AN: Who even knows if I'll continue this or not, I just wanted to write a Celestial Forge fic on a whim. The main character doesn't know what Worm is, has never even heard of Worm, so expect bad choices and faulty conclusions down the road due to lacking meta-knowledge. I'm using a modified version of Celestial Forge V2 for now, and starting off with 100 CP for every 1000 words. This may be subject to change in the future. Anyways, I'm trying to improve my writing through this so please forgive the underwhelming start and uncompelling writing.
OK, situation check! Same as one minute ago, my shit is completely fucked! Incredible! Waking up on a random bench in New York City was one thing, especially seeing as I was most definitely sleeping in my bed. Another way more terrifying thing was the fact that the World Trade Center was right in front of me, nearly exactly as I remembered it. As I remembered it looking from pre-9/11 photos!
And the surreal and impossible sights didn't stop there, oh no way could that happen to poor helpless me! The dates on the newspapers I had picked up off the street, since even in this situation the city was filled to the brim with litter, was just a teensy little bit off from what I was familiar with.
It was only a measly decade, who the hell is counting?
So it was the middle of March, which I had no trouble believing whatsoever. As a lifelong New Yorker, even if not from this clearly wrong version of the city, I knew what the pervasive chill of winter was like in the state. And that chill was gone. Further evidence of time travel, though it still didn't explain the twin towers.
One thing was blessedly the same about this New York, though. No one cared. I was having a full-on mental breakdown trying to put the puzzle pieces together and all I got from pedestrians were wary glances and a slight quickening of their steps. I didn't blame them for actively ignoring me, they wouldn't be able to help and I'd be unable to explain that I am a time traveler and probably from another dimension.
Still, I at least made the token effort to collect myself. Burying my nose into the paper, not actually processing anything in front of me, I began to think about the situation more rationally. Alrighty, got to list out the facts!
1. I remember it being Winter in 2021 when I went to sleep.
2. I woke up on a bench in NYC, with a clear view of intact twin towers.
3. Newspapers claimed it was March 13th of 2011.
4. I was dressed in some plain black dress pants and a red and white striped button down shirt.
That last point was, oddly enough, striking me as more important than the others. I knew this shirt and pants, they were mine after all, but they also clearly weren't the ones I knew. After all, they were in the hamper waiting for the next time I got around to doing the laundry. Yet these were pristine.
Whatever force had brought me here, it was at least considerate enough to make sure I had something decent to wear. That was, potentially, a good sign.
Assuming this wasn't all some sort of insane delusion.
Nope, needed to discard that thought. Perception is key. No matter what the reality of a situation is, the way I perceive it is the way that matters. Don't let the anxiety win, what I see is what I get and I should work with that rather than hypotheticals. I did a simple belief challenging exercise in my head to dispel the maladaptive thoughts… for now.
Best to check my pockets, to start with. No phone, though I already assumed that from the lack of that familiar weight by my hip. No wallet either. Still had my house key, though! That was some… Wait no…
No no no no what is this key?
I know what it is. But I shouldn't know either. I have never seen this key in my life but I know it is a part of me. I know where it leads. I know all of this with complete certainty. Even though I know this certainty is absurd, it is a fact.
Thinking it was my house key… it struck me that I was still technically right. Because if my instincts were right, and they really did feel right, this was the key to a pocket dimension of my own. The sort of thing I would see in fiction all the time.
It may have been a delusion, but I needed to see it through to be sure. Thomas Theorem. If I consider my situation to be real then its consequences are real to me. If the key worked, either I actually had a pocket dimension or this was just a fever dream. In either case, there would be no harm in believing it!
Well, testing it out would be difficult. While my mind was telling me any door would work, I didn't want just anyone to be able to see me break reality. NYC was crowded, even in another world. The passerby might give my mental breakdown a pass, but if they saw me walk through a door into a place that should not be I'm certain their phones would be flitting about to capture the proof. And I couldn't even close the door while inside of it.
So, before going through the trouble of finding an isolated door, I elected to test the other interesting feature that I was certain the key possessed. If it didn't work, that only meant the pocket dimension was also a sham. And so, without any hesitation, I let the key slip from my grasp and down a grate. And then I waited.
Right when I was about to give up and chide myself for my faith, I felt a sudden weight in my shirt pocket. I knew what it was already, but I couldn't stop myself from pulling it out to confirm. I pulled the newspaper in close to my face before my manic grin could be seen by anyone.
I had a magic key!
This was beyond my wildest dreams. Even stranded in a strange world, the idea I had the sort of power I idly fantasised about in the past was just too exhilarating! I needed to see my personal reality, as soon as humanly possible. My inner child demanded it
I rolled up the newspaper and tucked it into my pocket. It obviously stuck out, but I wanted to actually read it and gather information once I was done satisfying my own curiosity.
Chemist (Fallout 4) (100CP)
Only a few moments later, I stumbled mid-step. In my mind I saw a great clock with at least three dozen giant gears spinning in sync, all clustered near a bunch of slots where more gears could go. And, in my mind's eye, a small gear was attached and meshed with one of the large gears. As the new addition began to turn, I was sent back into reality.
It was only a moment in real time, though it felt like several minutes. I caught my balance without attracting attention as I attempted to process the fact that I now knew a lot of things I had no way of knowing. The basic information (and it sure seemed laughable to call it basic) was an encyclopedic knowledge of the periodic table and what felt like a mole's worth of compounds.
The really bizarre thing, the thing which was making my head spin, were the chems! I knew how to make a hell of a lot of drugs, and I recognized most of them from Fallout!
This was fucking crazy! I needed to get some equipment so I could try it myself! I never really dug deep into the crafting in the Fallout games I played, but I knew full well what these concoctions were capable of. Addicting but potent, they were a true gamechanger!
That wasn't all, though. This was a single, insignificant, gear in my mental clock. Focusing my mind I was able to view it again. Try as I might, something pushed back whenever I tried to visualize extra gears slotting in. Not a normal vision I could control, but a sign from something else? I'd need to think about it later. The point was, I had a lot of gears left and I had the suspicion that by the time all of them were in place I'd consider mentats a curiosity at best. If I was right, my actions could quite literally reshape the world.
But first I really needed to check out my pocket dimension! There was hardly any place to open a door in privacy out in this city, at least when you didn't have a place to stay. But I knew of one spot that had doors in abundance and not a single soul to bother me. All I needed to do was hop the turnstile, just like old times.
It took little effort to find the nearest station. Though not my NYC, it was still laid out pretty similarly. And, looking at the train map down below, the tunnels were also laid out similarly… though I was pretty sure several stops were missing or added. Didn't matter, though. My goal was the discreet doors that were scattered around every last platform.
Too many people at the station I started at. Not enough to stop me from taking the opportunity to vault over the turnstile unseen by anyone who'd actually care, but someone would notice if I snuck over and opened up a door… or at least eventually realize it's open a crack. A better move would be to board the train and get to somewhere I knew would be quieter. Briarwood station in Queens was pretty sedate, as subways went, and it was still on the tunnel map so… hopefully it would be similar to how I remembered it, even in this bizarro world.
As I boarded a train to my destination, or rather the first train in a small chain of transfers, I noticed to my displeasure that the place was packed. This was why I avoided traveling at rush hour! I stumbled over to a pole and grabbed it for support. Looks like I'd be standing around for a while, might as well do some people watching, right?
My eyes slid right over the advertisements, dimly noting that there sure was a lot of hero films or something coming out with all the flashy costumes plastered on the walls. 2011 was a bit early for the hero film craze, but compared to the other changes I'd seen this was small and unimportant. The people were more interesting, though. A bunch of hurried businessmen and women shuffling through papers or catching a few blessed minutes of extra sleep en route to work. A gaggle of kids, probably still in high school, chatting irreverently about something I couldn't be bothered to tune in on. They were clearly bothering the very drowsy middle-aged man seated near where they stood, though. He wasn't saying anything, but the glare was familiar. A glare I had given many times before.
Well, might as well make that stranger's day marginally better, right? I made my way towards the group of squabbling youths slowly, cautious of losing my footing on the moving train, and grabbed onto the pole right next to them. Less than four feet away from one of them on a train that was hardly packed enough to warrant such distance.
And then I just stood there. No need to do anything else, the sudden intrusion of a stranger into their space was reason enough for the group to step away. The older man seemed to appreciate it, but neither of us exchanged words. That was normal for the subway. As impersonal as it got, that was the essence of it. I leaned against the pole, hooking my arm around it in the practiced manner that would keep me stable without exhausting myself, and slipped into a fugue.
I wanted to make drugs. Not, like, for the sake of it, but because it was all I could do. This wasn't home, I probably didn't exist in any records here. None of my prior resources were available to me, so the only available option was to leverage every little thing my brain was telling me about. Fallout chems were strong, providing very powerful effects while being cheap to produce. But, more importantly, they trivialized addiction. Or, rather, the fact that I could create fixer and addictol trivialized it. I could deal drugs to build up resources, and then treat the addiction easily when I'm set up to relieve my guilty conscience! So long as I didn't distribute chems like Psycho, which would be like selling violent crime in a syringe, there shouldn't be any issues… probably. Felt a bit comical that I was actually considering living up to all the jokes I had to deal with because of my name.
My eyes glazed over for a second as I felt the clockwork construct within my head tremble, before settling down. Thought there would be another gear slotted in, but I guess it isn't guaranteed every time? I felt like I might be able to get something better next time this feeling reared its head.
Regardless, by the time I finished my half-serious musings about becoming a drug lord and my far more serious musings about the expansive clock the train had already reached my stop. I stepped off, briefly assessed the crowd and determined it too large, and waited for my next transfer.
I hated the subway.
But it was familiar. Like an annoying sibling, or the sound of loud birds outside the window at six in the morning. I'd navigate it without any issues.
God that took forever. Wish I had my phone so I could play sudoku or something to pass the time! Of course it would have stood out a tiny bit due to being nearly a decade ahead, but no one really noticed things like that.
But now I was here, Briarwood station. Used to be the spot where I boarded when I was doing research for one of my professors in college, and I always was struck by how empty it was most of the time. Rush hour might have been different, but that had already passed during my commute. Right now, on the uptown F platform, my only company were rats. Cute little things, those rodents. Some people found them repulsive, but I admired their tenacity. Ironically my time working with lab rats had made me value their lives more instead of less.
I positioned myself in a corner and watched out, waiting for the next train. After that arrived I knew I'd have my chance. Would be a bit, but I had to be certain that no one could interrupt while I investigated my little slice of space.
The sound of bikes interrupted my thoughts. This was exceptionally odd, since I was on a goddamn subway platform and the sounds were coming from down the tunnel. Walking towards the edge, though not too close since I wasn't going to risk falling in, I turned my gaze towards the direction of the racket.
And, wouldn't you know it, my ears weren't lying! Four motorbikes approaching, assuming two lights per bike. I stared, enthralled, at what was perhaps the most stupidly dangerous activity I had ever heard of on the metro (and subway surfing existed, so that was saying something). And my confused interest only grew when the vehicles passed by the platform, into the light. I couldn't get a good look due to the speed, but at least two of the riders were probably teenagers. And all of them were wearing stupidly gaudy costumes. One of them even gave me a jaunty wave for some reason!
This was stupid. Beyond stupid. Subway workers died every so often, and they were literally supposed to be there and constantly aware of how dangerous things were. Those kids were gonna die someday soon, I had no doubts about that. Teens and their need for adrenaline highs, was this sort of thing the counterculture in alt-NYC? I watched them vanish into the distance and stood there for a while, before coming to a decision.
"Fuck it," I muttered. "Clearly I can't assume anything. No one around now, let's just do this. In and out, quick little peek."
I casually strolled over to a door that many commuters had likely wondered about, unmarked save for the station department number above it. I wasn't actually sure if this door existed where I came from, but that sort of mandela effect pondering didn't matter. I inserted the key and opened the door a crack.
White. Just a small cubic room that was all white… save for the door on the other side of it. As soon as I saw it I became aware of what it was, similarly to how I only realized the details of my key once I dug it out of my pockets. Seemed I had a little workshop buried in there, which would be very useful. No clue what sort of tools were in it, but that was why I went to all this effort to investigate, right?
I sidled on in and pulled the door as close to shut as I could. Knowing New Yorker apathy I'd be fine even if someone did notice it was ajar, but I wasn't gonna chance it for too long. But... First I just took a moment to appreciate this pristine space. It was mine! I actually had a place that wasn't a complete mess! That would probably change because I spread filth around just by existing, but still!
Not wasting a moment, I hurried over to the door and opened it up. My workshop, though it was more like a laboratory in my opinion, seemed to be geared towards chemistry. Plenty of stuff I remembered from various labs, along with tools I had no idea what to do with, were scattered around. And, to top it all off, there were shelves upon shelves of jars filled with chemicals. My Chemist knowledge was filling in the blanks, but even without it I knew what a fair bit of this stuff was. I could probably even get some basic chem production going here, if I decided to go down that route.
I felt a spike of displeasure as my clock once again failed to add a new gear. Still, my reach had grown once again. If these misses continued, I'd have to end up with something powerful… right? I'd probably need to be a bit smarter to really ponder the possibilities, but that would mean making some mentats.
Making them would be trivial with my setup, but not fast enough to avoid risking detection. Besides, I'd rather get some fixer or addictol created before I consider pumping any chems into my system. Well, maybe cateye would be fine, since I don't think you could get addicted to it in the game?
A question for another time. With some regret I make my way to the exit and peer out. No one in sight, which is good enough. So long as no one gets a glance in my personal reality they won't be too suspicious. I strolled out confidently, giving off the impression that I had been somewhere I had every reason to be, and switched over to another platform. I had a good idea of where I wanted to head next. The A-Train to Far Rockaway would get me within walking distance of some suburbs, which meant less people. Either I'd hole up in some abandoned store for a while or make use of an out of the way door on some poor sap's home.
Whatever happened, for now I just wanted to read my newspaper. Some context on the current situation would be nice. As I settled into my seat on the train, I began to flip through pages…
Superhero world, huh? That possibly explained the flagrantly stupid subway biking teens from earlier, and also would easily provide more than enough butterflies to make a temporal tornado that saved the twin towers. I might have taken this worse if I didn't have some powers of my own, but as it stood I felt like I wasn't too outmatched.
More research would have to be done, since a newspaper obviously wasn't going to explain things as if the readers knew nothing about the world, but I got the fact that New York had a really big hero scene and a big villain scene to match. That all checked out, very fitting for the city that inspired Gotham. Well, I doubted that I'd end up in conflict with any of them anytime soon. Then I happened upon an update on some evil mind controlling singer that forced some self-mutilation. Made me feel a little ill thinking about it. At least she was probably going to get her just desserts.
Yeah, that was as good a reason as any to take a break from reading. There were a lot of articles left to check, but ultimately I'd probably be better off doing my own research. A public library would be more than enough for that. I'd have a grand old time with that later, by which I mean that I'd hope one of my clock's gears would fill in the blanks so I wouldn't need to bother. History was always my least favorite topic, sciences were where my heart lay.
If push came to shove I'd have to deal with it, but until it was absolutely necessary why should I bother?
Right now, though, the A-Train had pulled into its last stop. The Mott Avenue station was eerily familiar, since the actual architecture was essentially identical, but I could see where things diverged now that I was aware. What I initially had probably written off as ads for superhero films from a small glance now stood out as heroic propaganda. Well, they probably weren't bad people but I never did find these kinds of posters convincing even back home. I mean, really, what kind of cheesy name is Legend, huh? Sounded like someone was full of themselves, hmmm?
Rather than linger around and possibly draw attention, I left the station and began to walk out of Queens and into the true suburbs of New York. Short walk, only about a mile. Still gave me more time to think. I had a few ideas in mind about what my next step should be, but it was too early to come to a final decision. At the very least I wanted to fill in one more gear on my clock before committing to anything. Rational decision making required an accurate view of one's resources, and my resources were a mystery to me beyond the guarantee that they'd expand with time.
The biggest choice right now was where I wanted to operate. New York was my home, but this wasn't my New York. My family was probably not here and the butterfly effect of superheroes existing might mean that they don't exist anywhere. And even if they were around I would be a stranger to them. I wouldn't accept me in their shoes. So my only reason to stick around the state was familiarity. No other ties to bind me. However that still left two other questions: If not New York than where, and if New York than where specifically?
Shit, I probably would need to sit down and do research to figure this out. Necessity was about the only thing that could make me put in effort.
All I knew for sure, at this point, was that I wasn't going to do anything with my life that didn't involve my power. I was so damn close to getting into medical school, but now I was in a world without my college transcript, MCAT scores, and connections. I could do it all again, but spending so many years just to get back to where I already was didn't sound appealing at all. Utilizing the great clock ticking away in my mind was the only path for me that would be instant! I didn't care if that meant selling chems or hurting people, even if I did have lines I knew I wouldn't cross. People might say I'm in a hurry to die with that kind of attitude, but in my opinion I was in a hurry to live. Time was at a premium, it was always running out, no one could get more time. With heroes and villains the world would be even less stable, regardless of if this was a golden age or grimdark type of setting. We might not get tomorrow, so I'd have to do it today.
Bottomless Bucket (Terraria - Journey's End) (200CP)
And now I had an absolutely wonderful tool to get me started! This gear was only twice the size of Chemist, but what I had been granted from it was a wonderful gift. As an avid terraria player, I used to love making fishing ponds to farm for items. And this endless bucket had helped with that. From what knowledge filled my mind, I also knew that it would replicate any liquid I put in it. No restrictions. If I could turn a resource into a liquid then I could have as much of it as I wanted. Hell, if a material was soluble, in polar or nonpolar solvent, I could replicate it.
And the best part was that I still had a bit of material left over in the clock. Give it a few more hours - or maybe not, since the time between energy accumulation seemed inconsistent - and I might have another new toy of the same level or even greater.
Regardless, my current path was now clear.
First I needed to make some Jet. The knowledge from Chemist made me perfectly aware of how it was meant to be in a liquid form in the first place. Unfortunately I had no brahmin to make it the post-war way, but Jet had existed even before the bombs in Fallout. I could create it in vitro, no need for mutant cows. All I needed was a bucket of the stuff and I'd be golden!
And then, because I wasn't quite awful enough to just unleash an addictive drug onto the market, I'd also synthesize some addictol. Since both were designed to be taken via inhaler it was highly likely that I could just mix the two together and sell them as a single unit. And, just like that, I'd have a potent high that wouldn't cause any physical dependency… probably. It wasn't like I knew if it would work that way, since Chemist only told me how to make existing chems and what effects they'd have. New creations on my part would need testing.
But, worst case scenario, I just provide both addictol and jet separately. Only sell them together and it would be basically the same thing as my hypothetical mixture. The main reason I wanted a mix at all was because I only had the one endless bucket, so a single solution would be far less trouble to mass produce. Still ,only a minor inconvenience. The true struggle would be figuring out how to start selling. Despite my enthusiasm, I lacked any practical knowledge on drug dealing. Or theoretical knowledge, for that matter. Literally no clue where to start.
I was gonna get a headache thinking about this. Maybe some mentats would also be worth it, at least to help me with the initial planning? Nootropics were useful, even if my pride was hurt at the thought of needing to rely on drugs. A few wouldn't be that harmful, most likely.
For now, though, I actually needed to make the damn things. At some point of my time lost in thought I had wandered near some homes, big ones that screamed upper-middle class.
Time to find a place to stay.
It wasn't hard to figure out if a home was currently being lived in. Newspapers left on the front step at this point in the day were a pretty good indicator, for instance. Most families on a trip would get a neighbor to deal with those, since it was practically an invitation to thieves, but not everyone bothered. And there were plenty of other signs to look out for.
So many full trash cans around right now, so it was probably almost a garbage pick-up day. The only home that wouldn't produce trash was a home unused. Knowing what to look for, I quickly narrowed my focus down to a few homes. From there it was a simple matter to rule them out until I finally found what I was looking for. A nice place that probably went for at least a million dollars with all sorts of signs of being currently unlived in. Empty garbage bins, a mailbox that had mail in it, and grass that was getting just a little bit too tall. Most likely they had someone come by maybe once a week to take care of papers that would pile up and empty the mail.
Having grown up in this area, or at least in a different reality's version of it, my money was on the inhabitants being a relatively wealthy older couple with the kids all moved out. Those sorts loved to live the colder months in warmer climates, such as Florida. Probably even owned an apartment down there for that purpose. Of course I had no way of knowing how long it would be before they returned, but this wouldn't be a long term arrangement either way. I just needed a discrete door to use for my workshop. And their house wasn't my goal, but the small shed I could spot in the backyard.
First, before anything else, I'd confirm my assumption. I walked right up to the front door and rang the bell. If anyone answered I'd just pretend I was looking for someone else and got the wrong address. And if there was no response I was clear for metaphorical take-off. As it so happened, a minute passed with no answer. After trying once more, just to be extra cautious, I felt it was as good a time as any to circle around to the back.
As expected, there was no lock on the fence gate leading to their backyard. It was often seen as unnecessary in such a peaceful area to do anything beyond locking the entrances to the building. I walked around the covered pool to the door of a simple brick shed. No one around, the tall hedges would block the view of any neighbors, and the door wasn't facing towards the street so passersby would easily miss it.
I inserted my key into the lock.
Home sweet home. My lips stretched into a small smile at the sight of the bucket in the entryway. This was the first time I got to see clear evidence that the gears in my mental clock were adding new things, since it clearly wasn't around beforehand. And, speaking of which, I could feel the gears reaching out for new connections once again! What could it be~
…
Well. That was a bit of a letdown. The gear was too heavy, or however I wanted to describe the failure to make that new connection. Oh, forget it! That just meant I'd have a better chance next time.
For now, I reckoned, it was high time I got to work. I dragged the bucket into my chemistry lab, took a swig of a vial of glucose from the supply to keep myself going for now (nearly choking from the unbearable sweetness), and started gathering everything that Chemist told me I'd need to make some mentats. The workshop might not have anything too exotic in its supply, but these drugs could be made in a post-apocalyptic world from scavenged garbage and plants. The basic chems wouldn't pose a problem at all.
Once I had the brainpower boost via pharmacology I'd be able to better plan everything that came next.
I couldn't waste time planning without mentats, much as my pride objected. I was in a hurry. I, Elliot Meth, was going to become a drug dealer, in spite of years spent railing against the jokes my last name invited.
Fuck my life.
Perks Gained this Chapter
*Organic Chemistry* Workshop (Personal Reality) (100CP):
Each purchase of this adds to your Personal Reality, a Workshop needed to perform a specific type of craft, which is to be specified when purchase is made. It comes with a basic set of tools and supplies. Good for fixing or creating all sorts of things, although any complex parts or nonstandard supplies will have to be brought in from outside. Additional purchases can add different types of Workshops to your Personal Reality or expand existing ones. Anything built in one of those workshops is fiat backed to be restored to its original condition within 48 hours if damaged or destroyed.
Access Key (Personal Reality) Free:
This is a special key which lets you access your Personal Reality and its contents.
When inserted into any lock on any door, the door opens to reveal a gateway into your Reality at a predetermined location within it. You are the only person who can take the key from the lock, the gateway remains open as long as the key is in the lock, and if the key is ever lost or stolen you will find it in your pocket a few minutes later. You cannot close the door as long as you are inside the Personal Reality.
Entrance Hall (Personal Reality) Free:
This is the room your Access Key opens a door to. It starts off as a 5 meter cube with blank white walls, floor, and ceiling, as some doors, one leading to the current Host Reality, the other into your Cosmic Warehouse, with additional doors leading to other extensions as these get added to your Personal Reality. Feel free to customize this Entrance Hall as you see fit. Additional Halls can, at your discretion, be linked only to certain keys or only to certain extensions. This allows you to have an entry hall just for skiing if you want.
Chemist (Fallout 4) (100CP):
Groovy! Knowledge of chemistry has given you the ability to recite the entire periodic table, as well as knowledge of many exciting compounds such as dipotassium phosphate! Oh, and you can also make less exciting things like Stimpacks and Psycho, but why would you do that?
Bottomless Bucket (Terraria - Journey's End) (200CP):
A fairly large metal bucket, which, when filled with a liquid, can pour out infinite amounts of said liquid unless deliberately completely emptied. It will resist cold, heat, corrosion, and other damaging properties of whatever liquid fills it, and when deliberately emptied, no traces or cross-contamination will happen when the bucket is refilled.
Banked CP: 200