65
My account held 550 OP. I had roughly ten hours of productive time remaining while the fatigue pills were active. At my disposal was the most advanced engineering laboratory on the planet. My task was to farm as much OP as possible without revealing anything extraordinary.
What were my options? I could create simple but elegant devices. I could create versatile, useful devices, nothing from the distant future, yet impressive enough to convince S.H.I.E.L.D. to cooperate. That clause in the contract, the one mandating the full transfer of my technologies after my death, still bothered me. It meant I needed to demonstrate that I was far more valuable alive than my posthumous intellectual property could ever be.
I had plenty of ideas. To speed things up, I started small, with a pistol. Why? Because I had a Glock 17 sitting unused. I wouldn't just create any ordinary pistol. I would create the best version of a Glock. I would create a weapons platform. It would feature a unified titanium frame with interchangeable kits for different calibers. Inside the grip, a microcomputer would synchronize with a smart collimator sight, enabling real-time corrections for distance, wind, and minor handshake.
I got to work. I machined the frame and slide assemblies to micron precision on the 5-axis CNC. I printed the complex internal mechanisms and customized grips on the metal 3D printer. I assembled the smart sight's electronics at the robotic station with jeweler's precision, then wrote the firmware.
[Weapon "Tactical Pistol" created. Complexity: Low. Received +150 OP!]
A high-precision, modular pistol built on a unified titanium alloy frame. It allowed for rapid caliber changes. An integrated ballistic coprocessor enabled firing with unparalleled accuracy.
That was the first +150 OP in the piggy bank. I assembled several copies of them to maximize my profit, then moved on. Next up was a defense item: a compact, deployable ballistic shield.
On paper, it was simple. It was a bracer that, at the press of a button, unfolded into six interconnected composite plates. These formed a lightweight, bulletproof shield for the torso. In practice, I struggled with the holographic CAD system while designing the complex deployment mechanism. Once I solved that, I printed the mechanism and cut the plates on the waterjet cutter.
[Protective construction "Compact Shield-Bracer" created. Complexity: Low. Received +150 OP!]
A compact protective system in the form of a bracer. When activated, it deploys into a segmented ballistic shield capable of stopping several pistol bullets.
Third, I worked on medicine. I had my priceless Ash and Dawn potions, but spending one on an ordinary bullet wound would be wasteful. So I created a field medical stapler.
It was a pistol-sized device for emergency aid. You applied it to a wound and, with one press, it "stitched" the wound closed with staples made from an absorbable surgical polymer. At the same time, it injected an antiseptic. I printed the ergonomic body and the feed mechanism on the polymer 3D printer, and then created a small injection mold for the sterile staples.
[Medical device "Field Medical Stapler" created. Complexity: Low. Received +150 OP!]
A portable medical device for providing emergency aid in cases of external injuries. It quickly closed wounds in a sterile manner, stopping bleeding and preventing infection until qualified help could arrive.
Excellent. I had a tactical pistol, a compact shield, and an emergency medical device. Each of them could interest S.H.I.E.L.D. I would foist the stapler onto Gwen and Peter, and I might rework it later.
I looked at the table where the fruits of my labor lay. It was a soldier's kit from the near future, but something was missing. I needed glasses. My Chimera mask was magnificent, but its eyepieces were simple ballistic lenses. Visual information was the key to tactical superiority, so I decided to build tactical glasses.
The concept was straightforward: a lightweight tactical frame with fragment-resistant lenses that would project data from a laser rangefinder and ballistic calculator, displaying the precise point of impact. They would sync with my pistol's smart sight.
The process went smoothly. I printed the frame on an SLS printer, cut the lenses from ballistic polycarbonate, and assembled the miniature projector and sensor system into the frame.
[Device "Combat Tactical Glasses" created. Complexity: Low. Received +150 OP!]
Tactical glasses with ballistic lenses and an integrated HUD. They calculated bullet trajectory in real time, syncing with smart weapons.
When Gwen entered the lab, distracting me from the second pair, the clock read one in the afternoon. I glanced at my OP counter. I only had 1800 total. I'd been working nonstop for a night and a half. It was a catastrophically small amount for unlocking full Technomancy.
"John, shouldn't we talk with Peter?" she began, explaining her visit.
"Exactly." I nodded, keeping my eyes on the dancing laser inside the SLS printer's chamber. "There's a lot we need to talk to Peter about. The sooner, the better."
"At the very least, you should tell him where we are. You already told him about S.H.I.E.L.D., so he should be mentally prepared for this."
"Yeah, drag Peter to a base where every inch is bugged and every word is analyzed." I shook my head. "For us, it's clear-cut, Gwen. We're assets. As long as we don't cross the line, we're relatively safe. But he's a civilian, genius or not. One wrong word, one careless hint about what he knows, and he'll disappear into a deep, dark hole. We'll never see him again."
"But leaving the base is impossible, especially for you," she objected.
"It's a dilemma," I admitted. "I'm hoping that after last night, my value to S.H.I.E.L.D. has risen enough to earn a small concession." I pulled out my work phone and brought up Fury's contact.
"You can," was the first thing Fury said when the call connected. No hello.
"You scare me shitless sometimes, Nick," I said.
"You need a private conversation with Parker, one without us listening in," he said.
"Right."
"Tell Parker to be ready. My people will be at his door in ten minutes." Fury hung up.
As I dialed Peter on my personal phone, I felt exposed. I made a mental note to get secure comms with fully encrypted channels. Stark had JARVIS and better protection. I might as well have been shouting into a megaphone. After a few anxious rings, I heard my friend's voice.
"John?" He sounded relieved and resentful at the same time.
"Pete, listen to me carefully. In ten minutes, a car will arrive at your place. Some agents will ask you to go with them. Please, don't argue, don't play the hero, and just agree to it. This is necessary for our personal meeting."
"Agree? John, are you in your right mind?" Peter exploded. "Get into a car with some not-at-all-suspicious tough guys? After some psycho broke into my home and kidnapped me, my uncle and my aunt? What the hell was that, anyway? Where did you disappear to? I thought something happened to you."
His voice carried both worry and a hard edge born from fear for his loved ones. I understood him. It was one thing when Kraven kidnapped you. It was another thing entirely when he targeted your family.
"This is one of those questions that we'll discuss face to face. I promise you that. But right now, Pete, I assure you that neither you nor your family are in any danger. These people are my allies. They'll bring you to me. They'll take you somewhere safe."
"Okay..." He exhaled heavily. "I'll go with them. But swear to me that you'll explain everything to me. I mean every single detail."
"I will, and more than that. This conversation is going to change everything. It will split your life into 'before' and 'after'," I said, then hung up.
"The last part was a bit cruel," Gwen noted.
"But it's the truth," I shrugged, returning to my work on the second pair of glasses. "His former life ended the moment he became Kraven's target. I'm just letting his brain work at its full capacity. It'll be easier for him to accept what I'm going to tell him."
Meanwhile, the second pair of glasses was created, and another +100 OP fell into my balance. The total amount was now 1900. I only had 2100 left to go until I could unlock Technomancy.
"You're a self-taught manipulator," Gwen grumbled, but there was no malice in it.
"And an abuser, a narcissist, a gaslighter, and a Starlighter," I added with a smile.
"Is that the same guy who changes his occupation a hundred times a day, who never sits still, and who seems to not sleep at all?"
"You got me," I appreciated the jab.
I went through the disinfection process, exited the laboratory, and went to my familiar room. For a couple of minutes, I lay on the bed, looking at the sterile ceiling and building the structure of the upcoming conversation. This wasn't a plan. It was a minefield map. Predicting Peter's reaction to the truth about Mary Jane was going to be impossible. This was going to be a bifurcation point. I decided to start with the most painful part. I would pull the splinter out with one sharp movement. How he handled that, well, I'd play it by ear from there.
Knock-knock. Someone knocked. A short message arrived on the service phone. It read, "Parker is on the Base." I left the room and saw an agent standing next to Gwen. The three of us moved deeper into the complex, heading toward the room that Fury had allocated, the one that was free of bugs. I didn't doubt that they would keep their word. I had a living surveillance detector in Gwen, and her heightened senses were more reliable than any electronics.
As we walked through the echoing corridors, I analyzed another problem: Natasha's absence. She was Fury's inner-circle operative. She was my curator. After Elena's death, she'd disappeared. Was she busy with revenge? That was unlikely. Fury wouldn't allow her to act on her emotions. It was more likely that the Soviets were hunting traitors. Fury wouldn't hide his best operative without good reason. Somewhere out there, another Black Widow was operating. This was a problem because my knowledge of Soviet superhumans was scarce. There was the Winter Guard, the Red Room, the Crimson Dynamo, and that was about it.
Even so, the Soviets weren't specifically hunting me. Not yet, anyway. That was the key word: "yet." The probability that the mysterious sniper had already compiled a report on me was practically one hundred percent.
I mentally listed my enemies. There was the CIA. There was Hydra. There was potentially the entire Soviet bloc. And there was Fisk, who, after Blade's departure, was certainly not being idle. In less than a month, I had collected a whole bouquet of problems. I was an alternatively gifted isekai protagonist. My knowledge and intellect were present, but my wisdom and my ability to avoid making enemies was at zero.
We reached the negotiation room. The agent opened the heavy, soundproof door. Inside, sitting at a simple table, was Peter. He was as tense as a bowstring, and in his eyes I could read a mixture of fear, curiosity, and stubborn determination.
The agent closed the door. The sound of the lock clicking was deafening in the silence. There were only three of us remaining.
Well. Let the "Naruto-therapy" begin.
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