Five hundred fifty dollars.
The amount burned into my mind like a hot brand from the receipt. I stood in the middle of my wretched studio, surrounded by several dense plastic bags exuding the mixed aroma of fresh wood, chemical glue, and treated leather. That smell, the smell of potential, was the only thing keeping me from a panic attack.
Five hundred fifty dollars blown on upcoming experiments. Huge, crushing money for John Thompson, and for me in my current situation. I sincerely, almost childishly, hoped this gamble would pay off a hundredfold. Because looking at this purchased goodness, I clearly understood: if nothing comes of it, if the "technology" from the first pull turns out to be useless trash and not a holy grail or at least a golden-egg-laying hen, then I… will have to work off these expenses. Long. Painfully. Selling hot dogs on a street corner or washing dishes in some dive diner.
Though if I weigh all the risks soberly… what do I really lose? Debt on a credit card that can be restructured or simply defaulted on by fleeing to another state? Reputation and college education I don't give a damn about? All of it was dust compared to what I'd already lost, and what I could gain.
In the worst case, my arsenal still had an ace—the cheat inventory. The temptation was great. Imagine how easily financial problems could be solved: under cover of night put a protected door into inventory, then walk into a jewelry store, "inhale" a couple trays of diamonds into inventory and calmly walk out. But I drove those thoughts away. I sincerely didn't want to step onto that slippery slope. Not because of some abstract moral code, but for purely practical reasons. In this world teeming with telepaths, mages, genius detectives, street vigilantes with super hearing, and all-seeing government organizations, it's too easy to attract unwanted attention. Attention from those whose even desirable presence in your life is best avoided. So for now I'll try to be an honest guy. An ordinary hard-working guy… with a magic pocket and a credit card.
Now the main question—what to start with? There really were a lot of options. I carefully laid out all the purchased goods on the only table, and this sight, this craftsman's still life, calmed my nerves a bit.
First, and most obvious, my, in a sense, native element—woodworking. I lovingly ran my fingers over the handles of the new set of chisels and gouges. Nearby lay sheets of sandpaper in different grits, a small but sharp handsaw, a jar of varnish, and of course several bars of lime and pine. The plan was simple: test different variations. Start with a simple decorative figurine, then move to something more functional, like a box or at least a spoon. I needed to understand if there was a correlation for the system between things created for art and utilitarian objects. What did it value more: beauty or utility?
Second, mechanics and engineering. Since I'd mentioned a potato cannon, a man's word is his bond. Potato cannon—must be done, no discussion! Internet had literally hundreds of variations, from simplest to nearly professional. I settled on the basic, time-tested design. For it I bought several PVC pipes of different diameters, caustic plastic glue, a piezo igniter from an old lighter, fittings, and a can of propane-butane mix. I was damn curious how the system would evaluate this handiwork. Would it count as a "weapon"? And how many OP would it give? I was almost sure it would be dozens. After all, a potato cannon is a potato cannon even in the Avengers' world!
Third, leatherworking. Initially I wanted clay, but quickly realized that for full-fledged ceramics I needed a muffle kiln for firing, and I only had a two-burner mini-stove. So I postponed clay and took a starter leatherworking kit: several thin pieces of vegetable-tanned leather, a sharp awl, set of punches, spool of waxed thread, and special needles. Box cutter and metal ruler were universal tools. The plan—following internet guides make myself a simple wallet-cardholder. Something practical and durable.
Before starting work, I allowed myself a small ritual left from my past life. I brewed strong black coffee in John's old, now sparkling-clean cezve. The aroma filled the tiny studio, for a moment overpowering the smell of cheap wallpaper and poverty. Sitting at the table cluttered with tools and materials, I looked at this abundance and felt an almost forgotten anticipation. This wasn't just the start of work. This was a statement.
In my old world every new project began this way—with a cup of coffee and quiet planning. This was the time when I mentally played through every stage: from first cut to final polish. Now, in this alien body and alien apartment, this simple ritual became a bridge connecting past me with present me. It reminded me that despite all this Marvel tinsel, at my core I remained the same. I am a man who takes chaos of materials and turns it into order of things. And it doesn't matter what I create—a stool, a potato cannon, or, perhaps one day, something capable of saving the world. The process remains sacred.
Once more surveying my makeshift workbench and mentally running through the next steps, I decided not to overcomplicate and start in order. With wood. With what was familiar and close to me. If this helps me earn the remaining 50 OP, I'll be overjoyed. And everything else will go toward farming the next pull.
"So, what to carve so the system clearly registers it as a wooden figurine? And at what exact stage will it register the work as complete?" I voiced the obvious question, taking in hand a small, fist-sized limewood block.
The moment my fingers touched the warm, smooth wood, I felt… relief. Deep, almost physical. The light, sweetish smell of lime, its pliable, uniform structure—everything was painfully familiar, native. This was part of my old world, a tangible anchor in this ocean of madness. Not paper cranes and not student lectures. Real work.
I took the gouge, and its wooden handle lay in my palm like it was cast for it. For a moment I closed my eyes, and in memory flashed a bright image: I'm sitting on the freshly planed porch of my house, summer sun warming my back. Nearby on his haunches sits the neighbor's six-year-old boy, Lyosha, watching with mute admiration as from under my hands, from exactly such a lime block, emerges a simple wooden horse. I remember handing it to him, and how his face lit up with pure, sincere joy. A simple moment from a life I no longer have.
The pain from this thought was sharp like the gouge blade in my hand. I froze for a second, staring at the wooden block. This won't be just a figurine. This is a ghost from the past, a materialized memory. And I suddenly thought, what if the system reads not only complexity and materials. What if it reads emotional investment too? Intention? After all, that horse for Lyosha wasn't just a trinket. It had a piece of warmth invested, a desire to make a child happy, a piece of soul. And what am I investing now? Cold calculation. Thirst for OP. I'm a craftsman making a deal with the devil, and my work is just currency. Interesting—will the system notice the difference? If I carve this figurine with the same warmth as that horse, will I get more points? Or for a soulless mechanism is it all just variables in a formula? I smirked. Trying to deceive or move a universal artifact to pity is stupid. But I'll still try to put into the smooth curves of the figurine not only skill, but that very feeling of quiet joy from creation. Just for myself.
Alright, enough sentimentality! There's a task. Wooden figurines. Though I never considered myself a sculptor, over years of woodworking I'd gotten good at it. Especially for some reason hares turned out well. Simple, recognizable form. Deciding not to reinvent the wheel, I set to meticulous work, turning on a news channel on the laptop as background. Shavings fell on the table in even, fragrant curls, the gouge sang its quiet, soothing song, and I almost forgot where I was and why I was doing this. I simply worked. And it was beautiful.
"…meanwhile, representatives of Damage Control report that cleanup of the recent incident in the Bronx will be completed by Friday. The mayor's office again urges citizens not to approach cordoned-off blocks…"
I chuckled without pausing work. "Incident." What a beautiful, sterile word for another brawl between Hulk and Abomination that leveled a couple city blocks.
"…and now to science news. It has become known that genius scientist Dr. Otto Octavius will hold a closed presentation for investors in one month, on October 14. Presumably, he will unveil a prototype of his neurointerface manipulators, which, according to rumors, could make a real breakthrough in fields from surgery to construction!"
At that moment my hand twitched, and the gouge sliced too big a chip off the future hare's ear. Damn. Octavius. Another genius about to take the wrong turn. The calendar in my head clicked. So events are just starting to unfold. I carefully corrected the shape, slightly changing the head position of the bunny to hide the flaw. Under heavy thoughts about the world slowly but surely sliding downhill, I brought the work to completion. Final touch with sandpaper, and there it was—smooth, pleasant to the touch wooden animal. About half an hour total. Placing it on the table, I received with bated breath the system notification:
[Created simple wooden figurine. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +5 OP!]
Yes! In half an hour of relaxed, almost meditative work I got five times more OP than for one paper crane! The system valued real craftsmanship, even in such simple form. This didn't just please, it gave hope. I was beginning to understand the rules of this game.
Taking another block, I again set to carving a hare, trying to make it an exact copy of the first. But this time I mentally signaled the system: "Work not finished until I varnish it." The system was silent. Even when the second figurine was completely ready and sanded, no notification. But the moment I brushed on a thin layer of varnish and set the hare to dry on a sheet of paper, the result came.
[Created simple varnished wooden figurine. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +6 OP!]
+1 free OP! Just for spending an extra minute on finishing! My theory confirmed. The more multi-stage and complete the work, even if additional stages are minor, the higher the final reward. By this logic, for a potato cannon, with assembly, gluing, and mechanism installation, I'd get… a lot. A whole lot. Couldn't wait to get to it, but… discipline first. Need to finish off the remaining 39 OP and finally close the gestalt with the first pull.
The next three hours turned into a small conveyor of varnished wooden hares. I could've stopped after the needed number, but something inside made me continue, to feel out the limit. Tenth hare… eleventh…
[Created simple varnished wooden figurine. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +3 OP!]
[Attention! OP earning limit in the area of creating Minimal-difficulty wooden figurines partially exhausted! For the next 9 figurines +3 OP each.]
Even for varnish they stopped adding. Annoying. But my balance showed 112 OP. More than enough. Without dragging the cat by the balls, I opened the system interface, found the "Forge the Universe" tab and, taking a deep breath, mentally pressed the hammer icon.
No bright special effects, light shows, or epileptic gacha animations. My system was ultra-pragmatic. Simple text notification:
[Received Blueprint (simple) - Project (Arcanum of Steamworks and Magick Obscura). (Unlocking technology costs 50 OP)]
This small folder contains any one scheme of your choice from those you could find in the Arcanum. You may choose both standard technologies such as Lightweight Axe and Elephant Gun, and prototype inventions not included in the standard curriculum of technological disciplines, for example Miracle Cure, Charged Armor or Tranquilizer Gun.
So… What next? I switched to the "Technologies" tab and saw a new, gray, inactive line with the project name. Locked! What the hell?! I have to pay again?! I already paid a hundred points for the pull! I honestly and diligently, carving these damn hares, earned these fucking OP to… to get the right to pay again?!
"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" burst out loud. Returning to the "Forge the Universe" tab, I noted with unpleasant shock that the price for the next activation had risen. "Forge the Universe! Cost: 150 OP".
150 for the next, 200 for the one after… Unpleasant. Very unpleasant. Hot, useless rage rose from the depths of my soul. Wanted to hurl something at the wall, smash these stupid hares to splinters. But I restrained myself. Deep breath. Exhale. Anger is a bad advisor. Need to think. The system isn't a slot machine. It doesn't give random trash. From the very first try it gave me not one specific blueprint, but an entire catalog. A folder with projects. Choice. It gave me choice, but for a price. It was… logical in its own way. Though damnably annoying.
But the devil, as always, was in the details. "Arcanum of Steamworks and Magick Obscura." The word MAGICKAL set off alarm bells in my practical mind. What if the blueprint I choose has components I physically can't obtain? What if the "Miracle Cure" needs griffin horn powder or phoenix tear? Or "Charged Armor" needs vibranium, which is impossible to get outside Wakanda? Or the alloy for "Lightweight Axe" needs Uru metal from Nidavellir forges? What then?
All that remained was to keep farming. This "Arcanum" was either a long-term investment in a foggy future, or could pleasantly surprise me the moment I unlock it. I looked at the remaining wooden blocks. Enough with hares. Time to make something functional. And also check how the system evaluates utility. 50 OP for unlock I'll finish today anyway.
Taking a new block and sawing off the needed piece with the handsaw, I set to old faithful carving, this time carving a simple wooden spoon. Twenty minutes of work—and here was the result.
[Created simple wooden dishware. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +5 OP!]
Same as for a hare. I didn't dare varnish the spoon, but was pleased with the result. Making a spoon was simpler and faster. The next hours I spent in monotonous carving, bringing the OP counter to the needed mark.
The room was littered with shavings, the table covered in a layer of varnish and wood dust, and in the corner now towered a whole army of wooden hares and a pile of spoons. The smell of wood was thick and pleasant. I looked at my hands. John's hands. They were now covered in small scratches and splinters, calluses beginning to form on the fingers. They were ceasing to be alien. They were becoming my working hands, tools.
I felt pleasant fatigue in my muscles, the kind that comes after a long, productive day. Today I'd done more than John Thompson probably had in his entire last year. I wasn't just surviving. I was acting. Setting goals and achieving them. And even if those goals were small for now—accumulate points, unlock blueprint—they were goals. They set a vector of movement in this insane world. I still didn't know what awaited me in this "Arcanum," but for the first time in a long time I felt not fear of the future, but burning, gambling curiosity.
[Created simple wooden dishware. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +3 OP!]
[Attention! OP earning limit in the area of creating Minimal-difficulty wooden dishware partially exhausted! For the next 9 creations +3 OP each.]
Finally my balance showed 65 OP. 50 of which would go to the first unlock. I'd finally get something truly practical from the system. Or rather a blueprint for that something…
[Do you really wish to unlock Blueprint (simple) - Project (Arcanum of Steamworks and Magick Obscura) for 50 OP?]
Mentally answering with firm agreement, I held my breath, waiting to see what, I don't even know what. Right out of a fairy tale. Though calling my current life a fairy tale is a stretch…