Icy fingers of panic closed on the back of the head and crawled down the spine. The hands, clutched the steering wheel, became wet. The heart beat in the ribs like a caught bird.
What to do? Who is it? What do they want from me?
Thoughts raced in a panicked carousel, one more terrible than the other. Will I really die? So stupidly and ingloriously, just after a week of my transmigrating, when life just started to get better?
Alright, fine. Inhale. Exhale. Calm.
I forced myself to take a deep, intermittent breath, feeling how the lungs burn. Panic won't fix the situation. Logic. I need logic. If they wanted to kill me—they likely would have killed me already. Would have shot the car at one of the intersections. And since they are just following, then they have another goal. Means, I have time. I need to get rid of the pursuers.
How do they do it in cool spy action movies? Sharply turn into an alley? Get away in a burst of speed? As luck would have it, in my head there was a ringing emptiness. All sensible thoughts evaporated, leaving me alone with a panicking, useless brain.
Thoughts... Exactly. Intellect Potion. My trump card. With it I'll surely think of something. Но to take it, I need to win at least a few minutes.
Seeing a small cafe with open windows, I, trying not to betray my excitement, smoothly changed lanes and parked. I stepped out of the car, not looking back, as if it was planned, and went inside. Ordered some salad and coffee—the most mundane thing that came to head. While the order was being prepared, I sat at a table by the window. The black "Cruiser" did not drive past. It parked a bit further on the other side of the street. They are waiting. Waiting for me to come out. And, judging by everything, bursting inside and arranging a scene in the center of Manhattan is not in their style. This gave me a breather.
I went into the toilet. Cold water on the wrists a bit knocked down the feverish pulse. Looking at my pale reflection in the mirror, I took from the inventory one vial of the Potion. In one gulp I drank the tart, tasteless liquid.
The effect did not come immediately. I returned to the table, and the first few seconds nothing was happening. And then... As if someone turned the tuning knob in my head. The panicked noise started to subside, falling apart into separate, clear signals. Emotions receded to the background, turning from an all-consuming horror into a variable in an equation. The brain accelerated to incredible speeds, completely detaching from the world. Only the problem and paths of its solution remained.
Problem: A group of unknown pursuers on a tinted black Toyota Land Cruiser. Goals: Unknown. Composition: Unknown.
Analysis of pursuers: Level of professionalism—average or below. Professionals of the highest level (S.H.I.E.L.D., FBI) wouldn't use the same noticeable car for tracking. They would lead in a "box," constantly changing cars. Their tactic—brute and straightforward. This is either a demonstration of force, or inability. Probability of a meta-trap (they wanted me to notice them): <5%. Too complicated for non-professionals, too clumsy for pros. Dismissing as unlikely. Conclusion: I'm dealing not with a government special service of the highest echelon.
Analysis of motives (WHY?): It's necessary to analyze all my recent abnormal actions.
1. Ghost Orchid (probability ~70%). A unique, mystical resource. Its "theft"—so far my loudest "statement" in this world. Likely, the flower had guardians, and they needed several days to by standard methods (cameras, witnesses) reach me.
2. Sale of gold (probability ~25%). Less likely. Gold—an ordinary criminal interest. Bandits, having tracked me from the pawnshop, would rather try to commit a raid, than conduct careful tracking. Но one cannot exclude it—possibly, they think that I have a source, and want to squeeze it.
3. Other factor (probability ~5%). My meeting with Parker? A short dialogue with Osborn? My "transmigrator" nature? Too many unknowns. Accepting as statistical error until appearance of new data. Conclusion: Most likely reason—Ghost Orchid.
Analysis of personalities (WHO?): If the reason—the Orchid, then the pursuers—those, who know about its existence. The circle narrows, but is still wide. Descendants of the Lenape? A magical order? An elite gang, using it for their rituals? The Hand clan? The latter I would, most likely, not have noticed. I need to look for clues in what I see.
Black Land Cruiser. Tinted to zero. Front side windows. Also tinted. Stop. This is a direct violation of traffic laws of the state of New York. I quickly opened the browser in the phone. "New York tinting law." That's it. Front side windows cannot let through less than 70% of light. Full tinting is prohibited. Но there is an exception. Only one. A medical certificate about high photosensitivity. My brain instantly built a chain. High photosensitivity -> Diseases -> Porphyria, albinism, systemic lupus... Sun allergy. In the Marvel world there is at least one intelligent race with a similar diagnosis. A race that leads a nocturnal lifestyle, possesses superhuman strength and speed. And doesn't like sunlight. Vampires.
The hypothesis instantly explained everything: their unwillingness to leave the car by day, choice of brute force instead of stealth, interest in a mystical ingredient like the Orchid. Gold unlikely interests them in such a primitive form.
Result: With probability >80% I'm pursued by a vampire clan due to theft of the Ghost Orchid.
Alright. Suppose, just suppose, that it's indeed vampires. What next? My brain, free from fear, started to calculate options. Direct confrontation—guaranteed death. Their physical data by orders of magnitude exceed mine. Но they have weaknesses. The sun. And, possibly, silver.
Но all their physical advantages paled in comparison with one key weakness. A vulnerability, about which I would, likely, not have thought, if not for the Potion. Now my brain, working under doping, calculated hundreds of scenarios of events, sifted out losing ones and looked for that very, single opportunity. And, seems, found. The plan was insane, risky and rested on one assumption, which I never checked in practice. Но it was.
"Your order, sir," a pleasant waitress put before me a plate with salad and a cup of coffee, for a moment pulling me out of the whirlwind of tactical calculations.
Having thanked the girl, I set about slowly eating, using this time, to once more and once more scroll in the head all the details of the upcoming venture. Vampires in this world—not pathetic hermits from teen novels. These are predators of the highest order, killing machines, capable of mentally subduing their victims. Exactly the latter made them especially dangerous. One look, one command, and I could myself give them all that they want. Means, direct contact should be avoided at any cost. My plan did not assume dialogues. It did not assume even visual contact. Either I them, or they me. There is no third.
Having finished the meal, I left on the table several dollars and stepped out from the cafe. Calmly, without haste, I sat behind the wheel of my Honda and moved towards Hell's Kitchen. The black "Cruiser" smoothly started after me.
Despite the problem in the face of goddamn superhumans, who arranged a hunt for me, I was not quite a light target. I had a number of asymmetric advantages. The System. Accelerated intellect. And the fact that they did not know the address of my new house. However, I felt that the latter—a temporary advantage. Having solved the problem with these bloodsuckers, I'll have to seriously break the head over how to live further.
"Khaaa..." I exhaled irritably. My short vacation in this world ended, even without having started. I by no means reached that level of strength and safety, about which I dreamed. And means, what? I'll have to urgently force my development, risking to attract even more unwanted attention. "Just a clusterfuck. Why couldn't you stay home, you accursed devils," I muttered angrily into the emptiness, not forgetting to carefully follow the road.
Periodically casting a glance into the rearview mirror, I noted that the "Cruiser" steadily holds on the tail, maintaining a distance of 7-10 cars. They were professional enough not to press closely, but not enough to remain unnoticed. I led them. Led them onto my, beforehand chosen territory.
Here it is. The familiar abandoned building, where I studied ores from my miracle box. A five-story building, worn by time, on the outskirts. On one side—a high concrete fence, creating a natural corridor. No cameras, no random passersby. And the most pleasant—dug-up, uneven ground before the entrance. Driving on such only a suicide would risk. The ideal place for my venture.
I turned into that very small passage, sandwiched between the wall of the building and the fence—a factual dead end. Stopped the engine. And immediately, without stepping out from the car, brought into execution the first part of the plan. A mental effort and I placed my Honda into the inventory. For a fraction of a second I felt a disorienting sense of falling, before my feet touched the ground.
Not losing time, I slipped into the dark doorway of the abandoned building and laid low, turning into a shadow. Now I was a bait in own trap. It remained only to wait. They should, just must come here. And the space here is narrow. One should I step out from the opening, and I'll find myself from their car at arm's length. Но for now—silence. Don't stick out. Don't betray yourself before the time. Orient only on sound.
The wait was not long. Literally six minutes by my internal chronometer the silence was broken by the roar of a powerful engine. The sound of tires, scraping on gravel and ground, became louder. They were close. After another moment, a massive black SUV slowly drove into the dead end, rolling on bumps.
They stopped where just a second ago stood my car. I saw their silhouette through cracks in the wall and the play of shadows. They surely were in confusion. The goal disappeared. And what if they are all to a man in a thick layer of sunscreen, ready for such situations?
One shouldn't give them time for reflection. One shouldn't wait, until they stop the engine or turn on the reverse gear.
Now.
I decisively dashed from the doorway. Two quick steps, the world narrowed to one goal—the black metallic side of the car. I extended a hand forward, and in the next moment my fingers touched the warm, dust-covered body. At that moment I put into one single mental desire all my desperate hopes for this plan.
Thousandths of a second.
The world as if blinked. The massive black SUV, just filling all the space, simply... disappeared. Disappeared along with its "dead" passengers.
I, stunned, for several long seconds stood and stared into emptiness, where just was a two-ton machine of death. The air still vibrated from the sound of its engine, but the engine itself was no longer there.
"Too... easy," I muttered, struck by the fact that my mad, adventurous plan, which had a pile of assumptions, worked. Worked so cleanly, that even under the Intellect Potion I could not but be surprised.
Fortunately, my mind, still working on the steroids of the Potion, did not allow emotions like shock or delight to take the upper hand. Instead it started a cold, impartial post-analysis, running simulations of failing scenarios. What, if I were mistaken?
Scenario Alpha: Goals—living people. What, if in the car were not vampires and the inventory wouldn't place them inside? In that moment, when I would understand that my main trump card didn't work, I would have roughly from 0.7 to 4.3 seconds until they realizing their position (outside the car) open return fire. The only tactical solution in such a situation—instant change of the attack vector. Summon their own car on their heads. Cruel? Yes. Bloodthirsty? Absolutely. Но it would be not malice, but cold mathematics of survival. Under the action of the Potion I would go for it without hesitation.
Scenario Beta: The system considers vampires "living." A philosophical paradox. I think, therefore I am. I am, therefore I live. Could the System consider vampires as a perverted, but still form of life? Quite. The plan of actions in this case would be identical to the first. Summon the "Cruiser" on their heads and pray, that the daylight, flooding the dead end, played into my hand and slowed their reaction.
Scenario Gamma: I—an idiot, they—professionals. This was the most unpleasant option. What, if they sensed a trick and stepped out from the car beforehand? Managed to react to my lunge? Or just remained waiting for me at the exit from the abandoned building, blocking the only way to retreat? Here I, confess, relied on their negligence. I made a bet on that they don't take me seriously, on their predatory self-confidence and perverted logic, which I just touched, using it against them. The bet played. Но it was a risky game.
I forcibly broke this flow of thoughts. Cluttering the head, as in that fairy tale about the fallen log, which almost killed the youngest daughter, was counterproductive. The first enemies are defeated. Но will I find out, who they are, from where, by whom sent? In the near future—unlikely. And that means, that in the shadow others can hide. I attracted unwanted attention, committed a blunder, and now I need to work it off. It's time to stop being an extra.
Naturally no talks of exit from here on my car can be of any case. If I drive on it to the house, then I'll be tracked quite quickly, and likely already this night uninvited guests will visit, and to win at least a few days for me is now a key task. Fortunately in the process of dropping out I did not indicate my new address, so now I simply climbed over the concrete wall and stepped out from the abandoned building from the other side, as an absolutely normal guy from Hell's Kitchen. I headed towards the nearest and proven hardware store, and this trip to it was radically different from previous ones.
I no longer saved every dollar. I invested. Into the cart flew not just pipes and wires. There went a welding machine, a set of precision screwdrivers, a soldering station, an oscilloscope, advanced sets of tools and materials, canisters with chemical reagents—all that could turn an empty garage into a real laboratory. Several thousand dollars left without blinking an eye. Having ordered delivery to the house, I left the hardware store, heading to the subway.
Successfully reaching the subway to the nearest station from my new house and a bit weaving on foot through the block, to make sure of absence of extra observers, I went inside. By this moment exactly they brought the good bought by me, which I placed in the garage. My new temple, my forge was ready for work.
The brain obligingly showed on the internal screen of the system. Current balance: 200 OP.
My goal: to reach 250 OP. Main task: to unlock two key, in my current situation, blueprints of the Arcanum for increasing survivability. "Muscle Stimulant" and "Protective Field Generator."
I for a second lingered on an alternative branch of development. "Poison"? Tempting. Но risk analysis immediately gave red flags: high cost in OP, assumed complexity of synthesis and extraction of poisonous, and possibly exotic ingredients, unpredictable effect on non-humans, risk of accidental infection in my improvised laboratory. Rejected. Priority—survivability and direct strengthening.
Well, to work. Something from these two options I must create already today.