Chapter 14: New York Is Not a City, It’s a World

New York had no shortage of places to find hidden or not-so-hidden treasures. A quick online search netted me an unbelievable number of pawnshops, over thirty flea markets, and endless thrift stores packed with everything from antique furniture to last season’s designer castoffs. My Storage wasn’t full yet, but just in case, I expanded it to 4,096 cubic meters—big enough to park a fleet of trucks inside.

Then came the workshops. Scrolling through listings, I found classes for everything under the moon and stars: podcasting and audio production, urban gardening, event planning and management… The sheer variety was incredible. I signed up for 43 before I made myself stop. There were plenty more, but 50 skill points had a nice ring to it, and I had to draw the line at some point.

•         Digital Marketing Strategies

•         Financial Planning for Beginners

•         Stand-Up Comedy Workshop

•         DIY Electronics and Robotics

•         Self-Publishing Your Book

•         Astrology and Birth Charts

        
…and over thirty more, covering everything from virtual reality development to ethical hacking.

A late-night scroll through financial forums led me to an interesting discovery—bearer bonds had no registration or ownership records. Just a slip of paper worth a fortune to whoever held it. There were even semi-legit agencies where you could sell them without an ID, for a percentage of the price. I made a few calls and scheduled an appointment for the next day.

The office was about what I expected. A brass plaque on the door read Merrick & Associates, Financial Consultants. Inside, the receptionist barely glanced up before nodding toward a frosted glass door.

A man in his fifties sat behind a simple walnut desk, his tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses the only signs of wealth. He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Mr. Carter?"

I nodded and sat, setting an envelope between us. He reached for it, his movements unhurried, fingers skimming over the thick paper. He glanced at me without opening it. "Denominations?"

"Ten thousand.”

He finally opened the envelope, slid the sheets out just far enough to confirm their authenticity, and picked up the phone.

"Verification," he said, reading off a serial number to whoever was on the other end. A pause. Then another. He barely reacted, only nodding once. "Continue."

He checked the bonds against some unseen database one by one. I kept my breathing even. My research showed this was normal; bearer bonds lacked owner tracking, but serial numbers could still undergo fraud checks. If they were clean, they were as good as cash.

Minutes passed before he finally put the phone down. "Acceptable," he said.

He pulled a slim ledger from a drawer and flipped it open. "Terms are standard," he continued, taking a pen. “Sixty cents on the dollar. Cash. No receipts. No questions.”

“And if I say no?”

“You walk out with the bonds. But not many doors open for paper like this anymore.”

I nodded.

A long silence stretched between us before he finally tapped a key on his desk phone. "Prepare the disbursement."

The assistant walked in, carrying a thick envelope. He placed it on the desk and stepped back. The broker slid it toward me without a word. I picked it up, feeling the weight of the cash inside. Peeling back the flap, I saw neatly stacked hundred-dollar bills.

"Pleasure doing business," he said, offering his hand.

I shook his hand, then picked up the envelope. Without another word, I stood and walked out, keeping my pace steady and unhurried.

Only when I stepped onto the sidewalk, city noise washing over me, did I let out a slow breath. The bonds were gone. The money was mine. And best of all, there wasn’t a trace of the transaction.

On my third day in New York, my phone rang.

“Hello?” I said.

“Is this Dr. John Rue?” the voice on the other end asked, serious but calm.

“Yes, this is John. Who’s calling?”

“This is Detective Marcus from the Chicago Police Department. I have a few questions. Where were you last night?”

I blinked. “I’m sorry—can I ask what this is about? And how do I know this isn’t some scam?”

A short pause. “That’s a fair question. My badge number is 67402. You can call our precinct directly to confirm. I’m calling about a report filed yesterday. That’s all I can say right now.”

My pulse quickened. I leaned back, trying to sound normal. “Okay. I’ve been in New York for the past three days. I flew in on Monday. I’ve got the plane ticket and hotel check-in if you need proof.”

“Yes, please. Can you share that information with me?” The detective’s voice lost some of its edge, but he was still all business.

“Sure,” I said, swiveling toward the desk. “Just a second—I need to check the flight info. It was American Airlines, flight AA123. I checked into the Midtown Hotel right after I landed.”

“That should be enough for now. Thank you, Dr. Rue.”

“Can you at least tell me why you’re asking?” I pressed.

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss it at this time. We’ll be in touch if we need more information. Have a good day,” he said, and the call ended.

Of course, my in-laws accused me. That they were right this time was beside the point.

For two months, I learned new skills while raiding pawnshops, thrift stores, and flea markets. New York turned out to be a playground for my Merchant skills, and I learned to appreciate them.

Skills differed from spells. While spells involved “flexing” my mana to cast them, skills didn’t, even though they used mana too, just a lot less. The more accurate way to describe skills would be that I had to “flex” my directed intention. It was still intuitive, like I had always known how to do it, but using them repeatedly made them sharper in a sense.

The bell over the door let out a cheerful jingle as I stepped into another pawnshop in Queens. Dim lighting, scuffed tile, and a counter lined with fingerprint-smudged glass. Behind it, a wall of cheap guitars and old TVs.

I wandered over to the glass case and leaned down, browsing. There was a busted gold chain, a pair of fake diamond studs, and some junk with tangled price tags. Then I spotted a dull-looking ring near the back.

Solid Gold Ring
Value $180

I tapped the glass. "Mind pulling that one out?"

The guy behind the counter—a heavyset dude with thinning hair and a Yankees cap—gave me a quick once-over before unlocking the case.

"How much?"

"Ninety-five." He pointed at the fake diamond studs. "I can offer you a good deal on the diamonds."

"No thanks." I slid out a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the five."

He looked at the bill, then at me. "You a reseller?"

"Something like that."

Walking through a flea market with Nose for Business activated, my attention kept snagging on things. First, a stall selling carpets—two of them stood out right away. At another stall, a set of glass bowls with a leaf motif. Further down, cast-iron pots and boxed silverware sets caught my eye. Every time the skill kicked in, it pulled me toward high-quality items priced lower than they should've been. I had to admit, I really liked my merchant skills.

I stocked up on hot food and added more fighting staves, bows, and arrows, all packed neatly into plastic buckets in my Storage. And, of course, I got more coffee. You can never have enough coffee.

A thrift store run for resale clothes sparked an idea, leading to boxes of threads, buttons, zippers, yarn, and every kind of needle. Sunglasses, hats, notebooks, and writing supplies followed, along with all the best pawnshop finds. At a medical supplier, I grabbed gloves, scalpels, resuscitation bags, and anything else I might need. Magic was great, but I trusted my tools. And, naturally, I bought a ridiculous amount of bug repellent.

With only $20,000 left, it was time for me to fly to Europe. My plan was to cross to Shimoor in Frankfurt. I gave up on Gate-hopping to raise my Gate Traveler level; it would rise with my travels. I just wanted to leave this cursed planet behind.

After formatting my laptop and canceling my phone plan, I sold both in a pawnshop. As a last step in the US, I withdrew all my funds, converted them to euros, and purchased a ticket to Germany.

In Frankfurt, I found a big empty warehouse to rent for a day. After emptying my Storage, I gawked. Buying a lot was one thing, but seeing it all in front of me drove home just how much I’d accumulated.

Wow!

Immediately, I put the food back and started logically organizing the rest. Thank God I bought extra shelves, chests, and baskets at the flea markets. I had to rent the warehouse for another four days, but finally, it was done. Everything was arranged, and I knew what I had and where it was. The amount of jewelry caught me off guard. Knowing I bought a lot and seeing it were two different things. There was a lot of gold and platinum jewelry, some with gems and some without, and an extensive collection of silver pieces with or without semi-precious stones.

Thinking back, between the life insurance, trust fund, house sale, savings, cars, and my in-laws' "gift," I had spent over a million dollars in the past year.

I used the last of my money to buy German lager in wooden barrels, some more interesting foods, cooked and raw, a lot of German sausages, and more copper coins from all the gaming stores.

On my last day on Earth, I wrote a detailed description of Earth in the Archive. My description included the geography, the political landscape, and the lockdown of U.S. Gates on army bases, a setup that carried risks. Travel modes, money, and all its complexity, television, how to use the internet, where to sell jewelry—pawnshops, not official precious coin exchanges—and how to find good deals at flea markets. I marked every useful store on the Map along with detailed notes on all the Gates I had visited.

I stressed the importance of understanding local customs and laws, especially in regions suspicious of foreigners. Trade regulations, common scams, and how to avoid drawing unwanted attention all went into the Archive.

I listed practical advice on blending in—how to dress, what to avoid, and why a world atlas from a bookstore and local maps from gas stations were essential for keeping the Travelers’ Map updated. I recommended buying an abridged encyclopedia that provided solid general knowledge in a single book. The list kept growing—a mix of essentials and things that would be useful to know from the start.

The following day, I changed into comfortable hiking clothes, checked out of the hotel, verified the taxi fare close to the Gate, and used my last 157 euros in a bakery. I've taken care of everything.

A taxi took me to the gas station close to the Gate, and I walked the rest of the way.

I stood in front of the Gate for a few minutes—two massive boulders framing a space that led somewhere far beyond Earth. Just stones. And yet, one step through, and everything would change.

I had done everything I could to prepare—stocked supplies, trained skills, learned as much as possible—but no amount of planning erased the uncertainty pressing at the edges of my mind. This was it. No more hotels, no more flights, no more pawnshops or workshops. No more Earth.

And yet, staying wasn’t an option. There was nothing left for me here, nothing worth holding onto. The world I had known had already let me go, and I had no reason to cling to it. Still, my chest felt tight, a tangle of relief and hesitation. Not doubt or regret, just the weight of stepping into something unknown, something no one else had done before.

I slid down to sit on the grass, back leaning against one anchor. It wasn’t exactly hesitation or regret, just unwillingness to let go of my family despite both of them being dead. I thought of my mom, as little as I remembered of her. To my surprise, I remembered more than before. Her face was sharp in my memory, not the washed-out, faded picture of before. Her smile, how she used to lightly punch my arm and call me “champ,” the way she scrunched her nose when she laughed, and the negotiations we used to have about dessert. The memories made me smile and feel lighter. As long as I remembered, I wasn’t leaving her behind, but taking her with me.

Next, I thought of Sophie and the years we had together. My grief was better and less suffocating. Between the effects of the mana, and a year and a half that passed since her death, it was easier to deal with. But it still hurt. I still missed her so much.

“I hope you’re not pissed over what I did to your parents,” I said. “In my defense, they deserved it and much more.”

A soft breeze caressed my face.

“Yeah, I love you too, baby, and still miss you every day.”

It was time to get up and go. Heaving a deep sigh, I got back up and looked back one last time. Although the only things I could see were bushes, trees, and glimpses of the highway, I looked back on everything this world encompassed in my mind—and let go.

A persistent feeling nagged at me, a whisper in the back of my mind that I had forgotten something. But what? I ran through everything again—the Storage, the preparations, the Archive. No matter how much I thought about it, nothing came to mind. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been important.

I exhaled slowly, steadying myself. Then I stepped forward and crossed the Gate.