Chapter 3: Chapter Three, inconsistent

This time I woke up quickly, immediately switched on and aware of where I was. My head had stopped hurting overnight, but the swelling at the impact site remained. I'd been used to this sort of thing for a long time, and my spider powers allowed me to ignore it. Even at times when my powers were failing, I could afford to fall from a ten-story building with my back to the roof of a car, and not break my spine. My arm and abs were also pleasantly sore. And that was after twelve miserable push-ups. The realization of how weak I was made me unbearably ashamed.

I remembered what I had dreamed. Such a strange dream, the mere recollection of which made my heart ache. Apparently my subconscious was sending signals to my slow and forgetful mind, but how the hell was I supposed to interpret it?

"Get the fuck off my line, you one-button animal!" There was Bobby's muffled, but very distinct hiss.

And here's what woke me up. Well, yes, there were several other games on the computer besides Skyrim. Judging by the exclamations, Bobby was playing one of them.

I got up and got dressed in yesterday's clothes. No, that's not the way it's going to work.

"I hope you didn't install anything on the WORKING computer while I was asleep." I said, standing behind the girl's back.

"Oh, uh... I was just... It's just that Doc let me play on her computer when it wasn't busy, you know, and I was stuck here with her all the time, and I was bored... And so," Bobby slumped her shoulders and tried not to look me in the eye as she excused herself.

She hadn't paused the game, and while she was talking, a female voice reported that the enemy team had killed Baron.

"I'll turn it off and delete all the games, but please don't tell the boss that I caused the computer to crash," she folded her palms in a prayerful gesture and looked at me with a pleading look.

"Don't delete anything from the computer without me, and finish playing," I turned away and went to the refrigerator.

But Bobby didn't want to play anymore, she turned off the game and followed me, thanking me profusely. Apparently, the girl was really afraid of Cindy's wrath.

"Okay," I interrupted the flow of verbiage, «since you're no longer playing, listen to my terms: there must be normal food in the fridge, something that can reheat quickly. All this rotten junk should be thrown out. I want clean clothes, underwear, washcloths, towels, and everything else along those lines. And right now, show me the bathroom or the shower room.

Bobby was taken aback by this pressure and flapped her eyes at me. I went on.

"And anyway, why the fuck am I explaining this to you? You kidnapped me and wanted me to work for you! You want results, set me up with conditions."

Fortunately, there was no objection. The girl digested all the information and began to carry out the instructions. In five minutes I was already standing under the shower, brushing my teeth, thinking over the information that Bobby had inadvertently blurted out this morning.

She was here with Stans all the time. I doubt very much that she could be of any use in research; I can't see this girl as an assistant scientist if I wanted to. Playing games on a workstation is a great thing for an assistant, no doubt. Which means what? That's right, Bobby was guarding Stans just like she was guarding me. So Doc was being held here against her will. But for how long? I don't think Stans was a prisoner when she wrote her article. It's more likely that Cindy had noticed her precisely because of the publication. Although nuances are possible, this is the most likely scenario. In this case, the scientist's irresponsible attitude is revealed in a new light - she deliberately sabotaged the work process. And another question arises — who the hell is Cindy if she could see potential where the rest of the world didn't see it — in Stans' article?

Questions, questions, questions, too many questions.

While I was washing up, Bobbi brought some fresh clothes - simple sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and underwear.

I set to work on my predecessor's project again. For now, I just sorted through the old work and worked out in my head what I could do to improve the situation. In all solidarity with the victim, I am not going to create a working formula and transmitter for criminals, and it is far from certain that I can. At the same time I was assembling a decoder. It wasn't all that rosy. I'd seen Tony Stark use his suit and Jarvis to hack into all kinds of security systems a couple of times, but there was nothing as effective among the information I'd saved at night without looking.

The lock wasn't cheap. A four-digit code, and an automatic alarm after three wrong entries. A decoder, capable of resetting the number of entries, would take an hour and a half, about 120 combinations a minute, to guess a four-digit password. But if you limit yourself to four faded digits, it would only take twelve seconds. In the end, I decided to find out the master key for this lock. I'd still have to assemble a decoder to get access to the lock for a couple of hours, but at least I could reset the lock code no matter how many times I changed it. The master key is longer than the password, as much as six characters, and that's several weeks of brute force, but there is a vulnerability in the firmware of this lock model: if you enter four digits that are neither the password nor the master code, the lock will give an error. Thus, you can find out the first four positions of the master key, and then the last two.

Along the way I made a simple disposable taser, just in case.

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Bobby didn't bother me or even try to watch what I was doing. And when I let her play on the computer... She was a dream guard.

On the second night I found out the current lock code with a homemade decoder, then found out the master key, and the lock itself went into a new key entry mode. Here it would be a palsy if I immediately started to pick the master key and could not return the old code. By the way, the code contained different numbers than the four blacked out ones, which means it had recently been changed.

It took me five hours of sleep-first an hour of waiting for the estate to quiet down, then another four hours of the decoder I didn't dare sleep. My sleep is sound, but waking up on my own volition at the right time is something I do every once in a while. This could be a useful skill, allowing me not to use the alarm clock, but for some reason it does not always work. There were times when I, relying on my ability to wake up at will, would go to bed without an alarm clock and wake up fourteen hours later. Or Aunt May would wake me up when she knew I had to get up early. That same night I made a brief foray into the corridor. The lab was underground, and by happy coincidence, the guard's observation post was nearby. The guard on duty was negligent about his duties, as evidenced by the tavern owner's resounding voice announcing Rexar's fight against Anduin. The guard himself was out of sight, in an adjoining room - only his shoes and the edge of a couch could be seen in the open door. Well, at least he was awake.

One very important fact I learned from this excursion was that cameras were installed only on the outside of the manor, at the gate and the front door. I was already convinced that the lab was not equipped with explicit surveillance devices, and now I knew what places I should avoid when I escaped.

By the way, Anduin won.

By the third day I had learned everything there was to learn from Stans' notes. I was beginning to grow weary of this forced confinement. Besides, Bobby was no longer staying overnight with me, and consequently I had no access to the Internet. During this time I was able to sort through the confusion in my head, but I couldn't understand the meaning of that dream, and there were no new messages from my subconscious. Anyway, it was time to get out of here and find out what had happened to me. If I really was the superhero Spider-Man, then how did I go back in time, and if I'm just a sixteen-year-old teenager, then where did I get these memories. Well, in both cases, I need to get back my memories of the events of the last months, maybe even years of my life.

I had two basic escape plans. One: Take Bobby's gun away from me and get the girl to escort me off the estate. In the process, I could call the cops on the perpetrator's iPhone. The disadvantages of this plan are obvious, not even worth mentioning. The second: get away quietly at night, and then call the cops. This plan is also not ideal, but it was the one I was inclined to. Was I making the decoder for nothing?

There was one last option: to call the cops and become a hostage of the bandits during the storming. As it is easy to guess, this option was not approved by the High Areopagus, and was not even given the status of a plan.

***

I left the lab at night again, sneaking past the guard post. This time I could hear the sounds of some kind of movie. Yeah, well, he couldn't play Hartstone forever.

Breaking in through the main entrance is impossible, there are cameras there, so I have to find one of the service passages. In such a large estate, there could be no service passageways. I had some experience in this sort of thing, and I even learned a thing or two from Felicia, but unfortunately, I didn't have her skills for breaking and entering. I managed to get into the garage, overcoming three more electronic locks on the way. Much cheaper than the lab, I didn't even need a decoder. There are models of electronic locks that are a pleasure to crack - you open the back cover and change the access code, there's even an instruction manual. It's very nice of the manufacturers to make this possible. This is also called the dirty maid method.

But in the garage itself, an unexpected problem arose - I don't know how to drive. I just never needed to! I found a truck that brings in groceries, I even knew how to start it so I could steal it... God, that's so stupid! I don't want to run on foot through the woods when I have a car ready to be stolen. I'd have to hide again, wait for the cops to round up the criminals. Better to do it at home than at night in the woods.

Okay, combining the first two plans. Like an idiot, I went back to my room to wait for Bobby to show up. I could try to grab the guard from the post, but his absence would be noticed quickly, and so would mine. Bobby, on the other hand, spends most of the day with me. Considering that she comes very early-a girl has adjusted to my schedule-there's a high chance that our absence won't be noticed right away.

As I passed the guard post, I heard the Tavern Master's voice again, announcing defeat, followed by a woman's indignation:

"Fucking face hunter, retarded bullshit. What kind of degenerate does one have to be to play this shit?"

Female guards.

There's nothing but women's on this estate.

Bobby arrived a little earlier than usual, carrying a pile of clean clothes and a tray of fresh food. She had to close the door with her foot because of her luggage, though, strictly speaking, the door would have closed automatically.

I felt a little uncomfortable electrocuting such a caring girl, but then I remembered waking up with a headache and a bag on my head and the result of my push-ups, and though my doubts were not entirely gone, I overcame the sympathy I had developed for Bobby these days.

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