"Man, why are you so green?"
"You'd look the same after a centrifuge."
From conversations between test pilots.
Walter Mayer. Deep in Thought.
*******************
The greeting I'd received from that kindly old lady had forced me to think very seriously about life. More precisely, about survival. Apparently my enemies—and I had no doubt whatsoever that reaching an understanding with Grandma would be impossible—knew far more about me than I knew about myself. Meanwhile, I knew almost nothing about them. And if one were to quote 'The Art of War,' then at the moment I was going to get my ass handed to me every time we met. Which meant I needed to understand myself properly.
At the same time, I had to learn everything possible about our distinguished retiree. Acquiring allies of the appropriate weight class wouldn't hurt either. Unfortunately, the first names that came to mind were people like Apocalypse and Galactus. I had absolutely no desire to deal with them. Those gentlemen generally wanted to multiply the entire world by zero.
That left archives. Ancient scrolls. Perhaps the legends of different peoples. And, what the hell, fantasy books. First of all, I needed to dig through the vampire archives. I should also visit Strange. I was still far from thrilled by his invitation to become a student, but perhaps I could at least talk him into a consultation. What else? I shouldn't reveal my Symbiote abilities unnecessarily. That attack would have killed the original Venom outright—or at least put him into a coma. Which meant they might assume I was dead. That could buy me a little extra time. Hmm.
Judging by what she said, the old witch still didn't know about the Executioner and his clever plan to disintegrate her and her partner... along with the entire continuum as a bonus. Not that I approved of the actions of my descendant from an alternate reality. But I had to admit: he thought on a grand scale and didn't waste time on minor details. Which meant there was a chance that, after a while, the sweet couple would have problems more important than me.
Right. The main thing was surviving long enough to see that glorious day. And so I began to stir things up. Vampire archives were opened. Expeditions were organized to the oldest and most abandoned corners of the planet. Doom was put to work developing and theoretically justifying weapons capable of ruining even a god's mood. Doctor Otto Octavius called too. After mature consideration, he had accepted my conditions and already begun working.
Even under an insane workload, I couldn't suppress a smile while watching one of the leading lights of science nearly enter ecstasy at the results of experiments involving Victor's metal. Looks like I'd been right about power engineers being willing to sell their souls for that stuff. Peter called a couple of days later. Without wasting time, they assigned him as Kurt's assistant. They also dumped a project involving new polymers on him. If he'd managed to invent that web compound, perhaps he could come up with something else interesting too.
I, meanwhile, crawled into the deepest bunker available and continued abusing myself. Besides mastering the new abilities obtained from Nightcrawler and Kitty—the phantom one—I began hammering at my own structure with persistence worthy of a better cause.
Unexpectedly, the task proved far harder than I'd imagined. Maintaining focus on the research was extremely difficult. I constantly felt drawn toward something else. In short, Symby's instincts and restrictions were attempting to divert the attention of one excessively clever-assed... uh... wise host as far away as possible. What saved me was the fact that I wasn't exactly a host. More precisely, I wasn't a host at all. So I could resist most of the tricks.
For example, my own blindness unpleasantly shocked me. Think about it. For an entire year I had been trying to reinvent the wheel. At first I injected adrenaline, then I simply swallowed capsules of it. And it never occurred to me to slightly 'upgrade' my adrenal glands and activate them whenever necessary. No. Instead I either searched for fights or obtained the substance externally. Simply establishing internal production? Impossible. Smelled like another limiter imposed by the unknown creators of the black slime.
After almost a week of suffering and perversion—interrupted only in the evenings and at night; Felicia lived with me now, and leaving her without proper attention would simply have been swinish, while Laura and Anna also demanded their share of time, something I did not complain about even with a problem hanging over my neck because by now I simply couldn't live differently—I finally managed to extract something interesting from Symby.
DNA variants it stored but never used. Apparently, those were the templates involved in creating 'descendants.' There were around a hundred varieties. After thinking it over, I grouped them into broader categories based on their capabilities. No. Theoretically, every 'species' of Symbiote could do everything its 'brothers' could. But the limiters installed by the unknown creators of this weapon severely cut down their capabilities. At the same time, certain types retained the ability to reproduce individuals of a desired specialization.
I had been extraordinarily lucky to land in one of those. Venom could be classified into the 'Saboteur' and 'Tactician' groups. I don't think I need to explain what he was intended for. Among the hidden templates I also found and isolated several other genomes. The 'Cleaner'—hello, Executioner. A creature with essentially no weaknesses such as my own 'friendship' with sound. But it came with a hard block on consciousness. Destruction. Only destruction. Nothing except destruction. Plus complete obedience to older members of the species. Basically a fighting dog that merely needed to be pointed toward the enemy and released from the leash.
I called the next category 'Puppeteers' and conditionally divided it into three types. The first was the 'Overlord.' If my analysis was correct, this type possessed psionic power comparable to Madame Web. It could burn out brains through brute force and seize control of an enormous city. At the same time it was physically very vulnerable and almost completely incapable of developing its own power. Logical enough. What if one developed too far and took control of its creators?
The second type was the 'Tempter.' Far weaker psychically, but capable of acting much more subtly. Instead of producing a mindless zombie like an Overlord, it could turn its victim into a devoted and loyal supporter.
The last Puppeteer type was the 'Parasite.' No psionics at all. Instead, infinite division and extremely fine manipulation of a victim's nervous system. The drawback was that it could be completely destroyed by exposure to a certain radiation combined with several chemical compounds.
Symby's stores also contained 'Hounds' and even 'Factories.' The latter were basically living structures. Zerg buildings, more or less. There were several more creatures from the Saboteur and Tactician categories. One of them I called the 'Strategist.' Physically and psionically completely defenseless. But its computational power should surpass my Combat Mode the way a supercomputer surpassed a cheap Chinese calculator.
And there were many more extremely tasty creatures besides. If I could collect all their capabilities, then even if I couldn't swat the Wanderer like a fly, I could certainly speak with him as an equal.
But this barrel of honey contained a spoonful of tar of truly epic proportions. I. Could not. Assimilate. Their genome. At all. Even though it already existed inside Symby. The methods for extracting and assembling genetic information that I'd used dozens of times simply saw nothing. I couldn't even build them manually. No matter what I tried or how creative I became, the result was nothing.
Apparently I'd run into yet another limiter. And again, one that made perfect sense. A 'Unified' Symbiote like that would become a very, very large problem for everyone. But even that wasn't all. I couldn't simply grow a 'descendant' either. Some varieties required specific conditions to be 'unlocked.'
The Executioner, for example, had appeared after the sonic strike and the trip to the Moon. At least I suspected that was what had triggered Symby's division. Right now that Cleaner template was locked to me too. The especially 'tasty' varieties such as the Overlord or Strategist seemed to require something like a special authorization command. Rather like launching a nuclear missile.
Considering their capabilities, the effect would probably be comparable. In other words, I'd learned a great deal about myself. And gained absolutely no practical benefit. Only disappointment and frustration. I remembered a torture method from ancient China. Those people were imaginative in ways I wasn't entirely sure were healthy.
Every day, the victim was tied to a chair so securely that he couldn't move his hands or even his head. Then a plate of fresh, delicious-smelling food was placed in front of him. And left there. Sometimes other people were present in the room as well. They calmly ate their meals, savoring them openly and denying themselves nothing. A person subjected to such torture went insane far faster than he died of starvation.
At the moment I understood those poor bastards perfectly. The solution to all my problems stood literally one step away. And I couldn't take that step. All that remained was to grind my teeth helplessly and search for workarounds.
The 'forms' weren't progressing any better. A couple of times I nearly destroyed the body while trying to switch from one to another. The transition mechanism itself worked fine. A human constantly uses only around five percent of his DNA, while everything else lies compressed and inactive. Nature already possessed functional mechanisms for switching to different segments while sending current ones into reserve. Take seasonal molting in certain animals, for example. The color and density of fur don't change by magic. All of it is linked to the genome. Combined with the abilities of the Lizard and Colossus, the mechanism looked complete.
So I tried switching from my standard form into a 'Lord of Fire.' Pretension is everything. And almost died. I'd simply failed to account for the period of 'half-transformation,' when one set of genes had not fully shut down and the second had not yet completely replaced it. And when the genomes of Iceman and Pyro begin mixing inside the same organism... Well. The only reason I didn't lose the body was that the transformation itself happened very quickly.
And all my forms contained a number of universal upgrades: levitation, improved tissues, Hierro (the name had stuck permanently, so why fight it?) and, of course, Logan's regeneration. That was what saved me.
I had to introduce a 'neutral form.' During every transition I would switch into it first, then into the desired configuration. I can't say I loved the solution. The neutral form was the weakest of all. Catching me in it would be relatively easy. Fortunately, there was an answer there too. Nightcrawler's and Shadowcat's powers.
Studying them separately would have been torture. Nightcrawler seemed to shift out of the normal world and emerge at the desired point. The process required a respectable amount of energy and genetic contortions that made one want to grab one's head. Then I understood Kitty's ability. She also 'left' the ordinary world. Just not as deeply or as far as Nightcrawler. More of a light 'phase shift.'
It required much less energy and was far better optimized for a human body. Oh, there was definitely something unusual about Nightcrawler's father. No question. Either way, the two powers combined astonishingly well. More importantly, they did not conflict with any of my other genomes. So both joined the list of universal abilities. All I needed now was an orange spiral mask and I could start trolling everyone around me... Brrr. What kind of thoughts were those? No. Absolutely not. I already had enough to do.
Two more months passed in research, meetings with Anna, and life with Felicia. June arrived. Recently I had celebrated exactly one year since appearing in this world. Yeah. It had been a busy year. And there was still so much to do. Most importantly, I had finally managed to find something about the Wanderer and his sidekick Web.
At first I almost followed a false trail. A female mage sitting in the middle of a web naturally made me think of drow and their cult. But then, in a long-abandoned temple belonging to a people who had disappeared from the face of the earth, Brotherhood agents found what I needed. A mention of the Wanderer. Translating the script took more time. The result was worth it.
The Wanderer, also known as the Player, was nowhere near as omnipotent as that old children's cartoon had portrayed him. At least he wasn't a god. Just a being of a somewhat different order. If one stripped away the legendary embellishment and moral propaganda, the story came out roughly like this: somewhere beyond the heavens (outer space, I assumed) lived an entire race of powerful people capable of living forever, flying, and altering the world through sheer will.
Then one fine day they flew too far and encountered a second people who had 'given themselves to Darkness and spawned terrible monsters that seized the bodies and souls of their masters' enemies.' Poetic, don't you think? Though the mention of souls was slightly worrying.
After that, everything proceeded exactly as expected. War. Mutual extermination. Complete disaster. Eventually, one of the Wanderer's people proposed a clever move: merge a certain number of minds into a single being and use 'the Will of God' to smear the enemy across creation.
Then the account developed a major blank spot. Several tablets had not survived the millennia. I suspected the plan had not gone smoothly. The resulting super-being was somewhat unstable and simply left. 'Departing upon a journey among the stars, leaving the wars of mortals to mortals.' Heh. Had I accidentally quoted this bastard while washing Silvermane's brain? Yeah. Not important.
When and how Madame Web appeared was unclear as well. At some point she simply entered the legend, accompanying and assisting the Star Wanderer on his journey. But most importantly, the same records described the pair's limitations. Admittedly in a highly veiled form and while praising the bastards to the heavens. Still. The fact itself mattered.
Passing everything through a filter produced roughly the following picture. First: their ability to intervene directly in mortal affairs was sharply limited. No direct harm. There were, of course, loopholes. One could simply teleport an unpleasant mortal a couple kilometers upward... or downward.
Second: remaining outside their native dimension had a serious negative effect on the pair's health. Perhaps a 'farewell gift' from betrayed members of their race.
And finally, third: they obeyed the rules of a certain Game. Their treatment of the Game's Pieces was particularly careful. They could neither harm nor compel a Piece. At most, they could send other Pieces after it. A different matter was that someone could apparently be forced into the Game without asking for an opinion. Still, I saw my chance.
If I could become at least a Piece (I definitely wasn't ready for the role of Player yet, too weak) then I could stop worrying about the sweet couple and tell them to go to hell. Even after the Game ended. Of course, they clearly wouldn't simply accept that. They'd try to kill me using their agents. But that was an entirely different weight class. Which meant an entirely different conversation.
Looks like forcing Parker to secure me an invitation to the 'Secret Wars' hadn't been pointless after all. And if I managed to kill the weakened Wanderer there... Ah. Dreams, dreams. For now, I should concentrate on not getting killed myself.
Then an event occurred that forced me to put my own problems aside and deal with those of the woman I loved. One malicious flying green piece of garbage kidnapped Mrs. Hardy. What terrible timing. It all began with a call from a crying Felicia. She told me the unpleasant news and asked for help. Not that she needed to ask.
A certain flying green bastard had attacked a member of my family. Made my girlfriend cry. And that green thing would answer for it. Answer for everything. A predatory grin spread across my face.
Still, even in this unpleasant event I managed to find something useful. They hadn't kidnapped only Felicia's mother. Several other rather influential people had been taken too. Including Mr. Fisk. I wondered how his kidnapping had gone. You couldn't exactly tow a body like that behind a flying saucer on a rope. Or perhaps I was underestimating its power.
Either way, getting my greedy little hands on the chemical compound that had driven Osborn Senior insane while adding a respectable amount of physical strength would be useful. And the future mother-in-law needed rescuing. I couldn't rely on Peter anymore. He knew nothing about the situation. Besides, he was currently busy repairing his personal life with Alice. Apparently they were progressing in the correct direction. Good for them.
That left one question. Should I crack open my little green friend's lair personally? Or send a Brotherhood unit? No. Better not go myself. Who knew? The Wanderer might notice. So a unit it was. Hmm.
For operations like this, I really ought to build something like a small personal guard. That way I wouldn't have to pull people away from other assignments. Every Council member already had a small rapid-response unit for emergencies. Yes. I could borrow Nyssa's chicks. They'd been sitting idle lately anyway. Might as well let them stretch their legs.
The vampire woman handed over her people without question. Eight severe Children of the Night specialized in direct action and sabotage, including live capture. All held the rank of 'sergeant' except their leader, a 'lieutenant.' That meant they could tear through steel sheets with bare hands and move extremely fast. The lieutenant also possessed the beginnings of 'Blood Magic,' in addition to flight and invisibility.
There was only one problem. To the Council, I was their sovereign and simply an ancient and powerful being. To most of the rest of the Brotherhood... I was an incarnation of their deity. Practically Cain himself. So these eight hardened operatives looked at me with emotions that made me distinctly uncomfortable. The fact that they listened to my orders kneeling and almost praying made it even harder to think.
Ahem. Fine. The important thing was that they carried out the mission properly.
"Your assignment is to infiltrate the enemy headquarters without being detected. The entrance is somewhere in the ruins of the Oscorp Incorporated factory. We were unable to determine the exact location. With our equipment, finding it should not be difficult. Once inside, part of the team will proceed to the storage and laboratory sections and seize research data and available samples. The remaining members will free the hostages and, if possible, capture the so-called 'Green Goblin' alive. If live capture is impossible, eliminate him. Most importantly, recover the body; its condition does not matter. Remember, however: freeing the hostages is the primary objective. Everything else is optional. More detailed information is on your tablets."
I uploaded several files containing dossiers on the hostages and Osborn Senior.
"Any questions?"
"None, my Lord," replied the team leader, Sirius.
"Excellent. Move out when ready. And good luck, ladies and gentlemen."
While the rapid-response unit studied the files and put on their 'Crysis' suits—it was actually a very good way of concealing the team's real source of power, and with von Doom's technical base the suits weren't difficult to produce; admittedly their resemblance to the game versions ended with appearance, health sensors, and cameras, but we were working on the rest—I settled into the 'command center.'
All the information from their suit sensors and cameras flowed there. Now all I had to do was wait. In the worst case, I would teleport directly to the operation site. I hoped it wouldn't come to that.
Sirius. Head of the North American Brotherhood's Sabotage Unit.
******************
The ninety-three-year-old vampire was enormously excited. How could he not be? The very head of the Brotherhood, the Blood Lord himself—already a living legend—had addressed his unit with a personal order. A personal order! Sirius had never been a fanatic. He hadn't even been especially religious. But when you spoke with a living god, it was difficult not to believe.
The Power carried in the Lord's blood made his knees tremble. At the same time, every part of the vampire's being longed to immerse itself in that Power, to become part of it, a conduit for it. Sirius didn't know whether the others felt the same. Judging by their eyes burning with determination... they absolutely did.
The order had to be executed with maximum efficiency and in the shortest possible time. Preparation and familiarization with the operational picture passed surprisingly quickly. Eight shadows dissolved into the evening gloom. The ruined factory greeted them with silence and abandonment.
Nothing indicated life in the wrecked buildings. No tracks in the dust. No trace of living blood within the range of their senses. Yet something was wrong. A short command in an ancient dialect.
Linus, the unit technician, began examining the surrounding walls and ceiling with a monstrous-looking scanner. Twenty minutes later, the scan produced results.
"Found something! Cavities not shown on the building plans. Behind that wall." The vampire pointed toward an unremarkable section of concrete.
"Kel." Sirius barely needed to give the command.
The master breaker had spent decades working with him. He already knew what to do. The hidden door resisted for a surprisingly long time. A full three minutes. That indicated an excellent security system. There was probably a terminal somewhere nearby that opened it normally. Searching for the terminal would have taken longer than taking control of the power network driving the hidden mechanism.
And then the tunnel leading into the holy of holies of Oscorp Incorporated opened before the assault team. Before entering, Sirius ordered radio silence in case the expected enemy could intercept their communications. At last they entered the bunker. According to the original plan, the group split. Part headed toward the laboratories and storage areas to collect material for the scientists. The rest proceeded to rescue the hostages. Because the rescue was the priority, Sirius went with that group. At least he hoped the prisoners were held where he expected, rather than in the sector assigned to the other half.
Another half-hour of silent movement through the enemy headquarters brought the lieutenant's group into a large hangar. At its center stood a small wall. Several hostages were chained to it. Among them was the main objective: Mrs. Hardy. Her evacuation was the unit's primary mission.
In front of the prisoners paced a strange figure wearing a poisonous green suit with equally poisonous violet sections. In an obnoxious nasal voice, he explained how everyone present had betrayed a certain Norman Osborn. The green freak had so conveniently turned his back to the hidden team... It would have been foolish not to use the opportunity.
Sirius drew a rifle from behind his shoulder. A new development from the science division. Based on a Gauss gun. Completely silent except for the whisper of the projectile cutting through the air. Adjustable muzzle velocity. No recoil. It did weigh about fifteen kilograms. For a higher vampire (and Brotherhood members considered themselves exactly that, with good reason, though they didn't advertise the fact to ordinary vampires) that wasn't a problem.
He switched to single-shot mode at minimum velocity and loaded darts. The first three contained a sedative that acted almost instantly. The remaining seven were another new development from the eggheads. Those darts hit the victim with a powerful electrical discharge. Not lethal. Sirius had no idea how they worked. They worked. That was all a modest operator needed to know. Aim. Fire into an unprotected back. What could be easier?
The first dart struck the target squarely in the neck. The victim jerked from the unexpected pain. But instead of falling, the man in the green suit spun sharply and threw something suspiciously grenade-shaped toward the hidden sniper. '!!!' Sirius thought eloquently while leaving the fragmentation zone. He fired five more darts.
Whether because he couldn't take proper aim or because the target's reaction speed was far beyond human, the green thing dodged four. The last hit the opponent's leg. The muscles began contracting in random patterns. The target performed a remarkably strange dance. Not for long. He quickly collapsed. Even that failed to knock out the absurdly durable creature. It continued shrieking in its unpleasant nasal voice.
One of the unit —Mark, Sirius thought— solved the problem with a rifle butt to the head. Then he immediately began binding the prisoner for transport.
"Who the hell are you people?"
Demanded a man chained to the wall. He looked around forty-five or fifty, with close-cropped hair more than half gray. J. Jonah Jameson. Head of one of New York's most popular newspapers. Shareholder in numerous companies. Patron and philanthropist. Though the latter probably had more to do with tax deductions than pure love for mankind.
"Kel, how is your side progressing?"
Ignoring the newspaperman's outrage, the lieutenant contacted his deputy in the second half of the unit.
"Samples secured. We're copying the research archive now, then we'll plant the charges. Ten more minutes, sir."
"Excellent. Once you're finished, move toward the exit. Primary objective achieved. We are evacuating."
"Yes, sir."
"Hey! Don't you dare ignore me!"
The man jerked against his chains.
"We are here to get you out. That is all you need to know." Without ceremony, Sirius tore the restraints from Mrs. Hardy's wrists and moved to the next prisoner. "Those were our orders."
Then he carefully sedated every hostage. Fisk received a triple dose. I noted that with no small amount of malicious satisfaction. There was no reason for the prisoners to see anything unnecessary.
Walter Mayer.
************************
I stretched contentedly in my chair. Well. The operation had gone exactly according to plan. The Goblin's immunity to the sedative could be ignored as a minor complication. The team had performed beautifully. Not a single wasted movement. Multiple objectives executed simultaneously. Precise, calculated action. I remembered the way Laura and I had stormed the bunker and felt slightly ashamed. Yeah. There was the difference between an amateur and a professional.
The unit deserved a reward. Perhaps promote them one Brotherhood rank. Give them a couple of upgrades. And personal thanks for a successful mission. Judging by their emotions, the last item would please them far more than the upgrades.
Now I only had to decide what to tell Felicia. She was smart. Drawing a line between her call to me and the sudden appearance of an assault team would not be difficult. I could refer to the agreement we'd made earlier. Or perhaps simply tell her everything? Right. Including my attraction to another girl... Ahem.
Maybe it was time to think about that seriously and begin preparing the ground little by little. I knew roughly how to explain myself to Anna. Felicia was a different problem. I wasn't certain she would want to 'share' me. No. On that particular matter I would prefer to wait until her Cat side emerged... assuming she wanted it to emerge at all.
And if she didn't? Then, regrettable as it was, we would remain in different worlds. I would not drag the girl by force into my madness. Especially with the Wanderer appearing on the horizon and harboring very unfriendly intentions toward my person.
No. I would never abandon her. But would she be able to understand me then? Fine. Enough gloomy thoughts. Perhaps everything would work out normally. At least I hoped so.
The trophies from the Goblin's base—including the green man himself—went to Victor's researchers. A small vial of blood was enough for me to examine the changes. Yeah. Crude work. Removal of human muscular and nervous-system limiters, together with only minimal restructuring of the organism.
And it had been done so roughly that I was surprised Norman had survived at all. Insanity was practically a mild outcome. Even so, with an organism that damaged, he had perhaps one year left. Two if he avoided exertion. But if the formula were refined a little... one could create a way to field large numbers of expendable 'meat' very quickly.
Short life expectancy. Capabilities slightly above those of a Brotherhood 'private,' but below a 'sergeant.' Fine. Let von Doom's laboratory staff refine it. I doubted we'd ever need to use it. Except perhaps if war between humans and mutants actually began.
The rescue team's reward ceremony went roughly as expected. The vampires were genuinely much happier about receiving personal approval from their idol than about increasing their own power. The Council really had chosen worthwhile... hmm... people. Fine. Either way, I no longer doubted that this team would tear apart anything I pointed them at.
That kind of authority was intoxicating... and frightening. For perhaps the first time, I genuinely wondered whether it was worth it. By nature, I was far more a researcher and general screwup—with an occasional spike of insanity in the appropriate place—than a ruler and arbiter of destinies.
Did anyone actually enjoy this? No. When this entire story ended, I would leave everything to the Council. Then I'd grab the girls and disappear so thoroughly nobody would find me. At least for the next hundred years. After that we'd see. Maybe ruling would eventually interest me. Though I strongly doubted it. Enough.
Away with the gloomy thoughts. Time to go home. Felicia was already waiting for me there. She didn't ask a single question. She simply whispered: "Thank you." And hugged me. I stood there, running my fingers through her hair and smiling like an idiot.