Constantly injecting combat stimulants? Wasting precious seconds in battle waiting for them to take effect? Irrational. In fight even with weak meta, this is certain death. Need to ensure instant access to stimulants without using hands. Options, actually, are many. I could place them in gelatin capsules and materialize from inventory directly in mouth. Or integrate full injection mechanism into suit.
In first case would have to clog precious inventory slots. In second, unnecessarily overcomplicate suit that already is... not yet Stark's armor, but after dozen such nights will be close. In general, solution was simple and obvious: integrate automated inhalation system into respiratory part of mask.
Taking mask in hands, I set about refinement. Into lower, filtering part, I built sockets for four small, sealed cartridges. Sort of revolver with chemical rounds. Each cartridge will be filled with different drug: "Absolute Predator" stimulant, muscle stimulant, NZT and potential fast-acting healing potion.
At my mental command, micro-pump will take strictly measured dose from needed cartridge. Then liquid will enter ultrasonic nebulizer, small device with piezo-ceramic membrane. Vibrating at ultra-high frequency, membrane will turn liquid into fine aerosol without heating or destroying its chemical structure. This "mist" will be injected directly into incoming air stream in respirator. I will only need to take one deep breath to receive instant and precise dose of drug directly into lungs, from where it will immediately enter bloodstream.
System was not complex, but most of time I again spent on "Synapse" calibration. Mask itself I made from light titanium composite in several layers: first lining from "Proteus," then softening ballistic layer. Face will be well protected. Also added built-in filters for toxins and gases.
"Central node of entire technology... practically ready," I muttered enthusiastically, holding high-tech mask in hands.
It reads my commands, gives orders to wings and gloves, monitors body condition and, when necessary, injects needed stimulant. It became brain of entire suit. And hood that I will wear over it performs additional function of camouflage and protection. Well, and style. Where would we be without it.
Scratching head, I ultimately engraved stylized blacksmith hammer along entire mask. This will be my symbol. Symbol of "Celestial Forge." Final mask covered entire part of face from nose to crown. Angular, painted in matte black, in darkness it will give itself away only by red indicator lights and faint glow of respirator filters. Eyes I covered with ballistic goggles connected to mask.
Despite fact that electronic construction of mask is modular and most sensors complement each other, meaning serious damage to complete neuro-interface, which is key technology, will not deprive me of it, I still made couple spare masks, purely just in case. Next worked on suit wiring, EMP protection, strengthened mask cybersecurity, though I understand that in case of conditional JARVIS this will help me little, and improved other minor and not so minor shortcomings and flaws.
Overall, small matter remained: combine everything into single image. This is not bulky armor. Suit turned out thin, anatomical, almost organic. Base is form-fitting jumpsuit from dark gray matte fabric. Over it, segmented, coal-black "Proteus" panels repeating lines of main muscle groups. Silhouette is completed by deep hood concealing upper part of head and mask, creating predatory, faceless image.
On back, between shoulder blades, is palladium reactor recessed into armored platform, which in turn serves as base for wings. From this platform throughout suit extend barely noticeable, thin glowing line-contours, like traces on circuit board. They pulse with dim blue light when system is under load, revealing in suit its artificial, high-tech nature. Wings themselves in folded state look like two compact, aerodynamic backpacks on sides of reactor. They do not interfere with movements and serve as additional protection for back. Well, and stylish combat gloves, of course.
[Created personal combat platform "Chimera M-1." Complexity: Medium. Received +1200 OP!]
Unified, symbiotic combat system where advanced technologies and modular weapons are integrated into anatomical suit and controlled directly through non-invasive neuro-interface.
Description pleased me. "Symbiotic." Exactly what I was aiming for. Sure, if I created all elements separately, would have earned more OP, but since they were modules of unified suit, system took this into account and held off on accrual until last moment. But even so, reward was very worthy. Really should now test suit and spin gacha, but...
"Aaaah-agh..." I yawned as never yawned in life.
Dam burst. 72-hour limit of pills was exhausted, and fatigue accumulated over three days crashed on me like tsunami. Legs buckled, and head buzzed. All these tests and OP spending will have to be postponed. Will deal with this on fresh, alert head.
Leaving laboratory and finding myself in empty Hub, I staggered to couch and immediately collapsed on it. True, before going to kingdom of Morpheus, giant monitor on wall came alive, and on it appeared serious face of Blade. Recorded message.
"So, I am leaving America," he said, some airfield visible in background. "Bastards on tail give no rest at all. Base is not compromised, so do not worry. Frank went to his place, but if anything, promises to keep in touch. He is also very interested in your creations and ready to pay as much as possible. But that is by the way. You do not owe anyone anything, especially since you have enough problems of your own."
He fell silent for second, choosing words.
"In short, will not drag it out. Thank you for everything, John. For stimulants, for cool suit, for help where you were not obliged to help. Even though I paid with money, but in my opinion, that is bullshit. Best payment happens through deeds. So contact me. In touch. Later."
Screen went dark, leaving me in silence and semi-darkness of hub. Well, pity he still left country. This was one of few people I could call friend.
Eric, Peter, Gwen... possibly Frank? But here I am not entirely sure. Afraid to imagine how he is being torn apart now after awakening. Now he is rather extremely unstable element, force of nature that can strike in any direction.
Okay, I took Eric's information into account. Can sleep now. Almost three days of work without breaks played their shitty role. True, neither Gwen nor Peter appeared at Base during this time, well or I was just so immersed in process that did not notice... But in such state I am more likely to think up something inadequate. Will hope for their prudence. And for prudence of intelligence services. Adults, after all.
Spinning various thoughts in head a bit more, I finally passed out. Did not fall asleep but passed out, as if someone turned off switch.
Awakening was wrong. Not from alarm scream and not from nightmare. It crept up like fever, slowly penetrating body and poisoning sleep from within.
First came smell. Through familiar, sterile aroma of Hub—ozone from humming servers and cold dust—something foreign broke through. Expensive perfume: sharp, suffocating aroma of white flowers and bitter almond. And under it, warmth of tanned leather and something oily-metallic, like rifle after cleaning. This smell was alive, real, and had absolutely no place here.
Then hearing caught anomaly. Familiar hum of ventilation became duller. And over it, rustle. Sliding of fabric on fabric. And breathing. Someone else's, even, only more eerie because of it. Brain, still viscous from sleep, sounded alarm. Someone else was in Hub.
Eyelids, heavy as lead... But no need to open them to feel it. Gaze. Piercing, assessing, like scalpel dissecting me on couch. Air sharply became denser. Heart did somersault and began pounding somewhere in throat, pumping pure, icy adrenaline through veins.
With difficulty unsticking eyes, I saw her.
Room was drowning in blue twilight from wall display. And in this ghostly light, like statue carved from shadow, stood female figure in black, tight-fitting suit. Material resembling rubber and dense fabric hugged her so that every muscle was visible. Narrow waist, wide, steep hips, high breasts. Gaze was fixed on me, and in brown eyes catching blue reflections, dangerous sparks danced. Despite her light hair, this was not Gwen.
"Natasha always chatters about her 'assets,'" her voice was low, with hoarseness and barely perceptible Russian accent that sounded strange and arousing. "So I decided to see this treasure myself. Up close."
Yelena Belova. Natasha's sister. What the hell was she doing here? And what assets?
Instead of coherent answer came slow, hypnotic walk of predator in my direction. Her hips swayed in rhythm with unhurried steps, and this sight took breath away. Attempt to jerk to sit up failed. Body, betrayed by three days of vigil over crafting, refused to obey. Muscles felt like cotton. Could only watch.
She stopped, looming over me. Blue light outlined her high cheekbones, full lips, light curly hair.
"Genius hiding from everyone... there is something enticing in that," her voice rang with mockery and some evil jealousy. "But my sister loves to play with her toys, break them psychologically. I think you need to play with them for real. Until they break physically."
She squatted down. Cold of tactical glove touched cheek hot from sleep. Fingers ran along jaw, descended to neck. From this contrast electric discharge ran through body, and under jeans treacherously grew heavy. She noticed. Corner of her lips trembled predatorily.
"Natasha would talk to you for hours. Would play her games. Boring," she whispered, leaning so close that her breath with smell of cherry liqueur touched my lips. "Psychology is long. Physics is much more convincing."
Her lips did not touch—they pressed into mine. This was not kiss but statement of rights. Demanding, rough, taking without asking. In mouth was taste of cherry, her lipstick. Hands, driven by instinct ancient as world, themselves lay on her waist, fingers dug into firm hips. Low, guttural moan broke from her lips, and she leaned forward, pressing me into couch, depriving of air and will.
She pulled away as abruptly as she attacked, leaving me breathing heavily. On her lips played victorious smirk.
"See? Simple and effective."
In one smooth movement gloves were pulled off and thrown on floor. Cool fingers ran over my chest, unbuttoning shirt buttons.
"Power," low voice rasped at my abs. "That is what turns you on. When they decide for you. When they take away choice."
Her touches were devoid of tenderness, they were demanding and precise, each movement asserting her superiority. Cold palm dove under waistband of jeans, and world narrowed to this sensation—dominating, subjugating, leaving no choice. Dry click of zipper sounded like verdict. She was going to prove her words in practice. Her hot breath touched skin of stomach, and I exhaled tightly when she made me forget about everything except her will. She did not ask. She took. And only thing I could do was submit, feeling control slip away and body burn under her pressure. I clutched fingers in her light hair, ready to surrender, but she immediately pulled away.
"I decide when," she exhaled, licking swollen lips.
She stood. Zipper on her suit hissed down. In one movement she straddled me, pressing with whole body, beginning slow, taunting motion.
"Beg," her voice growled. "Say you want me."
At this moment heavy elevator doors opened soundlessly.
"Is this all you are capable of, little sister? Brute force. How predictable."
We froze. In doorway, illuminated by soft light from cabin, stood Natasha. In simple tank top and jeans, with loose red hair. She looked relaxed, but her gaze was sharper than blade.
"You are like plank," she said lazily, approaching closer. "And here need is flexibility. Watch and learn."
She sat on other side. Yelena hissed angrily but did not get off me. Natasha's hand took mine and placed it on her breast. Under thin fabric of tank top, heart beat evenly, and skin was hot. Her other hand slid over my chest; fingers were warm and gentle, but each touch struck like electric shock. Then Natasha smoothly lowered herself, kneeling before couch.
"Decided to repeat after me?" Yelena smirked.
"No," Natasha answered, not taking green eyes off me. "I decided to show how it is done properly."
And she showed. It was completely different. Not rough pressure but art of seduction. Movements slow, teasing, promising and taking away simultaneously. She did not take by force—she made you desire, beg for more, driving to frenzy with mere hint. Yelena above hissed from jealousy and anger, her hips began moving faster, trying to pull attention to herself.
Natasha pulled away, measured sister with cold look, then looked at me.
"She takes. I seduce. Difference is fundamental."
In rage Yelena pushed sister away. Sharp, burning movement—and I was already in her, inside her. Hot, tight, demanding. She cried out and began moving furiously, making me moan. But Natasha did not allow her to dominate. Her hands, her lips immediately found me, adding to this madness their own, different tonality—slow, viscous poison of pleasure. Two different but equally strong sensations attacking simultaneously. I was ready to explode.
With jerk full of primal rage, I pushed Natasha away and, grabbing Yelena by hips, flipped her, setting rhythm myself. Natasha immediately pressed against me from behind, her palm helped my movements, and lips found neck, biting and leaving wet traces.
Yelena came first, with loud scream digging nails into my back. Her hot, pulsing spasms squeezed out remains of self-control from me.
Without giving time to recover, Natasha pushed sister away and straddled me herself. She moved slowly, plastically, her hips described circles, and this was exquisitely sweet. Yelena, still trembling, crawled up and put mouth to her breast. Quiet moan broke from Natasha's lips when she threw back head.
Further everything mixed into chaos of sweaty bodies, ragged breathing and thick smell of intimacy. They changed places, used my body as battlefield for their rivalry. I was both weapon and prize. At some point I was behind Natasha, feeling Yelena caress her in front, their moans merged into one. I lost count of time and myself until world shattered into million incandescent fragments.
When everything ended, I lay exhausted, and they lay on sides of me. Hub hummed, screen blinked.
Yelena smirked, lazily kissing sister on shoulder.
"I told you my way is better. Straightforward."
Natasha smiled. Her hand slowly stroked lower part of my stomach, and I felt how body, despite all logic and complete exhaustion, again responds to her caress.
"We are both good, little sister. And he..." her gaze directed at me no longer contained game. Only pure, icy sense of ownership. "He is ours."
Ours... Ours. OURS!
Word struck consciousness like hammer on anvil. Black Widows hunting for me... Unexpected penetration to Base that practically no one knows about... Natasha in civilian clothes... My own stupidity and cotton-like thoughts... Inventory, stimulants, weapons... Did I really allow myself to relax so much?
With overwhelming mental effort I forced myself to open eyes. In reality.
Warm female bodies disappeared. They were replaced by cold, slightly sticky leatherette of couch. Smell of sex and perfume changed to sterile smell of ozone from servers. Instead of moans and breathing, monotonous, low hum of ventilation. I was alone.
"Fucking hell..." escaped in hoarse whisper. "Need to record: after prolonged abstinence and lack of rest, erotic dreams become damn realistic."
Minor unpleasantness was also that I had nocturnal emission. And judging by state of jeans, several times. Though... in fairness, compared to actually being devoured by two super-spy seductresses, I got off easy. On other hand, I actually want to make contact with same Natasha. Interesting, how will I now look her in eyes at negotiations?
I sat up, shaking head, and looked at wall screen. What do we have on agenda now?
Tuesday, September 29.
I disappeared from information field for almost four days, being completely cut off from world. Hope they did not lose me? Need to go home, check situation. In theory, intelligence services have already marinated enough, bait in form of patent should be swallowed by them. But first... First need to regain control.
Suit tests. And gacha. And also eat...