Part XXXVII - The Multiverse Gambit
The soft scratch of Isaiah's pencil on paper was the only sound in the garage. For Maria and Marcus, it felt like the ticking of a clock that measured not seconds, but the creation of new worlds. They didn't move. They barely breathed. The blueprint for the multiverse lay between them, no longer a piece of paper but an abyss that had opened up in the center of their lives.
It was Maria who finally broke the silence, her voice a fragile whisper. "Marcus... what is he?"
It wasn't a question a mother should ask about her son. It was the question a mortal asks when confronted with a god.
Marcus had no answer. He was staring at the twelve empty, interconnected boxes, his mind, so adept at calculating risks and profit margins, utterly failing to process the scale of this new equation. "I don't know," he breathed, shaking his head slowly. "I don't know." He finally looked away from the blueprint, his eyes landing on the ledger. He reached for it, not out of instinct, but out of a desperate need for something solid, something understandable in a world that had just become terrifyingly abstract.
He picked up the ledger, its neat, profitable numbers feeling like relics from a forgotten, simpler time. "I can't... I can't think about that," he said, gesturing vaguely at the blueprint. "It's too big. All I can do is look at this." He forced his eyes down to the numbers. "And this," he said, his voice raw with a familiar, almost comforting panic, "this tells me we're already dead. The blueprint is a death sentence for our cash flow. We have enough to produce Dragon Ball for three more months... or we can try to build one of those boxes and be bankrupt in three weeks. That's the choice he's given us."
Maria looked from the blueprint to the ledger, trapped between two kinds of impossibility. It was into this hopeless silence that Isaiah's voice cut through, not even looking up from his drawing. "Your plan is slow. Not enough."
He rose from his table, walked over, and picked up a copy of Dragon Ball Chapter Three. He then took a small, blank piece of paper and tucked it inside the comic.
"Not two books," he stated simply. "One book. With a secret." He looked them in the eye, his expression one of a teacher explaining a simple concept to a pair of struggling students. "They want what's new. We sell them 'new' to pay for 'next'."
A heavy silence fell as Maria and Marcus stared at the comic in Isaiah's hand. The idea was insane. It was brilliant. It was their only shot. Marcus looked at Maria, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and hope. She gave a single, sharp nod. The decision was made.
The air in the garage shifted. The frantic energy of despair was replaced by the cold, sharp focus of a desperate gamble. There was no celebration, no second-guessing. Marcus let out a slow, steadying breath. "Alright," he said, his voice now low and determined. "Let's go see Gary." Maria moved to get Isaiah's small jacket, the simple, maternal action feeling surreal under the weight of their mission. Isaiah offered no resistance; his part in the briefing temporarily concluded. He accepted the jacket with the serene patience of a general watching his officers depart for the front lines.
The drive back to Maria's small house was thick with unspoken tension. Isaiah sat quietly in the back seat, looking out the window as the world of 1980 passed by, a passenger in a plan he had set in motion.
In the front, Marcus kept his eyes glued to the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Are we really doing this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the engine's rattle. "We're betting the entire company on a... a 'secret' in a comic book."
"What other choice do we have?" Maria whispered back, her gaze fixed on the rearview mirror, on the reflection of her son. "He's already three steps ahead, Marcus. This is the only path he's given us. You handle the numbers with Gary. I'll handle the trust."
They pulled up to the house. Maria unbuckled Isaiah and knelt before him, the motion of a mother a stark contrast to the reality of their relationship. "Be good, mijo. We'll be back soon."
Isaiah simply nodded, his ancient eyes holding hers for a moment before he turned and walked inside. He trusted his lieutenants to execute the order.
As they drove away, the weight of that trust felt heavier than any debt. The rest of the drive passed in a heavy silence, each of them lost in the enormity of what they were about to do. Marcus pulled their worn-out sedan into a parking spot across the street from The Collector's Vault. For a moment, they just sat there, staring at the familiar sign—a stylized wizard holding a comic book. It looked less like a friendly neighborhood shop and more like the entrance to a high-stakes casino where they were about to bet everything they had.
Marcus cut the engine and looked at Maria, his face grim. "Ready?" she asked.
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Not even close." He took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. "Let's go."
They got out of the car, and with the fate of an empire resting on their shoulders, they walked across the street and opened the door.
The bell above the door to The Collector's Vault chimed, a deceptively cheerful sound that did little to calm the frantic pounding in Marcus's chest. The air inside was thick with the beloved scent of aging paper and ink. Gary sat behind his counter, a mountain of a man surrounded by towering shelves of four-color dreams. He looked up as they approached, his expression neutral, but his eyes were sharp, missing nothing. He didn't greet them immediately, simply watched them as they walked the long, quiet path to his counter.
The silence was a tactic, a way to put them on the back foot, and Marcus felt every second of it. He could feel the entire, impossible weight of Isaiah's multiverse settle onto his shoulders. He was no longer just selling a comic; he was securing the foundational funding for a pantheon of worlds. He took a deep breath, meeting the owner's steady gaze.
"Gary," Marcus began, his voice steadier than he felt. "We're here to offer you an exclusive. The next big thing from Phoenix Empire."
Gary leaned forward, a slight, almost imperceptible movement, his expression unchanging. "I'm listening."
"You know the demand for Chapter Four is going to be huge," Marcus said, laying the foundation. "We're planning something special for the release. A premium edition. For the same price, you get the new chapter, plus something extra tucked inside." He paused for effect. "A limited, black-and-white preview of our next series. It's called Pokémon. This will be its first appearance anywhere in the world."
He watched Gary process the words. He saw the flicker of interest mixed with deep, professional skepticism.
"What we're proposing," Marcus continued, pressing the advantage, "is that you buy an exclusive run of this premium edition. Upfront. It gives you something no other store in the city will have: the ground floor of what's coming next."
Marcus let his words hang in the air, the offer now laid bare on the counter between them. The silence that followed was heavy and absolute. Gary didn't respond immediately. He leaned back in his creaking chair, his gaze drifting past them to the comics lining his walls, his mind clearly running a thousand different calculations. He weighed the risk—the angry customers, the upfront capital, the unknown property—against the tantalizing reward: exclusivity. The sole source for the next move from the hottest publisher in the city. After a long moment, he reached under the counter and produced a copy of Dragon Ball Chapter Three, placing it between them. He looked at the stark, violent cover, then back at them, his face a mask of stone. He steepled his fingers.
"So let me get this straight," he finally said, his voice a low rumble. "You want me to pay you more money, upfront, for the same comic I'm already buying, just because you stuck a little preview in it for a series nobody has ever heard of? You know your book is hot, but that's a big ask. You risk alienating customers who feel like they're being shaken down."
"It's not a preview, Gary, it's a collector's item," Marcus countered, leaning forward, his own confidence growing. "It's the 'First Appearance.' You know the buzz. Your regulars will pay double just to be the first to have it. This makes your store the epicenter."
Gary's eyes flickered to Maria, who had remained silent.
"Gary, we trust you," Maria said, her voice soft but firm. "You gave us our start. We're giving you the chance to be the exclusive source for this. If we can't fund it this way," she added, the unspoken truth hanging in the air, "we can't fund it at all."
Maria's final words hung in the air, a confession of their absolute desperation. The brilliant marketing pitch was stripped away, leaving only the raw, vulnerable truth. Gary didn't gloat. A true professional never does. He simply let the silence stretch, forcing them to sit with the weight of their admission. He leaned back in his chair, the old leather groaning under his weight, and for the first time, a flicker of something sharp and calculating appeared in his eyes. He looked from Maria's strained, hopeful face to Marcus's grim, defeated expression. He had them. They both knew it. The power in the room had shifted entirely into his hands.
"Alright," he said, his voice now carrying the weight of that power. "I'm in. But on my terms."
Marcus felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He exchanged a look with Maria; they had no choice. "What are your terms?"
Gary leaned forward, his friendly shop-owner persona gone, replaced by a ruthless businessman. "First," he said, holding up a finger, "the advance isn't what you asked for. It's half." He held up a second finger, his gaze hardening. "And second, the most important part: this 'collector's item' has one week. Seven days. If it doesn't sell out, you're buying back every single copy you delivered. At full price. I will not be left holding the bag on your experiment." He scribbled the halved advance number on a piece of paper and slid it across the counter. "That's my offer. Take it or leave it."
The drive back to the garage was silent.
A thick stack of cash sat on the workbench, held together by a rubber band. It was more money than Maria had ever seen in one place, but it didn't feel like a lifeline. It felt like a bomb.
"The advance was only half of what we needed," Marcus said, staring at the money as if it were a venomous snake. "And if this 'collector's item' doesn't sell out in the first week, we have to buy back every unsold copy. Every. Single. One."
They had the capital. Phase Two was funded. But they had just traded the risk of bankruptcy for the certainty of indentured servitude. Their margin for error was now zero.