"Problems?! And you call THIS problems?!"
Sylvanas, the Banshee Queen.
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The criminals who had recently escaped from prison dissolved successfully into a city of millions. Police attempts to track those cheerful gentlemen naturally produced nothing. Of the entire delightful company, only Scorpion and Rhino truly interested me.
In the animated series, both looked comical and inspired nothing more than a slight smile. In actual photographs, however... Scorpion was a seven-foot monster wrapped in hard, visibly durable dirty-brown chitinous armor.
From Parker's memories, I knew he did not spit acid. On the other hand, the razor-sharp stinger attached to his flexible tail could inject several dozen varieties of poison into an opponent. A thoroughly unpleasant creature. What had Jameson been thinking when he transformed an ordinary street thug into a killing machine?
Although I was more interested in how he had avoided the police afterward. I doubted officers enjoyed dealing with an exceptionally agile armored beast obsessed with total destruction. Without Spider-Man, the number of corpses would have been enormous. You have already guessed how the grateful citizens praised their hero.
Rhino... To be honest, when I first examined him through Peter's memories, my first thought was approximately: 'Holy Throne, how did an Astartes enter the Marvel universe, and where did he put his armor?' The man stood almost twelve feet tall, possessed dark-gray skin —or was it hide?— and a physique so massive that from a distance one might mistake him for a small cliff. And I needed to tear a piece from each of them?
I was a formidable, difficult-to-kill beast, certainly. The thought remained uncomfortable. My considerations concerning the escaped freaks extinguished themselves the moment I entered the laboratory. Parker's blood samples had disappeared from the refrigerator. What the hell? According to canon, that was not supposed to happen for a long time. I had intended first to plant my cells in Morbius and observe the vampirization process from the inside.
Why was I certain Michael had taken them? In addition to canon knowledge, there was ordinary logic. Who broke into a laboratory at night and stole blood samples instead of expensive equipment? Certainly not an ordinary burglar. But why had he acted so early?
I slapped my forehead. Of course. I had left no evidence, and the little vampire possessed no direct proof, but one did not need genius to identify the author of the 'joke' involving the pink coat. I wondered whether he had managed to clean it or simply obtained another.
If I understood people even slightly, Morbius had begun thirsting for my blood and entered the laboratory with some less-than-noble objective, only to find the samples. All right. He had not yet become a vampire, which meant I could still plant observers inside him. I did not postpone the matter.
I went hunting vampires—or, more precisely, one future representative of the species. The target appeared quickly. He sat on a bench before the building and read a molecular-biology textbook. Time for a small performance and an opportunity to spoil the blood of one bloodsucker.
"Oh, Michael, my mysterious pink friend. You've become almost impossible to catch around the institute lately."
I smiled pleasantly and slapped his shoulder. At the same time, I detached a small piece of myself and left it on Morbius. Hm. I distinctly heard teeth grinding. Or perhaps I imagined it. The enraged Michael threw off my hand and hissed viciously. Everyone had started hissing lately. I hissed. Spider-Man hissed. Now the Romanian had begun too. Was it an epidemic?
"What the hell do you want from me, Mayer?"
If a gaze could kill, I would have died several dozen times. I bent closer and whispered.
"Oh, almost nothing. I wanted to tell you an interesting story.
"Imagine, someone wanders through other people's laboratories at night and steals their research. Envious people these days—too stupid to accomplish anything themselves, so they take another person's work.
"Be careful. Someone might enter your laboratory too.
"But don't worry. Once I find the little thief..."
I gave Michael a heavy look.
"...I'll play a proper joke on him. In my own style."
Then I returned to a normal tone.
"Oh, forgive me. I became distracted talking with you, and I still have to meet Felicia. Goodbye, my friend."
I walked away rapidly and saw Morbius's face twist at the edge of my vision. Satisfied, I approached Felicia, who was waiting for me.
"Hello, Walter. What were you discussing so pleasantly with Michael that the poor man's eye began twitching?"
"Hello to you too. Do you know..." I put an arm around her "...that curiosity killed the cat?"
"Hm. What a secretive man. If you don't want to tell me, fine." Miss Hardy pouted.
"Don't be angry, sunshine. Anger makes you even more beautiful, but I prefer hearing your laughter and admiring your smile," I said ingratiatingly "As for your question... you see, my joy, whenever I look at Michael Morbius..." I began in a voice filled with adoration "...my heart stops in sweet exhaustion, bats begin fluttering in my stomach, and I experience a burning desire..." A passionate whisper.
As the monologue progressed, my girlfriend's face grew longer and longer. Now for the dramatic pause. Felicia watched me with mild fear, refusing to believe the words. I completed the sentence in a normal voice.
"...to drive him into a white-hot rage. Preferably all the way into cardiac arrest."
"Whew. You frightened me. You're an idiot, Mayer, and your jokes are idiotic."
The student exhaled in relief and administered a preventive slap to the back of my head.
"Heh. I didn't make a single indecent suggestion. Everyone understands according to the depth of their own depravity," I observed casually.
The young woman choked on air and blushed charmingly.
"Yooooou..."
Oh, what intensity of emotion. Hm. Perhaps I should execute the oldest tactical maneuver known to mankind: retreat. Laughing happily, I ran down the path. When Felicia became tired of chasing me across the entire university, we signed a peace treaty and sealed it with several kisses.
Yes. It was a very good day. Everything else passed quietly and even peacefully. After classes, I escorted the young lady home and returned to my own residence. I surveyed the apartment gloomily. Another problem. I had lived there for three weeks, yet the place looked uninhabited and slightly abandoned.
The only difference between my kitchen and the corresponding room in Misato Katsuragi's home was the absence of a second refrigerator and a domestic penguin. Everything else was identical: beer and frozen meals.
What could I do? I neither liked nor knew how to cook, so I ate in cafés or lived on microwave pizza. At least stomach trouble did not threaten me. As for the beer, alcohol no longer affected me, but that did not prevent me from enjoying the pleasantly bitter taste of the marvelous foaming drink.
Still... No. One could not live like this. I needed someone to clean the apartment. With great laziness and sufficient money, cleaning for myself had become completely unbearable. Ideally, the person would also cook.
Should I hire a maid?
I imagined it: a young woman of approximately twenty, wearing a classic uniform, and naturally attractive. Magnificent. Then I imagined what Felicia would do to her—and to me—when she learned of the arrangement.
I became sad. I did not intend to establish a harem either. After that dream, I seemed to have developed an allergy to the word. Absolutely not. Well, perhaps later.
On one hand, I strongly wanted to make Miss Hardy a little jealous. She should not have the exclusive privilege of tormenting me. On the other, the young-maid idea was too much. And I was hungry. That left radical measures. I. Needed. A proper. Soviet. Grandmother.
The words had been spoken. If I had known what that idea would produce, I would never have done what followed. But I was not a prophet, and the spider-sense inherited from Peter had not developed to that degree. I called the staffing agency recommended by the realtors during the apartment purchase. I explained the requirements for the future employee: no younger than fifty, from Russia or a former Soviet republic, and willing to live in the servants' apartment. Apparently the penthouse possessed one of those too.
They assured me they would call within several days with suitable candidates. I spent the remainder of the day purchasing useful small things: clothing, food, and a second refrigerator. Beer was sacred, and I never considered evicting it. That evening, I finally established contact with the portion of myself inside the colonel and even transferred my consciousness there.
Disappointment awaited me.
Since returning from the Chameleon mission, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. had remained inside the strictest quarantine, undergoing a mountain of examinations and providing every possible sample every day. Had they discovered me? How? I had expected S.H.I.E.L.D. to employ paranoid people, but not to that degree.
I began reviewing Fury's memories—or, more precisely, sorting through the information my fragment had already downloaded from his skull. When I discovered how I had exposed myself, I laughed nervously for a long time and struck my head against the wall. How had I managed to fail so completely?
The Symbiote had deceived every ultra-modern, ultra-secret scanner, blood test, and DNA analysis. Truly, the great fall over small details. Felicia might have been correct about the delusions of grandeur. I had exposed myself through an ordinary weigh-in. The colonel contained approximately three hundred billion of my cells—an extra seven pounds.
The physicians examining the one-eyed man had been astonished by their beloved chief's sudden weight gain and, to avoid trouble, placed him inside isolation, where he remained.
The people in white coats drew steadily closer to my unfortunate fragment. No. This would not do. I learned a great deal from Fury's mind, but most of it was either useless or duplicated information I had gathered from various Marvel sources in my former world. What use were the locations of several S.H.I.E.L.D. bases when they contained nothing valuable to me? Or brief files concerning people such as Tony Stark? I found no major differences from his film version. Even the face was the same. More useful was information about a certain Cat who knew a great deal and happened to bear the proud surname Hardy. That might become valuable.
After finishing with the colonel's data, I moved nearly all my cells inside him into his stomach, leaving only a standard group of ten, and killed the rest. Heh. Someone was going to spend an unforgettable night embracing the porcelain friend. The night itself became much more entertaining.
Six monsters under the direction of one kind, heavyset gentleman decided to capture Spider-Man. What did they do? Correct. They applied pressure to his 'friend' Peter Parker by using his aunt as the principal argument after successfully kidnapping her from her home.
One man against six monsters—fine, four and a half; Chameleon was no fighter, while Mysterio functioned more as support and distraction than genuine combat power. Spider-Man quickly calculated the high probability of being buried and went in search of help. Who had offered to help him? Correct again. The Nazgûl.
Peter found me on a rooftop in my 'combat' appearance and asked whether my offer remained valid. Ah. At first, nothing had suggested disaster.
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Michael Morbius.
Mayer. How I hate him. That dandy even used the disappearance of his samples to push my face into the mud. 'Too stupid to accomplish anything themselves, so they take another person's work.' Had I truly sunk to ordinary theft from a specialist far superior to me? Was I simply... jealous?
No.
I would surpass him. I would prove that he was only an arrogant rich boy. I would expose his true face to everyone. Felicia. I had to save her from that monster. No matter. Once I completed the vaccine and found a cure for that disease, I would become a hero. Then she would be mine. The samples of borrowed blood would help me.
Morbius threw himself into the work with fanatic light in his eyes. He did not notice one of the bats living nearby drink from a test tube of blood. When he finally saw it and tried to drive the animal away, the predator bit him. Pain filled the student's entire being. Burning spread through his body. His teeth and eyes felt as though they were being cut apart. Then came the blessed darkness of unconsciousness.
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Los Angeles. Approximately the same time.
"Any news, old man?"
A tall Black man with short-cropped hair and a leather coat stared questioningly into the eyes of a gray-haired man who appeared around sixty.
"I've heard rumors about an extraordinarily powerful vampire. Supposedly, he tore victims apart with his bare hands. I don't know the details. Very few witnesses survived his hunts, and those who did have white hair, stutter, and continually try to reach a church."
"Serious. Where was he last seen? Any description?"
"A young man with black hair and an expensive leather coat. European features. Hair to the shoulders or slightly below. Last seen in New York."
"Well, old man, pack your things. We're going to New York."
A predatory smile appeared on the Black man's face.
"Let the Hunt begin."
Meanwhile, the transformed Michael Morbius rose to his feet. The Power he had received intoxicated his mind, while Thirst drove him into the street in search of blood—blood that smelled so delicious and inviting. The poor fool had no idea how completely he was doomed.