Having sat down at the laptop, searching for suitable and necessary lots, I spent the next few hours in active research, simultaneously cross-referencing with instructions from a forum for radio electronics enthusiasts and garage hobbyists.
I needed capacitors — not just any capacitors, but high-voltage ones, which you can’t easily get at an ordinary radio electronics store.
But you can get them from old CRT televisions or monitors, from defibrillators, from industrial lasers, or welding machines.
In short, there are options, but specifically CRT televisions are the most obvious.
The search turned into a real digital safari.
I scrolled through dozens of pages on Craigslist, eBay, and some local flea market forums.
Most of the listings were junk: single, half-dead televisions with cracked screens sold for a pittance.
I needed unification, identity, so that the parameters of each capacitor matched with precision to fractions of a percent.
I read arguments on forums where gray-bearded amateur engineers foamed at the mouth, proving the advantages of some models over others, memorized brands and serial numbers, creating a whole database in my head.
This turned out to be quite a tedious, painstaking job, requiring patience and attention to detail.
The key problem was that the capacitors had to be absolutely identical!
That is, if I buy televisions, they have to be the same model and ideally the same batch.
And such options existed, and they were even in New York, but somewhere the televisions were not working, and somewhere too expensive.
But after several hundred viewed listings, I found what seemed the perfect option!
Twelve CRT televisions from the brand already familiar to me from my laptop — Zuun Electronics.
All working, all the same model, and I dared to hope, the same batch.
They were used in the security room for broadcasting from surveillance cameras, and the price was more than acceptable: thirty bucks apiece, or three hundred for all twelve.
Naturally, I couldn’t miss such a chance.
The ad had appeared literally a couple of hours ago, and judging by the number of views, there were many radio electronics enthusiasts in New York.
“Hello, I’m calling about the ad!” I immediately dialed the number, and after a short conversation, we agreed to meet in an hour.
Just enough time to get to Brooklyn, to the Sunset Park area, and for the return trip, I would order a cargo taxi.
The meeting place turned out to be a small warehouse in the industrial area of Sunset Park.
I was met by a hefty man about fifty years old in a greasy cap, who gave me a skeptical look.
“Are you the one for the TVs?” he boomed, wiping his hands on his overalls.
“Twelve of them?”
“That’s me,” I nodded, trying to look confident.
“And what do you need them for, kid?” he squinted.
“Nostalgia bugging you?
Or are you some kind of artist, making an installation?
I had one guy like that, buying up old irons.
Was building a pyramid out of them.”
I was thinking feverishly.
To tell the truth about the high-voltage capacitors would attract unwanted attention.
“Something like that,” I answered evasively.
“Video art.
I want to make a wall of screens displaying the same static noise.
Conceptually.
About alienation in the information society.”
The video art legend was born spontaneously, woven from bits of articles about contemporary art I had once read and the memory of John, who is actually a student at the College of Arts.
It was pretentious and strange enough to sound plausible to someone far from the subject.
The main thing was to speak confidently, with a bored look, as if this was an everyday thing for me.
The man thought for a second, then burst out laughing.
“Kids these days, I tell ya!
Noise on screens for three hundred bucks!
In my day, we just pulled out the antenna, and there you go — free alienation.
Alright, come on, I’ll show you your ‘conceptual art.'”
He led me deeper into the warehouse, where twelve identical cubes with the Zuun Electronics logo sat gathering dust on a pallet.
They looked like dinosaurs from a bygone era.
“They work, just like I wrote in the ad.
You can check.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said hastily, pulling out the cash I had withdrawn earlier.
I didn’t want him to see the predatory gleam in my eyes as I looked not at the screens, but at their insides.
Having paid and called a cargo taxi, I waited at the warehouse gates, feeling like a wannabe spy who had just pulled off a secret operation to acquire components for a superweapon under the guise of buying antiques for a bored artist, hah.
It was 2 PM, and I was happy with the deal of the century, but the credit dollars were getting less and less with every purchase.
I hope I don’t stoop to opening another credit card…
But as long as there’s money, I can live without worries and create, hah.
Back home, I began searching for the next important components.
This was an order of magnitude simpler.
A used but good microwave for twenty bucks, a diode, resistors, a sheet of plexiglass, several wooden boxes, lead foil, foam rubber, a soldering iron, a multimeter, dielectric pliers, high-voltage wires, and a bunch of other small items.
Honestly, by 6 PM I was already tired of running around the city, and that’s considering that it all cost another few hundred bucks.
By my estimates, about five hundred bucks remained on the card, and I already had thoughts on how to earn money, but for that, I vitally need to create the Intellect Potion.
Fortunately, the pre-preparation stage is partially complete; I can begin!
Glancing around the small studio, which had become even smaller thanks to my purchases, I realized the image was surreal.
Twelve bulky CRT televisions, resembling tombstones of a bygone era.
A shiny, almost new microwave, bought only to be ruthlessly gutted.
Coils of wire, little bags of resistors and diodes, sheets of plexiglass and lead foil, a soldering iron still sealed in its blister pack.
It all looked like a set for a low-budget film about a mad scientist.
Hundreds of dollars drained from a credit card lay before me in a heap of old and new junk.
For a moment, doubt washed over me.
What if nothing works?
What if I burn the capacitors?
Or the transformer turns out to be faulty?
What if this whole idea is just an expensive stupidity, inspired by a strange glitch in my head that I call the System?
But then I looked at my laptop, where the Marx Generator schematic was still open.
And the doubts vanished.
The fear of failure was there, but the thirst for creation, the desire to assemble this complex and dangerous machine with my own hands, was stronger.
It was a challenge.
Not only to the System, but to myself.
A test of strength, of intellect, of precision.
I stood up, cracking my joints.
Enough reflection.
Time to turn this chaos into a working device.
Before starting to create the generator itself, I needed to deal with the power source.
I needed a high-voltage DC source to charge the capacitors.
And strangely enough, the best “garage” option for this is a modified transformer from a microwave oven (MOT).
That’s exactly why I bought the microwave.
Taking apart the iron box, I pulled out the transformer — the very part that converts household 110/220 volts of AC to about 2000 volts.
However, I need DC, not AC, but the same microwave has a high-voltage diode, which I will simply connect to one of the transformer outputs, and it will pass current only one way, turning the AC into pulsating DC.
This is enough for charging the generator.
The process of disassembling the microwave was an act of purposeful vandalism.
I wasn’t fixing; I was breaking, but with a clear goal.
With every unscrewed screw, with every removed panel, I felt like a surgeon dissecting a body to get to a vital organ.
And there it was — the transformer.
Heavy, massive, with thick copper winding, it looked like the heart of this microwave, and in a way, it was.
Looking at it, I saw not just a piece of iron and copper, but a key that would allow me to raise the voltage of the household mains to deadly levels.
This was my first real step from theory and procurement to practice.
Alright, I’ve dealt with the power source.
Now I needed to desolder the capacitors from the televisions, which is what I did, carefully checking each one with a multimeter for capacitance and absence of breakdown.
I was lucky here; the televisions were indeed from the same batch and all capacitors were in order.
Then I took a sheet of plexiglass and marked out a “ladder” spots for twelve capacitors, which will be arranged in two rows of six.
This will be the generator chassis.
The next step was mounting the components.
The capacitors, high-voltage resistors, and homemade spark gaps (two screws with rounded heads screwed into a plexiglass bar at a distance of 3–5 mm from each other) I attached to the base of the sheet.
Wiring — the most important stage!
Using high-voltage wires, I connected all the capacitors, in parallel through resistors to my power source (the transformer from the microwave plus the diode from the same).
The plus of the source from the resistor goes to the pluses of all capacitors, and the minus to all minuses.
As a result, the circuit provides slow and simultaneous charging of all stages.
Next, I connected the capacitors in series through the spark gaps — that is, the plus of the first capacitor connected to the minus of the second through the spark gap, the plus of the second to the minus of the third through the next spark gap, and so on.
After all these procedures, with most of the work done, I simply installed two output electrodes at one end of my “ladder” plain polished metal balls on insulated stands.
The distance between them is only a few centimeters, and that’s where the final lightning bolt will jump.
Underneath these balls, I’ll place a resonator cell to “excite” the quartz crystal.
The generator is ready, and apparently, the system agrees!
[Simple electrical construction created: “Marx Generator.” Complexity: Minimal.
+50 CP received!]
Feels damn good, I gotta say.
System confirmation is the best guarantee that I did everything right and the construction won’t kill me.
Well, provided I follow basic safety rules, of course.
The one-hand rule — the most important rule for high-voltage work.
When working with a live or potentially charged circuit, one hand must always be behind your back.
This prevents current from passing through the chest and heart in case of accidental contact.
Insulation — which is why I worked in sneakers standing on linoleum — and no clutter on the workbench.
All wires must be securely fastened, and the generator is turned on remotely, using a switch at a distance.
Before charging the crystals, I prepared boxes for them, since a charged crystal will be unstable and sensitive to external fields.
So I needed a kind of “energy thermos.” Basically, I just took small wooden boxes, lined the insides with thin lead foil, then with foam rubber.
I’ll put the charged crystal in this box, and then put the box with the crystal into the inventory.
Deciding not to drag things out, I placed a dielectric ceramic stand under the output electrodes, put the crystal itself on it, and stepping back, I turned on this monstrous contraption, feeling like a mad scientist.
In microseconds, the capacitors lined up in a circuit, and the output produced a total voltage of 60,000 volts (12 capacitors at 5,000 V each).
Even though the discharge lasted literally millionths of a second, it was enough to “shake” the crystal lattice of the quartz that was at the epicenter.
A sharp, clean smell of ozone hit my nose, like after a strong thunderstorm.
Even though it all lasted a fraction of a second, in that moment I felt the primal power of the element contained in my apartment.
Tens of thousands of volts, released with a single flick of a switch.
It’s both frightening and incredibly exhilarating.
A real, man-made lightning bolt.
I forced myself to calm down and waited until the voltage on residual capacitances dissipated.
Inside, everything was rejoicing.
It worked!
I didn’t just assemble some junk — I created a working high-voltage pulse generator. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
And even the system rewarded me with points, but the main satisfaction wasn’t in that, but in the very fact of success.
I did it.
I took a complex technical project from idea and component sourcing to the final result.
The quartz crystal lying on the stand now seemed to have changed subtly.
It was as if it had absorbed some of that energy, and its internal structure now quietly hummed at an inaudible electromagnetic pulse frequency.
Finally, I carefully approached the stand with the crystal, opened the box with one hand, and with the other took dielectric tweezers with ceramic tips, picked up the crystal with them, placed it into the box, and put the box into the inventory.
First one done.
Four more to go, and then I can start on alchemy!
After repeating the procedure with the crystal four times, then turning off the generator, I set about preparing the space for the actual creation of the Intellect Potion.
Even though it will be made at night, it’s better to be ready in advance.
According to the information about the nuances of the Phantasmine extraction stage, this stage must be carried out in complete darkness, but red light is permissible, like in a photo lab.
So I had to run to a special store and spend another 10 bucks on a light bulb.
And this same stage requires slow, uniform heating to 40 degrees…
I had to urgently search for options on how to do this online.
I settled on the obvious and simplest: a dry heating block!
Compact, adjustable, and relatively cheap (used, of course).
Another 200 dollars down the drain, but now I’m definitely ready!
It’s 6 PM.
There’s still time until night, so I decided to tackle the last thing I’d been putting off due to a ton of other tasks, but had spent money on — leatherworking!
I naturally wasn’t counting on getting the 200 CP needed for a pull, especially considering my current 55 CP, but it’s probably worth understanding what this beast is and what it’s all about.
Opening the beginner’s leatherworking kit and laying a couple of leather scraps in front of me, I naturally first watched a few guides on crafting a simple card holder with two card slots.
Seems simple enough.
So, placing a 20×20 cm piece of leather on the cutting mat, I started cutting, having first transferred the template for the card holder itself (10×7 cm) and two rectangles (10×4 cm) for the pockets, leaving 0.5 cm seam allowances.
Then I sanded the edges of the cut pieces with sandpaper to make them smooth and marked the stitch line with a ruler (about 4 mm from the edges).
Then I punched holes with an awl at 4 mm intervals.
After all these procedures, I applied glue to the edges of the pockets (the 10×4 cm ones) and glued them to the main part — one pocket on top, the other on the bottom, thus creating two compartments — and let the glue dry.
Next, I stitched the main part with the pockets using waxed thread and two needles for a saddle stitch, sanded the edges with sandpaper, applied wax, and polished with a wooden stick for smoothness.
The final touch is applying a protective cream for durability.
And so, after about an hour and a half of careful, painstaking work, I got the coveted notification!
[Simple leather item created.
Complexity: Minimal.
+20 CP received!]
Ah, the card holder turned out to be too simple and generic for the system, so not a lot of CP.
But I got some decent initial experience and pleasure from the work.
Now I have a total of 75 CP.
With the remaining leather, I can make a few more simple things — for example, a passport cover, a key holder, a leather bracelet, and maybe another card holder, but this time with, say, three compartments.
Anyway, it’s still more than four hours until midnight, and extra CP never hurt anyone.
So, let’s get to work!
After the tension and ozone smell of high-voltage discharges, working with leather was like a balm to the soul.
There was no risk of instant death from a single mistake.
Just the material, the tools, and your hands.
I inhaled the rich, tangy aroma of natural leather, and it was calming.
The process was slow, almost meditative.
The smooth movement of the knife along the ruler, creating a perfectly straight cut.
The rhythmic tap of the awl, punching holes for the stitch.
The precise, measured movement of two needles, weaving the waxed thread into a beautiful and incredibly strong saddle stitch.
There was a magic to it, completely different from the one I had sought the previous night.
Not the magic of subtle facets of reality, but the magic of craftsmanship.
Transforming a shapeless scrap into an elegant, functional thing.
If building the Marx generator was an act of raw, primal power — taming an element — then leatherworking was a dialogue with the material.
You had to feel its thickness, its plasticity, understand how it would behave under thread tension or when treating with wax.
I realized I was enjoying more than just the system notification for earning CP.
I liked the process itself.
I liked seeing something beautiful and useful born under my fingers.
Maybe that was the key.
To create complex, world-changing technologies, you had to not forget about these simple, earthly things too.
One gave power, the other — concentration and peace of mind.
And it turned out I needed both.
I spent the next few hours in a leather haze, if you can call it that.
The last thing I made were a few simple leather bracelets, for each of which I got only 5 CP.
But there was no more leather left.
In total, from my leather creations, I earned an additional 70 CP, bringing my balance to 145 CP.
Since I’m unlikely to get 55 CP in the next few hours, I can start creating the Intellect Potion.
The recipe is simple; the preparatory phase required much more effort and money.
Phew, okay.
Let’s gather my thoughts and begin!