his gaze, full not of surprise but of cold fury, bored into us.
"Brother, lie still, don't jerk!" Blade rushed to Frank, gently but insistently laying him back on the couch. "You're still in the most active phase of John's healing potion. Your body is reassembling itself."
"Watchmaker..." Frank rasped, his gaze focusing on me, then on my watch. He nodded to his thoughts.
"Well, yes, his watch is fly. But now we're talking about you. So, here's the situation..."
To the measured, heavy breathing of Frank, who listened with an emotionless face, which was much more frightening than if he had been fountaining with rage, Eric told him everything. About Kingpin, about Fisk, about how we "killed" him, but in reality, not him.
"And in the end, we sort of avenged you and your family, exposing our asses, but in fact, no. So all this mess now has to be sorted out by you."
"Thank you... both..." Frank said dryly, again immersing in his thoughts. "I'll handle the rest myself."
"Clear that you'll handle it yourself. I'm leaving the country tomorrow already. But don't despair. Just know that I'm always ready to help. And John's already become one of us. I think he won't refuse to solve a question or two."
"I won't refuse," I nodded in agreement. Establishing a trusting relationship with a specialist of Frank Castle's level was worth a lot. "Weapon modification, suit creation, combat stimulant and healing potion supply. Contact me, Mr. Castle."
"Right, right, he's the brainy guy!" Blade nodded. "He even has his own club forming here."
"Yes... true, they can squeeze both me and the club at any moment," I said, scratching the back of my head. "Well, remember I said the hunt for me might start? So... it seems it started."
"What makes you think so? Did you notice something?"
"Yes. Today, at the exit from the lawyers' office, I ran into two girls. A blonde and a redhead. The blonde had an unnaturally dense muscle corset. The level of a weak super-soldier."
"Fuck, a redhead..." Blade groaned. "Most likely, this is Romanoff from SHIELD. Always all the problems from redheads. And then what? You ran into them, and they?"
"Well, we chatted a bit. I laughed at the absurdity of the situation, told them a creepy joke, and bailed."
"Actually, yeah, it really turned out funny," Blade chuckled. "One from SHIELD, and the second, apparently, from another agency. But you, by the way, got lucky. They want to recruit, since they sent Natasha. She's from their top league. She could seduce a eunuch, an impotent, or a gay man."
"I think the same way. And I'll most likely cooperate with SHIELD, but on my terms."
"Oh, that's a sound thought," Eric nodded approvingly. "I also like cooperating with one agency, MI-13, the British analogue of SHIELD. If you represent something, then essentially your life doesn't change much. Just more resources appear, and they blow the dust off you."
"Exactly. The small matter remains: to start representing something," I answered with a sigh.
"No, no, kid, no self-deprecation!" Blade sharply interrupted me. "You built me a magic suit in one night and brewed miracle medicine. You think Stark's capable of something similar? You're an asset worth hundreds of billions, trust my eye!"
"Hah, thanks, you encouraged me. I'll think about what to do in general."
"And what's there to think? Offer them your miracle fabric, and they'll be flowing from your awesomeness."
"I'm also thinking in this direction. The preliminary patent has already been sent; I'm waiting for them to swallow the bait. But I need more technologies. I don't want to stop at just one fabric. I want to be, in their eyes, an asset on the level of Tony Stark and Reed Richards combined. And I also need personal strength so they don't kill me before recruiting."
"Oh, are you going to craft something now?" Blade asked with interest.
"Yeah. If anything, I can go 'into flow' now, so shake me if something is needed," I answered, heading to the laboratory and already scrolling through blueprints and formulas in my head.
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