When that shrew finally left, I decided I could finally get around to upgrading.
Oddly enough, I figured out the secret to my subject's lack of allergy to ultraviolet light pretty quickly. The trick was a serum made from bat blood and a shock dose of electric current. I didn't need the serum itself, since I had a liter of the finished product.
Naturally, I didn't touch the electrical panel without testing the effect on an isolated sample of my own tissue. It was painful, and the anesthesia didn't work well afterward, so I had to peel off my own skin practically without it.
But the result was worth it. I managed to develop a working version of the procedure for curing sun allergies. The recipe is as follows: step one, inject myself with Morbius blood, which my body will then distribute to every cell. Step two, shock myself with an electric shock in a sealed box for a minute. Well, to put it simply, it's a bit more complicated, and I spent several hours experimentally calculating the right current strength that wouldn't burn me and would ultimately give my skin the desired properties.
It was a truly long night. Before subjecting myself to the torture of electricity, I decided to let my body regenerate the skin on my right leg, which was where I'd been taking samples for my experiments. Basically, I needed some rest.
After sleeping for about a day, I got to work. I needed to reconfigure a couple of machines in Connors' lab to assemble myself a coffin, from which I would emerge a renewed daywalker, sharing that title with Blade. The preparatory work lasted six hours, and finally, everything was ready for my transformation.
"Phew, I hope I don't die in the process, but risk is a noble cause, right?" "And the alternative—languishing in the dark or bowing to the Mysticos—isn't an option. I value my freedom, perhaps, more than anything else. And trusting these vampire oligarchs is more expensive than it should be."
With a heavy heart, I climbed into the sealed chamber, having first pumped and drunk all the blood I had. Morbius, not forgetting to pray to Stan Lee, gave the voice command to turn on the apparatus. Incidentally, I was wearing a diving suit I'd borrowed from Doc; apparently, she's a diver.
Well, what can I say—it was fucking painful, despite vampires' reduced sensitivity to pain. It felt like I was being burned from the inside, and when it finally ended, I nearly went crazy with pain. Tumbling out of the coffin, I crawled to the table where four prepared syringes of anesthetic lay and injected myself, one into each limb.
And... it didn't work, damn it! It seems I'm now completely immune to painkillers—they're unpleasant, and now they're just a disgusting scam. But I think I'm already passing out from the pain shock. Sleep, sleep, sleep.
***
I woke up two days later, according to the calendar on my phone. The pain was gone; apparently I was completely healed. Looking in the mirror, I was relieved to see no change in my appearance. I was a little worried that my skull might have become deformed like Morbius's, or that my skin might have become even paler, but I think I've passed.
Fortified with the remaining vampire blood, I performed a simple test to verify the results of the execution, shining an ultraviolet lamp on my skin. It didn't catch fire, melt, or anything of the sort. To be sure, I held the lamp over my hand for five minutes, and only after confirming there was no effect did I allow myself to rejoice.
"It fucking worked! Now I'm a day vampire, yohooo!" I screamed. Having calmed down a bit, I decided to test my resistance to silver as well. I didn't dare cut myself with it, but instead, I simply pressed the silverware I found in Connors's kitchen set against my skin. Still no reaction. Looks like I'd hit the jackpot.
However, it's too early to relax; I'm still mortal. I could be incinerated, have my head torn off, or have my heart ripped out, and I think any of these actions would result in my death. Not to mention that there's a special anti-vampire magic that either banishes people like me from this reality or kills them. In any case, I don't intend to test it on myself; I simply intend to avoid encounters with the Ancient One, Strange, and their fellow mages if possible.
Well, anyway, my business at the Connors' country house was done. So, after spending half an hour cleaning up, I decided to leave Doc's dacha. I decided to go outside without my helmet, to test my stability directly against the Sun.
And I was a little disappointed. Unlike the canonical Morbius, I didn't feel any discomfort from my skin being exposed to sunlight—which was a relief. But my eyes were unpleasantly irritated, even when I wasn't looking directly at the sun. I had to immediately put my helmet back on my head. I think I now understand why Blade always wears sunglasses. I'll have to buy myself a pair on my way to Newark.
If Percy wants to keep messing with my head, she'll have to chase me around a bit, heh-heh. By the way, I'm surprised she hasn't come back for me yet, and I have no missed messages from her. I'm a little worried. She's a real pain in the ass, sure, but trolling her is fun. And she's not really that annoying, I think she's just professionally deformed because of her heroism, and if I give her a good beating, she'll warm up in a heartbeat. But damn, she's my sister! Although... she's old Jimmy's sister, and I'm not exactly him, so... No - that's still a bit wrong. Shit, anyway, if she wants it, I probably won't refuse her... I need to hint that I'm up for it too.
I need a girl ASAP, damn it! And for that, I need money, lots of money. I'll think about how to make some quick cash when I get home.
Without wasting any time, I started the bike, put my headphones in my ears and turned on the Beatles, despite everything I was in a great mood, and kudos to Stan Lee for not cutting off the Beatles' balls in this Universe.
You know, even if I doubted God's existence in a past life, now I'm simply convinced he exists, and that he's a man—otherwise, how can we explain a gender-swapped world? And Stan Lee is the only suspect for God by definition; he created the Marvel worlds, even when they were just comic book stories. He obviously created this world as the fulfillment of his teenage dream. A teenage dream, for God's sake!
But I'm not complaining. If the Supreme God of the Multiverse decided to send me to this sanatorium, then it must be so, period! It's true that everything here is not entirely rosy, but I guess that's to keep life from being a bed of roses.
The drive to New York flew by, lost in thoughts about the universe and the Beatles' timeless hits. I decided to buy glasses here instead of waiting until Newark, and I also decided to replenish my cigarette supply. Having bought a pack of red Winston cigarettes and glasses reminiscent of Neo's from The Matrix, I was about to get back on the bike, even picking up my helmet.
But you can't just drive through the Multiverse without incident. That's the stuff of science fiction, right? And that didn't work out this time.
It happened in Manhattan, about five minutes from the Holland Tunnel. You can imagine I was so close to leaving this cesspool, but it wasn't to be. In short, as soon as I picked up the helmet, I had to drop it. Something in a green hooded cloak flew right above me, about fifty meters up—it was hard to see exactly what it was. Behind the green flyer—I assumed it was a woman based on statistical logic—came a dozen also-green anthropomorphic robots, desperately firing back at their pursuers.
And they were being pursued by a strange-looking silver plane, or rather, a flying car. I don't know, it's hard to judge, although judging by its lines, I'd say it's a spaceship of the future. It looked futuristic and stylish, there's no denying that. I'd love to fly in one of those; oh, the dreams.
But getting back to the chase. Just as I was examining a flying machine of unusual design, that same machine was hit in the side by a miniature missile, or something like that, from one of the pursuers. The impact shook the UFO quite a bit, which, however, didn't knock it off course. But there were consequences. Namely, someone fell out of the flying machine.
So this is a convertible? I understand, of course, but it's just plain stupid to make something that flies with an open top. It's not a crop duster, for God's sake. And even if the designer of this craft is such a retrograde, why the hell didn't they bother with basic seat belts?
The supers and their overconfidence. I'm damn sure this thing was built by some soup. All they care about is looking cool, and almost none of them give a damn about safety.
Be that as it may, the girl who fell out of this half-ship—I mean this bold, innovative invention ahead of its time, created by someone's inimitable genius—was rapidly approaching the ground. Approaching the ground, and it didn't look like she had everything under control.
I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe sperm toxicity and a lack of sex completely ate away at my brain. Well, the part of it that wasn't crunched by the bloodlust I thought I had under control. Or it was the notorious Parker genes, with their idiotic credo. You know, that nonsense about strength, responsibility, and the American way of life. Or maybe I have a special kind of hero complex – a savior of princesses in distress. Or maybe old Jimmy isn't so dead after all. No, he's definitely dead, that jerk, he was a complete egotist, and he would have passed by with a clear conscience, just as I should have, if I were being pragmatic.
Either way, I jumped from a standing position to a height of about 20 meters, even levitating a bit to catch the blonde. As soon as I grabbed her, I immediately began to descend, levitating a bit to avoid breaking my knees during the superhero landing.
Yes, I made a superhero landing, sue me! But it was time to focus on my precious burden, curled up in my arms like a princess, even wrapping one arm around my neck, no doubt by reflex. The passenger was indescribably beautiful: long, luxurious golden hair, graceful, I'd even say angelic features. And when she opened her eyes, I nearly drowned in them, they were so captivatingly blue.
It took me a few moments to shake off the spell. Damn, it doesn't take long to fall in love.
"Are you okay, miss?" I asked in as confident a tone as I could, playing the tough guy.
"Um, what?" she asked, confused, and shook her head, analyzing her situation. And as soon as she realized what position she was in—namely, a princess in my arms—she blushed deeply. Damn, so cute!
"Are you hurt?" I asked, drawing her attention again.
"Oh no! Can you let me go already?" she asked timidly, I would even say reluctantly.
"Whatever the lady wants," I granted her request, bowing gallantly. Showing off, I know, but I wanted to do it. After all, I'm from a noble race of vampires; I have to live up to the standards.
"You are too kind, may I know the name of my savior?" the girl asked shyly.
"It's impolite to ask someone's name without first telling them yours," I gently reproached her.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, you're right! I'm Susan Storm," the beauty introduced herself. And my brain finally switched on.
Damn, not only did I show up in broad daylight as a super, but I also got caught up in the Fantastic Four's showdown with Victoria von Doom. Well, "stuck" is a bit of a stretch, I just saved the beauty from being turned into a pancake. But the fact that I showed up is a problem!
Now, I need to get out of this situation without making it worse. And how did I not immediately notice her dark blue jumpsuit and the number four badge on her chest? By the way, she's quite a nice figure, I mean. She's a total bombshell, frankly. I need to concentrate; look her in the eyes, you idiot.
"I'm afraid my last name isn't all that famous. And for certain reasons, I'd rather keep it quiet. Let's stick with just my first name. Call me James," I decided not to seem completely rude. After all, the girl had introduced herself, and after my initial bow, it would have been incredibly rude not to at least give her my first name. And there are a dime a dozen Jameses in America, probably more than Johns.
"What are you hiding, young man?" Sue said, intrigued.
"Terrible secrets, shrouded in darkness, my lady," I replied. Oh, how I got carried away, I wish I'd confessed to her that I'm a vampire. I hope SHIELD doesn't get on my tail. They don't know I'm a vampire, and the fact that I did this stupid thing in broad daylight should throw them off the scent a little. However, if they find out my nature, it'll probably make them back off before I get too much in the way. SHIELD won't touch me. They prefer not to interfere, either in vampire-hunter squabbles or in our own internal feuds. You could say we have our own sandbox.
So, if I think about it, I wasn't taking a big risk, and the most they'll do is take note. Well, if they offer me a job as a billboard man at S.H.I.E.L.D., I wouldn't refuse. I'd just demand regular food in addition to my salary. But I doubt they'll agree to that. Although, Vampire Avenger sounds cool, heh-heh. And besides, a couple of years working for the government would look good on a resume.
Yeah, it's certainly very close to being a hero, but unlike heroes, I'd be paid, and I doubt they'd send me on dangerous missions. But on second thought, it's a dud. Getting involved in big-time squabbles isn't the wisest idea, not in my position. Now, if I level up some more, then I might try hitting on a female version of Cap. It's a shame, though. At S.H.I.E.L.D., I could get excellent training in martial arts and more, plus access to cutting-edge technology. Oh, my dreams, but I wouldn't want to be on my knees and elbows with the government. Although, they could very well put me in that position without my consent.
Damn, I hate losing control of my life. But you can't bring back the past; if you screw up, you have to live with the consequences. Anyway, if and when I get an offer from the feds, then I'll think about it, but for now, there's no point in wasting my time.
While I was thinking about what a bastard our government is, and at the same time sitting on my steel horse, Sue's brain finally processed the information.
"Why didn't you let me die?" the girl finally snapped. Well, I'd probably be curious too, why a passerby would save the first woman he met, if I were that first woman. But I didn't have a ready answer; I didn't know myself.
"Let's say it's a hunch, Miss Storm. I really don't know why. Maybe I couldn't let such beauty leave this world," I shrugged. "Probably the latter is true; I'm hopeless, and it seems there's nothing I can do about it. My sense of beauty will kill me one day, and who cares what it is."
- Susan.
- Excuse me for what?
- Call me by my name, Susan or Sue.
"I'd be honored, Susan," I bowed my head, "farewell! Perhaps we'll meet again!" I know, I'm a pompous asshole and stole a quote from the show, but it's a cool line.
Deciding I'd been here long enough, I stepped on the gas, heading home. But out of the corner of my ear, I still heard the girl's last words addressed to me.
"I hope so," she said hopefully.
Damn, I really need money urgently, and a lot of it!
***
Baxter Building, Manhattan
Susan Storm's POV
"For once I met a normal guy, albeit a little old-fashioned, and I forgot to take his phone number. What a fool I am!" I complained to my sister.
"I can't understand why you even bother, Sue. You're a superhero, all you have to do is snap your finger and a dozen guys will be at your feet," Jane tried to cheer me up.
"I'm not going to sleep with every guy that smiles at me, Matchstick!" I shouted.
- Oh! - the younger one was offended.
- Sorry, it's just...
"Is he that charming?" the brunette raised an eyebrow.
- More than!
- Did he give his name?
"Do you want to track him?" I asked warily.
"Why not? There aren't as many fish in the sea as I'd like. And if someone's managed to hook you for the first time in so many years, I'd like to get to know them better. Who knows, maybe I'll decide to settle down with you, Blondie," Torch Woman chuckled.
"He only said his name," I mumbled.
"Why would he be so secretive?" Jenny asked in surprise.
"I don't know, he was just being mysterious," I said after a moment's thought. "By the way, could you explain why it was a passing mutant who saved me, and not you?" I hissed accusingly.
"Don't get upset, I saw you weren't in any danger, he took off on time. And anyway, I decided you needed some time alone with the guy," Matchstick replied.
"Thanks, I guess, but it's in vain, he left anyway without leaving any contact information," I said, upset.
- Damn, can you even tell me his name?
"James," I answered.
"Let's hope you got as much of a hold of him as he got of you. Because you're already 22, and you're not getting any younger, Sue!" the younger one decided to infuriate me.
- Jenny!
Half an hour later, Jenny finally went to her room, and I was finally able to analyze this day alone.
It was a disastrous day, to be honest. Doom attacked us, and I managed to escape. I almost died, and the guy who saved me rode off into the sunset.
Most women don't want to appear vulnerable in front of men, but damn, I felt so safe in his arms. So good it was almost embarrassing, he held me like a prince. Pull yourself together, Sue! I have a built-in camera in my team badge. That means I really can figure out who he is using facial recognition; his name will be a bonus, which will help me avoid mistakes.
Heh-heh, no matter what you're hiding or where you're hiding, I'll find you. Because you can't just save my life without taking my dear James on a date.
End POV
***
Arriving home and throwing my keys on the hallway nightstand, I sneezed loudly. It seemed like someone was remembering, I wonder who?
Well, never mind, it's time to draw up a business plan. Having cleared some space in the kitchen, I set up a flipchart and ordered a liter of blood online. So, let's get started.
At first, I began reflecting on my scientific achievements. And the more I reflected, the more despondent I became. The problem was that to make money from science, you first have to invest in it. I had a couple of promising developments, including even a potential cure for cancer. But that and my other projects required significant investment and additional research.
Of course, I could approach a corporation like Oscorp with my rough ideas and ask for funding, but then I wouldn't get a patent, and therefore the lion's share of the money. While it's certainly possible to complete the research myself, in a makeshift manner, it would take five to ten years. And even after I finish the research and get a patent, the biggest chunk of the money would go to those same corporations, who would pay me off with a couple million, maybe a couple dozen, if I'm lucky, and keep the billions for themselves.
Frankly, I'm loathe to lose that kind of money because I'm in a hurry. It's better to earn money elsewhere and then invest in it and set up production myself.
But where else could I make money without trading my future? Hmm, I have a ready-made solution for how to get rid of vampire weaknesses. Fuck, that's not an option either. The Mystics will tear me apart for trying to undermine their monopoly on sunlight immunity. The other vampire clans will use me for experiments and drain me of blood by the liter. Not to mention I don't have Morbius on my hands, and even if I did, they'd take me by force.
That option is out of the question, and strengthening the vampire community excessively would be dangerous, even if it didn't threaten me with a slow and painful death. If only because then they'd start viewing us as a serious threat. And when humanity views someone as a threat, genocide ensues. I had no illusions about that—mutants are a good example.
Science as a quick source of income has long since disappeared. And where can a biology student still make a quick buck? So, we need to stop limiting ourselves to the path old Jimmy chose. Biology is his passion; I understand it thanks to his knowledge, and I won't deny that it's quite interesting in itself, but I'm not such a die-hard science fan that I'd limit myself to it and dedicate my life to it. Science has always been a means, not an end, for me, although I admit I still get carried away sometimes during experiments, no doubt due to old Jimmy's influence.
But if not science, then where else can I make money quickly? Hmm. I flipped the flipchart over and started wondering where I could actually make a fortune quickly, aside from scams like lotteries, casinos, and everything related to them, and of course, pyramid schemes.
Hmm, you can make some money on the betting, but it's not reliable and you can easily lose.
In principle, with my talents, I could become a mercenary or a hired killer, and at the same time hone my skills in real combat conditions.
But it's easy to lose all ties there, and my family wouldn't understand. I'm afraid my relationship with them would be irrevocably ruined if that happened, and I could do that… but I don't want to. Why would I want to ruin my social ties with the only people in this world who care about me? And I do care what happens to them, after all, I accepted old Jimmy's affection for our family members.
Another flipchart page was flipped over. What about sports? I could, but... damn, they'll find out faster than I can play my first official match. Supers don't play sports, not to mention that men's sports are treated here like women's sports in my old world. In short, money can be made there, sure, but the risks aren't worth the expense. Not to mention that I find the most popular sports in the US utterly boring. And the locals themselves sleep en masse in stadiums during baseball games. Not to mention me; I guess I wasn't American in my past life.
Sport is sport, but it's part of a much larger gravy train: the entertainment industry. Things have been a bit bleak there, to be sure.
The local cinema is a real pain. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against ecchi harem movies, I was an anime fan myself, but sometimes you want something different. The thing is, there's nothing else but documentaries. In this world, they've even managed to reduce war dramas to a typical YASh assembling his ideal harem. A government conspiracy, no less. A similar situation is observed in literature. Let's just say the local version of The Lord of the Rings, where Frodo screws all the other gender-swapped characters in the saga, broke my mind. I've never seen such a mockery of a classic.
In short, there's absolutely nothing worth reading in this world, as far as I'm concerned. And there's nothing worth watching either—God, what did they do with the local version of Saving Private Ryan? It was after that film that I began to hate what are called masterpieces of world cinema in this world. And since then, I've only watched documentaries and porn; everything there is more honest and natural, I suppose. The prelude isn't drawn out as much, and they show more.
The most offensive thing is that people are actively going to see it. People are generally buying it, and since consumers are happy with everything, the film companies aren't planning on changing anything either. Which means I have absolutely nothing to offer them; the classics of my past world won't be a hit, not to mention I wouldn't be able to reproduce them verbatim, even if there was demand.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Apparently, my dinner had arrived. After signing for it and dismissing the courier, I put three bags of blood in the refrigerator and decided to finish one right away, inserting a tube into it and slowly sipping.
I need to take a break. I'm not getting anywhere this way. I turned on George Harrison's greatest hits on my laptop and took a deep breath. "Got My Mind Set on You" came on first. Yeah, I know it's a remix, but in this world, he wrote it himself.
In general, for objective reasons, this world lacks the lion's share of male musicians, and about a third of famous female singers. It's a butterfly effect, or something like that. Local music is probably the only area of the entertainment industry that doesn't make me want to puke. After all, lyrics are secondary in music; if they're good and thoughtful, that's a plus, but melody comes first, and it's the melody that determines the quality of a song.
And then it hit me. Most of my favorite artists aren't here. And no one wrote their songs for them. There are other artists and songs, but those aren't there.
- This is... THIS IS A FUCKING GOLD MINE! - So I need a band that I can promote, be the producer, lyricist, and composer. I'm not planning on being the frontman myself, there's no need for me to be in the limelight, but standing behind the scenes and raking in the dough—that's my thing. Luckily, old Jimmy went to music school for two years in high school and even mastered the keyboard. Then, though, he quit to devote himself to science and political protest. But the main thing is that I can easily write down any melody in notes without any help. It's a good thing I have an excellent memory—selective, but good.
And I think I have a suitable group of aspiring performers in mind. Gwen and Mary-Jane are in it, and someone else, I don't remember exactly, but they've been rehearsing in MJ's garage for as long as I can remember. Percy wanted to join them too, but as it turns out, a bear danced on her ears and then crushed her larynx for good measure. They wanted me, but old Jimmy, the jerk, dumped everyone.
Yeah, they're a perfect fit. Not only will I make some money, but I'll also be helping my friends. When you're climbing the ladder, you have to help your friends. Maybe this way I can convince Gwen, for example, to stop messing around and choose music. Not right away, but eventually. Maybe I'll even hook up with one of the girls. Dating a rock star should be exciting, heh-heh. And a superhero rock star would probably be doubly so.
I need to put together the girls' first album, and then call MJ. She had the best relationship with old Jimmy, and she's wonderful no matter how you look at it.
Three hours or so later, the work was done. I tapped out the lyrics for 20 tracks and the notes for each instrument on my laptop and uploaded the work to a flash drive. It took a long time, especially since old Jimmy had been doing this for a long time, and I also needed some mental effort to remember the exact sound of each instrument.
But in the end, the deed was done. Time to call Mary-Jane.
"What time is it?" I asked myself out loud and looked at the clock on my laptop. "It's half past one in the morning, I'll have to wait until tomorrow."
What should I do? I really didn't feel like sleeping. Since I transformed, I've only slept three hours a night, which is enough for me. Hmm, I'll probably read up on the Fantastic Four, since I ran into them today.
And Sue is such a cutie, maybe there is something interesting about her on the Internet.
It's not like I hadn't researched this team before, well, when I was getting to know the world and wondering who was there, who wasn't, and who was where, and how they were involved. Old Jimmy didn't keep track of such things, so I had to learn everything on my own, although it was fascinating. But I didn't really read much back then, just skimmed through it. Honestly, last year is a blur; I literally can't remember anything.
Okay, let's get back to the FC. It's a classic cast, there's no one out there. They started playing hero six years ago. By the whim of the Almighty Stan Lee, only Ben Grimm has any balls. He's the same age as Reed, or rather, Reed is called Richie, and she's married to Ben, wow! How did that ever escape me before. Okay, Richie's just so-so, a C-grade. And besides Richie, Ben has seven wives, but none of them are familiar. Yeah, I dread to think how things are going there, I mean, you get the idea.
Oh, whatever, I won't use my imagination, or I'll have nightmares. Anyway, with these two, it's all clear, so let's move on to the sisters... yes, the Storm sisters, of whom there are only two on the team, the rest are busy with more mundane matters. So, Sue and Jane are half-siblings, not biological ones. That means they have different mothers. Sue is 22, Jane is 20.
There's little information about Sue beyond her general background. Just a list of diplomas, patents, and major scandals involving her. It seems she's not much of a public figure.
So, let's see what's here about her black-haired sister.
"I don't get it – is this porn?! Two porn Oscars?! Holy shit, no, seriously, when does she have time to be a hero?!" There are 20 hour-and-a-half-long videos of her, all different, and that's just the first link. As a huge fan of this art form, I simply can't pass it by. Porn with a superheroine! The iconic Johnny Storm was amorous, but not that much!
"Well, let's see why they gave her an Oscar, even two. I have to see it, purely for the love of art. Looks like I found something to occupy myself with until the morning, heh-heh. I'll get myself another bag of blood instead of popcorn."