Of course, Eddie was a special case.
Not everyone who took NZT became a millionaire overnight.
In the Limitless universe, there were plenty of people who'd gotten their hands on NZT and used it to get ahead. Some became successful. Some made fortunes.
But most? Most crashed and burned.
Because NZT had side effects.
And the only antidote—the one that actually worked—was connected to Eddie.
Before Eddie came along, nobody had figured out how to eliminate the side effects. Nobody had even come close.
Which meant if Marcus wanted a permanent solution, he'd need to deal with Eddie eventually.
But that could wait.
For now, Marcus needed to understand the drug he'd just taken.
The benefits of NZT were incredible. Enhanced memory, superhuman focus, lightning-fast learning. All of it.
But it came at a cost.
First: the effects were temporary. One pill lasted about twelve hours. After that, you were back to normal.
Second: if you took NZT regularly and then stopped, the withdrawal was brutal. Splitting headaches. Vomiting. Dizziness. And worst of all, gaps in your memory. Things you'd learned or experienced while on NZT would just... vanish.
There were two ways to deal with the side effects.
Option one: Develop a version of NZT without side effects. Eddie had done that in the movie, eventually.
Option two: Create an antidote that neutralized the side effects without changing the drug itself.
The movie hadn't shown much detail about either solution. But Marcus—thanks to his enhanced memory—had just remembered something important.
Limitless wasn't just a movie.
There was a TV series.
And in that TV series, the antidote was real.
It was a special enzyme. An injection that eliminated the side effects of NZT.
There were two versions of it. A temporary version that lasted one month, and a permanent version that eliminated side effects forever.
Marcus didn't remember much about the TV series plot. He'd only watched a few episodes years ago. But he knew it took place four years after the movie ended.
Which raised an interesting question:
Could he transition from the movie timeline to the TV series timeline?
If he could stay in this world long enough, could he get his hands on the permanent antidote?
And if that was possible... did that mean he could stay in other worlds with sequels? Transformers? The DC universe? Marvel itself?
The system hadn't explained those rules.
Marcus would have to figure it out on his own.
After walking for a while, Marcus found a small hotel.
He needed a place to stay. Sleeping on the streets wasn't an option—New York at night was dangerous, even for locals. Robberies, muggings, worse. Even people who lived here avoided going out after dark.
And Marcus was still just a regular guy. Sure, NZT made him smarter. But it didn't make him bulletproof.
He needed to stay low-key. Avoid attention. Build up resources.
Once he was stronger? Once he had money and connections? Then he could take risks.
But not yet.
Marcus pushed through the door of the hotel and walked up to the front desk.
The clerk—a tired-looking woman in her forties—glanced up at him.
"Help you?"
"Yeah," Marcus said. "How much for a room?"
"Depends on what you need. We got rooms from fifty to a hundred a night."
"I'll take the fifty-dollar room. Five nights."
The clerk nodded and started typing on her computer. "Alright. That's two hundred fifty total. I'll need your ID and a credit card."
Marcus paused.
Right. ID.
He didn't have one. Not in this world. No driver's license. No passport. No social security number. Technically, he didn't exist.
But Marcus didn't panic. His NZT-enhanced brain had already worked out a solution.
"I, uh... forgot my ID," Marcus said, keeping his expression neutral. "Left it at a friend's place. I don't have any other documents on me. Can I still get a room?"
The clerk's expression shifted. A small, knowing smile.
"Of course you can."
Marcus exhaled in relief.
"But," the clerk continued, "the price goes up a little. One hundred a night."
Marcus stared at her.
She stared back, still smiling.
You've got to be kidding me.
The clerk knew exactly what she was doing. No ID meant no official record. Which meant she could charge whatever she wanted.
Marcus wanted to argue. Wanted to call her out on the blatant extortion.
But he didn't have a choice.
He pulled out five hundred-dollar bills and set them on the counter.
The clerk's smile widened. "Pleasure doing business with you."
The room was small. Cramped. The bed looked like it hadn't been replaced since the '90s, and the carpet smelled faintly of cigarette smoke.
But it was clean enough. And it had a lock on the door.
Marcus took a quick shower, changed into his new clothes, and tossed his old outfit—the one he'd brought from the Marvel universe—onto a chair.
Then he headed back out.
He had work to do.
Marcus flagged down a cab on the street.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"New York Public Library."
Marcus had never been to New York before. Didn't know the streets. Didn't know the layout.
But the cab driver did.
Twenty minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of the library.
Marcus paid the fare and stepped out.
The New York Public Library was massive. Grand stone architecture. Huge columns. The kind of building that looked like it had been standing for a hundred years.
Marcus walked up the steps and pushed through the front doors.
Inside, the air was cool and quiet. Rows of bookshelves stretched out in every direction. A few people sat at tables, reading or working on laptops. But it was mostly empty.
Perfect.
Marcus walked up to the front desk and signed in. No ID required—just a name and a signature. He scribbled "Mark Reynolds" on the form and moved on.
He had about eight hours left before the NZT wore off.
Time to make the most of it.
Marcus headed straight for the language section.
His English was functional, but not fluent. He could hold a basic conversation. Could understand most of what people said to him. But he needed more than that.
If he was going to navigate this world—make money, build connections, avoid suspicion—he needed to master the language completely.
Marcus scanned the shelves and pulled out an English dictionary. A thick one. Over twenty thousand words.
He sat down at an empty table, opened the book, and started reading.
Most people used somewhere between three thousand and five thousand English words in everyday conversation.
Native speakers might know up to twenty thousand.
But Marcus didn't need to be "most people."
He needed to be better.
And with NZT, learning was effortless.
English—the same language that had frustrated him all through school, the same subject he'd barely scraped by in—was suddenly easy.
In the overclocked state, Marcus's brain operated at full capacity. One hundred percent efficiency. He wasn't just reading the words. He was absorbing them. Memorizing them. Categorizing them.
Every definition. Every pronunciation. Every nuance.
It was like his mind had become a supercomputer.
The pages turned quickly. Marcus kept the sound low, trying not to draw attention. But he moved fast.
Flip. Scan. Absorb. Flip.
Fifteen minutes later, he closed the dictionary.
Done.
Every single word in that book was now locked in his memory. Perfect recall. No effort required.
God, this is incredible.
Of course, Marcus knew the downside. When the NZT wore off, he'd probably lose most of this. His brain would revert to normal. The memories would fade.
But for now? For the next few hours?
He was a genius.
Marcus grabbed another book. Then another. Grammar guides. Syntax references. Idiomatic expressions.
He tore through them.
One hour later, he stopped.
English was done.
Fully mastered.
Marcus leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly.
He could speak English now. Not just conversational English. Fluent English. Better than most native speakers.
He could read anything in this library. Could understand complex legal documents, academic papers, technical manuals. Could pick up on subtle nuances in speech and writing that most people missed.
Part of it was the NZT.
But part of it was the foundation he already had. Years of English classes back in school. All those movies and videos he'd half-watched without really paying attention.
The knowledge had been there all along, buried in his memory.
NZT had just unlocked it.
If he'd started from zero—if he'd never studied English before—it probably would've taken him twelve hours or more to get to this level.
But with a foundation?
One hour.
Marcus stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the street below.
He could feel the confidence surging through him. The clarity. The control.
This was what it felt like to be on top.
This was what it felt like to have an unfair advantage.
And Marcus loved it.
This is what cheating feels like, he thought, grinning to himself.
And it's amazing.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.