The meeting with Lucas went in the best traditions of spy films.
A corner table in a half-empty cafe, two identical packages, a quick exchange without unnecessary words or eye contact.
I handed him the money; he gave me the priceless ingredients.
Already on my way back to the university, Peter called me, his voice agitated, asking me to buy a list of specific chemicals that weren’t freely available in the lab.
“Just in case,” he added.
It was no trouble for me.
Back at the lab around six in the evening, I handed him the box of purchases.
I had prudently placed a small vial inside.
“Intellect Potion.
Drink it.
The effect lasts for hours.”
Peter looked at the vial, then at me.
“What about you?
Aren’t you going to take it?
We’re supposed to be working together.”
“What’s the point?” I shrugged.
“It doesn’t create knowledge out of nowhere; it significantly improves what’s already there.
Relatively speaking, if your brain is a five-story building, with the potion it becomes an elite twenty-story penthouse.
But the foundation stays the same.
And in neurobiochemistry, my foundation is nothing.
I’m completely clueless.”
“But…
you somehow created the muscle stimulant?
And this potion too…” Peter was now looking at the vial with clear suspicion.
“I just perfectly followed a ready-made recipe.
Where I got them, I won’t say.
But in the future, there will be more, and they won’t just be temporary stimulants,” I hoped.
“Can…
can I at least test it on a mouse first?
I believe you and all, but…”
“‘Trust, but verify,'” I finished for him with a grin.
“Of course.
Give a drop to a mouse.
Let’s see how fast it writes a dissertation on quantum physics.”
What happened next took less than ten minutes, but it turned Peter Parker’s world upside down.
He placed an ordinary lab mouse in a complex, multi-level maze.
It started moving forward hesitantly.
Then Peter gave it one drop of the Potion.
The mouse froze for a second, then shot forward.
It didn’t run chaotically.
It moved with incredible speed and precision, never once turning into a dead end, instantly finding the single correct path, which was stored in its memory and, thanks to the potion, it was now able to utilize.
“That’s…
a new record!” Peter gasped, shocked, staring disbelievingly at the stopwatch.
“Maybe a new record for all US labs!”
The mouse in the finish chamber silently regarded us with its black beady eyes, munching on its well-earned cheese.
“Now are you starting to understand why all this has to stay secret?” I asked seriously.
“If someone at the top finds out something like this exists, the fate of that lab mouse will seem like a mercy to both of us.”
“I…
I understand,” Peter assured me hastily.
He took the vial in his hands and, without further thought, downed it in one gulp.
“The effect starts almost immediately, but the peak of brain activity will come in about half an hour.
Your brain is, so to speak, revving up.”
“Y-yes…
I can feel it…” Peter froze, his eyes widening.
“So many ideas…
streams of data…
The recipe for your ‘Beast Potion’…
God, it’s so crude and inefficient!
This isn’t a recipe, it’s a biochemical ‘sledgehammer’!”
That was the first thing he said, scanning the sheet again.
His voice had changed, becoming clearer, more confident, faster.
“Right, the active ingredient, the alkaloid aconitine…
it forcibly opens sodium channels in neurons, causing chaotic depolarization.
The recipe’s creator thought this ‘releases instincts,’ but essentially it just creates a massive neural ‘noise’!
Signals from the prefrontal cortex—the center of logic and fear—are simply drowned in this chaos!”
“I got the gist,” I nodded, trying to keep up with his train of thought.
“Yes, roughly speaking, it’s not a sharpening of instincts, but a suppression of analytical thought through neurotoxic shock!
Hence the enormous strain on the entire nervous system and the cognitive ‘hangover’ afterwards.”
“So, the problem isn’t just the stimulant…” I murmured.
“Exactly!
But, to be fair, it’s even worse!
It’s a classic non-selective adrenergic receptor agonist.
It hits all receptors at once: alpha-1—vasoconstriction, wild blood pressure.
Beta-1—increased heart rate and strength, a direct path to arrhythmia and heart attack.
Beta-2—bronchodilation, which is useful, but that effect is lost in the overall negativity!
It’s an emergency overload of the entire cardiovascular system!”
“Fuck…
And what about the spider venom?
Does it pour fuel on the fire too?”
“Hmm, that’s the most interesting part,” Peter thought for a moment, and I could see hundreds of possibilities flashing in his eyes.
“The venom of this species contains complex peptides.
My hypothesis: one of them acts as a chaperone—a ‘molecular nanny.’ It binds to the aconite alkaloids, allowing them to more easily cross the blood-brain barrier and, more importantly, partially blocks their effect on sodium channels specifically in the heart muscle!” Seeing me getting a bit lost, Peter quickly simplified.
“Basically, without this venom, the potion would be instantly lethal.
It’s not a catalyst, but a primitive, crude safety buffer.”
“And what’s your final verdict?”
Peter looked at me, his eyes burning with the fire of a genius confronting an impossible but fascinating challenge.
“This isn’t science!
This recipe is an attempt to poison the body just enough to send it into a state of battle frenzy, but not kill it.
Crude, primitive…
“I can do better.
Yes.
Right now, I understand that I truly can.”
After that, Peter became a walking whirlwind.
He started pacing circles around the lab, his brain, accelerated to unimaginable speeds, working at its limit.
He muttered under his breath, gestured wildly, then rushed to the lab whiteboard and covered it with rows of complex formulas and diagrams that looked like cuneiform to me.
“No, that’s not it!” he exclaimed, erasing an entire section of calculations.
“Replacing aconite with a selective CNS stimulant, like modified amphetamine…
Yes, the reaction would be instantaneous, but at what cost?
Tunnel vision, loss of peripheral analysis.
The fighter would be fast, but stupid.
He would only see the target, but not the knife at his own ribs.
Failure.”
He started pacing again.
“Option two: add an ‘antidote’?
Introduce a selective beta-blocker to protect the heart and a nootropic to stabilize the CNS…
Nonsense!
That would be a pharmacological disaster!
The components would enter into an antagonistic reaction.
The nootropic would try to ‘fix’ the brain while the aconite is ‘breaking’ it.
It’s like hitting the gas and the brake at the same time.
The result—nausea, dizziness, complete loss of coordination.
Another failure!”
Dozens of simulations flashed through his head in seconds.
Hundreds of theories were born and died instantly.
For a good hour, Peter raced around the lab, periodically exclaiming, “This idea is worthy of a Nobel!” but immediately returning to the task at hand.
And then, finally…
“Bingo!” he shouted so loudly that I jumped.
He quickly sketched something on a sheet and showed it to me.
I saw a complex diagram of a protein molecule and understood nothing.
Luckily, Peter immediately began to explain, his eyes burning with the ecstasy of a discoverer.
“I was an idiot!
I was focused on replacing the ‘bad’ components, completely overlooking the spider venom!
I thought, ‘it works, don’t touch it.’ But that’s where the key was!
I didn’t need to replace the aconite and adrenaline, I needed to create a perfect delivery system for them!”
“And?
What did you come up with?” I asked, feeling my head swelling from the torrent of brilliant ideas.
“I’m synthesizing an artificial carrier protein, structurally similar to spider silk!” He jabbed a finger at the blueprint.
“It will have two active centers.
One binds to a new neuro-inhibiting peptide I synthesized, which will act cleanly and without toxic noise.
The other binds to a myo-reflex potentiator.
And here’s the genius part: this protein is programmed so the first module only releases after crossing the blood-brain barrier—meaning in the brain—while the second stays in the general bloodstream, never reaching the brain.
Perfect targeted delivery with no side effects!”
I confess, I didn’t understand jack shit.
But I understood the main thing: he’d solved the problem.
My bet on this modest genius had paid off.
“So…” I drawled thoughtfully, “the new serum will do the same thing as the Beast Potion, but without the side effects.
It won’t turn me into a berserker, but will make me an ideal predator—calm, intuitive, with lightning-fast reflexes.”
“Broadly speaking, yes.
And instead of a crash after it wears off, there’ll only be mild mental and physical fatigue.”
“Incredible!” I wasn’t faking it—I was genuinely impressed.
“Now for the easy part: create a new version and write the formula so even I can replicate it in my garage.” DE points don’t earn themselves.
Peter nodded, but his gaze was already wandering around the lab, latching onto equipment for another project.
“Yeah, but that can wait.
While the Elixir’s effect lasts, I need to…
I can solve a few key problems in the regenerative serum project!”
“Peter!” I called out sharply, cooling his ardor.
“Yes, John?”
“You’re a sophomore, a part-time junior assistant.
A genius, no argument there.
But if you solve problems now that the entire research team has been wrestling with for months, questions will arise.
Very inconvenient questions.
From Connors, from the university, from hypothetical sponsors like some ‘Oscorp.’ And we don’t need that right now.”
“Yes, but…
Uncle Ben…
the serum could help him…”
“And when will it help him?” I stepped closer.
“After years of clinical trials, certifications, and fighting the pharma lobby?
Peter, your uncle isn’t in mortal danger right now.
And believe me, I have access to ‘formulas’ that make Connors’ serum look like a child’s drawing next to the Mona Lisa.”
He looked at me, and I saw the desire to help his uncle struggling with common sense, amplified by the Elixir.
“You’re right…” he finally admitted.
“Better not to attract unnecessary attention right now.
But the residual power of the Elixir…
it needs to be used.
Give me a task!”
“Combining the Muscle Stimulant and your new combat stimulant into one preparation?”
Peter frowned, and for the first time I saw an expression of complete bewilderment on the super-genius’s face.
“No.
Even now, in my best state of mind, I don’t understand the principle behind how the Muscle Stimulant works at all.
It violates the laws of biochemistry and thermodynamics.
I can’t combine it with anything because I don’t know its operating principles!
It’s like being asked to cross an internal combustion engine with a ghost!
Give me something…
a little simpler.
Something that obeys the laws of physics.”
I looked at Peter, whose brain was now operating at supercomputer speeds, and abandoned my original idea.
Bringing him up to speed on the Ghost Orchid and the shadow side of the world was still too early.
He needed to first get used to the “magic” he could touch and measure.
“Fabric,” I said, interrupting his inner monologue.
“I need fabric.
But not ordinary fabric.
It needs to be resistant to cuts and extreme temperatures.
Waterproof.
And most importantly, I need to be able to replicate the production technology in my garage.”
Given that in some versions of this universe, Peter created his own incredible webbing himself, I was confident such a task wouldn’t be a problem for him.
I wasn’t wrong.
He froze for a second, his gaze going unfocused.
I could see hundreds of options racing through his head, his biocomputer processing the request.
About ten minutes later, he blinked, and his eyes were clear again.
The verdict was ready.
“Well, there are three options,” he said, walking to the lab board and picking up a marker.
“We’ll go from simple to complex.
Option one, I’ve tentatively called it ‘Bastion.’ It’s a laminated aramid composite.
The most pragmatic and fastest to implement.
We take the best existing materials and join them in a…
‘sandwich.'”
He quickly drew a diagram of three layers.
“The outer layer is environmental protection.
Aramid fiber fabric with a Teflon coating.
Fire resistance up to 400°C and fully waterproof.
The middle layer is the main cut protection.
UHMWPE (ultra-high-molecular-weight polyethylene) sheet.
Lighter and stronger than Kevlar against tensile and shear forces.
And the inner layer is a thin microfiber for comfort.”
“Sounds good,” I nodded.
“But you said this is the simplest option.
What’s the catch?”
“The catch is that this isn’t really clothing, it’s light armor,” Peter explained.
“The key is the lamination process.
You need a thermal press and special thermal adhesive.
We bond the layers under pressure.
The result is a relatively inexpensive fabric made from proven materials.
But it’ll be stiff, bulky, and won’t breathe much.”
“Got it.
Are the next options better in that regard?”
“Significantly,” Peter assured me, erasing the first diagram from the board.
“Option two, ‘Chimera.’ The base is any elastic fabric, our ‘frame.’ The reinforcement is carbon nanotubes.
They can be bought as a suspension.”
“What’s the difficulty?”
“The process,” Peter sighed.
“You need an electrophoretic deposition bath.
Sounds scary, but it’s buildable.
The idea is that we pass an electric current through the suspension with the fabric, and the nanotubes are literally ‘imprinted’ into the fiber structure.
The process is complex, doesn’t allow mistakes, and the suspension itself is an expensive and rare component.
But the result is a thin, lightweight, flexible fabric with incredible strength.”
“Alright, I understand you.
This option looks much more preferable.
What did you save for last?” Judging by the glowing smile on Peter’s face, he couldn’t wait to tell me.
“Honestly, this is the most elegant and…
genius option.
I don’t even understand how I thought of it,” he began quickly drawing a new, even more complex diagram.
“A fabric that is soft and flexible in its normal state, like sportswear, but upon a sharp impact—a blow or a cut—instantly becomes as hard as stone.
A fabric with a non-Newtonian impregnation!”
“Sounds too good to be true…”
“The problem is in the implementation,” his expression darkened slightly.
“The base is a 3D mesh of aramid fibers.
It needs to absorb and retain the impregnation.
And the impregnation isn’t just starch and water.
I calculated the optimal formula: a suspension of silicon dioxide nanoparticles in polyethylene glycol.
Upon impact, the particles instantly lock together, forming a solid structure and dissipating energy.
But for the impregnation, you need a vacuum chamber, a high-speed mixer, heat treatment…
It’s the most complex and finicky technological process.
Any mistake will ruin the entire batch.”
He fell silent, summing up.
“So, in short, ‘Proteus,’ as I’ve named it, is the pinnacle.
Light, flexible, comfortable, and with incredible protection.”
I looked at Peter, waiting for my answer.
The choice was obvious.
“I don’t think there’s anything to think about here.
Naturally, the third option!”
“Excellent!” The enthusiasm was practically bursting out of the guy.
“So when do we start?
I’m ready right now!”
I had to cool him down.
I had my own plans for the evening—earning DE points.
And it was obvious we wouldn’t finish in one evening; this was a project for a whole day, especially since the fabric itself was just the base for the suit.
“Probably Monday.
I have a lot to do today and tomorrow.
But you draw up a complete list of everything that needs to be bought in advance.
We’ll sort it out in my garage later.”
“Yeah, no problem!” He looked a little disappointed, but agreed.
“And one more thing…” I paused, drawing his full attention.
“I have a new, important assignment for you.
Directly related to the Elixir of Intelligence.”
Peter immediately leaned forward, his eyes lighting up with renewed fire.
Having experienced that effect once, it was impossible to resist.
“I’m all ears!”