I've stood up now but the feeling like my ass is burnt off isn't something I appreciate.
I sat down on the floor for too many hours, and now my ass hurts. There aren't any proper chairs in this abandoned warehouse and I'm too lazy to steal one.
I got this warehouse after I got my papers into the system. I'm a bona fide New York citizen now.
It was originally a shipping platform that got trashed after too many protests, so they just poured cement over the land. No one owns the place, but it's not like anyone wants to.
I'm amazed at what I've done in these eight weeks. I got myself full citizenship. I'm a twelfth grader now. I'm also in the process of maintaining a zero-point energy harvester at the moment, so that's that. My face still winces now and then when I see fridges.
To fully explain how a zero-point energy harvester works, we'll have to start with the basics.
Scientists from my past-life revolutionized the use of zero-point energy, to the point that with the information they published and my experience and the sheer talent this body has, it was easy making tech that violates the laws of physics.
Zero-point energy is residual jitters, or so I'd like to call it. When we boil down the concept of temperature, we can see it's just things and particles moving. So when we cool something down, we slow down those particles. When we cool down something to the absolute limit, and when we hit absolute zero, we theoretically get those particles to stop moving completely.
Key word, theoretically.
Then Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle comes into the picture. It says that you can never know about a particle's exact position, without sacrificing your knowledge on their movement. The concept of absolute zero basically opens the zipper and pisses all over this principle.
With this info in mind, scientists in my past life realized that nothing, not even theoretical absolute zero particles, ever stops moving. They pounced on the idea. The idea that all things, however little, however low in the quantum energy state, possesses energy, blew their minds like prom night to their teen brains.
They even got to proving the idea.
They placed two uncharged metal plates extremely close together in a vacuum. Quantum fluctuations outside the plates exert more pressure than inside, pushing the plates together. Though the movement was little, it was enough to prove the concept.
They quickly got to working on the concept of a zero-point energy harvester. In the same way a solar panel takes in sunlight and processes it into energy, I figured out how to take in vacuum jitters and make them useful. Except unlike solar panels, there's no giant ball of fire throwing photons at me. The energy's just… there. It's like scooping water out of the ocean with a sieve. Problem is, no one ever made the right sieve.
So, I made one.
Casimir plates are the start, the aforementioned uncharged sheets of metal, only a few nanometers apart. The closer they are, the stronger the vacuum fluctuation pressure. Normal scientists struggled because their plates collapsed, or the forces were too tiny to matter.
I cheated. Synthesized graphene. Ultra-thin, ultra-strong. Scrapped it off university prototypes and hacked CYD kits, lab trash bins. Tech in this world in terms of material engineering seems to have advanced at a greater pace.
Then came confinement.
The vacuum doesn't "flow" in straight lines cause as I established earlier with my brain the size of a planet, it jitters in chaos. To stabilize it, I wrapped the whole system in superconducting coils. Niobium-titanium wire, stripped from the guts of a decommissioned MRI machine I, uh, "liberated" from a hospital logistics depot.
Superconductors at cryogenic temperatures let me trap the jitter into resonant modes like guitar strings humming after being plucked. Except my guitar plays quantum foam instead of "Wonderwall."
I basically sprayed and prayed when it came to the cryogenics process. I never cared to look into that stuff.
Conversion was the next hurdle. You can't just plug vacuum fluctuations into a toaster. I built a regulation circuit.
It basically worked like a Cronenberg. It shouldn't, but it did somehow. It was Arduinos, capacitors and highly sensitive photomultiplier tubes.
What that does is catch spikes of jitter, sync them, and translate them into steady electrical current. The translating part I black-boxed. I just did what I remembered from my past life.
But of course, you can't make something like this without containing it. Mu-metal from Magnetoencephalography rooms didn't do the trick, but once I get rich, I'll get something better. This'll have to do for now.
The first time I turned it on, I blacked out half a block. No fireball, no explosion, just every light flickering as my cosmic tongue kissed and smothered thermodynamics' cunt and violated its every law.
Not bad for something cobbled together in an abandoned warehouse with no chairs.
Now I've got a working prototype: a zero-point harvester, about the size of a washing machine, humming in front of me.
Like it's alive.
If I can scale this up, I'll never have to steal another extension cord from Starbucks again.
And if I can weaponize it? Well. Let's just say Octavius can keep his cheapo tritium perpetual sun. I've got something older than the stars themselves.
Of course, I never actually told you why I made this. No one makes something that overturns America's half-yearly power output without wanting to power something big.
One night, I thought about what I should do with my life.
I don't know when the ceiling disappeared. One blink it was rust and shadows, the next it was… absence.
A black so complete my brain tried to stitch stars into it just to stay sane.
Then the patterns came. Light, not light, a lattice of lines unfolding like origami, collapsing and re-forming.
For a moment I thought it was just whiskey. Or the sleep debt finally breaking something in my skull. But the longer I looked, the clearer it became.
This wasn't a dream.
The lattice breathed. A pulse ran through it, like the hum of the harvester but magnified into infinity. And with that pulse came words, not spoken but embedded straight into the marrow of me:
UniversalFunctionOnline.Universal Function Online.UniversalFunctionOnline.
My chest tightened. This might be my saving grace. I won't have to leave this country once the going gets tough.
The voice went on.
Designate:Operator.Designate: Operator.Designate:Operator.
Corruptioninevitable.Collapseinevitable.Corruption inevitable. Collapse inevitable.Corruptioninevitable.Collapseinevitable.
Unlessprevented.Unless prevented.Unlessprevented.
Each phrase unfurled with the weight of gravity. Down, down, and down on me until I could hardly breathe. Images bled between the words: skies splitting, oceans boiling, whole worlds crushed into silence.
Youareallotted:Tenyears.You are allotted: Ten years.Youareallotted:Tenyears.
Toolsgranted:TemplateAssimilation.Tools granted: Template Assimilation.Toolsgranted:TemplateAssimilation.
Assistants:Archetypesdrawnfromacrossexistence.Assistants: Archetypes drawn from across existence.Assistants:Archetypesdrawnfromacrossexistence.
I wanted to protest. But then — a flare.
A streak of gold across the dark lattice. Just like the one that came to me in my last breath.
The words carved themselves into my sight, branding themselves behind my eyelids:
t̵̡̢̢̨̨̡̧̛̗̯͈̜̺͕̩͎̜̩͖̮͈͎̜͔͈̙̭̟̰̬̻̰̣͉̣̝̤͓̪̙̦͈̼̪̘̲͈̀̉̓͐͑̈́̏̎̌̈̓̽͑̍̎̀̇́͌́̚͜͝͠͝è̸̥̣̮̤̺͌̽̈́̐̌̊͛͒͂͗̄̋̃̓͌̃́̍̍̈́͌͒́̊̋̿͘͝͝m̴̩̭̰̭̼̥̲̠̟̣̩͔̤͉̳̳̪̋͒̽̈̉̈́̆̏͆́̎̎̐̌̅̈̿̉̈́̐͛͐̔̓̍͗͋̇̈́̊̄̿͐͗̀̏̃͗̚̚͜͝͝ͅp̶̢̡̧̧̛̛̞̠͔̤̪͖̮̯͈͈̼̝͚̹̥̺̱̬̱̖̥̗̪̳̰̼͚̞̠̜͙̯̙͇͎̘̊̈͒̎͑̃̓̈́̈́͑̃͑̈́̉͌̃̈́̓̋̃̾̇̊̃̈́́̄̌͗͒̽̌̄̃̈́͆̃̋̌̉̋̈́̌̈́͘̚̕͜l̵̨̧̢͔͉̰̪̦̙̱̫̺̠͎͔̯̯͎̳̖͉̣̣̖̙͈̪̗̦͔̜̪̯̺̼̬̙̬͙̥̩̜̦̲͚͖̺̆̑̾̈̉̄̃͗̈́̌̿̔́̎͛͑̕͜͠͠a̷̛̻͉̞̞͈̘̬̬̘̳͎͚͇̦̙̫̩̹͍̖̿̊̀̈͑̈́̇͛͗̌́̂̆͒̓̓͊̏͋͂̓͆͋̈́̏̀͋̊̃̚̕̕̕͘͜͝t̸̡̧̢̢̨͔̲͉̼̟̲̪̹̤͖̯͎̲̙̲̪͇͎̰̠̳̻̝͖̫̺̤̘̬͇͂̓̐̔̇̈́͑͛͒̈́̊̍̋̈́͘͘͜ͅͅͅę̶̨̥̠̮̫̭͇̮̰͇̰͈̂̾͑̐́̀̀̆͑͒̉̈͂̓̀̈͘̕͝ͅơ̴̺͕͖̥͖̼̜̹̪̪̜̯͔̠̞̲̰̱̳̏̈́̊̌̽͐̏̒̊̈́͋̆̆̀͌̿̇͌̈́͗̿̿̾̒̉́͑́̆̀̋́͒̐̽̈́͑̅̐̀̏̕̕͘͜f̴̨̨̖̪̼̲̼̹̬̤͈͙͇̠̩̱̤͕̯̰͚̙̣̜͍̍̽̈́̔̈́̓̒̉̽̊̌̓͘͘͜͝͝ͅͅẍ̴̨̡̢̨̢̧̖̬̺̘̺̩̝̮͎̰̘͈͇̖̠̘͔̓̕ť̸̘̞̘̮͖͚̊̔̑̎̔̉̓̐̌̅͒̒͘̕̕͝i̷̡̧̛͈̗̠̯̠͍̹̻̹̯͎̦̳̣̠͚̠͉͖͎̺̫̙͕͖̠̝̣͇̳̠͊̑̋̽̀̏͂̆̋̄̔̿͋͑̏͛͊̍̈́̊̊͐̽̂͗̐̇̾̅̍͆̈́̂̔͑̒̈́̊̎͘͘͜͠͠͝͝ͅm̶̧̛̝͓̺̳̭͕̯̼̖͈̜͎̼̰̰̱̋́̅̃͗͗̄̿̈̓̇̀͆̂͋́̉̀͂̿̔̐͑́̇͑̈̆́̋̒̓̀̑̎̓̂̃̑͘̕̚͘̕̚͜͠͝͠e̷͕͓͈̻̍̓͐̀̍̾l̴̡̡̡̨̨̡̛̥̬̦͇̼̳̳̣͖͈͈̞̥̜̲̜͔̝̭̘̓̍̒̐̿͒̉̾̀́͂̆̌͋̀̊͘͝i̶̡̳͉̝̊̏̓̿̈́̇̆͌͆̈́͑͐͑̀̀̋̈̄͒̑̕̕͘͝͝͝n̴̛̹̱̗̰̤̝̥͍͕̣͖͙̠͑̓͂̊̀̑̈́̀̾̊̿̀̃̌̀̓̈́̉̀̎́̐̇̚͝ę̷̢̢̤̪̜̞̹̠̲̲̰͕̤̟͔̖͔͈̟̫̩͍͕̘̝̰̣̂̔̊̐̏̉͛̔̌͒͐̈͑͊́̈́͐̓̇͌͐͗̔͛̂̆̚̕͜͝͝-̸̧̹͇̈́̎͌͌̌̆̊͛̓̏́̓̏͗͂̈́̋̎̃̉͆̉̒͊̕̕͘͘͜s̶̢̡̨̢̧̼̼̣͉̣͓͉̗̻͚̻̹̝̗̼̭͚͉̹̈̓̀̽̃̀̈́̍̒̈̆̃́́̓̏̃̍̃̄͆̽̂̈́͑̊́̆̾̿̎̑̆̊͊̓͌̑̚͠͝͝ù̴̧̧̨̡̢̢̨̢̻͎̜͕̥̳͚̣̘͍͚̻̤̳̹̖̰̯͈̙̱̥̲͍͋͆̌̏́̊͜͝ͅb̶̨̢̢̧̨̨̙̺̠̲̯̗͔̫̞͖͎̙̟͚̼͚̤̥̣̳̗̱̱̘̥̤͉̗͕͉̲̫͖͓̰͉̗̞̟̈́͒̀̂͒̀̈̀̇̈́͘͜͠ͅj̸̡̨̛͍̗͔̖̻̳̟̳̤̤̠͓̮̹̦͇͚̟̥̤͕̟͔̻̣̙̱̯͙͎̭̝̟̮̥͙́̌̂̊̐͒̌̈́́̀̉̎̅̍̃̈́̈́̎̚̚͝ͅͅͅͅe̵̢̩̗̰͉̱͚̝̞̖͍͓̝̝͇͎͕̝̯͋̋͂͛̅́͛̾̿̎́̐̿̽̂̔̌̀̓͋̆̔́̇̕̕͘͘͝͝͝͝͝c̵͚̠̰̜̖̎̓̈̂̆͒̌̅͐͂̀̈́̈́̒̆̏́̓̅͑̒̑͒͑͗̀͌͑̎̔̆͌͐̀͛̑̀̽̐͌͌̚̕͠ţ̴̢̨̢̧̢̫͖̰͈̬̖͕̗̘̭̬̜̠̯̫͍͕̤̪̠̭̪͔̖̜̅̈̔̐̋͒͌̅̆̆̂̂͊̓͘͝ͅͅĭ̴̢̢̼̙͛̊̌v̵̨̢̛̮̩̫͚̠̲͕̯̥͚͓̝̫̝͇͎̱͚̣̤̻̳͈̳̘̣̗̩͙̘͖͍͛̎͐͐̀̃͗̍͗͋͗̓͋̽̆̀̐̄̐͌̒͋̒̓̇̈́̀̚̚͜͝͝ȩ̸̧̢̧̨̤̟̜̫̯̣̗̤̞̠͍̥̙͙͖̯̱̟̹̺͇͍̯̪̮͈̙̰̦̦̺̪̟̰͓̦̗̺͐̽̈͗̉̀̿̈́͛̒͜͝ͅe̷̛̜̹̩̺̬͖̅̇͛͂̉̀͛̓̌͗̊̏̀̊̓̋̑̏̀͑͛̽̃̍͐̔͛͠ẍ̵̨̛̭̝͙̟͇̘̙̦̫̙̘͙͇̮̱͔̙́̑͌̿̔̇̽́͆͆͂͜͝p̸̢̡̡̡̛̯̙̤̭͚̪̤͕̘̥̥̖͈͉͔͖̦͈̯̲̮͈͓̘̥̬̩͓̝̱̘̜̮̦͇͔͎͇̫͙̞̫̼͇̈̈́̐͋͂͌̍̾̃̇̈́͆͊͐̇̊͑̉̉͂́͗̈͋̓́̄̈́̀̈́̓̎̃̾̀̌̾͘͘͘͘̕͠͝͝͝ͅẻ̵̢̢̜͕̦̱̞͉̟̞̦̺̪̳̱͈͈͚̻̳͍̮̙̙̬͚͎̟̥̫͎̠̲̬̬̦̺͕̐͗̔̈́͛̒̋̃̃͑̾̾͒̐̋͂̈́͆̂̀̈́̑̾͂̀̉̇͘̕̚͜͝ͅṛ̴̨̢̟̻̥͎̲̹̥̗͈̠̬̹̬͖̠͉̞̜͕̞͓͖̥̬̻̩̬̰͓̖̳͂̓̂̃̓͆͒̇̅͛͌̽̊́̌̅̿̆̇̽͋̍̏͛́̉̊͐̒̎̓̈̍̋̚̚̕i̶̧̢̭͇͖̱̼̹͕̗̬̫͈̣̹͈̝̝̰͙̩̣̰̦͙̣̖̙̹̗͔̜̙̱̿͂̉̃͋̈̋͛̑͒̾͐́͐͛̽́̓͘͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅę̵̢̛͚̠̟͓̖͖̮̮̣̮͕̳͚̭̣̰̫͔͖̦̯̻̬̬̭̱͛̾̇̋̊̎͌̈́̒̑͜͝ͅͅṋ̸̡̨̡͇͈͖̼̘̹̗̙͙̘̘̦͉̼̰̣͇̳̝͚̲̙̘̼͇̹̝̞͔̤̯͙̼̩̩̞̐͋̈̀̂̌̆͛̒̾́͒͌̿̈͋̂̽̕̕͝ͅc̸̢̢̡̡̩̪̰̩͚̫̗̞̞̫͍͖̲͙̻̹̰̜̫̻̜̙͕͍͇̙͆̾̿̐̋̋̃̈̏̏̓͗̈́̿̇͒̍̋̂̃̐̓̆͑̎̒́̈́̎̈́̀̏͐͘̚͝͝ͅḙ̶̢̧̢̛͕̲̖̗̫̖̱̖̻͓̦͉͖̱̤͓͖͖̘̠͈̝͚̜͓͔̭̦̤͜ͅͅ
And just like that, something I thought I'd buried sparked life in me.
Hope.
The void cracked. The warehouse ceiling returned. The hum of the harvester was steady again, as if nothing had changed. Except everything had.
Ten years. Ten years to prepare. Ten years to stop the end.
Because when the apocalypse comes, someone has to be ready to punch God's strongest creation in the teeth.
And apparently, that someone is me.
Which brings me to the first thing I'll power with the zero-point harvester.
Half the warehouse is lined with a clear material in the event something happens with the cooling systems. The other half is lined with blueprints of a machine from my childhood.
The Ultralink.
The idea came from a tv show from my early years; Max Steel.
Ultralinks are an alien race of small, sentient techno-organic parasitic aliens. They were created with the intent of assisting their maker's goals of absorption and expansion. In order to do so, the Ultralinks are constantly searching for powerful hosts to bond with to strengthen Makino's army. Their primary ability consists of bonding organic or inorganic material and weaponizing it, creating powerful monsters.
Bonded Ultralinks have unlimited stamina, being capable of fighting during hours without needing to rest, are extremely durable and may gain unique abilities depending on what or who they have linked with. When it comes to living beings, such as humans, Ultralinks take complete control of their hosts. Their connection cannot be easily broken, and requires a strong emotional impact to temporarily weaken the link.
The original ultralinks fed on turbo energy, but I'll substitute it with zero-point energy.
The ultralink I'm designing is a lattice of nano-scaled Casimir plates, layered like scales, all linked to a superconducting conduit. That conduit feeds directly into a processor system I've been writing from scratch: Deep Blue.
Deep Blue is the first AI I ever made to be an actual AI. It is an intelligence, a conscious and fully-aware intelligence borne from artificial means. A branching neural net inspired by my past life's greatest experiments in machine intelligence, stripped of their corporate restraints and ethical brakes. With Deep Blue and my knowledge, the Ultralink could be taught, to learn and to adapt through external means. It will serve as Ultralink's mind, the intelligence that interprets my intent and translates it into action.
Ultralink without a will is just a battery. Ultralink with Deep Blue is a partner.
It can flatten into a second skin across my body, weaving into muscle fibers to strengthen them. It can solidify into plates of armor or extend into weapons. If I feed it the right materials, it can mimic them.
The original ultralinks, when bonded, are limited to that until they detach from the host. The information on the host is then used for the betterment of the survival of the next host. With Deep Blue, the process is simplified and done almost simultaneously.
Bonded to me, it can reinforce my body, accelerate healing by channeling raw energy into cell repair, and buffer my nerves to withstand stress and pain. Bonded to machines, it can hijack, adapt, and reconfigure them on the fly.
There are risks, of course. Deep Blue might drift. Might one day decide my survival isn't efficient enough. But that's a problem for me in the future. For now, I need something to ensure my survival and to carry out my one true goal:
To fulfill my duty as humanity's savior, and to live up to the title of chosen one.
The first few days were endless testing.
The first run overheated immediately. What did I expect from scavenged cooling systems?
The second run, I don't know if it could even be considered a run. The Casimir-effect plates weren't stabilized exactly right, so it just pulsed erratically and broke the core for Deep Blue.
The third run was where things got interesting. It lasted long enough to hum before a feedback loop fried my regulators. Not exactly the most interesting thing but when I looked into Deep Blue's synced up cedarwood link start, it started talking back. Not in perfect English of course. It was just commands I didn't remember making, but then I realized it was Deep Blue who made it.
It made suggestions on how to prevent debugs on the virtual particle lining between the plates. I made the progress that took me nine years and won me a Nobel Prize in two weeks.
By week three, the Ultralink prototype wasn't just a mess of wires and plates. It was a floating organism with white armor, azure blue color scheme, and a big blue eye made up of lines and loading bars. It has two pointy arms, and its back has a blue "V" Shaped mark.
I summoned the prototype over my wrist, breath caught in my throat. The hexagons hissed as the cryogenics kicked in. Deep Blue hummed and synced its rhythms with mine.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the Ultralink shivered and liquefied, flowing over my skin like mercury blood, crawling up my arm. Every nerve in my body screamed as zero-point energy surged into me, rewriting muscle, bone, reflex. The energy warped light around me in a whirring and glowing bluish dome. My hand clenched without permission as steel tendrils lashing out and fused into a knife.
The Ultralink consumed the structure, reconfiguring into a crude blade of bonded metal.
I panicked. My heart spiked. The Ultralink tightened like a fist around my arm dumping the energy into my system then just devouring it back. Deep Blue whispered something then.
Just a flicker of text across my interface:
[Host integration at 13%. Do not resist.]
I didn't know whether to laugh or vomit.
The blade dissolved back into shining cerulean liquid, retreating under my skin. My pulse slowed. My arm ached and I was alive.
The first trial was a success.
It went according to plan.
The night after, I couldn't sleep so I just went to school completely drained of everything I had left. It wasn't the energy cost of Ultralink. It was the thought of being caught.
Every time I stared at my own reflection, I would remember how I got here.
It wasn't easy. America doesn't just hand you papers on a silver platter.
The story I gave them was simple enough: a kid fresh out of juvie.
Juvenile detention is a black hole of records, and the system is too clogged to care about a forgotten file or two. I claimed I'd been shuffled around the foster network, got out with nothing but a probation officer's sigh and a garbage bag full of clothes. Nobody bothers to fact-check.
I hacked into the Department of Records through a public library terminal and wrote my name into the digital margins where no one looked, and forged the paper trail to match. Birth certificate, school transcripts, transfer forms. When I walked into the district office with my stolen hoodie and a beaten-up backpack, I desperately looked the part of a tired, bitter seventeen-year-old who'd already seen the inside of a cell.
And that's the thing about people: they believe what they want to see.
The clerk stamped my papers with barely a glance. By the end of the week, I wasn't a stranger anymore. I was a twelfth grader in New York City, complete with cafeteria lunches and overdue homework. I lived in the warehouse for a while and registered my residence as an apartment out uptown that doesn't exist.
It was almost funny. I could bend the quantum foam of the universe to my will, and yet the most dangerous thing I'd ever done was walk into an office with a forged smile.