Icy fingers of panic clamped onto the back of my neck and crawled down my spine.
My hands, gripping the wheel, became sweaty.
My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird.
What to do?
Who is this?
What do they want from me?
Thoughts raced in a panicked whirlwind, each one more frightening than the last.
Was I going to die?
So stupidly and ingloriously, just a week after my insertion into this world, when life was only just beginning to get better?
Okay, alright.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Calm down.
I forced myself to take a deep, ragged breath, feeling my lungs burn.
Panicking wouldn’t fix the situation.
Logic.
I need logic.
If they wanted to kill me — they probably would have already.
Shot up the car at one of the intersections.
Since they’re just following, they have a different goal.
That means I have time.
I need to lose the pursuers.
How do they do it in cool spy action movies?
Sharply turn into an alley?
Speed away?
As luck would have it, my head was ringing with emptiness.
All sensible thoughts had evaporated, leaving me alone with a panicking, useless brain.
Thoughts…
Right.
The Intellect Potion.
My trump card.
With it, I’d definitely think of something.
But to take it, I needed to buy at least a few minutes.
Spotting a small cafe with open windows, I tried not to betray my agitation, changed lanes smoothly, and parked.
I got out of the car without looking back, as if it had been planned, and went inside.
I ordered some salad and coffee — the most mundane thing that came to mind.
While the order was being prepared, I sat at a table by the window.
The black “Cruiser” didn’t drive past.
It parked a little further away on the other side of the street.
They were waiting.
Waiting for me to come out.
And, apparently, bursting inside and making a scene in the middle of Manhattan wasn’t their style.
That gave me a breather.
I went into the restroom.
Cold water on my wrists brought my frantic pulse down a bit.
Looking at my pale reflection in the mirror, I took one vial of the Potion from my inventory.
I downed the tart, tasteless liquid in one gulp.
The effect didn’t come immediately.
I returned to my table, and for the first few seconds, nothing happened.
And then…
It was like someone turned a tuning knob in my head.
The panicked noise began to subside, breaking apart into separate, clear signals.
Emotions receded into the background, transforming from an all-consuming terror into a variable in an equation.
My brain accelerated to incredible speeds, completely detached from the world.
Only the problem and the paths to its solution remained.
Problem: A group of unknown pursuers in a tinted black Toyota Land Cruiser.
Goals: Unknown.
Composition: Unknown.
“Analysis of pursuers:” Professionalism level — average or below.
Top-level professionals (S.H.I.E.L.D., FBI) wouldn’t use the same conspicuous car for surveillance.
They would use a “box” formation, constantly swapping vehicles.
Their tactics are crude and straightforward.
This is either a show of force or incompetence.
Probability of a meta-trap (they wanted me to notice them): <5%.
Too complex for non-professionals, too crude for pros.
Dismiss as unlikely.
Conclusion: I am not dealing with a top-tier state intelligence agency.
“Analysis of motives (WHY?):” It is necessary to analyze all my recent anomalous actions.
1.
“The Ghost Orchid (probability ~70%).” A unique, mystical resource.
Its “theft” is so far my most significant “statement” in this world.
The flower probably had guardians, and it took them a few days to track me down through standard methods (cameras, witnesses).
2.
“Selling gold (probability ~25%).” Less likely.
Gold is a common criminal interest.
Bandits tracking me from a pawn shop would be more likely to attempt a robbery than cautious surveillance.
But it can’t be ruled out — maybe they think I have a source and want to extort it from me.
3.
“Another factor (probability ~5%).” My meeting with Parker?
A short dialogue with Osborn?
My nature as an “insert”?
Too many unknowns.
Considered statistical noise until new data appears.
Conclusion: The most likely cause is the Ghost Orchid.
“Analysis of identities (WHO?):” If the cause is the Orchid, then the pursuers are those who know of 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 probably wouldn’t have noticed.
I need to look for clues in what I see.
Tinted pitch black.
Front side windows.
Also tinted.
Wait.
That’s a direct violation of New York State traffic laws.
I quickly opened a browser on my phone.
“New York tint law.” There it is.
Front side windows cannot let in less than 70% of light.
Full tinting is prohibited.
But there is one exception.
Just one.
A medical certificate for 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 sentient 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 reluctance to leave the car during the day, their choice of brute force over stealth, their interest in a mystical ingredient like the Orchid.
Gold would hardly interest them in such a primitive form.
Conclusion: With a probability of >80%, I am being followed by a vampire clan because of the theft of the Ghost Orchid.
Okay.
Let’s suppose, just suppose, that they are indeed vampires.
What next?
My brain, freed from fear, began calculating options.
A direct confrontation means guaranteed death.
Their physical capabilities are orders of magnitude greater than mine.
But they have weaknesses.
The sun.
And, possibly, silver.
But all their physical advantages paled in comparison to one key weakness.
A vulnerability that I probably wouldn’t have thought of without the Potion.
Right now, my doped-up brain was calculating hundreds of possible scenarios, discarding losing ones, and searching for that one, single opportunity.
And it seemed I had found it.
The plan was insane, risky, and relied on one assumption that I had never tested in practice.
But it existed.
“Your order, sir,” a pretty waitress placed a plate of salad and a cup of coffee in front of me, momentarily pulling me out of the whirlwind of tactical calculations.
Thanking the girl, I began to eat slowly, using this time to run the details of the upcoming gamble through my head again and again.
Vampires in this world are not pompous hermits from teen novels.
They are apex predators, killing machines capable of mentally subjugating their victims.
The last part is what made them especially dangerous.
One look, one command, and I could hand over everything they wanted myself.
So, direct contact had to be avoided at all costs.
My plan did not involve dialogue.
It didn’t even involve visual contact.
It was either them or me.
No third option.
Finishing my meal, I left a few dollars on the table and walked out of the cafe.
Calmly, without haste, I got behind the wheel of my Honda and headed towards Hell’s Kitchen.
The black “Cruiser” smoothly followed.
Despite the problem in the form of goddamn superhumans who had set a hunt on me, I wasn’t a completely easy target.
I had a number of asymmetric advantages.
The System.
An accelerated intellect.
And the fact that they didn’t know the address of my new home.
However, I felt that the latter was a temporary advantage.
Having dealt with these bloodsuckers, I would have to seriously rack my brains over how to live on.
“Khhh…” I exhaled irritably.
My short vacation in this world had ended before it even began.
I hadn’t even come close to the level of strength and security I had dreamed of.
Which meant what?
I’d have to urgently accelerate my development, risking attracting even more unwanted attention.
“Just fucking perfect.
Why couldn’t you bastards just stay home?” I muttered angrily into the void, not forgetting to watch the road carefully.
Periodically glancing into the rearview mirror, I noted that the “Cruiser” was faithfully sticking to my tail, maintaining a distance of 7–10 cars.
They were professional enough not to tailgate, but not enough to remain unnoticed.
I was leading them.
Leading them to my pre-selected territory.
And there it was.
That familiar abandoned building where I had studied the ores from my wonder crate.
A five-story, time-worn building on the outskirts.
On one side — a high concrete fence, creating a natural corridor.
No cameras, no random passersby.
And the best part — the pitted, uneven ground in front of the entrance.
Only a suicidal person would risk speeding over that.
The perfect place for my gamble.
I turned into that narrow passage, squeezed between the building wall and the fence — effectively a dead end.
Cut the engine.
And immediately, without getting out of the car, I executed the first part of the plan.
A mental effort, and I placed my Honda into my inventory.
For a fraction of a second, I felt a disorienting sense of falling before my feet touched the ground.
Without wasting time, I slipped into the dark doorway of the abandoned building and hid, becoming a shadow.
Now I was bait in my own trap.
All that was left was to wait.
They had to, they simply had to come here.
And the space here was narrow.
The moment I stepped out of the doorway, I would be an arm’s length from their car.
But for now — silence.
Don’t show myself.
Don’t reveal myself too early.
Only rely on sound.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Literally six minutes later, by my internal timer, the silence was broken by the roar of a powerful engine.
They were close.
A moment later, the massive black SUV slowly drove into the dead end, bouncing over the potholes.
They stopped where my car had been just a second ago.
I could see their silhouette through the cracks in the wall and the play of shadows.
They were undoubtedly perplexed.
The target had vanished.
What if they were all slathered in a thick layer of sunscreen, ready for situations like this?
I couldn’t give them time to think.
I couldn’t wait for them to cut the engine or put it in reverse.
Now.
I decisively burst out of the doorway.
Two quick steps, the world narrowed to a single target — the black metal side of the car.
I reached my hand forward, and in the next instant, my fingers touched the warm, dust-covered body.
At that moment, I poured all my desperate hopes for this plan into a single mental wish.
Thousandths of a second.
The world seemed to blink.
The massive black SUV that had just filled the entire space simply…
vanished.
Vanished along with its “dead” passengers.
I stood there for several long seconds, stunned, staring into the emptiness where the two-ton machine of death had just been.
The air still vibrated with the sound of its engine, but the engine itself was gone.
“Too…
easy,” I muttered, shocked that my insane, risky plan, which had a ton of assumptions, had worked.
Worked so cleanly that even under the Intellect Potion, I couldn’t help but be amazed.
Fortunately, my mind, still running on the Potion’s steroids, didn’t allow emotions like shock or delight to take over.
Instead, it launched a cold, dispassionate post-analysis, running simulations of failure scenarios.
What if I had been wrong?
What if they weren’t vampires?
What if the inventory couldn’t take living things?
What if it could, but they had time to react?
A hundred different ways this could have gone wrong flashed through my head.
But none of them happened.
The plan had worked perfectly.
“Scenario Alpha: Targets — living people.” What if the car held not vampires, and my inventory hadn’t pulled them inside?
The moment I realized my trump card had failed, I’d have roughly 0.7 to 4.3 seconds before they grasped their situation (outside the car) and returned fire.
The only tactical solution in that situation: instant vector shift.
Summon their own car onto their heads.
Cruel?
Yes.
Bloodthirsty?
Absolutely.
But it wouldn’t have been malice — it would have been the cold math of survival.
Under the Intellect Potion, I’d have done it without hesitation.
“Scenario Beta: The System considers vampires “alive.”” A philosophical paradox.
I think, therefore I am.
I am, therefore I live.
Could the System view vampires as a twisted, but still valid, form of life?
Entirely possible.
The action plan in this case would have been identical to the first.
Summon the Cruiser onto their heads and pray that the daylight flooding the dead end worked in my favor and slowed their reactions.
“Scenario Gamma: I’m an idiot, they’re professionals.” This was the worst option.
What if they’d sensed the trap and gotten out of the car in advance?
Managed to react to my attack?
Or just waited for me at the exit of the abandoned building, blocking my only escape route?
Here — I confess — I was banking on their carelessness.
I bet that they didn’t take me seriously, counted on their predatory overconfidence and that twisted logic I’d just used against them.
The bet paid off.
But it was a risky game.
I forcibly cut off that stream of thought.
Cluttering my head with that fairy tale about the falling log that almost killed the youngest daughter was counterproductive.
The first enemies were defeated.
But would I find out who they were, where they came from, who sent them?
In the near future — unlikely.
That meant others could be lurking in the shadows.
I’d attracted unwanted attention, made a mistake, and now I had to work it off.
Time to stop being an extra.
Naturally, driving out of here in my car was out of the question.
If I drove it home, they’d track me down pretty quickly, and probably by tonight uninvited guests would show up.
Buying at least a few days was my key objective right now.
Fortunately, during my expulsion I hadn’t listed my new address, so I just climbed over the concrete wall and left the abandoned building from the other side, like a perfectly normal guy from Hell’s Kitchen.
I headed toward the nearest reliable hardware store, and this trip was radically different from the previous ones.
I was no longer pinching every dollar.
I was investing.
Into the cart went not just pipes and wires.
A welding machine, a set of precision screwdrivers, a soldering station, an oscilloscope, advanced tool and material kits, canisters of chemical reagents — everything that could turn an empty garage into a real laboratory.
Several thousand dollars went without blinking.
Ordering delivery to my home, I left the hardware store and headed for the subway.
After successfully riding the train to the nearest station near my new home and doing a bit of foot-traffic zigzagging through the neighborhood to make sure I had no extra observers, I went inside.
By then, my purchased goods had just arrived, and I set them up in the garage.
My new temple, my forge, was ready for work.
My brain helpfully pulled up the internal system screen.
Current balance: 200 CP.
My goal: reach 250 CP.
The main task: unlock two key blueprints from the Arcanum for my current situation — improving survivability.
Muscle Stimulant and Protective Field Generator.
I paused for a second on the alternative development branch.
Poison?
Tempting.
But risk analysis immediately threw up red flags: high CP cost, assumed complexity of synthesizing and obtaining toxic — possibly exotic — ingredients, unpredictable effects on non-humans, risk of accidental contamination in my improvised laboratory.
Rejected.
Priority — survivability and direct enhancement.
Well then, time to get to work.
One of these two options I had to create today.