Fifty points. Only fifty measly OP separated me from the next stage of development. I could, of course, take the path of least resistance. The garage was packed with materials, and I could easily whip up another useless but System-counted "homemade masterpiece." But something inside, my very spirit of the Creator that had known the sticky fear of a real chase, rebelled against the idea. Create trash for points while supernatural predators are on your trail? No, that's the path of a future corpse, not a survivor.
I needed a weapon. Something that would give me a real advantage if they returned. And they would return. The weaknesses of vampires in this world, judging by early analysis, were classic, and that untied my hands. Thoughts spun feverishly in my head. A garlic aerosol bomb? Too situational and non-lethal. An automatic crossbow with aspen bolts? Effective, but requires precision I don't yet have. Silver bullets? Those require firearms, and that's extra trouble with the law; getting a pistol license in New York is a huge pain...
And then a vivid image from an old movie about a brutal black half-breed hunter flashed in my memory. Ultraviolet. Powerful, concentrated ultraviolet light that turns vampires to ash. That's it! Elegant, high-tech, and most importantly, it hits their main vulnerability. Decided.
For such a task, I didn't spare one of the three remaining Intellect Potions. The world narrowed, cutting off everything superfluous. For the next hour, I wasn't just a human, but a super-intelligent search algorithm sifting through terabytes of data on engineering forums, scientific papers on physics, and electronic component catalogs. Connections that an ordinary brain would take weeks to build formed in my head in fractions of a second. And there, on the laptop screen, a blueprint began to take shape. Not from the System, but my own. I mentally called it the Ultraviolet Projector "Daylight," but in my heart, a more honest and crude name stuck: "Vampire's Butt-hurt."
All that was left was to embody the idea in metal and plastic.
Radiation source. The heart of the device was to be several high-power UVC LED chips, 20 watts each. Real industrial monsters usually used in water sterilization plants. I found a supplier online and, without haggling, gave three hundred dollars for the best samples. You don't skimp on survival.
Power supply. Ordinary batteries would have choked immediately. These LEDs need not just voltage, but monstrous current output. The solution came from the world of radio-controlled models: several lithium-polymer batteries for racing models and drones, soldered into a single unit capable of delivering the necessary current. Another minus one hundred and fifty bucks.
Cooling system. This was the real engineering challenge. Up to 70% of the energy from an LED of this power turns not into light, but into pure, glowing hell. Without active cooling, my expensive chips would burn out in three seconds. A simple heat sink wouldn't cope. But the brain under the Potion had already found a solution—elegant and ruthlessly effective. I created a combined system: right on the copper substrate of the LED matrix, I installed a thermoelectric cooler—a Peltier element. One side of it became icy upon contact with the matrix, while the other became scorching hot, dissipating the heat. On this hot side, I mounted a massive copper heat sink from some server equipment, and on top of that, a powerful, high-speed cooler. When turned on, the entire structure emitted a low, predatory hum.
For optics, I had to shell out for a fused quartz lens—ordinary glass simply wouldn't pass the hard UVC spectrum. I packed all this filling into the hollowed-out housing of a powerful construction floodlight. Assembled on the workbench in my garage, this device scared even me. It looked like a weapon from a sci-fi action movie—clunky, utilitarian, deadly for one specific race of sentient beings. Adding a control board with a massive power button and a mode switch (constant beam and disorienting strobe), I took a step back, admiring the creation.
I did this without blueprints or prompts from the System. I analyzed the problem myself, found the solution, and embodied it. I was growing as a Creator. And the System, fortunately, was of the same opinion.
[Simple engineering construction "UV Projector" created. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +50 OP!]
The sting of resentment at the "minimal" difficulty was familiar. For the System, which considers the Extremis formula an "ordinary" recipe, my crafts were nothing more than playthings. Sandcastles in a sandbox while adults build nuclear reactors.
But now was not the time for reflection. The projector went into the inventory—my first real trump card against the night creatures. And I, with a balance of 250 OP, could finally proceed to the most important point of the day. Time to spend points.
The system window obediently floated before my eyes. The "Technology" tab, "Arcanum" section—a path that had become almost familiar. Eight disciplines looked at me, promising power for a certain price. What first, "Muscle Stimulant" or "Protective Field Generator"? Perhaps, for contrast, I should start with what was presumably the most difficult.
Moving to the "Electricity" discipline, I selected the desired blueprint and mentally confirmed the expenditure. 100 OP... I poured the points into the recipe.
And immediately regretted it.
If the Intellect Potion was a stream of crystal-clear knowledge, then this was an information tsunami of broken glass and red-hot metal. A hurricane of data, alien concepts, fractal geometries, and laws of physics that hadn't even been discovered here yet rushed into my brain. The headache wasn't just strong—it was crushing.
"Fuck..." I croaked into the emptiness of the garage when the world stopped spinning and my eyes cleared. Primary analysis of the technology, now forever imprinted in my memory, evoked not delight, but quiet horror.
Protective Field Generator. Arcanum classification: Artifact / Spatial Manipulation Device. A compact box the size of a cigarette case, capable of projecting a unidirectional force barrier a meter in diameter. The shield stopped most kinetic threats, from pistol bullets to shrapnel. It sounded like the ideal means of survival. But the component list... The System adapted the recipe to the realities of the Marvel world, and that adaptation made me want to wail.
The device consisted of three modules, and each was a personal technological hell.
1. Power module. The power source was a compact strontium radioisotope thermoelectric generator (RTG). A nuclear battery, like in interplanetary probes or ultra-expensive pacemakers. You can't just buy it in a store. This is a restricted area for which I'd need at least a fake identity at the level of "lead nuclear physicist of a secret project." And that's just the beginning. The energy storage—a battery of solid-state graphene supercapacitors. Creating them required equipment for working with nanomaterials in vacuum conditions. I couldn't assemble that in a garage, and as for buying them ready-made... I didn't even know if they existed in the public domain.
2. Field emitter. Focusing crystal—a synthetic sapphire monocrystal with uniformly distributed nanoparticles of goddamn Vibranium. I glanced at the crate of ore. I had this metal. But I didn't have a high-temperature furnace for growing crystals and equipment for nanodisperse spraying of the strongest metal on the planet. It was the difference between possessing a block of marble and the ability to carve a David. The projection grid, a network of tungsten microwires, seemed like child's play against this backdrop. Yes, this was the level of an entire research institute, but they could at least theoretically be ordered somewhere, unlike a nuclear battery.
3. Control module. And here the System finished me off. The frequency stabilizer required the creation of a resonant tuning fork made of the magical metal Uru. I mentally pictured my half-kilogram ingot. I didn't know how to even scratch it, let alone give it a perfect shape with precision accuracy. The only "simple" element was the control chip—a custom microprocessor. Obviously, a technological replacement for some magical artifact from the original recipe. Но against the background of the rest, it was cold comfort.
And the cherry on top: assembly. The requirements included a vacuum chamber for depositing conductors, laser calibration with micron precision, and an ISO 3 class clean room. Without a full-fledged, high-tech laboratory costing millions of dollars, this blueprint was just a beautiful but useless picture.
It was exactly that case where the System gave me a blueprint for a starship, forgetting to mention that you need a planetary factory to build it. By the time I develop to the level where I can afford this, the need for such a primitive shield will likely be gone. The Heavenly Forge gacha is unpredictable. What would it throw next? An intuitive component replacement skill? Access to the Kamar-Taj library? Ready-made tactical armor from another universe?
No. The Protective Field Generator goes into the farthest drawer of my mental desk. Minus 100 OP invested in knowledge I won't be able to use for a very long time. Frustrating, but it was a valuable lesson.
There were 150 OP left. Crossing my fingers, I poured them into "Muscle Stimulant." A new wave of information, a new bout of headache, but this time... it was different. Structured. Like a complex but solvable task. I exhaled with such relief that my head spun. Unlike the Generator, I could do this. Theoretically, by gathering everything necessary, I could brew several doses today, getting back the spent points with interest.
Muscle Stimulant. Arcanum classification: Alchemical preparation / Temporary Bio-booster. A disposable injector that urgently pushes muscle strength, speed, and endurance to peak human levels, and in some places beyond. It doesn't rewrite your DNA like a Super Soldier Serum; it acts on a cellular level. The active substance, clusters of unstable ozone, binds with ATP in the muscles, giving them a "nitrogen ignition"—forcing them to release energy 10-15 times more intensively. This is a performance enhancer after which there will be no backlash. The palladium stabilizer in the composition works like an ideal radiator, dissipating stress and removing waste products, preventing cells from burning out. The effect lasts 15-20 minutes—an ideal window for a fight or escape.
Yes, the formulation is non-trivial, but after the monstrous Generator, it seemed like a child's instruction from a "Junior Chemist" set. Time to go shopping.
I mentally compiled a list, simultaneously digging through the internet:
Base (Active Substance): Synthetic testosterone. The main problem. In a pharmacy, it's strictly by prescription, and even then not in every one. I'll have to find workarounds. I left this point for the finale. Stabilizer: Colloidal Palladium solution. I had the ore, but why complicate things? A ready-made laboratory solution can be bought at a chemical store. A 100 ml bottle would cost about 200 dollars. Easy. Binding agent: Purified Bovine Serum Albumin (BSA). Also not a problem. Commercial laboratories sell it as a powder. Another 200 dollars for a jar that would last for an entire army. Catalyst: Titanium mesh. Fine, 100 mesh. A small 15x15 cm sheet, enough for dozens of portions, costs only 100 dollars in an online store for industrial filters. Solvent: Isopropyl alcohol. Already in stock.
The plan was taking shape. Most of the components were within reach. But what to do with the base? The recipe allowed replacing testosterone with its precursor, diethylamine, but the effectiveness of the drug dropped noticeably. No, I need the original. Maximum power.
Alright. First, what can be bought legally and quickly. And with the testosterone... I'll think of something. This city is full of geniuses who might need "reagents for a scientific project."
I returned to the garage as twilight was beginning to fall over Brooklyn. On the workbench, in neat rows, were the fruits of my day's labor: bottles of colloidal palladium, a container of snow-white albumin powder, coils of titanium mesh. I had to shell out almost a thousand dollars for this pile of reagents, with part of the amount going toward "speeding up" excessively slow lab technicians. Now I have a stock of components for dozens of portions of the stimulant. But all of this makes no sense without the main ingredient.
It was only six in the evening, but it felt like an eternity had passed. Thursday turned out so busy that the events would have been enough for a month. And now, standing before the last, most difficult obstacle, I felt fatigue and a headache rolling in. Fucking synthetic testosterone.
Ideally, it needed to be obtained as soon as possible. But how? Buying it legally—impossible. Stealing it from a pharmacy or warehouse? With my inventory, it would be easy—teleport the right box straight from the shelf. But that's equivalent to hanging a neon sign on my back: "Hey, powerful organizations, pay attention to me!". I've already attracted vampires, and I had absolutely no desire to solve problems with some pharmaceutical mega-corporation on top of that.
There was one more option: synthesize it myself. But for that, I needed equipment an order of magnitude superior to my modest garage lab. A gas chromatograph, a high-pressure reactor, a centrifuge capable of separating isomers... I didn't have that. But...
At that "but," my fingers froze, stopping their drumming on the table. An idea was born in my head. Slippery, risky, morally questionable, but devilishly tempting.
"And to hell with it, what do I have to lose?" I muttered to myself, finding the number I had received just a few hours ago in my phone. Contact "Peter Parker."
I rewrote the first message several times, trying to find the ideal balance between friendliness and flattery so as not to look like a creepy stalker.
"Peter, hi! This is John Thompson, we crossed paths at college today. Listen, I've got a scientific snag here, and MJ said today that you're the smartest guy in the world. For some reason, I suspect she wasn't exaggerating."
After sending it, I felt a sting of conscience. I was going to use this guy, his kindness and genius, for my own ends. But I immediately crushed that feeling. My survival is at stake. This isn't personal; it's necessity. Four minutes of waiting seemed like an eternity. Finally, the screen blinked.
"Hi. Oh come on, she's exaggerating. How can I help?"
He bit. Modest, responsive—the ideal target. I quickly typed the pre-planned legend.
"I'm doing, well, let's call it DIY biohacking. Trying to get a Chlorella cell culture to do interesting things. I can send a photo of my mini-lab so you don't think I'm a psycho :)"
Without waiting for a reply, I sent the photo. I specifically chose an angle where a microscope, a couple of flasks with harmless green sludge (ordinary water with dye), a laboratory centrifuge, and several jars of reagents were in frame. It looked like the project of an enthusiastic biology student, but not like an underground production of superhuman performance enhancers.
"Wow. Serious approach for a home project."
Excellent, he's impressed. Now—the core of the problem, wrapped in a scientific-sounding package.
"Thanks. Но I've hit a wall. I need one reagent to stimulate metabolism, but I can't buy it anywhere in its pure form. And without it, the cells just don't react to the catalyst. It's a steroid base, very similar to testosterone, but I need maximum isomeric purity, otherwise the whole culture dies."
"So, the problem is contamination in commercial samples?"
Yes! He led me to the right thought himself. He was already solving my problem in his head.
"Exactly! I've already botched three samples, wasted a bunch of money. And then I thought... you probably work in a well-equipped lab. You have access to equipment I can only dream of. Maybe you can help an enthusiast? Synthesize a few milliliters of pure product. All expenses, of course, are on me. I'll pay for the reagents and for your time."
The last sentence was key. It turned a questionable request into a partially business offer. I held my breath. If he refused, I'd have to go back to the robbery idea.
"Hmm... In theory, it's possible. Nothing over-complicated. I'll be in the university lab late today after classes anyway. Can you come to the NYU main building?"
"You saved me, really saved me! I'll be there as soon as you give the sign!"
I leaned back in my chair and exhaled noisily. It worked. The hook was swallowed. The problem with the base, you could say, was solved. The plan was building itself: get the testosterone, create several stimulants, get back the spent OP and spin that damn gacha. And then... then I'll have to decide what to do with the fanged problems currently gathering dust in my inventory in the black Cruiser. I wonder what state they're in? Conceptual stasis? Or just dead? Alright, while I'm weak, I shouldn't even think about it. I'll check as soon as I get my hands on something more serious than a UV projector. And ideally, when I solve the vampire problem at its root, rather than treating it with stimulants and other homemade stuff.
I spent the next couple of hours trying to distract myself by watching tutorial videos for garage engineers on YouTube, but my thoughts constantly returned to the upcoming meeting. Finally, the phone dinged with a message from Parker. "I'm here, lab 304."
Time. I called a taxi. My Honda, which I used to escape the chase, remains in the inventory. No extra threads, no coincidences. Paranoia is a survivor's best friend.