December 25, 2008. Christmas.
The quiet, rhythmic breathing beside me pulled me from sleep before my alarm could go off. 2B was sleeping nearby, her back turned to me but still palpably close. Her silvery hair was scattered across the pillow, contrasting sharply with the dark fabric of my old T-shirt, which she now preferred for sleeping over her usual dress. Even in sleep, her blindfold remained in place, concealing her eyes, yet her entire posture radiated an uncharacteristic calm. Her lips, pale pink and slightly parted in sleep, looked incredibly inviting in the dim morning light. Suddenly, I was overcome by an almost irresistible urge to lean in and kiss them, to feel their softness. I barely suppressed the impulse, but my finger reached out on its own, tracing her lower lip with a feather-light touch. Soft, delicate… She didn't even stir. Our strange "co-sleeping for data collection" routine continued, and her quiet presence had become an integral part of my morning—my private island of tranquility in this mad world.
I sat up cautiously, trying not to make a sound, and stretched. My muscles hummed slightly after yesterday's intense training session to master Quicksilver's speed. Progress was slow—only 7% assimilation—but my methodology was working. The main thing was not to stop.
Today was Christmas. In my past life, this day was associated with trees, presents, family gatherings… Here, in this world, for me—John Smith, an orphan and a reincarnator—it was just another day. No tree, no garlands, no special mood. Holidays felt like something distant and foreign. But… there were people who had become close to me. Peter, Gwen… and even 2B, as strange as that sounded. And they probably deserved gifts. Just because. Because they were here. Because they were my new, strange, but still… family? (Toretto, stop it!)
Fortunately, my magical Gacha System had taken care of that too. Among the heap of antique treasures and useless souvenirs, I'd found a few things that might please my friends.
I stood up quietly, careful not to wake 2B, and mentally opened the System inventory. Let's see… for Peter… What would a boy-genius inventor with spider powers and a love for pop culture appreciate? My choice fell on two Common cards that had dropped the day before yesterday.
[Item: Incredibly Sticky "Daily Bugle" Sticker (Common)] – The headline "Spider-Man: Threat or Menace?" would definitely amuse him, considering his… uh… alter ego. And the super-adhesive base? I was sure he'd find a thousand and one uses for it in his gadgets.
[Item: Neodymium Magnet Set (Various Shapes) (Common)] – Magnets! Strong ones! Various shapes! For any self-taught engineer, this is like LEGO for a child. He'd be thrilled.
I mentally extracted the items. The sticker looked like a regular newspaper decal, and the magnets were neatly packed in a small plastic box. Perfect.
Now for Gwen. Smart, beautiful, a fan of science and, as I suspected, sci-fi. For her, I had something from yesterday's "trash" haul from the General Gacha.
[Item: Sci-Fi Novel "Starship Troopers" (1970s Edition) (Common)] – A Heinlein classic. Even if she'd read it, an old edition with a worn cover has a special charm. I was sure she'd appreciate it.
[Item: "Normandy SR-2 Jump Drive" Keychain (Souvenir) (Common)] – This was a bullseye! Mass Effect! Gwen had surely played it, or at least heard of it. A keychain shaped like the Normandy's engine was the perfect geeky gift.
I materialized the book and the keychain. The book looked genuinely old, with yellowed pages that only added to the atmosphere. The keychain was plastic but quite detailed.
Gifts for the friends were ready. That left 2B… What do you give a combat android from the future who is just starting to learn about the world and reads Batman comics? I glanced into the inventory again. My eyes fell on…
[Item: Harvey Dent's "Lucky" Coin (Common)] – Two-Face's coin. A symbol of duality, choice, the struggle between light and darkness… Given her recent interest in Batman and her own internal struggle between android logic and awakening feelings… it could be… symbolic? And a bit ironic, in my style. Yeah, that would do.
I pulled out the coin. Heavy, silver, with one side scarred. It looked impressive.
Hiding the gifts in my backpack (except for 2B's coin, which I put in my pocket), I headed to the kitchen. 2B was already there, working her magic over breakfast. Today's menu featured pancakes with maple syrup. The aroma was divine.
"Good morning, Commander John," she greeted me without looking up from flipping a pancake. "Merry Christmas. Cultural data analysis indicates that today humans typically exchange… tokens of appreciation and good wishes."
"Good morning, 2B. And to you… Merry Christmas?" I smiled slightly. "Thanks for breakfast. Smells incredible."
We ate in near silence, aside from my enthusiastic comments about the pancakes (they were perfect) and her brief analytical remarks about the syrup's viscosity. After breakfast, I got ready for school.
School before Christmas has a specific atmosphere. Even the most notorious bullies looked a bit less mean, teachers were a bit more lenient, and the air was thick with the anticipation of break and presents. The hallways were decorated with tinsel and homemade snowflakes.
I found Peter and Gwen by their lockers. Gwen looked much better than she had in the hospital yesterday. Fatigue still lingered in her eyes, but she was smiling, chatting animatedly with Peter.
"Hey, guys! Merry Christmas!" I greeted them.
"John! Hey! Merry Christmas!" Gwen turned and gave me a warm smile. "How are you?"
"Hey, John! Happy holidays!" Peter smiled too. "Ready for the chemistry test? They say Mr. Warren decided to give us a 'Christmas surprise.'"
"A chemistry test on Christmas? Original," I snorted. "Anyway, since it's today… I've got something for you."
I reached into my backpack under their curious gazes.
"So… Peter, this is for you. I think you'll like it."
I handed him the box of magnets and the Daily Bugle sticker. Peter grabbed the magnets with instant excitement.
"Whoa! Neodymium magnets! And different shapes! They must be strong? N52? Cool!" He immediately opened the box, looking at the shiny pieces with enthusiasm. "I could use these for… for electromagnetic clamps! Or to focus the field in my… ahem… new project! Thanks, John!"
Then he took the sticker, and his eyebrows shot up. "And what's this?" He read the headline and frowned. "'Spider-Man: Threat or Menace?'… Hmm, familiar nickname. Wait, is this…" He looked at the newspaper logo in the corner. "Is this from that rag, the Daily Bugle? I think I've seen their stands. But why 'threat or menace'? Sounds a bit… aggressive."
"Oh, it's an artifact from the future, Pete," I said with a deadpan expression, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "In the future, you'll become this very Spider-Man, a hero in red and blue spandex. And that mustachioed guy, J. Jonah Jameson, the editor of the Bugle, will be your biggest hater, constantly screaming that you're a menace. Meanwhile, you'll be secretly working for him, selling him exclusive photos of yourself in mid-air. Talk about irony. So keep the sticker—something to remember the future by!"
Peter stared at me, blinking. Then he let out an uncertain laugh.
"Haha, John, good joke! Working for that loudmouth? Funny. You're a master of Christmas pranks today." He looked at the sticker again, now with a smile. "Alright, I'll keep it. Funny little thing. Is it sticky? Super! I could stick it on Flash's back! Thanks, John! These are… just perfect gifts for… well, for me! How did you guess?"
"Intuition," I smirked, pleased with his reaction. He took it as a joke, but a seed of doubt might have been planted. "Glad you like it. Just don't stick it on Flash, okay? He actually showed some sympathy yesterday."
"Flash? Sympathy?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "Right, I remember. Maybe it is a Christmas miracle. Or he's just afraid Captain Stacy won't give him a pass now. Fine, I'll skip his forehead for today."
I turned to Gwen. "Gwen, this is for you. Hope you like it."
I handed her the book and the keychain. She took the gifts carefully. Seeing the cover of Starship Troopers, her face lit up.
"Oh! Heinlein! A classic! I have this book, but in a newer edition. And this one is… so old! Thanks, John!"
Then her eyes fell on the keychain. She froze. "Is this… is this the Normandy? From Mass Effect? From where?!"
"Found it by chance in an old curiosity shop," I lied, shrugging. "Thought you, as a connoisseur of good sci-fi, would appreciate it."
"Appreciate it?! John, this is amazing!" She squeezed the keychain in her hand, her eyes shining with genuine delight. "I love this game! And the Normandy! Thank you! These are… these are the best gifts!"
Then her smile faded slightly. "Oh… and I… I didn't get you anything… Sorry, John, I've been so caught up with my dad… I feel so bad…"
"Gwen, stop," I touched her shoulder gently. "What gifts? The fact that your father is recovering and that you're here, smiling—that's already the best gift. Truly. You're a gift yourself."
Her cheeks flushed slightly. She looked up at me, her eyes reflecting a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.
"Really?" she whispered.
"Absolutely," I nodded seriously.
And then, something happened that I completely didn't expect. She leaned in quickly, almost weightlessly, and kissed me on the cheek. A light, warm touch of her lips.
"Thank you, John," she whispered, and without waiting for my reaction, she turned and almost ran into the crowd of students rushing to class.
I stood there, slightly stunned, feeling the warmth on my cheek. Peter whistled beside me.
"Nice one, Smith! Looks like someone hit the Christmas jackpot early?"
"Shut up, Parker," I muttered, still trying to process it, though I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "Let's get to chemistry before Warren gives us failing grades as a present."
Peter hadn't prepared anything for me either, but I waved off his apologies.
"Pete, the best gift for me will be if our plan works. If we can prepare and… do what we have to do. That'll be the real reward."
He nodded seriously. "I get it, John. I'll do everything I can."
After classes, I returned home. 2B met me in the hallway. She was still in her gray dress, her hair neatly styled, and in her hands, she held… my old T-shirt, folded into a perfect rectangle.
"Return confirmed, Commander John," she said evenly. "Analysis of your state indicates… residual traces of high social activity and… light emotional excitement? Was the school day productive?"
"More than," I smirked, remembering Gwen's kiss. "And you? Mastered the Wonder Woman comics yet?"
"Data is being processed. But…" she paused. "…according to this morning's analysis of cultural traditions, it is customary to exchange gifts today."
"Right," I nodded, pulling Harvey Dent's coin from my pocket. "And I have something for you too."
I held out the coin. She took it cautiously, turning it in her fingers. Her head tilted slightly as she examined it.
"Metal: silver, .925 fineness. Origin: United States of America, early 20th century. Condition: one side has significant damage—scratches, traces of thermal impact. Object identified as… a prop or symbol related to the 'Batman' narrative module, character 'Two-Face' (Harvey Dent)." She looked up. "The logic behind selecting this artifact… is unclear. It possesses no practical functions."
"Not all gifts have to be practical, 2B," I smiled. "Sometimes the symbol is what matters. Duality. The choice between light and dark. The struggle that happens inside… sound familiar?"
She froze. Her fingers tightened around the coin. I saw her eyelashes flicker almost imperceptibly under the blindfold. She understood.
"Analysis… is ongoing," she said softly after a moment. "But… the token of attention… is accepted. Thank you, Commander John."
I felt a surge of satisfaction. I'd guessed right. This small, "useless" piece of metal meant more to her than any practical gadget ever could.
"In that case…" she began again in her level tone, though I noticed a slight hesitation in her voice. "Protocol… prescribes a reciprocal gesture. I must… give you a gift? Data on your preferences is limited. Requesting directive. What type of gift would be… optimal?"
I chuckled. Her attempts to follow logic in these situations were adorable.
"Hmm, a gift from you?" I made a show of thinking it over. "You know, 2B, considering our… limited resources and your recent integration into this world… I think the best gift would be… a kiss."
I said it lightly, almost jokingly, meaning a harmless peck on the cheek like the one from Gwen. Just to see her reaction, maybe embarrass her a little.
But 2B's reaction was… unexpected.
She froze for several long seconds. I saw her shoulders tense. Her breathing became almost imperceptible. Pod 042 beside her emitted a series of quiet, inquisitive beeps. She was clearly processing the request with the intensity of a supercomputer trying to solve Fermat's Last Theorem. Logic was battling… something else.
Then, she took a tiny step forward. Her hand rose and very carefully, almost weightlessly, touched my cheek. I felt the coolness of her fingers. She tilted her head slightly, as if listening to my heartbeat with her sensors. Her lips, so close, pale pink, parted slightly. In that moment, something clicked in me. Desire. A sudden, sharp, almost uncontrollable urge to close that tiny gap, to taste them…
'Damn it, Smith, keep it together!' flashed through my head. But my finger, acting of its own accord against my will, reached forward and very lightly, almost without touching, traced her lower lip. Soft, delicate…
She shuddered at my touch, her breathing hitching. She froze like a statue, clearly not knowing how to react to this new, unscheduled impulse.
"Request… classified as… non-standard, but permissible within established parameters… of trust-based interaction," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Execution… confirmed."
And before I could get scared of my own boldness or she could change her mind, she leaned in even closer. I expected a light touch on the cheek, but instead, I felt her lips on mine.
Soft. Warm. Sweet… and surprisingly tender. It wasn't a long or passionate kiss. Rather, it was a brief, almost chaste, but absolutely precise and certain touch. It lasted only a second. But in that second, the world ceased to exist for me.
She pulled away as quickly as she had approached. Her cheeks under the blindfold (I was sure of it!) were burning. She took a step back, then another, turned, and almost ran toward the kitchen.
"Requirement… for urgent dinner preparation… detected!" she tossed over her shoulder in a voice that clearly tried to sound calm but trembled slightly. "Protocol… demands… timely nutrition!"
And she vanished behind the kitchen door.
I stood in the middle of the living room, thunderstruck, touching my lips with my fingers. My brain refused to process what had happened. I'd asked for a kiss on the cheek… but I got…
"Jackpot," flashed through my mind with a delayed, stunned joy. "I just hit the freaking Christmas jackpot…"
In the kitchen.
[System Error. Emotional overload. Status: Critical.]
2B leaned her back against the door, covering her face with her hands (though the blindfold already hid her eyes). Her bio-synthetic body was trembling. Her heart (or its equivalent?) was thumping with such force it felt like it would punch through her chest.
[Commander John's Request: "Kiss."]
[Context Analysis: Christmas tradition of exchanging tokens of attention, established trust level, permissible forms of non-verbal interaction.]
[Additional Input: Tactile contact from Commander John (lip touch).]
[Response Options: 1. Refusal (Sub-optimal, may damage trust).]
[2. Kiss on the cheek (Standard social gesture, low emotional risk, does not match the latest input?).]
[3. Kiss on the lips (High intimacy gesture, high emotional risk, potentially high level of… positive feedback from Commander? Matches latest input?)]
Her logical processors were running at their limit, trying to classify and process his request, his unexpected action, and her own reaction. Why did she choose the third option? It was… illogical. Risky. It contradicted directives on emotion suppression. But his touch… it was like it short-circuited a wire, triggering a cascade of reactions she couldn't stop.
[Sensory Data: Lip contact.]
[Temperature: 36.8°C (Elevated?).]
[Texture: Soft, smooth.]
[Scent: Commander John (coffee, something elusively… masculine?).]
[Commander John's Biometrics: Increased heart rate, pupil dilation (visual contact absent, data extrapolated), slight muscle tension. Own Biometrics: Catastrophic failure! Heart rate >150 bpm, skin surface temperature (cheeks) increased >3°C, limb tremors, voice modulator malfunction…]
She took her hands away from her face. Her cheeks were indeed burning. And that strange, warm, tickling feeling inside… it wouldn't go away. It was… pleasant? Frighteningly pleasant.
[Requirement: Switch to standard android mode for stabilization…]
No. She didn't want to. In standard mode, these new, strange, but… alive sensations would be blunted. She wanted to… understand them. Analyze them. Even if it was scary.
[Directive: Prepare dinner. Task clear. Requires immediate execution.]
Yes. Dinner. That was safe. Logical. Understandable. She took a deep breath (another strange human habit she'd picked up), trying to still the tremors. She went to the fridge. She needed to focus on the recipe. Chop the vegetables. Turn on the stove. Everything according to the algorithm. But the image of his surprised lips, his light touch, and the warmth of his closeness still stood before her… internal gaze?
[Error. Data requires further analysis. Too many… unknown variables.]
I was still standing in the living room, fingers to my lips, with one thought echoing in my head: "Jackpot!"
A Christmas jackpot that exceeded all my expectations. 2B's kiss, so unexpected and… thrilling, momentarily pushed away all thoughts of the Gacha, the Goblin, and other problems. I just wanted to stand there and grin like an idiot.
But reality quickly brought me back to earth. This unexpected moment of intimacy was a nice bonus, but it didn't cancel out the harsh reality and the tasks ahead. From the kitchen came the quiet sound of the stove—2B, despite her "emotional overload," had indeed started making dinner. And that reminded me of other, more practical "jackpots" I'd hit a couple of days ago. Quicksilver. Antiques worth hundreds of millions. Five rare technological abilities… The scale was immense. And although the Gacha adrenaline had settled, my mind resumed its feverish work with renewed vigor. My brain, enhanced by Coulson, Toretto, and my new engineering skills, switched into planning mode.
The main question that required an immediate solution: how to turn these virtual treasures—the Fabergé egg, the da Vinci page, the tiara, the painting—into cold, hard cash? Money was needed. Fast. For graphene for Peter, for equipment for my workshop, for normal clothes for 2B, for creating a financial safety net before the coming events. Fourteen and a half thousand was a joke. But hundreds of millions… that was a real resource capable of changing the rules of the game.
The problem wasn't how to sell—with the Legendary Metamorph ability, I could take any form and show up at Sotheby's as a British lord or an Arab sheikh. The problem was the details. Simply showing up with a Fabergé egg or a lost da Vinci painting, even in the guise of a respectable collector, would raise a ton of questions. Provenance, appraisal, taxes, unwanted attention from intelligence agencies or the criminal underworld… a "grandma's inheritance" story wouldn't fly here, even if the grandma looked like the Queen of England.
"I need to think strategically," I ordered myself, closing my eyes and activating all my analytical skills. Coulson, Toretto, my own engineering background, plus the new techno-abilities… this entire conglomerate had to produce a solution.
Option one: The black market. Fast, relatively anonymous (if you're lucky), but damn dangerous. I had no idea who controlled the shadow antique market here. Running into Fisk's people? Or some other equally "pleasant" organization? The risk of being cheated, robbed, or simply eliminated after the deal was too great. Besides, the black market price would be significantly lower than the real value. Scratched.
Option two: Wilson Fisk. He's known as a connoisseur of art; he definitely has the money and connections to launder or resell such things. Offer him a deal? Under a Metamorph guise, of course. But… that's playing with fire. The Kingpin isn't the kind of person you just strike a deal with and walk away from. He'll want to know more. He'll get under your skin. He'll try to use me, my abilities (if he finds out). It's like a pact with the devil—the gain might be big, but the price is bigger. Too risky. For now.
Option three: Legal channels. Auction houses like Sotheby's or Christie's, major galleries, museums (though museums don't usually pay as well). This is the "cleanest" path, allowing for the maximum price. But it's also the most difficult in terms of legalization. Provenance. Ownership history. Appraisal. Taxes. All of it is one giant headache. But the seller's identity—that's exactly what I can provide thanks to Metamorph.
"Right, seller identity—solved. Now, the legend," Coulson's brain worked, building a tactic. "I need a convincing but hard-to-verify story. Not just a face in the crowd. A European. Elderly. Not an aristocrat—too high-profile. A collector? Better—a consultant. A discreet art consultant representing the interests of… let's say, an old, non-public European family that decided to sell off part of a family collection that has been kept in oblivion for decades. Let's call him… Mr. Ashworth. Arthur Ashworth. British. Slightly eccentric, impeccable manners, deep knowledge of art (I'll have to sweat over the source material, but Intuitive Savvy should help), and a reputation as a man who values confidentiality above all else."
The image began to take shape. Gray hair, expensive but not flashy glasses, a suit from a good London tailor, a slight accent… Metamorph would handle the appearance and voice. Fingerprints and retinas—also not a problem for a Legendary ability.
"Next—logistics," I continued my mental walk-through, now actively pulling in my new technological abilities.
Contact and Communication: No personal visits at the initial stage. This is where Technopathy and Reverse-Engineering Mastery come in. I can use them to analyze the networks of auction houses and dealers, find secure communication channels, and perhaps even create temporary, untraceable digital identities for the first contact. Basic programming skills would help write simple scripts to automate info searches or message encryption. Create a one-time, securely encrypted email registered through a cascade of anonymous proxy servers worldwide. Buy several "clean" burner phones for cash in different parts of town, using Metamorph to change my appearance during the purchase. Change their IMEI using Technopathy and engineering skills. Calls—only through encrypted VoIP services, with additional voice distortion (even though Metamorph already changes it, paranoia is a transmigrator's best friend). Initial contact with carefully selected auction houses (those with a reputation for handling "special" collections) or major but not-too-public dealers on behalf of "Mr. Ashworth." The offer: exclusive, previously unknown art and antiques from an "old European collection." Maximum fog, minimum specifics until trust is established.
Items to start with: I shouldn't start with the biggest hits. The Fabergé egg or the Vladimir Tiara are too hot. The da Vinci painting requires a long and complex appraisal, which increases risks. But a page from the Codex Atlanticus… Yes. That's the perfect first lot. Unique, undeniably valuable (millions!), but not as "hyped" or politicized as imperial jewels. Paleography and material experts can verify its authenticity relatively quickly. Selling it through a specialized rare manuscript dealer or at a small, private auction for the elite would be easier and faster than a public sale. This would be a test of the scheme, establishing contacts.
Origin Legend (Provenance): The hardest and most important part. The story of the "old European family collection." The family name—something not too famous but sounding aristocratic, say, von Adlerberg. Country—Switzerland, Canton of Graubünden, known for its secluded castles and banking secrecy. The legend: the collection was assembled by an ancestor in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, including art, manuscripts, and jewelry. Before WWII, fearing the Nazis (or the Soviets, whichever sounds more convincing), the family secretly moved part of the collection and hid it in a safe deposit box (or a cache in the ancestral castle). After the war, the trail went cold, and only recently did the heirs (represented by Mr. Ashworth) discover the treasures and decide to liquidate them, but they wish to remain completely anonymous due to complex family circumstances and a desire to avoid the attention of their countries' tax authorities. Coulson's knowledge of documents and archives will be useful here. I could "create" a couple of artifacts to back up the legend—for example, using my new engineering and miniaturization skills to craft an "antique" key to a non-existent safe or "accidentally" plant a yellowed letter mentioning the collection through a front (created by Metamorph). The main thing is to create enough "fog of war" so that digging deeper is difficult and unprofitable for the buyer, who is primarily interested in the artifact itself.
Appraisal and Sale: Insist on maximum confidentiality and security. All negotiations through secure channels. Meetings for appraisal or hand-over—only on neutral, thoroughly checked territory (e.g., a rented bank vault in Geneva or London, where "Mr. Ashworth" will arrive by private jet—the legend must be maintained). Use Radar Sense to constantly scan the environment for surveillance, bugs, or hidden threats. Possibly use 2B (in stealth mode or under Metamorph camouflage) and her Pod for remote monitoring and perimeter security—her sensors and combat capabilities are incomparable to mine. Payment—no cash or direct transfers. Only through a complex scheme using front offshore companies (Caymans, Panama, BVI), bank accounts with high levels of confidentiality, and perhaps even cryptocurrency (if it exists in this world in 2008?). Cybernetic Affinity and Technopathy will help navigate these financial jungles and ensure anonymity and security for the transactions.
Security: This is the absolute priority. The world of high art and antiques is crawling with sharks, scammers, and outright thugs. They will try to check me (or "Mr. Ashworth"), probe me, possibly cheat or rob me. This is where all my resources come in: Coulson's cool-headedness and analytics for negotiations and judging people; Toretto's street smarts and intuition for danger; Radar Sense for detecting threats and lies; Instinctive Marksmanship in case things come to a shootout (hopefully, it won't); and, of course, Metamorph—as the perfect way to vanish without a trace if something goes wrong. Plus 2B as my personal guardian angel and heavy artillery on standby.
The plan was bold, complex, multi-staged, and damn risky. But it was… brilliant, if I do say so myself. It leveraged almost all my unique abilities and knowledge, turning my weaknesses (orphan status, lack of connections) into advantages (anonymity, flexibility). And it promised not just money, but resources that could truly change the balance of power in my little war against the encroaching chaos.
"Yeah. This will work," I decided, feeling excitement mingle with cold resolve. "I'll start preparations tomorrow. Saturday is the perfect day to launch. Creating the Ashworth persona—detailed development of appearance, voice, manners, biography. Researching the rare manuscript market. Finding potential dealers and auction houses, checking their reputations and security systems (hello, Technopathy!). Setting up secure communication channels… There's a lot to do. But for now…"
"Commander John?"
2B's voice pulled me from the depths of strategic planning. I looked up. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands with a towel.
"Dinner is ready. Analysis of your biorhythms shows a need for timely food intake to restore energy balance after… intense mental activity."
I chuckled. Even her care was wrapped in the form of a protocol.
"Coming, Chef! I'm as hungry as a wolf again! This new metabolism is just insatiable!"
On the table, a huge portion of something resembling beef stew with vegetables (carrots, broccoli, potatoes—all coarsely chopped) and a large glass of milk awaited me. It smelled amazing—meat, spices, vegetables. A high-protein diet for a future speedster—2B had clearly studied this aspect too, trying to cook not just something tasty, but something useful for my growing (thanks to Quicksilver) needs. I'd already noticed how my body had begun to change subtly over the last couple of days—my muscles had become more defined, leaner, like a long-distance runner's, and a constant, slight feeling of hunger had become my companion.
"Strange. When I assimilated rare-level cards before, there were no such physical manifestations… Maybe the Epic template affects me much more strongly?"
"Looks amazing, 2B! Are you sure you didn't have a 'Michelin Star Chef' module in your past life?"
"Negative response," she replied, sitting across from me with her usual cup of hot water. "My functions were optimized for combat and support. However, learning algorithms allow for the rapid acquisition of new skills if they are deemed necessary for the execution of current directives. Your nutrition is one such directive."
"Well, your algorithms are working perfectly," I said, putting the first piece of tender beef into my mouth. "This is delicious. Thank you."
We ate in silence for a few minutes. I enjoyed the food, and she… watched me (or analyzed data?). But the silence was… different. After that kiss in the hallway, a slight, barely perceptible tension hung between us. Not awkwardness, but rather… anticipation? An awareness of something new, something not yet named.
I decided to break the silence first. I needed to clear things up. Or at least try.
"2B," I began cautiously, putting down my fork. "About… what happened earlier. When I came back. About… the gift."
She tensed slightly, her fingers gripping the cup a bit tighter.
"The procedure for exchanging tokens of attention was executed according to your request, Commander..."
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