Author's Note:
I rewatched the movie Big Hero 6, the three seasons of the animated cartoon, and the miniseries Baymax.
In my opinion, the second half of the second season leaves a lot to be desired, but the third season is absolute garbage. When I write my own version of that series, I will make heavy changes.
I also watched the five Ghostbusters movies, and I can say that my favorite films in the franchise are: Ghostbusters: Afterlife & Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire.
XXX
Story Arc: Out-of-Town Visitors
Episode 4: Dinners, Entertainment, and Cafés
Chapter 14: Loss of Control
Plot: The heroes saved the day and left. Shortly after, Peter Parker appeared looking for Laura, followed by Welt Blight who is looking for Origami. Things take an unexpected turn.
XXX
POV Narrator
Half an hour after the biological aberration known as Quasimodo had been definitively crushed to the ground, Black Warlock took flight, speeding toward the celestial vault aboard his scepter with a hiss of pure air. He knew perfectly well that the truce would be short-lived: unwritten pacts with the NCPD and his own civic duty would force him to return to the scene later to answer the suffocating, routine questions of Captain Ch'en and, above all, to channel his constructive alchemy and help the officers clean up the marble and tar debris.
Shortly after the protector of Nightfall City dissolved behind the blanket of afternoon clouds, Peter Parker made his appearance on the outer perimeter of the Blackwood District. He advanced, shuffling his feet on the cracked sidewalk, his T-shirt rumpled, the strap of his DSLR camera swinging rhythmically, and a visibly faked breathlessness. He stopped right next to the yellow police tape, bending his back forward and resting his hands on his knees, pretending not to have a single breath left in his lungs and to have run desperately from the museum all the way to the police station.
"Peter, I'm here!" a youthful, ringing voice exclaimed.
The Bugle photographer raised his head, locking eyes with the opposite side of the street. Laura Lane was standing there, her back resting against a cast-iron fire hydrant and her DSLR camera protected between her fingers. Beside her, the unmistakable silhouette of Charlotte Gagnepetit watched the back-and-forth of the ambulances with a radiant smile. Laura still displayed that bizarre coating of fluorescent, glittery purple slime that Black Warlock had molded onto her legs like tactical leggings.
"Laura!" Peter shouted. He straightened his posture and dashed forward, taking a short run to cross the roadway and reach his new female coworker.
As soon as Peter was within arm's reach, the girl threw her arms around his neck with an all-consuming emotional outburst. "I'm so glad to see you, Peter," Laura said, tightly hugging her Senpai. The reaction faded within a few seconds; Laura released her grip and took a step back on the concrete, her cheeks slightly flushed but her brown eyes filled with fierce determination. "You have no idea what kind of afternoon I've had, but I think I made my aunt Lois proud," she confessed, raising her chin proudly.
"At the museum, I took some photos of Black Warlock and Spider-Man moving above the streets; I tried to follow them from the asphalt, but I got lost in the alleys of the historic district. When I found out from passersby that something bad had happened at the police station, the streets were already blocked, and it took me a long time to get here," Peter explained. He distorted reality with practiced composure, telling a perfectly coherent little story to justify his chronic lateness.
Laura nodded understandingly, shrugging her shoulders. "You don't have to apologize, Peter, it's a good thing you arrived after things were over. In the face of such a monster of pure brute strength, a powerless photographer couldn't have done anything," she said, moved by the sincere desire to protect her photographer's safety.
"Except for taking close-up, sharp, and completely unprecedented photographs! This new scoop on the Were-Warlock is literally causing a frenzy on the web!" Charlotte chimed in, joining the conversation with an unashamed smile.
The pink-haired female reporter had lost no time: she had already uploaded a preview photo gallery to her Steambird channel's website, immortalizing the blue flashes of lightning and the musculature of the mutated mage. The detailed article, complete with analysis, would be written and published later that evening, directly from her apartment.
Laura cleared her throat, moving her open hand toward the local female journalist to formalize the meeting. "Peter, you already know who she is because of her immense media fame, but I'll introduce her to you anyway: Charlotte Gagnepetit, the most famous and hard-hitting female journalist in all of Nightfall City," she said, making the formal introductions.
Peter feigned utter surprise, reaching out his hand toward Charlotte to shake her fingers, which were covered by a black leather glove. "Have you made a new female friend?" he asked, turning to Laura with an amused glance.
"Something like that," Laura replied. She looked down at her lavender slime pants, pursing her lips in an expression visibly embarrassed by the absurdity of the situation.
"We are officially the two founding female members of the damsels in distress club, rescued in mid-air by hot and extraordinarily attractive superheroes," Charlotte proclaimed, a note of fierce pride in her melodious voice.
"There is no club!" Laura exclaimed, raising her tone of voice significantly to silence her female friend before the police officers on the other side of the street could intercept that gossip.
"Oh yes there is, girl! Your aunt Lois Lane created it decades ago in Metropolis, the exact moment she was caught in mid-air in Superman's arms of steel. Last night, I made my triumphal entry into the club in Black Warlock's arms, and you replicated it today with Spider-Man! You're a lucky girl, Laura... Spider-Man is absolutely the best, most agile, and spectacular hero in all of New York City," Charlotte declared, warmly congratulating her female colleague on her memorable catch.
Under the invisible mask of his civilian identity, Peter Parker barely checked a radiant smile. 'The genuine words of the pink-haired female reporter are caressing my pride, offering me a very rare and precious gratification for all the efforts made in the shoes of the wall-crawler,' he thought to himself.
Charlotte turned back toward the photographer, adjusting the strap of her rectangular handbag on her hip. "Laura told me that the famous, grumpy, and terrible J. Jonah Jameson intercepted my posts on the Steambird and sent you two here to Massachusetts to look for exclusive news on Black Warlock," she said, studying the man's reactions.
"Yes, exactly. Jameson was categorical: he wanted us to bring fresh and in-depth material to New York at all costs. Black Warlock is the novelty of the moment in the East Coast superhero landscape," Peter replied, telling the pure and clear truth about the Bugle's editorial dynamics.
"In a certain sense, the Daily Bugle and the Steambird configure themselves as two direct rivals in the news sector, but Laura and I are members of the same club," Charlotte said, casting a mischievous and playful glance at a Laura who could not help but blush violently from embarrassment. "Therefore, moved by pure spirit of solidarity among women, I want to give you an investigative tip. It's not official news, but the greatest, most learned, and encyclopedic expert on Black Warlock in the whole city is the owner of the Owl House bookstore. That guy even writes and designs a fairly successful independent comic book."
Peter widened his eyes, caught completely off guard. "There are comic books about Black Warlock?" he asked. During their aerial patrol and the stop on the clock tower, the D&D-themed mage had talked to him about a whole bunch of nerdy things, from Star Wars factions to black-and-white episodes of Doctor Who, but the existence of a comic book dedicated to his figure had never emerged from the conversation.
"Yes, absolutely! But it's a niche work; the volumes can only be found and purchased here in Nightfall City. You see, the owner of the Midtown bookstore, a guy named Welt Blight, is the official writer and creator of the independent saga titled The Adventures of Black Warlock. He personally handles every single phase, from the script to the printing and sales of the volumes. He publishes a new issue every month, with a very limited print run of just 50 copies per issue," Charlotte recounted with the enthusiasm of a hardcore female fan who had devoured every page of the lore.
To be honest, the collection that Charlotte carefully kept at her house was technically not 100% her property. It was a cultural heritage shared fifty-fifty with her female roommate, Mona Megistus, a freelance female writer who dealt with astrology and was a female clairvoyant and fortune teller in full training. Mona's finances were constantly in disastrous conditions due to her expensive purchases of astronomical instruments and strokes of bad luck; for this reason, Charlotte provided half of the necessary funds for the purchase of the comic books, while Mona limited herself to sacrificing her morning, standing motionless for hours in line in front of the Owl House just to get her hands on them before they sold out.
Laura Lane punched her open palm, her brown eyes shining with tactical insight. "Tomorrow morning we already have that agreed-upon interview to do with Captain Motoko Kusanagi, but in the afternoon maybe we could drop by the Owl House bookstore and ask this Welt Blight some targeted questions?" she proposed, eagerly taking the journalistic initiative.
"Don't you think that with all the photographic material we gathered today between the harbor and the police station, it's enough for the article?" Peter asked, in a desperate attempt to slow the girl's advance. He was mathematically certain that those panoramic and close-up photos would fill several pages of the Bugle, and he had absolutely no intention of complicating his life any further in this crazy Massachusetts town.
Laura shook her head vigorously, making her short brown hair swing, and replied firmly, "Mr. Jameson paid for our stay in advance..."
"Yeah, too bad he booked the rooms in one of the most bizarre, worn-out, and low-priced motels I've ever seen in my entire life," Peter interrupted her, adding a bitter note.
"The fact remains that he locked us in there for a whole week. We won't leave for New York City until next Sunday morning. Knowing his character, it's certain that he will demand much more than a few simple panoramic photographs and a couple of crime-news blurbs," Laura continued, demonstrating a solid pragmatism and the firm desire to do much more than the bare minimum required for a paycheck.
Peter exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders drop. "Unfortunately, you are perfectly right, Laura. Jameson will make me sweat until my last drop of blood to grant me that salary double. He is capable of demanding seven completely different investigative articles before signing my check," the photographer admitted, confirming how much the Bugle director could be a demanding and suffocating editorial tyrant.
While the two New York correspondents were calibrating their strategy, Charlotte's rectangular handbag began to vibrate continuously. The smartphone screen lit up in rapid succession, becoming saturated with messages overflowing with anxiety and worry sent by her sister — to be precise, her older half-sister, Yanfei.
"Laura, Peter, I would really love to stay here longer to chat with you and ask you in full detail what life is like as a hard-hitting female journalist in the chaos of New York City... But my sister has just intercepted the preview posts on the Steambird. She found out about the hell that broke loose here at the station and now she demands to see me immediately," Charlotte explained, sighing in an affectionate but resigned way at the thought of having to appease an overprotective half-sister who, due to her legal background, tended to behave like a strict and nagging mother as soon as she sensed danger.
"No problem, Charlotte! Next time things calm down, we can go out together and have a good coffee downtown. I'm sure a female reporter like you hoards a bunch of incredibly interesting stories about the secrets of Nightfall City," Laura proposed, having cemented in just a few hours a bizarre but very solid professional harmony with the pink-haired girl.
At the exact moment Charlotte was turning to take her leave, a sharp screech of hydraulic brakes echoed down the street. The white Peugeot 406, pristine and with a visibly sporty setup, slammed its brakes at the edge of the sidewalk, stopping its run right in front of the gutted facade of the police station.
"Now that is a lucky coincidence! I was just about to pull out my phone and call Daniel," Charlotte exclaimed, her face lighting up. Lately, the girl had learned the hard way that this white taxi and its reckless French driver represented the absolute excellence of urban transport. In fact, the vast majority of traditional taxi drivers in the area microscopically refused to accept fares that implied the close pursuit of a flying superhero in the middle of a shootout against organized crime.
Before Daniel could even turn off the engine, the vehicle's rear door flew open with a sharp thud, and from it stepped Welt Blight. The young bookseller wore his usual civilian clothes, his oversize red hoodie, and his glasses, but his features appeared rigid, stern, and focused.
"Hey, New York guys, look over there! That person who just got out of Daniel's taxi is exactly the Welt Blight I was telling you about a moment ago!" Charlotte declared, pointing her guantlet-covered index finger toward the newcomer to provide her colleagues with a key strategic indication.
Laura Lane tightened her grip on the DSLR camera, the female reporter's instinct instantly igniting in her chest. "I say we strike while the iron is hot and try our luck right away," she whispered, intending to bombard him with point-blank questions and, if possible, snatch a formal agreement for an exclusive interview to take place the following afternoon.
Welt, however, did not head toward the main entrance of the police station at all. He walked quickly to the back of the taxi, lifted the trunk lid, and, moving with methodical efficiency, reached out his arms to pull out two heavy objects: a massive high-tech advanced medical first-aid bag with sealed compartments — manufactured by the famous Sycorax based in San Fransokyo — immediately followed by an imposing bullhorn in black metal.
Peter Parker abruptly extended his right arm forward, positioning his forearm as a solid barrier in front of Laura's chest to block her advance. "Stay where you are, Laura. At a glance, it doesn't look to me at all like that guy is in the right frame of mind to have a chat or grant interviews to the press," the photographer commented, while Welt prepared to make his move.
XXX
Here is an explanation to understand Welt Blight's moves.
When Black Warlock abandoned the police station parking lot, he did not simply glide through the streets; he cut through the air in a vertical dive straight toward the clouds. Once safe, hidden by the white blanket, he uttered the teleportation activation word, vanishing in a blue flash to instantly reappear inside the reinforced basement of the Owl House.
Having crossed the threshold of his private office, the local hero became Welt Blight once again. But his physical exhaustion was immediately swept away by a visceral anxiety. In the shoes of Warlock, he had collaborated with Motoko and verified that the cyborg woman was doing well; but Origami, after having seen her pivot right next to the collapse on the second floor of the police station, he had not crossed paths with her anywhere in the courtyard.
Panicked, Welt called Origami three times in a row, listening to the unanswered ring fade into the line. He then composed and sent about a dozen rapid-fire messages on his cell phone, but the screen did not register any read receipts. A completely anomalous behavior, something incredibly unusual for the white-haired female doctor, who was usually accurate to the millimeter and immediate in responding to his every single contact attempt.
Without wasting a single millisecond in hesitation, Welt threw open his office safe to retrieve some emergency items. He marched back up the stairs of the Owl House, reached the exit on Main Street, and took the first available taxi on the square — Daniel's white Peugeot 406 —, ordering him to speed at full throttle toward the police station.
XXX
Returning to the present, the tension along the perimeter of the Blackwood District was palpable. Welt did not make the slightest attempt to force his way into the main parking lot, which at that moment was saturated with cruisers with flashing lights and patrolled by a dense line of riot officers, deployed to block access to anyone who was not expressly authorized.
Remaining firmly on the sidewalk, the young bookseller raised the imposing black metal funnel with both hands. He flipped the bullhorn switch and pointed it straight toward the facade of the police station, cutting through the chorus of sirens and the hum of the crowd: "Origami, where are you?!"
His civilian voice, powerful and amplified, boomed geometrically against the brick walls of the building, reverberating clearly down the entire block. With a firm inflection but veined with a deep anxiety, Welt exclaimed again: "Scooby-Doo quote aside, Origami, it's Welt! Are you okay?! I'm worried about you!" He was absolutely sure that his desperate call would traverse every single corridor of the station, bypassing even the SWAT blockades.
In just a few minutes, an impeccable officer in a navy blue uniform made his way through the barricade tape, striding toward the sidewalk. Sergeant Drew Wu presented himself in front of Welt, sizing him up with a mixture of bewilderment and professional recognition.
"You're Blight, right? We've met before when I took your formal statement for that brawl in the bookstore," Wu said, pointing at him with the tip of his regulation pen.
"Yes, you remember perfectly, Sergeant," Welt replied, lowering the bullhorn and forcing himself to maintain a cordial and strictly civilian demeanor so as not to appear like a frantic madman to those present. "Sorry for the unexpected commotion, but Charlotte's Steambird channel just uploaded a preview post announcing a devastating attack on the police station by a colossal red monster. My friend, Doctor Origami, isn't answering any of my first contact attempts, and I had to check in person."
Sergeant Wu widened his brown eyes, stopping dead in his tracks on the concrete. "Wait a second... You are that famous 'Welt' that Doctor Tobiichi mentions every now and then during the forensics reports?!" the officer exclaimed aloud, his expression betraying a surprise infinitely greater than the one felt before the destructive fury of the mutated Quasimodo. "Damn, you actually exist! I just lost 50 dollars!"
Welt visibly raised an eyebrow behind the red frame of his glasses, noticeably thrown off by Sergeant Wu's words. "Yes, I exist in the flesh just like all the ordinary people born on this planet... Is there some kind of problem?"
Sergeant Wu passed a hand over his sweat-beaded forehead, trying to choose his words so as not to sound offensive. "Doctor Tobiichi is a genuine and undisputed genius of forensic science. Her methodical precision has made my work, that of many of my colleagues, and that of the Massachusetts courts infinitely easier, but... Well, she is a person with a notoriously difficult character, stoic, and almost impossible to approach."
"This is news to me," Welt replied with complete candor. "In our private interactions, she has always proven to be an extraordinarily helpful, flexible person, and very ready to converse and start discussions on any branch of scientific knowledge." In his words resonated the certainty of having had the rare privilege of observing an intimate and entirely unique side of the ivory girl.
Sergeant Wu blinked several times in a row, remaining completely devoid of verbal arguments in the face of that disarming epiphany.
Welt took advantage of the silence to lift the massive high-tech Sycorax bag. "Do you happen to need an aspirin, a disinfectant, or any specific over-the-counter medication? I equipped myself to handle any field medical trauma."
"No, thank you, handyman," Wu replied with a tight smile, cordially declining the bookseller's pharmaceutical support. "Right now, a healthy and very long night of sleep in my own bed would be better than any medicine."
"Sleep undoubtedly possesses countless regenerating and beneficial properties for the human organism," Welt corrected him, expounding his divergent scientific opinion. "But if biological rest were the absolute answer to every ailment of the flesh, there would be no doctors or hospitals in this world, but only an industrial supply of sleeping pills."
Sergeant Wu shook his head, letting out a half-resigned laugh. "Now I am beginning to understand in the finest detail why you are the only true friend of Doctor Tobiichi. You should know that I and the other colleagues in the district had opened a real illegal betting pool to figure out if the ivory girl actually had a man to spend her free time with outside of working hours. I and the vast majority of the patrols have just lost a flat 50 dollars, while Commissioner Itami and Captain Motoko will certainly have their pockets full."
Wu knew well that only those two elite officers had bet on the real existence of the bookseller, but he did not know why.
Short explanation: the first, being a collector Otaku and an indirect customer of the Owl House, had drawn from Origami's confidences; the second because, as a former S.H.I.E.L.D. female spy, she possessed an infallible psychological eye for understanding when a person was lying.
Welt crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his lips into a grimace of subtle disapproval. "I am fully aware of the fact that you police officers are forced to endure grueling work, punctuated by endless sacrifices and often underpaid or not properly appreciated by public opinion. I understand the psychological need to do something to discharge the fatigue and stress of the night... But setting up monetary bets on the romantic and private life of a female coworker seems like a slightly rude behavior, if not outright immature high school buffoonery," he sentenced firmly.
Sergeant Wu took the harsh lecture without flinching, backed by field experience that had accustomed him to much worse. "I've heard infinitely harsher words from much less civil people than you, Blight," he downplayed with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Returning to my priorities," Welt pressed him, craning his neck to look over the policeman's shoulder in search of a silver-white mane among the rubble of the courtyard. "Could you kindly confirm if Origami is doing well and where she is located exactly at this moment?"
"She is perfectly unharmed, don't worry. I'll contact her right now via radio on the internal frequency and tell her there is a civilian looking for her at the perimeter," Wu replied, pulling the transceiver from his tactical belt to make himself useful.
A reassuring smile filled with genuine relief finally relaxed Welt's tense features, an emotional shift that the Sergeant caught instantly. Wu interrupted his gesture and put the radio back, raising a finger to point to the area behind him: "Actually, the Doctor is exactly behind me."
Origami Tobiichi had advanced along the asphalt corridor with stealthy steps and her usual, marble-like, stoic porcelain-doll expression. Completely ignoring the presence of Sergeant Wu or the SWAT sharpshooters, the female forensic scientist focused the entire radius of her blue irises exclusively on the object of her romantic obsession.
"Welt, what are you doing here?" Origami asked, her voice detached and devoid of fluctuations, but her eyes and ears were now totally tuned to the bookseller's frequencies.
"I was terribly worried about you, Origami!" Welt exclaimed, taking a step forward on the sidewalk. "I just found out from online posts that a deformed monster gutted the police station and you weren't answering any of my phone calls; I couldn't do anything else but take a taxi and come all the way here to check in person if you were okay," he explained, beginning to methodically scan her from head to toe in search of injuries or latent trauma.
Origami slipped her right hand into the deep pocket of her white laboratory coat, pulling out her upgraded Stark smartphone. She showed the liquid crystal screen, entirely shattered into a spiderweb of deep cracks and turned off. "My phone terminal suffered damage during the chaos," she enunciated clinically.
"Origami... Your hand," Welt interrupted her, his clinical eye as an engineer and handyman isolating an alarming detail.
The white-haired woman's left hand presented a conspicuous and deep linear laceration, a nasty cut that started from the exact center of her milky palm to extend diagonally to the base of her ring finger, covered by a trail of dark, clotted blood.
Origami looked down at her injured limb, clenching her fingers without showing the slightest trace of suffering or sensory discomfort. "I suffered this accidental cut during the structural collapse of the glass window. It does not configure as a serious injury: the epithelial tissues will complete cellular regeneration within a time frame ranging from 7 to 10 days," she declared with absolute clinical detachment.
"A wound of this kind requires the immediate application of a healing cream with high antibacterial power, a medical disinfectant, and a standard sterile bandage to prevent contact infections," Welt sentenced with the firm and authoritative tone of an emergency surgeon. With a fluid movement of his wrist, he passed the metal bullhorn to Sergeant Wu, who grabbed the object by instinct, suddenly feeling like the third wheel inside a bizarre romantic play.
Without a single millisecond of bureaucratic hesitation, Welt agilely bent on one knee in front of Origami, placing the imaginary tatami of the asphalt beneath him. He threw open the sealed compartments of the Sycorax bag, pulling out in sequence a bottle of rapid disinfectant, a tube of biochemical ointment, and a roll of white gauze bandages.
"You will feel a small, temporary burning sensation, Origami. Keep your limb still," Welt advised. With incredibly delicate yet firm fingers, he grabbed the ivory girl's left hand and began to dress the wound with a mastery and millimetric precision that did not resemble a simple civilian at all, moving in every way like a professional doctor or a high-level nurse.
In no time at all, the operation was completed: Welt spread the protective layer of cream, stopped the bleeding, and wrapped the sterile bandage around Origami's palm, concluding the medical choreography by spinning the last strip of fabric right around her ring finger, fixing it with a precise knot.
Under the stoicism of her expressionless mask, Origami Tobiichi's heart missed a beat and her brain circuits capitulated in a millisecond. 'I see the future projected directly into the present...' thought the girl, whose hyper-analytical mind could not help but visualize a scene in which Welt, instead of a protective medical bandage, was slipping a sumptuous wedding ring of gold and rubies onto her finger.
On the other side of the roadway, beyond the line of police cruisers, Laura Lane began to wave her arms and shout in Peter Parker's direction: "Peter! Take a photo right now! Now! Move!"
The reckless female reporter from the Bugle had no intention of letting that scoop slip away: she remembered perfectly that even before the wall-crawler caught her in mid-air in the void, it had been precisely that cold, white-haired female doctor who had grabbed her by the fabric of her pants, preventing her from smashing to the ground from the second floor. Laura considered that shot as the best and most genuine way to repay her for the emergency rescue.
Welt brought himself back into an upright position, casually brushing the sidewalk dust from his gray pants. He readjusted the frame of his glasses on his nose and noticed that Origami had remained completely motionless, staring at him with a decidedly strange, vacant, and glassy look.
"Are you all right, Origami? Do you happen to feel a dull pain anywhere else in your body? Do you want me to personally accompany you to the emergency room, call an emergency ambulance, or take you to a decidedly quieter and more isolated place to recover?" Welt asked with a tone full of deep care. In addition to the sincere affection that bound him to his female science companion, deep in his soul the boy experienced a subtle sense of guilt: he knew perfectly well that, in his shoes as Warlock, the devastation of his last magical combo against Quasimodo was directly responsible for the collapse that had injured the female scientist.
"Yes... Yes, yes, yes!" Origami replied in rapid succession, her voice stripped of her usual logical barriers, capable of articulating only that single consecutive word. The medical care and the delicacy of Welt's touches had literally caused the ivory girl's nervous system to short-circuit completely, throwing the entire archive of her rational thoughts into total disarray.
"Hey, Sir! Your beautiful, icy girlfriend is doing great, excellent news! Judging by her verbal reaction, she seems completely ready to march straight to the altar for the wedding!" Daniel exclaimed, leaning his entire head out of the window of the white Peugeot 406 parked at the curb.
The comical and noisy intrusion of the French taxi driver instantly shattered the magical and suspended atmosphere of the sidewalk. Origami's brain initiated an immediate reboot of its systems, forcing her thoughts to abruptly snap back onto the tracks of cold daily reality.
Welt let out a long, quiet sigh through his nose, murmuring a series of bittersweet reflections under his breath about the chronic immaturity and bothersome exuberance of certain worldly people.
"Good luck with everything you plan to schedule with the female doctor, Sir!" Daniel continued with his usual brash tone. "But let me remind you that my favorite female customer, the one who loves to leave big tips on the seat, wants me to take her to her sister Yanfei's house at all costs to handle that family business. Can I proceed with the ride, or do you still need my services to transport the lady directly to church?" he asked, nodding his head toward Charlotte Gagnepetit, who remained seated in the back seat of the white vehicle.
"Go away!" Origami Tobiichi exclaimed, her voice instantly regaining an inflection as sharp as an ice blade and a look of pure, fierce seriousness. She was visibly furious that the brash taxi driver had brutally murdered her dream-of-love moment on the sidewalk.
"Forgive her, Daniel... She had to endure a terrible moment inside the police station," Welt intervened with a cordial and diplomatic tone to mediate the female scientist's anger. "You can safely leave and complete your ride. If we need a taxi to go back to Midtown later, we will contact you."
Daniel gave a nod of understanding and pressed the accelerator pedal. In the back seat, Charlotte Gagnepetit remained motionless for a second, clutching the DSLR camera between her fingers; a part of her female reporter's instinct wanted to get out of the passenger compartment to bombard the official writer and creator of the Black Warlock comic books with questions, but the arrival of yet another threatening message on the display from Yanfei convinced her that it was definitively wiser to postpone the investigation at the Owl House for another time. The white Peugeot bolted forward, vanishing in a cloud of exhaust and carrying the pink-haired female journalist away.
Seeing that the perimeter had partially cleared, Laura Lane and Peter Parker decided to break their hesitation, stepping past the curb to approach the couple.
"Congratulations, Doc!" Laura exclaimed with a bright, enthusiastic smile, invested with the firm and total conviction that she had just witnessed a true, authentic, and highly romantic official marriage proposal in full Hollywood style right from the front row.
"Origami, who are these people and why is the girl wearing such unusual pants?" Welt asked, furrowing his eyebrows slightly and maintaining a tone of absolute, feigned naivety.
"I don't know the boy, but the girl's name is Laura," replied Origami, whose monotone voice did not betray the slightest fluctuation. She raised her extended right arm, pointing her index finger at the massive gash defacing the gothic facade of the building. "She is a female journalist who wished to interview Captain Motoko; unfortunately, she was personally involved in the structural accident on the second floor." At the exact spot indicated by the female scientist, the huge hole in the police station showed the gutted remains of Captain Motoko's office, whose rubble and iron frames still hung dangerously toward the vacuum of the courtyard.
Laura Lane tightened her hands around the strap of her DSLR camera, looking down at the grid of glitter decorating her legs. "I was literally about to fall from the second floor and smash onto the asphalt, but the Doctor saved my life on the spot, grabbing me by the fabric of my pants right next to the void. Then, unfortunately, the fabric tore completely due to the weight, but Spider-Man caught me in mid-air and Black Warlock tailored these purple slime pants for me in a millisecond to save my dignity," recounted the girl, whose voice betrayed a deep and monumental embarrassment at having to expose that reckless sartorial odyssey in front of two strangers.
Welt straightened his back, turning his gaze away from Laura's legs to focus it with absolute and warm care on Origami's large blue eyes. "So that's how you hurt your hand... By playing the heroine in the field to protect a civilian. You definitely deserve a small reward for this splendid gesture of yours. Tell me, Origami: for lunch, do you prefer a hot dish or a cold dish?" he asked her, moved by the sincere and deep desire to do something nice for her and soothe the trauma.
At those words, Laura Lane felt her face instantly catch fire, veering toward a scarlet and intense shade of blushing. 'Damn it, what he wrapped around her palm is just a common medical bandage, not a gold wedding ring! I made a perfect fool of myself in front of everyone, I jumped to conclusions again without looking at the details first!' thought the female reporter, frantically wringing her fingers in humiliation.
"Honestly, after the hell and fatigue we've had to endure these last few days, I would highly appreciate a nice portion of steaming lasagna and a big slice of chocolate cake," Sergeant Wu abruptly chimed in. The officer of Asian descent had remained on guard in complete silence until this moment, clutching Welt's bullhorn in his hands.
"That is an excellent gastronomic suggestion, Sergeant Wu. Would you like one of these dishes, Origami?" Welt asked. A small, radiant smile curved his lips: in the civilian shoes of the bookseller, he had a great desire to get behind the stove and cook something delicious for the Doctor, pampering her as she deserved.
"I will eat whatever you want to prepare for me with your own hands, Welt," Origami replied with absolute stoicism. Under the impassivity of her porcelain-doll mask, the girl would not miss the unrepeatable opportunity to be exclusively spoiled, protected, and fed by the owner of the Owl House for anything in the world.
Laura Lane leaned slightly toward the side of her coworker, struck by that bizarre but magnetic demonstration of affection on the sidewalk. "Peter, look at those two... They are so sweet. A bit strange and definitely out of the ordinary, granted, but really very sweet," she commented in a low voice.
"Peter...?" Welt murmured.
Hearing that name pronounced by the female reporter, the young bookseller snapped, abruptly shifting the entire radius of his attention to the Daily Bugle photographer. Welt narrowed his eyes behind the red frames, studying Peter Parker's disheveled features and old DSLR camera as if analyzing a piece of unknown technology.
"Peter Parker... I know you!" Welt exclaimed aloud, his expression instantly changing to one of absolute and exultant certainty, as if he had just discovered a detail of maximum strategic importance.
Peter Parker felt a subtle but icy jolt of anxiety run up his spine. "You know me?" he asked. He was absolutely certain he had never crossed paths with the civilian silhouette of Welt Blight in his entire existence in New York, nor had he ever even heard his name mentioned until a few minutes prior.
"You are Spider-Man's official paparazzi! Exactly like the famous hot-dog vendor constantly follows Homer Simpson in every episode, you play the exact same game with Spider-Man!" Welt commented with total encyclopedic composure, revealing that he knew him exclusively because of his massive photographic work published in the New York newspaper.
Peter instinctively brought his right hand behind his neck, rubbing the back of his head with a tight smile in an attempt to ease the pressure of that cross-examination on the sidewalk. "Paparazzi is a decidedly improper and inaccurate word to describe my professional profile, Mr. Blight. I am simply a freelance photographer under contract," he justified himself.
"Honestly, I have a splendid question to ask you, Parker," Welt pressed him, taking a step forward on the concrete and letting all the clarity of his hyper-analytical mind emerge. "How can you be absolutely the only person in the entire metropolis of New York to photograph Spider-Man in such a cropped, close-up, and perfect way? And, above all, how is it possible that you seem to magically appear wherever he happens to be fighting crime?" asked the bookseller, having isolated this bizarre statistical detail thanks to the rigorous personal research that Warlock dedicated to the superheroes of the East Coast.
At that logical point, Laura Lane stiffened, turning abruptly toward her newsroom companion. "In fact... This configures as a very good and legitimate question, Peter," the girl said, beginning to scrutinize Peter Parker with a look filled with deep suspicion.
"And if I reflect on it with a cool head," Laura continued, closing the distance and approaching Peter even further on the sidewalk, her brown eyes narrowing into two inquisitive slits. "The exact day we arrive in this small Massachusetts town, Spider-Man also magically appears in the middle of the night at the harbor to thwart a weapons trafficking operation. This seems to me to be a bizarre and off-the-charts coincidence, to say the least."
Peter Parker felt drops of cold sweat slide down his temples, mentally cursing the acumen of that provincial bookseller. Appealing to his nerves of steel, he spread his arms with feigned casualness: "The explanation is infinitely simpler than you think, Laura. It is the exact same type of statistical coincidence that applies to a young, hard-hitting female journalist who decides to enter a provincial police station and, shortly after, the building is attacked by a colossal red monster. Our job is to run where the news is, nothing more."
"Statistically and scientifically speaking, Parker's reasoning possesses a logical coherence," Origami Tobiichi chimed in. The female forensic scientist focused her eyes of ice on the Bugle female reporter, expressing her mathematical explanation with absolute detachment: "Just as a standard firefighter has a professional obligation to appear where a fire is developing, so will a photographer specialized in superheroes: he will appear regularly and efficiently wherever a costumed hero is located to capture his image."
Laura Lane assumed a deeply thoughtful expression, pursing her lips for a few seconds, then raised a hand to touch her forehead and shook her head. "All right... I think I've definitively been through too many absurd things this afternoon. My brain no longer reasons in a lucid and linear way," she admitted, surrendering to fatigue and dismissing that castle of paranoia.
'Thank you with all my heart, Doctor! You truly deserve to have your boyfriend bake you a three-layer chocolate cake!' Peter Parker thought to himself, exhaling an immense and silent sigh of relief as he felt the grip of suspicion loosen on his alter ego.
Welt, for his part, crossed his arms over his chest with a motion of resigned composure, not at all convinced by that string of coincidences and statistical speculations.
'Spider-Man explicitly confirmed to me last night that he is strictly heterosexual, so this Peter Parker could not possibly configure as his secret boyfriend or his hidden lover. But the temporal connection is too perfect... Could those two be running a joint logical operation? Perhaps Parker acts as technical and investigative support, and Spider-Man acts in the field as the armed wing? Like a sort of team,' the bookseller calculated mentally, assembling in his head a partially-baked but incredibly close-to-reality conspiracy theory. However, having the injured Origami just a few inches away, he preferred to shelve the theory to focus on his real priorities.
Laura Lane, noticing that the owner of the Owl House was about to retreat into his own space, decided to make one last, desperate journalistic attempt: "Mr. Blight, we have heard from reliable sources that you are absolutely the greatest expert on Black Warlock in town. Would you be willing to answer a few quick, specific questions for the Daily Bugle?" she asked, trying her luck.
At that request, a grimace of deep, absolute, and sharp disapproval painted itself on Welt's face.
"I had to endure a crazy and exhausting morning," Welt exclaimed. He began to slowly raise the tone of his voice, letting emerge a massive surge of passive-aggressive anger that left the girl bewildered. "A multi-award-winning female Olympic champion decided to use me as a human punching bag to teach me Judo, throwing me and slamming me violently to the mat for thirty-three consecutive times! Right after, her father, a former heavyweight boxing champion, squeezed me in such a titanic hug that it completely deprived me of oxygen and made me faint!"
'And I thought I had lived through a weird day between spider-webs and a three-meter-tall criminal... By comparison, my Sunday in New York seems like a retiree's routine,' Peter Parker reasoned to himself, mentally admitting that the civilian life of that provincial bookseller was unique.
"And to conclude the splendid Sunday picture," Welt continued, his voice vibrating with firm and overprotective severity. "This afternoon my moment of leisure was abruptly interrupted when I found out from online posts that the station where my female science companion works was attacked by a supervillain. I rush over here in a taxi and discover that she has sustained a nasty and deep lacerating wound to her left hand. Now, tell me, Lane: if you found yourself exactly in my shoes, would you have even a shred of desire or patience to answer the questions of a pair of foreign journalists?!" he asked, planting his eyes behind his lenses into the girl's eyes.
'This overprotective, dominant, and territorially aggressive side of his possesses something incredibly exciting and magnetic...' Origami Tobiichi thought instead. An imperceptible tremor ran through the female scientist's chest muscles, finding that burst of furious masculine rage from Welt extremely pleasant and rewarding for her stalker heart.
"No... No, I guess not. Forgive me, I feel like a perfect idiot," Laura Lane replied, lowering her head in front of that undeniable avalanche of human reasons and feeling completely out of place.
"If you have a real need to bother me with your editorial inquiries, I strongly advise you to do so by showing up at the bookstore during my regular working hours," Welt sentenced, drawing an uncrossable bureaucratic boundary. Then he turned his back abruptly, concentrating all his softness on Origami: "Do you need anything specific right now, Origami?"
"I would really love to get away from the police station and be in a quiet place, alone with you, Welt. Would you like to do today what we had originally planned to do tomorrow afternoon?" the female forensic scientist asked, pressing her injured hand to her chest, eager to take refuge in the boy's warmth to forget the disaster at the station.
"I am completely at your disposal and all yours until late this evening, Origami," Welt exclaimed in a sweet, relieved tone. After all, he had no plans on his agenda for the rest of the day, except for his scheduled high-altitude meeting with Spider-Man around 8:00 PM on the summit of the tower.
Origami turned toward the officer of Asian descent, resuming her usual, icy authority: "Sergeant Wu, could you kindly inform Commissioner Itami that I am taking the rest of today and tomorrow's entire shift as extraordinary leave? After today's hell, a day of total rest is exactly what my health needs." She knew perfectly well that returning to the forensics labs would be impossible anytime soon, due to the devastating structural damage left by Quasimodo.
"Lucky you, Doctor Tobiichi," Sergeant Wu murmured, letting out a resigned, envious sigh. "I strongly believe I'll be forced to stay stuck here among this rubble until late tonight filling out paperwork, only to retreat in total solitude to my apartment to hug my cat and consume a sad bowl of instant ramen." Without adding anything else, Wu turned and headed toward the internal offices to deliver the official notification to Commissioner Itami.
"I'm going to retrieve my motorcycle from the back," Origami announced, hinting at a movement.
Welt stepped forward, extending a protective hand. "Are you absolutely sure you are capable of riding a high-performance vehicle with such a deep wound to your left hand?" he asked, genuinely worried about the risk of a potential road accident on the asphalt.
"I possess such handlebar control and reflexes that I could ride my motorcycle even with my eyes completely closed, Welt. There is no risk," Origami replied with absolute, marble-like confidence in her own abilities.
The white-haired female doctor walked toward the internal parking lot to pick up the vehicle, immediately followed by Welt, who stayed glued to her side to act as an escort. On the sidewalk of the Blackwood District, Laura Lane and Peter Parker were finally left alone in the shadows of the buildings.
"Well... I guess now it's our turn to get out of this madhouse," Peter commented, adjusting his DSLR camera strap, certain that for that morning there was no other material or investigation to be gathered within the NCPD perimeter.
"Let's go straight back to the motel, Peter. I desperately want to take a very long hot shower, find a way to dissolve these absurd purple slime pants, take a well-deserved afternoon nap, and, tonight, go out dancing at some downtown nightclub to forget this day," Laura decreed, exhausted but determined. She felt she had done enough reckless follies for a single day, actions that had proven entirely worthy of the Lane name and dynasty.
Leaving the yellow tape and police sirens behind them, the two journalist correspondents sent by the Daily Bugle also definitively abandoned the police station, dispersing into the afternoon traffic of Nightfall City.
XXX
Within exactly thirty minutes, the pieces of Nightfall City's chaotic afternoon fell back into place. Origami brought Welt back to the Owl House, braking her white motorcycle with a sharp, millimetric jolt in the rear parking lot. The young man agilely dismounted from the saddle, heading into the basement to leave the massive high-tech Sycorax medical bag in his reinforced office. He took the opportunity to grab his everyday shoulder bag, his house keys, and a few other essential items before returning to the surface.
Once this was done, with Origami by his side, the two headed on foot toward a local supermarket. Moving through the aisles with the methodical precision of two scientists lent to gastronomy, Welt bought all the ingredients necessary to make a lasagna just like his mother used to make. He did not limit himself to the main baking pan: with calm, careful gestures, he also bought some sweet, tasty treats, selected specifically for Origami's palate.
On the way back to the motorcycle, as they walked clutching the grocery bags, the pair of geniuses passed in front of the glittering storefront of an official LEGO store, an elite establishment that exclusively sold bricks of every kind, especially high-cost collector pieces.
Welt stopped dead in his tracks on the sidewalk, his eyes shining behind the red frames of his glasses. "Will you be angry if I go into this store for a moment? I want to get an early birthday present for Natsumi, something for myself, and a little gift for someone who truly deserves it," the boy said. The last phrase, pronounced in a candid, enigmatic tone, secretly referred both to the female Doctor by his side and to Spider-Man, to whom he felt he owed an apology gift.
Origami did not change her stoic expression, but she firmly tightened her fingers around the boy's. "Only if I go in with you," she decreed, firmly grasping Welt's hand with her healthy hand, having no intention of letting go of him for even a second.
The two crossed the threshold, hit by the air conditioner and the vibrant colors of the displayed sets. As soon as they were inside, Origami's large blue eyes opened slightly in surprise at that incredible, endless variety of models displayed on the backlit shelves.
Welt noticed it instantly, adjusting his shoulder bag with an amused smile. "Is this the first time you've stepped into a LEGO store, Origami?" he asked, realizing that the female scientist felt partially like a fish out of water, or at least in a completely foreign element.
"I have learned that LEGOs are extremely popular across all age groups and for every possible gender. But storing the theoretical data and seeing it live are two completely different visual things," Origami enunciated with her usual clinical voice. She slid her gaze over a refined botanical composition forming a plastic vase of flowers, then focused on a majestic reproduction of the Eiffel Tower, and finally, on a massive, detailed model of the U.S.S. Enterprise.
"You told me that you are passionate about LEGOs, model-making, and three-dimensional wargames. Observing this store, I am beginning to better understand the reasons for these hobbies of yours," the girl concluded, knowing Welt's main pastimes by heart.
The bookseller nodded, then tilted his head slightly to the side, curious. "Aside from your fascinating work in the forensic laboratory and our conversations about science and sci-fi movies, you've never told me about other intimate topics... Do you have other pastimes or hobbies, Origami?"
Origami kept her gaze fixed on the hull of the starship, pursing her lips. "I am a woman more oriented toward work than entertainment," she replied, betraying a subtle note of anxiety. She genuinely feared that her lack of ordinary amusements might make her appear like a boring, work-obsessed person, something that could distance Welt.
Welt let out a warm, protective laugh, taking a step forward. "For tonight, you will be a woman who knows only relaxation and fun. This will be my personal mission," he declared with an audacity and charisma worthy of his alter ego. With a fluid, decisive movement, he reached out and took the LEGO U.S.S. Enterprise. "This is yours, and I won't accept any objections," Welt said, passing the heavy gift directly into Origami's arms.
The white-haired female Doctor almost smiled as she hugged the LEGO box, clutching the large cardboard packaging to her chest. She had not exactly become a collector-brick fangirl overnight, but that gift came directly from Welt's hands, and lately, she had developed a slight interest in the 'Star Trek' universe precisely to conform to his tastes.
Welt turned toward the adjacent section, dedicated to the icons of the Justice League. He scanned the shelves for a few seconds and picked up the LEGO showing the Batmobile. "Natsumi will love it. She is a fan of 'Batman' and she likes relaxing games," the young man explained, tucking the box under his arm.
Origami instantly memorized this information within her mind, ready to catalog it in the database of the green-haired little girl's preferences to make it useful in the future.
Finally, Welt went to the 'Star Wars' area, where he stood completely motionless for a couple of minutes staring, with the typical indecision of a collector, at two imposing sets: the Millennium Falcon and the Death Star.
"Origami, what do you suggest? Millennium Falcon or Death Star? Which do you think is better?" Welt asked, wanting another person's opinion.
Origami analyzed the two images printed on the box, replying with immediate firmness: "Better the Millennium Falcon. It has a better aerodynamic shape and it's the heroes' starship."
"Thanks for the advice, Origami," Welt smiled, grabbing the Falcon box and thinking about the imminent 8:00 PM meeting with Spider-Man. "Now we just have to pay for the merchandise and then... Well, where do you want us to go? Your place or my place?" he asked, wanting to do whatever was most convenient and comfortable for her.
Origami Tobiichi squeezed the box to her chest, lowering her eyelashes for a moment. "My private apartment is located on the seventh floor of the condominium... And, right now, I am not at all in the mood to leave the ground floor," she recounted, pretending to have a small problem with heights and a temporary fear of vertigo after the experience she lived through this afternoon, when she had been left hanging from the breach on the second floor of the police station.
"Very well, then there is no problem at all! You will spend a quiet and fun evening at my place, at the Blight House. All the better: I have more experience with my kitchen, and I have my workshop close at hand if we want to do something scientific or examine some materials," Welt accepted enthusiastically, agreeing to take Origami to his house.
'I will go to Welt's house sooner than expected... A monumental and exceptional progress for my mission of love,' Origami Tobiichi thought, smiling inside herself with deep satisfaction as they walked side by side toward the cashier to pay for the models.
XXX
After another half-hour of travel, the white motorcycle agilely sliced through the asphalt of the Witchcraft Heights streets, reducing speed until it came to a fluid halt in front of the imposing and gloomy silhouette of Welt's haunted house.
The first to dismount from the saddle was Welt himself. The young bookseller clutched the handles of a sturdy canvas bag between his fingers, packed half with all the fresh material needed to craft a traditional lasagna and half with a supply of energy drinks and some particular snacks that Origami went literally crazy for.
In addition to the gastronomic cargo, Welt carefully supported a large, glossy white plastic bag showing the bright red LEGO logo. Inside it were kept the three imposing collector sets purchased shortly before: the 'Star Trek' U.S.S. Enterprise, the 'Star Wars' Millennium Falcon, and the 'Batman' Batmobile.
The LEGO company, moreover, had become famous worldwide for succeeding in an unprecedented commercial feat: convincing the members of the Justice League and the Avengers to grant formal permission to produce bricks and sets in their image, under a single and highly rigid bureaucratic condition: exactly half of the global profits derived from those products had to be donated to charity in favor of charitable causes.
Origami slipped off her safety helmet with a fluid gesture, releasing the cascade of her silver-white hair, dismounted from the motorcycle, and began to push it manually along the concrete driveway that led to Welt's property.
'Finally, I have the concrete opportunity to enter inside Welt's house. I would have liked to do it much sooner, but Welt bought and installed a top-of-the-line electronic security system and I have no intention of risking an alarm,' Origami thought to herself, maintaining her perfectly stoic porcelain-doll mask. The truth was that the idea of secretly sneaking between those walls had flashed through her head countless times in recent months, but she had never put it into action for many excellent reasons, especially due to the subtle and mental influence of the Bounded Field surrounding the building.
"Origami, can you hold the LEGO bag for a second for me?" Welt asked, turning toward her on the threshold. Having his arms completely occupied by the grocery bags, and finding himself just a few inches away from Origami, the young man could not at all resort to his usual Mage Hand or telekinesis to make things easy and floating as he usually did when he was alone.
"With pleasure," Origami replied with her usual clinical voice, firmly grasping the plastic bag with her healthy hand.
"Thanks, Origami. Wait a second and you can finally put your motorcycle safe inside the tool shed, although... Well, unofficially that structure configures as my personal workshop and laboratory," Welt explained. With a quick move, he pulled a old-style physical key from his hoodie pocket, connected to a high-tech rectangular keychain overflowing with microchips.
'If anyone out there or some government female spy decides to investigate me, they will automatically assume that all my scientific stuff and my projects are confined inside the tool shed in the garden. No reckless person would ever dream of looking for a real secret underground laboratory beneath the foundations of the house. And in case they actually try to unearth something, I have already meticulously prepared a perfect diversion to mislead them,' Welt reflected, letting emerge that partially paranoid side of his when it came to reinforcing his security and protecting the anonymity of Black Warlock.
The bookseller pointed the high-tech keychain in the direction of the workshop's automatic rolling shutter, pressing one of the side buttons with his thumb to activate the encrypted signal.
The metal panel rose fluidly upward with an electric hum, revealing an extraordinarily clean and organized environment: a perfect and orderly combination between a precision mechanic's workshop, the workstation of a handyman specialized in repairing appliances and computers, and the cutting-edge laboratory of a scientist in full Ghostbusters style, but completely devoid of waste or radioactive barrels.
Origami pushed her motorcycle manually inside the room.
However, as soon as her blue eyes focused on the details of the surrounding instrumentation, her forensic attention was completely catalyzed by the bodywork of the machinery. Many of the works-in-progress arranged on the wooden benches seemed rather rudimentary — simple repairs of blenders, motherboards, and household objects brought by the bizarre neighbors of Witchcraft Heights —, yet the surgical tools, soldering irons, and testers exhibited exceptional engineering quality.
'We have exactly the same identical tastes in terms of laboratory tools and brands. This configures as an excellent sign for our future compatibility as a couple,' Origami noted to herself, whose forensic mind continued to calculate the statistics of their romantic idyll.
Suddenly, the female doctor's gaze lingered on a particular and mammoth piece of technology positioned in the most sheltered corner of the room. Origami froze dead in her tracks on the concrete and her fingers loosened their grip in shock, almost risking letting the LEGO bag fall ruinously.
"Welt... Is that exactly what I think it is?" Origami exclaimed. Her face maintained its usual rigid, doll-like impassivity, but the intensity of her voice rose an octave, overflowing with an adrenaline and energy that almost never belonged to her during office shifts.
The female forensic scientist catapulted herself with quick steps toward the advanced device. The machinery presented itself as an imposing monolith of matte dark steel and heavy polycarbonate, structurally shielded to block radiation from industrial lasers; on the front part stood out a circular porthole in tinted leaded blue glass, designed to observe the internal thermal process. The dimensions spoke clearly: one hundred eighty centimeters in height by eighty centimeters in width.
"It is a high-performance metallic 3D printer, in a miniaturized wall version," Welt explained with absolute composure, providing a purely encyclopedic description and taking good care not to enter into the technical details of its occult operation.
"This is not just any device, Welt! This machine is the M.A.C.S., the Multi-Axis Composite Synthesizer! It configures absolutely as one of the best and most sophisticated 3D printers for metal alloys on the market, entirely designed and built by Adrian Lamperouge, the prodigy student of the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology, and distributed in worldwide exclusivity through WayneTech channels! The M.A.C.S. became available for commercial purchase just three months ago and its cost stands at around two million dollars!" Origami recited from memory, with the precision of a forensic database. Her fingers trembled with scientific desire to have such a technological work of art available for her private research.
Welt shrugged, lifting the groceries to straighten his posture and trying in every way to diminish the value of that monolith. "It doesn't seem like anything so special or extraordinary, Origami... In the end, it's simply a 3D printer that is a bit more advanced than the average commercial product," he replied, trying to pass off as a trivial handyman's gadget a device whose economic value far exceeded that of the most exclusive, fast, and technological cars on the planet, belonging to the restricted elite of hypercars.
"In my private laboratory, I only possess a standard 3D printer based on plastic polymers, an old archive model from Stark Industries that is a good five years old! And at the time it cost me the beauty of two hundred thousand dollars, which is exactly one-tenth of the value of this M.A.C.S.!" Origami countered, reaching out her healthy hand to touch the matte metal of the monolith, as if wanting to verify through the sense of touch that this miracle of engineering was real and not an hallucination of her tired mind.
After all, the scientific difference between the two machines was abyssal: while standard 3D printers worked mainly by extruding plastic polymers filament after filament at relatively low temperatures, 3D printers for metal melted metal alloys and steel powders using extremely high-power lasers or complex vacuum thermal processes, redefining the laws of ballistics and material resistance.
"Welt... How did you manage to obtain such hardware? I receive a high-level official's salary and am a decisively wealthy woman, but even I could never afford such a massive and exaggerated expense for my personal experiments," Origami questioned him, turning toward him.
Her private trust fund guaranteed her a liquidation of barely one million dollars; despite it being a considerable sum for a girl of her age, Origami had to calibrate every single cent to purchase the materials necessary for her investigations.
"It's a rather private financial matter, Origami. I prefer not to discuss my accounting with anyone," the young bookseller replied, maintaining a calm but firm tone to lock down the secrets of his economic Gate of Babylon.
Origami Tobiichi took a step forward on the workshop concrete and her gaze became frighteningly serious, millimetric, and solemn. "Welt... If this machinery is of illicit origin or if you stole it from some WayneTech warehouse, I solemnly swear to you on the grave of my parents that the idea of reporting you to the police or writing an official report will never cross my mind," she declared with a deadly seriousness that admitted no replies.
The local hero must have possessed by force of circumstances a hidden Charisma Skill, an invisible seal imprinted in his DNA that activated exclusively toward the people who sincerely loved him.
Otherwise, the whole situation would have made no logical sense: first, the entire Robinson Family had proven themselves completely ready to finance and cover up his moves even if he decided to eliminate the President of the United States, and now the most inflexible female forensic scientist in Massachusetts was willing to close both eyes to a potential two-million-dollar federal crime just to protect him.
"To make a long story short and not bore you with bureaucratic details," Welt beat around the bush, remaining vague so as not to crash his civilian cover. "In addition to this old haunted house, I inherited a certain sum of money that allowed me to make some crazy, but absolutely necessary purchases for my engineering hobbies."
"Welt... I would be willing to prostitute myself just to be able to have even one hour of free time to use this metallic printer," Origami declared with the utmost possible clinical composure, continuing to touch the M.A.C.S. chassis with a look charged with pure scientific desire.
Welt felt his face instantly catch fire and a violent flush of redness crimsoned his neck behind his black T-shirt. "Origami! Please, see to it that you do not pronounce such scandalous phrases, not even as a joke!" the bookseller scolded her, whose chaste and modest nature was shaken by such a shameless outburst.
The white-haired female doctor drastically closed the distance on the concrete, positioning herself a few centimeters from his chest and speaking on impulse, without in the least calculating the barriers of office logic.
"If I agreed to marry you tomorrow morning and let you do whatever you want with my body, would you grant me formal permission to use this Multi-Axis Composite Synthesizer for my projects?" Origami asked, her blue gaze planted into his.
In her mind, the calculation was perfect: by having access to Welt's M.A.C.S., the production of metal components for her advanced micro-projects would require barely a single day of work in that workshop, instead of months and months spent filling out exhausting, customized orders to external third-party foundries.
Welt became literally chili-pepper red in the face upon hearing that total and overwhelming 'offer' advanced by the female scientist. He adjusted his glasses with panicky fingers, trying to compose himself: "If you have a real need to print some steel pieces, you just simply have to ask me nicely and I will let you use the machinery whenever you want, Origami! But see to it that you stop formulating such ridiculous and absurd proposals, please!" he exclaimed, having no logistical problem sharing that technology with his female science companion.
Origami slightly widened her blue irises, struck by that disarming generosity. "Are you serious, Welt? You're not bluffing?" she asked. She knew perfectly well that if she possessed such a two-million-dollar technological gem in her own apartment, she would never share it with a living soul on the planet. But Welt Blight represented the absolute exception to every single, rigid rule of her entire existence.
Pure love — however partially crazy, obsessive, and reckless — undoubtedly possessed the power to radically change people, and the ivory girl was now irremediably trapped in the web of the Owl House bookseller.
"You are too kind and ask for so little in return, you deserve a reward too," Origami declared. Caught in the heat of the moment and guided by a biological impulse that could no longer be curbed, the girl took a step forward, erasing the distance between their bodies and...
KISS!
Origami captured Welt's lips with a lightning-fast, merciless, and rather aggressive pressure. The grip of her tissues was so overwhelming as to block any remaining capacity of reaction from the bookseller, until...
NOM!
Origami bit his lower lip decisively. It was not a conventional kiss at all; unable to hold herself back next to the man she loved, the white-haired female Doctor fully demonstrated how much she liked to play rough and apply force even in moments of intimacy.
The intense and destabilizing pleasure that Welt felt for a very brief fraction of a second was abruptly interrupted by a lightning bolt of acute pain. With a feline reflex, the young man took a step back on the workshop concrete, breaking physical contact with Origami. Out of pure unconditioned reflex, he covered his mouth with the palm of his right hand, dazed, not yet knowing if the impact of the girl's teeth had drawn blood.
Origami snapped out of it suddenly, realizing the extreme nature of the action she had just committed. She froze on the spot, rigid and with bated breath, assuming the guilty, petrified posture of a murderer who has just killed someone on impulse and finds herself staring, with wide eyes, at the blood-stained knife she still clutches between her fingers.
Welt slowly lowered his hand from his face, noting that on the palm of his fair skin gleamed a small drop of dark blood.
"I'm going... Into the kitchen!" Welt exclaimed. Abruptly turning his back on the female scientist, he dashed forward with long strides and ran inside the house, moving with the same frantic energy as someone who finds himself pursued by a hungry lioness in the middle of the savannah.
The owner of the Owl House made an excellent tactical calculation in retreating and taking a moment of absolute isolation to think and reorder his mental circuits. If he had remained motionless on the concrete letting Origami heat up properly, the ivory girl would have lost every last shred of self-control remaining in her nervous system.
In short, if he had stayed just one more minute at the mercy of Origami's overwhelming maneuvers, Welt would have found himself channeled into a scenario so accelerated that he would most likely become a father in nine months and, perhaps, would have even developed a subtle masochistic inclination.
Left completely alone in the dim light of the workshop, Origami did not move a millimeter. She stood still beside the M.A.C.S. monolith, forcing herself to breathe slowly and methodically: she inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled the warm air through her mouth, applying all her logical rigor in an attempt to regain control over herself and calm her trembling muscles.
Once her breathing rhythm returned to normal and linear levels, Origami placed her healthy hand over her chest, right over the fabric of her white laboratory coat; she could clearly perceive her heart beating wildly against her ribs, at the same speed as an athlete engaged in a high-level running race.
"Did I overdo it? Yes, without a shadow of a doubt," Origami admitted in a low voice, lowering her ivory head and feeling — finally — a tiny shred of healthy and human shame.
"But I regret nothing!" she declared a second later, raising her chin with absolute, stoic firmness. Origami killed that temporary hesitation with a clean stab to the heart, making a deep feeling that combined pure happiness with a surge of euphoria appear in its place.
With a slow movement, the female doctor licked her lips, savoring the residual taste of Welt and the few molecules of his blood left on her skin, finding that sensory experience incredibly pleasant and stimulating for her.
The girl had done everything in her power over the last few hours to restrain her impulses, but Welt had made that task extremely difficult and frustrating for her today.
First of all, the boy had not hesitated to abandon his afternoon commitments to rush to the police station as soon as he discovered that she was potentially in danger; once the presence of the laceration was verified, he had knelt on the sidewalk to bandage the palm of her hand with the utmost possible care; he had asked her with extreme sweetness if she needed help or if he could do something to make her feel better.
Furthermore, in the last hour, Welt had bought all the fresh ingredients to cook her a traditional lasagna, had selected the drinks and snacks she went crazy for, even going so far as to gift her a collector LEGO set of the U.S.S. Enterprise.
And, to conclude the splendid picture, he had granted her free access to his highly precious metal 3D printer... That had been an accumulation of positive attention decisively too massive and close together for Origami's emotional stability.
'Restrain yourself and execute the strategic plan with rigor. You absolutely cannot afford to scare Welt and make him believe that you are a potential harasser or a sexual predator,' the female forensic scientist thought, imposing the utmost discipline upon herself. She knew perfectly well that her nature pushed her to be excessively direct and aggressive in intimate matters, a character trait that in the past had raised quite a few problems, scaring and distancing some people.
And that was absolutely the last thing Origami wanted to do with Welt.
Walking with slow, calculated steps, clutching the large LEGO bag in her healthy right hand, Origami crossed the threshold and officially entered inside Welt's house. Fortunately, behind her, the heavy automatic workshop door closed with a sharp click.
To be continued...
XXX
Author's Note:
In the previous chapter, I wrote a long and complex fight scene, while in the current chapter, I decided to write one focused more on development and conversations.
In case anyone is wondering, I hadn't planned at all for Origami to kiss Welt in the heat of the moment; I had thought of a quiet evening where the two geniuses would talk about science and Origami would get the right inspiration for her personal projects.
But we ended up with a kiss, and even I don't know how it will turn out.