Chapter 21: The Convention Booth
The LA Convention Center smells like opportunity and body odor.
WonderCon's in full swing—costumes everywhere, vendor booths packed tight, that electric energy of thousands of nerds gathering to celebrate shared obsessions. I reserved booth space four months ago when the Iron Fist money first came through. Seemed ambitious then. Now it feels necessary.
My booth is 10x10 feet of prime real estate. Corner position, good foot traffic, close enough to Artist Alley for crossover crowds. I've got my best inventory on display—Walking Dead first prints in protective sleeves, rare variants, a few signed pieces. The setup looks professional.
Then the gang arrives.
"This organizational schema is suboptimal," Sheldon announces within thirty seconds. "Display priority should follow market value hierarchy, not alphabetical sorting."
"Good morning to you too."
"Greetings are socially obligatory but temporally inefficient. Your booth arrangement requires immediate restructuring."
Before I can stop him, he's rearranging comics according to some system only he understands. Leonard shoots me an apologetic look while helping Melissa set up the register.
"Just let him," Leonard suggests. "Fighting it takes longer."
Howard's already distracted by a Wonder Woman cosplayer passing by. He adjusts his belt buckle—yes, he wore a belt buckle to a convention—and prepares to launch into what I know will be a terrible pickup line.
"Howard. No."
"I wasn't going to—"
"You were absolutely going to. Help unpack instead."
Raj stands frozen near the booth entrance, staring at a group of female cosplayers with wide, terrified eyes. The Attractiveness power works on him when I'm around, but apparently crowds override that effect.
"Raj, you're on crowd control. Just smile and hand out flyers."
He nods mutely, grateful for a task that doesn't require speaking.
By noon, the booth's packed.
People crowd around my Walking Dead display like pilgrims at a shrine. Word's spreading about the guy who called it early, who has original prints, who supposedly has instincts about what's next.
"You're Stuart Bloom?" A guy in a Spider-Man shirt pushes forward. "From the blog posts? The Walking Dead prediction?"
"That's me."
"What else should I be buying?"
The tingle hits. Images flash—titles that'll spike in the next year. Captain America. Batman. Some indie books that'll become cult classics.
"Try Captain America's current run," I say carefully. "And keep an eye on anything Grant Morrison's writing. His Batman arc is about to get wild."
Spider-Man guy nods seriously, like I'm dispensing prophecy. He buys three Walking Dead trade paperbacks and asks for my card.
This happens twenty times before lunch.
The Magnetism power is working overtime. Every conversation attracts more people. Industry types stop by—a podcaster, a Comic Book Resources blogger, someone who claims to work for Marvel's film division.
"You consult?" Marvel guy asks. He's wearing an expensive jacket, the kind that says "studio money."
"On what?"
"Authenticity. Cultural stuff. We're looking at properties, trying to figure out what resonates." He hands me a card. "You clearly have your finger on the pulse. Give me a call."
I pocket the card, trying not to look as thrilled as I feel.
Melissa handles the register with scary efficiency, making change and small talk while I network. Every few minutes she catches my eye, grins like she's watching me win at something.
"You're good at this," she says during a rare quiet moment.
"At what?"
"This." She gestures at the crowd, the booth, the conversations happening everywhere. "Being the guy people want to talk to. When'd that happen?"
When I died and absorbed void powers that make people drawn to me when discussing pop culture.
"Practice?" I offer instead.
She laughs, kisses my cheek. "Sure. Practice."
Saturday afternoon, Sheldon emerges from rearranging the back stock to observe my sales technique.
"Your recommendation accuracy is statistically anomalous," he announces loud enough for nearby customers to hear. "You've correctly identified three major market trends in six months. The probability of this occurring through random chance is—"
"Sheldon. Not now."
"—approximately 0.004 percent, assuming normal distribution of—"
"Sheldon."
Leonard appears, physically steering Sheldon away from the booth. "Let's get food. You're hungry. Food will help."
"I'm not hungry, I'm conducting analysis of—"
"Hot dogs, Sheldon. Fresh hot dogs."
They disappear into the crowd. Crisis averted.
A DC representative stops by next, asking about my upcoming events calendar. Turns out she heard about my tournaments, wants to sponsor one. We exchange information. She mentions staying in touch, maybe collaborating on exclusives.
The Magnetism power makes this feel natural. Not forced or manipulative—just people genuinely wanting to work with me. But I know the truth. Without the void-born ability, I'd be another vendor in a sea of booths.
By closing Sunday, I've sold $4,247 in inventory. The booth cost $800. After product costs, I'm up about $2,500 for three days' work.
More importantly, I've got seventeen business cards from industry people. Podcasters. Bloggers. Shop owners. A couple of studio contacts.
The gang helps me pack up, everyone exhausted but buzzing.
"That was amazing," Raj says, having finally found his voice again now that we're leaving. "You're like a celebrity. A comic book celebrity."
"It's not—"
"No, he's right," Howard interrupts. "People were asking about you. 'Where's Stuart Bloom?' Like you're famous."
"I'm not famous."
"You're convention-circuit famous," Leonard clarifies. "Which in our world, counts."
Melissa drives us back to Pasadena—I'm too wiped to operate a vehicle safely. The convention floor chaos replays in my mind. The crowds. The connections. The sales numbers that tripled my investment.
"You looked happy today," Melissa says, hand on my knee.
"I was happy."
"Good. You deserve to be."
Do I though? The thought surfaces unbidden. Deserve success built on supernatural cheating?
But I push it down. Not tonight. Tonight I'm allowed to feel good about building something real with impossible advantages.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0