But… It’s me! The real Spider-Man!

While I was trying to comprehend what had happened, it was time to leave the vehicle. It turned out that I had slept through most of the trip. From what I could see inside, we were traveling in a windowless closed van, like the hundreds of vans that ply the streets of the city. Except this one wasn't equipped to transport civilians. Seats, ten on each side, were arranged along the walls of the van. In addition to mine, four more were occupied by the ladies in suits accompanying me.

"Off you go, gentlemen," said Archie, the one who had previously besought Mumbles. She's probably the leader here.

Two women picked me up under the elbows and lifted me to my feet. Mumbles, who turned out to be black, opened the back door of the van and got out first, the leader getting out last. I was held in the center.

We found ourselves in the courtyard of a luxurious mansion. A couple of tired, indifferent guards were bored at the gate, and I could see the branches of trees behind the fence, but I was not allowed to look at the beauty, and immediately led into a two-story mansion. In fact, they didn't even hold me. After we got out of the car, the ladies simply made their presence known and held my elbows a little. Quite a delicate treatment of a kidnapping victim.

The inside of the house was as chic as the outside, in my opinion, even with some excess.

"Bobby, One Two, take him to Cindy's office," Archy said in a commanding voice.

The office I was looking for was on the second floor. Mumble tapped her knuckles delicately before entering.

"Cindy, we brought him in."

"How'd it go?" Cindy was a stout-looking woman in years, looking at us through tinted glasses and smoking a cigar while sitting at a broad desk piled with papers.

"As planned. We picked it up on the way home from school; no one saw us," Archy reported.

"Fine, fine," Cindy looked at me, "sit down, Peter. And you... Archy, why did you bring them all here? And take those ropes off him, for God's sake, he's not a terrorist, he's just a schoolboy."

Archy nodded her head in my direction, indicating Bobby to do his bidding, and let One Two and Mumbles go. After the few seconds it took Bobby to untie the knot, I was finally able to stretch my arms.

"You must be wondering why you're here." Cindy let out a puff of smoke from her mouth and looked me in the eye.

I took my time answering. I was busy looking at the play of light and dust through the glass of my glasses. It didn't look graphic at all. Pretending to wipe the glasses with my sleeve, I checked for blind spots in my eye, like I liked to do when I was a kid - Cindy's head dutifully disappeared... Damn, it's all so real.

"I guess you can tell me yourself."

"Look here, do you know what this is?" The woman handed me a rather advanced tablet, the screen of which showed a drawing of some device with a huge amount of details and explanations in the form of formulas. Naturally, I couldn't tell what it was. Cindy obviously thought otherwise.

"Don't... - I was about to confess that I don't understand a damn thing, when my own reflection on the dark monitor of the device caught my eye." This is a stabilizer circuit for controlling incoherent radiation during extreme...

I interrupted myself halfway through the sentence. What was that? I took another look at my reflection. Yeah, that's me. Peter Parker. What am I so surprised about?

"I see you remember," Cindy went on, ignoring my pause, "Dr. Stans, who published this article six months ago... She fell into a coma after she tried to use the emitter on herself. You will finish her work."

"Dr. Stans' article was severely criticized, and the theory was found untenable," I don't remember reading that article, but I said it anyway, not in the least doubtful of the truth of what I was saying.

"Don't fool me, boy. Stans worked for me, and I saw the letter Peter Parker wrote to her. Archy, remind me how it was!"

"With an extension to the theory."

"Yes, that's right. Thanks to your letter, Stans was almost able to finish the project, but she got it wrong again somewhere and screwed up during the experiment. You will finish her work, boy. You do it fast and get back to your studies, Aunt May won't even have time to start worrying."

I flinched. Because I realized what was bugging me - my reflection was too young. I hadn't yet gained the powers of Spider-Man at that age, and that could explain both my tooth and my lack of an implant. But she let it slip. She said Aunt May would worry. But Uncle Ben is supposed to be alive. You let it slip, bitch. But I still can't find any evidence that this isn't real, or rather, I'm pretty sure I won't find any.

Bobby had been left to look after me in the lab, but supervision wasn't much of a problem. I was alone at the moment; the girl had gone off somewhere, saying she'd be back in five minutes. Amazing irresponsibility. Are they provoking me into some kind of rash action? Couldn't Bobby really be that careless with me? I'm a freaking superhero, and she has to watch me!

Okay, let's check something out. I take off my glasses, they'll be in the way. I put my hands on the floor... Yeah, I wanted to stand on my hands, but now I realize that even a dozen push-ups would be a feat in this body.

Twelve push-ups. I was able to do twelve push-ups. And not just exhausted, that's the limit, there's no strength in my arms to get my torso off the floor. I really am a teenager without the strength of a spider again. Feeling so weak, so helpless. It's not pleasant. I need to look around.

This Dr. Stans has got a nice setup here. I saw EMS. Working with the EMS is like looking at a satellite image: you're in space, looking down at the complex terrain, then you turn the little black wheel, and the surface comes closer. The zoom is like a fall. It's as if you've been thrown out of orbit and the Earth is hurtling toward you, only you're flying faster than in a real fall, faster than the speed limit, incredibly fast, incredibly far away, and the landscape grows. It seems as if there is going to be a blow, but there is no blow, because the picture is getting even closer and clearer, and yet you cannot reach the ground - like in the old parable of the frog, who jumped halfway to a log, then another halfway, and another, and still not hitting the log. So much for the electron microscope. Forever falling into the picture, and not getting to the bottom.

At first I gave the magnification 14,000, as the Lord's eye focused. In search of the ultimate, indivisible truth: You can't see the bottom, because there isn't one.

Under the glass blood sample, I chose a more adequate magnification to work with the blood. Is that what she was trying to irradiate? The table is covered with a thin layer of dust, barely noticeable, but still. It's been days since someone worked on it, and the blood cells are still active. Okay, I need this young lady's computer, I've seen blood like this on one person before. Not exactly, but still. If that's what I think it is... Where did this come from?

Hmm. What is it? Windows crashes on startup. Is the computer broken? Nothing ever goes right the first time!

Maybe someone before me was trying to figure out Stans' notes. Before the screen went out, I saw a string of illegible characters, probably a font or registry error. I'm not particularly computer-savvy, of course, but I think you can try to get the registry settings back to a working state, and then we'll see.

Trying to roll back to the last working configuration didn't work, otherwise it would have been too easy.

"It isn't Aunt May's cooking, but it is okay to eat," Bobby's voice came from behind me, holding a tray of fast food.

Bobby came over to me and set the tray on the table, right on top of Stans' burnt lab book.

"Oh, trying to run Doc's computer? Dead end, I tell you, it died the day after Doc went into a coma. But the hard drive is still there, I can get it... Um... That thing that reads hard drives, there's one in here somewhere."

"Not yet."

I used the system restore tool, but no restore points were found. What the hell? I like this Stans thing less and less. Without leaving the recovery environment, I opened a command prompt and used it to run notepad. I used notepad to get to the "configs" folder in the system drive. Then displayed all the files in the folder, found the registry clusters responsible for the system and programs, and added a random set of letters to their extensions. Then copied the backups of those files into the "configs" folder. Thank goodness this Stans was smart enough not to disable the job scheduler, otherwise I would have had to remove the hard drive.

"I hope it works," I said and rebooted the computer.

"I brought some food," Bobby said, seeing that I had finished my work, "not home cooking, but I could live. Doc often worked without leaving the lab, and I bought food for her, too. Wow, it worked!"

This time indeed, the windup was successful in getting to the welcome screen, and now required the SuperMegaAdmin user password.

"How old did you say this Stans of yours was?" When she realized what I meant, the girl hesitated for some reason.

"Well, actually, I was helping the doc with the equipment installation... But I don't know much about all that, but you're a real hacker, kid!" The girl looked at me with eyes like I had performed a miracle. She had heard that I had to finish and fix this Stans' research, and on top of that, restoring the computer was nothing. She's just trying to get off the awkward subject.

"I see, now all we have to do is reset the password for the Super Mega Admin," I said with a sneer.

Bobbi was as red as a poppy seed.

"You don't need to, I know the password," she leaned over to the keyboard and typed the combination quickly. Do you have to press your breasts against me so hard?

"Seriously» I was surprised. "Password: password?"

"I... Yeah, what's the big deal," she bounced off the keyboard like it was fire.

Quietly chuckling, I proceeded to search for useful information on the computer. And here's the reason for the breakdown-someone had crammed a ton of inconsistent mods into Skyrimthrough an early, glitchy version of the mod manager. It's strange, but there was nothing else on the computer that was potentially dangerous. Oh, finally some info on the doc projects. Damn, what a strange feeling. This is the first time I've seen this project, and yet I recognize it. And this scan with the hand-drawn diagram and formulas? The handwriting looks just like mine. It's a hell of a thing.

I was out of reality for hours, dealing with the doc's work and, apparently, with mine. And towards the end, I even began to form a kind of memory of how I had worked on this research. But it wasn't a real memory. When someone tells me what I did, but I don't remember anything, then I create an illusory memory in my brain, a kind of model. It was the same here. I hoped that as a critical mass of false memories accumulated, the real ones would awaken. I just couldn't forget how I worked on this study. More precisely, on the technical part of it: the schematics of the transmitter. But I was not familiar with the formulas for some kind of serum that was supposed to work with the transmitter.

I should have been able to guess the purpose of the transmitter. How could I have given something like this to someone without knowing in what combination my research would be used? Obviously, depending on the type of reagents, the setting and structure of the emitter must vary. Hmm, I might have thought that too obvious, especially for a scientist. Did Stans use my particular case of the emitter for her formula without adapting it? If she had been my student, I would have made her learn all the safety rules for all the devices by heart! How could she be so reckless? And to test the functionality on herself? The fact that she only fell into a coma was a miracle! Of course, Cindy didn't tell anyone what Doc was working on! The doctors just couldn't or didn't have time to discover the other effects! Wait, because this Cindy is a criminal, it's not like Stans was sent to the hospital in the first place. They might as well keep her right here on the estate.

"Bobby, tell me something," I began, but when I turned in my chair, I saw that the girl had fallen safely asleep while I was working.

A convoyer, too. How am I supposed to take advantage of this opportunity? If it's security, I'm the Pope. I approached the girl. She was sleeping peacefully on a backless stool, her face leaning against the table. Boyishly cropped blond strands fell over her eyes and face. I waved in front of her, flicked her ear-no reaction. Maybe she's faking it to see what I'll do. She has a gun. The holster hangs to the side of her belly, on her left side. If the girl is faking, she won't let me take the gun. I unhooked the holster and pulled out her gun. I had dealt with police toys a couple of times before, though I disliked noisy and smoky firearms myself. I put the gun to the girl's temple. Bobby's asleep. I wondered.

I put the gun back and put my palm on the girl's chest as a final check-no reaction. I squeezed it, rubbed it lightly through the fabric. No, she was definitely asleep. This was a test of the highest level; after all, this Bobbi wasn't Natasha Romanova to be ready for anything.

I leave the girl alone and head for the exit. The electronic lock, the four buttons are worn harder than the others. If all the numbers are used once, that's a total of twenty-four combinations. You could try going through all the options, but locks of this type probably have a fuse. I don't need an alarm in the middle of the night. Taking a table knife, I opened the panel behind which I found the connector to which the electronics were connected. I see. I could take the gun from the guard and try to force my way out of detention, but where am I and where is the power. My gun skills leave a lot to be desired. If I had at least a spidey sense, I might risk relying on a firearm.

In principle, I can build a decoder for the door using the equipment I have in the lab, but it's not a one-day job, and I'll need Internet access for the job. Alas, my head is not a supercomputer to keep everything there. Stans' computer isn't connected to the network at the moment. At least my captors were sensible about something. Although, I did see an iPhone cord in the desk. I went back to the desk and the sleeping Bobby. Now... I ran my hands under the girl's jacket again, searching her pockets. Change, keys, wallet, address book, pistol clip, pack of condoms, some pills. No phone. But she must have some means of communication with her superiors, at least a walkie-talkie. I stepped back, and my gaze fell on the ass in tight jeans. Found it!

I took iPhone out of the girl's back pocket, plugged it into computer, and went online. To begin with, I found the information I needed to organize my escape on my own and found out my whereabouts. In principle, I could file a report about myself to the police right now, or even try to contact any of the heroes. Hmmm... I can't find my Facebook account... Weird. I'm not on Twitter or Instagram either. Bobbi squirms in her sleep behind me, causing my heart to skip a few beats. Finally, I did find a record of Peter Benjamin Parker in my school's database to make sure I existed, and decided I'd call it a night. Then he unplugged his iPhone and meticulously camouflaged all traces of his Internet presence. Although, given my Super Mega Admin skills, I could have done with the browser history. Bobby didn't wake up-not when I returned the phone to the pocket of her jeans, nor when I made a noise with the dishes when I decided to eat dinner.

I guess I shouldn't involve outsiders just yet. Now that I had a couple of ways out, I wanted to get to the bottom of Stans and Cindy's mess on my own. I guess I'm a little overconfident for a sixteen-year-old with no power. Well, let's see what all my superhero experience is worth. This serum and the emitter could do some serious damage. The project is frankly crude, even I can see that Stans has made some mistakes with the formula. With this approach, a woman's survival is already a good result, and no practical usefulness is out of the question.

In addition to a refrigerator with half-finished food, utensils, and a kettle, there was a bed in the lab. Apparently Doc could work here all day long. I wish I had a proper bath or shower before I went to bed, not cold water from the sink. I went to bed, but I felt kind of uncomfortable. Yeah, my "probation worker." After pushing the girl, I got her to go to bed normally. By the way, she didn't really wake up and obeyed all my commands, even muttered something like "yes, Mom, don't grumble" a couple of times through her sleep. There was plenty of room on the bed for both of us, and I wondered if Bobby and Stans had shared it that way before.

For some reason, sleep wouldn't come. My head started hurting again in the spot where I'd gotten hit in the car. I remembered what the girls had been talking about as we drove. I didn't pay much attention to it at the time, I was too busy. Later on, I convinced myself that what was happening was unreal, and so I did not pay attention to the little things around me that were not directly related to me. But now... The strangeness piled up one by one. It didn't seem like a production to me as the only spectator. Nor did Bobby give the impression of a professional actor. For that matter, she doesn't seem at all like someone who could be a professional in any field. But then what is the meaning of all this ridiculous talk? It makes me want to connect to the Internet again. It felt like I was missing something important, something that should change the whole picture of the world. But by an effort of will I gave up the idea.

Before falling asleep, I thought for a long time about how I could improve Stans' work. My last thought was not to delay, for I did not know what had happened to the comatose woman. As soon as I'd figured out what she'd done during the experiment, I'd begin to act, or else it might be too late.

I dreamt that I was flying in a spaceship. The dream was filled with fear and despair, we were running from someone, and there was more danger ahead of us. There was a man with me, constantly talking to himself and demanding that I not distract him from his work. The walls of the ship could become transparent, and through them I could see the Earth. The little blue ball kept moving away from us, but contrary to logic, it did not disappear from view, even when we left the solar system. Other crew members came up to me, but none of them saw Earth. They said it was too small to see it from that distance. And then the impenetrable darkness of space pulled me in.

Fear filled my consciousness, the stars disappeared, the ship disappeared, only me, open space, and the Earth remained. The Earth was falling on me, it was expanding rapidly, and the larger it became, the more horrors I saw. That's what our ship was running from. The earth was dying. No, humanity was dying, it was convulsing and agonizing, and the Earth, like a huge beast, was suffering at the hands of the parasites that were clinging to it. Then the Drop fell to the earth, the center of pure beauty, the symbol of the greatness of science and the perfect creation of the gods in its unbreakable fragility. Then the suffering of the Earth ceased, the Blob ridding it of the virus of humanity.