Chapter 40
"So, what do you propose?" Blade asked as soon as we pulled onto the avenue. His voice was even and emotionless, but I saw how intently he peered at the rushing cityscape.
I glanced at the rearview mirror, making sure Gwen, who was huddled in the back seat, was also fully alert. Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the edge of the mask lying on her knees. Right now, there was no point in hiding.
"The plan has two stages, but the short version is this: we smoke Fisk out of his hole, and you take him out with a sniper rifle," I began, watching Blade maneuver into the left lane. "Breaking into the Empire State Building, that damn symbol of New York, is suicide. We risk not just attracting the cops' attention, but getting every federal agency on our case and getting labeled as terrorists. We don't need that."
"Sounds reasonable," Blade said, his eyes flashing momentarily in the cabin's semi-darkness. "A frontal assault is out. Going in alone won't work either. It's not my style, and our heroine," he added, with a barely perceptible nod toward Gwen, "doesn't have the nerve for this kind of mess."
"That's not true!" an indignant voice called from the back. "I... I can handle it! I'm ready... I can take down someone like Fisk!"
"No." I shook my head, keeping my voice firm but gentle. "It's not about courage, Gwen. It's about experience. You definitely shouldn't charge at Fisk in his fortress. Obviously, he's guarded by meta-humans, and he's no slouch himself. You already took a serious hit from Shocker, and compared to Kingpin, he's street trash. In short, I'm sorry, but you don't have enough experience for an operation of this level yet."
She fell silent at that. In the mirror, I saw her turn away to the window, her shoulders drooping.
"Okay, that's settled," Blade said, bringing the conversation back. "So how exactly are we going to lure this bastard out? That's the main difficulty. He could lock himself in his office for a week."
"That's why we need two stages," I answered, mentally reviewing the blueprints. "We head to my garage. Within an hour, maybe an hour and a half, I'll assemble a couple of gadgets for our show." I looked at Gwen. "And we need you for the most important part. You'll be our eyes. Please, watch the Empire State Building. Make sure Kingpin doesn't escape. If you spot his motorcade or helicopter, follow him immediately, but discreetly. And keep us informed. Your task is to make sure he doesn't leave before we're ready."
After discussing a couple more details, we dropped Gwen off at the nearest high-rise, which gave her a better vantage point of downtown. Watching her go, Blade floored it, and we raced toward Bay Ridge, toward the house and garage that had already, in this short time, become something of a home.
"Well then, genius, care to reveal your cards?" Blade asked as soon as the garage gates clanged shut behind us. He crossed his arms, leaning against the workbench.
After carefully thinking everything through once more and giving myself a mental nod at my "brilliant" and, hopefully, not too overcomplicated plan, I began.
"First, and this is the key stage: completely cut the power to the Empire State Building. Remotely. To pull this off, I'll build a powerful, directional EMP gun. You'll be the one to fire it. Twice."
"A poor hunter shoots twice." Blade smirked.
That's killing two birds with one stone. We've got a whole zoo here. The first target is the antenna complex at the very top of the tower. This isn't just an antenna; it's the most powerful communications hub broadcasting across half the city. You need to hit the base of the mast. One precise pulse, and Fisk is instantly cut off from the outside world. No satellite, cellular, or radio communication. A complete information blackout. He'll be completely isolated. The second target is the technical floor. The gun's pulse will be wider; you'll aim at one of the floors between eighty-seven and one hundred one. The ninety-third floor should do. That's where the main distribution panels, server rooms, and, most importantly, the backup power systems are concentrated. A strike on this nerve center will cause a cascading failure and shut down the entire building from the inside.
"Hmm, sounds nice." Blade rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But don't you think a paranoid like Fisk will just sit tight under guard? He won't care about the lights being out. Within half an hour, his techs will fix everything. And as for that complete communications blockade, you might be too optimistic. He surely has some protected landlines. He'll just barricade himself and wait."
"Yes, and that's exactly why the second stage exists," I said, summoning Shocker's glove from my inventory with a thought and placing it on the workbench with a dull thud. To scare the hell out of Fisk.
Blade raised an eyebrow in bewilderment.
"With this glove?"
"With vibrations! We'll create the illusion of a structural threat to the building, but without actually harming it. I'll calibrate this glove. Instead of short, powerful pulses, it'll generate a constant, low-frequency infrasonic vibration, around fifteen to twenty hertz. Our Spider-Girl will plant this thing in the basement complex. The entire building will fill with a growing, maddening hum. A hum you can't escape behind a dozen guards. It'll prey on the subconscious, on primal fear.
"Do vibrations actually work like that?" The skepticism in his voice lessened, but suspicion remained. "I thought concrete dampens that stuff perfectly."
"True, a simple vibration sent through concrete dies out after a couple of meters. You can't fool physics." I gave a smile. "But we won't be affecting the concrete box. We'll affect the building's skeleton itself. Its steel framework! A skyscraper is a complex metal structure wrapped in concrete and glass. And steel is a perfect conductor for vibrations. All Gwen needs to do is find one of the central load-bearing columns in the framework, chip off some concrete or fireproofing, and attach the activated glove. From that moment, the entire tower becomes one giant tuning fork humming at an infrasonic frequency!"
Blade was silent for several seconds, processing the information. Then a wide, almost insane grin spread across his face.
"Holy shit... A standing ovation for your engineering genius!" He slapped me on the shoulder so hard I barely stayed on my feet. "So while the whole tower is shut down, cut off from the world, and vibrating like a Japanese sex toy, Fisk will have to evacuate urgently. But the elevators won't work... Will a guy that big even manage that many flights of stairs?"
"That's the thing: he won't. And he knows it." I winked. "Someone like Fisk, with his paranoia and resources, would definitely have prepared for such a scenario. One hundred percent, he has a personal elevator powered by an isolated system. And I wouldn't be surprised if its control cable is armored fiber-optic that doesn't care about any EMP. That elevator will be his only path to salvation. And our window of opportunity."
"Got it. The plan is awesome, just like your watch!" Blade nodded, his gaze becoming hard and focused. "A little overcomplicated, of course, but the alternative is becoming a persona non grata in all fifty states. So go ahead, conjure. Use your crafting magic or whatever you call it. The clock is ticking."
Nodding, I set to work. My brain, functioning like an ultra-precise quantum computer, had already broken the entire process down into thousands of parallel tasks, and my hands began moving before I could consciously command them. Blade silently moved the vise aside and cleared the workbench, becoming a silent assistant in my insane act of creation.
First, the frame and body. Simple enough. From the pile of junk dumped in the corner, I snatched a small but sturdy frame from an old server rack, the skeleton of a long-deceased IT dinosaur, and made the angle grinder squeal. A couple of precise cuts, a few clicks of the rivet gun, and what remained was a crude, angular base resembling the skeleton of a futuristic rifle from the darkest cyberpunk dreams. Yes, it wouldn't look pretty. It would be an ugly but deadly bastard child of engineering.
The power source would, naturally, be the Palladium reactor. Only it could deliver the pulse of monstrous power we needed. Disconnecting it from the plasma barrier system, I inserted it with a soft, satisfying click into a specially prepared socket where the stock connection had been, connecting the cold-to-the-touch cables to the main converter. The reactor responded with a steady, barely audible hum. The monster's heart began beating.
Now, the accumulators. The main thing in an EMP device is the instantaneous, almost unimaginable release of massive energy. I gathered the ten most powerful high-voltage capacitors that had previously been part of my Marx generator and began the most painstaking part of the build: soldering. The acrid smell of rosin filled my nostrils. Sparks flew, the hiss of solder spreading over the contacts like liquid silver. My fingers worked with inhuman speed and precision, and in ten minutes, I had a battery capable of lighting up a small city block briefly, and in the next moment, extinguishing those lights forever.
Next, the emitter. I mounted five magnetrons, ruthlessly ripped from microwaves, on a titanium plate in a honeycomb pattern. But the main magic was elsewhere. The most complex part was the phasing circuit. On a breadboard, I assembled a complex chain of timers and high-speed thyristors. This plain board was the brain and conductor. It would make the magnetrons fire not in a chaotic chorus but as a coordinated orchestra, with a calibrated delay in nanoseconds. I'd already calculated the needed intervals to create a perfect cone of constructive interference. I installed the entire structure in the center of a parabolic reflector from an old satellite dish, giving it the appearance of a deadly flower. Naturally, I hadn't considered modularity or elegance. The only thing that mattered was the Palladium reactor, the most valuable part, easily detached.
Finally, I simply connected it all together. The reactor powered the capacitors, which emitted a deafening, rising whine as they charged in a couple of seconds, and then all the accumulated might, at my signal, went to the phasing circuit, which released it to the magnetrons. The EMP gun, looking like a scrap weapon from a post-apocalyptic film, was ready. The main thing was that it worked, and the system confirmed it.
[Created a simple electro-mechanical construct "EMP Gun." Complexity: Low. Received +100 OP!]
A device that creates powerful directed EMP interference.
"Looks like crap," Blade admitted, walking around my creation. "At least it won't explode in my hands, right?"
"It works. With the time I had, building something better would have been tough," I answered, shrugging and tossing the gun into my inventory. "As for explosions... just aim in the right direction. Now I'll calibrate the glove, and let's go."
Here, everything was an order of magnitude simpler. Not creating something from scratch, but rather a "surgical intervention." Carefully opening the glove's body with a diamond cutter, I discovered inside an intricate weave of microscopic wire veins, nerve clusters of circuit boards, and miniature capacitors. My brain instantly analyzed the circuit. My goal was to bypass the combat system. There it was, the main power cable going to the combat energy accumulators. The wire cutters clicked. Done. The weapon glove was dead. Now I could proceed with the modification.
I soldered the step-down modulator I'd assembled on my knee into the circuit running from the internal battery to the vibration emitters. It was a simple circuit with a potentiometer for power regulation and a frequency generator chip.
Turning on the glove, I confirmed there was no usual loud hum. But the workbench under it began to tremble slightly, and a barely perceptible vibration traveled through the floor. I took out my smartphone, downloaded the first available spectrum analyzer app, and brought it closer. A clear peak appeared on the screen.
"What the..." Blade frowned, slightly shaking his head, as if trying to get rid of an unpleasant sensation in his ears.
I silently adjusted the trimmer resistor on my board with a screwdriver. The peak on the screen crawled to the left and stopped at the 18.5 Hz mark. Perfect infrasound. In the garage, it instantly became uncomfortable. The air seemed to thicken; a slight nausea and an oppressive feeling of inexplicable anxiety appeared. The tuning was complete.
For the final touch, I screwed several powerful neodymium magnets ripped from old hard drives onto the back of the glove. I added a simple timer with a self-destruct mechanism and a small charge of plastic explosive, enough to turn the circuit into melted slag. I mounted a simple activation toggle switch on the outside. Now Gwen could reliably magnetize the glove to a steel beam, and after half an hour, it would simply go off with a soft pop, sending all possible evidence straight to hell.
"Done," I exhaled, leaning back in my chair.
Two unique devices, assembled in an hour and change. I never would have thought I was capable of this. Scratch that. When pressed, internal reserves activate, and I prove to myself, quite literally on my ass, that all limitations are only in the head.
"Let's go," Blade nodded shortly.
Settling into his black Charger, we hit the streets again and rushed toward Manhattan. There wasn't a single signal from Gwen, which meant our target was still inside his steel and glass tower.
The roof of 230 Fifth Avenue at such a late hour was empty. The fashionable rooftop bar had closed long ago, and only the wind swept napkins and leaves across the huge open terrace. This was our meeting point. Gwen was already waiting for us, a small figure in her suit against the backdrop of the giant, cloud-piercing spire of the Empire State Building.
I silently handed her the modified glove.
The magnets are powerful; they'll stick to bare steel permanently. Look for a load-bearing column in the basement or on a mechanical floor, as deep as possible. Flip the toggle and leave. Don't play the hero. Remember, you're a ghost. In, job done, out. You have five minutes for everything.
She nodded decisively. In her eyes, under the mask, was a mixture of nervousness and steel determination. Taking the glove, she darted to the roof's edge without a word and, gracefully vaulting over the parapet, disappeared into the night. Blade and I remained alone under the cold Manhattan sky. The five-minute countdown started.
Our observation post on the roof of the building, located approximately 350 to 400 meters from the Empire State, was ideal. From here, we had a direct, unobstructed view of the skyscraper's southern facade, which was now a black, cloud-piercing spire. The shooting angle was comfortable enough to hit both the mechanical floors and the antenna complex crowning the tower. The night was our ally.
After giving Blade quick instructions on the EMP gun, I pointed to two key spots on the building's dark silhouette. When it came to precision, I trusted his superhuman aim more than any targeting system. Once I finished, I stepped back a couple of meters to give him room. My phone buzzed a moment later. Gwen was already in position, waiting for the signal, waiting for the power to go out so she could install her "gift."
Blade flipped the charging toggle on the EMP gun. The weapon responded with a high-pitched electronic whine, like an old camera flash charging, but a thousand times more intense. The sound seemed to make the air itself vibrate. Blade stood motionless as a granite statue, holding the ugly weapon like an extension of his own hands. After three agonizingly long seconds, the indicator light changed from red to green. He pressed the large button protected by a guard on the handle, and all the energy accumulated in the capacitor battery discharged instantly into the phasing grid of the magnetrons.
From my vantage point, it looked surreal. At the moment of firing, the air around the barrel ionized for a fraction of a second, creating a brief, absolutely silent flash of pale violet light, like arcing electricity or the aurora borealis. Immediately after the flash, a wave-like distortion rolled toward the tower, like heat haze over asphalt. This was the visible front of the EMP wave. No cinematic electric spheres or flying lightning bolts. Just a quiet flash, a slight warping of the air, and then... the first shot hit the spire dead on.
Three more seconds of charging. Again, the piercing whine and the green flash of the indicator. The second shot struck lower. Then the effect became truly tangible. The Empire State Building, one of the world's most iconic landmarks, blinked and went dark, as if someone had thrown a giant switch. Against the glowing cityscape, a black void appeared, swallowing the entire skyscraper.
"We've got two, maybe three minutes," I said, handing Blade my Remington 700 sniper rifle. He took it without a word, and I stowed the cooling EMP gun in my inventory.
Calculations raced through my mind at simulation speed. Fisk's penthouse occupied floors eighty to eighty-five, approximately three hundred twenty to three hundred thirty meters up. His private, armored elevator moved at six to seven meters per second. The descent itself would take roughly fifty seconds. Factor in the time for vibrations to travel through the steel framework, the growing panic, the guards' commotion, and the time to reach the elevator and then the exit. It all added up. Fisk should appear at the south service exit any moment now.
About a minute and a half later, Gwen landed on the roof beside us in absolute silence. She said nothing, just stared at Blade, who already lay prone at the roof's edge, eye pressed to the scope. The Remington had an effective range of up to a thousand meters. Ballistically, the rifle boasted more than twice the necessary power and accuracy for a target only three hundred eighty to four hundred meters away. But distance wasn't the main problem. Wind was.
New York was an urban canyon. Wind hitting skyscraper facades created complex, treacherous eddies, rising and falling currents, invisible rivers of air. A bullet traveling four hundred meters could cross several zones where winds at different speeds blew in different directions. Even for a shooter of Blade's caliber, who could literally feel these currents on his skin thanks to his superhuman senses, making the precise correction was a balancing act between skill and luck. But I believed in him.
The wait stretched our nerves taut. Then, two minutes after the lights went out, a black armored SUV pulled up to the service exit. Thirty seconds later, the service doors swung open, and several bodyguards spilled out, scanning the area. Five seconds after that, surrounded by a tight ring of security, Fisk's bulky, massive figure appeared in the doorway.
The world seemed to narrow to the picture in the scope. Blade exhaled, deep and calm. Smooth pressure on the trigger.
A sharp, dry crack tore through the night's silence. A moment later, a barely audible dull thud reached us. The bullet punched easily through the skull, and the huge figure of one of the city's most dangerous bastards, far from immortal, as it turned out, collapsed onto the asphalt like a sack of bones. A clean, perfect, inevitable shot.
"Pack up!" I called out.
Blade rose silently, returned the rifle to me, and I immediately stashed it in my inventory. Without hesitation, he simply stepped off the roof and vanished into the darkness. I caught Gwen by the waist; she released a web line, and we flew down, feeling the wild gusts of wind and the dizzying rush of flight. A couple of minutes later, we were already racing through the New York streets in Blade's Charger, away from the darkened monolith, dissolving into the endless stream of lights.
"Awesome. Brother is avenged!" was the first thing Blade said when the garage gates clanged shut behind us. He slammed his palm down on the dusty workbench, kicking up a cloud of steel shavings. The tension of the night finally broke, replaced by grim satisfaction. "True, they obviously won't leave me alone after this shit. After all, I killed Wilson Fisk first, not Kingpin. One bastard less, but as far as the system's concerned, I'm the murderer of a public figure. So I need to get out."
"Get out where?" I asked, confused. I somehow hadn't considered this option. This was Blade, a top-tier superhuman for all practical purposes. He seemed to have nothing to fear.
"Doesn't matter where, as long as it's out of the country," he said with a shrug, but there wasn't a drop of indifference in his eyes. "Unlike you, I showed my face. They know me. And now it won't be bandits coming after me, but guys in dark suits with federal badges. So as soon as you heal Frank, I'll have a heart-to-heart with him, and goodbye, America."
"Sad, of course," I exhaled. The realization hit me in the gut: now I couldn't count on Blade's help, support, or connections in New York. We'd lost our main power asset.
"Don't worry, kid." He gave my shoulder a friendly push. "Even from outside the US, I'll help with what I can. You're like a brother to me now, understand? So reach out on any issue; you have my contacts." He shifted his gaze to Gwen, who had been silent until now. "And you, Spider-Girl, don't be a stranger either. You're partially one of mine now too. Glad you didn't lecture me about how 'we shouldn't stoop to their level' and all that blah-blah-blah."
"He... deserved it," Gwen admitted, reluctant but firm, her eyes on the floor. It was a huge admission for her, and we both knew it.
"Speaking of help," I jumped at the chance, turning to Blade. "I need a new workspace. Someplace large and hidden where I can set up a proper base. The garage has gotten too small and cramped for my projects."
Blade grinned.
"You're quick. You can use my base in New York. It's an underground complex, big enough for all your toys. I'll send you the address and add you to the security system. My home is your home. Inside, there's plenty of cool stuff: an armory, a gym... You'll love it, trust me."
"Whoa... Thanks!" I said sincerely. This was an incredible gift.
"Thank you. And... well, you know... we should stick together," he winked. "Okay, I'm off. Get in touch when you've made the healing potion. I'll infiltrate the hospital myself and give Frank the potion."
"Okay," I nodded.
We exchanged a firm handshake, and he left. Only Gwen and I remained in the garage. She slowly pulled off her mask, revealing a tired, pale, but still pretty face with traces of dirt on her cheek.
"Thank you..." she said quietly. "For helping me avenge my father. And... for helping me see my methods differently. After all... yeah. Some problems really do need radical solutions. I don't even know how to thank you..."
"The best thanks would be you returning to Connors' lab and bringing Peter back to me," I answered with a soft smile, pleased that this night had proven so fruitful. "And... becoming part of our team!"
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Team?"
"Yeah." I nodded, realizing we'd gained too much tonight to stop now. "Not heroes in shiny tights, but not villains either. Just people who want to change this world for the better but don't know exactly how yet. You saw what I'm capable of. Peter is just as capable, and in some ways even more so! With a strong meta like you backing us, any problem is within reach. And like Blade said... we need to stick together. What do you think?"
"This... is really unexpected. And pleasant." She bit her lip, considering my words. "I... I'll think about it. Tentatively, I'm leaning toward yes. It's just... so much has happened. I need to process all of this."
"I'm not rushing you. Give me your answer whenever you're ready."
After throwing me a grateful look and pulling her mask back on, Gwen left my garage as quietly as she'd appeared through the window. Well, now I was alone.
Finally, this crazy night had ended. Crazy and incredibly profitable. Truly, the greater the risk, the higher the reward. What next? My thoughts, no longer spurred by NZT, flowed slower, but the plan was clear. Create the potions of Ash and Dawn, heal Uncle Ben and Frank. Hardcore crafting and studying the tech obtained from Fisk, possibly already in the new spacious lab. Farm OP and get stronger.
I'm so weak. And tonight made that painfully clear. My brain, my gadgets... none of it would have mattered if Blade had missed. Never mind that this whole mess was his idea. I was the one who agreed to go along with it. Without him, I probably wouldn't have survived.
The night with Fisk was over. The NZT had long since worn off, leaving my head throbbing with exhaustion. Checking the cameras confirmed that I hadn't been seen anywhere. My relationship with Gwen had reached a new level. I could sleep now. The morning would be busy. Lucas would be delivering all the necessary ingredients for the healing potion. It was time to rest.
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