Chapter 4
Five hundred and fifty dollars.
The number burned on the receipt in my head like a brand. I stood in the middle of my miserable studio, surrounded by several heavy plastic bags that gave off a mingled smell of fresh wood, chemical adhesive, and treated leather. That smell, the smell of potential, was the only thing standing between me and a full panic attack.
Five hundred and fifty dollars, blown on upcoming experiments. An enormous, unaffordable sum for John Thompson, and for me in my current position. I was sincerely, almost childishly hoping this gamble would pay off a hundredfold. Because looking at everything I'd bought, I understood clearly: if nothing worked out, if the "technology" I got from the first roll turned out to be useless garbage and not even close to a golden goose, then I would have to work off this debt. For a long time. Painfully. Selling hot dogs on a street corner or scrubbing dishes in some dingy diner.
But if I weighed the risks honestly, what was I really losing? Debt on a credit card I could restructure, or simply ignore by moving to another state? A reputation and a college education I couldn't care less about? All of that was dust compared to what I'd already lost, and what I stood to gain.
As a last resort, I always had a trump card in reserve: the inventory. The temptation was real. I could vividly picture how easily it would solve every financial problem. Slip out at night, tuck a reinforced door into inventory, walk into some jewelry store, vacuum a couple of trays of diamonds into storage, and stroll right back out. But I chased those thoughts away. I genuinely didn't want to step onto that particular slope. Not out of some abstract moral code, but for purely practical reasons.
This world was crawling with telepaths, sorcerers, genius detectives, street vigilantes with superhuman hearing, and all-seeing government agencies. Attracting unwanted attention in a place like this was dangerously easy, and the kinds of people that attention would bring, even under the best of circumstances, were better kept out of your life entirely. So for now I'd try to be an honest man. An ordinary working stiff with a magic pocket and a credit card.
The real question was where to start. There were plenty of options. I carefully laid everything I'd bought out on the single table, and the sight of it, that craftsman's still life, settled my nerves a little.
First, and most obvious, my somewhat native element: woodworking. I ran my fingers lovingly over the handles of the new chisel set and carving tools. Next to them lay sheets of sandpaper in various grits, a small sharp hacksaw, a can of varnish, and several blocks of linden and pine. The plan was simple: test different variations. Start with a basic decorative figurine, then move to something more functional, like a box, or at minimum a spoon. I needed to understand whether the system drew a distinction between things made for art and things made for use. What did it value more, beauty or utility?
Second, mechanics and engineering. Since I'd mentioned a potato gun earlier, I had to follow through on that. Was I a man or not? The spud gun would happen, and that was non-negotiable. There were literally hundreds of variations online, from the most basic to nearly semi-professional. I'd settled on a classic, proven design.
For it I'd bought several PVC pipes in different diameters, plastic bonding adhesive, a piezo igniter from an old lighter, fittings, and a canister of propane-butane mix. I was genuinely curious how the system would classify this build. Would it read it as a "weapon"? And how many OP would it hand out? I was fairly certain the answer would be in the tens. After all, a spud gun was a spud gun even in the Avengers' world.
Third, leatherworking. I'd initially wanted clay, but quickly realized that proper ceramics required a kiln, and all I had was a two-burner mini stove. So I shelved the clay idea and picked up a starter leather kit instead: a few pieces of vegetable-tanned hide, a sharp awl, a punch set, a spool of waxed thread, and proper needles. The utility knife and metal ruler were versatile enough to cover everything else. The plan, following a few online guides, was to make myself a simple card wallet. Something practical and durable.
Before starting, I gave myself a small ritual I'd carried over from my old life. I brewed strong black coffee in John's old Turkish coffee pot, which I'd polished until it gleamed. The smell filled the tiny studio and momentarily overpowered the stink of cheap wallpaper and poverty. Sitting at the table loaded with tools and materials, I looked at all of it and felt something almost forgotten: anticipation. This wasn't just starting a job. This was a declaration.
In my old world, every new project started this way, with a cup of coffee and quiet planning. It was the time when I mentally walked through every stage, from first cut to final polish. Now, in this borrowed body in this borrowed apartment, the simple ritual became a bridge connecting who I used to be with who I was now.
It reminded me that beneath all this Marvel chaos, at my core I was still the same. I was someone who took the disorder of raw materials and shaped them into the order of finished things. It didn't matter whether I was making a stool, a spud gun, or possibly, someday, something capable of saving lives. The process was sacred.
After one more sweep of the improvised workbench and a quick mental rundown of the next steps, I decided not to overcomplicate it and to start in order. With wood. With what was familiar. If it earned me the remaining 50 OP, I'd be overjoyed. Everything else would go toward farming for the next roll.
"So what should I carve so the system clearly registers it as a wooden figurine? And at exactly what point does it mark the work complete?" I asked aloud, picking up a small linden block roughly the size of my fist.
The instant my fingers closed around it, I felt something like relief. Deep, almost physical. The soft, sweet scent of linden, its pliable, even-grained texture, all of it was painfully familiar. This was a piece of my old world, a tangible anchor in this ocean of madness. Not paper cranes, not student lectures. Real work.
I picked up the carving tool, and its wooden handle settled into my palm perfectly. For a moment I closed my eyes, and a memory surfaced with startling clarity: sitting on the freshly planed porch of my house back home, the summer sun warm on my back, while the neighbor's six-year-old, Lyoshka, squatted beside me watching in wide-eyed silence as a simple wooden horse emerged from a block just like this one. I remembered pressing it into his hands, and the way his whole face lit up with pure, uncomplicated joy. A small moment from a life I no longer had.
The pain was sharp, like the blade in my hand. I held still for a second, staring at the block. This wasn't going to be just a figurine. It was a ghost from the past, a memory made solid. And then a thought surfaced: what if the system read more than complexity and materials? What if it registered emotional investment? Intent? After all, that horse for Lyoshka hadn't just been a craft project. There had been warmth in it, a genuine wish to delight a child, a sliver of soul.
And what was I putting into this now? Cold calculation. A hunger for OP. I was a craftsman working a deal with the devil, and my output was just currency. I wondered whether the system would notice the difference. If I carved this figurine with the same warmth as that horse, would it reward me more? Or was a soulless mechanism only ever processing variables in a formula? I smirked. Trying to charm or guilt a universal artifact was foolishness. But I'd still try to put into those smooth curves not just skill, but that quiet joy of making something, for my own sake, if nothing else.
Alright. Enough sentimentality. There was a task. Wooden figurines. Despite never thinking of myself as a sculptor, years of woodworking had left their mark, and rabbits had always come out particularly well for some reason. Simple, recognizable form. No point reinventing the wheel. I settled into the work, turned on a news channel in the background on the laptop, and got started. The shavings curled down onto the table in even, fragrant spirals, the carving tool sang its quiet, steady song, and I nearly forgot where I was and why I was doing any of this. I was just working. And it was wonderful.
"...meanwhile, representatives of Damage Control report that cleanup work from the recent incident in the Bronx is expected to be completed by Friday. City Hall is again urging residents not to approach the cordoned-off blocks..."
I chuckled without looking up. "Incident." What a clean, sterile word for what had almost certainly been another brawl between some Hulk-class and Abomination-class heavy hitter that had flattened a few city blocks in the process.
"...and in top science news, it has been announced that brilliant scientist Dr. Otto Octavius will be holding a closed investor presentation in one month, on October 14th. He is expected to unveil for the first time a prototype of his neuro-interface manipulators, which, according to sources, could represent a genuine breakthrough in fields ranging from surgery to construction."
My hand trembled, and the carving tool took too large a chip from the future rabbit's ear. Damn. Octavius. Another genius about to take a very wrong turn. The mental calendar clicked into place. Events were just beginning to unfold. I carefully corrected the shape, tilting the bunny's head slightly to hide the defect. Working under the weight of those thoughts about the world slowly but surely rolling downhill, I brought the piece to completion. One last pass with sandpaper, and there it was: a smooth, satisfying little creature that fit perfectly in the hand. It had taken about thirty minutes. Setting it on the table, I waited with held breath for the system notification.
[Created simple wooden figurine. Complexity: Minimal. Received +5 OP!]
Yes. For thirty minutes of relaxed, almost meditative work, I'd earned five times more OP than for a single paper crane. The system valued real craftsmanship, even in its simplest form. This wasn't just encouraging. It was a foundation. I was beginning to understand the rules of this game.
Taking another block, I set to carving a second rabbit, aiming to make it an exact copy of the first. But this time I broadcast a deliberate mental note to the system: "The work isn't finished until I varnish it." The system said nothing. Even when the second figurine was fully carved and sanded, there was no notification. But the moment I laid a thin coat of varnish on it with a brush and set it out on a sheet of paper to dry, the result came in immediately.
[Created simple varnished wooden figurine. Complexity: Minimal. Received +6 OP!]
One free OP, just for spending an extra minute on finishing. My theory was confirmed. The more multi-step and complete the work, even when the extra stages were minor, the higher the final reward. By that logic, the spud gun, which involved cutting, gluing, fitting, and installing a firing mechanism, was going to pay out a lot. A serious lot. I could barely wait to get to it, but discipline came first. I needed to close out the remaining 39 OP and finally put that first roll to rest.
The next three hours turned into a small assembly line of varnished wooden rabbits. I could have stopped once I hit the quota, but something in me kept going, feeling out the ceiling.
Tenth rabbit. Eleventh.
[Created simple varnished wooden figurine. Complexity: Minimal. Received +3 OP!]
[Warning! OP earning limit in the area of creating wooden figurines of minimal complexity has been partially exhausted. For the next 9 figurines, +3 OP will be awarded.]
Even the varnish bonus had stopped applying. Disappointing. But my total now read 112 OP. More than enough. Without drawing it out, I opened the system interface, found the "Forge Reality" tab, took a slow breath, and pressed the hammer icon.
No flashy special effects. No light show. No epileptic gacha animation. My system was aggressively practical. Just a plain text notification:
[Received Blueprint (simple). Project: Arcanum of Steamworks and Magick Obscura. (Technology unlock costs 50 OP.)]
This small folder contains any one schematic of your choice from those available in Arcanum. You may select both standard technologies such as the Feather-Weight Axe or the Elephant Gun, as well as prototype inventions not included in the standard technological disciplines, such as the Wonder Drug, the Electro-Armor, or the Tranquilizer Gun.
So. What now? I switched to the "Technologies" tab and found a new, grayed-out, inactive line carrying the project name. Locked. What in the hell? I already paid a hundred points for the roll! I had honestly ground out those OP, carving those ridiculous rabbits, all to earn the right to pay again?
"Are you freaking kidding me?" The words came out before I could stop them.
Going back to the "Forge Reality" tab, I noticed with a sinking feeling that the cost for the next activation had gone up. "Forge Reality. Cost: 150 OP."
One-fifty for the next one. Then two hundred. Then two-fifty, and so on. Unpleasant. Very unpleasant. Hot, useless rage clawed up from somewhere deep. I wanted to throw something at the wall, to smash those stupid rabbits to pieces. I reined it in. Deep breath. Let it out. Anger was a lousy advisor.
I needed to think. The system wasn't a slot machine. It hadn't handed me random junk. Right from the first attempt it had given me not one specific blueprint but an entire catalog, a folder full of projects, and it had given me a choice. But choice came with a price tag. That was, in its own way, logical. Deeply aggravating, but logical.
The real snag, as always, was in the details. "Arcanum of Steamworks and Magick Obscura." The word MAGICK put my practical mind on alert immediately. What if the blueprint I chose had ingredients I physically couldn't obtain? What if "Wonder Drug" required powdered griffin horn or phoenix tears? What if "Electro-Armor" called for vibranium, which you couldn't source outside Wakanda? What if the alloy for the "Feather-Weight Axe" needed uru metal from the forges of Nidavellir? Where would that leave me?
The only option was to keep farming. This "Arcanum" was either a long-term investment in a hazy future, or it was going to surprise me pleasantly the moment I unlocked it. I looked at the remaining wooden blocks. Enough rabbits. Time to make something functional. I'd also get to check how the system rated utility objects. Either way, I'd hit the 50 OP needed for the unlock by end of day.
Taking a new block and sawing off the right-sized piece with the hacksaw, I settled back in and started carving a simple wooden spoon this time. Twenty minutes of work, and there was the result.
[Created simple wooden utensil. Complexity: Minimal. Received +5 OP!]
Same as for the rabbit. I wasn't about to risk varnishing a spoon, but I was satisfied. Spoons were simpler and faster. The next few hours passed in steady, quiet carving, pushing the OP counter up to the target.
The room filled up with shavings. The table accumulated a film of varnish and wood dust. In the corner sat a small army of wooden rabbits and a growing pile of spoons. The wood smell was thick and good. I looked at my hands. John's hands. They had picked up small scratches and splinters over the course of the day, and the first rough patches of callus were forming on my fingers. They were becoming less foreign. They were turning into working hands, a craftsman's tools.
There was a pleasant fatigue in my muscles, the kind that comes after a long, productive day. Today I had done more than John Thompson had probably managed in the entire last year of his life. I wasn't just surviving. I was moving. I had set goals and reached them. They were still small goals, earn enough points, unlock a blueprint, but they existed. They gave me direction in this insane world. I didn't yet know what waited for me inside that "Arcanum," but for the first time in a long while, what I felt looking toward the future wasn't fear. It was a sharp, hungry curiosity.
[Created simple wooden utensil. Complexity: Minimal. Received +3 OP!]
[Warning! OP earning limit in the area of creating wooden utensils of minimal complexity has been partially exhausted. For the next 9 creations, +3 OP will be awarded.]
My total finally sat at 65 OP. Fifty of those were about to go toward the first unlock. I was finally going to get something genuinely useful out of the system. Or more precisely, a blueprint for something useful.
[Do you really wish to unlock Blueprint (simple). Project: Arcanum of Steamworks and Magick Obscura, for 50 OP?]
I answered with a firm mental yes and held my breath, not quite knowing what to expect. Something remarkable, maybe. Though calling my current life remarkable was generous.
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