Sitting at the laptop searching for suitable lots, I spent the next several hours in active research, cross-referencing instructions from radio electronics hobbyist forums and garage tinkerers. I needed capacitors — not just any but high-voltage ones, hard to find in a regular electronics store but obtainable from old CRT TVs or monitors, defibrillators, industrial lasers, or welding machines. Options existed, but CRT TVs were the most obvious.
The search turned into real digital safari. I scrolled through dozens of pages on Craigslist, eBay, and local flea-market forums. Most listings were junk: single half-dead TVs with cracked screens sold for pennies. I needed uniformity, identical parameters down to fractions of a percent. I read forum arguments where grizzled hobby engineers fiercely debated the merits of one model over another, memorizing brands and serial numbers, building a whole database in my head. It was tedious, meticulous work requiring patience and attention to detail.
The key problem was that the capacitors had to be absolutely identical! So if buying TVs, they had to be the same model and ideally the same batch. Such options existed, even in New York, though some TVs were non-working, others too expensive. But after hundreds of viewed listings, I found what seemed the perfect option! Twelve CRT TVs from the same Zuun Electronics brand as my laptop, all working, all the same model, and I dared hope the same batch, used in a security room for CCTV feeds, and the price was more than reasonable — 30 bucks each, 300 for all twelve. Naturally, I could not miss it; the listing had appeared just a couple of hours ago, and judging by views, New York had plenty of electronics hobbyists.
"Hello, about the listing!" I immediately dialed the number, and after a short conversation, we agreed to meet in an hour. Just enough time to get to Brooklyn, Sunset Park, and order a cargo taxi for the return.
The meeting place was a small warehouse in Sunset Park's industrial zone. I was met by a heavyset man in his fifties in a greasy cap, sizing me up skeptically.
"You the one for the TVs?" he rumbled, wiping his hands on his overalls. "Twelve of them?"
"That's me," I nodded, trying to sound confident.
"What the hell do you need them for, kid?" he narrowed his eyes. "Nostalgia? Or you some artist making an installation? Had one guy like that buying old irons. Building a pyramid."
I frantically thought. Telling the truth about high-voltage capacitors would draw unwanted attention.
"Something like that," I said evasively. "Video art. I want to make a wall of screens all displaying the same static noise. Conceptual. About alienation in the information society."
The video-art legend was born spontaneously, woven from scraps of contemporary art articles I had once read and John's memories — he was, after all, an art college student. It was pretentious and weird enough to sound plausible to someone far from the topic. The main thing was to speak confidently, with a bored look, as if it were routine.
The guy paused, then burst out laughing.
"Kids these days! Noise on screens for three hundred bucks! In my day, we just unplugged the antenna — free alienation. Fine, come on, I'll show you your 'conceptual art.'"
He led me deeper into the warehouse where twelve identical cubes with the Zuun Electronics logo gathered dust on a pallet. They looked like dinosaurs from a bygone era.
"Working, as I wrote in the listing. You can check."
"I'll take your word," I said quickly, pulling out pre-withdrawn cash. I did not want him seeing the predatory gleam in my eyes as I looked not at the screens but their insides.
Paying and calling a cargo taxi, I waited by the warehouse gates feeling like an undercover spy who had just pulled off a secret operation acquiring super-weapon components under the guise of buying antiques for a bored artist, haha.
It was 2 p.m., and I was thrilled with the deal of the century — though credit dollars were dwindling with every purchase; I might end up opening another credit card… But while money remained, I could live and create without worry, haha.
Back home, I began searching for the next critical components — much simpler this time. A used but good microwave for 20 bucks, a diode, resistors, a sheet of plexiglass, several wooden boxes, lead foil, foam, a soldering iron, a multimeter, dielectric pliers, high-voltage wires, and a bunch of other odds and ends. Honestly, by 6 p.m., I was tired of running around the city, and that was after spending several more hundred bucks; by my estimates, about 500 dollars remained on the card, and I already had ideas for making money — but for that, I vitally needed to create the Intellect Potion. Fortunately, the prep phase was partially complete — I could start!
Surveying the small studio, now even smaller due to my purchases, I realized the scene was surreal. Twelve bulky CRT TVs like tombstones of a departed era. A shiny, almost new microwave bought only to be gutted mercilessly. Coils of wires, packets of resistors and diodes, sheets of plexiglass and lead foil, a soldering iron still in its blister. It all looked like props for a low-budget mad-scientist movie.
I sat on the floor and took it all in. Hundreds of dollars drained from the credit card lay before me as a pile of old and new junk. For a moment, doubt gripped me. What if nothing worked? What if I burned the capacitors? Or the transformer was faulty? What if this whole endeavor was just expensive folly induced by a strange glitch in my head I called the System? But then I looked at my laptop, still open to the Marx Generator schematic. And doubt vanished. Fear of failure remained, but the thirst for creation, the desire to assemble this complex and dangerous machine with my own hands, was stronger. It was a challenge. Not just to the System but to myself. A test of resilience, intellect, precision. I stood, cracking my joints. Enough reflection. Time to turn this chaos into a working device.
Before building the generator itself, I needed to handle the power source. I needed a high-voltage DC source to charge the capacitors. And oddly enough, the best "garage" option was a modified microwave oven transformer (MOT) — exactly why I bought the microwave. Disassembling the iron box, I extracted the transformer — the part that converted household 110/220V AC to about 2000V. But I needed DC, not AC; fortunately, the same microwave had a high-voltage diode I could connect to one transformer output to pass current only one way, turning AC into pulsating DC. Sufficient for charging the generator.
Disassembling the microwave was an act of purposeful vandalism. I was not repairing but destroying — with a clear goal. With each unscrewed screw, each removed panel, I felt like a surgeon dissecting a body to reach a vital organ. And there it was — the transformer. Heavy, massive, with thick copper windings, it looked like the microwave's heart, and in a way it was. Looking at it, I saw not just a piece of iron and copper but the key to raising household voltage to lethal levels. My first real step from theory and procurement to practice.
All set with the power source; now to desolder the capacitors from the TVs, which I did, carefully checking each with the multimeter for capacitance and no breakdowns — luck was with me; the TVs were indeed from one batch, all capacitors fine. Then I took a plexiglass sheet and marked a "ladder" — places for 12 capacitors in 2 rows of 6; that would be the generator chassis.
Next step — mounting components: capacitors, high-voltage resistors, and homemade spark gaps (two screws with rounded heads screwed into a plexiglass block 3-5 mm apart) attached to the sheet base.
Wiring — the most critical stage! Using high-voltage wires, I connected all capacitors in parallel through resistors to the power source (microwave transformer + its diode). The source positive went through a resistor to all capacitor positives, negative to all negatives, ensuring slow, simultaneous charging of all stages. Then I connected the capacitors in series through spark gaps: positive of the first to negative of the second via a spark gap, positive of the second to negative of the third via the next, and so on.
After all that, most of the work was done; I simply installed two output electrodes at one end of the "ladder" — polished metal balls on insulated stands. The distance between them was just a few centimeters, and that was where the final lightning would arc. Beneath those balls, I placed a cage-resonator for "exciting" the quartz crystal. The generator was ready — and the system apparently agreed!
[Created simple electrical design "Marx Generator." Complexity: Minimal. Received +50 OP!]
Nice as hell. System confirmation was the best guarantee I had done everything right and the design would not kill me. Assuming basic safety rules, of course. The one-hand rule — the golden rule of high-voltage work. When working with a live or potentially charged circuit, one hand must always be behind the back. It prevents current passing through the chest and heart if accidentally touched. Insulation — I worked in sneakers on linoleum with no clutter; all wires securely fastened, and the generator switched on remotely via a distant switch.
Before charging the crystals, I prepared boxes for them; a charged crystal would be unstable and sensitive to external fields, so I needed something like an "energy thermos." I simply took small wooden boxes, lined the insides with thin lead foil, then foam. I would place the charged crystal in the box and the box in inventory.
Deciding not to drag it out, I placed a dielectric ceramic stand under the output electrodes, put the crystal on it, stepped far back, and turned on this monstrous construction, feeling like a mad scientist. In microseconds, the capacitors aligned in series, yielding 60,000 volts at the output (12 capacitors × 5,000V each). Though the discharge lasted millionths of a second, it was enough to "shake" the quartz crystal lattice at the epicenter.
A sharp, clean ozone smell hit my nose, like after a strong thunderstorm. Though it lasted only a fraction of a second, I felt the primal power of the element contained in my apartment. Tens of thousands of volts released with one switch flick. Terrifying and incredibly thrilling at once. A true, man-made lightning bolt. I forced myself to calm down and waited for residual capacitance to discharge. Inside, everything rejoiced. It worked! I had not just assembled some trinket; I had created a working high-voltage impulse generator. Even the system rewarded me with points, but the main satisfaction was the success itself. I could. I had taken a complex technical project from idea and component hunting to a final result.
The quartz crystal on the stand now seemed subtly changed. It had absorbed part of that energy, and its internal structure quietly hummed at an inaudible electromagnetic frequency. In the end, I carefully approached the stand with one hand opening a box and the other using dielectric pliers with ceramic tips to pick up the crystal and place it in the box, then the box in inventory. First one down — four to go, then on to alchemy!
Repeating the procedure four more times, then turning off the generator, I began preparing the space for the full creation of the Intellect Potion. Though it would be made at night, better to be ready in advance. According to nuances of the Fantasmium extraction stage, it had to be done in complete darkness but allowed red light like in a darkroom, so I had to run to a specialty store and spend another 10 bucks on a bulb. And this stage required slow, even heating to 40 degrees… I urgently searched the internet for ways to achieve that, settling on the obvious and simplest: a dry heating block! Compact, adjustable, and relatively cheap (used, of course) — another 200 dollars gone, but now I was truly ready!
It was 6 p.m.; still time before night, so I decided to tackle the last thing I had been postponing due to other tasks but had spent money on — leatherworking! Naturally, I was not counting on farming the 200 OP needed for another spin, especially with my current 55 OP, but understanding what this beast was and how to handle it was worth it.
Opening the beginner leatherworking kit and laying out a couple of leather scraps, I naturally first watched several guides on crafting a simple two-slot cardholder. Seemed straightforward, so placing a 20×20 cm piece of leather on the cutting mat, I began cutting, having transferred the 10×7 cm cardholder template and two 10×4 cm pocket rectangles, leaving 0.5 cm seam allowances.
Then I sanded the edges of the cut pieces for smoothness, marked stitch lines with a ruler (about 4 mm from the edges), punched holes with an awl every 4 mm. After all that, I applied glue to the pocket edges (the 10×4 cm ones) and glued them to the main piece — one pocket on top, one on bottom, creating two compartments — and let the glue dry. Next, I stitched the main piece with pockets using waxed thread and two needles for saddle stitch, sanded the edges again, applied wax, and polished with a wooden stick for smoothness. The final touch was protective cream for durability, and after about an hour and a half of careful, meticulous work, I received the coveted notification!
[Created simple leather item. Complexity: Minimal. Received +20 OP!]
Eh, the cardholder was too simple for the system and not named, so not many OP, but I gained decent beginner experience and enjoyment from the work. Now I had 75 OP total, and with the remaining leather, I could make several more simple items — a passport cover, a key holder, a leather bracelet, or maybe another cardholder with three compartments. In any case, over four hours until midnight, and extra OP never hurt — so back to work!
After the tension and ozone smell of high-voltage discharges, leatherworking was like balm for the soul. No risk of instant death from one mistake. Just material, tools, and your hands. I inhaled the thick, tart aroma of natural leather, and it calmed me. The process was slow, almost meditative. The smooth glide of the knife along the ruler creating a perfectly even cut. The rhythmic tap of the awl punching stitch holes. The precise, measured movement of two needles weaving waxed thread into a beautiful, incredibly strong saddle stitch. There was magic here, entirely different from what I had sought the previous night. Not magic of thin reality boundaries but magic of craft.
Transforming a shapeless scrap into an elegant, functional object. If assembling the Marx Generator was an act of raw, primal force taming the elements, leatherworking was a dialogue with the material. You had to feel its thickness, plasticity, understand how it would behave under thread tension or wax treatment. I realized I enjoyed not just the system OP notifications. I loved the process itself. Loved seeing something beautiful and useful born under my fingers. Perhaps that was the key. To create complex, world-changing technologies, I needed to remember such simple, earthly things. One gave power; the other — focus and spiritual balance. And as it turned out, I needed both.
The next hours I spent in a leather frenzy, if one can call it that, and the last things I made were several simple leather bracelets, each giving only 5 OP, but the leather was gone. In total, from my leather creations, I gained an extra 70 OP, bringing my balance to 145 OP. Since I was unlikely to farm another 55 OP in the coming hours, I could begin creating the Intellect Potion. The recipe was not complicated; the preparatory phase required far more effort and money. Phew, alright — gather my thoughts and begin!