Once the housekeeper left his office, Timothy sat down in his seat and couldn't believe what just happened.
"Shit… it worked," he muttered.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment as the weight of it settled in.
He had reconstructed futuristic products before—the nootropic pill inspired by Limitless, advanced batteries far beyond anything on the market, prototype drive units that shouldn't exist for another decade.
But this was different.
This wasn't just a tool.
This was control.
"It means I can pull anything out of fiction," he said quietly. "Anything, as long as the concept is sound."
His gaze shifted back to the neuralyzer.
It lay in his palm like an expensive pen—silent, unassuming, almost harmless-looking.
But now he knew better.
With a flash, he could erase questions.
With a flash, he could rewrite scenes.
With a flash, he could clean up any slip about the Reconstruction System.
Dangerous.
Useful.
Both.
He closed his fingers around it.
