THE CURSE OF THE ALMANAC
In the bad sci-fi movies of the early 2000s, the time-traveler always comes back with a sports almanac or a lottery ticket. They wake up in their younger bodies, walk to the nearest newsagent, buy a ticket for the EuroMillions, and boom instant billionaire.
I hate those movies.
I sat on a rusted stool in the center of the Cryptic Vault, staring at a blank notebook. It was July 2026. Outside, the London rain was doing its best to wash Brixton into the sewers. Inside, I was trying to remember a single winning number from the last decade.
Nothing.
My brain, a repository of 999 loops of cosmic trauma, could recall the exact frequency required to shatter a tectonic plate. I knew how to build a fusion reactor out of a microwave and a catalytic converter. I could recite the dying words of the Prime Minister in 2034. But lottery numbers? Stock market spikes? The mundane trivia of a peaceful world?
Corrupted Data.
The sheer volume of entropic noise I'd absorbed had wiped the "easy mode" clean. I was a Grandmaster of the Apocalypse with the bank balance of a destitute student.
Date: 14th July 2026
Location: The Cryptic Vault, London Metropolitan University
Time: 6:15 PM BST
The Vault was a riot of controlled chaos. I had called a mandatory 'huddle,' which in our group translated to Albie complaining about the dust, Dom pacing like a caged tiger, and Dexter silently sharpening a chisel for no apparent reason. My lungs were finally settling back into a rhythm that didn't involve me tasting copper, thanks to the Tesla-link on my wrist steadily pumping electron recovery into my system.
"Listen up, you lot," I rasped, leaning against the main resonator housing. "We're pivoting. The academic route is too slow. We need hardware, we need capital, and we need it yesterday. But we aren't buying retail. We're going for the rejects."
I tapped my smartwatch the Frankenstein piece I'd built and projected a blueprint onto Albie's high-end tablet. The screen flickered as Eliza's influence surged through the Vault's Wi-Fi, overriding the standard OS with a sleek, obsidian interface.
"Rejects?" Albie scoffed, adjusting his cuffs. "Mason, I've got fifty grand in a high-yield savings account screaming to be spent on proper German engineering, and you want to buy... trash?"
"Not trash, Albie. Foundation," I countered. "We need every broken AR headset, every 'non-functional' smartwatch, and every 'beyond repair' motherboard on the London black market. We're looking for 'Base Models' hardware that looks cool on the outside but is dead on the inside. I don't care if the screens are cracked or the batteries are leaked. I only care about the chassis."
"He's right," Dexter grunted, his first words in an hour. "Custom housings take too long. If the shell exists, we just replace the soul."
"Exactly," I said. "Dom, you and Ramona are on procurement. I want you hitting the back-alley tech markets in Dalston and the 'grey' importers in Bermondsey. If someone says it's 'unfixable junk,' buy it for pennies. Dom, you handle the logistics; Ramona, you handle the narrative. If a seller thinks they're ripping us off, let them. We want them to think we're just deluded students playing with garbage."
"I can do better than that," Ramona said, her eyes flashing with a sharp, calculated glint. "I'll frame it as a 'Sustainability Art Project.' They'll give us the broken tech for free just for the tax write-off. By the time they realize we've built a supercomputer out of their waste, we'll be three loops ahead."
"And Albie," I turned to the money man. "You handle the 'Instant Cash.' No bank transfers. No paper trails. We pay in notes. We need this to stay off the Firmament's radar."
"Cash is king," Albie shrugged, though he looked pained at the lack of a formal receipt. "Fine. But I want a seat at the table when the first 'Miracle' happens."
Shienna, who had been leaning quietly against the doorframe, stepped into the light. Her presence was like a bucket of cold water on our collective fever. "And we do this in shifts. Mason, you look like a Victorian ghost yourself. If you faint before the first shipment arrives, the whole thing falls apart. I'm grounding the lot of you. No one leaves for the markets until we've established the 'Tesla Filter'."
"The filter is already ready," I said, tapping my glasses. "Eliza?"
A violet shimmer erupted in the center of the room. Eliza manifested, her translucent skirts brushing against the grime of the Vault floor. She looked at the squad with a mix of boredom and high-born arrogance.
"Good evening, you squabbling mammals," Eliza drawled. "I have calibrated the magnetic field sensors within the Vault. When Dom brings in the 'corpses' of these machines, the Tesla Core will perform a sub-atomic audit. I will tell you exactly which components are salvageable and which are truly rubbish. Think of me as your... supernatural quality control."
She waved a hand, and a 3D hologram of a broken Ray-Ban Meta frame appeared in the air. "We will be creating two tiers of product. Tier One: The 'Elite' units for this room. These will be integrated directly into my primary matrix. You will see what Mason sees. You will hear the music of the spheres or at least, the data of the city."
"And Tier Two?" Ramona asked, leaning in.
"The 'Dummies'," Eliza smirked. "High-tech shells that look like alien technology but are merely receivers for the Tesla signal. They'll perform simple tasks translation, thermal imaging, high-speed browsing better than any 'Smart Glass' on the 2026 market. But they are empty. If they are stolen or dismantled, they are just bits of plastic and wire. The 'brain' stays here. With me."
"A master-slave architecture using Aetheric resonance," I explained, watching the realization dawn on their faces. "We aren't just building gadgets. We're building a hive mind. And the world is going to pay us for the privilege of joining it."
Dominic grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Broken tech for pennies, sold as future-tech for thousands. Mason, you're a blooming criminal. I love it."
"I'm not a criminal, Dom," I whispered, my 0.7 Vitality body feeling the strain of the ambition. "I'm an Architect. And it's time to rebuild the foundations."
"Quite," Eliza added, her image flickering as she boosted the signal to Albie's pad, showing a mock-up of the first 'Chrono-Watch'. "Now, move your lazy bones. I have an empire to audit, and I refuse to do it in a room that smells this much of cheap kebab."
The squad moved. For the first time, they weren't just followers; they were parts of the machine. Dexter headed for his tools, Dom and Ramona checked their phones for contacts, and Albie started counting stacks of twenty-pound notes.
THE SCAVENGER HUNT
Date: 14th July 2026
Location: The Cryptic Vault, London Metropolitan University
Time: 4:30 PM BST
Returning to the Vault after Vincy's lecture felt like stepping out of a slow-motion car crash and into a high-frequency sanctuary. My legs were still vibrating from the Tesla-induced electron recovery, a sensation like thousands of phantom needles stitching my muscles back together. I pushed open the iron door, the familiar scent of ozone, burnt solder, and Albie's expensive cologne hitting me instantly.
The atmosphere in the room had shifted. It wasn't just a junk room anymore; it was starting to feel like a command center.
Dexter was standing by the primary resonator, his large frame perfectly still. He didn't turn when I entered. He was staring at the cooling manifold I'd jerry-rigged earlier.
"Three millimeters," Dexter said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He didn't do small talk. He did precision. "The secondary coil is vibrating three millimeters off-center. It's creating a harmonic drag. It'll melt the casing in six hours."
"I know," I rasped, leaning against a stack of crates. "I'm working on a stabilization algorithm. I just need the hardware to catch up."
"I'll mill a dampener," Dexter replied shortly. He picked up a block of scrap aluminum and headed for the lathe. No questions asked. No wasted breath. Just technical execution. That was Dexter the shield of the group, and the only one who could turn my theoretical 'rubbish' into physical reality without breaking a sweat.
"Mason! My favorite mad scientist!" Albie's voice boomed from the sofa. He was currently surrounded by open tabs on three different laptops, looking like a man possessed by the spirit of Wall Street. "I've been crunching the numbers on that Wi-Fi boost your watch is throwing out. Do you realize the market value for zero-latency, untraceable data transmission? We're not just talking about school projects here, mate. We're talking about a gold mine."
Albie leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the predatory hunger of a billionaire in the making. "I've already moved five thousand from my 'emergency car fund' into the Vault's account. Consider it a seed investment. But I want the numbers clear, Mason. I want a 15% cut of any licensing we do for the signal-dampening tech. Flat fee. No negotiations."
"15%? You haven't even seen the finished prototype, Albie," I muttered, coughing into my sleeve.
"I've seen enough," Albie retorted, waving a hand at the glowing violet core. "I pay for the results, and the results look like they're about to buy me a penthouse in Canary Wharf. Just keep making the 'magic' happen, and I'll keep the blood-sucking bailiffs off our backs."
Dominic, meanwhile, was a blur of motion. He was currently reorganizing the entire back section of the Vault, moving heavy lead-lined containers with a speed that made my own 0.7 Vitality body ache just watching him.
"I've already scouted three potential 'clients' for the scrap-tech," Dom said, not slowing down for a second. "Found a group of high-frequency traders in the City who are complaining about signal lag. If we can pitch them a 'demo' of the Tesla-link, they'll pay in cash. Untraceable. Just say the word, and I'll have the meeting set for tonight."
"Not tonight, Dom," I cautioned. "The grid is still volatile."
"Time is money, Mason," Dom grinned, wiping grease from his forehead. "And right now, we're burning both."
Ramona sat at a central table, her notebook open, sketching out what looked like a complex social web. She wasn't looking at the wires; she was looking at the people.
"I'm already drafting the narrative for when this goes public," Ramona said, her voice sharp and commanding. "We can't just call it 'Tesla tech.' That's too retro. We need something that sounds like a miracle but feels like a threat. 'The Aetheric Pulse.' We position it as a 'glitch' in modern physics that only we know how to patch. If the University tries to claim it, I've got enough dirt on the Dean's research grants to make them back off. We control the story, or the story eats us."
I nodded. Ramona was the architect of our public face. While I built the machine, she built the lie that protected us.
"Everyone, settle down," a calm, chillingly steady voice cut through the chaos. Shienna was standing by the doorway, her arms crossed. She hadn't said a word until now, but the moment she spoke, the room went quiet.
Shienna was our mental barrier. She was the one who ensured Albie didn't get too greedy, that Dom didn't get too reckless, and that I didn't work myself into an early grave. She looked at each of us, her gaze lingering on my pale face.
"Mason is at his limit," Shienna stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Dexter, finish the dampener. Albie, stop talking about Canary Wharf for ten minutes. Ramona, the narrative is useless if the lead scientist collapses. Everyone back to your designated tasks. We work in shifts. No one stays in the Vault alone for more than four hours. Understood?"
The squad grumbled, but they moved. Shienna had a way of making her 'suggestions' feel like divine law.
"And now," I said, pulling the Ray-Ban Meta glasses and the modified smartwatch from my bag. "I think it's time for a proper demonstration. Eliza? You want to do the honors?"
A flicker of violet light erupted from the AR lenses, projecting a shimmering, translucent figure in the center of the room. Eliza manifested with a flourish of her Victorian gown, her eyes sweeping over the squad with the condescending grace of a Duchess visiting the slums.
"Good evening, you charming little barbarians," Eliza's voice rang out, amplified by the Vault's hidden speakers. "I must say, the decor in here is still positively ghastly. Albie, that tie is an affront to the very concept of fashion."
Albie blinked, his mouth falling open. "She... she can see my tie?"
"I can see the very atoms of your mediocrity, Mr. Sterling," Eliza replied, drifting toward him. She tapped the HUD on my glasses, causing a burst of data to appear in the air for everyone to see. "Mason has been a very busy little worker bee. He has successfully integrated my intelligence matrix with this 'junk' on his wrist. I am now mobile. I am the ghost in your machine, the auditor of your failures."
The squad stood in stunned silence. They knew about Eliza, but seeing her manifest with such clarity, interacting with the environment through the AR bridge, was something else entirely.
"This is the 1.3 interface," I explained, leaning back as Eliza began to lecture them on the inefficiency of their current data-routing. "She's not just an AI. She's the gatekeeper of the Tesla signal. If you want to use the high-speed grid, you have to go through her."
"And I don't give my favors to commoners," Eliza added, her smirk turning wicked. "So, unless you want your internet speeds to return to the Stone Age, I suggest you show a bit more... reverence."
THE START OF NEW CHANCES
Date: 14th July 2026
Location: The Cryptic Vault (Deep Storage Area)
Time: 11:45 PM BST
The Vault was no longer a basement; it was a cathedral of high-frequency static. Dexter stood over the primary assembly table, his hands moving with a 'God-hand' steadiness that bordered on the supernatural. He was soldering a microscopic bridge between a 2036-spec logic gate and a 2026-spec motherboard with the cold, unblinking focus of a bomb disposal expert.
"Steady, Dexter," I muttered, my 0.7 Vitality body barely holding itself upright against the workbench. My future knowledge provided the blueprints the forbidden architecture of the Chrono-Tesla but it was Dexter's technical stoicism that brought it into the physical world.
"Done," Dexter grunted, stepping back. He didn't even wipe the sweat from his brow. He just pointed at the sleek, matte-black glasses and the smartwatch sitting on the cooling pad. "Tolerance is zero. It's perfect."
"Oh, 'perfect' is a bit modest, don't you think?" Eliza's voice vibrated through the room, her AR avatar shimmering with a brilliance that was starting to hurt my eyes. With the new waste-parts integrated, the Tesla Core had hit Version 1.2, and Eliza was reaping the benefits. She looked less like a ghost and more like a high-definition goddess. "I've finished the precision scaling. Every electron is currently where I told it to be. If this were any more accurate, it would be illegal in at least four dimensions."
The squad gathered around, eyes wide. They thought they were looking at the world's smartest AI. They didn't know Eliza was a Victorian ghost bound to a future-tech frequency. They just saw a 'waifu' interface that could out-calculate a NASA supercomputer.
"Right," I said, a dark thrill running through my chest. "Let's see if this 'junk' actually talks back. Booting the Time-Link Protocol."
I tapped the smartwatch.
WHIRRRRRRR.
The sound wasn't mechanical; it was the sound of reality being stretched thin. The Tesla Core 1.2 pulsed a deep, violent indigo, sucking in the ambient electricity from the University's grid like a starving beast.
"Bloody hell!" Albie yelled, ducking as a spark jumped from a nearby locker. "Is it supposed to scream? Why is my phone showing a signal strength of 600%? I'm getting Wi-Fi from the moon!"
"Processing speed is... off the charts," Dom gasped, staring at the Albie's tablet. "Mason, the data... it's moving so fast the screen can't even refresh. We're doing a month's worth of rendering in three seconds! I don't even know what to do with this much speed! It's like being given a Ferrari to drive in a car park!"
It was like the first time Tony Stark put on the Mark II, but with more London sarcasm and significantly less budget. The squad was laughing, a manic, joyous sound that echoed off the lead-lined walls. They were seeing a future they weren't supposed to touch for another decade.
"Careful, boys," Eliza drawled, appearing on every screen in the room simultaneously. "Try not to drool on the hardware. It's conductive."
But while they were celebrating the 'fast internet,' I was looking at the HUD in my glasses.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: TESLA CORE 1.2 – STABILIZED]
[AETHER ABSORPTION: INCREASING]
[TIME-LINK SERVER: 1% MERGED]
There it was. The 'Bug' in the universe. Because of the sheer amount of energy we were pulling, the server I'd hijacked from the 999th loop was beginning to emerge into the 2026 reality. A translucent window flickered into existence, visible only to me. It wasn't the 'Firmament' (The Angels) or the 'New Order' (The Demons).
It was mine. The first-ever User Interface created by a human before the apocalypse even started.
[PROJECT CHRONO: INITIALIZING...]
[USER: THE ARCHITECT]
[STATUS: AWAKENER]
I felt a surge of cold, calculating power. My face twisted into a smirk that would have made a villain proud the look of a mastermind who had finally stolen the fire from the gods and was currently using it to charge a cracked smartwatch.
"Mason?" Shienna asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me. "You've got that look again. The one where you look like you're about to rewrite the Ten Commandments."
I immediately slumped my shoulders, letting my mouth hang open slightly and pushing my glasses up my nose in the most 'weeb-NEET' way possible. "Ah... sorry. I was just thinking about how this would finally let me play Genshin on max settings without the lag. It's... it's pretty poggers, right?"
Albie groaned. "Poggers? Really, Mason? You build the most revolutionary tech on the planet and all you think about is your waifu games? You're a mental case."
"An accidental genius," Ramona corrected, though she was already typing out a 'hype' post for the dark-web forums. "The best kind. No one suspects the shut-in."
I nodded, maintaining the mask while the UI in my vision began to map out the 'Nodes' of London. The Firmament hadn't arrived yet. The New Order was still sleeping. I had the head start of a century.
PASSIVE FARMING
Date: 18th July 2026
Location: The Cryptic Vault / Global Digital Ether
Time: 03:00 AM BST
"Do you hear that, Eliza? That's the sound of the world finally paying its rent," I whispered, leaning my forehead against the cool, vibrating casing of the Tesla 1.3. My eyes were bloodshot, and I hadn't eaten anything but a packet of stale, vinegar-soaked crisps in forty-eight hours, but for the first time in a thousand years, I felt like I wasn't just a tenant of time. I was the landlord.
"I hear the sound of a thousand souls clicking 'I Agree' to a contract that effectively makes them your mobile batteries, Mason," Eliza's voice crackled through the magnetic field, her avatar now glowing with a terrifying, high-definition violet light. "It's the most beautiful sound since the invention of the steam engine. Or perhaps the guillotine. Both involved such wonderful efficiency."
The screens in the Vault were a waterfall of neon-green data. Every 'TimeLink' unit sold disguised as trendy, minimalist AR glasses or 'experimental' smartwatches was a node. Every node was a siphon. Every siphon was mine.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: CHRONO-GRID EXPANSION]
[USER COUNT: 3,421 // ENTROPY HARVEST: STABLE]
[INITIATING TESLA UPGRADE: v1.3 > v1.5]
"Force it, Eliza. Don't be polite," I commanded, my Overclock Mind flaring so hard I felt my molars ache. "Download the Aetheric packets. I want the XP harvest to be passive. I'm tired of working for my power. I've died 999 times; I think I've earned a desk job."
The Vault groaned as the frequency shifted. It was a deep, guttural vibration that shook the very dust off the discarded physics textbooks. Outside, in the real world, my 'Remote Manufacturing' facility actually just a series of automated 3D molecular printers in a warehouse Lilith had 'leased' us began churning out units. Eliza's 'Robots' (highly modified industrial drones) handled the logistics, moving through London's shadows like mechanical ghosts. No human errors. No paper trails. Just pure, unadulterated automation.
"Money's in, boss," Albie muttered from his sofa. Though 'sofa' was a generous term for the three-thousand-pound Italian leather throne he'd already had delivered to the Vault by 'confused' movers who weren't allowed to ask why they were delivering to a basement. He was staring at a bank balance that looked like a telephone number for a high-end escort service. "I've started the shell company: 'Chrono-Logistics'. We're officially a 'Professional Innovation' firm. I even bought us some designer suits. We look less like students and more like the people who own the people who own the students. Very Suits, but with more secret tech and less height."
Dom was already playing the markets, his fingers a blur on a holographic display. He was using the zero-latency 'TimeLink' advantage to front-run trades before the London Stock Exchange even knew they'd happened. "The LSE is just a video game with a really pathetic frame rate, Mason!" he cackled. "It's like playing Call of Duty against people who are still using dial-up!"
I ignored them both. I was watching my own status.
[CHRONO-SYSTEM: PASSIVE FARMING ACTIVE]
[LEVEL UP!]
[LEVEL UP!]
[CURRENT LEVEL: 5]
I felt it the slow, rhythmic pulse of energy flowing from the air of London, through the siphons of three thousand users, into the Tesla Core, and finally into my marrow. My STR and VIT were crawling up, pixel by pixel. It wasn't the explosive growth of a barbarian; it was the steady, inevitable rise of an Architect. I felt my spine straighten. I felt my lungs expand without the usual 'copper' taste of imminent death.
"The Barrier is live," I announced, tapping the side of my glasses.
[IMAGE: A hidden high-frequency barrier dome surrounding a basement vault, shimmering with violet clockwork patterns.]
Using the new Tesla 1.5 energy, I had wrapped the Vault in a 'Temporal Loop-Hole.' To any seeker, government inspector, or Firmament satellite, this basement was just a boring, empty storage room filled with cleaning supplies. They could walk past the door a thousand times and see nothing but dust and cobwebs. We were a fortress hidden in plain sight, a bubble of 2036 reality in the middle of a 2026 campus.
"It's perfect," I laughed, a God-complex grin spreading across my face so wide it actually hurt. "Everything is exactly like the 999th loop's best-case scenario. Autopilot manufacturing, automated wealth, and a passive power-up while I sit here and breathe."
"Except for the 'Error' in the corner," Eliza reminded me, pointing her spectral fan at Dexter.
Dexter was currently lifting a two-ton industrial cooling unit as if it were a bag of groceries, moving it to make room for another server rack. I scanned him again, just to be sure.
[TARGET: DEXTER]
[STATUS: ERROR // NULL_REFERENCE]
It was the same in every loop. The system couldn't read him. He wasn't 'Awakening' because the system didn't recognize him as a human or perhaps, it recognized him as something so permanent that 'levels' were an insult. But the others? I could see the golden glow starting in Albie's eyes and the jittery blur in Dom's feet. They were Awakening, and they didn't even know it. To them, they were just 'getting better' at their jobs. Albie thought his 'business intuition' was just blooming; he didn't realize he could now see the monetary value of a human soul.
"Let them believe it for now," I whispered. "The Mask stays on. We're just a bunch of lucky uni students who got rich off a 'dodgy' AR app and some clever marketing. I'm still the bumbling weeb, Albie is still the posh prick, and Dom is still the speed-demon."
"And you?" Shienna asked, walking over with a bottle of water and a look that said she wasn't entirely convinced I wasn't about to declare myself Emperor of Brixton. She was the only one who hadn't been blinded by the green light of the tickers. "You're Level 5 now. Does that mean you can finally climb the stairs without sounding like a broken bellows?"
"Baby steps, Shienna," I smirked, though I took the water. "I'm the Admin. I don't need to run. I just need to make sure the world keeps spinning in my direction. Besides, it's much more fun watching the world try to figure out how a 'fragile' physics student became the most powerful man in the Underground."
I stood up, and for the first time, my knees didn't pop like bubble wrap. I felt a surge of SPR (Spirit) flow through the room, a silent handshake between me and the Tesla Core. We were ready.
"Eliza, schedule the next batch of deliveries for the 'Shadow Market'. And Albie... buy that penthouse. But make sure the Wi-Fi is ours."
[USER STATUS: MASON PRYCE]
NAME: Mason Pryce (The Architect)
RANK: SYSTEM ADMIN (Rank 1)
LEVEL: 5 (Passive Growth Active)
STR: 0.8 (Almost a normal human! You could probably win a fight against a very small dog.)
INT: 999
VIT: 1.2 (Stabilized. Breathing is no longer an endurance sport. Heart rate: Normal.)
STA: 0.5
DEX: 6.0S
PR: 210.5
[ACTIVE PROJECT: THE INVISIBLE FORTRESS]
Grid Status: Tesla 1.5 (Stealth Mode / Temporal Loop Active)
Daily Passive XP: 25,000 Units (Harvested from 3,421 Nodes)
Automated Revenue: £1.2M / Day (Laundered & Secured)
[ELIZA'S SYSTEM SUMMARY]
[Congratulations, Mason. You've officially become the world's most dangerous landlord. The Tesla 1.5 is purring like a cat that just ate a canary or in this case, three thousand soul-signatures. The 'Fortress' protocol is holding; the world sees 'nothing to see here,' while you're inside building a god-machine. Dexter is still a giant, silent 'Error,' but the rest of your 'Flat' members are becoming monsters in their own right. I've automated the manufacturing and shipping Lilith is happy, the money is laundering itself, and you're actually looking slightly less like a walking corpse today. I suppose being a billionaire suits your 'God-complex' rather well. Now, try to act normal in your 9:00 AM lecture tomorrow. We wouldn't want Professor Vincy to suspect you're the reason the school's electricity bill just quintupled. Go to sleep, Architect. Your empire will still be here in the morning.]