So, what do we have. One unconscious city heroine bleeding out on the laboratory floor. One genius under the effect of Potion of Intellect frozen in stupor. And one me, who is beginning to seriously suspect that I have become some kind of magnet for troubles of universal scale. "Coincidences are not coincidental," as the old turtle said. And looking at this scene, I was inclined to agree with him.
I approached the open window through which she had tumbled in. A cursory glance revealed a small but neat file mark on the frame, allowing easy opening of the latch from outside. Her personal entrance.
"Clear," I said shortly into the ringing silence, more to break the stupor than to state anything.
"W-what is clear?!" Peter cried out nervously, and his voice broke. I slowly turned and looked him straight in the eyes.
"Peter. You are under Potion of Intellect. No need to play dumb. You understood everything perfectly. The only question is what we will do with this."
He understood that I understood. Whether he knew about her identity before or guessed only now did not matter. Both of us, without agreement, decided to avoid names, respecting her secret.
"Help! Naturally, help!" Peter exclaimed. The stupor passed, replaced by emergency response mode.
His enhanced brain instantly processed the situation and produced an action plan. He rushed to one of the cabinets and pulled out a first-aid kit that was filled far better than standard regulations required. Another piece of evidence that this laboratory was used not for its direct purpose.
"Good. In this matter I trust you," I said, stepping back. "But if you need help, I am here."
In matters of bullet wounds I was a complete amateur, and now was not the time for learning. I would definitely need to ask Frank whether he conducts field medicine courses. Right now the best solution was to trust Peter. His versatile knowledge, multiplied by peak efficiency from Potion, made him the most competent person within several kilometers radius.
"Yes, I have accepted..." his voice became calm, cold and eerily focused. The first wave of shock passed, and genius entered the game. "But first, I need to clean the wound of costume fibers. They are jammed inside and interfering with regeneration."
Taking out a sterile scalpel, Peter dropped to his knees. His movements became incredibly precise and economical. He carefully, millimeter by millimeter, cleaned the wound of small blood-soaked threads. Then, assessing the costume material, some kind of durable elastic polymer rather than simple spandex, he made one calibrated movement with cross-shaped incision around the bullet hole. Folding back the "petals" of fabric, he completely opened access to the wound. The picture was grim: a torn wound from which blood flowed moderately but constantly. The edges had already begun to tighten, her regeneration was desperately trying to work, but the bullet inside, like a cursed anchor, interfered with the process.
Peter took a bottle of chlorhexidine and abundantly poured it on the wound. Gwen quietly groaned, her body jerked, but she did not regain consciousness.
"John, light. Here," he commanded, not taking his gaze from the wound. I turned on the flashlight on my smartphone and directed the bright beam precisely at the wound.
Next Peter began cautiously, with two fingers, to palpate the tissues. I saw how his eyebrows trembled while he mentally constructed a 3D model of the damage. After several seconds he nodded to himself.
"Found it. It is lodged under the latissimus dorsi muscle, approximately three centimeters from entry." He cursed. "Regeneration has already begun enveloping it with fibrous tissue. Just ripping it out means tearing everything to hell." He raised his now icy eyes to me. "So, John. Now there will be more blood. Be ready to press here as soon as I say," he pointed to a spot slightly above the wound. "There is an artery there."
"Accepted," I answered, taking in my free hand several thick sterile napkins.
Peter took a deep breath. His hands froze over the wound, becoming the embodiment of absolute stillness. Then he carefully inserted the forceps tips into the wound channel. I saw how he did not press but rather allowed the instrument itself to find the path, bypassing nerves and vessels. Finally, his hand froze. A barely audible metallic scraping sounded.
"Get ready..." he whispered.
With one smooth, continuous but strong movement he extracted the foreign object. A quiet wet slap sounded, and dark blood gushed from the wound.
"Press!"
I immediately bore down on the wound with all my weight, feeling how hot liquid soaked the napkins. Peter meanwhile threw into a metal tray the bloodied, slightly deformed bullet.
We held pressure for several minutes. I saw how quickly her accelerated metabolism worked, blood clotted before my eyes. When bleeding almost stopped, Peter nodded. I removed the soaked napkins. He rinsed the wound once more and nodded with satisfaction.
"The channel is clean. Now her body will cope itself," he said, and human notes of fatigue appeared in his voice again. "Stitches are not needed here, her regeneration will heal everything better than any surgeon. The main thing is to protect the wound from infection."
I watched as Peter finished his work. Taking several sterile tampons, he densely but carefully filled the wound channel with them, as he explained, to prevent formation of cavities and abscesses. On top went a large absorbent bandage. All this was securely fixed with several turns of elastic bandage around her waist, right over the costume.
"Done," Peter exhaled, stepping back and wiping sweat from his forehead. In his voice sounded the professional fatigue of a surgeon after complex operation. "Now her body can direct all its power to healing without being distracted by foreign body and fighting infection."
Gwen was still unconscious, but her breathing became even and deep. The worst was behind. However, I was not sure that with her regeneration "the worst" threatened her at all, but in any case, I was glad that we were able to help.
"I wonder who worked her over like this," I muttered, looking at her motionless figure. "According to those rare eyewitness accounts, she is capable of dodging a hail of bullets. Her super-sense is an absolute killer feature."
"It does not matter who," Parker answered tiredly, sinking into a chair and covering his face with hands. "What is more important is what to do next. She did not know there was anyone here besides me. And now... you know."
"Do not worry," I approached and reassuringly but with pressure put my hand on his shoulder. "Like you, I know how to keep secrets. And how she will react to my presence, we will find out when she wakes up. She will not sleep forever."
Yes, for her this was not a problem. But for us... I felt how the invisible flywheel of fate was spinning faster and faster, and Peter and I found ourselves in its very center.
"But still, John, her identity..."
"Without any 'buts,'" I interrupted him. "You are worrying about the wrong thing. She should worry less now than we should. Think yourself: what if she was followed? What if those who shot her are now following her trail? Professional mercenaries? Other metas? She brought danger right to the threshold of our laboratory. So enough chewing on the trust topic, let us better return to our project. To what will give us strength to cope with such 'surprises.'"
"Yes... yes, you are right," Peter muttered, taking a deep breath. The Potion might muffle emotions but did not extinguish them completely, and now his brain, freed from operation stress, was returning to work. "As for Potion... you decide. There are two main, realistic options."
Yes, with this everything turned out a bit more complex. Peter, in his super-intellectual insight, proposed two immediate paths and two long-term, currently unattainable ones. I mentally scrolled through his calculations in my head.
Option one: "Catalytic Anchor." Extension of effect. Peter proposed creating a complex polymer "bodyguard" molecule. It would find Phantasmine in blood and envelop it, making it "invisible" to destroying enzymes. The result? The effect of the original, one hundred percent by power Potion would be extended from a measly couple hours to ten to twelve hours. An entire workday in genius mode. The key drawback was that Phantom Orchid was still necessary. I immediately decided that I would definitely create this version from the remaining four flowers I had. This would be my personal "divine mode."
Option two: "Phantasmine-Simulacrum." Synthetic analog. Here Peter outdid himself. He was able to decipher and recreate that part of the Phantasmine molecule that was responsible for all biochemistry: binding to receptors, opening ion channels. This synthetic analog, "Simulacrum," could be produced from accessible precursors. But that very "magic," the quantum vibration of the original, remained beyond understanding. The result was that Potion based on Simulacrum would work, but its effectiveness would be lower by 20-30%. Not such total acceleration, not such instant access to memory. But the main plus outweighed everything: Phantom Orchid was no longer needed. This would be a completely laboratory product that could be produced in any quantities. In fact, this was our NZT-48. Even with a side effect of stronger and longer headache, but this was already a real commercial product. A product capable of changing the world.
I looked at Peter, then at the motionless Gwen. The choice was obvious. As they say, there are two chairs... and I was going to sit on both. I needed both the exclusive, most powerful version for myself and key allies, and the mass, albeit weakened one, for building my future empire.
As for those other, currently unattainable options... I mentally scrolled through these options that Peter sketched on the board. These were not just ideas. These were roadmaps to the future.
The first path was creating a quantum resonator. A device capable of copying the very "soul," the quantum signature of Phantasmine, and recording it on a stable nanostructure. This was the path to complete control. To creating the ideal, one hundred percent by strength and absolutely safe version of Potion. But there was one key and unpleasant nuance: this required equipment that did not exist in nature. A conditional "quantum spectrometer." Naturally, at the moment when I learned this, in my head, thanks to "Technological Modernization," flashed a ghost of a diagram. Unclear, foggy, but it was there. I would be able to assemble something similar. Not now. Not with this junk. But I would be able to. This path became my long-term scientific goal.
The second option was even crazier. Bio-integrated symbiont-resonator. A harmless protein that you take once, and it forever integrates into your neurons, waiting for activation. A trigger word, flash of light, even taking ascorbic acid, and you turn into a genius for several hours. This was not just technology. This was a full-fledged tool for creating super-humans. But the risks were colossal. The slightest error in protein sequence and anaphylactic shock. Wrong integration and permanent psychosis. This was the path of god, and gods, as is known, often fall from Olympus.
"In total, right now we have a choice," I broke the silence, summing up for Peter. "Either DURATION, we make the original Potion several times more effective by time, but remain slaves to Phantom Orchid. Or INDEPENDENCE, we get an infinite source of slightly less powerful but mass version." I paused and grinned. "And I choose BOTH options."
"Hah," Peter leaned back in his chair, and on his face appeared for the first time in a long time a relaxed smile. "As I thought. This is the only correct logical decision. One option is exclusive, for personal use and key tasks. The second is scalable, strategic asset."
"Exactly. I need updated recipes for both. And the first batches of synthetic Potion we can start creating today. By the way," I looked at Peter with a sly squint, "is it possible to implement this in tablet or capsule form factor?"
"Mmm..." Peter thought, tapping his finger on the table. "Yes. Lyophilization of active substance and pressing with neutral filler. Possible. The synthesis process will become more complex, will take more time."
"I do not care. We make tablets," I cut off. Liquid in ampule is medicine. But a tablet... a tablet is potential, it is a symbol in the spirit of NZT-48 (yes, Limitless exists in this world).
And while Peter, armed with his genius, set to calculating the Simulacrum molecule, I decided that I had a small window.
"By the way, when it comes to tests, there will be no need to look for mice," I casually threw out.
"In what sense?" Peter asked without looking up from calculations. "Skipping animal testing stage is dangerous, John."
"Not for me. My 'metabolism' neutralizes any negative side effects from such things. So I will be the ideal test subject. Quick and effective."
I saw how Peter froze for a second, but did not argue, only nodding. He already understood that I was not so simple, and accepted this as given. And I meanwhile mentally opened the System. It was time to take care of Uncle Ben.
Arcanum recipes. "Therapeutics" discipline. I immediately ignored something called "Wonder Drug," understanding that to create a real panacea I would most likely need a star's heart and a griffin's tear. Fortunately, even without it there were enough options, and now each had a brief, almost poetic description.
"Breath of Mind: For those whose memories have faded or whose spirit is bound by infirmity. Restores lost paths of thought and heals wounds invisible to the eye."
Hmm. Alzheimer's? Nerve damage? And "wounds invisible to the eye" is about psychosomatics? Too vague. Not a fact that this would help with kidney failure. Next.
Having scrolled through the list several times, I stopped at four finalists, each of which promised a miracle of its kind.
"Essence of Primordial Being: Returns to origins, correcting errors laid at birth. Rewrites the distorted blueprint of soul and body, returning it to primordial harmony."
"Tear of Divine Guardian: Finds corruption that nests in the very essence of flesh. Separates healthy from sick, granting purity through ruthless eradication."
"Living Blood: Substance that teaches flesh to forget wounds. Heals even the deepest cuts and burns, granting life force in place of lost."
"Elixir of Ash and Dawn: Reverses the flow of time inside the vessel. What has withered will be reborn, and what has failed will know its dawn."
I mentally returned once more to the list of four recipes that burned in my consciousness. Four paths, four miracles. The choice needed to be made now.
"Essence of Primordial Being." Returns to origins, rewrites DNA. Sounded like playing god, and I, with all my cynicism, was not yet ready to cross this line. Too many unknowns, too great the risk of turning patient into puddle of amorphous protoplasm, even though this supposedly should be an approved and adapted by system recipe. Rejected. "Living Blood." Ideal for battlefield. Heal wound, restore strength. I would give much for a couple doses for myself or for Blade. But for Uncle Ben, whose illness was not a wound but slow withering, this was useless. Rejected.
Two finalists remained. "Tear of Divine Guardian," high-precision weapon against "corruption," in theory ideal remedy for cancer. And "Elixir of Ash and Dawn," total renewal, promising to revive what "withered" and "failed." After brief deliberation I understood that the choice was obvious. "Tear" was a scalpel. "Elixir" was complete reconstruction. Why treat one disease when you can update the entire system?
"Come what may. 'Elixir of Ash and Dawn.' Unlock."
Minus 200 OP was deducted from balance. This time information entered brain not as fiery stream but as thin, icy needle of pain. A second spasm, and here it was. Knowledge. Incredible, beautiful in its cruel elegance knowledge. Phew. I made absolutely the right choice.
This was not medicine. This was a biological "full reboot" program. Single-phase, self-regulating elixir that within twenty-four hours conducted complete audit and restoration of organism. In my brain unfolded its entire essence:
Targeted apoptosis (Purification): The elixir, entering the body, searches for and marks all "wrong" cells, cancerous, mutated, infected, old. Then it launches in them a program of pure, controlled self-destruction. No inflammation, no harm to healthy neighbors. Perfect cleaning.
Stimulated regeneration (Rebirth): Simultaneously with this, the elixir activates dormant stem cells, forcing them at frantic speed to replace destroyed "garbage" with new, ideal copies.
The entire process for the patient took exactly twenty-four hours. First hours, light warmth and tingling. And then began what gave the potion its name. Ash: the heaviest phase, lasting 10-12 hours. Intensive restructuring. Strong weakness, fever, aches in body, like with severe flu. This was the price. The price of total renewal, which any sane person would go for without hesitation. Dawn: final 5-6 hours. Fever subsides. Organism completes regeneration. Weakness is replaced by surge of strength and sensation of incredible lightness and "purity." Old scars fade, chronic pains disappear. Patient wakes literally newly born.
I swept my gaze over the laboratory. Bioreactor, sonicator, centrifuge, chromatograph, cryo-chamber... Yes, all necessary equipment was here. Peter would cope. Especially considering that the recipe, though complex, did not require anything extreme. Except for one component that System designated as "meteorite iron with high content of rare earth isotopes." Well, I hope Lucas has access to suppliers of cosmic debris as well.
A crazy thought flashed in my head. How much would some dying billionaire be ready to fork over for such a potion? After all, it does not just heal. It grants new youth. Unfortunately, it did not regrow limbs, but to roll back biological age by a dozen or two years, quite possible. Damn, I am thinking about the wrong thing. I need to initiate Peter into details. Perhaps he can improve the process.
At this moment Gwen's body, lying motionless on the laboratory table, jerked. A quiet, strangled moan sounded. I froze. Even Peter, immersed in his scientific research, pulled away from equipment and immediately appeared next to her.