"Where did he learn to negotiate like that?"
The Fifth Element.
*************************
Since I no longer needed sleep—well, yes, the body's brain remained asleep permanently, and judging by some of my decisions, not only the body's—and I had work up to my neck, I decided to act immediately. But what should come first: searching for the part of myself, finding a scientist, or obtaining hormone preparations?
Hm. It was nighttime, which meant most pharmacies were closed. Not that this alone would stop me, but even if I located the proper building and entered its stockroom, what exactly would I search for, and where? No. Too much effort for a very uncertain result. Then what? A scientist or the part of me...
One moment. How had I forgotten? Parker had given a piece of me to some acquaintance for examination. What was his name again? My mind cleared completely, and I remembered. Doctor Connors. A one-armed geneticist and, unless I was mistaken, a fairly ethical man. Also the Lizard, and indebted to Spider-Man for helping him deal with his scaly problem.
Genius or not, the man had invented a mutagen that transformed him into a viable and intelligent monster-shifter, complete with an effective, functioning mechanism for moving between forms. It did not kill him, shorten his life, demand an enormous energy supply, or cause any other major problem. In fact, it was excellent and could nearly pull him back from death if he sustained severe wounds in human form.
Granted, during transformation he lost his grip somewhat and began viewing the world from the perspective of an eight-foot humanoid reptile who considered humans inferior beings and an obsolete stage of evolution compared with His Magnificent Self. But against the rest, that was a minor detail. In short, with him I could solve two problems at once—if I found something to offer him.
I still was not certain I could restore his arm without bonding with him, and he was unlikely to accept a bond if he had managed to understand even a little of my structure. Still, every other option was worse. I would have to improvise. I stood, walked to the roof's edge, and again tried to sense my separated piece. It did not happen quickly, but it happened. I needed to move north, closer to the city center.
Looking over the surrounding territory from a skyscraper's height, an impulsive idea entered my long-suffering head. Why not attempt Parker's method of travel? I had acquired the web formula, and modeling the glands that produced it should not be especially difficult. Said and done. I prepared for my first flight.
Growing the glands inside the body would take too long and consume too many resources, so Symbiote-me simply wrapped around host-me's wrists and assumed the necessary structure.
Here we go-o-o-o-o-o!
The neighboring roof. A little later.
Ohhh, that hurt. At least I now understood why Venom covered Brock's entire body when moving in that fashion. The human organism simply was not designed for those loads. Every muscle and nerve needed restructuring. During my first leap, I nearly tore the body's arm off and swallowed a cloud of tiny insects circling in the night air. To finish the performance, I almost smashed myself against the nearest wall because I failed to react in time when the wind suddenly rose and plastered me into it.
"This is harder than it looks," I announced the obvious.
After that, I stopped trying to reinvent the wheel. I covered the body with a protective shell, jumped from the roof again, and tried to tune myself to Peter's memories of how he did it. At first I collected several building corners—tracking a separated piece of myself while controlling the body was damned difficult—but I gradually adapted. After only two hours of wandering across the city, I reached the institute building where my fragment was located.
It was a tall building, though it did not quite reach the skyscrapers of the financial district. I could now sense my little piece clearly—only around two million cells—and the target was almost at the top. I tried to draw it toward me, but nothing happened. I received only a vague sense of enclosed space. Ah. I would have to climb there myself.
I disliked the idea. There was a great deal of valuable equipment upstairs, and where there was a great deal of something valuable there had to be security. Triggering an alarm and revealing myself ahead of time was not part of my plans. Waiting for something unknown—a kindly wizard in a blue helicopter, perhaps—would not help either.
Fine. If necessary, I could escape. With those thoughts, I began climbing the institute wall. What could be said about it? Nothing. For fifteen minutes, I monotonously moved my arms and legs, occasionally freezing when guards passed below.
Then I reached the target. Beyond the window stood rows of instruments, among which I identified only a microscope and a computer. Fortunately, one small transom had been left open. After inspecting the window once more for unpleasant surprises such as a connected alarm, I entered the laboratory and...
Nothing happened. No siren howled. No guards burst inside. Nothing. I waited another couple of minutes for certainty, then moved to the doctor's desk, where ordinary sight already showed me a test tube containing a small amount of black substance.
Now I understood the sense of enclosed space. It could hardly have been more enclosed. I opened the tube and reabsorbed my fragment.
A packet of information entered my mind instantly. The separated piece had been small, but unlike the rest of my organism it had not suffered the acoustic assault of the bells. It had also been detached from the main body at the moment of my arrival. As a result, I became the happy owner of Parker's memories beginning with his birth.
Absorbing all of that at once was not easy. But that was not the important part. The important part was that the information included a couple of extremely useful discoveries—and bad news for Parker.
The genetic-code samples preserved in the fragment Connors had received differed slightly from those already present in my own 'database.' Even I could barely detect the changes, but if they continued in the same direction and at the same rate, the young man risked waking in six months to a year with an extra pair of limbs.
Still, I had my own problems. The journalist's future could wait. I sat at the desk and considered the coming conversation with the scientist. I could pressure him and force him to help by blackmailing him with knowledge of his scaly secret, but allowing a hostile man to investigate my beloved carcass would not be intelligent. And how could he possibly remain friendly after that?
Buying him was not an option either. I did not possess enough money, and he was not that kind of person. I could try presenting myself as a 'kindred spirit.' He feared the beast inside himself and tried to eliminate it. My situation was similar, perhaps worse. At least he knew what could trigger his transformation and make him rampage. I had discovered my own two 'operating modes' only now, and my very nature remained a wagonload of mysteries. It could not help but frighten me.
Yes. That was probably the best approach. I could already imagine how to structure the conversation. Only one tiny, utterly insignificant detail remained. How should I introduce myself? Names were serious business.
I saw no reason to use my old one. My former self had remained in another world, hopefully dead. That was still better than burdening my family with the care of a drooling vegetable. So I sat and thought. At first, I was tempted to call myself Alucard. Then I remembered in time that Marvel had a Doctor Hellsing, Blade, various other thematically appropriate individuals, and even the genuine Count Dracula. I decided not to tempt fate.
Calling myself Alex Mercer was also impossible. From Parker's memories, I knew that such a game already existed in this world. Spider-Man had taken photographs at the exhibition where it was presented. I had no wish to become walking advertising. The name problem was solved by my reflection in the dark window. The faceless silhouette inspired no less dread than a true Nazgûl from 'The Lord of the Rings.' And what if...
At my mental command, the Symbiote cells formed something like a hooded mantle over my covering. Damn. Even I flinched at the transformation. It created a literal void where my face should be and made me resemble an infernal warlock—a perfect Nazgûl. That settled it. Nazgûl would be my other name. I did not devote as much thought to my 'civilian identity.' I simply searched by meaning.
Thus Walter Mayer was born—or, if one translated the name's meaning literally, 'ruler of men.' It suited me rather well, at least in the opinion of a person who was neither especially sophisticated nor especially sane after everything that had happened. Time passed unnoticed while I thought and prepared my plan. Dawn came, and the city slowly began to wake.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. A lock clicked, and someone entered the room. I waited for the lock to click a second time—witnesses were the last thing I needed—then went to meet the owner of the laboratory, first transforming the protective mantle back into a coat. The final thing I wanted was for the scientist to become frightened and morph into the Lizard.
"Good morning, Doctor Connors. Could you spare me a few minutes of your time?"
***
Curt Connors almost ran toward his laboratory. The sample Spider-Man had given him was astonishing. The creature could work with cells at a level beyond the dreams of modern scientists. If he could develop a drug based on it, the result would be one of the greatest breakthroughs in medicine. It could regrow lost organs, make the most complicated surgeries possible... and correct errors in the genetic code. Perhaps it could even help him rid himself forever of the consequences of the old mistake that now haunted his nightmares.
At last, the laboratory. Curt quickly disabled the alarm on the door, opened the lock, and stepped inside, remembering to lock it behind him. He disliked being interrupted during research, and especially during research like this. Before he reached his workstation, however, a young man in a long leather coat stepped out to meet him.
"Good morning, Doctor Connors. Could you spare me a few minutes of your time?"
Curt stared. How had this polished stranger entered a laboratory whose alarm he had disabled only a minute ago?
"What are you doing here? I'll call security!"
The doctor caught himself realizing that this was the second time in two days he had spoken those words. The stranger smiled.
"You're repeating yourself, Doctor. Or is that your standard greeting?"
Curt relaxed slightly. Only two beings knew he had already used that phrase: himself and Spider-Man. It also explained how the young man had reached the upper floor of a tall building.
"You're here on Spider-Man's behalf, then? I hope he's all right and has rid himself of his little problem?"
The scientist decided to verify the guest's knowledge. He had no desire to compromise Spider-Man—or himself.
"Don't worry. The suit no longer poses any danger. But I came to discuss a somewhat different matter. First, allow me to introduce myself. Mayer. Walter Mayer," the young man said, still smiling.
"Well, Spider-Man's friends are my friends. How can I help you, Mr. Mayer?"
The scientist looked intrigued. People were not delivered to his laboratory every day in such an extravagant fashion. The wording sounded rather ambiguous, but never mind.
"I believe we may be able to help one another, Doctor."
Suddenly, his coat flowed into the shape of a business suit, as though... as though it were alive. Connors recoiled. If, only a few days earlier, you had studied a living creature capable of freely changing shape, and then a man wearing a living suit entered your laboratory by unexplained means, putting two and two together was not difficult. Curt was an intelligent man, however. If the being had wanted him dead, he would already be dead.
"What do you want?" the former field surgeon asked, much less warmly now.
"To live," Mayer answered with complete seriousness.
The doctor was bewildered. He had expected anything from a demand for information about Spider-Man to being taken hostage—but not that. Caution struggled with scientific curiosity. Curiosity won.
"Explain... please."
Walter sighed heavily and sat directly on the floor.
"Very well. I came here for help, so listen. I woke in some filthy basement with a terrible pain in my... hm... head, and a wild mixture of memories in my consciousness. But I still perceived myself as a whole personality. Moving was extremely difficult, yet I tried to crawl out of that hole and succeeded. Although I seem to have acquired a phobia of stairs."
The young man grimaced, evidently remembering several unpleasant minutes.
"Then some homeless man stepped on me. That was when IT happened. I—or no, no longer I—simply absorbed his body and adapted it to myself. I felt everything but could do nothing. In my defense, he had cirrhosis and a damaged nervous system. Without me, he would have lived no more than a month.
"The worst part came afterward. My mood began changing violently. It still changes now, though not as sharply. And that was not the end. While I was walking through the city at night, several men tried to rob me. That was when HE awakened—the monster. He simply slaughtered every attacker and, apparently, ate one of them.
"I regained awareness on a roof, covered in blood. Among the jumble of memories, I found your face. You were associated with a friend. I... I have no one else to turn to. Will you help me?"
Connors listened to the confession of this crea—no, this person. They were very much alike. A monster lived in each of them. But this young man lacked Curt's life experience. He had not passed through the hell of war. He had barely lived at all. Pity stirred in the scientist. But how could he help him? Seeing doubt on the face of the man opposite him, Mayer continued.
"I understand that my organism is extremely valuable for study. I'm willing to assist with your research. I ask only one thing: help me."
Curt discarded his remaining doubts. After all, he was not only a scientist. He was a physician, and he had taken an oath.
"I don't know how I can help you, but I'll do everything in my power."
"Thank you."
The young man extended his hand, and they sealed their agreement with a handshake.