《My Life As A Superhero Slash Supervillain》 [Original] - Chapter01 Chapter One - How I died, Had A Weird Interview, Then Tossed Off. Back To Life Hello, thank you for reading the opening salvo of what is sure to be my ongoing hatefest for all those wankers who think they are better than everyone else, backed by the UN. I may know that we are better than you, you may know that we are better than you, but there is no need to say it. Crueller words could be said, but I leave that to another time. I am sure that you are itching (Please apply a cream if that is the case, I have enough problems of my own to catch anything from you. Dirty, filthy sod) to find out my tale of woe, of triumph and my glorious conquest of those blasted UN bastards. Unfortunately, you will also learn why you are all my property and I own your souls. Maybe you shouldn¡¯t be reading this after all. Still with me? I think you must have a screw loose somewhere. But that¡¯s your problem, not mine. Onwards and upwards as they say, unless you are afraid of heights, then you are doubly screwed as there are some nasty gits with guns behind you, and if you turn around, it will not end well. They¡¯re ugly as fuck. Fugly as they say. Honestly, you will probably need to be checked into a mental hospital, with hourly injections of the happy drugs. Maybe you should turn around after all. I¡¯m done. End of chapter. Go home. I¡¯m tired. Balls. Oh well, I tried to spare you. Forward march.
My name is James Jude Jamison, or JJJ for short, or even J as the ultimate shortness of my name, but let¡¯s not be lazy. You can call me JJ. I don¡¯t know what my parents were thinking, but they were probably hoping for a laugh, and a child can¡¯t defend itself when it is born. That is why they invented Retirement Homes. They got me on birth, I¡¯ll get them when they start losing their keys. So any day now really. I was born not only with a terrible name, but just to rub it in, they decided for the ultimate giggles, to give me an inoperable brain aneurysm, located near the basal ganglia. I don¡¯t know why I have a hanging herb in my brain, but we all do. The little bastard could go off at any time. And I have been living with it for 23 years now. I must admit, it did let me get out of sports quite regularly. ¡°Coach, I can¡¯t participate. If I do, you will probably, maybe, get done for murder, at least negligent homicide¡±. They weren¡¯t very impressed after about the fifth time, but I had a genuine medical note from a proper doctor and everything. That¡¯s why I have never learned the fine art of forgery. I have this sneaking suspicion that without that note, the Coach would have called it, and gotten me killed. I am hoping that in the alternate realities where this happens, that my head explodes from the force of the aneurysm, and gets my brains all into Coach¡¯s mouth. Coach is not a very nice person after all; if anyone deserved to have exploding cranium pieces go flying into their gob, then it is Coach. Of course, with this bomb in my head, I was well compensated with an awesome superpower. The power to fall asleep anywhere, anytime. Especially when you get those boring ass teachers who just lull you to sleep, cus they¡¯re shit. I admit, not the most spectacular power ever, but it was mine. And maybe a few of the other kids as well. Shut up, I know it¡¯s not a power, but please let me have this. Fine. Be that way. Watch out, I am going to put a deliberate error here somewhere to just to get my revange. So there. You know that it is going to bug you. Muahahhahaha. My life as a villain got started really early. Bow before me, for I have made your inner Grammar Nazi rage against my might. Suck it. I got through secondary school, through college (read England, UK. We have actual segmented school years. First comes nursey (2-4), primary (4-11/12), secondary (11/12-16), college (16-18), university (18 till you get bored and drop out. Or you die), unemployment (maybe a job here and there to mix it up, everyone needs a vacation), then death). I managed alright for myself. I got my 8 A-C GCSE¡¯s, two A Levels and a diploma. I¡¯m not sure what subjects I got the qualifications in, but it will probably turn out to be something like Computer Science, Maths and other useless junk like that. Probably. Then somehow, I¡¯m a bit fuzzy on the details, but horror of horrors, I got a job. Please don¡¯t make me tell you what my job was. It¡¯s humiliating, degrading, dehumanising. Very well, I became, reluctantly mind you, a¡­¡­¡­. What, you couldn¡¯t make out what I said? Well, that¡¯s your fault. Fine. A nursery minder. I hate children, they are so stupid and dumb and childish (PS. I secretly do love children, but I thought that liking to play and teach children would bring on the ridicule. Toddlers are great. I love them. Not like that you pervert. Your sick. Get your mind out of the gutter. Give me your name now, I¡¯m tell the police. Stop, I said stop, stop running. Dang. He got away). Because of this fortunate circumstance, I was free to do my own thing from 14:00 till 17:00. Then mum got home. Then the nagging starts. Then I have to look after my little sister. She is such a bitch. Grow up. Your like 3, stop being such a child. Why aren''t you in school? Bloody slacker. No, I love her really. Maybe I should put her in a bottle. That way she will never grow up. So cute when they are at that age. I swear, I have never seen anyone else in my life who falls on their face so many times. Hilarious. So for three hours per day, I get to indulge myself in my hobby. I¡¯ll let you have three guesses of what it is. And if any of your say masturbate, I do that in the evening. Go one, guess. Bet you can¡¯t get it. No, that¡¯s not it, neither is it that, wrong again. So stupid. And the answer is: RPG¡¯s. Or more accurately, single player role playing games. Told you that you wouldn¡¯t get it. I hate these MMORPG¡¯s. I¡¯m a loner for a reason. It¡¯s why I have never gone on a single date. Whenever I meet a cute girl I like, I laugh in her face, pull her pig tails, then leg it. What do you do? Please, tell me. I¡¯m so lonely. My closest companion is my right hand. My left gets the occasional tug, but righty keep on smacking it around when it tries to get close. I kind of like it.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. That¡¯s it, I¡¯m going to end the chapter here as I need to go¡­¡­. Wash up. Yeah. Wash up. I¡¯m back. I know, I am that good. So, I am 23, I¡¯m sitting on the family computer, in the main room, not with my trousers around me legs cause I saw a nice looking female Elf, called Steve, on a game called Older Books, Dayrim. Nope, I am a pure and innocent soul. I¡¯m starting to blush from the looks you are giving me. It¡¯s 16:59, and mum is about to get in with Charlotte, my little ankle biter. We all know what her fetish is going to be when she grows up. There I am, sitting at the computer, not with my trousers around my ankles, screaming at the screen ¡°Die you bastard, why won¡¯t you die? Oh, you¡¯re an Illusion. Guess that¡¯s why you¡¯re not dying when my big, bad blade is penetrating you¡±. Then the inevitable happens. Mum opens to door, takes one look at me, smacks me around the back of the head, furiously whispering *Pull those pants that are NOT around your ankles before I get your sister in*. You might be thinking that by this point that I am dying of embarrassment. But I¡¯m not. Because. Well, just because. Not because my mom is hot. Not at all. It¡¯s because I¡¯m face down, bleeding out and dead on the keyboard, and just as that poxy mage came out of hiding. And launched a fireball in my face. Killing me. Double teamed, way to go, yeah. I got killed my a bunch of one¡¯s and zero¡¯s, and my mum. She will probably not feel guilty at all. Probably tell me to get my lazy corpse up and clean up this mess so I don¡¯t traumatise Charlotte. That, or she will break down into tears, because blood is a bitch to get out of keyboards. So that is it. I¡¯m going to a better place now. Hopefully, I get to meet some hot angel chick and finally get laid. I¡¯m cumming babe, just hold on, and call me Daddy.
I¡¯m travelling to a bright light. I can see words forming in the distance. They are a bit blurry at the moment, but second by second they are getting clearer. Slowly. Minute by minute. Come on. I can just about make it out. Piss off!!! Great, not even heaven wants me, and hell will probably find me too much of an annoying sarcastic prick. They¡¯ve got enough lawyers and priests. They don¡¯t want someone who has taken being an obstinate dick and made it into an art form. Critics. (Please see appendix A where it explains the story of the broken down car and the guy who wants to borrow a jack. If somebody who is not me could please write that appendix, I¡¯ll sue you. Thanks). Anyway, I am starting to look around, maybe one of the other religions will take me, and if worst come to worst, I could go with being a Christian. Worst possible scenario only though. Then, suddenly, I feel a tap on my non corporeal shoulder. I must say, I am slightly impressed. I would have definitely gone to more magic shows if they could have performed something like that. Without there being a up or down, forward or back, or diagonal, I turn to my left. There, serenely waiting for my attention to focus upon his/her bland, ordinary form, awaits the strangest creature I could have imagined. A garden gnome, with a fishing rod over his shoulder. A. Garden. Gnome. Huh. Didn¡¯t see that coming. Nice. ¡°Come with me if you want to live¡±. Now, you are probably expecting Arnold¡¯s voice to be issuing forth, and your right. This time. Next time I am going to change it to a squeaky Hamstery voice next time. So there. And name him/her Bubbles. Cudderly Bubbles. The Gnome turned to his right, and began to drift away, softly floating into the endless white abyss. Yes, everybody got it wrong. The abyss is in fact white, not black. That would be the void. A completely different kettle of fish. Arsehole completely went right through me. He/She could have asked me to move aside, but noooooooo. That should have been the first clue. I follow, he/she drifts, I follow some more, he/she drifts some more. I¡¯m getting a bit bored here. I¡¯m going to skip to the end. But I will be happy to describe later the interminable journey I took if you are interested. If you are, please, end it now. I¡¯m literally crying for you. Whether it is with sadness or with laughter, you decide. It¡¯s probably laughter. But again, you get the final say. It¡¯s definitely laughter. Or maybe sadness. Is there really a difference? Eventually, the Gnome slows down. A room appears around us. Slightly off white walls start to form. It looks like a padded cell, but maybe we are all in my head, and I don¡¯t like intruders. Or maybe it hasn¡¯t finished forming. Turns out it is the latter after all. Who¡¯d have funk? Not me. The walls start to shift to a nice dark brown woody colour, then in fact becoming wooded panels. Must be an up-town padded cell, for the swanky wackos. Chairs and a long, infinitely long table start to form. On my side, a comfortable looking padded chair appears. Across the table, about three feet away from me, a half dozen chairs appear, looking even more comfortable than mine. It would be a bit weird if I was talking about a baker¡¯s dozen. Then would the half chair be a stool. Use your imagination. In front on the six chairs, six figures start coalescing from a tiny pin prick of light, quickly enlarging, taking shape. Weird, I would have thought they would have chosen something close to my form to put me at ease, it this obviously troubling time for me. Two eyes, one nose, one mouth, a head, a torso and two arms. And a weird mass of tentacles hanging down from where their nuts should have been. (If you have ever seen Farscape, picture pilot bottom half). They sit down in the chairs. Oddly, I would have thought that sitting on your tentacles would be highly uncomfortable. Not them. They looked on blithely. Maybe they¡¯re masochists. Shame I haven¡¯t got my whip and shiny heels, with the glitter on the toes. Wait. Where did that though come from? Hmmm. Oh well, maybe in my previous life I was a demented sex pervert who liked tentacle porn. Look away now innocent mortals. Daddy has to re-arrange¡­. Nope, haven¡¯t got a lower half. Haven¡¯t got a upper half. Still just a blob of light. Bugger. I wish I could tell you what happened then. I feel like a conversation and assessment happened. It¡¯s like that feeling you get when you wake up, and you know you have had a fantastically weird dream, and you really want to remember it, but you were too lazy to write it down, and now you are flogging yourself with a whole salmon. No? Must be me then. But try to imagine it, and you still would be weirded out. But you would know the feelings I experienced. Sometime during the interview, one of the tentacle creatures picked up with Gnome with the fishing rod, placed it into its lap, and proceeded to eat it hat. Just it¡¯s hat. Then it licked the Gnome¡¯s face. Then I looked away. Nobody should have to see that. But if one of you does tick me off with your comments, then I will make you relive that scene. You¡¯ve been warned. Time passed, questions were asked, by me, about what the hell the conversation is about. Unhelpfully, I am sure one of the creatures explained, but that too faded into obscurity. Balls. Time passed again. The conversation had finished. The creatures started to go to sleep. Or that is what it looked like. Then their craniums started throbbing. Undulating. Disgustingly. I need to be sick. Then they stopped, opened their eyes, and looked at me and said, ¡°How about an orange¡±. Then suddenly some jerk jerked me back by the scruff of my neck, travelling like a million miles an hour, and flung me back to life. [Original] - Chapter02 Chapter Two - Waking Up Naked Is Not Nice, But Dying Is Pretty Cool As I regain consciousness, I am finding myself back in that white padded cell. FUCK! Those walls look so tasty, I am going to get so fat. Unfortunately, I am thwarted in my attempt to chew my way out to freedom. In front my face, a screen suddenly pops up. Well, I say pops up, it was more like it came out of nowhere, like it was trying to get revenge for all the times that I killed all the foegies, with me jumping out from behind them, and screaming, ¡°FROGS!!!!!!!!!!!¡±. Luckily, then couldn¡¯t tell on me, as most of them had a dicky heart condition. I have the achievement for the youngest serial killer. Currently my body count stands at roughly 4 people. I swear I¡¯m trying hard, but the nougats keep on getting younger. What the HELL, where did that come from? Get out my head. I swear, I have never killed a soul in my life. Unless you count the countless computer characters, I love to kill the shit out of them, I especially love when I shot them in the nuts, grab them, then throw them over the side of a cliff and watch as the fall arse first onto an iron spike. Again, WHAT THE HELL? I need to wake up, the evil twin is starting to take over. Of course, that does sound like fun. Maybe if I get the chance, I could sneak behind Wonderboy and¡­.. I need to leave. As I was trying to say, before the nice man in my head interrupted, a screen had appeared before my eyes. Finally, he is staying quiet. Maybe you should try to quietly read this so he doesn¡¯t get any ideas. *Shush*. HE¡¯S BEHIND YOU. Nah, just faking you. Or am I? Can you feel that shiver running down your eyeball? That¡¯s me, I¡¯m in your head now. Hahahahaha. Ha. Ha. Hmmm. I thought it was funny. Maybe you should get a sense of humour. Like a regular person. Because you special. Like a pile of poo. A pile of poo doesn¡¯t have a sense of humour, so you must be related. Or maybe you did find it funny. Go see a quack, or a priest. Or better yet, set up a temple in my honour, so everyone may know your insanity. Just stay away from the children. They are for dinner. Yum! I don¡¯t feel well, I am going to go for a little lie down now. Bugger, I forget, no body to go to sleep in. Curses. A curse of weakness maybe, or maybe I should cut my wrists, that definitely can make you sleepy. Oh, right. Dang!
You have been found worthy. Well, you have been found mostly annoying, but still entertaining. We are taking a chance than you will be the same dick to everybody else you meet, as you were to us. Bravo! Welcome to your new life. If you wish to reincarnate immediately back into your old body, please shout out "I''m a complete and utter tosser who has tiny lady hands" If you wish to reincarnate in a new body in a safe zone, well you can''t. You should have been nicer to us. Booyah! See you later punk!
Well nuts. Either I could hang around here, maybe see if my evil twin man in my head will offer any help advice, or¡­¡­ No, just say it, nobody is around who can hear me. Probably. Just get it over with JJ. Here goes¡­. Maybe if I wait around, they will get bored and just kick me out. Waiting¡­. Waiting¡­. Nope, nothing is happening. Then again, it is bloody hard to tell the time in this space, I wonder how long it has been?
1 minute and 12 seconds and 394859683938 fraction of a second
Guess that proves it, whoever is putting up those messages is a total liar. For I have the patience of a god. Admitted, a god that is not very good at staying still. Fine, a god that is worse that a infant on Adderall and subsequently discovered squirty toothpaste. But it has definitely been long than a minute. Maybe a minute thirty. Looks like I won¡¯t be able to believe a single more word out of these pop-ups. Okaaaay, they are probably being generous. Here goes nothing. Literally. Balls. ¡°I¡¯m a complete and utter tosser who has tiny lady hands.¡±
Heard and recorded, you will now be transferred back to your original boday, whilst your statement of ''Lady Hands'' has been uploaded for the viewing pleasure of the entire cosmos. I told you, you should have been nicer to us!
Again, Balls! The first and most important fact that you can learn about me, is that I don¡¯t startle awake. I slowly come to consciousness, so I can gauge if there are any persons near me, then I will start screaming ¡°FIRE!¡±. Hopefully one day, my telepathic attack will finally work. I¡¯ve heard that humans taste like chicken. I like chicken. People chicken. Deep fried chicken tasting people. Ummmm. I think I am getting slightly hungry here. You smell good, come closer please. Slowly waking, I can feel a cold surface pressing into my back, and a lancing pain is coming from my arse area. I can¡¯t sense anyone near me, so a quick snack is out of the question. Slowly, I begin to squint my eyes open. Hmmm, clinically white ceiling, bright lights, and a wall of metal to my right. I must be in my mum¡¯s room. She is a part time dominatrix. She likes to call herself a ¡®Lawyer¡¯, but we all know that this is a conceit she uses so doesn¡¯t damage my sensitive ears. She merely likes to take men back to her room, and doing the prey mantis thing she has going on. On second thoughts, maybe I¡¯m not in my mom¡¯s room, as there seems to be a dead body on my left. Could still be her room, and maybe she got a little carried away. Maybe snack time is still on the table. Literally.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Looking down on myself, I notice something slightly odd. A line is running up from navel, to the middle of my chest, with two diagonal line trailing from each should to all join in the middle. I would have maybe thought that I was in a morgue, things do seem to be pointing that way, except for two details that I hope I would notice. The first would be the lack of pain. Seriously, I know that I am a little messed up in the head, but even I would notice a searing pain of being cut open, my organs snatched out, used in a game of happysack, then carelessly chucked back into the cavity known as MY chest. I¡¯ll sue if anyone has dared to touch my organs without my permission. I¡¯ll see if I can get him for rape. No way was I in any condition to consent to being played with like this. If they had asked nicely, maybe it would be a different story, probably not, so I swear by all that is annoying that I WILL get my revenge. The second detail missing, or maybe not missing but certainly inconsistent with being sliced and diced, is that the lines are fading quickly, and pink around the edges, like they had been healing for a few months. Maybe I am in a hospital and the dudette next to me is actually sleeping, like a dead chick, Goth style. I turn my head gently to the left, don¡¯t want to tear anything, unless the pretty lady would like me to rip something to shreds, I am a desperate weirdo you know. Still a little big groggy from not yet being fully awake, I carefully reach over, and nudge her shoulder. ¡°BOO!!!!¡±. But seriously, I think I would have preferred to have the shit literally scared out of me, rather than the dire confirmation that she was dead. Unless the ladies really are cold blooded. Ice cold. That would like up with my experiences with the fairer sex to date. But her lips are blue. Maybe weird ass lipstick. Sorry, but I am so not into the whole necrophilia dealio. So for arguments sake, let¡¯s just call her as playing for the angels now. I gently ease myself into a sitting position, and take a more detailed look at my surroundings. Okay, it is definitely a morgue, no doubt about it. Little doubt, because I have never visited one before, but hopefully only the professionals would make a setup like this one. Puke green tiled walls, except for the bank of draws, presumably containing more dead bodies, metal tables and instruments for dissection and for making sandwiches. Hungry again. Just as I am completing my rotating observation using my brilliant and infallible deduction skills, I spot a dead body slumped in a chair at the back of the room, face down on a keyboard, with the half eaten sandwich in his hand. For the sake of modesty, and Constance¡¯s too, please keep your perverted gazes up here. I know the primary thinking brain is dangling right now, but the secondary brain is in charge at the moment, so you better pay it some respect, or the dangler is gonna whip the shit out you. And yes, I am talking to you TjStorm, you are the worst of the lot. Otherwise, you would have written me in with a pair of tighty whities at least. So now I am on my feet, and expecting a swirl of vertigo, but I have found myself in perfect balance.
Congratulations, you have unlocked your first skill ¨C Balance Level 1 of 100, Beginner Tier. The question remains, have you learned to walk or are you still at the crawling stage?
Asshole! Either the computer that is generating the messages is faulty, or a sarcastic prick like me, but I am betting that the UN are still taking the piss. Ignoring the obviously condescending message, I start to slowly and cautiously make my way over to the dead attendant.
Well done indeed, We didn¡¯t think you had it in you to actually place one foot in front of the other.
Your second skill has been unlocked ¨C Sneak Level 1 of 100, Beginner Tier.
We have a pool going that you are dumb enough that you haven¡¯t learned how to talk. I¡¯ve got a 1000 riding on you being so retarded, that you can¡¯t even read these messages. Until next time!
Well, that confirms it, I am so going kill those fucking sarcastic twits! Suddenly, I swear I can feel the synergy of the two skills working together. Just a moment ago, when I was trying to walk quietly, I kept feeling like I was going to constantly tip over. Now, it feels like I can perfectly place my feet, and still keep my stance. Whahay! Maybe this time only, I will let the messages slide, and I will only bitch slap the UN instead of removing their slimy tentacle legs (No offence to all you slimes reading this. I respect you greatly. Go forth and devour. Bugger, I can feel the munchies coming on again). Slow and steady does it, don¡¯t rush, just gentle place the pad of your foot on the floor, and gently ease the heel to the ground, then onto the next step. Pathetically, to cover just 12 feet to my target takes me near three minutes. One hundred and eighty three seconds. Maybe if I can level these skills up, I can potentially go faster, and maybe unlock some other perks. That is how it works on the games I play, the character gets a skill, a percentage progression then a level up, with milestones unlocking another attribute to the skill. Now I just have to figure of how to get the stealth skill, and I can open a business called Ninja¡¯s Are Us. Money, money, money, mo money. Just barely can I restrain myself to doing a celebratory dance. As I crouch before the morgue attendant, who incidentally has a name tag reading ¡®Meredith¡¯. And I thought my parents sucked so hard, his must have truly done a number on him. Eh, he probably does drag. Or maybe he so fucked up, and that explains why my arse is still sore. Mother Fucker! No, chill dude, it¡¯s probably due to laying on a cold, hard metal table for an indeterminate amount of time. Just in case, I have decided to get some revenge either way, and Meredith is just the unlucky bastard, who is conveniently the only person in the room. Gently, I angle my mouth to his ear, and suddenly feel a strong erotic urge to lick his earlobe. But I resist. Barely. Okay, I may have given it a gentle nibble. I was planning to whisper into his ear ¡°Meredith, wake up, daddy is hungry¡±. Meredith instead, and for a way better effect than I had intended, sleepily made a small grin form with his lips, lifted his head, squinted his eyes, bloody copycat, and murmured, ¡°Hey Honey¡±. With the utmost precision in timing, I scream into his barely conscious face ¡°BRAINS!¡±. Next thing I know, I am back in the white room, with the omnipresent light with no source, with another one those pop-ups in front and centre of my vision, reading:
Congratulations arsehole, you got yourself killed. By a guy named Meredith. How utterly pathetic. Looks like I win the pool this time. Typically, you didn¡¯t notice the scalpel laying next to the sandwich. You should learn the fast draw from this guy.
Fortunately for you, you are a special case. Due to your unique powers, you have been granted with a truly one of a kind ability:
Regenerative Reincarnation: The ability to rise again from death. Each time you die, with will retain 10% of all earned stats, which will be added to your base. Please read that your base stats are not taken into consideration by the formula. Attempts to game the system will result in full stat reset. A countdown of 24 hours will commence on death, then when the countdown expires, the user is materialised in a safe zone.
To create additional zones, find a secluded area and place a vial of your blood to mark the location and a DNA sample to bind the co-ordinates of the area. Confirmation will be given on successful completion of new safe zone. Until you reach level 100, you may have no more than 3 safe zones. On countdown expiry, a choice will be given into which zone you wish to reincarnate. If no choice is given, a zone will be randomly selected for you.
All skill levels will be maintained, but your Level will be reset to Level 1. Exp will be 50% harder to be gained until previously level before reincarnation was reached.
Well, Damn Son! [Original] - Chapter03 Interlude One - Of Evan And Michael, Of Endings And Beginnings, Of Love And Loss His name was Evan Langsley, well before he decided to become a Superhero, but now, he went by the name ''Lightbringer''. He was 36 years old, with a Mum and a Sister, but his father had died before he was born. His family was fairly wealthy, his Father being a Merchant Banker of no small renown. He had made sure that his family would be provided for, no matter what happened. When Evan was born, both his Mum and a few of the closer family members could tell straight away that he was destined for great things. Or so he was lead to believe for the entirety of his life. One could easily say that he was Midas Touched, for everything that he put his mind to, he succeeded, even excelled, in. When he was in school, his teachers had nothing but praise for him and for the efforts he made to help others. Even his enemies respected him, being that the strongest feeling they experienced towards him was envy. To all the other kids, he was the light and the warm they gathered around and found themselves grateful to have known him. This streak saw him all the way through to university. There was where he fell from grace. Growing up as he had in the school system, he had never felt himself growing close to another. He thought of and treated all the other students as his friends, maybe some as his acolytes. Yet there was distance he felt with them. He was unable to find those one or two people for whom he could count on, rather than being the rock that everybody else clung to. He was missing that vital connection that would have allowed him to gain both the balance and perception of what it was like to be truly close to another human being. Maybe if he had made those connections, he wouldn''t have fallen as far as he had, maybe he wouldn''t have been born into the mockery of the path he later chose to walk. It was in the second week of university when he met Him. That shining beacon which drew him in, and made in finally fall in love. His name was Michael, and where Evan was dark of hair and slight of body with blue eyes, Michael too was dark of hair, but of red rather than brown, slightly smaller, but with a fuller frame, made of loosely packed muscle, like someone who kept himself in shape without going overboard. Both had taken the Ancient History class out of love of the lore of the old times, when true Romance was celebrated and venerated, rather than cheaply thrown about, where two people would profess their undying love for each other, then hook up with a new partner by the end of the month. They both yearned for that one true light in the darkness, the love that would finally make sense out of this world of chaos. Evan was shocked at first at finding this such strong and deep well of emotion for another boy. No, another man. He had grown up in a conservative household and in a small town school. It wasn''t that being homosexual was a violation of nature, where the first mere hint would lead to an immediate ostracization. Rather that his Mother had always wanted a daughter-in-law and expected grandchildren, that the thought that her Son could be gay had never entered the merest notion in her mind. If her Son had told her of his orientation, it wouldn''t have made the slightest dent in her love for him. Maybe if she had told him this, it might have made a difference. But she hadn''t, so it didn''t. In his school, he had been so determined to live up to the expectations of his teachers and of his Mother, that he had been totally oblivious to the nature of Romance. Unknowingly, his teachers had placed such hopes upon his shoulders, that they have never considered that he could be Gay. They had continuously told him ''You will the girl of your dreams and be so happy, one day'' or ''One day, you will meet your perfect love, you will marry her and such beautiful and intelligent children together''. These hopes and dreams of others and the sense of duty that he expected of himself had come together to create the unspoken fact that he was Straight. He had looked, when he was in school, for that one female that would complete him as he had been promised by so many others. But as hard as he looked, no female had ever stirred his heart, nor his loins. So, he continued to search, never questioning this intrinsically flawed sense of who and what he was. But that had all changed when he met Michael. Not Mike, or Mikey, or Micky, but Michael. When Evan espied Michael from across the room, he seriously started to worry that he was experiencing an early onset heart attack. For his heart had suddenly to flutter and stutter so fast and hard, that it was physically painful. He turned away at that moment and exited out of the door, and leant on a wall in the hallway, closed his eyes, and willed his heart back into proper rhythm. At first, it was futile as he was battling the instinctive urge to cry out for help. But his faith in mastering himself and quickly overrid that urge. Taking a deep breath from his diaphragm, he held on for five seconds, then slowly released it through his nose. He kept on repeating this cycle of breathing, whilst looking inwards. Concentrating on his heart, he willed the organ to slow back into its proper state. Over the course of six and a half minutes, he regained control of himself. At some point, he thought he heard his lecturer call out to him. He couldn''t recall what was said him or what the replied, but when he eventually opened his eyes, he was still alone in the hallway. Hands shaking from the resulting adrenaline surging through his system, not yet having totally subsided, he turned and entered the classroom once more. It must have been the Professor he had ''talked'' to back in the hallway, for when he had left, no Professor, but when he re-entered, Professor Greenway was unpacking his satchel, making ready to begin the class. Professor Greenway, or Hank as he insisted the class call him, looked over to Evan and asked in a concerned voice, in his signature deep bass, ''Are you alright now son?'', to which Evan replied ''Yes, thank you, Hank, must have been the overdose of caffeine from last night''s gaming session''. Hanked then replied in a strict and uncompromising voice, yet still tinged with good humour and a little relief as he greatly respected the young lad "Alrighty then. But be forewarned, for if I catch you sleeping in MY class, then I will be demonstrating one of the more archaic and surprisingly effect methods of ''Persuasion'' on you". "Yes, sir. Then I will make sure that you don''t ''Catch'' me sleeping", Evan jokingly and cheekily replied. Everyone in the room let out a light titter at the exchange. Then the class got underway. During the three hour long lesson of discussion, sermon, recitation and creative debate on the ancient Greeks, Evan kept finding his gaze wandering over to that strange boy who had made his heart rebel against his control. And each time his eyes found the strange being in question, his heart once again tried to go into excited overdrive, but Evan kept an iron grip on himself, looked away, and mastered himself each time. Around the fourth or fifth time that he glanced over to the strange student that had so strangely affected him, he found two hauntingly beautiful grey eyes looking back at him. They captured his gaze for what seemed like an eternity but was probably more like two or three seconds. Eventually, Evan ripped his sight away from the bewitching student. Whilst his heart was making a serious and concerted effort to tear its way from his chest, Evan couldn¡¯t stop reliving the plethora of images that had raced through his mind, even as he placed his eyes firmly upon his blank notebook. Eyes the colour of sun-backed clouds, moments before they released their life-giving rains down upon the earth and plants; the colour of silence in the morning before the bustle of the day begins to intrude the quiet of his thoughts¡¯; colour of a gentle caress of another that truly cares accepts him for who is his, and cares for how he feels he must sacrifice for others without taking a moment for himself; colour, of the missing piece of his soul, of him. Evan was terrified of these emotions, sensations and thoughts flooding through him for another Man. He had no experiences with even kissing another human being outside of his family. For the rest of the class, he tried to reconcile the feelings he had for another member of the same sex. Without much success, not that it needed to be said. As soon as the class ended, Evan packed up his bag and firmly exited the room without a single glance backwards at the enticing pair of eyes.
It had only been two weeks since the start of term and Evan had already amassed a group of about twenty people who flocked to his light. It wasn¡¯t that he actively tried to cultivate a Cult, but it seemed to have naturally and organically where ever he went. And the group would always slowly grow, till it encompassed nearly every malleable mind he came into constant contact with. It was the attention that he unwittingly paid to them. The confidence yet gentle care he gave to every single one of them. They each experience the feeling that when they were around him, that the world would fall away, leaving only Even and them in it. It could easily be compared to a drug that was being exuded on an unconscious level. And each time they would gather around Evan, they would get another hit, but without the diminishing effects. They existed in harmony with Evan and every other person in the group. The longer they were affected, the more they felt like they had finally found their purpose. Finally, they had found the place that they belonged. Even though there were plenty of other people that were not affected by Evan, they still non-the-less felt a sense of Joy in his company. Joy not of Evan himself, but rather the Joy of life, of what the day could hold, the unending possibilities of the future. After they had parted ways with Evan for good, whenever the would look back to him, they would describe Evan as being one of Those people who made life the better just from being in it. It would take weeks, sometimes months for the feeling of the Joy to pass, only be strengthed with repeat contact with Evan. Eventually, with enough exposure, the feeling of the Joy would be made permanent. But no matter with how much he affect other people for the better, he always felt the hole in his life, like something or someone, was missing from it. And until that fateful day in the lecture hall, he had been searching in vain, only hoping that he would recognise that missing piece when he did finally find it. And although he didn¡¯t recognise it at the time, when he met the eyes of his beloved, his life had finally been made complete. He had found his Joy.
The next day, when Evan had again Ancient History, he found the person with the grey eyes standing in the doorway of the classroom. Stopping dead in his tracks, Evan didn¡¯t know what to do, or what to say to the boy with the grey eyes. So he just stared in stupefied wonder, not saying a word, feeling for the first time in his entire life, a blush dominating the entirety of his face, watching as the god in front of him smile. And moment by moment, the smile became somehow more intense, as if they boy, no, Man in front of him was also recognising the missing piece of his soul, but knowing exact what the feeling was, and accepting it without question. And those beautiful eyes somehow seemed to say without words, ¡®We have found each other, and I will never let you go¡¯. And that is how they finally met. Evan and Michael.
For three glorious and wonderful years, Evan had for the first and last time, had found Love, completion, Joy and peace. What others had found in his presence, he had found in Michael, as too had Michael found in Evan. Even though Evan had found his missing half, he didn¡¯t know how to tell his family about Michael. Having grown up as he did, he thought that he would no longer be accepted in his family and he feared to be made anOutcast. He loved his Mum and Sister, but his love for Michael eclipsed all other loves. So he lived the life of the secret lovers. He hoped that one day he would find the courage to admit to the world at large that he was in Love with Michael, and he feared the day when that love would be taken from him, hoping, selfishly, that he would be the first to go, fearing that his heart would physically break from losing Michael.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. But for now, until they reached the age of glorious old men, that would be something that he wouldn¡¯t have to deal with. For now, he could finally love. But as in all great Love affairs, there was a darkness lurking. Unbeknownst to Evan, there existed somebody else who loved him from afar, without words being said, and without that love being returned. But that was alright for Her, as She knew in her heart, that Evan returned her love back a thousand fold. It had started in the final year of their primary school together. She had finally awoken to the longing, and she longed totally and Utterly for Evan. But she could never say it, for She was the Ugly Duckling, as her Mother would call her. Her Mother¡¯s nickname for Her had sunken so deep into her psyche, that she truly believed that she was The Ugly Duckling, even though the other boys, and no few girls, would comment on her attractiveness. She came to believe that these were taunts and cutting remarks to mock her and further the humiliation. She became quieter and more withdrawn as She grew. She learned to hide in her clothes, to stick to the edges of the room, lest She is noticed. But her tactics failed, as they were bound to do to such a blossoming beauty. As time passes as it is wont to do, more people noticed her, and more people tried to befriend Her or tried to hit on Her. But The Ugly Duckling knew better to believe what they said to Her. She knew that they were just setting her up to eventually tear Her right back down. Because people always hate what they fear, and they always fear what they find Repulsive. And She was Repulsive, Mother always said so after all. But there was finally Evan. Evan, who made her feel special, and wanted and loved. Previous to that time, she had been enrolled in the Caversham Primary School, one county over from Evan. At the end of her fifth year, her Mother had been offered a promotion at her company, but it required her Mother to move towns. It was just Mother and Her now, as her father had long ago left that ¡®Putrescent Bitch¡¯ that she remembered him call Mother. That had been five years ago now, and she hadn¡¯t seen her father since. And that one move is the single nicest, probably only nicest, thing that I can recall that Mother had ever done for me. For I had met my love, Evan. I could tell then that Evan was special. You only had to look at the people around Him to see the effect that He had. He was kind, patient, caring and generous with his time to everybody that he met. The first time I laid eyes on him, I Knew that we were made for each other. It took three days of the school year starting till we first looked into each other eyes. And there, I saw the love I had for him reflecting back to me. Without words being said, without any overt gestures or signals, I Knew. But we couldn¡¯t declare our love, for I knew that an Ugly Duckling like me would be torn away at the first sign of his caring for me. Nobody would believe he could possibly have feelings for me. A Prince can never love a monster. The only way that could come to be is if the monster had placed a curse on the Prince. And as everybody knows, monsters are to be slain on sight. So we kept our love hidden until the time came when we could finally run away and be together. Primary school became Secondary, which in turn evolved into college, and I faithfully followed in his wake, staying hidden, keeping him safe. I knew I should leave him, that if They found out about our Love, it could put him in danger. But I couldn¡¯t stop Loving Him. I couldn¡¯t take being cut off from the single light that made my entire existence bearable. Providence shone down upon us when it came to going to university. We both got offers of acceptance, although, for me, I got offered a scholarship for the Computer Sciences. If that wasn¡¯t Destiny calling, then Evan must have made sure, somehow, that I got the same placement. But with the university, something changed. The first week, everything was going according to plan. We had made a secret rendezvous, and Evan had declared his undying Love was still strong, and that when we had both gotten our degrees, we could finally be together, away from here. Just Us. Forever. Then in the second week, his behaviour changed. When we met in secret a few days later, I asked him if something was wrong? He replied that he thought that someone was onto us, that for my sake that he would have to keep his distance till he could make sure that I was sure. And I fell in love with him all over again. A year passed, and Evan told me that he thought that someone was following him. So I told him that I would start to trail Him, see if I could pick up on who is stalker was. Evan tried to get me to back off, stating that if the stalker found out about me, that he or she might kill me to keep us apart. But I told Him that we were both in this relationship, that I have as much right to put myself in danger, and he does for me. Finally, after a few minutes of back and forth, he acquiesced. He told me to be careful, that His life wouldn¡¯t be worth living without me. Two days later, I hovered outside of his Ancient History lecture hall. A few minutes later, the class was dismissed, and I made sure that as the other students were leaving the hall, to make out like I was interested in some of the courses being offered on the message board. Keeping the exit in my peripheral vision, seconds later I saw Evan walking out talking to some boy, who I later learned as name Michael. They reached the door to the auditorium and went their separate ways. I started to trail Evan, to see if I could make out who was stalking him. Unfortunately, literally a minute later, I lost Evan. Of course, I moaned to myself, if I can follow Evan, then anybody can, I am not the stealthiest of people. Evan had probably practised in losing a tail. I have to improve if I want to keep him safe. For three months, I tried by best to get better at following Evan, but each and every time, I lost him. I just have to have faith that Evan can find out the evil plotter who wants to break us apart. Every time I walk past him in the halls, I can see that me being in danger like this is hurting him more and more. So I communicate with Him just to hold on for a little longer, that after all this, we can finally be together. Two years later and I think I have found my suspect. It¡¯s that Michael I saw on that very first hunt. Every time Evan leaves the class, Michael is right there at his side, trying to poison his mind against me. But I can tell that Evan is still resisting his evil wiles. I have even seen Michael¡¯s eyes follow Evan as the split apart, filled with malevolence towards him. And I, out of the blue and completely unsuspecting, come across the two of them together. And Michael is trying to Evan. That evil bastard must have given up and just decided to end my Beloved. He his lying atop of him, trying to choke Evan. Luckily, for those two years, I have taken precautions for just a situation like this. I take out my six-inch kitchen knife, and carefully, so as not to warn the fiend, I sneak up behind his back, silently praying that Evan is still alive and that I am not too late, I stab the knife down onto the Evil one¡¯s neck. He collapses onto Evan. Finally, we are safe; now we can get on with our lives.
Michael and I had snuck out for another secret tryst, but I could tell that our time of being a secret couple was coming to an end. Michael had lately been trying to get me to come out, to tell my family about him. That it didn¡¯t matter that if they could not longer accept me because I would always have him. I managed to again to put it off, saying that I will tell them when I have gotten my Doctorate, and then we can live our lives together, free to tell the world. We could even get Married. I had even bought engagement rings as a surprise for later tonight, to show I much I Loved him and I wanted to everybody on campus to know. But I just had to wait a little longer to tell my Mother. Mollified, if not entirely pleased, Michael agreed to meet me at our spot in the park, a secret place where only we two knew about. I had been feeling like someone had been following me just lately, and I wanted to be somewhere where I knew it would just be us alone. I had planned this whole romantic spiel of how he was the only person in my life that I could truly count one, the one that made life worth living, that I wanted us to be together to be old men, and to death truly do us part. But like so much of our time together, when I saw his mesmerising grey eyes, words suddenly felt inadequate, like they couldn¡¯t come close to imparting all on my feeling and desires in their inefficient and incomplete forms. So, instead of making a speech, I simply stepped into his embrace, caress his lips with mine, then I stepped away, and went down to one knee, and simply asked, ¡°Will you marry me, Michael Gregory Williams?¡±. And he gave the simplest yet most power answers that anyone could have replied with, ¡°I Will¡±. And with that, I took out the rings, simple gold bands unadorned with any decoration, but inscribed with simple words, ¡®Evan, together, forever, before, after, today and tomorrow, Love Michael¡¯, on one, and on the other, ¡®Michael, together, forever, before, after, today and tomorrow, Love Evan¡¯. I showed Michael the rings, and in that quiet place entirely our own, we made our vows to each other and exchanged the rings onto each other''s fingers. I knew that this wasn¡¯t the legal definition of a wedding, but this was Ours. Just Us. Then I stepped back into his embraced, and kissed his gorgeous lips once again, and dragged him down to the ground with me, with him on top. And we continued to kiss gently, without the need to be utterly passionate, just enjoying the moment as it continued. Then from one moment to the next, Michael stiffened up, gasped, and collapsed on top of me. I actually entertained the notion that all of our gentle shiftings had caused him to climax, but just seconds later, I could feel something warm and wet dripping down onto my throat. Michael was limp in my arms. Then a voice called out, ¡°Of Evan, your safe now that I¡¯ve killed the bastard that was trying to keep us apart. Come on, before somebody finds us. We can run¡±. I looked Michael and the first thing I saw was a knife sticking out of the back of his neck, a knife for god''s sake. Slowly, but surely, the realisation sunk in the Michael, my sweet Michael, was dead, not asleep. It felt like my mind kept resetting, that Michael was just asleep, then I realised that he was dead kept on going over and over in my mind. My utter rejection of the possibility. Whilst my mind was trying its best to comprehend the situation, I was sure that the stranger kept on talking, something like how we needed to leave right now. Minutes passed, and I slowly came to accept this for what it was. My time was up; my life would never be the same again. Michael, how had helped me, shown me the world as beautiful as he was, was now gone. Slowly I sat up, gently easing Michael to the ground, his opening eyes still looking into mine, and I swear I could see the light and life leave those eyes. I couldn¡¯t look away; I won¡¯t accept this. I turn around to confront Michael¡¯s killer, and I see a girl, attractive by any measure, wearing an almost demented look of adoration. And I growl out the single, most important question in the forefront of my mind, ¡°Why?¡±. ¡°Why?¡±, she replies, confusion ring out from her tone. ¡°His was trying to kill you, to take you away from me. But it¡¯s alright now; I stopped him, we can be together like you always said, we can run away!¡±. I can feel the rage building in my chest, my stricken grief solidifying into my limbs, with a single piercing thought ¡®Revenge¡¯. I am going to make this demented bitch pay for killing Him. My reason. My Hope. My Dream. I raise myself to a standing stance, and I think that she can see the murderous intent in my eyes, for hers widen like a startled deer, and she raises the knife as a warning to keep me away, but I lunge towards her. I can feel the knife entering my chest, having chosen to end it here and now, but I will take her with me. The knife enters in the centre of my chest, feeling like it only narrowly missing my heart but puncturing a lung. I step back, look down to the knife, and slowly reach up to grab it and quickly pull it out. I can feel my life blood leaking from my chest, but I somehow knew that I had more than enough time to kill the murderer in front of me. She hasn¡¯t moved since I had speared myself on her knife, she is just standing there, almost paralysed. I take a firm grip on the knife, step towards her, and violently stab the blade up under her chin, and pierce her brain. She is dead in an instant, unlike me. She falls in a heap, like so much refuse. Taking what little time is left to me, I stagger back over to Michael, and I lay down next to him, lay my head on his chest, and I start to cry, pouring out my love to Him. Slowly, a piece at a time, my breath slows, and my eyes darken. What felt like an eternity passes before the end draws close. But at that moment, between living and dying, a light shines forth, pulling me into its embrace. I had never really entertained the notion of an afterlife, but maybe if Micahel is there, then I can start to believe. Without my consent, but not needing it, the light draws me away from Michael, I eagerly go.
That is the account and life of Evan Langsley. And in that light, he was reborn. Somehow, his grief was calmed and was convinced to return to earth, to take up the fight, somehow knowing that after this, he could be together with Michael till the end of time itself. And in that moment of decision to return, a small but crucial part of Evan was broken. A piece that at first glance, changed nothing of the Man that was Evan, but would eventually bring ruin to all of the ideals that he held dear. Where once he the succeeded without fail, he was still able to cope with the crushing expectations place upon him, for he held hope. The hope of finding that special someone who completed that missing piece of himself. But he lost that half of his soul, and now that expectation of saving lives and beating the bad guys twisted itself in him. He chose the Hero¡¯s name of the ¡®Lightbringer¡¯ because he didn¡¯t want anybody else to live in the darkness that he had. He wanted to bring hope and joy, but instead, quickly the idea became corrupted without his notice, and he came to the eventual conclusion, that to save those truly deserving of love, that they would have to die when they found each other, lest one be ripped from the other. Be began his task as many Hero does, in going out, looking for the Villains, giving them of old one two, and putting them behind bars, or in an early grave if he wasn¡¯t able to subdue them. But every once in a while, when his path crossed tracks with those fortunate few whose love for each other shone forth, the Lightbringer would shine forth his heavenly aura, drawing those lovers towards himself. In rapture, they would come and place themselves before him, and place themselves on the knees in worship. And truly believing that he was saving their undying love for each other, would draw the life out of their bodies, leaving two corpses to collapse into ashes upon the cold and unyielding ground, but leaving their souls to move onto a better place, where they could exist for all of the time, together, just as he wished he could with his Michael. [Original] - Chapter04 Chapter Three - Menus And Their Frustating Commands. Whooo, I am so going to be the badest mother clucker in the history of the supers. The Immortal I am going to call myself. I will go into battle, fearless of dying, giving it my all, then when it looks like I am going to be defeated, WHAM! I will blast out with my badass mega kamikaze spell, and fry the shit out of my opponent, whether it be Hero, Villain or a poor mortal who could never measure up. Yeah, it¡¯s not like I am on an ego trip or anything. It¡¯s just that the possibilities for my powers are almost literally limitless. If it does turn out that I have a HUD and a skill list like an RPG, with the unheard of bonus of Reincarnation, then the sky is the limit. Or maybe the moon and stars are the limits if I can grow strong enough. Just imagine, I get myself to Level 100, with hundreds of points in my stats, then I can just kill myself, get the ten percent added to my base, then start all over again. You know what, I really should learn to keep these thoughts to myself, because, I swear, I can feel the pop-ups just waiting for me.
Well, not even five minutes after your latest cock-up, and We get to bitch slap you all over again. We should warn you, that after each death, you will spend twenty-four subject hours in this space, times your death count, with no upper limit.
Good news for you though, after this Incarnation, we will be strictly handed off, unable to offer any helpful advice, which we know that you will miss terribly, although we will still be watching. We have to say, you are massively entertaining when you die, so, keep up the crappy work. Tu-la-lu. Ciao.
Again, arseholes, through and through. A full day in this white void. I am not sure that I am going to be able to stay sane in here, unable to tell the time. Wait, well shit, looks like they really are still listening. Perhaps concerned for their entertainment to be firing on all cylinders, or in my case, maybe on three quarters of pure genius cylinders and the others on just regular quality. Hey, everybody needs some down time, hang out, play some games, watch some movies (Not just the dirty kind), and just generally let your brain get some rest. Because there, in the upper right corner of my vision, almost in my peripherals, then is a count down timer, displaying: 23:52:09.034. Right, so that helps some. Now what to do. Do I:
  1. Pull my finger out my arse, wipe it off, and start to practice my balance and sneak skills, in the hopeful chance that their progress still counts for being in this half-way place, or
  2. Go to sleep, and hopefully wait it out, or
  3. Well, there probably is a option C, but I can¡¯t guess what it could be. Do, or do not, there is no option C
Well, being the type of person that I am, I just want to stick to those pricks up there who are hoping for the Lolz. Well, fuck them, I¡¯m going to lie down, close my eyes, try to sleep, and wait the timer out. And guess what? Turns out Option B is not a valid choice after all. For the instant that I close my eyes, the timer seems to stop, hanging at; 23:49:56.098. Looks like I am going to have to pull my finger out. Why? It so warm and soft up there right now. If only I had slight longer fingers, I would be able to have a much better time than I am now. Looks like I don¡¯t have any choice it seems. Well, I wasn¡¯t feeling sleepy in here anyway. Hmm, I don¡¯t seem to be feeling hungry at all either. No cravings, I don¡¯t feel like I need to take a whiz. Crap. Oh well, looks like I will have to get off my beautiful and plumb bum and start doing something.
Time passes, but no new notification pop-up, and yes, I did try all the standard phrases you will usually hear your heroes shout out to bring up the Menu¡¯s. ¡°Status¡±, ¡°Character Sheet¡±, ¡°Skills List¡±, and endless variations of therefore. But the rest of my vision stubbornly remained blank. So all I could do was to practice my Balance and Sneak skill at a slow crawl across this ¡®Space Void¡¯, or as from here forth I shall name ¡®Whitey¡¯. Each time I tried to speed up into a full on walk, I would lose that precise Balance, and my ¡®Shoes¡¯ or whatever it is that I am wearing in Whitey, would lose me my silence, and though there is no sound as such, somehow I can still ¡®Feel¡¯ like I made a noise. It¡¯s a bit like feeling luck. Somehow, without any indication, before you start a game of cards, or dominoes or whatever it is you like to play, you can almost Literally feel Luck turn against you. You know. Like you know when you are in love, it is just a deep down feeling that you cannot prove, or even adequately describe, for there are no words to actually describe, no words that really come close. And so, I practiced with these two skills, hoping that it was not time wasted. Taking a break, still not feeling weary, or hungry, or any sensation really, I take a peek at the countdown in the top right of my vision: 11:36:00.096 Bugger
Eventually, the countdown is in the last second of being finished: 00:00:58.657 So there goes my Idea of killing myself of when my stats get high enough. If I had to spend increasing amounts of time, more whole days in Whitey¡¯s loving embrace, then I will definitely loose it. Maybe having access to more skills to practice will make the time pass quicker. I really, really, really hope that I have made some skill progression. It feels too much like work, not the work that is life fulfilling, but that soul crushing, boring, tear inducing work. Without the sweet rewards, I will definitely turn into a coward, hide in a small room, in a medium sized town (Small village are notorious for the hidden killers, or where the whole town turns out to be into human sacrifice of new comers to guarantee a good harvest. Weirdo¡¯s), continue on with my normal, and utter safe job, and do my utmost not to die. Hope your hearing this, skill progression or no entertainment. That told them. Hah. Countdown: 00:00:13.677 Want to count it down with me? I know you want to. It¡¯s the little things that make life so worthwhile. Come on, I¡¯ll start. Eight! Seven! Six! Three! Two! No, wait! Five and four are missing. What the hell! Can¡¯t you retards even count! One! Thunderbirds Are Go!
Without the fanfare or even a pop, or a sparkling of magical stars, I¡¯m back in the real world. In a strange room I¡¯ve never seen before. The bed is more of a camp bed. With neatly ordered sheets at the foot, with a single limp white pillow that must have seen better days. The walls were a drab brown colour, not like worn and fading wallpaper where the residents liked to chain smoke the tar and nicotine into the walls to give them that comforting feel that only addicts can really appreciate, but the kind of brown where a motel is trying to save a quick quid and by the most inexpensive brand of wallpaper that exists. Ones that manufacturers probably churn out for the very sector that is probably the biggest repeat customers, who favour quantity over quality and durability. So, like, yeah, a fucking rat hole would be a step up from this shade of shitty brown. Eh, that probably is the colour¡¯s name; Doggy Dog Shit Brown. It is around ten feet by six feet and seven foot in height. Most likely a SOR or Single Occupancy Room. I wander why I ended up here. And just seconds after making this cursory observation, a series of windows start to open in my field of view:
Name Please Select Guild N/A
Race Please Select Affiliation N/A
Gender Male (Barely) Disposition Sarcastic
Age 23 Minutes Level 2
Alignment N/A Experience Locked
Strength 2 (Base 1) Wisdom 2 (Base 1)
Endurance 2 (Base 1) Charisma 2 (Base 1)
Dexterity 2 (Base 1) Luck 2 (Base 1)
Agility 2 (Base 1) Mental Fortitude 100
Intelligence 2 (Base 1) Character Points 1000
¡°Cool¡±. This is like, so awesome (Please think of an airhead chewing bubble-gum when I say ¡®So Awesome¡¯. It¡¯s like, so, super important. *Pop*) I don¡¯t know if you are aware, so I will explain some things in the now, rather than the later. Supers when they appear, take a new name. Like ¡®Wonderboy¡¯. So lame. So anyway, when the Hero or Villain is in costume, their Super name is how they go by, so that is how you hear them. In actuality, as a Villain in the early 80¡¯s explained in an interview, they really go by their original birth name, but when they speak their name, in costume, the listen hears that name translated into their Super Name. So like, if I was in costume, if I told you, a member of the public, my mum or another super, they would hear something like, ¡®Mr Awesome¡¯ or ¡®Skeletor¡¯.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Even if you knew my real name and knew what my costume was and everything, if I was in costume, even trying to think my name, it would be automatically translated in your head. It gets really confusing and weird at times. When I am not in costume, you would know that my name is JJ but you wouldn¡¯t be able to connect me with ¡®Mrs Six Pack¡¯. And yes, there are supers that actually use those names. Everybody, just before they appear in their new life, gets to pick the name that they will forever, from that day forth, go by. So a new Hero/Villain name is very important. But, so you can guess, it is very easy to get caught up in the moment, lose your cool, and choose a truly ridiculous Pseudonym. Look at me with the big words. As for the powers and appearance the Super comes back in, they don¡¯t get a choice, or if they do, they don¡¯t remember that choice. But it looks like for me, that I get the ultra-perky perk of getting to choose my race it seems. The first thing to do, of course, is to choose my new name. It has to be something both valiant and sinister. I want my enemies to tremble in fear, and my minions to tremble in awe. Decisions, decisions. I take a few minutes to deliberate, and I think I finally have the perfect name. I don¡¯t know how this works, so some experimentation is in order I think. First ¨C Try moving my finger, like a click, on the ¡®Name¡¯ option. Nope, no dice. Come to think on it, that would be a truly stupid thing that I would have to do. Just imagine that you are in my midst, and you are cowering before me as it is proper, I have my the most inspiring speech you have ever heard, and a notification starts to blink. I am going to look like a complete twat and loon stabbing at the air for no visible reason. In fact, I wonder why the UN didn¡¯t instigate this features, even for the chance to cause me more grief. Then again, they did text that they would be more hands off, so maybe the system they have implemented would run more like the original, rather than the custom built one that they probably imagined for me. Finally, a break. Yeah. Whoo. Thinking about it logically (I know, why take the fun out of life, rather lets go for the random chance of screaming out and trying anything and everything else), how would I have chosen to select everything. Then it becomes obvious. I would have made it a conscious thought, like a typed command, not something that could be randomly chosen from out of the blue. Like, ¡®Command, Open Status Menu, Chicken Noodles¡¯. But then the UN are sort of retarded, no understanding that there are other numbers between six and three. But let¡¯s give it a try. ¡°Open Status Menu, Name¡±. ¡®Open Status Menu, Name¡¯. Nope, neither saying it out loud nor thinking it out loud, neither works. This is probably going to take a while, so if you want to bugger off for a while, I¡¯ll call you back over when I have this sussed.
The clock on the wall (Yeah, I might have missed that on my first pass, but helpfully the status menu is on like fifty percentage transparency, so that kinda helps), shows that nearly two hours and ten minutes have passed. My throat is sore, my patience is at an end. There is just one option left that I have yet to try. And it is just utterly humiliating. I am. Going. To have to ask. For. Help. I know, what self-respecting gamer ever asks for help. But eventually, you run into a scenario, and no matter how much effort you put in, no matter the areas you explore, or the items you try bashing with your fists, you have to look at the cheats, or ask for help on the forums. It is especially annoying for me if you get the lights on puzzle. Where you step, and all the adjacent lights on the puzzle turn on, or off, depending on their current state, and the light you step on goes the other way. I thinks it¡¯s called ¡®Lights On¡¯ or ¡®Lights Out¡¯. For some reason, my brain is completely defeated, and I have to look up the walkthrough. But I have to man up, and ask for help. Hoping that this works, I think very clearly, and precisely, ¡°Help Menu¡±. After what do you know, it actually bloody works. Finally:
Congratualtions, first time opeing help menu detected. 500 exp awarded.
To open the various menus, please think clearly in your mind for: General Status ''Mental Status Menu, Alpha'', for Inventory ''Mental Inventory Pocket Dimension, Beta'', for Skills ''Mental Skill List, Charlie'', for spell list ''Mental Mana Menu, Delta''.
Please check back here for additional menu commancs as they are unlocked.
To set name and race, please think clearly; ''Name, Alpha'' and ''Race, Alpha''. Options shall be presented. Please note that until Level 100, race shall be locked to default but new options shall be presented for consideration.
For more information on a stat or skill, please think clearly of the attribute, followed by the code deisgnation for the menus.
Finally, and now look upon my shame. Sigh. And with that, I rethought my name choice. I was going to choose something suitably impressive, but I always promised myself that if this chance was given, that I would choose the name I have always dreamed of. And it was most definitely for the Lolz. ¡®Name, Alpha¡¯, I thought. A sub menu opened;
Please Select New Name
New Name Has Been Selected: Dude
Name Dude Guild N/A
Race Please Select Affiliation N/A
Gender Male (Barely) Disposition Sarcastic
Age 23 Minutes Level 2
Alignment N/A Experience Locked
Strength 2 (Base 1) Wisdom 2 (Base 1)
Endurance 2 (Base 1) Charisma 2 (Base 1)
Dexterity 2 (Base 1) Luck 2 (Base 1)
Agility 2 (Base 1) Mental Fortitude 100
Intelligence 2 (Base 1) Character Points 1000
This is so cool, just think, when someone calls out, "Please save me Dude!", that will be so hilarious. Or if they beg. "Please have mercy Lord Dude, spare me, I have a family, I have money, please tell me what you want and spare me, PLEASE!", and I will be like, "Did you just call me Dude?", "Did You?". "For being so disrespectful, I will now dip your balls in a vat of acid, and laugh at your agony. Boys, take this maggot out of my sight and deal with him". Yeah, this has limitless possibilities. Nothing can go wrong. Now for the next part: "Race, Alpha". Again, a sub menu pops up, by slighly larger this time;
Race Menu; Please Choose From the list Below:
Dragon LOCKED Dwarf
Vampire LOCKED Demon
Human LOCKED Angel
Elf LOCKED Changling
Locked LOCKED Locked
Locked LOCKED Locked
What the Hell! You tempt me with the though that I could be this badass new creatures with all these new stats, and they are fucking locked. What. The. HELL! Breathe, just breathe JJ. Calm down. Maybe they represent the possible Level Up options Level 100 like the help menu said. Yeah, that got to be it. But, just, Damn! I wonder if I can get any information on the later available races, just for future references, not to torture myself with the missed oppurtunity or anything. "Human, Alpha". Nope nothing comes up. Maybe. "Human, Race, Alpha". Aha, result.
Human - Gains attribute points at each character level, across all attributes with the forumla: Level - 1 / 10 (Rounded Down) + 1. Eg. Level 10 will give 1 attribute point to all attributes. Level 11 will give 2 attribute points to all attributes. Race will also gain 1000 character points per level to spend in Store. Will gain 100 % to all skill progression as base. No handicaps or advantage will be gained. Humans can learn any skill possible outside of Race Sepcific Only Skills. Humans tend to magically weak. Spells are restricted to common spellbooks only. May gain unique spells upon experimentation influenced by the luck attribute. Mana values are defined at Intelligence x 10, and regeneration at Wisdom / 10 per second. All spells will cost 300% of base values. Cooldowns are at 500% of base values. Humans Start out with 1 in all atrributes, not gaining any base advantages. This represents baseline attributes on activation. Store Prices are set a 100% if base value, and may lower in price with various skills, influenced by the Charisma contributions.
Well, that is a lot of information, I wonder what the store points can be spent on. Maybe later. Oh, well, Human doesn''t look so bad after all. "Select Human".
Please Select Race From Menu
Race Selected: Human
Name Dude Guild N/A
Race Human (Default) Affiliation N/A
Gender Male (Barely) Disposition Sarcastic
Age 23 Minutes Level 2
Alignment N/A Experience Locked
Strength 2 (Base 1) Wisdom 2 (Base 1)
Endurance 2 (Base 1) Charisma 2 (Base 1)
Dexterity 2 (Base 1) Luck 2 (Base 1)
Agility 2 (Base 1) Mental Fortitude 100
Intelligence 2 (Base 1) Character Points 1000
Not looking too shaby. I''m feeling a bit tired now. I think I will take a little nap. Bye for now! [Original] - Chapter05 Chapter Four - Inventories & Skills. Magic Is For Cowards. Who Wants Magic Anyway. *Sniff* Shit, something is wrong. I jerk awake from the extremely uncomfortable camp bed to a full and upright position. Nervously glancing around, no, there is no-one in my room, no creak of the floorboards at the door to indicate a creeping and peeping suspect. No anomalous odours, no high pitching whining, that you can get from either a bomb/missile closing in on your position or if a little bitch is complaining that each time he respawns, I am there delivering to him another headshot. Booyah. Just staying still, and waiting, I still can¡¯t make out what is wrong. Hmm, I didn¡¯t notice that before, a window, with white gauze curtains. Maybe is should have wondered where all the light was coming from, but let¡¯s be honest here for a moment, I was pretty fucked when I materialised here. I had died from my aneurysm exploding in my head, had a small talk with godlike beings, got insulted, called them Fugly bitches in return, woke up in a morgue, got deaded again, and here we are. I think that I am entitled to a little fainting spell under those circumstances. Gently treading over to the window, my steps in perfect balance with my body, I slowly part the curtains, and look out of the window. WHAT THE HELL! Why the hell am I in the middle ages, with horse and carts and god knows how much shit sitting in the street? Time Travel! Fuck! Or maybe reality hopping. Double Fuck! At least with time travel, it is just a matter of forwards and backwards, with fucking alternate realities, then you have the side to side and the up and down of travelling. GOTCHA! I bet you really fell for that. Gullible ponce. No, really, there are cars, and roads, and tall buildings, with the occasional flash of light indicating a Hero/Villain fight going down somewhere. I don¡¯t know why most of the Hero¡¯s seem to go for the flashy moves, but for me, that seems totally rude. Maybe someone in the crowd is epileptic and starts to have a seizure, and dies. Even the supposedly good guys are killing the innocent, whilst presenting themselves as the fine and morally upstanding citizens, here to guard our safety from the clutches of evil. Well, tell that to Dave who just dies from an induced seizure. Hypocritical bastards, one and all. At least the Villains are typically honest about doing bad shit. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I tend to get carried away with my rants against the Heroes and just Supers in general, although now that I am one of them, no nosy Nancy is going to be able to bitch at me that I can¡¯t possibly understand the stresses that Super¡¯s go through. That they are all lost souls of the Lord and just need some kindness and understanding to bring them back into the fold. I know right, bloody sanctimonious, pinched-faced, twots. Sorry, I did it again. I will honestly try and make an effort to stop the ranting. But no promises. Anyway, like is was saying, it finally made sense of what I was feeling was off with my environment. The place that I live (Read, Secret Fortress of No Your Business) would start the morning or even afternoon, and from the light, it was definitely earlyish, with annoying birds chirping, and singing, and making a Kale-damned racket. And that is weird, I don¡¯t live in a city, with tall buildings. I live just outside of a village, on the outskirts. And the wildlife is abundant. There shouldn¡¯t be any building other than houses, and trees, and cars. Wait, I know this place. But where? It takes a few seconds, and I start to immediately break out in a light sweat. My beautiful green eyes widen almost comically, and I can feel my heart beating erratically. No, it¡¯s not the future dystopian world where people are turned in cheap labour to fuel the mounting debt to our overlords, who look suspiciously like my neighbourhood dog. It¡¯s New York, in America. The fucking UN has dropped my 3000 miles away from my home. I¡¯ve haven¡¯t got a passport, green card, money or any legitimate identity documents. Fuck.
A little information here; in the last fifteen years or so, America in all its wisdom decided to elected this utter prick call Trimp. He called himself an entrepreneur, a leader, and an inspiring example of the rise of the little man of the people to the heights that he currently soared at and enjoyed. And America bought into that load of equine excrement, otherwise known as Horse-Shit. And to add insult to injury, decided his running mate should be no other than the infamous, Gluteus Chutney. Maybe parents should no longer be allowed to name their children. I swear, the previous generations must have been on a pot overdose since birth. Fido would have a field day psychoanalysing the psyche of these lunatics who name their children Gluteus. Anyway, long story short, Trimp decided that everyone would have to carry Identity Documents that proves their loyalty to America, their patriotism. Please read that anybody who supports the Democratic Party is at best a traitor, and at worst, a total Pillock. Fortunately, there were some cooler heads prevailing when Trimp tried to pass the bill, and an amendment as tacked on stating that the Identity Documents were purely voluntary, although most people now assume that if you don¡¯t, you are naturally suspect, and only specially recognised agents of the law could ask for the identity documents. The document would display your name, age, place of residence, tracking implant ID tag designation and finally, if you checked the tick box on the application that ¡®Yes, I have conspired to overthrow the government of America¡¯. Funnily enough, there was a small movement of nearly five hundred people who protested this stupid and obviously ridiculous question, decided for the Lolz, to say yes. Unfortunately for them, the news later reported that these traitors to America were later arrested, found guilty of betraying their country of birth, and executed the next day. GOTCHA! Again. No, they didn¡¯t get arrested, but they later revealed that they received a letter from the President himself, detailing that they were banned from overseas flights and add to the terror watch list. I sincerely hope that saying Yes was worth all the hassle. And most people being the sheep that we are, decided to apply for the cards, after all, it would save them from trouble with the Special Agents that might come calling, and they didn¡¯t want to be added to the watch list. A few holdouts here and there, California and Alaska mostly.
Sinking back onto my camper bed, I take a few minutes to process this doozie. I. Am. In. America. What about my Mom and my sister Charlotte. They are going to be so worried. And my job. And my stash of porn that the police are sure to find when my Mum files a missing person report. Crap. First thing, find a phone and call home. Calm down, that¡¯s it, calm your racing heart, close your eyes and think happy thoughts. My breathing normalises, my heart starts beating in its usual boring manner, and I stop sweating. One thing at a time, calm and steady. Opening my eyes, I glance at the clock on the wall. What? That clock is not on the wall, it¡¯s just in the upper right of my vision. Shit, how did I not notice that before? Carefully inspecting my line of sight, I also notice a very faint graph in the upper-left, minuscule, and nearly invisible. Concentrating on the graph, it quickly snaps into focus. It is three bars, red, blue and green. Those must be the Health, Mana and Stamina bars that nearly every RPG has. I¡¯m starting to get a headache concentrating so hard. And as I lose that zone of focus, the graph gently fades back into invisibility. Congratulations! You have found your stat bars. Their settings are now unlocked. Access to information will now be but a thought away. Suddenly, a small stream of information enters into my consciousness. I know the values that the bars represent, how my attributes play their role in their numbers. This is so cool; the learning without the terribly boring book reading. Finally. And just thinking about the options for the bars, a window pops up: Please Select Default Transparency Of The Bars: 1-100 (1 being completely invisible and 100 being completely opaque.) ¨C Default setting currently set at: 3 Please Select Default Information Presentation: Bars, Numbers, Bars & Numbers Well, no need to mess with those at the moment, I am quite happy with the luminosity of the graph, and if I want to know that numbers involved for a more detailed look, I should be able to just concentrate on those numbers: Health: 20/20 Regen 0.2 per minute Mana: 20/20 Regen 0.2 per hour Stamina: 20/20 Regen 0.2 per second Wow, being Human make mana like, totally suck. To fully get back all of the mystic energy will take me over four days. WHAT THE HELL! Just when I think that I will get to be this badass Wizard, suddenly reality decides to slap me down. Just last night, or morning, I was thinking how cool it would be to fling fireballs, throw mana bolts and generally live every gamer¡¯s dream. Maybe, hopefully, the mana costs for the spells won¡¯t be that high. Then again, the info screen did say that I would have an increased cost for the spells. Crap!!! Taking another few minutes to wallow in my self-pity and shattered dreams, I decide that no matter what, I will find a way to gain access to the high-level Sorcerery that must exist. Well, onwards and upwards, as they say, time to battle the other menus that I have been given access to. Taking a deep breath, clearing my mind in the ancient ways of the Zen Masters I once read in a comic book, I utter the magical passphrase: ¡°Mental Inventory Pocket Dimension, Beta¡±. Nope, nothing happened, no menus, no wormholes or tears in reality. Why didn¡¯t it work? Is there a bug in the system or something? No, think this through JJ, there has to be a reason. First, the phrases mentions a Pocket Dimension, so it is unlikely to be menu detailing everything I have in my pockets. And wormholes are just plain ridiculous. Maybe it is the tear in reality. Thinking about it, I reason that for the dimension to open, I have to pierce the veil. Trying again, whilst pushing my thoughts towards this Dimension, I speak clearly and aloud this time, just in case: ¡°Mental Inventory Pocket Dimension, Beta!¡± Again, no dice. Shit. Maybe it is not a mental piercing that I need, but a physical representation of my intention to grasp whatever lies beyond. One final time before I move onto skills, and launch a help ticket to the admins, I place my right arm at my side, elevate my forearm up 90 degrees, extend my index finger, and while uttering the phrases in my head, I gently stab my finger forward, imagining it passing through to a dark space beyond.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Congratulations, first time detected User accessing personal inventory. 500 exp gained! Inventory can store 100 items in stacks of 99, measuring no larger than 1 foot in diameter, each item weighing no more than 1 kilogramme. All items stored in inventory will decay at the ratio of: 1 Second / (100 + (Int+Wis / 10) + (End / 25). All fractions will be rounded down to the lowest possible whole. Inventory space can be upgraded at milestone levels. Hidden Upgrades are possible if certain conditions are met. To access items stored in inventory, please see associated menu. Holy Shit!. That is insane. Just imagine what I could store. Maybe if I break into a high-level Government building to steal the plans for my very own Death Star, then if I need to, I could kill the guards, chop them up into individual pieces, and store them in my inventory till my escape, without the icky necessity of storing them in a backpack, then dealing with the rotting remains where I leave, or take the risk of dragging their heavy bodies into a storage closet, chancing a random encounter from a janitor, or a couple deciding to have a quickie. Maybe if they are small enough in width, I could store them as is, rather than get delicious blood on my face and arms, and clothes. Bloody hard to get blood out of cotton, trust me, I know from first-hand experience. I do do my own laundry after all, and nosebleeds are not very nice after all. I could, possible, sneak past the guards, to show the world my awesome skills, but every gamer knows that it always fun to occasionally take the opportunity to shank your enemies in the back, and watch them fall. So fun. Sigh. Or, maybe, if I decided to rob a really nice mansion of all its valuables, I would store them all in my inventory, and look, burglary drops down to breaking and entering, a misdemeanour at most. A slap on the wrist, rather than 20 years in the pig pen. I tell you, you get more time for stealing petty shit like a chocolate bar than you do for mass genocide. After all, as the great Philosopher Dexter Morgan once wrote, ¡®If you kill one person, you are a murderer, kill thousands are you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you¡¯re a God¡¯. And God¡¯s don¡¯t typically get prison sentences. And Godhood does have a pretty ring to it after all. Putting aside my glorious fantasies of cutting a swathe through all the mortals (Both Super and norm alike (After all, no other Super has yet had the ability to resurrect, although a few could technically have immortal life spans) would fall before my majestic might), I take notice of the message that I can upgrade the Inventory on a Level Milestone. I wonder what goodies I could unlock. But it didn¡¯t say what the milestones actually were, they could be at Level 100 and beyond, and that could take quite a while to achieve, and if I do die, do I lose the upgrade on reset? A mystery yet to be revealed. Interesting. Then I focus on that menu that was hovering before me. If you have ever played something call ¡®Vampire: Masquerade Redemption¡¯, the menu looks like the UN stole it outright. A ten by ten grid of slots, with a mannequin off to the right, show the items I have equipped at the moment. Taking a small glance, it appears like I am not wearing anything special. Just starter clothes. And thank god for that. Down in the lower right of the Mannequin side of the menu, I can see my money, and it is showing $10,000.00. Looks like I am not totally screwed after all, although on the left with the slot menu, it is showing as empty. Swings and roundabouts baby. Time to move on anyhow. ¡°Mental Skill List, Charlie¡±. Just before I utter the last word, I take that instant to ponder on why the phrases are such that they are. Maybe it is so that an errant thought doesn¡¯t interrupt a battle; Like I am fighting this badass Villain for control of the city, and I start to wonder if I can beat him, and I think of my stats in one of the moments between each move, and wham, the menu pops up, I get distracted, and Bimbo kills my ass, taking my head as a trophy. Maybe. Or it could be one of those things to make life that little bit harder, the last straw that breaks my Camel¡¯s back, floods the river, cracks my mind, whatever. Or I could try to describe my abilities to a psychologist, and he locks me up for my insane utterings, completely ignoring the tear in reality that only I can see. You Decide. Congratulations, first time accessing the skills list. 500 exp gained. Balance ¨C 2000/1000, congratulations, Balance has now been upgraded to the Novice tier Balance ¨C 0/1000 Novice Tier. Sneak ¨C 2000/1000, congratulations, Sneak has now been upgraded to the Novice tier. Sneak ¨C 0/1000 Novice Tier. Congratulations, Level Up conditions met. Level 2 has been achieved. +1 To All Stats. Congratulations, for Practising a Beginner Tier skill beyond what is required, additional information on skills has been unlocked. Level Up Conditional information has been Unlocked. To Level up to Level 2, either Kill 1 Sentient, Steal $100 worth of loot, Unlock a total of 5 skills or Level Up 1 Skill to Novice Tier. To Level up to Level 3, either Kill 1 Sentient, Steal $100 worth of loot, Unlock a total of 5 skills or Level Up 5 Skills to Novice Tier. Balance ¨C The act of keep inner equilibrium with the outer world. Will be able to stay perfectly upright and level when at a steady walk. 0/1000 Novice Tier. Sneak ¨C You are able to place your feet upon the floor to minimise noise made whilst slowly walking upright. All sounds made: -15%. 0/1000 Novice Tier. All skills are rated on the Tier system of: Beginner, Novice, Amateur, Trained, Professional, Master, Grandmaster, Total Dominion. Each tier will unlock a new bonus and upgrade a previous bonus. At Total Dominion Tier of skills, User will be able to pick a bonus not available otherwise. This bonus will give in addition +10 Levels to User. List of possible skills user is able to Unlock:
Unarmed Combat Blade Mastery LOCKED Shield Mastery
LOCKED Dagger Mastery LOCKED LOCKED
Bow Mastery LOCKED Blunt Mastery LOCKED
Staff Mastery LOCKED Alchemy LOCKED
Enchantment LOCKED Climbing Theft
LOCKED Lock Picking LOCKED LOCKED
Merchant Trap Detection Balance Sixth Sense
Battle Aura LOCKED Sneak LOCKED
Leadership Heavy Armour LOCKED Medium Armour
Light Armour LOCKED LOCKED LOCKED
Unarmoured LOCKED Tailoring Blacksmithing
LOCKED Jewellery LOCKED LOCKED
Disguise Altered Perceptions Forgery Spy-craft
Stalking Trap-craft Assassination LOCKED
Electronic-Interfacing LOCKED LOCKED LOCKED
Other skills will be unlocked as additional hidden conditions are met. Nice! Looks like I¡¯m going to busy for the next little while. And it so cool that this system is rewarding me with killing ¡®Sentients¡¯. I wonder what the system classifies as sentient. Would it include animals, or birds, or summoned creatures, or aliens, maybe even Batman? Woo, I got chills from that. I am so going to kill Batman and take over his identity. First I will learn assassination, then disguise, then leadership with Electronic-Interfacing. Look out Robin, your new daddy is on his way. This is so exciting, my heart is beating, like, so fast, and, I am like so, flushed and horny right about now. I need a big strong man to take me right here and hard, god I am so wet. But really, if this list is just the tip of the iceberg of the things I can learn as a newb, then later when I have started to get the hang of this deal, what other stuff will I be able to do. Now just a moment. it doesn¡¯t say anything about guns. Whaaa! I¡¯m in America for the Beegee¡¯s sake. No, it doesn¡¯t matter. Though the thought of wielding a Gatling gun whilst holding up a bank sounds hilarious, it never really featured in any of my fantasies when I dreamed of becoming a Super, or time travelling back to become a Knight. Focus on the positives and stay chilled. Everyone needs limits. Still, maybe later I could give it a try, and see if Gunship is unlocked as a hidden skill. But where am I going to get a sword for crying out loud? No, worry about that later, I have one final menu to explore. ¡°Mental Mana Menu, Delta¡± Menu is locked until requirements have been met: Level 10 ¨C INT and WIS at 25 and One skill requiring Mana Manipulation at Amateur Tier. Swings and fucking roundabouts indeed. [Original] - Chapter06 Chapter Five - Tortured Artists Are The Worst. Being Tortured Sucks. All right, first things first. If second things came first, then I imagine it might get a little bit confusing because then would the first not become second, then the second become first, then the cycle would keep going, never ending, a lovely little paradox that would bring the world to its knees. Now that the boring part of my new life is out of the way, it''s time to go exploring, time to have some fun. And for this occasion, I made a little list of my top priorities: Yep, the top ten list is looking pretty good so far. I¡¯m sure that I will be adding items to it as well as crossing others off. Getting up off my arse, I stride across the floor, with a suitably imposing walk and open the door. *Smack*. Well, turns out, that number one should have been replaced with getting KO¡¯d as soon as I opened the door
I don¡¯t know where I am, but I know for absolutely bloody sure, that it is bloody uncomfortable and someone is going to bloody pay or bloodying up my starter clothes, even though I was going to get them replaced, there is the principle involved after all. Waking up a little bit more, I seem to be sitting on a wooden back chair, the type with spindles at the back joined together a the top with a solid piece of wood. And my hands are bound behind my back, under the seat, between the legs. And speaking of legs, I think someone has definitely sprained my left ankle because it is killing me slowly. ¡°Argh, BASTARD!¡± ¡°Sounds like someone is awake at last. And to think a bad boy like you dropped from the little love tap I gave you. Your momma must be so proud.¡± I can¡¯t see who is talking, the voice is coming from around my back, in one of my blindspots, even though I am craning my neck as much as possible. ¡°What do you want? And why the FUCK did you punch me?¡± I asked in a very calm and reasonable voice, a tone of polite civility issuing forth. Okay, you got me, I was absolutely livid and unwilling to moderate myself, even with the dangers so evident. With the sound of *Plink*ing droplets of water echoing down from the ceiling onto the bare cement floor, with rusty pipes decorating the edges, I could clearly hear the small sound of a barely suppressed chuckle from my captor. It had the quality of coming from a six foot 2, a hugely barrel-chested man with very large biceps. ¡°You know why you are here, little worm. You tried to kill the boss, and the boss doesn¡¯t like it when people try to kill him. So here you are. Confess, and I will make your ending swift and relatively painless. Lie to me, and I will get down to brass tacks and make you confess. Trust me, I am very good at what I do.¡± Shit, what do I do? It¡¯s not like I can die, but I don¡¯t want to spend the eternity in the white room bored off my ass. And I won¡¯t get any additional stats. I will be starting from scratch. Not that I have made any great progress so far, but I don¡¯t want a bounty on my head, being killed over and over, and spending even greater eternities in the white waiting room. Although, I really do want to get to know the intricacies of the field of torture. NOT. But maybe if I can hold out long enough, I could get some interesting locked skills, escape, train, get revenge for the misunderstanding, and eliminate anybody who could possibly place a bounty. ¡°Why on earth do you think that it was me of tried to kill this ¡®Boss¡¯ bloke? I¡¯ve only just arrived in America, I have barely had enough time to get some sleep, let alone trying to introduce another to the big dudes up there, or even old scratch.¡± ¡°We KNOW because we have a sketch from a witness of your ugly mug. Plus we tailed you to the motel. You are the only one in there that matches the description. Plus, you look like a tosspot who would try to kill the boss for a mere $5,000. Yes, we know who placed the hit, and we have taken very good care of him. Unfortunately, before we could have him identify you in person, he accidentally on purpose tripped and hit his head on a chair and died. No matter, I know that I have the right person. So, what do have to say for yourself?¡± Well, for starters, fuck you. Secondly, I am still thinking of what to say to the outrageous accusation. The trouble is, no matter what I tell him, he won¡¯t believe me, for he is a true believer in his own superiority. And if there is truly such a thing as insanity, it is trying to convince a Zealot that they are wrong, no matter the facts presented. And I wonder who this ¡®Boss¡¯ person is. I don¡¯t know how long I kept up this train of thought, but apparently, it was enough to convince Mr Z that I was going to take the hard way out. ¡°Okay tough guy. Your decision. All you have to do to make the pain stop is to say ¡®I did it mister nice man¡¯, and we will be done here. Well, I will be done, you¡¯ll be dead.¡± ¡­ What followed, I am not sure if you want to know, but seeing as I have to go through this, you can join me. After all, misery loves company. The first thing Mr Z did was press a rag against my mouth and pinch my nostrils, making me take great lungfuls of whatever the rag was coated in, probably chloroform, it being the classic after all.
My next conscious thought registered that I was now again naked, sat in a very solid-seeming metal chair, but with metal restraints strapped around my upper forearm, just below the elbow and around my wrists, with a chain connected, hanging down from the ceiling. My legs are also restrained just below my knee and ankles to the chair legs. My mouth is being kept open with an O-ring with a metal strap behind my head, digging painfully into my cheeks. My second thought was that I was in my own bondage film/dream, and all that was needed was for my sexy, leather-clad mistress to show up and tell me that ¡®You have been a bad, bad boy and need to be punished¡¯ in a sultry commanding voice, whilst holding a flogger with a finger brushing her lip. Unfortunately, my mistress was on vacation, and her substitute was not appealing at all. In stepped Mr Z instead. Mr Z was indeed a small giant of a man, but only six feet tall, but shaped like a shit brick house. And he was naked too. What the hell is with the nudity? I am starting to think that I am in a Gay Bondage episode instead. ¡°Well, maggot, last chance to tell me the truth... No? Oh well, time to get down to business. I love this part. First, the itinerary of tonight''s performance. We will start with a limb dismemberment, followed by some light flaying, with some substances rubbed in the heighten the experience and to stop any infections from setting in. ¡°Next we move onto the acid etching, tattooing your body to tell the tale of your failure with the indelible ink of suffering. Then we have so rats who I will later introduce to nibble on some of your more personal extremities. If you still wish to remain silent, which I highly doubt, then I will start to take this session seriously. ¡°If by the end of tonight, you have not broken, then I will not kill you. No, no. Death you be too good for the likes of you. Instead, a surgeon will be brought in, to remove your arms, legs, eyes, ears, nose, teeth and any other sensory organ. Then he will connect life-giving instruments up to your dismembered body, where you will spend the rest of your life as little more that a lump of meat as an example. ¡°So, last chance!¡± I really wish he would get on with it, theatrical bitch-face bastard. Suddenly, inspiration strikes. I hack up some phlegm and spit in his face. There, that we show him not to mess with me. ¡°Very well, let''s begin.¡±
I think 30 minutes or so passed and I was now missing my right index and pinky finger and my left thumb and middle finger. He had also removed my fingernails with pliers and dribbled some kind of acid onto my genitals. I feel no shame in admitting that I screamed like a little bitch and am now crying my eyes out. It HURT. A lot. Mr Z wasn¡¯t smiling or laughing, sneering or wearing any expression at all like this was business as usual and he was having a cup of tea with his colleagues. I think that was the worst part. It might have been easier to deal with if I knew that Mr Z was a monster who enjoyed his work. But he was a machine, cutting, ripping, tearing, removing pieces of me. And when he looked at me, I could see in his eyes that I wasn¡¯t a person anymore, just an object which wasn¡¯t behaving as it should, and he was the mechanic that was fixing me.Stolen story; please report. I tried screaming at him that I wasn¡¯t the person he was looking for, that someone had made a mistake. Mr Z took no notice. When he had brought out the acid, I told him that I was the one who tried to kill his boss. He stopped, looked into my eyes and asked ¡®How?¡¯. I told him, ¡°I used a silenced pistol, and tried to shoot him in his hotel room¡±. Mr Z snorted and went straight back to work. I tried every conceivable story I could think of, but Mr Z kept on going. I don¡¯t he cared anymore. He knew I was guilty, he was going to enact his vengeance. I checked my health bar: 5/20. Fuck! How can I suffer this much damage and still have 5 health? But then again, nothing this guy was going was actually fatal, unless he managed to fuck it up and let me bleed to death, or something along those lines. This fucking sucks donkey ball! *Sniff*
More time and torture passed, and I am missing quite a bit of my skin now. A little while ago I had fallen into some kind of stupor, I could no longer feel the pain of my demise. But a weird sensation has started, a type of peace, a corner of my mind where pain cannot enter. ¡°Fuck, I think it¡¯s time to take a break. Take five minutes kid, when I come back, nap time is going to be over,¡± Mr Z whispered into my ear. He must have thought I had passed out. But maybe I was passing through to somewhere else. Or maybe falling, as it seemed to be beyond my conscious control. As I fell into this corner, I could recognise the damage being done, but it was an analytical knowledge, just statistics and facts, no feelings or emotions, a perfect state of calm, an endless moment of Zen. Congratulations! You have achieved a hidden skill. For enduring enormous stress, surviving and finding your centre, you have earned the skill: Battle Meditation. Battle Meditation allows the user to disable pain and emotional signals, entering a Zen state. Only available in times of stress. Increasing this skill will give additional benefits and be available outside of battle conditions. On activation : Pain Resistance : 100 %, Mental Resistance : 100%, Perception of time slowed : 50% Healing Regen : +10% Stamina : +50% Congratulations! For earning a hidden skill whilst below Level 10: X 3 Levels Current Level : 5 +3 to all attributes Health, Mana and Stamina have been restored from the special action! Well, fuck me sideways. And all I had to endure whilst a bit of light bondage. Suddenly I could feel strength surging through my body. I could feel my body fixing my wounds, and with a jolt, I lost my zone of concentration and fell out of my meditation. Pain suffused my mind as my body rapidly grew new skin, fingers grew back and my balls, well, they stopped trying to crawl up into my stomach. At least I now know why Mr Z was naked from the get go. It appears I had both pissed and shit myself during my extended vacation. Being O¡¯natural was probably a practical concern, although maybe he had thought of the psychological nature his el flagerante stance spoke of. Unfortunately, I think that I am going to have to take a little nap now, the pain, well, I am kind of a wuss, so here goes me, bye bye.
I don¡¯t know how long I have been out for, but it has to have been less than five minutes, seeing as how Mr Z still hasn¡¯t come back. Or maybe it is a tactic that he is using. Tell me he will be five minutes, he takes 30, but when he comes back, he will tell me that my five minutes are up, lulling me into the false sense of misery that my mind is just torturing me for the hell of it. I think that I am starting to babble now. Tell to make a game plan. Since I am now level five, the extra stat gains have to mean something. I should be stronger, faster, smarter and some other things I am sure. I have to escape, otherwise, when Mr Z comes back in, he will see that I have healed myself, and I don¡¯t know what he will do then. And I don¡¯t fancy finding out. First, let me try to break these metal cuffs. *Creak* Well, either I am not that strong even with the stat boosts, or these metal cuffs are the real deal and not some knockoffs. Plus the fact, that with the way my arms are bound, I don¡¯t have to greatest leverage. I did feel some give to the bindings, but it I imagine it would take a fair while to get them to the point of breaking. I try the same for the leg cuffs. *creak* Even worse, they hardly flex at all. So, looks like I am going to have to try the old ruse trickery. I think I can re-enter the meditation thingy (technical term, I know) so maybe it will make him think that I am still unconscious and maybe he will make a mistake. So I sit still, in my own shit that still lies on the chair, close my eyes and imagine myself falling into my safe space, the place where my worries and fears and pain disappear, leaving me in total control. Nope, not working. I open my eyes to cast about for inspiration. Thinking about it again, the skill did say something about stress (well, enormous stress, but who¡¯s counting), so maybe I have to give myself a reason. Again, I close my eyes, but this time, I imagine Mr Z coming back into the room, his massive schlong swinging like a pendulum between his legs, hung like a horse would be an insult to his¡­ no, not going there with Mr Z. I imagine that as he is coming back in, he starts laughing with that low chuckle of his, he walks around to my field of view and picks up a scalpel hanging on one of the walls. That seems to have done the trick, and I am so not going to tell you what I was hoping¡­ ahem, no dreading that he was going to do to me. Pain, lots of pain. This time, instead of falling, it feels like pulling a warm blanket around my mind, cuddling into its warm embrace. Maybe the difference in sensations comes from the willingness of activating the skill. Funny, usually there is some cost to use skills, like mana or stamina, or in rare cases like blood magic, health. But so far, there doesn¡¯t seem to be a cost. Maybe because so far, Meditation is more of a mental state, and the other two are two things we all do, so is naturally tied into stamina. Anyway, concentrating, I can feel my awareness of my body in its entirety, and although I don¡¯t have a complete minuscule, to the atom, control, I do feel like I have a more conscious connection to it. I try again to break my shackles. *Groan* *Creek. Definite improvement, now that I don¡¯t have to deal with the agony of my flesh ripping and bones on the verge of breaking. Maybe this meditation isn¡¯t so great as I initially thought. I still have to deal with the consequences of going beyond my natural limits. And with my pain receptors off, breaking myself will become that much easier, and if I tear ligaments and tendons, then no amount of willpower will be useful in moving limbs that can¡¯t send or receive signals. Two edged sword. Gotta be careful. Shit, I think I can hear Mr Z coming back, those are definite footfalls coming from outside this room. Taking a few seconds to calm my racing heart, I let my body go absolutely limp, boneless like I am still unconscious, but I keep my eyes slitted, barely enough to see with. Play for time. The bastard is fucking whistling, a jaunty happy tune. Mother¡­ no, stay calm, play dead. I can hear a door behind me open, a couple of more steps, then the door closes with a soft bang. The footsteps are coming from behind around to my right, gently and calmly like he has all the time till he dies of old age. Well, not if I have anything to do with it, he won¡¯t be leaving this room alive. A shadow falls on my face, I think he is standing before me now. Seconds pass, which then becomes a minute as far as I can tell. I can hear his breathing; slow, but deep, like it is filled with anticipation, wanting to get on with his work. I can hear his breathing come nearer to my face, like he is trying to see if I am still unconscious. Now or never, this is probably going to be the one and only chance to escape. Waiting, as what feels like eternities pass, his head comes nearer to my slumped one. I can feel his breath blowing into my ear canal. Focusing everything I have, every last shred of strength, of speed, of will, I launch my head forwards, with my mouth open. Luckily, I latch onto his left artery in his neck. And I bite down, hard. I dig my teeth in with a slight sawing motion, like when you are trying to tear off a piece of particular dried out beef with your incisors. And a split second later I can hear this massive shout, vibrating down Mr Z jaw, to his neck, through my attached mouth and into my ears. It kind of hurts, like a deep, deep bass that bypasses the sound waves to appear directly in your mind. He was trying to pull away, whipping his arms forwards trying to gain some leverage, maybe to pry my jaws off. But then, I can feel this hot and delicious liquid surge into my mouth, coating my throat, chest, face and dangly bits. And it feels and tastes fantastic. So fantastic in fact, that I wrench my jaw open and immediately vomit a geyser of blood and some flesh onto the floor. Fortunately, this seems to have caused an irreparable amount of damage, as his neck is spurting blood ten feet into the air. Mr Z is trying to stem the blood loss with his hands wrapped around the wound, but it doesn¡¯t seem to be helping, as small spurts are still coming from between his fingers. Slowly, but surely, Mr Z drops to his knees, and looks at me. And I can see the fear in his eyes, he is begging me to help him. But I take this opportunity to just smile at him, shrug, and gesture with my chin to my bound arms, as if to say, ¡°I¡¯m all tied up at the moment, no can do.¡± Seconds more pass, and finally he collapses to fully prone. No more blood is coming from his neck in gushes, just a spreading pool, which happens to be pooling around my feet. I feel really icky. I am so going to need to shower, and maybe disinfect myself with bleach, or maybe an acid bath. *Shudder*. I start to shake, again losing my meditation state. The shaking feels like it is starting to go into full-time seizures, but not quite. I don¡¯t know how much time has now passed, but it feels like it is enough that if any guards were coming from hearing Mr Z final death kneel, they should have been here by now. Congratulations! You have killed your first sentient! Level Up. Your current level is now : 6 +1 to all attributes. +5000 exp. For your first kill, please select your first combat skill you would like to unlock: Dagger Mastery Blunt Mastery Blade Mastery Bow Mastery Staff Mastery Well, as least I got something from my efforts.
Name Dude Guild N/A
Race Human (Default) Affiliation N/A
Gender Male (Barely) Disposition Exhausted
Age 23 Years Level 6
Alignment N/A Experience Locked
Strength 6 (Base 1) Wisdom 6 (Base 1)
Endurance 6 (Base 1) Charisma 6 (Base 1)
Dexterity 6 (Base 1) Luck 6 (Base 1)
Agility 6 (Base 1) Mental Fortitude 100
Intelligence 6 (Base 1) Character Points 6000
Balance - 130/1000 Novice Tier Sneak - 0/1000 Novice Tier Battle Meditation-300/1000 Amateur Tier To Level up to Level 6, either Kill 2 Sentients, Steal $100 worth of loot, Unlock a total of 5 skills or Level Up 5 Skills to Novice Tier. [Original] - Chapter07 Chapter Six - Walking In Another Man''s Shoes Is Not A Great Experience *plink* ¡­*plink* ¡­*Grunt* *plink* *plink* *plink* ¡­*plink* ¡­*plink* ¡­¡­ *Groan* *plink* ¡­*plink* .. *plink* ¡­*plink* *Eeek* *Snap* *Bang* *Clank* Finally managed to break the fucking manacles binding my hands overhead. Rubbing my wrists to massage the ache and pain away and trying to restore some circulation. Sitting down, I take a few minutes before working on my leg bindings. And it only took me an hour or so. I am only guesstimating that using the timing of the *plink* of the water based on a single *plink* per second. Really, what is with all the metal furniture, pain and bloody knives. I swear, it¡¯s like living in a novel with a totally sick and deranged author who likes the S&M scene a little too much. Sitting there, I am starting to seriously wonder how the hell the health and stamina system works. For the entire length of my pampered vacation here, not once did my health drop below the five mark. It can¡¯t be that it only registers hits taken, as I suffered more than enough to drop my health to zero and initiate a respawn. I think that it only records hits and damage taken to a set proportional point where it changes conditions to register only potentially fatal wounds. Mr Z inflicted a lot of damage, but nothing fatal. Maybe if he had left the wounds as they were, maybe I could have caught some infection, gangrene could have set in. If I was left to wallow in my own faeces, then I could have developed sores and later complications. Turns out Mr Z really did know what he was doing. He was in complete control the entire time, well, until the end he was. Everybody is entitled to making the odd stupid and fatal mistake every now and then. The most important thing is that you learn from it and continue to grow. That is, unless your dead. At the five-point mark, it did feel like I had lost all my remaining strength and endurance to fight back, so maybe the points work on the basis that up until the critical failure point, I am still able to fight and go on, like a notification, but at a certain point, I have to heal myself as I will be the equivalent of a drunk date (limp and useless). As for stamina, I have yet to see that drop a single point. In games, all actions that require movement of some kind, no matter how minor, uses up stamina points unless the regen is greater that the drain. But here, now, for me, stamina seems to be on the fritz. Hmm. Maybe. Maybe stamina acts in the opposite way of the health bar. Maybe it only starts to register until I reach a natural point where I am stretching myself, pushing myself beyond what I am currently capable of. Maybe it only comes into play when I am trying some new skill or ability or exercise that pushes the status quo. It could like be a body builder who is using familiar weights for simple muscle warming up exercises. He is not pushing himself to be stronger, but to just limber up. It is only when he starts using the more serious personal weights that he starts to push himself. And stamina would measure the time limit until the weight starts to have an adverse effect on his body before he has to stop and rest and let his body recover. He wouldn¡¯t use up stamina simply walking a relatively short distance at a relatively average speed. Stamina will be used on either an extended trip or if he starts to jog or run when he is only used to walking. It makes some sense if it works like that. With my only two physical skills so far, Balance is something that we naturally have and wouldn¡¯t use stamina unless I was trying to use it in an unfamiliar situation like tightrope walking. Sneak would only take up stamina if I was using it for a long time, as so far it only relies on the careful placement of my body. Hmmm. Interesting if it is true. Of course, it is entirely possible that I am as dumb as a box of rocks and my limited brain capacity will never be able to figure it out, like math. What is math? What is two plus two? Is it fish or maybe rock, or infinity? Please tell me. Mrs Harman, my math teacher, is a really hot granny who I so want to impress, her knickers would look so nice on a heap on my bedroom floor. As always, YOU DECIDE! I think that is enough time deliberating the state of my life, let¡¯s get to work on breaking these bonds so I can get out of this, palace. Looking down, I can¡¯t see any obvious locks or clasps and these rings are not giving me any wiggle room in order to loosen the shackles. Placing my hands on the chair, I slowly explore down the legs. Hmmm. It feels like a simple bolt or nail that is holding the clasp closed. Gently easing the bolt/nail up, it finally comes loose, and relief of all reliefs, the bands finally swing open. God, people think heaven is so far away, but I can tell you that if you experience a tightness anywhere on or in your body for long periods of time and they finally loosen, that is heaven right there. Like a morning shit, you feel literally ten pounds lighter. Just one more set to go, and there, the last bolt slides free, and so too am I, free that is. I don¡¯t know how to describe how good this feels, Like, imagine that you have been sitting at your desk all day, and you want to stand up, but then your psychotic co-worker points a gun at your head and tells you that if you stand up, that will be the last thing that you¡¯ll do. It¡¯s nothing like that at all. Gently standing up, I take a few more minutes to walk around the chair stretching my abused muscles, trying to get some semblance of feeling back into them. At first, I almost collapse, my calfs giving way underneath me, but that is why I keep a tight grip on the chair at all times. Eventually, normalcy does return. Behind me stands a metal doorway, with a heavy duty steel-like door, with a handle like you get on walk-in freezer doors. Pushing it open, a brick-lined hallway stands before me, with more pipes leading outwards and at the far end, I can see a door, but this time one with light leaking around the edges. The highest priority is to get some clothing, as I don¡¯t want to traumatise some passing kids, get done for public nudity and be placed on the Sexual Offender Register. I have enough troubles at it is. Walking down the corridor, there is another room to my left, about 3-4 metres away from my private cell. Opening the door, a shit stinking cloud of miasma slams into my face, making me retch, but bringing nothing up. Yep, really glad I haven¡¯t eaten anything so far. Waiting for the smell to pass, I look up, and there I see what appears to be a dead body sitting in a chair just like mine. Fucking thieves. No respect these days. It appears to be a male, but without the dangly bits, and it¡¯s torso completely mangled and missing whole swaths of skin, I can¡¯t be absolutely sure, bit it is definitely muscled enough to be a guy. Looks like I wasn¡¯t the only one that Mr Z was entertaining. I know, master of the obvious, but I like the inner monologue, helps me stay sane sometimes. Stepping into the room, I see a surgical table on wheels holding a variety of either surgical tools or torture paraphernalia. There are saws, scalpels, electrical thingamabobs that look like the things that morticians use to open up chest cavities and slice off ribs. *Shudder*. I am trying my best to not think of what they are used for in this context, but my mind is so totally morbid. I think I need a lobotomy to erase these images in my mind. *Shudder*. But helpfully, there is a big ass knife, almost long enough to be a short sword. It¡¯s about as long as my forearm, about half an inch thick, with a serrated edge on one side and an extremely sharp and smooth blade on the other, coming up to a wicked point. I think I¡¯m starting to drool with desire.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Stepping in, I reach over and pick Mr Stabby up. Congratulations! You have selected Dagger Mastery. Dagger Mastery ¨C As you gain proficiency, you will gain bonus¡¯s when wielding a dagger. At lower levels of this skill, you will be given tutorials on how best to wield this weapon. Dagger Mastery : 0/1000 ¨C Beginner Tier Your dagger has now been moved to your inventory. Please equip to use. Cool. Watch out Mr Boss, because before you know it, I will be sneaking up behind your ass and shanking you right in the neck. Booyah. I think that I am starting to feel some jonesing to unlock other skills now. This is so addictive. Opening up my inventory, I see the equip menu pop up with the grid listing of my available items. On one of the square boxes, I can see the dagger. Concentrating on it, a submenu pops up: Dagger ¨C Unknown Make Quality ¨C Excellent Condition ¨C 230/250 Enchantments ¨C None Requirements ¨C None Owner ¨C Dude Odd, another thing that is missing from the usual. No damage information. Maybe it is determined by how I use it, where I strike my target and the condition of the weapon. It kind of makes sense. Rather than saying that it does like 100 damage, it would instantly kill my target if I shoved it up under their palette and into their brain. So rather than just being arbitrary, it uses real life damage modifiers. After all, a blunt ass knife would be more useful as a blackjack rather than a cutting instrument. Aww. I¡¯ve got to use some common sense. So boring. And it¡¯s not asking me if I want to equip. So useless. Concentrating, I imagine dragging the knife onto the mannequin on the right of the screen and letting it settle into my left hand. And suddenly, like a veil has been parted, a brief swirl of light encompasses my left hand, and then I am holding the dagger. Yes! Closing the inventory, I inspect the knife. Beautiful. And it seems I can freely switch the knife from hand to hand, place it back onto the tray, and pick it back up with the notification screen popping up telling me it has been moved back into my inventory. I wonder if this means that nobody else is able to use it. Or how would I abandon the knife, or trade it away? Do you wish to unbind Unknown Dagger? Yes / No Well, that solves that mystery. Choosing No, and store in back in my inventory. I can figure the mechanics out later, for now, I need to find some clothing, and maybe some water to clean up. Healing doesn¡¯t eliminate the mess left over from the initial wounds. Exiting the room, I continue to explore. A few more rooms like the previous are present both on the left of me and the right of me. I open the final doorway to my right before the ¡®Exit¡¯, only to find a changing room. To the left is a series of walk-in showers, bathroom sinks and mirrors above each set of taps. To the right are various shelves, containing towels, hairdryers and a massive assortment of clothes, all arranged according to size. There are underwear garments, jeans, chinos, shorts, t-shirts, shirts, jumpers and finally shoes. This must be where Mr Z and presumably other colleagues of his come to change. And to the extreme left, almost hidden by the wall, is a large hole in the floor with a plaque above reading: ¡°Please place of clothing in the disposal chute when entering this facility.¡± Well, that explains that. It must be a forensic countermeasure. No possibility of tracking blood from the prisoners and other DNA evidence into the outside world when they are finished off. Efficient, I kind of like it. Stepping into the shower, I finally manage to get myself clean. And it is glorious. I spend the full twenty minutes washing my hair and body, using some surprisingly, pleasantly surprised that is, feminine shower washes. After I am done, I step out and proceed to the sinks. There are tooth brushes and paste, with handwash. Weirdly, looking around, I can¡¯t see any sign of any toilets. I don¡¯t want to know, and I don¡¯t need to go. I give myself a vigorous brushing out, I need to eliminate that awful odour from that first room I found. Luckily the others were empty and clean, but with similar setups. And I don¡¯t want to know how much activity this facility needs to see to need so many rooms. Finishing with my teeth, I rinse my mouth and check to mirror to see if I have missed any of the toothpaste. And maybe to preen a little. Everyone has got a vain streak in them, no matter how small, and I know that you know that I know that you think I¡¯m hot. ¡°What the FUCK!¡± I jerk back, and heart immediately kicks into high gear, pounding away like a sledgehammer. Looking back at me is a face that is totally unfamiliar to me. Where before in my first and normal life I was brown haired, down to my shoulders with faint blond streaks, deep green eyes with flecks of pale-ish blue, with a smooth although longish face with thin lips and small ears, what looked back at me was something totally different, alien almost. Now I am wearing the face of an almost chubby little fuck, with podgy cheeks, bulbous lips, high forehead with thick blond hair, the colour of flaxen wheat. You know, dirty blond. I don¡¯t seem to have a speck of facial hair anywhere, which is unusual, as I couldn¡¯t take a day not shaving without hair sprouting thick and proud. There was this one time when I was eighteen, I sported a beard all the way down to my pecks, all rights, moobs. But it was impressive, especially for it¡¯s food retention properties. But then a friend convinced me to shave it, saying that I looked like a homeless bum. And I haven¡¯t looked back. Also, this body is not so finely tuned either. All in all, this is scaring the shit out of me, like I can feel the shit trying to leave my body, but held back only in thanks to my excellent sphincter control. Forcing myself to calm down, I step back to the mirror, and run my hands around my new body, trying to get a ¡®Feel¡¯ for it. And I have to say, that under the slightly chubby exterior, I can feel some impressive muscles that I had been yearning for before my ascension. I had tried for years to put on muscle mass, but unfortunately, I had one of those bodies that couldn¡¯t gain an ounce. I can feel your hateful glares from here, but it isn¡¯t as good as you think in is. Sure, I could eat whatever the fuck I liked. Doughnuts, crisps, cakes, McBonnets every single night, and not a added pound to be found. But it also meant that I couldn¡¯t put on any muscle mass either, and I didn¡¯t like my body all that much. My doctors kept on telling me that I had to put on more weight, that I was grossly underweight for my age and height. That is was borderline anorexic. But it didn¡¯t seem to compute to them when I all but shouted into his face that no matter the crap I ate, I couldn¡¯t gain the weight. Maybe now with this body, that will no longer be true. I have a theory. Maybe when I re-incarnated, I didn¡¯t reincarnate into a newly grown version of my body. Maybe I came back in a dead man¡¯s body. That would explain why I was snatched and grabbed from the motel room, why I was the only person to fit the description of the man that tried to kill ¡®The Boss¡¯. Fuck, another reason not to die again. What if I come back in a woman''s body next time? Sure, the opportunity to explore the finer sex¡¯ danglies and hairies would be great, but not being able to piss whilst standing up? I¡¯m not sure if the tradeoff would be worth it. Not to mention menstrual cycles. And having to dress up with some semblance of fashion, and makeup. Nope. If I come back as a woman, I¡¯ll just keep killing myself till I get a bloke''s body. I¡¯m not sexist, I¡¯m just lazy. And what about when I finally manage to get back home? My mum and sister won¡¯t recognise me. Fuck! No, those are not tears, it¡¯s just that I have allergies. Or this new body has allergies. Taking a few minutes to centre myself again, I force myself away from those thoughts. I will just have to cross the bridge when I come to it. Maybe if eventually, I can learn Illusion magic, I could present my old self to my now distant family. But that is for a later time. Time to get stronger, smarter and meaner. Throwing the towel and toothbrushes down the disposal chute, I cross over to the clothing side of the room. I start to go through some new selection of underwear, unsure what will fit my new body. Fuck, I¡¯m crying again. Pull yourself together fuckwit. Eventually, I find a pair that fits. 40 large. Fat fuck. And so now getting dressed, I choose a pair of dark blue denim jean, with a white shirt and smart black shoes, with odd socks. I don¡¯t know what it is with the odd socks, but ever since I can remember, I have always worn odd and unmatching socks, if for no small part of that it annoyed my mother something crazy. She is a bit of a neat freak. *Sniff*. Pansy. Now armed, and finally dressed and prepared for the world, I step outside of the changing rooms, with a leather jacket stored in my inventory with several changes of clothing as well, just in case, I exit the changing room, a step in front of the door to the big wide world, prepared to embrace my destiny. [Original] - Chapter08 Chapter Seven - To Hunt Or Not To Hunt, That Is The Challange Opening the door, I step out into my new home city, New York, New York. I always though it was a bit bizarre that Americans would name both the state and the city the same. Oh well, not every nation can be as intelligent and original as us brits. Even though everything about us is nicked from nearly every single nation, ethnicity and language the world over. We are the ultimate expression of multi-cultural diversity. Our country has been raped by some many other countries and nations, that we have forgotten what our ancestors used to look like. America, though, went the other way. It decided to massacre and commit genocide on the native population and replace it with a pre-defined selection of mankind and call in Civilisation, like it is something unique and special, and not something built on the graves of so many innocents. So there, the UK is way superior to America. Even though we commenced on world domination and liked to institute slavery just for giggles, and we liked to but orphan children to good use in the mills. And we loved the idea of torture, cutting the hands off of thieves who stole bread just to continue surviving. Ah, the good old days. What was I saying? Oh yeah, New York. And when I stepped out onto the kerbside, I had to shield my eyes, and the bastard Sun chose the exact moment to glare down into my eyes specifically because it¡¯s a hateful dick. When I finally managed to lower my hand, after I had walked off and hid behind a particularly tall building, I finally managed to take in my surroundings. Just a few feet away lies the door to ¡®The Facility¡¯, which I have now dubbed as so shall forever be known to all mankind. Yeah, I get to name stuff now, I gave myself that power, and all shall bow down before my awesome might. It¡¯s a plain and unassuming building, one among hundreds of others, in no way standing out. Or maybe it is standing out for its ability to be nothing special, like all the other shops and apartments and other building all along this thoroughfare has its own individual characteristics. Although it does seem to nobody is paying any attention to it whatsoever. We do seem to be trained to ignore the plain and quiet, to just shove it to one side as being unimportant. Looking around, trying to decide what I should do next, I spot an interesting sight. There, across the street from the facility and a little further on to the right of the building is a small caf¨¦ ¡®Martha¡¯s Coffeehouse¡¯, a bald headed guy in a nice suit and overcoat is sitting at one of the tables reading a newspaper. Although looking closely, I can see that his eyes are not moving as they are reading, but like they are barely scanning the top of the paper, keeping an eye on the front door of the facility, with very occasional glances over to me. Without my heightened perception, I don¡¯t think I would have noticed. Eh. Weird how I didn¡¯t notice the difference from the additional stat points until just now. Looks like they do make a difference. I can¡¯t wait till I level them really high, I wonder what I will be able to do then. *Drool*. And do you know what? I must admit to some doubt on my part of infiltrating the underworld, and of finding the boss. Raised as I was, I had no real contact with any criminal elements, I was never in trouble with the police, hell, I didn¡¯t even know how to approach someone to buy pot. My original plan was just to create so much chaos, that eventually I would draw the criminals out then take over their operation, then continue from there. I know, sounds like a lot of work. Personally, I would have probably quit and just joined the Heroes. They at least will give me basic training and tutorials. Now I have to make a choice. Do I sneak over there, shove the blade into baldy¡¯s side, and threaten him to give up ¡®The Boss¡¯s¡¯ location and hope to hell he doesn¡¯t have advanced training or that he doesn¡¯t have backup, or do I leave, and observe him from a distance and try to track him. Hmm. Before finding myself in this new body, I would have been across the street and making him look like a shishkabob in a heartbeat, but now, I¡¯m not so sure. Finally, I make the logical choice (Yeah, yeah, I know), decide to go hide and track my quarry. If he does have backup, he will send them after me, and I can set an ambush for them. So decided, I wait until his eyes leave the building to make a routine sweep of the newspaper, and to begin to turn the page, I turn into the alley to my left, and make my way deeper into the turns to get closer. There, just a few turns later, I spot a ladder, leading up to a set of stairs leading up to the roof, the trouble is, the ladder is about ten feet off the ground, probably kept that way to stop people like me from spying into the apartments they lead to. Positioning myself, it¡¯s time to test how strong I really am. Before I would not have made this kind of jump, probably not even with a springboard, maybe with a trampoline, but that is just wishful thinking. Bunching myself down, coiling my muscles for this superhuman feat of acrobatics, concentrating on grabbing the ladder on reaching the target height, I launch myself up. Guess what, still a klutz. I banged my fucking head right on the bottom rung. It is really hard to judge distances straight up. And it really did hurt a lot, it¡¯s a right bitch to stop yourself from crying because you know that whilst it will help with dealing with the frustration, but if someone catches you crying, you think that they think that you¡¯re a little bitch and weak. A totally macho attitude, but it¡¯s hard to fight nature and social conventions sometimes. Maybe if I rent a new motel room later tonight, I can have a real bawl fest then. But I¡¯ve got work to do for now. Trying again, but positioning myself away from the ladder, this time I intend to launch myself up and forwards, to give myself a greater chance of success. It¡¯s much easier to judge the distance this time with a different perspective. And, JUMP! Wahoo, I made it. That was so badass, shame no-one saw it. Maybe later on, I¡¯ll get a video camera installed somewhere on me to record my awesomeness, and I¡¯ll charge extortionate prices for people to see the video, but pound them into the dirt if they reply that they haven¡¯t seen the video of my might. Fucking Cheapos. Can¡¯t spare a dollar for true inspiration. Climbing the rest of the way to the roof, I carefully sneak my way across to the edge and take a peep over. And down below, but a little bit to my left is Mr Baldy. But he is standing up now, the newspaper laying on the table forgotten. I can see a wire leading from his ear down into his shirt, like the mic¡¯s you see on police procedural shows sometimes. I know. Why hasn¡¯t some super tech invented the subdermal implants to eliminate this antiquated technologies? Because they be selfish blud. They hoard most of the more advanced techs for their organisation or for the elite military units. Can¡¯t give the plebs a leg up. Lucky for me though. Every little advantage helps at this point. He is speaking into his wrist, probably calling for that backup that I never saw. He is swivelling his head around, probably trying to get a bead on where I went, but he is not moving from his station. This tells me that he has some training at least, relying on his team rather than go running off. I can¡¯t make out exactly what he is saying, but it sounds urgent, so I am extrapolating the ongoing conversation. The chances are high that I¡¯m right. There, converging on his position are six other trench coat wearing bad guys. Well, they could be good guy police, staking out a possible meeting point for the criminals, but something, maybe my intuition, is telling me that they are very bad for my health. Whilst concentrating on these new players, focusing on trying to remember their faces, I feel a weird sensation. Like I am stretching an invisible hand out to one of the new ones. Tall, he looks like he is slightly over six feet, sandy brown hair cut in a military crewcut, with shades and a scar leading down from his right eyebrow, with a blue trenchcoat, I feel a connection suddenly snap into place. Congratulations! You have gained the Target Tracker Skill. Target Tracker ¨C Spend your mana to attach a link to your target, knowing where it is in relation to your position. Able to sense exact location in relation to the user. At closer distances, within 15 feet radius, able to see target outline through any obstruction. Maximum Distance : 500 Ft. Maximum Targets : 3 Mana Cost : 10 Duration : Indefinite ¨C Until target is either dead or outside skill range Target Tracker : 57/1000 ¨C Beginner Tier I so love my new life, this shit is so awesome. But my new highest priority is to find or make mana potions. It will take half of my current mana to tag three targets and like two days for the mana to fully regenerate naturally. Keeping an eye out, Mr Tall and boring takes up position next to Mr Baldy, each facing a different direction, but retaking their seats. Shit, ten mana wasted. But I did gain that new skill, finally, something that actually uses mana. Two of the seven strangers split to the right and the other three to the left, probably in search of me. Damn, too many. Concentrating on Mr Tall, I will the connection to disconnect, which it does so with an inaudible snap. Taking it slowly this time, I try to observe each of the teams. The ones going right are closest to the alley which I slipped into, although it is entirely possible that Team Lefty can enter from a different direction. The Lefties do indeed enter into the closest alley, but team member One stops at the entrance, taking up a guarding position, his hand hovering at his hip, shit, I think he has a gun. Fuck, they probably all do, gotta be careful, or menstrual cramps here I come. Member two is still venturing on though. I concentrate on Mr Stalker and manage to successfully tag him. Mana : 40/60 Scampering over to the other side of the roof, Team Righty are continuing down the sidewalks, with each member splitting off into each alley they come to. No need to target them as I gotta conserve the mana. I can sense Mr S(talker) slowly closing down on my position. Do I try to ambush Mr S and kill him, then one by one lure out the maybe professional killers and make them the prey? But what if they aren¡¯t part of Mr Z¡¯s operation, but a competitor, or police of some kind? And not to mention, PROFESSIONAL KILLERS! But I can¡¯t do nothing, I need information, and I need to make this fight happen on my terms, not theirs. Okay, let¡¯s try for a knockout takedown, then if I can deadlift Mr S and carry him back to the roof and interrogate him, that would probably be best. So then decided, I sneak back over to the set of stairs down, reach the final landing, but carefully and quietly lower the ladder. Bloody thing hasn¡¯t been oiled recently, if ever, as it is making a slight squeaking sound. I wonder if the sneak bonus of muffling sounds is having an effect? Scientific study later, serious stuff now. When the ladder finally reaches full extension, I creep down as quietly as I can and hide behind a nearby dumpster. Reaching into my inventory, I equip the dagger. Staying fully concealed, I rely on my new ability kicking in when Mr S is close enough that I will be able to make out his outline. 50 feet. 40, 30, finally 15, and suddenly, like a ghostly apparition, Mr S appears, fully hidden behind the dumpster. Hunkering down into a tight ball, with the dagger pointing down, ready, I can see Mr S suddenly stop. Shit, did I just make a sound? No, not me must be something else. Then a second later, a yowl rings out, and a black and white cat suddenly darts past my hiding place. Mr S must have spooked the poor kitty. Looking back at him, Mr S suddenly looks a lot less tense, although he now has his gun out. I don¡¯t know guns at all, as in Britain we are sensible, making guns illegal, thereby cutting down on the murder rates significantly. It looks like a 9mm or something similar to what police on tv shows have, Glock maybe. The detail is so fine, I can actually see him take a small breath, smile slightly, then re-holster his weapon. Sauntering like he has totally forgotten why he is in the alley, he walks with a relaxed gait right by my hiding place. Now or never Dude. Then a ghost image of me and Mr S appears. It is showing me how to take down Mr S with a punch to his temple with the hilt of the dagger, and a sense of tension is telling me to be ready to pounce. Fractions of a second seemingly pass agonisingly slowly, then, there. Go. I pounce, swinging the dagger just a Mr S has cleared the dumpster. Perfect knockout. Now I just have to lug his body up to the roof and hope to the high heavens that I haven¡¯t caused any serious damage to his brain, otherwise extracting the information is going to get messy.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Carrying a limp body is not actually all that hard. NOT. Bloody bugger kept on slipping off my shoulder, and it is even harder when climbing straight up. Need to get some rope for occasions such as these, the list continues. I solved the problem by taking one of the shirts in my inventory and ripping it into strips, which I tie around Mr S¡¯s left arm slung over my shoulder, connected to his right leg, next to my hip on the right. Even with the added stats to the strength modifier, it takes a lot out of me. When I reach the set of stairs, my stamina has been reduced to single digits. I am going to have to rest for a couple of minutes to let it get back to full to continue my climb. Bringing up the ladder to hopefully hinder any more goons from reaching my position too easily, I breathe a sigh of relief. Shit, black goatee Goon is coming in from the left, I am hoping to all that loves me that he doesn¡¯t look up. He¡¯s coming closer to my staircase. Yes, I have now claimed it as part of my new dominion. I push myself back and slightly behind the metal stairway, to better break up my image from below. Maybe the metal grating will help, rather than raise suspicions. Mr BG is now under the staircase, looking left and right, maybe is looking for Mr S. He raises his hand to his ear, tilts his head like he is trying to make out what is being said, then suddenly starts legging it. The weird thing is that they are totally silent whilst all of this is going on. Even Mr S, when I smacked him with my trusty dagger, which I am now going to call Billy, yes, Billy the Dagger is his name-o. I once read that it takes extraordinary discipline to stay silent like that. Not a lot of people are capable of staying quiet for so long. Now that my stamina has regened to full, I start the lugging again up the stairwell. The drain is not so bad this time, seeing that it isn¡¯t a straight climb up. Even so, two flights and I need to rest again. It takes about ten minutes to finally make it to the roof. Laying Mr S down on the gritted surface of the roof, I proceed to strip my prisoner. No, it is not that I want to lick his banana and have a play with his bouncies, I just need to take away any potential weapons. With the added benefit that when I question him, being in the buff will take away some of his confidence. Maybe I can suggest that if he doesn¡¯t give me what I want, then things will get Physical. With a capital F. Taking off his overcoat, I search through his pockets, but all I find are some sunglasses. I place these to the side. When I am done with the strip search, all of the items will be going into my inventory. Finders keepers, possession and law and all that. Want not. Maybe I can gain some levels if the items are worth enough. The overcoat goes to a pile behind me. As I have found out, spare clothing is a desirable thing indeed. Never know. With the removal of the overcoat, the gun and holster are revealed. This time, it¡¯s a revolver of some kind. I have no idea of the make or model. That it is a revolver is the current extent of my knowledge. This and the holster goes next to the sunglasses. Now the blue striped tie goes onto the clothing pile, followed swiftly by the shirt. Dude, this guy is so totally ripped. I might just have to keep him after all, break him to my will, and start a harem with this guy as the headliner. Dreaming for a second or two, I come back to the situation. Keep it in your pants. Just so you know, I am an equal opportunity lover. And I tend to have weird tastes. Like attraction to guys who are maybe trying to kill me. Go figure. Gently running my hands across his chest, I lightly tweak his nipples. Shit, I think he starting to come too. Taking the dagger back into my right hand, the ghost image appears again, this time with a vector of my arm rising and smacking into his other temple this time. This guide must operate according to my goals and aims. Useful. Hopefully, with more experience, it won¡¯t be so necessary, it is a little creepy after all. Raising my arm, something doesn¡¯t feel quite so right. Bringing my arm down back in front of my face, another ghost image appears, showing me that I am holding the dagger wrongly. Re-positioning my grip to mirror the ghost image, I then club Mr S back into oblivion. Searching through his trouser pockets, I don¡¯t find anything in his front pockets, but in his back pocket, next to a very tight ass, is his wallet. Opening it up, there is a driver licence. Apparently, his name is Benjamin Jenkins, or as his new nickname, BJ, age 32 from Virginia, Newberry Hill. Very appropriate. And oh goody, over a thousand bucks in hundred dollar notes. Jackpot. Immediate adding the loot to my inventory directly, I get so very appreciated news: Congratulations! You have reached Level 8 +2 to all stats. Requirements for next level: Kill 2 Sentients (0/2) ¨C Loot $1,000 (400/1000) ¨C Unlock 5 Skills (4/5) ¨C Upgrade 5 skills to Novice tier (3/5) Just two more levels before my milestone upgrade. Can¡¯t wait to find out what tasties I will be receiving. I¡¯m starting to get a little excited here. Calm down, if BJ wakes up to find a weapon of such immense size against his throat, then the interrogation won¡¯t start out on the best possible footing. Think of, I don¡¯t know, think of farts. Farts so aren¡¯t sexy, no they aren¡¯t. Fuck, I am the worst sort of pervert. Fine, then think of a gender re-assignment surgery where they cut open the penis and invert it. Yep, that does it in record time. It fact, it works so well, that it is trying it''s very best to climb back up into my stomach. Master of my own Body. That will be my new title when I reign supreme. The wallet contains some credit cards, and also a magnetic strip card, like an employee swipe card, but it¡¯s blank. Interesting. If this was a movie, the card to gain my entry to an ultra super secret high tech weapon manufacturing warehouse, with the armaments capable of destroying entire cities. And it would be my destiny to blow the aforesaid warehouse to smithereens. Well, sod that. If there are some MAD weapons, I will be stealing the shit out of the competition, then hold the world hostage for like, a bazillion pounds, with me as the overlord as all of humanity. But knowing my luck, a paltry 8 after all, it probably leads to some boring HR building with fuck all in it except for paper files about shop keepers. Taking off his trousers, they too go into the pile, leaving BJ in his boxer briefs, mud brown socks and black shoes. Well, saving the best for last, I take off the shoes and socks, toss them into the growing pile, and eye hungrily the briefs. Slowly, millimetre by millimetre, I inch the brief down. How disappointing. His junk is so small, a newborn would outsize him. Harem idea out of the window. Whipping the last garment off and over my shoulder, I get up and shove all of the pilfered items into my inventory. And with mounting frustration, looks like that just stealing items doesn¡¯t count as loot, looks like I have to sell them to make them count. That¡¯s strange, I can¡¯t find the mic or the radio this perp must have on him. Mr Baldy had one, so it stands to reason that BJ must have one too. Looks like I¡¯ll have to ask him when he wakes up. Maybe I missed something in his clothing. But searching through, I carefully inspect every stitch, but still no mic. Oh well, every new couple has their secrets, the thrill is finding them out, and making new secrets together. Kneeling back down, I am finally ready to get some answers. I was going to wake him up immediately, but I reign in my impetuousness. Taking out the partially destroyed shirt, I create some more strips, leaving me with a collar and two arms, useless, which I throw away. That makes eight strips. I turn BJ over onto his front and drag his arms behind him. Taking one strip, I proceed to tie it around his left arm, leaving a couple of loops free at his wrist, middle and top of the forearm. I also do this with the right arm as well. Then I take the third strip, I lace it into knots between the loops, binding the arms together into a binding that is virtually impossible to get out of. I have watched too many movies and read too many books of villains and heroes being tied up with rope at the wrists only to be so stupid. Reach the fingers into the knot, or saw a through the binding. With the knots I have just performed, even if he did reach and undo the first knot, he wouldn¡¯t be able to reach the middle and to binding. I copy the same onto his legs leaving two strips. One goes over his eyes, so if I do decide to employ some force interrogation methods, he can¡¯t tense up to reduce the impact, nor can he try to avoid the blow. The last, I tie a ball knot into the middle a few times, then wrap it around his throat. If I need to, I can tighten the strip with the ball pressing into his trachea, shutting off his breathing. Crude but effective. In theory anyway. Time to test the hypothesis. Propping him, so he sits up against the edge of the ledge, I bring back my right fist and punch him as hard as I can into his precious place. This has the helpful effect of relieving some pent up frustration from my destroyed fantasy and also cause BJ to regain consciousness with prejudice. He opens his mouth like he is going to shout out, I try to clamp my hand over his mouth. But instead of a scream or a shout, he vomits right over my hand and into his lap. Gross. I start to gag, but I manage to stop myself. Goblets of food stick to my hand. I shake them off. Maybe punching him there wasn¡¯t such a great idea after all. BJ starts to moan pitifully. I sympathise, I really do. But I have a job to do. I¡¯m going to need a shower after this. Several. He takes several panting breaths, gasps, and takes one huge breath in, holds it and releases. Then he just sits there quietly, not saying anything, not asking any questions. Totally compliant. ¡°BJ, BJ, BJ. You are in a real sorry state. Look, I know that you and your colleagues were watching the facility where Mr Z was holding me. I just need to know who ¡®The Boss¡¯ is and where I can find him, who you are working for ¨C if you are not, in fact, working for ¡®The Boss¡¯ - and where the card in your wallet allow access to is.¡± And I ask all this in a polite and light tone like this is just a big misunderstanding, and that if he tells me what I need to know, then we can all go on our merry way. Of cause, I intend to kill him after this, which he probably knows. I can¡¯t take the chance that he won¡¯t seek retaliation for the pain and humiliation that I have caused him. He remains quiet, just quietly breathing, in and out, in and out. Not even a rank and serial number. ¡°Look BJ, since you aren¡¯t telling me what I want to know, this is how it is going to go. First I am going to gag you. Then I am going to spend exactly five minutes hurting you. Then I will take the gag out, and you are going to tell me some interesting things. If not, we will rinse and repeat till you do. And against my better instincts, I am going to be honest with you. We both know that I can¡¯t let you live. If you tell me everything, I will knock you back out, then slice open your neck arteries where you will bleed out nice and quietly and painlessly. I will telephone the police and tell them where you are located, with your ID on your body. Then any family you have can get some closure. What do you say?¡± BJ then sits quietly for a minute or so, and I give him the time to contemplate the choice. It¡¯s a hard one to make. Quick and merciful and it gives his wife or mother or other family members, the opportunity to grieve, or the alternative, which is a brutal end, with potentially no identification being made when someone finally finds his body, buried in an unknown grave simply labelled as John Doe. Finally, with tears running down his cheeks, he nods. I let out a mental sigh of relief. I admit I was petrified and sick to my stomach with the thought of torturing this man. I think I would have done it, but for now, I don¡¯t have to know if I have that kind of sickness inside of me. I might talk a big game, but hopefully, that is all it is, talk. ¡°I work for Mrs Fredericka Samwell, underboss to the Supervillain, Sun Reaper, as part of the syndicate. Sun Reaper is currently in a silent war with Mr Killock, a normal underworld boss, a newcomer who is trying to eliminate members of the syndicate. We know the man who runs the facility, who you probably know as this ¡®Mr Z¡¯ works for Mr Killock. We followed him here, hoping to find Killock¡¯s central operating area, but as yet, he hasn¡¯t made direct contact. The card allows access to the law offices of Rain, Wind and Michael, down on 23rd and 6th, Mendoza Building, 22nd Floor. Mrs Samwell is working undercover as a legal secretary there. Please, I¡¯ve told you what you wanted to know. Just end it, please.¡± ¡°Thank you Ben, and I¡¯m sorry for this.¡± I knock him out with the dagger. His head lolls forward, resting on his chest. Gently placing the knife, I make two incisions on either side of his neck, digging in till a rush of blood burst forth, then open the wounds wider. Stepping back to avoid the spreading pool of blood, I watch quietly as the life leaves his body. I leave it for a few minutes, then I lean forwards and place two of my fingers on each of his wrists. No pulse. Just in case he was a person of faith, I say a few words, entreating any divine entities to take the man''s soul, and make sure he finds a measure of peace. He might not have had the same consideration if he had caught me, but that doesn¡¯t mean that I have to do the same. Taking his wallet from my inventory, I open it up and place it between his bound arms, wedged securely, so it doesn¡¯t soak in the blood. Stepping back, and checking over the front edge, I can¡¯t see any of Ben¡¯s associates, looks like they cleared out to follow another lead. When I get down, I¡¯ll find a payphone or something, and phone it in like I promised. Opening my skills menu, I wonder if I gained any proficiencies in my dagger mastery. Congratulations! You have learned the new skill: Climbing! Reward: 500 Exp. Climbing : The ability to scale tall building with hard work and effort. With increase levels of this ability, you will find that no obstacle will ever be insurmountable. +10% extra Grip Climbing : 157/1000 ¨C Beginner Tier Congratulations! You have increased your proficiency in: Balance! Immunity to Vertigo Able to remain upright when running Balance : 0/1000 ¨C Amateur Tier Congratulations! You have increased your proficiency in: Sneak! 30% Reduction to all noise made whilst sneaking 15% Increase to camouflage when stationary and hiding. Sneak : 0/1000 ¨C Amateur Tier Congratulations! You have increased your proficiency in: Dagger Mastery! +10% Experience gained when using a Dagger Dagger Mastery : 0/1000 ¨C Novice Tier Congratulations! You have increased your proficiency in: Target Tracker!. Maximum Distance : 600 Ft. Maximum Targets : 3 Mana Cost : 9 Duration : Indefinite ¨C Until target is either dead or outside skill range Target Tracker : 0/1000 ¨C Novice Tier Congratulations! You have gained x2 levels. You are now Level 11! +4 to all stats. You have the option to unlock one of three milestone bonuses: Character Store ¨C Inner Fortress ¨C Additional Information Kill Two Sentients (1/2) ¨C Loot $1,000 (400/1000) - Unlock 10 Skills (5/10) - Upgrade 10 Skills To Novice Tier (5/10) ¨C Upgrade 5 Skills To Amateur Tier (3/5) Finally! [Original] - Chapter09 Chapter Eight - Choices Are The Devils Work. Slavery Is True Freedom. Character Store: This upgrade enables the character store, where you will be able to spend your character points on equipment, items, spellbooks and pets. This store is essential for unlocking crafting skills. All purchases will be placed in the user¡¯s inventory. Inner Fortress: This upgrade enables the expansion of the inventory mechanic and transforms it into a safe haven, which the user can use as a base of operations. With further use and upgrades, can transform the layout into a city. When inside the inner fortress, time ceases to pass. Can only exit in the same location as when it was entered. Additional Information: This upgrade grants the user additional knowledge of milestones and upgrades, potential possible unlockable secrets, skills, upgrades. Also, gives insight into how certain attributes influence user actions and other Level Up methods achievable. You have 300 seconds to choose the desired upgrade. If you have not made your choice within the given timeframe, upgrades will be made invalid and denied from future access. Please be warned, this choice will persist through all future incarnations. Please be warned, the above options may or may not be available for the next milestone upgrade. You have 299 seconds left to decide. You have 298 seconds left to decide. You have... Well, that is a bit of a kick in the pants, while also being given an excellent snog. Choices, choices, choices. Whilst additional information has the potential to be an extremely useful upgrade, for now, I need something that is of more use in the here and now. Maybe if it is part of the next milestone, whenever that may be, I might choose it. Now the toss up is between Inner Fortress and Character Store. Both sound like they can be of use now, and far into the future. And Inner Fortress can be upgraded? I¡¯m getting hard just thinking about it. Maybe if I do get my Harem, I could store them in the fortress, and have my time with them, exit out, get myself back into prime condition, and when I go back in, no time with have passed and they will think of me as a Sex God. Ennnnng, I need some private time and quick. But I really need the Character Store. If I can unlock the alchemist skill, I can create my mana potions, and gods know what else. Maybe some GoGo juice for my future concubines, then I won¡¯t need my cooldown time. Just keep on going till I physically hurt myself, and maybe not even then. I do have a lot of pent up testosterone that I need to release. Plus, it can have a powerful combination with blacksmithing and enchanting. And pets! I get myself a pet dragon, or tiger, or griffon, or you know what I really want? A puppy. Mum never let me or my sister have a puppy. You have 198 seconds left to decide. You have 197 seconds left to decide. ¡°I choose Character Store!¡± You have selected the upgrade : Character Store Please confirm your selection by saying : Blue Cheese On A Crumpet You have 188 seconds left to decide, ¡°Blue Cheese On A Crumpet!¡± Sick fucking system. What kind of deranged psychos would ever eat cheese, let alone put in on a crumpet? And Blue Cheese? I think I¡¯m going be sick. Congratulations! You have unlocked Character Store. To Access, go to your main status screen, and use the passphrase ¡°Character Store, Alpha Yenta.¡±
Name Dude Guild N/A
Race Human (Default) Affiliation N/A
Gender Male (Barely) Disposition Elated
Age 23 Years Level 11
Alignment N/A Experience Locked
Strength 12 (Base 1) Wisdom 12 (Base 1)
Endurance 12 (Base 1) Charisma 12 (Base 1)
Dexterity 12 (Base 1) Luck 12 (Base 1)
Agility 12 (Base 1) Mental Fortitude 100
Intelligence 12 (Base 1) Character Points 11000
¡°Character Store, Alpha Yenta!¡± Welcome To The Character Store. First Time Access To Store Detected. 1,000 Exp Awarded. Please Select Which Category You Would Like To Access : Equipment : Common ¨C Access Fee : 1k Points (0/1,000) Rare ¨C Access Fee : 10k Points (0/10,000) Masterful ¨C Access Fee : 100k Points (0/100,000) Legendary = Access Fee : 500k Points (0/500,000) Divinity ¨C Access Fee : 1m Points (0/1,000,000) Crafting Equipment : Alchemy ¨C Basic Alchemy Startup Kit : 1k Points (0/1,000) Blacksmithing ¨C Basic Blacksmith Startup Kit : 1k Points (0/1,000) Jewellery ¨C Basic Jewellery Startup Kit : 1k Points (0/1,000) Enchanting ¨C Basic Enchanting Startup Kit : 10k Points (0/10,000) Crafting Resources : Alchemy ¨C LOCKED Blacksmithing ¨C LOCKED Jewellery ¨C LOCKED Enchanting ¨C LOCKED Spellbooks : LOCKED ¨C Must Meet Requirements To Unlock Magic Skill Menu : Level 10 ¨C INT and WIS at 25 and One skill requiring Mana Manipulation at Amateur Tier. Pets : Access Fee : 50k Points (0/50,000) Attention : All points spent on access fees will be carried over into future incarnations. I love my life, I fucking love my fucking life. Except for the spellbooks, that still bloody well sucks monkey nuts. I might still not know what the hell the experience is for as it is still locked, but I¡¯m pretty sure that I will eventually find out, but that can wait till much, much later. First I need to get off this roof, phone the police and tell them about the body as I promised ¨C it is very important to keep your promises, builds credibility, put credit in the bank as a down payment for that one ultra-mega betrayal where I will seize control of humanity. Not that I am interested in world domination and power at all. I just think that nobody else can be trusted with it. I swear, I will not go all power hungry and start on the mass executions of anyone that disagrees with me, or if the children fail to entertain me or anything like that. You believe me, right? I thought so, suckers. Taking one last look around to confirm that the goonie squad has indeed vacated the scene, I can¡¯t spot hide nor hair of them, but I have to still be careful to shake off any potential pursuit. And I say one final goodbye to Ben. Climbing down once again, I exit the alleyway system into the main streets. Taking a look at the front of the building, I have to remember the number 78511 Hillcrest Avenue to tell the police of where to find Ben¡¯s body. Taking stock, I have roughly $10,400 left in my ¡®Wallet¡¯ so to speak, I need to find a new place to stay, to go shopping for some dry foodstuffs to store in my inventory so I will never have to experience the dire need for food or water, a training area in which to level up my skills as far as I can take them in a safe environment. And then, I need to consider how I am going to spend my character points. Hailing a passing yellow cab, I ask the driver, ¡®Alvarez¡¯ if he can recommend a decent diner or caf¨¦ where I can get something to eat for a reasonable price. ¡°Yeah man, I can do that. Anything in particular you want, Chinese, Mexican, all American?¡± ¡°Do you know of any places that serve English food, like a tea and cake caf¨¦?¡± ¡°Hmmm. Well, there is a Wendy¡¯s Tea Room, but it will take 30 minutes to get there. Cool?¡± ¡°Cool, let''s go.¡± From the town where I grew up, I have never been so scared whilst in a car as I was with Alvarez for those 30 minutes. He was a bloody maniac. He sped. He weaved. I swear that this one time he seemed to make the car shrink in size down to slim Jim getting through the traffic. And the roads. I have never been so confused before. I have visited London once or twice, but New York¡¯s car traffic system make it look like a bumpkins dirt track path, with the occasional visit from the mountain goats. If New York wasn¡¯t so fricking big, and if I wasn¡¯t so fricken new, I would swear off of cabs and just walk everywhere and fuck how long it takes. If we made it there, against the massive doubts that we would make it alive and in one piece, in about 25 minutes. ¡°You sure you weren¡¯t a racer in another life, Alvarez?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure. It was nice meeting you¡­ what is your name?¡± ¡°My name is James.¡± ¡°What like Cher? Well, whatever works for you, Dude. Hope you enjoy our fair city, Dude.¡± ¡°Okay, thanks. Hey, Alvarez, do you mind sticking around, I need to get some food in me, then I need someone to show me around? Here¡¯s a hundred for your prompt service.¡± Bribery fuels the world and enterprise in all of its forms. ¡°Thanks. Yeah, I¡¯ll keep the meter running.¡± ¡°On second thoughts, fancy joining me, and maybe you can help me with a few problems?. I need to find somewhere to stay and a few other things.¡± Alvarez looks wary, like he is reconsidering if maybe I am a wackjob who wants to take him back-back to my lair, and split open his stomach so I can get some liver for my steak pie. But then it clears like he is cool with it, cus he knows that the liver is one of the fastest regenerating organs in the human body, and he will be as right as rain in no time flat. Yeah, that was what was passing through his yummy cranium. ¡°Alright Dude, let me go park the cab, and I¡¯ll see you in five. I¡¯ve just got to phone me mum and let her know where I am, she gets worried after all.¡± Yeah, I can tell that he doesn¡¯t exactly trust me, smart of him really in this day and age. Who knows if I am one of the famous cannibal twin sisters who eats people to fuel their abilities. Fucking UN, twisted little shits. Literally, I think. I get out of the cab and take in the overall ensemble and atmosphere of Wendy¡¯s. A lovely lilac, I think, it is some kind of pink verging on purple, borders the entire shop, with the name of the caf¨¦ picked out in a playful font with white lettering. In the windows are a variety of cakes, biscuits, boxes of teas and little figurines, made out of what looks like icing, of kids in a park, sitting on swings and roundabouts. A true flair or the evanescence of childhood wonder and joy. If I had just been walking past, I would have been very tempted to enter just to meet the proprietor. Well, honestly, I probably would have just walked past with a mind to come back sometime to compliment the owners, promptly forgot where the caf¨¦ was located and what the hell it was called, and spent a few days trying to wrack my brain and frustrating myself to no end. Then I would have given up, moved on, and within a week, come across the place once more, and the cycle would then repeat. The double doors of classical wood and glass and opened in welcome to all patrons, with small round tables and hard back chairs with soft looking padding on the seats, the kind which are in-built rather than removable cushions. To my left in an extremely long counter, with all manner of deliciousness, one or two pieces of healthy crap that I wouldn¡¯t touch with a ten-foot barge pole. On the back wall are shelves containing all manner of bread, from the plain white and brown to artisanal like chilling and sunflower seeds, to honey to black forest gateau bread. Then comes a very small section, containing some truly bizarre selections. Tomato ketchup and marmite bread. Cheese, jalapeno and orange peel bread.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. On the counter, below the shelves, is a brand spanking new coffee maker, which spoils the effect somewhat, but then I imagine that it is a necessity for modern Americans where they need their life-saving caffeine. And behind the counter but in front of the shelves is a middle aged woman, maybe 45, very early fifties at the most, with luscious brown hair, with slight touches of grey at the sides, given her a very distinguished look, in essence, a very MILF like look. Oops, gotta keep myself busy for a few minutes, DON¡¯T step away from the counter. Down boy, bad boy, bad. With a name tag reading the infamous ¡®Wendy¡¯ attached to a charming black blouse with black trousers with silver swirling patterns in thin lines down the legs and along the bodice of the shirt. And a truly startling set of green eyes meet mine, with crow feet at her eyes, laughter lines present telling a life spent smiling, truly smiling, not like those bitches who smile with their faces but not their eyes, even as they push the sometimes literal knife in your back. I think I am in love. Get in shape, level my abilities and rob the shit out of the city and come back, kill her husband and take her for myself. Look, this isn¡¯t helping with the below belt problem. Get your mind into the gutter. That¡¯s it, think of all the disgusting things you can find in the sewer. Smiling back, I introduce myself, ¡°Hello Wendy, my name is James. It¡¯s lovely to meet you.¡± Wendy looks at me funny like I had just made a faux-pas, but I don¡¯t know how I did that within the first few seconds of our very first meeting. ¡°Dude, hey. Okay. It¡¯s lovely to meet you, love. What can I get for ya? Wan¡¯ look around first, or do you know what you want?¡± Ah, I know that it hasn¡¯t exactly been that long, although with all the shit that has happened in the relatively short time I¡¯ve been in this new body it certainly feels like a small lifetime, hearing the lovely native sounds of England is like a soothing balm on my troubled soul. ¡°Hey, dearie, you having a stroke or something?¡± ¡°No, sorry, it¡¯s just that it¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve been home, and you sound just like a friend of mine from where I grew up.¡± ¡°Oh? You¡¯re from dear old England? Funny, I can¡¯t hear an accent indicating otherwise.¡± ¡°Yeah, I was about 10 when my mother moved to America for a job, and for some reason, lately, I¡¯ve been thinking about making a trip back there. See if I can look up some old friends.¡± ¡°Well, I hope you find what you are looking for. For now, though, why don¡¯t you take this here menu, take a seat at one of mi tables and take a looksie.¡± ¡°Thank you, Wendy.¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Dude.¡± Odd, another person who has called me Dude. Oh, Shit, maybe that is the ¡®Name¡¯ bit of the status screen coming into play to cover my civilian identity. But, wait, I should be wearing some kind of costume. Why the fuck did I pick such a stupid ass prick name. Because I¡¯m a dick, who can¡¯t think before he types and has to be the king of the lolz. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Calm down, wait this out, find somewhere quiet, then you can bash your brains out. Taking a seat at one of the very cute tables, I peruse the menu and wait for the paranoid Alvarez. Shit load of very unhealthy stuff versus a shit load of very healthy stuff. I can¡¯t work out if Wendy wants to either kill her customers or keep them alive to make them suffer to then later kill them. A very devious system indeed. I must give her props for the seemingly benign exterior this house of death presents. I think I am going to go for the chicken and sweet chilli sandwich on a bed of sweetcorn and brown wholemeal bread. You might think that that is a little bit too much information, but if I am going to suffer some healthy eating, I think the least you can do is suffer with me. A few minutes later, Alvarez walks in through the do, takes a quick look around, spots me, and sits down at my table. A conversation ensues, but since I am still intent on making you all suffer, I shall skip the hilarious commentary that goes on between us. Alvarez makes an order for a cake, I forget which kind he ordered. Safe to say, death by chocolate would be an apt metaphor. In fact, thinking about it now, that is probably its name: Death By Chocolate Cake. Yum. ¡°So, how can I help you?¡± inquires Alvarez. ¡°Well, there are a few things I need. First is a place to stay. I can be a relatively low rent place, no more than $3k per month. The second is that I need some supplies, just general store/warehouse type things, like rope, shovels, tools, the kind of things you can get at Walmart. Thirdly, I need some employment, but not the strictly legal kind, if you know what I mean.¡± ¡°Yeah, man, I can help you out, no problem. But I don¡¯t suppose that some kind of finders fee might be involved, somehow?¡± Cheeky bastard, I gave him a C note already. Look at that, learning the lingo already. ¡°Maybe, it depends on the quality of the information provided.¡± I can play cheeky too, you know. ¡°Well, my cousin has an apartment, and she has been looking for a roommate for a few weeks now. I can introduce you two, and if she likes you enough, then the apartment is yours. I don¡¯t know what the rent is like, but you can figure that out yourselves. Be warned though, she is pretty fiery, and she will take your head off at the drop of the head. Trust me, she and my other friend we living together, and one day, he just disappeared. Never heard from him again. So you take my offer at your own risk. ¡°For the supplies, no problemo, as that can be solved with the third issue of employment. I¡¯ve known this guy, we were friends back in the days, and I can introduce you two. Be warned, if you try to play them or your snitching, it will work out even worse for you than it did with my friend who lived with my sister. ¡°But, if you need to do some shopping beforehand, there is a Blackmart just outside on the city outskirts I can take you to. It¡¯s absolutely fucking massive man, easy to get lost in there. Rumours are that the ghosts of previous customers still haunt the place where they simply got too enticed by everything that was being sold.¡± ¡°Chillin, honestly, sending shivers down my spine,¡± I smirk back. Alvarez grins too. I can¡¯t believe my luck in finding so valuable a find as I have in Alvarez. I proceed to eat, my heart-stopping dessert, Alvarez eats a healthy salad, we bid Wendy adieu, and we leave. I stand outside of Wendy¡¯s whilst waiting for Alvarez to bring his cab back around, and when he arrives, I climb in, and off we are.
¡°Remember, Dude, this is your last chance to find another, safer place.¡± ¡°Thanks, Alvarez, I think I¡¯ll be fine. Whats the worst that could happen after all? To be killed by a beautiful woman? That¡¯s is probably the second best way to go.¡± ¡°Well, don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn ya.¡± We are inside in an old apartment building, the one where the entrances are guarded by the formidable presences of massive sliding metal doors. Scary, I know. Knock, Knock, Knock. Three slow and ominous taps by Alvarez announces our presence to the owner inside. Hopefully, she isn¡¯t the frightful sort to think that we are the buildings ghosts or ghoulies and comes to the door ready to door some exorcisms with a hand axe as back up. But contrary to my wild imaginings, what greets us is a scowling, 5¡±4¡¯ short Mexican woman in the twenty to late twenty bracket range. No, she is not smoking a long handled cigarette, get real, this isn¡¯t a stupid 30¡¯s noir film, where she is in a ermine overcoat, makeup perfectly applied, with a sultry expression on her face. The creature facing us is a modern woman. She has no makeup to speak of, Mexican in colouring, but with shimmering blue highlights in her hair, just enough to be mesmerising but not, meh. With pale red lips, a lovely oval face, a nicely curvy figure in all the right places, and what looks like a gorgeously ample ass in her trunk. Then she notices Alvarez, then her scowl transforms into an even deeper scowl. ¡°What do you want!¡± Mysterious lady isn¡¯t too happy to see her cousin, or so it seems. Either that or they have one weird and freaky relationship where happiness and joy are shown as disgust, loathing and disappointment. ¡°Come on Leigh, no need to be like that. See, I¡¯ve got another Potential roommate for you. Now, invite us in, offer us some coffee like a nice host, and where are the biscuits, I keep forgetting.¡± Alvarez meets her onslaught of scowliness with bright cheeriness like this is the highlight of his day, a chance to fully annoy his cousin. I am starting to get a bad feeling about this. Maybe I should look for another place. Nah. Too lazy. Hopefully, the introduction with my new employer will go better. Yeah, right! Alvarez just calmly saunters past ¡®Leigh¡¯ and into her apartment, like he owns the place. It an actually quite big, quite surprising since I would have though that most space in the city would be prime real-estate and quite expensive. I was expecting more of a cramped studio than this almost sprawling space. Leigh continues to glare at me for a few seconds more, grunts, turns around and walks over to one of the couches. I step inside, close the sliding door behind me, then figure out that the locking mechanism is a crowbar which takes the place of the padlock. Interesting. I turn around once more to find that Alvarez has taken one of the single seater couches to Leigh¡¯s right and my left, with his feet tossed over one of the arms, with a mug of something cradled between his hands. Leigh is sitting back with both arms spread out to either side of her, one leg crossed over the other, with shadows lining the underside of her eyebrows, giving her already ominous appearance that much-needed killer vibe. *Gulp* ¡°So, you¡¯re my new roommate then?¡± ¡°I guess so.¡± I continue to stand as I haven¡¯t been invited to sit, and quite frankly, this little lady is scaring the shit out of me. Oh, come on, not again. I think I¡¯m getting another boner here. This body seems to be turned on by every single creature so far. Seriously dude, when was the last time you got laid or had a wank, ¡°Here¡¯s the deal: No pets, no dates, no noise, late rent gets your ass thrown out, no mess, no flirting or sexual innuendoes, no touching of my stuff, oh and, if you dare go in my room, I will find out, and I will feed you your cock and make you choke on your balls. Alright? Still, want to be my little roomie?¡± God, Leigh is a sarcastic bitch. I think I¡¯ve fallen in love all over again. Hate fucking. Get in there my son. ¡°Yeah, sounds ideal. So when can I move in?¡± I ask sweetly with a hint of saccharine. Leight stares at me for a few more seconds, like she is trying to convince me to leave with her glares alone. Then she snorts, turns her head and look at Alvarez, and asks snidely, ¡°Where the fuck did you pick him up from? I like a man with balls. Gives me something to take my anger out on when they piss me off.¡± Alvarez and I just laugh. ¡°Alright. First, what¡¯s your name?¡± Time for a little experiment. ¡°Hilda, The Genie Bullsack.¡± ¡°Just Dude? What the fuck were your parents thinking? Or you some god damn hippy? I don¡¯t like those wackadoodle permanently glazed mother fuckers.¡± ¡°Nah, my parents were just having a laugh. Not the brightest of people, they didn¡¯t realise that the certificate was for real. After they had found out, they thought it was a right Josh of a joke. Funny, one and all. No, really. I never liked my real name, so I just decided to change it to Dude. I like it. I guess that is all that matters in the end.¡± ¡°Whatever. Look, it¡¯s $1,500 a month, with a two-month advance upfront. That alright with you?¡± ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s alright. So, I need to do some shopping first and meet this contact of Alvarez for the job. Can I meet you back here in a few hours?¡± Slipping my hand inside my coat, I open up my inventory and take out the $3,000 which comes out as a roll of C-notes with an elastic band. Weird, free stuff, even if it is an elastic band. Handing the cash over like it wasn¡¯t one-third of my current funds, Leigh raises one sexy eyebrow whilst still retaining her pleasant demeanour. ¡°Okay.¡± She stares at me some more like she is trying to pierce through to the root of my soul. Whatever she finds there still displeases her. Still my angry goddess. Leigh then gets up, goes to what I presume is here room in the back left of the apartment, and comes out seconds later with a key on a ring. She tosses it to me whilst still halfway in the doorway. I do my best to show her my prowess by catching the keys, but of course, my hands are shaking with sheer animal magnetising attraction, so I fumble them a couple of times but do eventually get a grasp on them. ¡°Thanks.¡± Suave man, totally debonair. Alvarez finishes off his drink, places the mug on the table, gets up and crosses over to me. ¡°Hey Leigh, we gotta make a move now. This big lug needs to pick up a few things then I need to introduce him to Micky. Need anything?¡± ¡°No, Alvy. Bye¡±. And with that, Leigh once again enters her room, but this time just stays there. I don¡¯t know if I could have been that cool with a new roommate. I would have insisted on a thorough background check with written references and still wanted a sawn-off shotgun hidden under my bed. Well, I don¡¯t know for sure the Leigh doesn¡¯t have some kind of firearm in her room, but she is awfully trusting for someone who met a complete stranger for the first time and decided that he would be her new roommate, even if her cousin did introduce said stranger.
Getting back in the cab with Alvarez, (otherwise, that would have been stealing, and stealing is wrong after all, well, it is if it¡¯s from a friend), we make a move. ¡°So, Dude, where do you want to go next, supplies or the job offer?¡± ¡°It¡¯s been a long day for me so far, so let¡¯s go visit this contact of yours first, I can do the shopping tomorrow maybe. ¡°Do you mind if I ask, what does your cousin do exactly?¡± I ask in the hopes of finding out why she is so terrifyingly scary for the entire length of our introduction. ¡°Well, her main occupation is as an online digital artist. In certain circles, she is quite famous and very well respected. But on the side, she has her true love. She works as a family grief counsellor. I know right, why would my lovely fragile cousin work in something that can be horrific and heartbreaking. But she always says that if she could do that full time she would. I don¡¯t know, maybe she has a few screws loose.¡± Well, I¡¯ve got to admit, I didn¡¯t see that coming, even with the craziness so far. Well done, big guy, you got me good and proper. Neither says another word after that tidbit of information. I think we were just ruminating on Leigh lifestyle choice. But it was a comfortable silence, no awkward at all. Alvarez drove for about another fifteen minutes or so and stopped outside a pub called ¡®Pirates Gambit¡¯. A very fitting name indeed if I find inside what I expect. Alvarez turns around in his seat and says to me, ¡°Listen, Dude. Don¡¯t make any quick moves whilst inside there. Just go up to the bar and ask the bartender that you would like to speak to ¡®Micky¡¯ and tell him that Alvarez sent you. Alright?¡± ¡°Alright, got it. See you in a few, then.¡± Getting out of the cab, I take in the view of the pub, but it just looks like an ordinary pub, one of the thousands you might see in good ole England, those oldie types not the newer ones. Stepping inside the doors, I am temporarily blinded by the sunlit brightness of the outside. It¡¯s not exactly dark inside, but it is quite a bit dimmer. Giving myself a few seconds to recover and get used to the dimmed interior, I survey the layout, just in case or JIC of course. Booths down the left side of the pub, with a round layout to my immediate, left just before the door. Down the right are wooden tables and chairs. Try to think Victorian style pub chairs, and you will get the idea. No modern stuff in this pub, just good old vintage. Except maybe for the bar. The bar is a haven of light, draw the moth-like customers to its warm embrace encouraging them to partake in its deliciousness. At the bar is a female bartender, about mid-twenties to very early thirties, no tattoos as one might expect, but with horn-rimmed glasses. Blonde hair, a slim figure but showing off clearly defined muscles. And the way she is walking gracefully like a ballet dancer might move. Intoxicating. And she has this small smile playing across her lips with wiping a glass like she is lost in her own little world. I want to visit now. Definitely, need to build myself a harem. So many choices, I am pulling myself apart in order to chase them all at the same time. My eyesight now fully adjusted, I walk up to the bar, and in a very professional voice, and not like a love sick puppy in love and worship with its new master, I ask ¡°Could I please speak to Micky? Alvarez vouches for me.¡± The bartender looks at me with that small smile, then glances over to the side, in one of the booths. I look over just in time to see the back of a head nod just once whilst raising a glass to its mouth. The bartender looks back at me, nods just once and tilts her head to the side in an indication for me to go over. ¡°Thanks,¡± I say to her and tap the bar. Getting up, I steadily walk over to the man sitting in the booth. Walking past, I then turn around in order to introduce myself. But I am defeated. For sitting on the seat is not a man, but a woman, gasp. I¡¯ve never come across a woman who has called herself, Micky, before. New experiences and all that jazz. Playing it call like everything is as expected, I nod to Micky and say, ¡°Hey, I¡¯m Dude.¡± To which, see just looks at me with a question in her eyes like, ¡®Really?¡¯ And I just look back at her, with my eyes saying, ¡®Really!¡¯ With a small tightening of her mouth and a small almost imperceptible shrug, she tilts her glass half full of amber liquid as an invitation to sit down. I do so. ¡°So how can I help you¡­?¡± ¡°Dude¡±, might as well bite the bullet as it is now my name. ¡°I meant your real name.¡± Micky is looking slighted peeved off now. ¡°Really, my name is Dude, no other.¡± ¡°Fine, then how can I help you¡­ Dude?¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m new in town I need help in finding a job. I specialise in extra-legal acquisitions with a side interest in creative¡­ HR work.¡± ¡°And just why should I help you? Other than Alvarez vouching for you that is.¡± ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t come empty handed, I brought along a gift that I am hoping that will persuade you that I am serious.¡± ¡°Okay, then give me my present then.¡± ¡°I have to reach inside my coat, that alright? Or you gonna shoot me or something?¡± ¡°Just do it slowly. Just as a warning, ever since you sat down, my other hand has been holding a revolver pointing at your nuts. I don¡¯t like what I see, and your 2 ounces lighter, got it?¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Slowly and carefully reaching inside my coat, I open up my inventory and pull out the gun I nicked, or should I say looted, from Ben the hired killer. Shit, still gotta phone that in. Well, after this I can get Alvarez to drop me off at a payphone. Then gun comes out held between my thumb and forefinger. Pulling it out of my coat, whilst keeping a close eye of Micky, I can see her tense up slightly when she can see the gun coming out. But she relaxes when she can I see that I am not gripping the pistol and I set it down before her ¡°A gift,¡± I intone. She lifts the gun up, looks it around a few times, pulls back the slide and ejects the clip. And her face transforms into something like a little girl would have on her face if her parents gave her a pony on her birthday. ¡°Where did you get this?¡± ¡°I killed a guy that was trying to kill me. I don¡¯t like guns, but decided to hang on to it to maybe sell it later.¡± Her face then drops back into its calm and focused formation, looks at me as if trying to discern who I had killed. But then she just says to me, ¡°Okay. Nice gift. I¡¯ve always wanted a Desert Eagle.¡± Micky then pulls out a phone from her inside pocket, takes a picture of my face, does some typing, then lays it flat on the table in front of me. ¡°Put your fingertips on the screen. When it flashes, remove your hand and put your other set of fingers on the screen. I will then run a background search on you. Come back in three days. If the search turns up that your police or a child abuser or a known snitch, I will then either kill you or put a bounty on your head if you don¡¯t turn up. So, you want to back out now or do you want to go from here?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing to hide, I think.¡± I grin in a self-confident manner. I mean, what is a bullet to the brain when I can reincarnate? Other than the horrid possibility of being reborn into an incontinent comatose body that will never wake up and die in fifty years worth of total boredom? Hmm, not getting killed for a while would be better. But I am going to have to take the chance that my previous body¡¯s owner wasn¡¯t either of those things. ¡°Off you go then, Dude. And remember, back here in three days, no more, no less.¡± I nod back, get up and walk outside. I ask Alvarez to drop me at a payphone, tell the police that I killed a man and give them the address and hang up. They have to check it out. Tell Alvarez drops me back at my new home. Time to get some sleep, and tomorrow I can work out what to spend my character points on and what to get on my shopping trip. Until tomorrow, goodnight. Compendium Of Terms Compendium Of Terms. I will be using some terms and slang in my story, and this is a heads up for anybody unfamiliar. Or like myself, who enjoys the more technical details behind the authors mind. Strength (STR) ¨C Measures the current strength of the character. Defines how much physical damage the character can cause, how much weight the character can carry and as the stat increases, will make tiny, nearly imperceptible changes to the musculature of the character. Dexterity (DEX) ¨C The fluidness of the characters motion, the accuracy and the ability to alter the angle of attacks as they are being executed. For example, the character might be trying to stab an enemy, and performs a lunge with a dagger. If his perception is high enough, he might notice that if he make a more pronounced angle in a given direction, he would be able to pierce a vital organ, or disable a target. Dexterity would allow him to make adjustments more easily and accurately as they happen Agility (AGI) ¨C This attribute governs not only how fast the character can move, but also affects his reaction time. As singles are sent from the brain to the limb in question, agility will naturally, as the levels progress, make small increments to how fast the signals are sent. Also as the levels progress, will govern how explosive the character can move from a standstill. Intelligence (INT) ¨C Intelligence does not govern how smart the character is, but will change how the character can store and manage memories and data. Theoretically, at very high levels, the character could potential gain a true eidetic memory. Unlike photographic memory, or more tradition eidetic memory, this would present as the ability to recall any of the senses, and instantly combine them to other information to make connections previous impossible for the character to achieve. This statistic will also govern how much mana the character is able to store. Please see the mana entry for a more detailed reason for this. Willpower (WIL) ¨C For myself in particular, I find myself constantly falling short in this department. Willpower governs how the character is able to see a particular task through to it completion, to stay of target. As for many people who find their attention drawn away by other thoughts, a high willpower individual will be able to track, store and prioritise their priorities. Also at higher levels, the character could potentially gain a true zen like focus, able to completely master his mind, as well as his subconscious. This statistic will govern how quickly mana will restore. Please refer to mana to find a more detailed explanation for why this is. Perception (PER) ¨C How much attention do you pay to your surroundings? Do you please to your gut, is it even reliable? Perception is the measure of more accurately analysing why you can suddenly realise why there is somebody else in the room with you, or why that guy is bad news, even though by all objective measures, he is a lovely and gentle person. At higher levels, this will allow the character to potential gain access to previous hidden senses that humans would need thousands of years of evolution to access. Combines with Intelligence and Willpower to produce both a qualitative and quantitative (INT+WIL+PER/3)*(Certain milestones achieved in concert) Mental Fortitude (MNT) ¨C Mental fortitude is a current ongoing process. This does NOT provide a mental shield from psionics, mages or other types able to affect the mind. Rather this attribute will determine for how long and by how greater the user to affected. At a high enough level, a user might be able to completely shrug off and overcome any offensive effect. Passive effects with me mind communication, like telepathy, or divine communication. At even higher levels, the mind could categorise each individual, and choose which to block and which to accept. At lower levels, it is completely possible to distract the user to insanity with a litany of difference communications. This would still count as a passive effect. A middling levels, the user will be able to consciously ignore these types of distraction, but still unable to block their influences for the messages conveyed. Endurance (END) ¨C As in most cases, this attribute will deal with stamina, but also with mental fatigue. Mental fatigue will be a formulaic balance between endurance and mental fortitude. Mental fortitude will make a qualitative difference with the mental strain, and endurance will make a quantitative difference. Endurance deals mainly with the physical stress the body is subjected to, and the ability to convert waste by-products back into normalised processes. Example is the build-up of lactic acid when running, or the exertion muscles are put under when trying to improve their current capacity. This also combines with strength to produce vitality. Please see vitality for a more detailed explanation. Charisma (CHR) ¨C This deals with how attractive the character is to other users. This does not influence romantic attraction, although it can have an impact on the pureply physical attraction of the subject. As a super, the character has an in-built illusion cast over them. This hides the identity of the user from others, keeping their secret identity intact. Charisma takes advantage of this illusion by altering how individuals perceive the user. This can alters the pitch and quality of the voice to customise itself to the idealised ideal the individual will hold for their perfect person. No changes are actually made other than slight comesmetic changes, as in cleansing achne, clearing the pores, bringing the face back into perfect symmentry as the value of charisma is increase. Rather this affects the light and sound soundwaves as they pass the illusion barrier to make the user become someone more attractive to the individual. This has an upper limit, as the user can not affect the sex perceived, no add any major cosmetic features (Ie. Horns, Wings, Body Mass or Height etc.). All effects are perceived. An individual with a high enough mental attribute can overcome the charisma attribute.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Luck (LCK) ¨C Luck influences the tiny, unseen factors contributing to an outcome. As a boulder might be running amok down a mountain side towards the user, the luck attribute can influence the forces affecting the boulder with the objects in come in contact with. Althought he affects are tiny, they can be extremely powerful. Luck plays it''s greatest part in truly random events. For example, although a gun might be pressed against your head, luck can NOT influence the bullet actually hitting you. At the skin contact distance, luck does not come into play. Rather luck can take advantage of, if the gun has been poorly mainted, then the gun has a greater chance of jamming, or if the gunman is inexperienced and nervous, then he might press on the eject clip switch, although this would NOT affect and bullets in the chamber. With the advancement of the luck attribute to higher levels, this does not mean the odds increase to the point where nothing bad can happen to the user, rather that luck has a further range and the ability to affect more events than at lower levels. Vitality ¨C This entry will be updated, but I would like to concentrate on more chapter releases first. I will mostly be explaining the reasons of how this stat is configured for my own story. Mana ¨C This entry will be updated, but I would like to concentrate on more chapter releases first. I will mostly be explaining the reasons of how this stat is configured for my own story. Stamina ¨C This entry will be updated, but I would like to concentrate on more chapter releases first. I will mostly be explaining the reasons of how this stat is configured for my own story. Damage ¨C Damage cannot be quantified for equiped weapons, as they depend entirely on their current state (Blunt knifes are shit to cut with), where the character attacks on their targets anatomy (Kill with one hit on decapitation, but a gut shot could leave the target able to get medical help or health potion/spell/restoration ability) and is modified by the strength as to the force applied and INT with how accurate the character is (does he twist the knife before withdrawing to increase the wound slice, or does the target have a congenital defect like Mirror syndrome, where the organs are on the opposite side). Spells will also be influenced by other factors, so will only be given an estimated value. Skill Levels - Beginner, Novice, Amateur, Trained, Professional, Master, Grandmaster, Total Dominion. At Total Dominion, a optional stat can be attached or a existing stat can be increased. Also when total dominion is reached, in the next incarnation, the user will retain the skill but at an increase level each time dominion is reached up to Professional. Please note that these terms will probably only be in relation to the protagonist and to his unique perceptions. I want to write of how he views the world and the characters he meets within. The players on the board will not be aware of these statistics, as they will have the more traditional feelings, intuition, and experience dealing with how their abilities affect them. Just as we have no concrete idea of how our current selves would be defined within a deterministic system like LitRPG¡¯s, so too will the extraneous characters be forced to judge themselves. Please be aware that this compendium will be updated as the story continues, and more references to past explanations are needed. This will hopefully be useful to me as a reference library as I introduce more elements that the character will have to deal with. I may also expand more on the attributes as I solidify in my own mind of the effect they have on the character. Please also be aware that most of the attributes will have a synergy to them to other attributes of how they are affected. I may nor may not complicate the story with their interactions. Reincarnation Mechanics As I mentioned in chapter six, when JJ dies and is brought back to life, in each iteration, it will be in a brand new body. This body will be decided by the fates, altered later to fit the stats of JJ. The reason EXP is locked, is because until JJ reaches level 100 and unlocks a race upgrade, this will be when EXP comes into play. On reincarnation, EXP can be spent on certain upgrades for the character body depending on which race is selected. Multiple races with different attributes and body modifications can be selected so long as JJ has the required EXP. So for instance, if JJ selects Dragon, he could unlock the ability to grow wings, gain a greater skin defense like a toughened hide or reinforced bone structure, or a more innate affinity for certain magics. Or if he selected Elf, he could gain additional bonuses to the bow/sneak skills and other abilites, with the downsides included, like a reduction in strength for a greater increase an affinity for DEX and AGI. Or if he unlocks an alien race, maybe he could unlock certain skills like telepathy or telekenisis that is not reliant on Mana. Or he could gain increased INT but at a reduced VIT and END. Or he could unlock favourable standing with that alien race at the expense of becoming a enemy of humanity. Chapter Zero - Maybe this is the prologue, or maybe a rant. You Decide.

My Life As A Super Hero/Villain - Prologue

Living in a world full of Superheroes and Supervillains sounds like something that many would cut off somebody else¡¯s right arm and left leg to witness let alone be a part of. For others, it is fun to think and read about, but a terrifying nightmare that they dread might someday happen. For me, it is just the world I was born into, and later, died into. Then again was reborn into. Then died. Then lived. Rinse and repeat that a few hundred times and you¡¯ll get the idea. Fifty years ago, roughly, was when the first of the supers arrived. One day, the world was merrily spinning around, orbiting a nearby star like a love struck puppy stuck in that annoying middle adolescent stage, you know the one, love of afar but a total nerd up close. Trying to get close, but utterly ignored. The next, that world suddenly got a bitch slap from out of nowhere, and when it looked up, every other planet was laughing at it without a perpetrator in sight. Our world had been experiencing one of the longest periods of peace it had every experienced. No world wars, no rinky dink little shitshow of a backwater town suddenly deciding that it has the balls to enter into a quest for world domination, like that complete dick, Haldorf Thitler. God, that guy was a complete and utter bellend. No, the world was not in need of saving. Yet, for no explainable reason, Heroes and Villains start to appear from seemingly nowhere. The first of the Heroes named himself ¡°Wonder Boy¡±. I know right. Complete and utter douche. He was near sixty (or so he claimed in an interview he showed up in, but that is later, or maybe earlier, whatever, he was near sixty looking so that is what I am sticking with,¡­. Shut up), and he couldn¡¯t come up with a better name than Wonder Boy. Not Wonder Guy, or Uberman, or even Incredibly Handsome Yet A Complete Moron Dude, but Wonder BOY. Bet you can tell how the story goes, and guess what, not completely off the mark. Just nearly entirely. Because what he lacked in naming skills, he more than made up with the ability bore you to death. It¡¯s a wonder he wasn¡¯t reclassified as the lamest Supervillain, ever. And that actually turned out to be his main power; the power to bore the opposition from wantonly killing and destroying to nearly comatose within about 53 seconds. Kind of specific, I know, but there was an actual study done to find out how long he had to talk to someone, before that completely passed out from boredom, sometimes they even cried as they finally escaped Wonder Boy¡¯s monotonic monologue. Turns out, monologuing is not just for the Villains, anyone can use it. Although if you decide to give it a whirl, make sure your opponents don¡¯t have duct tape, monologuing¡¯s kryptonite. Back to the story. Nobody knows why Wonder Boy showed up out of the blue. Nobody knows his real identity, not that anybody of importance really cares. Maybe his stalkers cared, but they are so totally lame that they are not even worth mentioning. In fact, forget I mentioned the stalkers. What stalkers, I don¡¯t know what your even talking about. For all of the following Heroes/Villains, keeping your identity was really quite easy. They all gave off this, aura, which shielded them from being identified. Unless that came out in public stating that their name is Joseph Kennally and that their Hero persona is Wonder Boy, nobody would be able to connect them, even with a side by side photo comparison. When you looked at them in person, all you could see was the persona they were wearing. You couldn¡¯t later describe a single characteristic of their face or identifying marks, but a soon as somebody mentioned their alter ego, their appearance would be instantly recognisable. You could visualise the difference between Apocas and Celestus, but if you tried to describe the differences, suddenly your mental image would become blurred and distorted. And when someone would take a picture of our miraculous Nobs (because the only reasons Heroes exist is to combat and defeat the Villains, and the Villains only exist to prove that the Heroes and incompetent buffoons, if they would all just piss off, the world would get on fine without them. We would probably send them off with a ¡®Fuck off and never come back you bunch of twats¡¯ celebration), the photo or video would come out with a generic face bearing no similarities whatsoever to the Super in question, but would have their alter names printed across their foreheads.
The world didn¡¯t know what to make of their appearance, and as you could probably imagine, the world got a little bit concerned. At first anyway. Imagine, out of nowhere, above a national monument, between one blink of the eyes and the next, there appeared a man, hovering 50 feet in the air. He is wearing sandals, beige shorts, a Hawaiian shirty and sunglasses. Completely normal, except for the flying bit he is trying to modestly pull off. And the fact that it is in the middle of winter. When the average temperature is slightly below freezing. And it¡¯s night time. Weeelllll, alright, it¡¯s about half three in the afternoon, but for winter, it¡¯s practically midnight, for all the sun could care. Lazy bastard. Anyway, the people in the vicinity of this floating man just keep on going about their business, because nobody really looks up, and if even if they did, they would be complaining about the horribly grey and overcast sky. And if they did conveniently look in the floating man¡¯s direction, they would most like just ignore him, thinking that at worst, he was just a gimmick for some advertising agency or company. And for the floating man, who has nearly bursting to announce his presence to the world at large, or maybe the plaza he is floating above at this particular moment, being ignore like this is making him understandably a little disappointed. Maybe a little annoyed. Alright, increasing vexed, even edging into being incredibly pissed off. Deciding to take action to announce himself, he breathes in deeply, extends his arms to either side, puffs up his chest and sucks in his slightly overhanging beer gut, and speaks out in a booming baritone for everyone to hear, ¡°Dear citizens, fear me not, for I am Wonder Boy¡±.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Unfortunately for the lamely self-named ¡®Wonder Boy¡¯, still nobody is paying him any attention. It¡¯s not that he can¡¯t be heard over the lightly pattering rain, and slightly strengthening wind, but that for some strange and highly coincidental reason out of control of storytellers control, but everybody is wearing earphones, listening to music, the news with updated weather reports (turns out he appeared over Trafalgar Square in London, Great Britain, and as everybody knows, the Brits are strangely obsessed with the weather, almost like they have a weird fetish or something) or just because they are anti-social misfits and they don¡¯t want anybody to speak to them till they have found somewhere to warm up in, then maybe, nope they are still deciding that today is really crap and they want to get their morning coffee. Wonderboy is a bit confused at still being ignored. Here He is, a floating God among insects, yet they still couldn¡¯t give a shit. Well, fuck this for a load of old cobblers, ¡®I¡¯ll just go somewhere else where they can appreciate my greatness. Hmmm, where to go? Oh, I know, America, New York. Those Plebs are easily impressed, plus I¡¯m British, and as everyone knows, the Americans gals love the British guys, although why on earth they voted to leave the common wealth and set up their own government in a different land is still a bit of a puzzle. They love all things British, including the monarchy, which they voted to get rid of and the posh accent. Bonkers. Oh well, that¡¯s just part of their charm.¡¯ (Side note; the countries are a bit different here, with a slightly different history, but that is expected for a completely made up advanced simulation you call your universe, whilst mine is totally the original). Having made what he ultimately thought of as the correct decision, after all he is Wonderboy, he hunched up his body, braced his feet in mid-air, launched himself up and forward, whilst striking the classic Superman pose. And as you can probably imagine, nobody gave a toss, or even noticed.
To cut a long and incredibly boring story short, Wonderboy arrived in New York, wow¡¯ed the natives, and got his own reality Tv show entitled ¡®Never Fear For Wonderboy Is Here¡¯ . Yeah, I get a headache and violently sick whenever I see it on the box. Turns out that Wonderboy is the Vanguard for the change that is about to come to our fair world. The big guys up top, the ones who created the earth, the universe and everything, in apparently ¡°EIGHT DAYS¡± (please see attached an incredibly sarcastic and caustic tone attached, be careful not to get any in your eyes or ears, or they will fall out and off, and not necessarily in that order), had decided that we had got a bit too big for our britches. The big guys, or as they will be referred to from here on out as ¡®Ultimate Nobs, or UN for short¡¯, created life on our planet for the entertainment factor. Yeah, the UN can get bored like everyone else. Annnnyway, the UN likes a bit of the blood sports every now and then, with a pit of pillaging on the side, covered in a sauce of black plague. But, we had gotten to the stage where we had done away with killing each other as a national pastime, and instead moved onto not giving a shit what the other countries did. And it worked out pretty well. Sure, everywhere has experiences with a bit of crime every now and then (after all, the police have to justify their jobs somehow), but that is usually just a case of a one too many beers, or vodka¡¯s if that is how you do, and getting in an barnie over who can piss the farthest, or which of them has the best boobs, or moobs as the case may be. In short, not a whole lot of trouble. But as I was saying, the UN had gotten over the wonder that is world peace, and thought of mixing it up. So they gave us Wonderboy. Really, they must have been totally legless to have come up with that limp ass plan. He was to be the announcer of all that would come next. And it was a doosie. Every three to fifteen days, a new super would appear in the world. Some of them would be heroes to fight the villains that would try to upset the world order. They would be our ¡®Saviours¡¯ (cue the sarcasm and caustic tone again), whilst the villains would have the 9-5 job of trying to cause as much mayhem, trouble and downright littering as possible. Got to love the unions. Wouldn¡¯t want to interrupt the villain¡¯s home life or anything. And sure, three days later arrives, perhaps the ultimate nemesis of Wonderboy, ¡®Bad Boy¡¯. Luckily for us, Badboy appeared to only be in his late teens, a bit more of an appropriate pseudonym. When Badboy showed up this time over Chicago, he actually put on a bit of a show. Announced that he was here to ¡®Show us all a good time¡¯. A bit more entertaining the Wonderboy I will admit, but still an utter prat. Fortunately, or more appropriately, unfortunately, more heroes and villains started to show up acting more the part that they were playing. And for the first 10 years or so, all we knew about these supers was that every so often they would show up, commence battle/evil and cunning plans/tv hosting, have a bit of me time, then go at it again. Sometimes they would kill each other, sometimes something else went wrong and they blew themselves up. I can tell you, when you get some brains in your mouth from wide eyed, jaw dropping amazement, sushi will forever be erased from your mind. *Shudder* Then one day out of the blue, a normal non-super super turned up. Turns out, these supers are not some weird alien lifeform from beyond our current level of understanding, but ZOMBIES!!! Maybe not quite, maybe, but not that far from the truth. To qualify to become a cape crusader, you must first DIE! Yes really, you need to pop your clogs. Then you kick Old Scratch right in the bollocks, then you leg it. If you make it, you become a super. If you don¡¯t, well, I don¡¯t personally know, but I do know that if someone had smacked me in the codgers, I wouldn¡¯t be best please, that is assuming the Mr Grimm does indeed have some danglies. The human to super conversion happens on a close to 10,000 to 1 rate, so if you are thinking of taking a chance to end up with fancy schmansy powers, keep in mind that your rate of success is roughly 0.01%. Personally, I wouldn¡¯t have taken the chance, not that I had a choice, as I am not that great at cross country running. And I¡¯m not that brave. Luckily, the part about kicking the meat and two veg of the big D himself, is not true, although it would have made for a hilarious tv series if it had aired. We are not too sure how the process occurs, but from gathered accounts of those involved, the UN makes a personal visit to those lucky bastards, has a rather involved what, about what nobody really remembers any specifics, and if the UN likes what it hears, or maybe rolls a greater the 15 with a D16 dice, the sod gets a good dose of the whammy, and hey presto, a new super is born, reborn, resurrected, bugger it, I¡¯m just going to use the word, ZOMBIEFIED!!!
So if you are of the lazy disposition, let me some up with a few bullet points, and I can get on with the story.
  1. Wonderboy was the first Superhero, but is a complete bellend because he couldn¡¯t come up with a better name. The Brits couldn¡¯t give a toss, and he buggered off to America.
  2. Badboy was the first Supervillain to show, although he exists more to annoy Wonderboy rather than anything else. Additional; he is still an Utter Pratt
  3. This crap all happened around 50 years ago, by the Ultimate Nobs, or UN for short.
  4. We had achieved world peace, but the UN bollocks that right up for us because they got ¡®Bored¡¯.
  5. The supers are hard to identity
  6. Chaos ensues.
Chapter One - Why I Choose To Be A Villain Hello, everyone, my name is JJ, and I will be your narrator for whatever time you spend reading my story of how I came to dominate the Super¡¯s world as both Hero and Villain. My story is unique in that I got as many chances to succeed or to screw up as I liked. Most Supers would have to die to be reborn, then to live their new lives as they saw fit, to the final end of their final death. No rerolls of the dice, no third chance and no save & reload option. But in return, they got sometimes really cool and flash superpowers, sometimes highly useful but shadowy abilities. Sometimes it is advanced knowledge or the ability to defy the laws of physics altogether and do some really nice shit. But for me, things went a little bit differently. I don¡¯t know what set me apart from everyone else, or if it is the case of simply being a lucky winner. Sometimes the answer to the question ¡®Why me?¡¯ isn¡¯t that you are special, that you are descended from an ancient and powerful bloodline, or that it is your destiny, sometimes the answer is that someone up there went ¡®Ip dip dog shit, fucking bastard, silly git, you are it, sucker¡¯. It¡¯s not glamorous or momentous or awe-inspiring, sometimes it is just luck, or maybe misfortune depending on your outlook and personal preferences. Let me explain how the average super experience usually goes, according to various independent sources, namely the supers themselves who have come forward for fame and prestige: Option A ¨C Every single mortal in existence has a one-in-a-million chance, or 0.0001% chance of becoming a super. But there is a catch. You have to die first. And I mean really die, not be dead for two minutes, and then get resuscitated. You have to be dead-dead, like three days holy resurrection dead. But there is more. Your body cannot be discovered for your entire sojourn to the lands of the beyond. There was this one kid, who later came forward to tell his story, who said that he had killed himself and that no-one had noticed that he had hung himself in his bedroom, not even his parents as they had been away at a work conference. He hadn¡¯t killed himself hoping to become a Super, but because he couldn¡¯t take living anymore. When he awoke and later discovered the nature of his powers, a mental/mind healer, he described it as a penance for his actions. You see, something happens in the lands of the beyond; the Supers describe it as a conversation with the gods, and yes that is the plural, not the singular. They don¡¯t remember what is said, just the general outcome. Like they are meant to bring hope and betterment to mankind, or they are meant to bring conflict and progress. Not every Villain is Evil. Not every Hero is Good. Then you come back, and you can feel inside of you a change, a source of power. And when you access this power, an aura encompasses you, giving you a new identity, a Super identity. Nobody can recognise you. You even get the opportunity during your first transition to choose your new Super-name, or you can let Chance choose for you. Let me give you an example. If your mother became a Super, in her civilian identity, you would recognise her as your mother. But when she access¡¯s the power inside of her, taps into her aura, suddenly she becomes a new person. When you now look at her, you don¡¯t see your mum anymore. You see a Super, and you know her Super name. You know her identity as a Super. But there is a catch. The time of the transition is different for each Super. Some can grasp and release their aura with seconds, the fastest on record being 32 seconds. But for others this process can take up to a day for it to complete. But therein lies the danger. Whilst in this transition state, the Super cannot access their powers, and if an individual witnesses this change, they will forever after be able to link the Super¡¯s identity to their civilian identity. But luckily for the Supers, this is a conscious process. You can¡¯t just knock a Super out and watch the change happen automatically to learn their secret identity. Or there is Option B, which is my story. I was a 23 year old Nursery teacher, living in the town of Baylington, just outside the village of Rock-Side, in the South-East of England, just on the coast. A good ole Brit, and true to my heritage, I am a big fan of tea. Especially weird stinky tea as my mum likes to call them. My favourite at that time being Black Liquorice Tea. Yum. I lived at home with my mum and little sister. My dad had passed on just as my sister Charlotte, or Little Terror as I like to call her, reached her first birthday. It wasn¡¯t unexpected, having lived with a brain tumour for the last five years. It was a big surprise that he had lasted that long, the doctors having given him a diagnosis of 1-2 years, at the most. But he was a man of strong will. He was My hero, but I only came to realisation after he had died. Before, he was just my Dad. He loved me, and I loved him, and that was it. We had some rough times, some good times and some truly great times. But all good things must come to an end as they say. After he had passed, I came to realise, as I think most people who have lost their parents, just how well he had lived his life. At the end, he told me that he only had a few regrets, but that ever since he had met my mum and had me and my sister, that he had never been happier, nor more proud. My mum works as a software engineer, 45 years old, and my sister has just celebrated her fifth birthday. We had friends, family and memories. We had a home. We loved each other. And I particularly enjoyed teaching my very little sister some very bad habits as well as some truly disgusting words. Like; Poo and Ding-Dong and Shit. We weren¡¯t superstars, nor celebrities, nor were we the pillars of our community. We were ordinary, and as I look back, being ordinary is Perfect. Being ordinary is much more preferable to being Venerated or Celebrated or Outstanding. And that is because no matter how far you rise, no matter if you become the greatest Hero in the history of civilisation, eventually everyone wants to see you fall. It not a matter of Them being malicious, but news is only interesting and watched because bad news is good news. Try watching a story about a puppy being rescued from an abusive owner, then watch a story about a puppy being killed by an abusive owner. Which one would you continue to watch the news coverage of, and which would you switch channels if the story aired for more than a few minutes. Schadenfreude, the enjoyment or happiness of other people¡¯s pain and misfortune. Basic human psychology. And that being the case, you should be happy to hear that I inherited the male family curse. It happens every generation. The curse being an inoperable brain aneurysm. A ticking time bomb just waiting to go off at any time. The doctors can¡¯t work out why it happens, nor when it will go off. My grandfather had it, and he died of old age before his exploded. It was only thanks to modern Super invented medicine technology that detected the defect in my grandfather. Otherwise it would just remain an ancient curse from an ancient witch from an ancient feud some-time in the past. But for me, it happened one Tuesday afternoon. I was sitting at my computer in my bedroom, playing some game that I can no longer remember the name of. It was three o¡¯clock in the afternoon, my shift at the nursey having ended at twelve, my sister with my mum as she had a dentist appoint at four. Mum had picked her up from primary school at 3 and taken her to her work ready to leave. Luckily her employers are pretty flexible in regard to children. I had tried once or twice to take my sister, but each time she made a hell of a fuss when the dentist tried to look inside her mouth. With me, the Little Terror was terrified of the dentist. But with mum, she was as good as gold. I think it¡¯s because of the old mother¡¯s trick of their ability to guilt their children in behaving, or somehow saying their children¡¯s three names in a tone of absolute command. But like I was saying, I was at my computer, when the worst thing happened. I died. No warning, no blood suddenly spurting out to at least give me some grace time to come to terms with my end. Oh well, at least it was quick. Hopefully I didn¡¯t make too much of a mess. And hopefully my sister won¡¯t be the first to find me, knowing better than to come into my room, having learnt the hard way from practical pranks. Negative reinforcement is the key. Moving On. Literally. For me, I don¡¯t remember a light, or darkness, like some people describe after being revived, or like the Supers sometimes recall. My experience can best be likened to being knocked unconscious from a general anaesthetic from going into surgery. One moment you are in a gurney, in a gown, being rolled into a prep room, with a doctor saying ¡®Count down from ten¡¯. Then the next moment, you are awake in a hospital bed, in a ward and the surgery is now over. Nothing in between. I died, then I suddenly found myself in a white room, or maybe space would be better word. I wasn¡¯t standing or anything, but neither was I floating. My feet were flat like I was standing, but I couldn¡¯t feel anything underfoot. I likened it to a state of ¡®Character Creation¡¯ in a videogame. They are just standing there in mid-air, floating, but not. Then details start to coalesce. This time, I think the change happened so slowly, that at no point could I say that at that second there was just white space, then next there were wooden walls, like in a private library. Like a plant that flowers. Or a child that grows. The change is constantly happening, that only by staying away for a time then coming back will you notice how it has grown. And for me, first I was standing/floating in this white space, clothed in light, the next, I was seated at a table, long, like a high table in a noble¡¯s mansion. On one side there was me, sitting in a very comfortable wood high-backed chair with ample padding, and across from me, were creatures of some sort. But they were changing every second. They appeared to be human in proportion and anatomy, but their bodies kept of changing. I once saw a film about a man wearing a camouflaging body suit, which kept up a random generation of facial features to obscure their identity, as they were an undercover cop. It was like that, but their whole bodies kept changing from one complete set, to another. I know that we talked for a very long time, but I can¡¯t recall what we talked about. It feels to this day, like we discussed matters both important and mundane, interesting and completely irrelevant to what was happening to me. But I do know that for some reason, they had selected me to become one of the Supers, but in a very different manner than the standard. I was to be the first of something new, but the only one, to only be succeeded by another when I choose to resign my commission, to select another to take my place. I wasn¡¯t given a mission or a purpose to fulfil. I had no destiny nor a divine mandate. I was only given a small but vital piece of knowledge. Peace is the enemy of mankind! It is only through conflict and strife can mankind give itself purpose. It must face challenges to grow. To reach, to strive. The century long peace the world had arrived at had spelled the doom and end of humanity. The beings sitting across from me weren¡¯t gods or divine beings, but more like guardians or sentinels or overseers. They had been given a responsibility to help humanity reach a pinnacle in its development. That the strife created by Supers weren¡¯t enough in and of themselves. They were just a catalyst. Next, they needed to throw in a single element of chaos. Heroes and Villains, although natural opponents, were still find too much a state of balance. The scales needed to be tipped one way more, but no so much that it could never right itself. They needed a variable that could grow powerful enough to tilt that balance one way, but also be able to tip it the other. To never let balance truly arise. To convince me, they showed me what was happening in our time of peace. War and conflict is a self-propagating process. Peace is an enforced state. Think of it like atoms vibrating. They vibrate enough, sustain enough energy, they produce heat and fire. It brings life and creation and destruction and change and evolution. War and conflict brings progress. But if those atoms lose their energy and settle into a state of stillness, they bring a state of cold, of absolute order, of stasis and so of death. This was our world peace. Of a state of eventual extinction. Of course, it is a lot more complicated than that, but that is what the beings across from me foresaw. A state of absolute zero. And so, I accepted their offer to go back. And they said that when I woke up, I would be given some information of my condition. Wait¡­ What condition?
When I eventually woke up, I was in an entirely different environment than the one that I died in. Where I had died was in my home, where I felt safe and comfortable, the place I awoke in was very much the opposite. For starters, I was slumped out on a couch of indeterminate colour, with a syringe sticking out of my left arm. The room I was in was some kind of disused apartment of other similar kind of building, with walls all around me, an empty doorway, minus the door, and graffiti on very available surface. There were no windows to speak off, just a small hole poking through to the outside, letting in a meagre amount of starlight. And sitting next to me was another guy. He was blackish coloured, but with a lot of cream mixed in. With his mouth hanging open, I could see more than a few rotting or missing teeth, with his sleeve also rolled up, but without a syringe of his own. Looking around, I spotted it a laying in between his feet. Absolutely fucking great. I¡¯ve woken in a drug den, probably jacked full of some unknown shit, but as far as my limited knowledge goes, probably heroin. This was not the deal I signed up for. I was supposed to come back, with some knowledge of some really cool superpower that I have been granted, with the choice of which side I would like to play for. Presumably. And here I am, possibly with a nasty drug addictions, no idea where I am, and apparently who I am, as the meat bag that I am currently wearing is not even a close resemblance to the old me. And I know this because these arms are rail thin, probably due to malnourishment, and that this guy is way taller than I am, even laying down. He¡¯s got like Daddy Long Legs legs, they just don¡¯t seem to end. Hopefully I haven¡¯t got a tiny body and a tiny head, I would look bloody ridiculous. Come on guys, you promised me some information on my ¡®Fucking Condition!¡¯ Welcome, User, to your new life. You have been granted the power of : Reincarnation Due to the special properties of your new power, you will be given information on current abilities. Further information will be provided on an ad hoc basis. Reincarnation : When the user body dies, the soul, memories, stats, abilities and other data are transferred to a new uninhabited, recently deceased vessel. Stats are reduced to 10% of total value and added to base levels. On rebirth, user is granted to right to rename itself and assign experience points on upgrades. This process cannot be interrupted nor interfered with. To access your status screen, visualise yourself in data form whilst mentally calling ¡®Open Status¡¯. Please do so now. Well, that was certainly some information, and surprisingly helpful due to its shortness. Doing as I am instructed, I close myself, and do my best to think of myself as a game character, with clearly delineated statistics for my body and abilities. Then calling out softly to the open air ¡°Open Status¡±. I know that it said mentally, but I felt a bit silly just standing there. Anyhow, it worked:
Name Please Select Strength 1
Race Please Select Endurance 1
Gender Male Dexterity 1
Age 28 Agility 1
Alignment Please Select Intelligence 1
Guild N/A Wisdom 1
Base Attributes 1 Charisma 1
Titles N/A Luck 1
Level 1 Mental Fortitude 100
Experience N/A Character Points 0
Skills Magic Communication Locked
Please select a New Name. Requirements : Format must be in the style of ¡®First Name¡¯, ¡®Nickname¡¯, ¡®Surname¡¯. Names chosen must not be repeated from previous incarnations, including original starting Life. Well, that sure got interesting fast. New name, new name. What to call myself. Presumably, I could go by any of those three names, but that is saying that I don¡¯t have a Hero or Villain identity. I should be asked for a Supername. Not a normal, nick, name. Odd. Oh well, time to decide. Looking around, I couldn¡¯t see anything to confirm my new found thoughts, but I did somehow know that time was now standing still for me. Maybe it was the fact that I couldn¡¯t move, or the dust motes in the air were just hovering there, beautiful in their simplicity. Looks like I have all the time in the world. No pressure. Thinking it through, I had to come up with something that both allowed me to tell people ¡®Hello, my name is Bone, Jim Bone, but you can called me Kettle.¡¯ Something both normal and easy to use, but also epic, and defining. It would be both my identity and my title. Spending about what seemed like 30 minutes or so of coming up and discarding random and various names, I finally get bored. So I decided to go with my first choice. Hopefully I don¡¯t come to regret it. ¡°I Choose : Michael Dude Haysmith.¡± Choice Accepted. New Name : Michael Haysmith Codename : Dude Epic.
Name Michael ''Dude'' Haysmith Strength 1
Race Please Select Endurance 1
Gender Male Dexterity 1
Age 28 Agility 1
Alignment Please Select Intelligence 1
Guild N/A Wisdom 1
Base Attributes 1 Charisma 1
Titles N/A Luck 1
Level 1 Mental Fortitude 100
Experience N/A Character Points 0
Skills Magic Communication Locked
Please choose your default race : - Choice Locked : - Human : Humans are one of the most short lived races. They have almost no natural aptitude for magic, but do have a huge aptitude for most skills. Humans gain Attribute points on level up across all stats. Cannot customize point allocation.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Humans cannot access spellbooks until further evolutions are unlocked. Humans are granted the Psionic Spell Tree. On completion of spell tree, possible rank-up is possible to Jedi class Humans gain 1,000 Character Points Per Character Level. Attention : Characters Points are normally earned for special actions. Humans gain consistent points at the expense of events. Choice Accepted. New Race : Human
Name Michael ''Dude'' Haysmith Strength 1
Race Human Endurance 1
Gender Male Dexterity 1
Age 28 Agility 1
Alignment Please Select Intelligence 1
Guild N/A Wisdom 1
Base Attributes 1 Charisma 1
Titles N/A Luck 1
Level 1 Mental Fortitude 100
Experience N/A Character Points 0
Skills Magic Communication Locked
Well, nuts. Could be worse though. Imagine if I was forced to be a goblin, or the gods forbid, a Fairy. I don¡¯t want to spend this new life being ¡®Cute¡¯. Even so, having access to a psionic spell school sounds really cool. Levitating shit, taking over peoples mind, enforcing my will on the world. Nice. Although healing is so going to be a bitch though. Never seen a psionic skill that could heal, although this is a first for me, so what do I know. And talk about becoming a Jedi. Lightsabers and force powers. I think my hands are trembling slightly with excitement. I wonder what¡¯s next. Please select which super side you would wish to take. Choice A ¨C Super Hero : Heroes believe in the system that stands. They fight for the common good and fight for others. They stand to protect the status quo, although they have been known to root out and destroy corruption. Others wish to rise high in the current regimes ranks. Be aware, not all Heroes are Good. If you choose this option, you will be given co-ordinates to the closest hero training facility (Attention ¨C Critical Warning : High chance of order instability. Current Hero Ratio : 72 %) Choice B ¨C Super Villain ¨C Villains believe in themselves, whether they believe that they alone hold to key to freedom and true leadership, or if they are out for their own selfish ends. Villains tend to overthrow the current status quo to install their own versions of leadership. Be aware, not all villains are Evil. If you choose this option, you will be given co-ordinates to the closest trainer who can introduce you to the underworld. (Attention ¨C Critical Warning : High chance of regaining stability and balance. Current Villain Ratio : 28%) Attention : Further experience may unlock additional super sides Please make a choice : Choice A ¨C Superheroes Choice B ¨C Supervillains Balls, I was so hoping to go the hero route first. I mean, who doesn¡¯t want to be famous and to save the day, battle the evil villains and to get the girl at the end of the day. Not to mention that it would be so much easier to view the world in shades on black and white, us vs them. Good vs evil. I mean, what is the worst that can really happen if we did achieve world peace once again? Why not become a Hero and bring peace and prosperity for all human kind? Shit, why did I just think that? Suddenly a vision hits me front a center: Humanity is celebrating as a race, not just as a bunch of nations. Finally, the heroes have vanquished the villains, bringing an end to their violence and depravities. Finally, people can rest easy, mourn their loved ones who are longer with us all. Finally, we can usher in a new golden age that will last till the end of time. The Heroes will stand as sentinels and as guardians, helping to bring the fractured nations of the Earth together, to help us heal our broken identities, to help us see the commonalities that we all hold, to forget ancient grudges, to suppress those who only desire power for their own sakes. The Heroes will help bring advancements in social infrastructure, advancements in medicine and technologies, to bring the standard of living up for all mankind, so that everyone may stand on equal footing. Children will be treated as the Heroes of the future, our hope of a continuing better world. They will be given the opportunities and support to seek an educations, a vocation, a chance to pursue their life¡¯s dream. No child will be left behind. No child will ever have to live in fear. The world in finally united as one. Aggression is weeded and cured. All illnesses are a thing of the past, whether they be physical, mental or emotional. Our world is finally fixed, all pollution is eliminated, all of the wrongs are righted. We no longer need to hunt to extinctions all the animal and plant life that our glorious planet offers us. We stabilize our over-population epidemic. All children are raised as a community, parents are a thing of the past, but rather all adults are seen as mothers and fathers. We develop a drug which halts the sperm and egg production in all males and females. Humans can no longer populate our planet naturally anymore. They are now grown inside artificial wombs, controlled to birth at acceptable rates, eliminating any and all birth defects, born perfect and whole. Slowly but surely, over the decades, we rein in our population to a gentle and consistent 2.5 billion humans. Over the next three centuries, humanity settles into a utopian of life. Forests are finally repopulated and healthy once more. An abundance of wildlife is allowed to flourish, where animals are no longer afraid of humans. Cities arise where learning is the highest calling, science flourishes, and spiritualism is the mainstay for a healthy mind and wellbeing. Harmony is achieved in all things. Violence is now a thing of myth, relegated to the history archives. It has finally been cured. Centuries turn into millennium, and still the golden age lives on. But one day, there comes an epidemic not seen in all of human history. People are starting to lose interest in life. They are not eating, barely sleeping and unable to move. The scientists are looking for a cause, but the plague is moving and infecting too fast for them to catch up. People are finally dying, wasting away into bones, malnourished to the point where their bodies can longer sustain their life spark. Thousands are dying per day. And the rate is slowly increasing. Fifteen years pass, and after millions upon millions of deaths, scientists have found the cause. A simple parasite. A piece of life which is so small, and now so rare, that it took all of this time for the scientists to think to look for them. They were thought to be extinct, but it turns out they just evolved to become something else. They became symbiotic. They were so close to being wiped out in humanities advancements in the medical fields, but a few survived and adapted. They fed upon humanity, using us to sustain them. But in return, they gave us increased longevity. Old age was not a burden, but just a numerical value for how long someone had lived. A measure until they finally expired. We aged to middle age, and stayed there till our final days, because of these symbiotic parasites. We thought we had evolved. We were wrong. It took decades for them to spread to the breeding facilities, to infect those who grew the embryos, then they were passed onto every single human being from then one. But although to helped us, improved us, gave us health and longevity, they never quite stopped evolving. Till one day they moved to a nirvana for their species of life. The human brain, full of chemicals and brain matter. They started to gorge themselves, to the point where they started to kill their human hosts. But by this point it was too late. They had evolved to become almost indistinguishable from the human host, to have invaded to the center of the human brain. The scientist worked tirelessly on a cure, but a new problem was growing unnoticed. The parasites had not stopped evolving. Over those fifteen years it took to find them, they had found true ambrosia for their kind. The chemical that had become integral to the human system. The drug the suppressed the rage and violence of humans. The parasites started to feed upon this drug, and they feasted upon the unnaturally produced serotonin. Humans started to lose their minds in fits of rage and destruction. They started to kill. They became less than animals, more like furies, incarnations of rage and death and destruction. The rest of human kind not yet afflicted with this terrible curse didn¡¯t know how to react, they didn¡¯t know what to do. They had a lifetime of not having any aggressive or violent urges. A lifetime of pacifism. A lifetime to learn how to become prey. The affliction grew, the infected killing, before their parasites killed them in turn. The wave of death flooded the world without end. Till the very end, where the last of the humans died ignoble deaths, alone, and in pain, and in rage. Dozens of other visions were given to me, one after the other, or at the same time maybe. The downfall of humanity. The one consistent piece being humanities inability to evolve or to adapt any longer, for they longer needed to. You alone get to decide the fate of humanity. Although balance may be achieved naturally once more, you are being given the opportunity to make sure that these scenarios never occur. So you may now choose. Choose balance, or let fate take its course. Well, take isn¡¯t heavy or anything. No pressure. I could follow my own selfish desires to become the Hero, but at what cost? The messages are implying that it could work out despite my choices, but how, if I was ever given the chance once more, could I look my Dad in the eye, and tell him that I put myself above the fate of humanity? Choice Accepted : Super Villain set. Please follow the green trail to your instructor.
Name Michael ''Dude'' Haysmith Strength 1
Race Please Select Endurance 1
Gender Male Dexterity 1
Age 28 Agility 1
Alignment Villainous Intelligence 1
Guild N/A Wisdom 1
Base Attributes 1 Charisma 1
Titles N/A Luck 1
Level 1 Mental Fortitude 100
Experience N/A Character Points 0
Skills Magic Communication Locked
I was expecting for time to starting moving again at that point, but I still couldn¡¯t move. Initial parameters confirmed. Tutorial Initiated. Tutorial finalized. Time restarted. Good Luck, Dude. A flood of information rockets into my head. Information of how use my new interface, on how to call up the menus, how to level up, how to progress. Finally, weirdly enough, I was given a phone number; 058-698-7123. Apparently this number is my own personal ID that if I give it to anybody else, they can call me on the phone that is installed in my head. Well, status screen, but presumably the status screen is in my head¡­ whatever, they can call me, I can call them, without the pesky need to actually purchase a phone. I mentally click on the skill tab on the bottom, but it just brings up a blank screen. Looks like I haven¡¯t earned any skills yet. Moving to the next tab, Magic, brings up some cool information. Psionic Ability : Telekinesis Cost : 30 MP per minute Range : 50 ft Cooldown : Instant Level : 1 of 10 (0%) Defining Attributes : WIS, DEX, AGI Able to move objects with willpower alone. Willpower defines weight, dexterity defines fine control, agility defines speed object is able to be moved at per foot. Level 5 will unlock a new ability. Nice. Level up some more, get bigger stats, then sneak around stealing shit and shanking people from afar, maybe even pulls the pants down on my enemies for a laugh mid battle. So many possibilities, I can¡¯t wait to get started. But I have some more to cover, need to get time started once more a make a move. Selecting communications, my last tab, seeing as yet, hopefully, that I can¡¯t access the locked tab, I come across another blank screen. This time, though, it has yet more tabs, this time across the top, labeled; contacts, logs, texts and finally location. The first three were as you would suspect, but the location tab was very interesting. It showed like a map, but covered in the fog of war, except in the center which showed me, in a room, with the details I had previously observed. I just hope that¡¯s it¡¯s, and that some hacker can¡¯t track my every movement, or worse, hack me. And in big bold letters across the top but below the tabs, the name of the city is displayed; New York City, New York. Bugger. Closing the status screen mentally, I review some of more of information I was imparted. I can only increase my attribute points by leveling up and by special events only. Working out and exercising won¡¯t increase my strength or agility or dexterity, nor will studying increase my intelligence or wisdom, nor betting big in casinos increase my luck. Rather they will allow me to better understand what I am capable of. Lifting weights will tell my how strong I am, treadmills will tell me how fast I can run, betting will tell me how lucky I am. Hitting on women in a bar will tell me how attractive my charisma makes me. And there are only three main ways of levelling; killing, loot (or stealing) and increasing my skills and that at certain level milestones, I will unlock certain preset goodies. Also there may be other ways to increase my levels, but I have to find those with experience. At you may have noticed that one piece of information has been left till last. Saving the best. Inventory. I have been granted probably to most awesome and maybe versatile of my new abilities. I can access my personal pocket dimension by simply thrusting my hand into an imagined tear in the fabric of space and into my inventory. It is more a mental process rather than physical, as I technically don¡¯t need to move my hand, but I feels a bit weird not to. Maybe in time. When I reached in, I knew what my inventory contained, which wasn¡¯t very much at all. Just ID, with my new name ¡®Michael Haysmith¡¯ and with a microchip with my details contained inside of it. These ID¡¯s were adopted about 5-6 years ago by most of the western countries, including good ole England. The chips contained my DNA sequence, personal information, fingerprints, and was an all-in-one ID for all of my needs. It was my driving licence, library card, medical records, police record, all of the life digital data is stored on my ID card. Depending on the scanners, different information can be pulled from the card. For example, if I went to a library to search for a digital or hardcopy book to take home, their scanners could read all the information pertaining to my reading and checkout history, but not anything else. For the police, though, they could pull almost all of the information they wanted from my card, except for my medical records, except maybe for any imminent or life-threatening information, like I have a diabetes, but not that I went to a clinic to get checked for gonorrhea. Just in case you are wondering how this data is protected, well, all humans are now placed with a special tag in their systems, which links up with the cards microchip. If the card is taken out of my range, about 25 feet or so, the card in disabled, my phone gets an automatic notification with GPS co-ordinates of where the card is located, and if the police should be alerted that it has been stolen. The system is not perfect, they are flaws and work arounds, but generally, your data is extremely secure. And I have given you this info dump, for one very good reason. Except for my name displayed and a photograph, I can¡¯t access any information that the chip might contain. So I have no idea what the authorities will find on the card when they have a look. And depending on what info is on the card and what info is missing, I could be royally screwed. Back to my inventory, it currently operates by very simple rules. I can store 100kg of weight per point of strength I have, and only items of up to one foot in diameter can be stored in the dimension. When I access my inventory, I know exactly what is in there and can get anything in or out with but a thought. And that leads to some very lucrative ideas for some thieving work. Just imagine it, I can walk into a high tech superstore, grab some expensive hardware, place in inside of a shopping bag but really put it in my inventory. Even if the store cops, or reals cops try to arrest me for shop lifting, viola, no items stolen and they can¡¯t prove a thing. The possibilities are endless. What need have I for money? Well maybe I need it for rent, for internet and online shopping, and my kindle (yes, we still have those) and for anything else I can¡¯t steal. That is gonna be one of the kinks I am going to have to sort out. Bridge, later.
It is about an hour later, and I have made my way into downtown, or so I believe. The empire state building is currently undergoing repairs, after that Super showdown last week. That fight cost more than a few people their lives, and not to mention the horrific economic costs involved. But this time, or so the news sites reported, new materials are being integrated with the repairs, so it will be more durable to any more Super fights. Honestly, I am surprised that it hadn¡¯t happened sooner. Hopefully, whilst the building will be restored to its former beauty, it won¡¯t be as fragile. A few blocks back I had stopped inside a clothing store, but I don¡¯t remember its name. And I stopped not only to steal some shit (I did though) but to look in the mirror to get a handle on my new appearance. And I can tell you, I am not impressed. Some ultra-white, blond haired, green eyes gangly little twerp. This is my new body. And with a stupidly scruffy beard to boot. But at least I am now skinny. Turns out that I am size 30, 6¡±1¡¯ tall, about 100 pounds, but with longer fingers, more like pianists fingers rather than short fat sausages. Once I take a look at myself, I quickly rounded up some clothes; some long-sleeved shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, three different pairs of boots roughly my shoe size (Size 10, so that is still the same at least), two very different jackets, and a pair of sunglasses (turns out that I have perfect eye-sight, or at least very much improved eye-sight). I took them all into the changing rooms, much to the raised eyebrows of the attendant. I can imagine that he is seriously wondering if I can afford any single item that I have taken in with me. And that is because what I was wearing looked like shit. Not covered in shit, but maybe a few smudges of the brown stuff. I don¡¯t think I smelled, and I definitely looked like I belonged in the lower strata of society. And whilst the store I had entered wasn¡¯t of the high class, super-duper rich type, it was still way outside of my current budget. But the attendant couldn¡¯t have known that for sure, so he just politely handed me a token with chip embedded inside of it, with a holographic image of what I was wearing when I entered the changing rooms. An anti-theft device, so that I don¡¯t try to walk out with some I was carrying in. Once I had entered past the privacy curtain, I saw a line of stalls with doors, about six or seven of them in total, and a large rotunda at the very end, with a sign saying to leave all clothes on the bars or any items that are unwanted, as other attendants will put them back in their correct places. Any items I do want to take, I simply bring with me to the attendant outside, he will swipe my ID card, and the charge will be registered, where the money will be immediately transferred. So course, I cheated. As soon as I entered one of the empty stalls, I hung up the clothes on the bar provided, placed the shoes and sunglasses on the shelf and shucked myself of the shitty clothes I was born into. Trying on the different articles of clothing, it turns out that only one of the pairs of the jeans fit me. And I don¡¯t like one of the jackets after all. The shirts all fit me fine, and so too do the boots. So I stuff, or should I say, gently placed the desired clothing inside my inventory, as well as the sunglasses. Taking the undesirables to the return rotunda, I make my way to the exit. As I pass through the curtain, I hand my chit back to the attendant, who slides the disk into a pillar just behind himself. Waving me through past the scanner, he eyes me like he is expecting the alarms to go off and for me to start legging it, with him hoping to be the valiant hero who rugby tackles me to the ground. And I watch the disappointment light up in his entire bearing as I make it to the other side without a hint of blaring sirens. He then turns a glare on me and says, ¡°Have to good day, sir,¡± but doesn¡¯t mention the ¡®Come back soon¡¯ that I had heard him declare proudly to other customers who had exited the changing rooms previously to me. Deciding that it probably better to exit the store now rather than take the chance that the nice man by the booths will kick up a fuss if I try to enter the stalls again with another intake of clothes and exit empty handed. Whilst the store is quite big, there are lots of cameras around, and I don¡¯t want to give away my secret this early on. Exiting the store, I continued down the street till I came to one of many alleys that honeycomb New York City. Diving down the first alley, I spot a trash dumpster, which I take refuge behind in preparation for my clothes switcharoo. But I get a surprise when I reach into my inventory. A tutorial of information pops into my head, leaving me reeling back. I crash down onto the pavement, and lightly smack my head against the big stupid metal thingy. What¡¯s it called again? Don¡¯t care, it hurt me so it doesn¡¯t get a name right now. Fucking informational download. What¡¯s wrong with some text I can read at my own pace, like before, when has this suddenly changed into a rollercoaster with a huge hammer at the end ready to pound itself into my brain? Anyway, the information I got was quite interest. Apparently, when I reach into my inventory for items like clothing or weaponry, I can choose to equip them, meaning that I don¡¯t have to strip down and expose my glory to the world. Instead, my power will do a superman in the phone booth type thing. It will cause a shimmer affect around my body and switch out the items I currently either hold or am wearing, and change them for the desired items. Again, I have to do it out of sight, the shimmer will give away that I am no longer normal. It might only two one to two seconds, but that is still more than enough time for someone to notice. Choosing the equip option, suddenly I am wearing black boots that wrap around my ankle, perfectly tightened for a secure grip but not cutting off my circulation. Next I am wearing a deep navy blue pair of jeans, sans belt, with a deep blue shirt with a herringbone pattern, a black leather jacket and sunglasses. Now I look nice. Exiting the alley, I continue down to my trainer¡¯s destination, visiting a few other shops along the way, this time receiving a much nicer welcome now that I look like I can afford the clothes on sale. Stealing a few more pairs of trousers, shirts, jackets, sunglasses, and finally, clean underwear. God, I think the last occupant liked to sit in his own shit. Filthy bastard. I must have filled up a substantial amount of my inventory space, as I could feel this weight push down on me, and my walking speed had dropped a bit. I was making good headway before, but now I could actually feel some drag, like I was pulling along a buggy. Hopefully soon I can increase my levels and sort out this weight problem. But for now, I had finally arrived at a restaurant called ¡®Gally¡¯s¡¯. Inside, through the glass windows, I could see a few of the tables were occupied but not overly so. Looks like it might pick up later though. Walking through the front doors, I walk up to the hostess, who is a gorgeous brunette with a smoking waitress outfit, and ask, ¡°Hello, I am here to see Joe. Nathaniel told me that he could help me re-design my garden. Could you please show me where he is sitting, please?¡± That done, I have completed the task given to me with the ridiculous code phrase and everything. The waitress, whose name tag reads ¡®Tiffany¡¯, gives me a strange look, then her entire face brightens up, and replying in a lovely light and joyful voice, ¡°Okay, sir, if you would like to come this way, I can show you to a table, and I will tell Mr Joe. That you have arrived. He might be a few minutes, his is just finishing up some¡­ business.¡± ¡°Okay then, lead on.¡± Tiffany then turns around presenting a fine piece of ass to my eyes, which she knows that my eyes are glued to, as she turns her head just as I dropped mine. Giving me a smile with a twinkle in them, she leads me to one of the booths at the far end of the restaurant, and place me with my back facing the staff kitchen door and my head towards the entrance. When she walks away, my eyes stayed glued to her gluteus. Then about a minute later, whilst still ogling her, I feel something pressed into the back of my head. Although in England I had never come across a handgun, nor even felt one, I could still recognise one as it was pressing really hard against the back on my neck. ¡°That¡¯s my wife you¡¯re drooling over. Tell me why I shouldn¡¯t kill you right now. You have ten seconds.¡± Ooops.