POV: Time Variance Authority

Elias had learned from the safe technicians that he could brute-force an old steel box with an oxyacetylene torch. Hence, the same method would work on the rusty deposit box in his dream.

He opened his computer to gather details on these tools.

Oxyacetylene cutting torch:

Widely applied in industrial sectors as an ultra-high-temperature gas cutting method. It primarily involves cutting irregular steel objects—like steel coils, billets, or frames—that aren't easily fixed in place.

The principle was straightforward:

Two high-pressure cylinders—one of liquefied acetylene, the other of liquefied oxygen—supply a specialized "spray gun" via flexible hoses. Adjusting the pressure and output ratio before ignition yields a roaring "jet-flame," a long blade of fire dozens of times the length of a normal blowtorch.

In the white-hot core of that flame, temperatures exceed 3,000°C, far above steel's melting point (~1,500°C). Metal turns to liquid slag in mere seconds, effectively slicing it open.

Elias watched some demonstration videos—insurance companies or lock-smiths occasionally posted them online—where, sure enough, people used oxyacetylene torches to cut safes. The superheated flame bit into steel like a knife through tofu, sending sparks flying. In ten seconds flat, it opened the safe like a peeled fruit, leaving a red-hot edge of molten steel.

That dream deposit box was rusty and chipped, presumably made of common steel. At 3,000°C, it would pose no real challenge to an oxyacetylene torch.

He then discovered just how commonplace these torches were: any construction site or steel yard had them, sometimes sold even online. Roadside shops that built steel frames for billboard signs usually kept one in daily use. Thinking back to childhood, Elias recalled how he and his friend High had walked by street welders countless times, the glare of welding arcs and acetylene flames forcing them to look away.

***

Shutting down the computer, Elias pondered how he'd pull off such a heist in the dream:

"Finding the oxyacetylene setup won't be the hard part; lugging it to the bank vault will be the real problem. We'd need two big cylinders—oxygen and acetylene—and each weighs a ton. Normally, you'd want at least four people to haul them, plus hoses, the blowtorch, protective gear… In total, it's a job for five or six people."

He grimaced. Where in the dream was he going to round up so many accomplices?

"Even if I rope in Claw plus Cipher, that's only three of us, and those two hate each other. Throw in Claw's three underlings? Huh… 'Shifty-Sidestep Squad.'**"

He shook his head at the thought. All three minions were shady characters with personal grudges. But he had no other leads.

"I'll have to unify these backstabbers into a single crew…."

Still, he saw no choice. He'd rely on his past dream loop experiences to handle any friction. The plan would be:

Persuade Claw and Cipher to bury the hatchet and partner up.Gather equipment from an industrial or welding shop (acetylene, oxygen tanks, hoses, torch, safety goggles, etc.).Prevent Claw from killing his men. Use them as muscle to haul the heavy tanks.Break into the vault again, rig the gear, and torch the deposit box—bye-bye steel walls.

"Yes, that's the best shot," he concluded. The actual combination code no longer mattered. A 3,000°C flame was the ultimate solution.

***

That evening, for once, Elias got home early. After a quick meal and a bit of TV, he prepared for bed with a light heart:

"No more late-night overtime. Finally, I can dive back into the dream and carve open that deposit box."

***

Whoosh—!

humid summer wind greeted him in the dream, a damp heat crawling across his skin. It had been days since he felt this world's scorching breath.

He surveyed the digital billboard:

[August 28, 2624]

[21:42]

Around him, the plaza stayed as he remembered, families and bright neon. He told himself that soon, thanks to Professor West's upcoming public breakthroughs, the entire future might leap forward. Perhaps the static dream cityscape would transform dramatically.

"Twenty-three years of the same loop… and it's about to be upended," he mused. "Will this plaza even exist after the butterfly effect? Part of me will miss it."

Shaking off the nostalgia, he reminded himself:

First things first—torch open that deposit box. I'm still dying to know what's inside.

Looking east, he spotted two kids in cheap Ultraman masks chasing each other with "Ultra-lunge" moves—standard background. They dropped their masks mid-scuffle, dashing off. Elias strolled over and picked up the smaller mask:

"Key item acquired," he joked, fitting the plastic faceplate on.

He headed toward the same battered van as always, right on cue. A bulky figure hopped out, cat-faced mask overshadowing his broad cheeks.

"Claw."

"Wh-what?" growled the feline-skulled gangster, turning. Elias calmly set a firm hand on his shoulder:

"Listen carefully. Something big's about to go down, and I need your help…"

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[A/N: Sorry guys, I was away for an exam, but I'm back!!

However, I can't see the proper support for this novel and this kills my sipirit of writing :( Plz Like Comment Reviews won't cost anything, if you really like my novel, don't hesistate to support]