The next morning met me not just with a good mood, but with a real mental explosion, a tsunami of pure energy. Awakening was akin to an electric shock, but not a painful one; a vivifying one that instantly evaporated the remains of sleep and yesterday's fatigue. I jumped out of bed with such a fierce, primal charge of vigor, with such pure, unclouded motivation and an itching in my fingertips to create, that I had probably never experienced in my entire past life. This is what an accursed system is capable of doing to an ordinary person—breaking his apathy and turning him into an obsessed workaholic. Scary! Но also damn, intoxicatingly pleasant.
Not resisting this powerful internal impulse that demanded I immediately create something, I acted like a well-oiled mechanism. A quick, almost icy shower to finally get the blood pumping. A hastily made breakfast of yesterday's pizza, swallowed without much attention to the taste because my thoughts were already far away. And here I am, standing over the table that has turned into an operating table. On its surface are neatly laid out PVC pipes, a knife, sandpaper sheets, a tube of pungent-smelling glue, and a simple piezo lighter. The laptop screen casts a bluish light on my face; on it is open a primitive instruction from the internet. I set about creating.
Potato gun, potato cannon, or, as I ceremoniously dubbed it for myself, Potato Cannon-3000. A simple construction that in the wet dreams of Belarusian politicians is a weapon of mass destruction capable of annihilating all living things. In harsh reality, however—it's just a clever set of fastened PVC pipes and flammable gas. From the main pipe—the barrel of our weapon—a potato tuber, acting as a projectile, flies out under the pressure of expanding gases. Depending on the construction, airtightness, and fuel used, the flight distance of the potato varies from several dozen to several hundred meters. My construction will be laughably simple, so I realistically expect a confident fifty meters, no more.
First thing, I dealt with the pipes. My movements were precise, measured, as if I had been doing this my whole life. The combustion chamber—from a wide, 80-millimeter pipe, a section about forty centimeters long, with a screw-off block at the top for "charging" with fuel. The barrel—from a narrower, 50-millimeter pipe, about a meter long for better acceleration of the projectile. I carefully sanded the cuts with sandpaper, achieving ideal smoothness so that nothing would interfere with the gluing. At one end of the combustion chamber, I permanently glued a plug, inhaling the sharp, chemical smell of the glue that unpleasantly tickled my nostrils. At the other end, I fitted an 80 to 50 mm adapter. Then, with the same meticulous precision, I glued the long barrel pipe to the adapter. The main frame of the legendary Potato Cannon is ready, and it looks surprisingly formidable.
The next stage—the ignition system, the heart of my creation. I drilled two tiny holes in the combustion chamber plug for 4mm diameter screws. Then I screwed in the screws at a slight angle so that inside the chamber their metal ends were only 2-3 millimeters apart—improvised but effective electrodes. To the screws protruding on the outside, I carefully connected wires from a disassembled piezo lighter, and the plastic body itself was securely fastened with several layers of tape on the combustion chamber. A finger pressed the button. Click! A bright, mean bluish spark with a dry crack jumped between the ends of the screws. Excellent, practically everything is ready!
Last touches before the triumphant trial: a final check of all connections for airtightness and, of course, searching for a suitable ammunition. For the latter, I had to run to the nearest grocery store. And here it was, less than an hour since the start of work, the legend was ready! Pressing a large, firm potato tuber into the barrel with a pleasant effort, I felt the pipe edges shave a thin layer of peel off it, ensuring an ideal seal. Unscrewing the lid on the combustion chamber, I injected a generous portion of propane-butane from a lighter refill canister. Then I went to the window, flung it wide open, letting the cool morning air of the city into the room, and aimed the Potato Cannon barrel up, aiming so the potato would land somewhere on the flat roof of the neighboring building. My heart beat a bit faster in anticipation. I pressed the lighter.
A short but surprisingly juicy and ear-pleasing pop! The potato projectile successfully left Earth's orbit, or at least the orbit of my fifth-floor apartment, with an invisible whistle. At that very moment, a system notification flashed before my eyes, glowing with a soft blue light.
[Simple weapon construction "Potato Cannon" created. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +50 OP!]
I immediately leaned out the window, trying to track the tuber's flight, but it quickly turned into a dark dot and vanished from sight against the morning sky. A sharp, chemical smell of burnt gas hit my nose, mixed with a faint, almost sweet aroma of baked starch. The cannon body in my hands was noticeably warm, and the recoil, though weak, gave a pleasant push to my shoulder, confirming the accomplished fact of the shot. This was… a real creation. Not a paper figurine, not a drawing, not a line of code. A functional, albeit primitive, device. In a sense, even a weapon. I ran my finger along the smooth PVC plastic, feeling the barely noticeable seams at the joints glued by my own hands. The feeling of deep, pure satisfaction was almost intoxicating. I didn't just follow a recipe from the internet. I took disparate pieces of matter—pipes, a lighter, glue—and by the power of my will, my knowledge and hands, turned them into something whole, possessing purpose and function. It was a small, almost childish miracle, but it was mine.
In that moment, I realized that the Celestial Forge is not just a system mechanic for issuing points. It is the very essence of creativity, elevated to an absolute, a catalyst of creative will. And if I experienced such a childish, unfeigned delight from a potato gun, then what will I feel when I assemble something truly complex? A protective field generator? Power armor? A wide, predatory grin appeared on my lips of its own accord. I had only just begun, and a whole universe of possibilities awaited me.
As for the received +50 OP, as expected, for complex and more or less functional creations, the system rewards generously! Another important fact is that the construction received a named prefix; if I'm not mistaken, it's the first time the system has given something a name. Usually, everything was limited to general, faceless concepts like "figurine," "dish," "origami." This felt like recognition.
So, right now I have 65 OP. Simple arithmetic suggested that if I made literally two more Potato Cannons, on which neither significant money, time, nor effort is spent, then in a couple of hours I could spin "Forging the Universe" once more. And no, I'm not a gambling addict, firmly and clearly! This is cold, rational calculation. Just the most effective way at the moment to get a new technological package.
The only problem is that I, in my lack of foresight, bought materials necessary for crafting only one Potato Cannon. Which means going back to the hardware store and stocking up on PVC pipes and piezo lighters. Well, at the same time I'll walk, clear my head, and stretch my legs. Well, I should also do some physical activity, as my build reminds me of a skinny pole. Or should I not? What if I pull something like "recipe for super soldier serum at home and for dummies" from the system roulette, or even better—the serum itself already ready, in a neat ampoule. Well, I'll be a skinny weakling for now; we'll deal with the fitness later; priorities are set.
It's Friday, September 11, 2015, and the weather outside is surprisingly warm and pleasant. So, throwing on a simple gray hoodie, jeans, and old sneakers, I left my modest abode, already thinking about what I would do after farming OP on Potato Cannons.
Walking down the street, I couldn't help but notice how much my perception of the world had changed. Just a day ago, I saw only gray buildings, a faceless crowd, and a potential threat in every dark alley. Now, however, my gaze caught on details with an engineer's greed. I looked at scaffolding and mentally calculated how its construction could be improved by adding buttresses for greater stability. I saw an old, humming air conditioner on a wall and mentally disassembled it into components, wondering if there was a useful fan or copper radiator inside for future projects. A streetlamp ceased to be just a light source—I thought about its wiring, the type of lamp, whether something useful could be made from its durable aluminum housing. The world turned into a huge warehouse of materials and unrealized projects for me. The Celestial Forge infected me with the creation virus, and now I looked at everything through the prism of the question: "And what can I make out of this?". It was like professional deformation, amplified a thousand times. Но for now, I'd better not get too carried away; I already have plenty to do.
At minimum, I shouldn't ignore leatherworking, since money was spent on the kit, I should get some output from it, and the Intellect Potion is definitely worth creating. If OP are awarded for it, and for some reason I am absolutely sure of it, the count there will likely already be in the hundreds. Everything else depends on what I get from the second spin and if I have enough brains to process and implement what I receive.
Engrossed in thought, I didn't even notice that I'd practically reached the hardware store. There, having bought everything needed for crafting five potato guns—more than that I couldn't, alas, carry in my hands, and revealing the existence of the inventory over such a trifle is more trouble than it's worth—I headed back to my modest abode. On the way, at one point, I noticed an unusually bright commotion among passersby. People were stopping, craning their necks, pointing fingers. I raised my head too. And I saw her. On a thin, almost invisible thread of webbing, cutting through the space between buildings, flew a black-and-white figure. Spider-Woman. Hated by one mustachioed journalist and for the most part favorably perceived by the residents of New York.
She was close. Flying between buildings, she made a wide, elegant turn, and for one short, frozen moment our gazes almost met. I managed to see the details of her costume: a strict black-and-white design hugging her figure, a hood giving the silhouette mystery, large white lenses of the mask hiding her face, but for some reason seeming expressive. She moved with non-human, fluid grace, as if she were a drop of mercury, and at the same time there was power, like in a bowstring stretched to the limit. The webbing shot out of her web-shooters with a quiet but distinct "thwip," and she flew over the street, throwing a bold challenge to gravity. And then she vanished around a corner, leaving behind only stunned passersby with mouths agape and me standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a stupid bag of PVC pipes. And suddenly all my pride from the created Potato Cannon seemed so pathetic, so naive and childish.
Up there, in the sky, was real power, real technology or mutation—doesn't matter. Something that places its possessor on a completely different level of being. And I... assembled a gun that fires potatoes. A cold, clammy sweat broke out over me. It's one thing to read comics and watch movies, and quite another to see it with your own eyes, in three dimensions, with real sound and the sensation of the wind from her flight. The threats in this world weren't abstract. They were just as real, fast, and deadly as this. And my main goal—don't die—suddenly ceased to be just a SUPER-item on the list. It became an obsessive, throbbing-in-the-temples physical necessity. I need more. Much, immeasurably more than just shooting potatoes.
And also, regarding the spider folk... If there is no Spider-Man here, neither Peter nor Miles, it means the first, a brilliant but insecure guy, might do terrible things in an attempt to follow the heroic path of his brave friend (if they are even friends with Gwen). And the second... He might seemingly become the successor to Prowler, his uncle, but that's a relatively harmless threat compared to Peter-Lizard, or Peter-Goblin, or Venom... In general, the Universe is unlikely to want to let such a tasty morsel as an aggrieved genius slip from its hands; the only question is what path is destined specifically for him here. And should I even get involved?
Fine... It's obvious that I shouldn't get involved; I seemingly already thought through and accepted that point. Но some threats... They might come to my house, and that's not a figure of speech. That is, sooner or later I'll have to intervene in various events because I have absolutely no idea which of the infinite number of variations of the Marvel Universe I ended up in, and there is a non-zero chance of global clusterfuck for all of humanity. And I want to live, that's actually the SUPER-step of all my steps in this world!
Not having reached anything concrete, only solidifying my opinion that I need to continue acting as I am now—quietly, peacefully sitting at home, not sticking my neck out, and increasing my power—I finally reached my apartment. On the way, I didn't forget to stop at the supermarket and buy more potatoes, now not just food but strategic ammunition.
[Simple weapon construction "Potato Cannon" created. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +40 OP!]
[Simple weapon construction "Potato Cannon" created. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +30 OP!]
[Simple weapon construction "Potato Cannon" created. Difficulty: Minimal. Received +20 OP!]
Whoa, system, cool down, cutting the OP reward so heavily for each successfully created Potato Cannon! I gather this is protection against mindless grinding. I suspect starting with the next one, I'll be getting 10 OP or even less. And I, naive fool, thought I'd create a dozen Potato Cannons and get 500 OP in total; yeah, only in my wet fantasies... In any case, I currently have 155 OP, and comfortably settling on the sofa and crossing my fingers for luck, I mentally pressed the glowing "Forging the Universe! 150 OP" button.
[Information packet (Common) received – Disassembly Risk (Mouse Hunt). (Unlocking the information packet costs 100 OP)]
When creating a trap, one must consider how often the hunter moves from region to region, as well as the wide variety of mice capable of completely destroying the trap. Since designing an unbreakable trap is likely to make it bulky, an alternative approach is to design it so that it breaks intelligently. This philosophy, applied to your crafting endeavors, allows you to create things that are designed to be safely disassembled regardless of the circumstances—of course, you will have to reassemble the thing after it breaks, but the risk of it completely flying apart under the firepower of a dragon mouse is eliminated.
You can create items that, when destroyed, fall into pieces without losing their components. Traps, weapons, or tools are easily disassembled and reassembled anywhere, making them resilient to attacks from powerful enemies.
I slowly reread the description several times, and my brain began feverishly calculating options. This wasn't just a "repair skill." This was an entire engineering philosophy. "Break intelligently." This meant I could pre-program controlled weak points into any construction that would act as fuses under critical load, preventing the entire device from shattering into atoms. I imagined creating some kind of power knuckle. An enemy strikes it with non-human force. An ordinary knuckle would either hold or crack and fly apart into useless shards. Mine, designed with "Disassembly Risk" in mind, would simply fall apart into several large, intact modules: power source, field projector, handle. The components are whole. I would just need to slip away, spend a minute reassembling, and I'm back in the fight. This changes everything! Durability and maintainability cease to be passive characteristics and become an active, dynamic defense.
And what if I applied this not to defense, but to offense? Could I create a projectile that, upon hitting the target, "disassembles intelligently," releasing internal components like shrapnel or a chemical reagent with maximum damaging effect? Or a trap that, after triggering, isn't destroyed but simply "unfolds," ready for quick resetting? Thoughts swarmed in my head like a maddened hive. This seemingly simple "common" information packet is a real treasure for an engineer. It gives not a new recipe, but a new way of thinking.
Initial impression: at least in the future, this skill will be very useful to me because, for example, I might build a complex thingamajig that quickly loses its relevance, and I could quite easily disassemble it into useful components for a new project! I won't spend 100 OP on this skill right now, because my plan currently has the Muscle Stimulant unlock, but that's after creating the Intellect Potion. Damn, that means I have to go shopping again to buy everything needed for it... And also wait for a thunderstorm to "excite" the quartz crystal lattice via lightning. Although, alright, if I think hard enough, I can probably manage without a storm... The paradox being that to think hard enough, I need the Intellect Potion. I'll have to scour the internet for an alternative for charging the crystal.
Getting a bit loaded down, I shook off the encroaching obsession. Time to focus on creating the first truly awesome thing! By creating the Intellect Potion, I'll already be directly confirming that I'm capable of creating non-trivial things that can change outcomes. This will give me additional confidence, and the pile of OP I'll get as a reward is definitely not something to be discounted! So now, while it's still day, I'm buying the crystal.