ã€ŠYoujo Senki: War Gamesã€‹


 Meeting the "God of War"

    Darkness falls across the land¡­

    The midnight hour is close at hand¡­

    Actually, the midnight hour passed by about, oh¡­ 3 hours ago? Give or take. The witching hour was in full swing but the only thing haunting Thomas Miller was his impending deadline.

    Turning off the music player, the young man sighed as he leaned back in his uncomfortable office chair. He rubbed his eyes, hoping such an action would drive away the sleep deprivation. Unfortunately, it did little besides make it even harder to keep awake.

    Thomas looked at the clock, casually ticking away without a care in the world. If only he were so lucky. But every tick and tock the clock brought only hastened his impending deadline.

    No one else was in the building, or at least he hoped so. If there were such a person, he was likely to rob poor Thomas. Not that he would get very much, as Thomas¡¯s wallet grew lighter by the day. You¡¯d think working sixty hour weeks would fatten the hungry little fella up, but it only seemed to do the opposite.

    Speaking of being hungry, Thomas¡¯s stomach bellowed loudly and fervently, demanding sustenance. ¡°Yeah I know. You''re hungry. But I¡¯ve got this deadline and-¡± But his stomach would not be denied, and let out an even louder roar.

    ¡°Alright, alright! I¡¯ll feed you. Just give me a minute¡­¡± Thomas said with a sigh. Maybe it was a good thing all his coworkers decided to come down with the flu, lest they catch him losing an argument with his stomach. A sad day for the former captain of his high school debate team.

    Or at least that was their excuse, but seeing as it was New Years, he sincerely doubted they all came down with a bug at the same time. Not unless that bug came with a six pack and loose women. Now if they called tomorrow about having an illness, he might have believed it.

    Giving the screen in front of him one last look before wandering through the dark streets in search of food, he frowned at the incomplete string of code. It was supposed to have been done days ago, but lazy people kept forcing their work on him.

    The code itself was for a game they were making called Rift War, a sci-fi 5v5 battle game. Players would select characters from two primary factions and battle them across several different planets, each with their own gimmick. There were other modes of play, of course, but that was the gist of it.

    That¡¯s right, Thomas worked for a game company. One he had started himself with a friend from college. And what a terrible idea that turned out to be.

    He thought it would be a good investment, as his friend had very rich parents who could invest in the company. That was actually part of the sales pitch that made him agree in the first place.

    But as it turns out, they weren¡¯t exactly keen on investing in a company that hasn¡¯t produced anything of note since the company¡¯s founding. That¡¯s when they gave their son an ultimatum.

    Either produce results, or no more money. Hearing that, Thomas¡¯s friend guaranteed his parents that they would be unveiling their game at the next Summer Game Fest. That mollified them somewhat, but they were now on a serious deadline, something the slackers they hired weren¡¯t prepared for.

    Neither was his friend, honestly. Thomas was almost certain the company would be shut down and whatever assets they had would be auctioned off, but that didn¡¯t mean he wouldn¡¯t put his all into trying to make it work.

    So that¡¯s why he was here in the dead of night battling the ghosts that come out after 3 AM. He would at least do his part, that¡¯s what he was paid for after all, even if he was doing more work than his salary demanded.

    His stomach took that moment to remind him of his promise to feed it. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m going. Stop yelling at me already,¡± he mumbled, standing up from his less than comfortable chair.

    He stretched a bit, trying to work out the kinks in his back, but that proved to be less than effective. He let out a sigh as he started to walk through the empty office, passing by a multitude of computers before reaching the main hall. The space they had was part of a larger building complex that rented out space to multiple companies.

    That was Thomas¡¯s idea. His friend wanted to get a massive building, but if they had, his parents would have likely cut them off ages ago. And considering their small team, such an expense would not have been a wise investment.

    Locking the door behind him, he made his way to the elevator, hitting the button for the ground floor. The building they were in wasn¡¯t exactly the most up to date or modern structure, so it took a good bit for the elevator to grind up to his floor.

    Thomas was always a bit wary about riding the thing, considering the noise it made, but so far, it¡¯s proven to be quite reliable. Perhaps it¡¯s just that older things were built to last, unlike products today, which were built with an expiration in mind to force the consumer to purchase more products. This was especially true with electronics, like phones or computers. A bit scummy, perhaps, but you couldn¡¯t argue against its effectiveness.

    Once he finally reached the bottom, he proceeded to leave the building, checking his phone for any restaurants that might be available at this ungodly hour. Turns out, nothing that made anything decent.

    McDonald¡¯s it is. Now that was a successful business. Most people didn¡¯t even care that what they were eating may or may not have been actual meat fit for human consumption. It was cheap, and with it being covered in grease, pretty tasty too.

    What more could you ask for?

    Luckily, those things were everywhere, and one just so happened to be down the street. So he wrapped his jacket around himself tighter and began his trek to the fast food joint.

    He walked down the barren city streets, his breath coming out in foggy vapors as it met the chilly New Year¡¯s air. At this time of day the city was mostly peaceful, but the atmosphere could use some work. The flickering light above as he passed under the streetlamp sure didn¡¯t help any. It was like a scene straight out of a slasher flick.

    It also spoke of either negligence or incompetence. Someone should have been around to change it days ago after he filed a report with the city. But it seems they enjoyed sitting on their asses and wasting his tax dollars on frivolous nonsense.

    No use griping about what he had no control over. His time was better spent on things he could control, like getting cheap food and returning to work. Those were far better uses of his time.

    Walking through the sliding doors into the fast food restaurant, Thomas winced as the bright lights assaulted his vision. He had to blink a few times to clear the spots away. ¡°That should be a health and safety violation,¡± he thought to himself.

    But rather than verbally assault a minimum wage employee, he chose to suck it up and just order some food. Walking up to the cash register, he saw a young woman in her late teens, staring at her phone and chewing some bubble gum.

    And completely ignoring him. He waited a minute to see if she would acknowledge him, but to his immense frustration, she just continued to tap away at her phone, blowing bubbles with her gum.

    ¡°Um, excuse me?¡± Thomas said aloud, getting her to cast a disinterested look his way, the bubble she was blowing popping. With a long, resentful sigh, like speaking to him and doing her job was the greatest hassle in her life, she asked him a question.

    ¡°What can I get you?¡±

    The words were professional enough, but the tone was anything but. Thomas, however, didn''t care, and simply ordered a couple of burgers off the dollar menu, a medium fries, and a large drink.

    ¡°Will it be all for you sir?¡± she asked, bored.

    ¡°Yes, that should just about do it.¡±

    ¡°Fantastic. That¡¯ll be 12.50.¡±

    Thomas winced at the price. Damn inflation. If only congress wasn¡¯t filled with a bunch of communists who didn''t understand the first thing about economics. Wouldn¡¯t that be nice?

    Paying the outrageous bill, he went to fill up his drink and wait. Apparently, the graveyard shift was severely understaffed, because it took him 20 minutes to get his food. Perhaps if they hadn¡¯t hiked the minimum wage up to 25$ an hour, Micky D¡¯s might actually hire some more people.

    But he was forced to wait for not so fast food, until he eventually received it. After double checking to make sure they didn¡¯t screw up his order, he left the restaurant.

    Walking back wasn¡¯t any better than the trip there. The night air was still cold, but there was one difference. The flickering light from before had finally decided it was time to burn out. How very considerate.

    The atmosphere of the dark streets was creepy enough before, but now that there was a large swath of space completely devoid of all light, well, it made him want to head back to the exceptionally well lit McDonald¡¯s.

    But he didn¡¯t. He needed to consume this dubious meat he bought, pray he wouldn¡¯t get heartburn from the grease, and get back to work.

    But just as he was passing through the lightless path in front of him, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Thomas pulled it back, but the grip was surprisingly strong. He could see who it was that grabbed him, but he could sure as hell smell him.

    It was the smell of garbage mixed with a healthy dose of vomit, and just a dash of alcohol. Thomas¡¯s nose crinkled from the smell, and redoubled his efforts to escape, managing to drag whoever it was into the light.

    He was dirty, but that should have been a given, considering the smell coming from him. His clothes were worn and ragged, having seen far too much use. His beard was wild and unkempt, with what looked like bird shit stuck in the hairs, and his shoes were held together by duct tape.

    Thomas didn¡¯t know who he was, but he knew he was one of the homeless who had made camp in the area recently. He cursed himself for forgetting that fact. If he had, he would have ignored his stomach and just kept working. But no, he had to give in to his whining.

    This is what he gets for being a nice person.

    ¡°Hey asshole, let go!¡± Thomas yelled, hoping that his shouts would draw some attention their way and someone would have the decency to help him.

    ¡°Come on man, just give me some of that food you got. I¡¯m starving,¡± the hobo said, his voice gnarled and cracked, likely from years of hard living and even harder drugs. It was hard to see in the dark, but Thomas could make out the tell-tale signs of drug abuse.

    His eyes for one, were wild and dilated, unable to focus on anything for long. His teeth were rotten and yellow, with several missing. There were burn marks on his lips as well as his fingertips, a common sign of those who were familiar with a crack pipe.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I paid for this with my hard earned money that I made from my job. If you would like to eat something that hasn¡¯t been in the garbage, perhaps you should consider getting one yourself,¡± Thomas replied.

    Honestly, the fact that he thought he would just hand over his food was absurd. Laughable even. Thomas wasn¡¯t opposed to giving to the needy, but this man was in this situation of his own free will. He chose to do the drugs, no one forced him to do so. Or it was extremely unlikely that they did.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Hey, I fought for this country, so how about you show some respect. I bled over there and what do I get in return? Some uppity little cocksucker who won¡¯t share one measly little burger. I tell ya, it¡¯s a damn shame what¡¯s happened to this country,¡± muttered the homeless man.

    ¡°Do you have any idea just how expensive these measly little burgers are? If you did, you¡¯d understand why I have no intention of giving you one. So go try your sob story somewhere else,¡± Thomas told him. But that seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as the homeless man took a swing at him.

    ¡°Woah!¡± Thomas yelled out, leaning his head back to avoid the blow. This is what happens when stupid people get emotional. They lash out with anger and violence with no heed to the consequences.

    ¡°Think you¡¯re so smart, don¡¯t ya? Think you¡¯re better than me? I¡¯ll show you!¡± shouted the homeless man, eyes manic with fury. He took another swing at Thomas, only for him to dance clumsily out of the way.

    ¡°Damn it! How did I end up in this situation?¡± he thought, as the vagrant grabbed his bag of food, starting a tug of war between the two. Becoming infuriated by the fact that he was being assaulted for no reason, Thomas took a swing of his own, connecting with the man¡¯s nose, making him release the bag as he stumbled backwards.

    ¡°How¡¯d that feel, asshole? Shit that hurt,¡± Thomas complained, cradling his hand. They made it look so much easier in the movies.

    ¡°You son of a bitch!¡± shouted the homeless man with a bloody nose. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, brandishing it at Thomas with clear intention.

    ¡°Woah, let¡¯s just calm down,¡± Thomas said, backing away from the psychotic bum in front of him.

    ¡°You had your chance you little bitch. Now go to hell with the rest of the fat cats!¡± he shouted, rushing towards Thomas. Said man dropped the food he was carrying in favor of grabbing the bearded man¡¯s arms.

    They struggled for a bit, and Thomas lamented the fact that he didn¡¯t commit to the gym like he said he would. That laziness was really coming back to bite him at the moment.

    The two of them continued their dance for a bit, neither one able to overpower the other. Thomas had his full attention on the knife that was aiming for his chest, which would prove to be a fatal mistake.

    His foot came down on the side of the curb, and he went down like a sack of potatoes, followed closely by an enraged vagabond. The two hit the ground, with the bum landing on top of him. Thomas felt a sharp pain in his chest, and found it hard to breathe.

    And not just because of the rancid breath of the homeless man straddling him. That wasn¡¯t something he ever thought he¡¯d say.

    ¡°Take that mother fucker,¡± the bum said, spitting in Thomas¡¯s face. Once the dirt hobo got off of his chest, Thomas looked down to see the damage.

    ¡°No wonder it¡¯s hard to breathe. It went right into my left lung,¡± he thought, breaths coming out in gurgling rasps. Blood leaked out of his mouth as he desperately tried for one more breath.

    ¡°Am I¡­ dying? Seriously? All because some asshole thought he was entitled to my food? God damn it,¡± he thought, turning to look at his killer who was rummaging through his McDonald¡¯s bag.

    ¡°I hope you choke, asshole.¡±

    As if he could hear Thomas¡¯s final thoughts, he turned around and gave the man a grin. ¡°You should have just shared it with me. Not right that you should get two burgers and I don''t get one. Is that what you call equality? You eat cause you have money, and I starve cause I don¡¯t. How is that fair?¡±

    ¡°Oh great, he¡¯s a communist, just my luck. How is it fair that I¡¯m expected to shoulder the burden of feeding you as well, when you aren¡¯t willing to work? What part of that is equal? Lazy shit,¡± Thomas thought. As he wasn¡¯t able to verbally communicate his thoughts, due to the blood in his lungs, he instead raised a shaky hand and gave him the middle finger. Pretty sure he got the gist of it.

    That was the last thing Thomas saw as his eyes closed and his breathing stopped.

    When he opened them again, he was surprised to find himself inside of a massive chamber, with enormous marbled columns going up hundreds of feet to the ceiling. A ceiling that was painted with depictions of various wars, with red being the central color scheme.

    The walls were painted in a similar fashion, only they showed the steady progression of war, from people using rocks and pointy sticks, to swords and bows, all the way up to tanks and fighter jets.

    Looking below him, he saw a large, desolate expanse filled with innumerable amounts of skulls. It was like he was standing on glass, looking down at the remains of every person who ever died.

    At one end of the room was an extremely large stone throne, with, shocker, more bones covering it. It looked like some fucked up cult effigy they¡¯d make to obtain Satan¡¯s favor. That didn¡¯t bode well for him.

    The other end of the room contained a pair of gargantuan doors made of blackened steel with depictions of people getting run through by a spear, or decapitated by a sword.

    Whoever this place belonged to had a colossal boner for war. ¡°Bet he¡¯d get along great with dad,¡± Thomas thought with bitterness. His dad never did forgive him for not joining the army. He wondered if he¡¯d even show up at his funeral, especially after he was killed in a fight with a hobo.

    ¡°Are you finished with your observations?¡± someone with an impossibly deep and gravelly voice asked. Thomas spun around and saw a figure sitting in the throne that was definitely not there a second prior.

    He wore an outfit reminiscent of a spartan, only he didn¡¯t wear a shirt. Probably because he couldn¡¯t find one that fit his frame. Not because he was fat, far from it, but because his muscles were so big, he probably ripped any shirt he put on.

    His lower half was covered by one of those armored, skirt thingies, and he wore a cloak the color of blood around his broad shoulders. A pair of metal greaves protected his shins, with leather sandals on his feet. Next to the throne rested a spear, easily within arms reach, with a shield on the other side.

    But the most unsettling thing of all was the helmet. It wasn¡¯t the helmet itself that made him nervous, seeing as it was just a standard spartan helmet with a red crest, it was the pair of eyes he could see within the shadows of the protective helm.

    Fire. Eyes made of fire that stared at him with an intense anger. Thomas didn¡¯t know what he did to make this guy angry, but he regretted it.

    ¡°I, um, yes?¡± Thomas inquired. The looming figure did not seem impressed by his stuttering.

    ¡°And have you figured out where you are, human?¡± he asked with a hint of condescension.

    ¡°I assumed it was hell,¡± Thomas stated. What else could it have been? The massive figure leaned forward, making Thomas feel more than a little intimidated.

    ¡°If only you were so lucky. However, I am not the devil. I am Ares, the God of War. And you, little human, have offended me greatly,¡± came the booming reply.

    Thomas looked even more confused at that. ¡°Could you elaborate on that?¡± he asked, having no idea what he could have done to anger a so-called god. But if it was true, and he really was the God of War, then at least the decor made sense.

    Ares leaned back in his throne, staring at the human in front of him. He waved his hand, and the scene below him changed from a valley of bones to a village. One that looked like it came from the dark ages.

    ¡°Over a thousand years ago, I bestowed a blessing on your family. They were about to go to war and prayed that I would guide them in the coming conflict. It was nothing more than a whim on my part.¡±

    The scene below showed what happened. A man and a woman, knelt in prayer, and a raging fire burst forth from the hearth. It was almost like watching a play.

    ¡°And since that time, every member of your family has set foot on the battlefield. And every member has returned alive. Not a single soul was lost to war. Such was the covenant we made.¡±

    ¡°That is, until you.¡±

    His voice grew angry at that, and the scene below showed Thomas, fighting the homeless communist and getting stabbed. It was bad enough the first time but seeing it from an outside perspective was really off putting.

    ¡°I was willing to let the insult of you abstaining from war slide, as your family has honored our pact for so long. I could accept a single son refusing. That is¡­ until you died in battle.¡±

    The temperature in the room rose dramatically, and the scene below him shifted to the endless expanse of bones once more, all of them shaking and jittering, clacking their teeth together on a horrific cacophony of sound.

    ¡°Um, right, sorry about that. But it¡¯s not like I intended to die or anything. And besides, it¡¯s pretty messed up that you would hold me to a promise that I never made or even knew about. Plus, it doesn¡¯t seem to be a very effective blessing if a starving bum could kill me,¡± Thomas said.

    ¡°That might have been the wrong thing to say¡­¡± he thought to himself, watching as Ares became incensed.

    ¡°You dare claim me at fault!? When I so generously forgave you the insult you gave me!?¡±

    Thomas reached up to his ear, using his finger to clean it out. That shout really did a number on his eardrums. ¡°Again, and I mean no disrespect, but I never agreed to anything. You can¡¯t hold me accountable to a contract I never signed or consented to. That¡¯s not how things work,¡± he said.

    ¡°What!?¡±

    ¡°If you wanted to renew the contract, you should have done so on an individual basis. None of this collectivist crap. That completely destroys the foundation of free will. You should be ashamed of yourself,¡± Thomas said, lecturing the angry god.

    ¡°How arrogant you humans have become, to lecture a god about his rights.¡±

    ¡°A god should know these things. The fact that you deny them is pretty telling. Actually, you remind me of this show I watched, about alien abductions. How they would pretend to be something else so the person never realized what they really were. Is that what you really are? An alien who wants to probe me? Well it ain¡¯t gonna happen pal!¡±

    There was a bit of stunned silence for a bit, and Thomas felt proud for having sussed out this creature''s true nature. A god? As if! Gods don¡¯t exist, and if they did, surely they wouldn¡¯t be as unreasonable as the one in front of him.

    ¡°Perhaps I should send you down below, to be devoured for all eternity by the bones of the fallen. Or maybe you¡¯d like your organs devoured everyday, like Prometheus. So many ways to punish you for your insolence, you¡¯ll wish you were sent to hell.¡±

    ¡°Um, wait, can¡¯t we talk about this? Like civilized people?¡± Thomas practically begged. Even if he wasn¡¯t really a god, that didn¡¯t mean he couldn¡¯t torture him in all kinds of strange ways.

    But the God of War was no longer in a talkative mood.

    ¡°No. You have insulted me and my domain. War is something that should be revered and worshiped, not belittled by arrogant whelps like yourself. Perhaps a few thousand years of torture might change your tune.¡±

    The god, or alien as Thomas believed, then rose from his throne, standing at a height that dwarfed poor Thomas. He grabbed his spear and made his way towards the trembling human.

    ¡°Hang on there big guy! I have a much better idea!¡± shouted a high pitched voice. The two looked around for the speaker, but it seemed like Ares knew who it was.

    ¡°Teth, what do you want? I don¡¯t have time to play, can¡¯t you see I¡¯m busy?¡±

    ¡°Aw come on, don¡¯t be such a fuddy duddy. Besides, don¡¯t you want to hear my idea? I bet you¡¯d like it!¡±

    Appearing from thin air was another being, this one much smaller than Ares. He was almost the same size as a human. His hair was bright orange and he had freckles dotting his face. His eyes were a bright yellow and filled with playfulness. He wore a pair of baggy, white shorts, and an equally baggy red shirt. Two small wings jutted out of his back, fluttering so fast they were practically invisible. But the weirdest thing were the flip flops that covered his feet.

    To Thomas, this just proved his theory even more. What human, let alone god, would dress like that? It was clearly a member of an advanced race who picked out a bunch of human clothes and threw them on, not understanding what a travesty it was.

    ¡°Somehow I doubt it. But fine, speak your piece. Then I can get back to torturing this foolish mortal.¡±

    ¡°Take your time!¡± Thomas shouted, much to Ares'' frustrations and Teths¡¯ amusement.

    ¡°Oh, I like him! But more to the point, you could torture him all you want, but I doubt he¡¯d ever come to respecting your domain, not really. So, how about we make him play a game instead?¡±

    ¡°A game?¡± Ares asked dubiously.

    ¡°Yup! You like games don¡¯tcha? I mean, you must, you make them for a living! So I propose he plays a game, but one with some stakes to it! If he wins, no torture, but if you win, you can do what you want with him! How does that sound?¡± Teth asked, buzzing around like a hummingbird on crack.

    ¡°And how does that benefit me? I can already do as I please with him,¡± Ares stated, crossing his hands over his chest to glare at the other god.

    ¡°Ah ah ah! You have to let me explain the game first!¡± Teth chastised, wagging his finger in the larger god¡¯s face, who growled and took a swipe at him.

    ¡°Well, get on with it then!¡±

    ¡°Ok ok! You see, I propose we send him to a world on the brink of war, and force him to enter. Not only that, we turn his life into one of those games he loves so much to make sure he enjoys it. He wins if he can maintain his disdain for war. You win if he comes to appreciate the art that is war,¡± Teth explained.

    Ares rubbed his chin in thought, considering the other god¡¯s proposal. Thomas stared at the two of them in dawning horror. They were going to force him to play some sick game, where he¡¯s forced into combat, forced to end untold lives, or he would be tortured for all eternity.

    What the hell was wrong with them? War itself was bad enough, and a complete waste of time and lives in almost any scenario. So to turn that horrible affair into a game and not one that was on a screen, but in real life was just sick.

    But the worst part was, he didn¡¯t know if he¡¯d be able to resist. He¡¯s read those stories before, where someone gets game-like powers and they become addicted to the grind, forgetting about the fact that it was real human lives they were playing with.

    That¡¯s not a person he wanted to become. But it¡¯s not like these aliens could actually do something like that, right? Unless they shoved some kind of chip in his brain that made everything like an ARG, then maybe.

    Seeing the look of horror and uncertainty gracing his guest¡¯s face, Ares own morphed into a grin. ¡°You know what Teth, you¡¯re on. This sounds like a good way to pass the time.¡±

    Teth did a flip in the air, cheeks pulled back into an excited grin. ¡°Alright, now that¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about! You won¡¯t regret it I swear! And I even have the perfect world to send him to!¡±

    Teth held out his hands, showing a spherical world that looked very similar to Earth. ¡°This is an alternate Earth, where they have a little something called magic. And of course, humans have taken that power and turned it into a weapon of war.¡±

    Ares looked intrigued by this. Any advancement in war was something to be celebrated, at least according to him, and he¡¯s grown somewhat bored with the way war has been waged on the planet down below. Most of it was done online now, and that was hardly a war at all.

    Cyberwar! Bah! That was a battlefield for cowards. Real war was dirty, filled with the screams of friend and foe alike as they resorted to that primal part of themselves that demanded survival.

    Something the human in front of him was severely lacking in.

    ¡°Did you hear that, mortal? You should be grateful. You¡¯ll be given this great gift of magic; use it to spread the glory of my name. The glory that is war! Should you become an apt herald, I may choose to spare you. But if you wish to resist this honor, then by all means, do so. Let¡¯s see how long you last before the exhilaration of battle has you in its grasp.¡±

    Having said that, Ares banged his spear on the ground, and a swirling vortex appeared below Thomas, kicking up a violent wind.

    ¡°Hang on! Can we talk about this!? This seems really unnecessary!¡± he cried out, blocking the wind with his arm.

    ¡°Go now, and spread the glory of my name. Let all know the might of the God of War!¡± Ares shouted, completely ignoring Thomas. Teth gave him a happy little wave as he fluttered by the other god.

    ¡°Good luck! You''re going to need it!¡±

    ¡°Screw you! I won¡¯t give in to a pair of false gods like you! I know you¡¯re really aliens trying to trick me using advanced technology. Well I won¡¯t fall for it, you hear!¡± he screamed, making Teth chortle at what he called them.

    ¡°Aliens, huh? That¡¯s funny. Almost as funny as that other one calling ¡°Him¡± Being X.¡±

    Thomas was confused by that last statement. Other one? Does that mean there was someone else getting screwed over by these creatures? Were they being sent to the same place as he was? If so, maybe he could find them and they could team up against these things.

    Those were his last thoughts before he disappeared.

    The next thing he saw was a white ceiling, the sound of a heart monitor steadily beeping beside him. Confused, he looked around, and sure enough, he was in a hospital room. Although, it appeared to be a bit dated.

    ¡°Where am I? Where did those aliens send me?¡± he thought. He tried to move his body, but it felt so weak, like it hasn¡¯t moved in a long time. Looking down, he made another startling discovery.

    He was small. If he didn¡¯t know any better, he¡¯d say he was a child. But that¡¯s impossible, right? Or did those aliens somehow swap his consciousness with some kid¡¯s?

    Further proof that whatever those creatures were had no respect for the sanctity of human rights and freedoms. It was appalling to think that he would be forced to take the place of some poor, sick child.

    Or it could all be a simulation, who knows? There was really no telling what an advanced species could do. What was that saying again? Any technology sufficiently advanced is indistinguishable from magic. Something like that?

    Well, this seemed pretty darn magical to him!

    But before he could think more on it, a screen appeared in front of him, startling him.

    Welcome to the Game!

    Thomas¡¯ eyes widened at the sight, but before he could do much about it, a loud crash attracted his attention. Standing in the doorway was a middle aged woman with blonde hair wearing a nurses uniform staring at him in shock. Below her was a metal tray, with several pieces of medical equipment scattered around the floor.

    ¡°You''re awake¡­ Oh my God you¡¯re awake! Doctor! Doctor, he¡¯s awake!¡± she shouted running off down the hall.

    Thomas could only stare after her, wondering what he was in for in this new life of his.

 A New World

    Frank Adler, Admiral of the Imperial Navy, opened his eyes with a light groan. The sunlight streaming through the window stung his already tired eyes. As a soldier, he was used to waking up early, but that didn''t mean he enjoyed it, especially when he was on leave.

    He looked over, seeing the form of his beautiful wife sleeping peacefully, and smiled. Even if his thrice damned internal clock wouldn''t allow him to sleep past 6 A.M, that didn''t mean his wife needed to suffer the same fate. He could let her sleep in a bit longer.

    She deserved that much for putting up with a rogue like him. Chuckling to himself, Frank carefully extracted himself from their bed before making his way out of the room. Once he did, he gently closed the door behind him before stretching out with a groan.

    Mornings really were the worst. Made him feel like an old man, and we just past thirty! But there was one thing that was sure to perk him right up, and that was a steaming cup of dirty bean water.

    Making his way downstairs to the kitchen, Frank poured hot water into the coffee maker, yawning as it started up. How someone could start their day without this gift from the heavens he had no idea. Morning people were a complete mystery to him.

    Soon enough he had a steaming cup of liquid black gold ready to perk him up. He gathered the paper which was waiting for him on the front porch, and made his way to the kitchen table.

    He sat down, placed the paper on the table, and took a nice big sip of pure caffeine. Sighing in content, he could already feel his body start to wake up. But before he could take another drink, the phone began to ring. Grumbling to himself, he sat up and made his way over to it. As much as he would like to ignore the thing, if it happened to be work, then he needed to take it.

    "This is Frank Adler, how may I help you?" he asked, perhaps a bit more gruff than he intended.

    "Frank? This is doctor Eckhart. I''m calling because there''s been a change with your son," stated the voice over the phone. Hearing it, Frank felt his stomach plummet to the floor. Looking over at a table in the hall, he saw a picture of a happy family. A mother, a father, and a son, all smiling with joy shining in their eyes.

    But about a year ago, tragedy befell them. There was a storm, a rather violent one, with winds strong enough to uplift cars. A tree was uprooted and fell on the house, and their son was caught in the accident.

    They rushed him to the hospital as soon as they could, but their son, little Markus, never woke up. The blow to the head sent him into a coma and he was still sleeping at the hospital. Nobody knew when, or if, he would wake up.

    Frank always blamed himself for what happened, even if he knew deep down it wasn''t his fault. They did everything they could to stay safe during that storm, but sometimes, your best just isn''t good enough.

    But still, he was a man, a father. It was his job to protect his family, no matter the cost, and he failed. No amount of logical reasoning could overcome those emotions.

    His wife, Joanna, was naturally distraught, and the once bright light that shone from within her eyes dimmed. Everyday she hoped to hear good news, but Frank knew the likelihood of that was slim.

    So he braced himself for the worst, ready to hear the news that his son was dead. Well, not ready per say, more like resigned. He knew this day would come eventually, but that didn''t mean he was ready for it.

    "Of course, doctor. Is he¡­ I mean, my son, is he¡­" but he just couldn''t bring himself to ask, "Is my son dead?" No parent ever wants to utter those words in that order.

    "Admiral, I don''t know how to say this, so I''ll just come right out with it," Doctor Eckhart said, and Frank braced himself for the worst, gripping the counter in front of him hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

    "He''s awake. Your son is awake. Markus woke up about an hour ago, and he seems to be in stable condition. We''re running some tests, but so far everything looks good," the doctor said, but Frank barely heard anything past, "Your son is awake."

    "Doctor¡­ I''m sorry, but could you repeat that?" he asked with shaky hands. He didn''t dare to hope the words he''s longed to hear were being said.

    "Frank, your son is awake."

    Tears fell from his eyes as he collapsed to his knees. Frank wasn''t known to be an emotional man¡­ Ok, that was a lie, he was very emotional, but at least this time it was warranted. His son was back.

    "Guess somebody upstairs is listening after all," he mumbled.

    After speaking with the doctor some more and learning of a complication, he ran upstairs to wake his wife. As much as he wanted to let her sleep, if she found out he let her rest after finding out about their son, there would be hell to pay.

    And that was debt he wasn''t willing to accrue.

    Opening the door, he stared at her slumbering form with a smile. She was sprawled out, hair flopping in every direction and drool coming from her mouth. She looked just like an angel.

    Albeit one who drank too much the night before, but an angel nonetheless.

    He walked over to their bed and knelt down, gently shaking her. "Joanna, wake up. There''s something I need to tell you," he whispered. But for his efforts, he received a snort in response.

    "Come on sweetheart, I just got the best news. It was Doctor Eckhart, he said our son is awake," he told her. That seemed to do the trick, as her eyes shot open faster than a bullet from a chamber.

    "What did you just say?" she asked in an almost eerily calm voice. Her eyes were about as wide as they could get and she refused to blink.

    "Uh¡­ It''s our son. The doctor called and said he just woke up," he told her, slightly nervous by the look in her eyes. She kept staring at him for a few seconds, seemingly not comprehending the words he just spoke. But as soon as they sunk in, life seemed to explode from her depths.

    "Well what the hell are we doing here!? Come on, let''s go!" she shouted, flinging the covers off of herself, hitting Frank in the face with them. He let out a yelp as he was knocked onto his back, his wife running into the bathroom to get ready.

    He managed to get the blanket off of him, gazing fondly at the bathroom door. "What a woman¡­"

    It took less than ten minutes for her to make herself presentable, a new record. Not that he would tell her that. The two of them got in their car and sped off towards the hospital, both of them with a light feeling in their chest.

    Frank, seeing the nervous look on her face, reached over and grabbed her hand. She jumped, startled out of her thoughts. She looked at her hand then at her husband, who gave her a smile.

    "Everything is going to be ok. So stop worrying so much," he told her. She sighed, giving his hand a squeeze. "I know, I just can''t help it. Are you sure he didn''t tell you what the complication was?" she asked.

    "I''m sure," he told her.

    "Tsk, asshole," she growled, making him chuckle. "Who? Me or the doctor?"

    "Him! I mean, who says "There''s been a complication, but I think it''s best we speak in person." Just tell me, damn it! I can''t handle the stress of not knowing!"

    Frank chuckled at his wife''s temper. That attitude is exactly the reason he married her. Made for some exciting nights in the bedroom.

    "And just what do you think is so goddamn funny?" she asked, giving her husband the stink eye.

    "Nothing at all. Just admiring my beautiful wife," he said with a smile. Her face went red, and she turned to look out the window.

    "Damn him and that stupid smile of his. How can he still make me blush like this? It''s not fair," she thought to herself. She remained silent the rest of the trip, a petulant pout on her lips as her husband snuck knowing grins her way.

    She''d get him back for this.

    But thoughts of revenge flew from her mind as they entered the hospital parking lot, being replaced by nerves once more. As the car came to a stop, Frank turned to his wife, face set in stone.

    "Ready?" he asked. She gave him a scared look, but he could see the resolve shining through the fear. His wife was the very definition of the word brave. Taking in a deep breath, she gave him a firm nod.

    The two exited the car and Frank turned to offer her his arm, but to his surprise, she was nowhere to be seen. Looking around in a panic, he heard the sound of cars slamming on their brakes and honking their horns.

    Turning to see what all the commotion was, he saw his red headed, spitfire of a wife charging the hospital, screaming, "My baby boy!" at the top of her lungs.

    "Honey, wait for me!" he shouted, locking the car and running after her.

    Joanna entered the hospital, panting and looking around the lobby. Not seeing who she wanted, she ran up to the reception desk, scaring the hell out of the poor woman manning it.

    "Um, yes, can I help you?" she asked nervously, ready to scream for the orderlies if she needed to.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Doctor Eckhart, where is he!?" she demanded, her eyes shining with a fire, scaring the poor young woman even more.

    "Mrs. Adler, is that you?" asked a voice to her left. Turning her head, she saw the exact person she was looking for.

    Dr. Henri Eckhart was an older man in his fifties, with receding, graying hair. He was of average height and build, with dark blue eyes and a mustache. He wore a pair of prescription glasses, along with a standard doctor''s attire, consisting of dark blue scrubs and a white coat.

    "Doctor, my son, how is he!?" she yelled, running up to the man. The woman behind the desk let out a sigh of relief as the red haired woman turned her sights on someone else. She wouldn''t hold it against her, understanding a mother''s concern for her child trumped pretty much everything else.

    "Ah yes, young Markus is doing quite well, all things considered. But where is your husband? I thought he''d be with you," the doctor stated, lookin around the lobby for the elusive admiral.

    "Huh, what do you mean he''s right-" Joanna started, only to turn and see her husband was nowhere in sight. But that''s when the doors slide open, revealing the missing man himself, panting for breath.

    "Hey, slowpoke, over here!" she yelled at him, as the people in the lobby looked at him with a mixture of pity and amusement. Seeing his wife waving at him in annoyance, he hurriedly made his way over to her.

    "Great, now he''s here. So tell me what this complication is already," Joanna demanded, trying to hide how nervous she was. Frank stared at the doctor with an equally demanding look.

    "Right. Well, there''s really no easy way to say this, but, it seems young Markus has developed amnesia. He can''t remember anything about his life before waking up," the doctor said, ripping the bandaid off as quickly as he could.

    "So you mean¡­ he doesn''t remember us?" Joanna asked with tears in her eyes as her husband wrapped her in his arms.

    "I''m afraid so. There''s always a chance something could trigger a memory, but the chances of that are low. I''m sorry," Eckhart explained. Joanna couldn''t hold the tears back, as she started crying against Frank''s shoulders. How could her own son not remember her? Just the thought of those bright, fiery eyes of his staring at her uncomprehendingly was almost too much to bear.

    Frank held onto his distraught wife, trying to calm her down. "There, there, it''s alright. He''s awake now, and we can always fill his head with new memories. Maybe ones without his dad crying so much," he said, rubbing her back. Joanna snorted at that last bit, stepping away from him and giving him a half hearted smile.

    "You really are a crybaby, aren''t you?" she joked. He wiped away the last of her tears, giving her a smile. He then turned to the doctor, "So, can we see him?"

    Joanna turned her attention back to the doctor, who gave them a firm nod. "Of course. He''s perfectly stable and cognizant, so I don''t see the harm. It might even be good for him. However, he is very weak at the moment, his muscles have atrophied quite a bit since the accident, and he''ll require extensive physical therapy. But other than that, he''s perfectly healthy."

    The two parents seemed relieved at that, as they followed the doctor towards their son''s room. "Oh right, there''s one more thing I should mention. While your son seems to have forgotten who he was prior to the accident, his intelligence seems to have shot through the roof. It''s really quite remarkable¡­"

    Frank and Joanna shared a look, confusion written all over their faces. "What exactly do you mean by that?" Joanna asked, giving the older man her full attention.

    "What I mean is, conversing with him is like conversing with an adult. If I didn''t know better, I''d say there was an adult man trapped inside his body," Doctor Eckhart said. The two shared another look before Frank asked a question.

    "So does that mean he can do my taxes?"

    "Frank!"

    "What?"

    *Line Break*

    Thomas Miller, or as he was now known as, Markus Adler, stared at the pure white ceiling in contemplation. It had only been a few hours since he''s awoken in this new world, and for most of that time he''s been subjected to numerous tests.

    It was all so exhausting. Compounded with his frail, weakened body from spending nearly a year in a coma, it was a miracle he was able to stay awake at all. But as much as he wished to fall asleep, the desire to find out more about the place he found himself in was even greater.

    According to the doctor, his parents'' names were Frank and Joanna Adler. His mother mostly stayed at home to care for him, but before that she was a nurse in the army. His father was currently an Admiral, or the Admiral as it was, the head of the Imperial Navy.

    That news was not welcome to Markus. His parents in his past life were also diehard army types, and that was basically hell on earth. And now it turns out in his second life he would be subject to the same thing.

    Damn those despicable aliens.

    However, there was an even more pressing concern than his parents or his atrophied self, and that was the apparent game he found himself unwittingly a participant of. He''d barely had enough time to look it over with all the testing and the fussing, but he has managed to figure out a good deal of the rules.

    First, it was mostly a points system, where he gathered points by yet unknown means and spent them on a myriad of things, such as increasing his Stats, or buying Talents and Perks. There wasn''t really a level system involved, but there was a Tier System.

    Basically, everything can be broken down into Tiers, with Tier 0 being the weakest, and Tier 9 being the strongest. For example, Markus himself was a Tier 1, being a child, and a weak one to boot, dropped it by a Tier. Normal adults were a Tier 1, with regular soldiers and athletes being a Tier 2.

    Tier 3 was getting to the peak of what a human can achieve, as far as physicality is concerned anyway, being reserved for things like special forces or Olympic level athletes, with Tier 4 being the absolute highest a human can achieve.

    This was based on a person''s Stats, which were Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma and Magic. It followed basic D rules, besides the Magic Stat so that made it easy to remember.

    Markus''s Stats were as follows:

    Strength: Tier 0

    Constitution: Tier 0

    Dexterity: Tier 0

    Intelligence: Tier 3

    Wisdom: Tier 3

    Charisma: Tier 4

    Magic: Tier 5

    Yeah, he was pretty weak, even for a child. Every Tier had highs and lows to it, and he was on the low side. But at least he still had his brain, which was on the higher side of things.

    The Magic Stat was the most surprising thing, and was probably why he was a Tier 1 character, rather than a Tier 0, but he hasn''t had much time to investigate what the Stat actually meant beyond having magic.

    But the Tiers didn''t just measure physical prowess, there were other factors that could determine one''s Tier Level, such as economic or political power. Extremely wealthy people could reach a Tier 4 or 5, with heads of state possibly reaching all the way up to Tier 7, depending on the strength of their county.

    It was all a bit complicated, yet relatively simple at the same time.

    He also had an Hp bar, but it was kind of like those in a Resident Evil game, just a green heartbeat that said good. Better than nothing, but he would prefer hard numbers.

    But so far, that''s about all he''s been able to suss out. He''s sure there was more to it than that, but for now, that''s it. Whenever the war started, and he was sure there would be one, he would likely find out more functions.

    The reminder of the impending conflict he would be forced into made his insides turn into knots. He hated the thought of it, but he didn''t have much choice in the matter. Either he wins the game of war, or he loses, there was no middle ground.

    And even if he tried to opt out, he figured those accursed creatures would find some way to get him involved, so it was better to plan for the inevitability of it. Which means he would have to whip his body into shape right, quick and in a hurry.

    Maybe it was a good thing his parents were military types, especially one so high ranking. That was sure to open a plethora of doors for him that may have otherwise remained closed.

    There was also one last thing. That second alien, the one with the wings, mentioned something about another person. If that was true, he might not be in this alone. If he could just find them, they might be able to form a coalition against those things.

    Of course, they could always be from a different country, but even so, there was still a chance they could be convinced to team up. Regardless, he''d have to keep an eye out for anyone who might be from his original world.

    Fingers crossed it was a cute girl.

    His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. "If I remember correctly, Doctor Eckhart said my parents should be stopping by. Wonder if that''s them?"

    His question would be answered soon enough, as the door opened to reveal three people. One he recognized as the elderly Doctor Eckhart, but the other two were strangers.

    "Hello Mark, how are you feeling?" asked the doctor in a kind voice. Markus tried to sit up to greet him properly, but his weakened body wouldn''t allow him to, and he felt himself falling back. He heard the woman give a choking sob at that, and tried not to frown.

    He hated being seen in such a pathetic state. It hurt his pride as a man.

    "I''m doing as well as I can be doc," he said in a scratchy, breathy voice. His vocal chords hadn''t been used in nearly a year, so they were as weak as the rest of him. The woman gave another sob at hearing his voice.

    "That''s wonderful. Now, I''m sure you''re curious about the people with me. I''d like to introduce you to Frank and Joanna Adler, your parents," he said, as the two of them stepped forward.

    Markus gave them a curious look, taking in their appearance. The man was about what he expected. Fairly tall and well built, expertly groomed and clean shaven with his dark hair cut short. The way he stood was also regimented, very militaristic. He was dressed in a casual manner, meaning he was probably on leave at the moment, with a white t-shirt, jeans, and a black jacket.

    The woman, his mother, was somewhat on the short end, with fiery red hair the same as his own. Her eyes were a similar shade of red to his own, looking like they were made of rubies. She wore a yellow sundress, staring at her son while wringing her hands together, clearly nervous.

    "I see. It''s nice to meet you both," Markus said in his scratchy voice. But that seemed to have been the wrong thing to say, as the woman burst into tears. Markus startled back, eyes wide and wondering what he did.

    "All I did was greet them? Why is she crying? Was it something I said?" he thought to himself. He didn''t want to start things off on a bad note, but it looks like that''s exactly what he did.

    "You¡­ you really don''t remember us?" she asked, her eyes begging for an answer that he couldn''t give. But it did make him realize his mistake.

    "Of course she would be upset that her own son doesn''t remember her! Stupid!" he yelled in his mind.

    "Sorry, I don''t," he said, giving her as apologetic a look as he could. She threw herself in his father''s arms, sobbing loudly. Honestly, Mark didn''t see what the big deal was. Sure he understood why she was upset and felt dumb for not thinking about it, but really, a child his age was unlikely to retain many of his memories into adulthood anyway.

    But still, he needed to find a way to smooth things over. He couldn''t have them think putting him up for adoption was the better choice. He needed to mend the relationship now. First impressions were important, and his was going poorly.

    "Um, excuse me? M-mommy?" he stuttered out, feeling foolish for calling her such a thing. His own mother never allowed him to call her anything but that. Mother. He assumed this woman, who was from a military background would be the same.

    Turns out he was wrong.

    "Yes sweety?" she asked, staring at him through teary eyes.

    This was it, now or never. He had to mend this bridge before it burned down completely!

    "Can you¡­ tell me about yourself? I''d like to get to know you," he said, hoping he properly expressed an appropriate amount of desperation and longing.

    "Oh of course baby, of course. Anything you want to know," she said with a smile, walking towards her son. Frank was doing his best to hold back his manly tears, but it was just so sweet and touching it was proving to be difficult.

    Doctor Eckhart watched this with a smile, glad everything was going smoothly. He was a bit confused about the way the child was conversing. He was so well spoken before but now, he almost sounded like a real child.

    "Perhaps I''m simply overthinking it. He''s probably just nervous to meet his parents for what is essentially the first time," he thought. After convincing himself of this, he turned his attention to Frank.

    "I''ll just head out for a bit. Give you some time to talk. I''ll be back later to check on him. If anything happens, let me know right away," he said.

    "We will, doctor. And thank you," Frank responded, shaking the man''s hand.

    "Think nothing of it. I was just doing my job. Now, if you''ll excuse me."

    With that, Doctor Eckhart left to continue his duties. Frank turned back around before walking over and joining his family, listening as his darling wife spoke eagerly about her hobbies.

    "Hey son, want to hear about your dear old dad!" Frank asked as he approached.

    "Oi, wait your turn old man!" shouted his wife.

    "Who''re you calling old!? I''m not even middle aged yet!"

    Things were finally looking up for the Adler family.

 Learning how to Walk

    Markus struggled to remain upright as he tried walking for the first time in nearly a year. Or at least, his body''s first time in a year. It''s been a month since he awoke in this world, and he was finally starting his physical therapy in earnest, the last month having been mostly about getting him on solid food.

    They started him with something simple, like soup, giving him several spoonfuls throughout the day. After a few days of this, they moved on to some softer foods, such as Jello or watermelon, the food gradually becoming more and more solid until he was eating like a normal person again.

    But he wasn''t idle during this time either, even if they didn''t allow him the freedom of movement he so desperately wanted. Much of his activity included a nurse helping him stretch his body, or using large rubber bands to exercise what he could.

    One thing they did was lift a leg up and then let it go, having him try and hold it in the air for as long as he could. At first, the damn thing just plummeted to the ground, frustrating him to no end. But after a month, he could successfully keep it up for about 15 seconds. They told him it was a great improvement, but to Mark it felt like empty platitudes meant to stroke the ego of a struggling child.

    Another activity had the nurse pushing his leg up, until his knee was nearly against his chest. Then, he would have to try and push it straight against the small amount of counter force the nurse used against it, kind of like a Leg Press Machine. That one made him feel particularly weak.

    He thought that first month was torture, but it had nothing on the pain he was feeling now. He was in between two bars, using them to hold most of his weight as he tried to walk to the other side. His feet were swollen with blood or water or something else, he didn''t know. All he knew for sure was that it hurt.

    "Come on sweetie, you can do it," cheered his mother from the other side. Markus was sure she intended that to be encouraging, but considering he was really a grown ass man, it came off as rather patronizing.

    "Who knew learning to walk was so painful. Babies are sure a lot tougher than I gave them credit for," he complained as he took another step, jaw clenched in pain. His arms were shaking like crazy, barely able to keep his face from meeting the ground.

    At this point, he wasn''t sure which would be worse. On one hand, if he went tumbling down, his face would hurt, but if he didn''t, his everything else would hurt. Tough decision.

    In the end, he did his best to stick it out. He needed to recover as quickly as he could, not knowing how long he had until conflict reared its ugly head. The faster he got better, the faster he could prepare.

    "You''re almost there! Just a little more!" his mother continued to encourage.

    "A little more? Is this woman blind or something?" Mark thought. So far, he''s only made it about halfway across. He might as well have been trying to complete a marathon. "Little more my ass."

    The nurse to his right also kept trying to encourage him, but all he really wanted was for them to leave him in peace. Having them watch him struggle to do something as simple as walking was humiliating. But what did he expect, he was a child.

    Another minute or so went by, and sweat was dripping down his brow in buckets. His breathing was labored and ragged as he tried to get one more step. That''s what he kept repeating in his mind, over and over again, one more step.

    But as much as he wanted to and as hard as he tried, he just couldn''t get his foot off the ground. His legs felt like they were made of sand and his feet felt like they were trapped in lead.

    His foot slid slightly, and Mark lost his balance. He fell forward with a startled gasp, but before he could slam face first into the hardwood floors, the nurse managed to catch him.

    "Mark, are you ok!?" his mother shouted in fear, dashing up to them as the nurse gently set him on the floor. She began fretting all over him, and as much as it annoyed him, he tried his best to put on a smile. Thankfully, the situation he was in helped mask the true feelings behind the smile.

    "I''m ok mother. Just disappointed I couldn''t finish," he said.

    "There''s no need to feel bad, you did great. I bet by the end of the week you''ll be able to finish a hundred of these," Joanna boasted.

    "If you say so. Mother does know best after all," Mark replied, though it was clear from his tone that he didn''t believe her. She pouted, giving him a lighthearted glare.

    "That''s right she does. She also told you to call her mommy."

    The nurse, who was listening to them, smiled as she went to fetch the wheelchair.

    *Line Break*

    Markus didn''t particularly enjoy being a resident of the hospital, but at least his incarceration gave him plenty of time to figure out this weird game he found himself in. He still had no idea how to earn points, but at the very least he had a better idea of what he could spend it on and the cost of such things.

    First of all there were Talents, which were basically anything a person could be good at, such as playing the guitar, mechanics, or even swimming. Not the most useful of Talents considering the upcoming war he was going to find himself in, but they''re just examples.

    Next was the cost of the Talents themselves. Tier 1 started out at a cost of 10 for the most part. There were some higher and lower, but the vast majority were at 10. Each Tier above that cost the Tier Level x the previous Tier''s cost.

    So if Tier 1 cost 10, then Tier 2 would cost 20, Tier 3 would cost 60, and Tier 4 would 240. With Tier 4 being about the height of human achievement, it made sense that it was a costly endeavor to pursue, with the Tiers above reaching simply absurd numbers.

    It looked something like this:

    Tier 1: 10

    Tier 2: 20

    Tier 3: 60

    Tier 4: 240

    Tier 5: 1,200

    Tier 6: 7,200

    Tier 7: 50,400

    Tier 8: 403,200

    Tier 9: 3,628,800

    Mark wasn''t entirely sure how he was supposed to achieve those numbers, or if he was even supposed to. Perhaps if he had some idea about how he actually got the points he could think of something, but as of now, that''s about all he had.

    And the cost for increasing his Stats was twice that. It was like they didn''t want him to get too strong. Probably because he would turn that strength on them. Clever bastards.

    Next was the Perks, which were similar in regards to the Talents, in that they could be basically anything. Some of them, it seemed, decreased the cost of Talents, which was a good thing. The cost was still way too damn high, but at least reaching Tier 6 didn''t feel like a pipe dream.

    Others gave static abilities or bonuses. Such as Ambidexterity, which cost 35 Points and made it so he could use his left hand just as well as his right. There were some which made it easier to aim a gun, or increased his leadership capabilities; things like that. He would have to keep some Points in reserve to purchase a Perk when the time calls for it.

    At the moment, Mark didn''t have many Talents, though some things did transfer over from his previous life, such as the Programming Talent, which was at a Tier 3, or the Higher Education Perk he got for getting his master''s degree, which lowered the cost of all Intelligence based Talents by 25%.

    But it wasn''t just the game he learned about. He also learned about the world he found himself in. First of all, it was May 11th, 1919. That took him by surprise, though he suspected he was in an earlier time, just not by that much. It wasn''t the worst, as far as time periods went.

    At least they knew about dysentery.

    But it was a far cry from the technological comforts he was accustomed to. Guess he had plenty of time to get used to it.

    Next, he was born on March 25th, 1913, making him 6. That part he was actually ok with. Not that he particularly enjoyed being pint sized, but it was kind of like getting a redo, and this time, he wouldn''t skip the gym.

    Probably.

    He also learned quite a bit about the country he found himself in, which seemed like it was a parallel to Germany from his old world. That was mildly concerning. But at least when he asked about someone named Hitler, he only received blank, confused looks. So that was good.

    The Empire, otherwise known as the Fatherland, was a major military power formed by the annexation of smaller statelets, creating a unified country. It was known to be rather rational in most things, excluding religion, as The Empire was highly religious.

    Mark wondered if they''d feel the same after meeting one of these so-called gods? He doubted such a rational people would be able to tolerate such irrational beings.

    The Empire itself was ruled by the Kaiser, or Emperor, and the royal family. Beyond that, he didn''t know much about them. All in all, he couldn''t complain much about where he ended up.

    He was just glad he didn''t end up in this world''s Russia.

    Unaware of her son''s thoughts, Joanna smiled happily as she pushed him down the hallway. In a wheelchair, of course. The last month has been one of the best she could remember. It would have been better had her son not been hospitalized, of course, but the fact that he was up again sent her over the moon.

    He wasn''t the same sweet, rambunctious little boy as he was before the accident, being far more somber and serious, but he was still her little ray of sunshine, even when he was being a bit of a grouch.

    "Come on sweetie, there''s no need to be so hard on yourself. You did great today," she said, trying to cheer up the crabby six year old, snapping him out of his thoughts of his current predicament.

    "It''s just so frustrating, mother, not being able to walk properly. For freedom to be so close within my grasp only to repeatedly escape it," he returned with a huff. His response got a sad smile from the older woman.

    The doctor warned them that he seemed far smarter than he should, something he attributed to the bump on the head. He lost his memories and gained a staggering amount of intellect as a tradeoff. She was sure it would do him well later in life, but she missed the boy he used to be.

    She didn''t expect to feel this way until he was a rebellious teenager! She wasn''t ready for this faze in his life yet!

    "And just who are you seeking freedom from, huh? Trying to get away from your dear old mother? Where did I go wrong?" she wailed, getting a roll of the eyes from her son.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    "It''s not you I''m attempting to flee from, but this wretched establishment. I think being here for a year would drive anyone insane," he responded, getting a small chuckle from her. She was glad, at least, that he didn''t want to run away from her. She didn''t think she would be able to take it if he did.

    "Anyway, how is father doing? I haven''t seen him in awhile," Mark asked.

    "Ah, am I not good enough for you? Is mommy''s love not enough to satisfy your need for companionship?" she cried, leaning over the wheelchair to envelope him in a hug. Markus could only sigh at the woman''s antics. She was far different from his previous mother, and was what one might call, an acquired taste.

    "You are excellent company, mother. I was merely asking due to the civil unrest brewing in The Empire," he responded, managing to get the touchy-feely woman off of him. She gave a small pout at that, but continued escorting him towards the cafeteria, so he could eat something that at least resembled food.

    "He''s doing as well as can be. But you''re right about the unrest. The military is on high alert, just in case of any radicals that may try and start something. Your father, as Admiral, is quite busy with ensuring the safety of The Empire and its citizens, though it''s mostly strategy meetings," she confirmed.

    Mark hummed in thought at that. "So The Empire is worried about its citizens starting a riot or something? Or are they more concerned with their enemies doing something while people chant in the street?"

    Looking out of the window as they passed, he could see demonstrators marching in the street, waving signs and banners decrying The Empire''s enemies, demanding war. The fools have no idea what a modern war would cost. Markus had the benefit of knowing about two such conflicts that devastated the world.

    Unfortunately, those damned aliens seemed hellbent on spiraling the world into chaos, all to force him to acknowledge the beauty of war or something. He couldn''t fathom the thought. How could fields of rotting corpses be anything but repugnant? Those things clearly had a warped view of what constitutes beautiful art.

    "I see. Well, I hope he''s getting enough sleep. It''s important for his health. No need for him to join me in prison," he stated, making his mother snicker.

    "I''ll make sure to remind him," she said, getting a serious nod from her son.

    The two of them entered the cafeteria and ordered something that was, on paper, food. But how they were able to make something they claimed was chicken taste like spam was a mystery. Either way, Mark supposed he should just be glad to be on solid foods again.

    Even if that made the bathroom situation seven different kinds of mortifying.

    Once they finished their "meal" Joanna escorted him back to his room, though it felt far more like a prison cell to him. It was, after all, a small room that he was not allowed to leave without authorization.

    When they eventually reached his room, his mother and the nurse helped get him back into bed, which made him curse up a storm, at least in his mind from both the pain and humiliation of the act. Once he was settled in, he let out a sigh, releasing all his frustrations as best as he could.

    "There you go. How are you feeling? Do you need anything?" Joanna asked, running her hand through her son''s ginger locks. He stared back at her with his deep crimson eyes before shaking his head.

    "No, I''m alright. I am feeling a bit sleepy though," he said with a yawn. She gave him a soft smile at seeing his sleepy yawning face, though part of her dreaded him going to sleep every time, afraid he wouldn''t wake up for another year.

    She remembered coming back on the second day and saw him slumbering away in his room and was driven to near hysterics, convinced she had dreamed him waking up. But when his eyes opened due to her screaming, and possibly her shaking him, she started bawling for a whole new reason, clutching onto him like a lifeline.

    He could only stare at her, utterly baffled while trying to calm her down. It was a bit surreal, and pathetic, that it was her son comforting her, and not the other way around.

    "Alright sweetheart. Just promise me you''ll wake up," she said. Mark, hearing the vulnerability in the woman''s tone, did his best to give her a salute, though it came out rather sloppy. His arms were just so dang weak and tired, even after all the rest he got.

    But it seemed to do the trick, as she giggled, looking about as reassured as she could. "Alright. I''ll be back tomorrow for your next session. Take care," she said, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

    "Mother¡­" he complained with a bit of red on his cheeks. But she only smiled at his embarrassed face. That at least was the same. Boys, always so shy about a little bit of affection. He''ll want a girl to kiss him someday, and when that happens, she''ll probably cry about being replaced.

    But that was a long way off, not something she had to concern herself with at the moment. No second rate floozy was coming so steal her son away for a long, long time.

    For some reason, a certain blonde haired, blue eyed girl living in an orphanage felt a chill go down her spine.

    As Joanna was exiting her son''s hospital room, she bumped into Dr. Eckhart, who was trying to enter. "Oh, Henri! Excuse me I didn''t see you there," she apologized.

    "Think nothing of it Mrs. Adler. These old bones are tougher than they look," he said with a laugh, receiving a polite smile in return. "Tell me, how is young Markus doing? I heard from his nurse that he did quite well for his first attempt at walking, but I''d like to get your opinion if I could."

    Joanna sighed, looking back towards the sleeping form of her son. "Doctor, do you think we can talk about this in the hall? Mark just fell asleep," she said, trying no to let the terror of that notion show on her face. Judging by the understanding, yet pitying look she received, she didn''t think she was all that successful.

    "Of course, of course. Right this way," he said, moving out of the way so she could exit. He then gently closed the door, and the two began to walk towards the exit.

    "Honestly doctor, it was hard to watch. Seeing him struggling so much from such a simple task. He was crying; he was in so much pain. Isn''t there anything you can do to help?" she asked, practically begging. But Dr. Eckhart only shook his head sadly.

    "Unfortunately, there is very little I can do. I have consulted expert nutritionists and kinesiologists to create a program suited for his needs. All we can do now is believe in his will to get better and provide as much aid as we can," he responded. It wasn''t the answer she wanted, but it was the one she was expecting.

    "I understand. Sorry for putting you in such a position, Doctor, I just¡­" she said, but she couldn''t finish the statement, choking on her own words.

    "There is nothing to apologize for. I want little Markus to recover as swiftly as possible as well. Nothing would make me happier as his doctor. Now, there was one matter I wished to discuss with you," he brought up gingerly.

    "Oh? What''s that?" she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

    "Well, due to his accident, he has yet to be given a Magical Aptitude Test. I was hoping to run it today, honestly, but there''s no rush," he informed.

    "Is it really necessary so soon?" she asked. She knew he would be given one sooner or later, but he only just got out of bed. Surely they could wait until he was walking properly again, at the very least.

    "Not in the strictest sense, no. However, if he does possess a sufficient aptitude, we may be able to aid in his recovery by using magic. This is a relatively new field of study, of course, so there is no real guarantee, but I thought I''d bring it up nonetheless," Dr. Eckhart said.

    That news brought her up short. Anything that would help her precious baby recover faster was worth considering, as long as it didn''t put his health at risk. Which is exactly what she asked about next.

    "Hm, I wish I could tell you, but as I said, the field of magical medicine is new, still in its infancy really. However, from what I understand, theoretically anyways, is that it may help to recover his strength after a strenuous day like today, meaning he would be able to keep going for longer periods of time, thus expediting his recovery. Again, this is merely conjecture, and I only wish to test him at the moment. This would be entirely moot if he doesn''t have the aptitude for it."

    "But couldn''t they simply use their magic to do the same thing? Why does he have to have the aptitude?" she asked, confused. Her question got a sigh from the elderly doctor.

    "The aptitude for a Mage to be able to use healing magic beyond simple first aid is extraordinary. So much so that the Empire only has one, and he''s the personal physician of the Emperor. However, while many struggle to use magic to heal another, using it on themselves is a different matter. I''m unsure of the exact reasons why, but I imagine circulating your own magic through your own body is much easier than doing it for another person. "

    "I see. Well, I suppose I don''t see the harm in merely testing him. My husband should be able to come tomorrow, would it be alright if we were there?" she asked, making the doctor brighten up.

    "Of course! You''re his parents after all. And it would only make sense for your husband to be there as Magical Aptitude Tests are done by the military anyway," he said with an excited tremor in his voice.

    Joanna sighed, "Alright Doctor. I''ll see you tomorrow then.

    "Yes, of course, of course. Have a wonderful evening Mrs. Adler," he said before walking off to continue his duties. Joanna left the hospital with many things to think about.

    The Next Day

    Markus grit his teeth, trying not to show how much pain he was in. He wasn''t walking today, unfortunately, due to the amount of fluid build up in his feet and legs. The Doctor gave him a drug that was supposed to help drain it, but it seemed to be taking its sweet time in doing so.

    So right now, he was doing the same basic physical therapy he''s been doing for the past three weeks. The nurse had just finished helping him stretch out his muscles, and was currently massaging his legs.

    You might be wondering why that would be painful. Two reasons, really. First, his muscles were sore from the previous day, and massaging a sore muscle hurt. Two, the fluid which had built up made things twice as sore, and her rubbing it, trying to get it to move around the muscles, rather than pool around in one spot, did not help matters.

    If he was going through puberty, there would have been a third reason as well, but seeing as he lacked the necessary hormones to enjoy the touch of a beautiful woman in a nurses uniform, he was stuck with only pain, no pleasure.

    Curse those damned aliens.

    Eventually his torture came to an end, and he sagged against his bed in relief. The unpleasant tingling aftermath remained as the only proof of his suffrage. But before he could further lament his lot in life the door opened, revealing none other than Doctor Eckhart strolling inside with a clipboard in hand.

    "Good afternoon Mark. How are you feeling today?" he asked once he reached the bed.

    "Like my legs have been stuffed in a sausage bag," he replied in a dry tone, getting a chuckle out of the doctor. He then proceeded to poke and prod Mark''s still slightly swollen legs, nodding to himself as he did so before writing something down on his clipboard.

    "Well, the swelling has gone down, so that''s good. We''ll need to keep your legs elevated so the fluid doesn''t drain and pool in them," he said.

    "Joy," Mark replied, once more dryly.

    "Now, now, you''re making very good progress. Give your legs another day or two to recover and we''ll try walking again," he said with another chuckle before sitting down next to Mark, getting a confused look from the child.

    "Is there something else you need, Doc?" he asked. Eckhart nodded, setting the clipboard aside.

    "Yes, actually. Today we have some guests coming who will be administering a special test. Tell me, do you know what Magical Aptitude is?" he asked, confusing Mark even further.

    "I assume it''s how high or low an individual''s magical aptitude is. The name''s pretty on the nose, don''t you think? Unless they named it that to confuse everybody and it has no bearing on what it is," Mark responded, somewhat superfluously.

    "Yes, I suppose it is. I bring this up because you have yet to undergo a Magical Aptitude Test. I received permission from your mother and the test should be conducted today. The military, along with your parents, should be here within an hour or so to do so," Dr. Eckhart explained.

    That set all kinds of alarm bells ringing off in his head. He knew he had magic, unless his Stat Screen was lying to him. In fact, it was safe to say he had an abundance of the stuff. And with what he''s learned about the military leanings of The Empire, that would mean nothing good.

    He was likely to be conscripted at some point, considering it was the military conducting the test. Not to mention the chance of everything devolving into a worldwide conflict. There was a possibility this wouldn''t happen, but with who he knew was pulling the strings, he somehow doubted the world would avoid such a catastrophe.

    He had hoped to possibly get a nice, easy posting somewhere, maybe in the rear or as a warehouse worker, but if he had magic, there was no doubt he would be sent to the front lines. Magic was simply too great a tool to leave sitting on the bench.

    "Doc, if I do have magic, what happens then?" Mark asked tentatively. Eckhart must have sensed his unease, as he tried to give him a reassuring smile.

    "Well for now it means we may be able to expedite your recovery, using magic to stimulate your natural recovery," he responded, hoping that by saying it would help in his recovery, that would make him less antsy about magic.

    "I see. And why is it that the military is the one conducting this test? Shouldn''t you be able to do it, as my doctor?" he asked.

    "Ah, a good question. It''s mostly a matter of records. While rare, it does happen that a medical professional like myself forgets to forward the appropriate data. So to prevent any mistakes, the military does the tests themselves," Dr. Eckhart said.

    "In other words, they want to know exactly who has magical potential so they can recruit them into military service. They don''t want to run the risk of someone slipping through the cracks," Mark thought.

    "And why does the military want those records?" Mark asked next, just to confirm what he already suspected.

    "All Mages in The Empire are conscripted when they turn 18, so having those records ensures everyone does their duty," Eckhart said like a good state propagandist. He suddenly didn''t seem like the kind old man any more, but a hungry wolf desperate to provide food for the military industrial complex.

    "And it looks like I was on the menu. Maybe I can flee the country?" Mark thought, but immediately pushed those thoughts away. His father was the Admiral of the Imperial Navy, there was no way he would be able to escape with the resources his dad had to get him back.

    And even if he did, what then? He had to play this game of war, didn''t he? All to escape an eternity of torment. His options were pretty limited.

    Well, if that was the case, he would have to make sure he was sent to the officer''s track. With who his father is and the magic he knew was coursing through his veins, if that''s even where magic coursed through, he should be able to make that happen.

    His mother might be an obstacle though. A bridge he''d have to cross when the time comes.

    "Ah, it looks like they arrived. And early too," mentioned the doctor, getting Mark''s attention. Eckhart was standing at the window, looking down with a pleased look on his face.

    "I thought he said they would be here in an hour!? Why are they here now? Are they really that eager to put a rifle in my hands?" Mark thought with aggravation. Little did he know, he was about to set a new record in The Empire.

 Youre a Wizard Mark

    Markus stared down at the device in his hands. After his Magical Aptitude test, in which he apparently broke every record in the Empire, the military was only too happy to requisition one of these little devices for him. Probably in the hopes of enticing him to the military earlier than conscription would normally occur.

    He wasn''t allowed to use it, of course, and one of the parts required for it to function was removed to ensure he wouldn''t get any funny ideas. It''s almost like they didn''t trust a child with a highly advanced piece of military tech.

    Go figure.

    They called it a Computation Jewel. The thing was about the size of a regular pocket watch, but nearly twice as heavy. The case was made of solid steel, with a dark red synthetic crystal embedded in the top, hence the name. Supposedly, this is what they used to conjure up magic.

    Opening up the case, rather gingerly as the thing cost about as much as a tank, he took note of the complicated array of gears, currently stationary, which moved with the addition of magic.

    All in all, it was a strange little device, and Markus couldn''t really figure out how the gears were supposed to allow someone to use magic, even taking into account the missing piece. They performed calculations, somehow, and that''s about all he really knew about it. He would love to learn more, but that knowledge was, of course, state secrets. And as high up as his father may have been in the military, he doubted he had the pull to swing that.

    So he resigned himself to wait. Perhaps when he actually got around to using the thing, he''d have some kind of epiphany. Realistically though, he''d probably have to wait until he was part of the military and transfer to the R division.

    But that didn''t mean he had to remain idle. There were plenty of things he could do right now without the need to join the military or learn state secrets. Such as weapon development, or agricultural improvements. He actually did a lot of research when designing the weapons for the game he was making in his past life, not to mention his parents drilling weapons basics into him when he was a kid.

    As for the farming, well¡­ he dated a hippie in college and she would not shut up about aquaponics or hydroponics or vertical farming and the meat industry and blah, blah, blah. Sadly enough, in his attempt to seduce that hairy beast, he learned quite a bit about it, and some of it might be useful when preparing for a war.

    The irony of hippie knowledge aiding him in war was not lost on him.

    But you can never have too much food. Perhaps he should see how much they know about worm farming while he was at it¡­

    When he saw his parents next, which should be soon actually, he would need to ask them for books. He was sure that would be a surprise for them, as what kid wanted to read books on weapons manufacturing, but he knew it was a necessity. Perhaps he could get daddy dearest to pull some strings and introduce him to someone.

    But beyond that, he has yet to complete his first task of his rehabilitation, which was to simply walk across the stupid room. But he was close, so very, very close, that he could just feel that he would get it done today.

    And wouldn''t you know it, after having that thought, his darling mother burst through the door. "Mark, mommies here to see you!" she sang loudly as she stood proudly in the entrance.

    Mark sighed and gave her a deadpan stare, "Mother I appreciate your enthusiasm but we are in a hospital. Please keep your voice down." Joanna had the good graces to appear abashed, but only for a second, as she gave a petulant pout at being scolded by her 6 year old son.

    "Mou, so mean. And after I came all this way to spend time with my one and only son," she lamented, hamming up her distress. Her words caused Mark to flinch. Not because he regretted his choice of words, as the woman really could be extremely loud when she wanted to, but because of the guilt he felt.

    Her one and only son.

    Except, he wasn''t, not really. A human being is just a collection of memories. Without those, can one really call themselves a person? How could he be Markus Adler if he has none of his memories? Worse than that, he has the memories of Thomas Miller.

    So who was he?

    This dichotomy was not something he could easily rectify within himself. He was Thomas, deceiving these people by wearing the flesh of their child. It was sick, honestly, but there was little he could do about it, and succumbing to the guilt of pretending to be their son wouldn''t solve anything.

    The only saving grace is the lie that his memories were gone. That was a very convenient cover. He didn''t think he could pretend to be an actual 6 year old if his life depended on it. Far better they just believe their son to be gifted.

    "And I appreciate it mother, but that doesn''t mean you must terrorize the village people," Mark returned as she approached his bed. She sat down next to him with a huff, crossing her arms and glaring at her son.

    "I don''t terrorize anyone but your father. And if you continue with these blasphemous claims otherwise, I won''t share what I smuggled in," she threatened, making Mark raise an eyebrow in curiosity.

    "Oh, it seems like I''ve got your attention," she said with a wide grin, making Mark roll his eyes at her childish mannerisms. "Maybe if you apologize to your poor mother, she''ll show you."

    Makus sighed, but figured giving in would be a harmless gesture on his part, one that would likely make the woman next to him happy. "Fine. I''m very sorry for my accusations. It was wrong of me."

    She gave him a smug, self-satisfied look. "Ah, that''s alright, everyone makes mistakes. Now¡­" She looked to her right, and then her left, as if she was about to reveal a big secret and didn''t want anybody to find out. She then opened up her purse, revealing a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

    "I baked them this morning. I figured you must be tired of the hospital food and would like a little treat after your session today," she said, giving him a beaming smile. He didn''t want to admit it, but they did look very good.

    "Ahem, Mrs. Adler," said a voice, getting Joanna to yelp and close her purse at record speeds. She looked up to see Dr. Eckhart giving her a disapproving frown.

    "I know you mean well but Mark is on a strict diet. Deviating could hinder his recovery, we''ve talked about this," he stated as he approached the bed. Joanna looked sufficiency chastised, staring down at the ground in regret.

    "Oh come on, Doc. A couple of cookies won''t make much of a difference," Mark said, hoping to cheer her up. Judging by the way her eyes lit up, he must have succeeded.

    "Very well, but only if I get one as well," was the ultimatum the doctor gave, showing what he really wanted all along. He and Joanna shared a bit of a laugh while Mark watched with a small smile. It''s little things like this that kept his sanity intact.

    "Now then, I believe it is time for your physical therapy session. The nurse should be here shortly to take you there. I just wanted to inform you that an Imperial Mage will be here afterwards to help you utilize your magic," Eckhart informed.

    Markus felt an eager anticipation well up from within him. This is it, the day he would use magic for the first time. How could he not be excited by such a notion? Sure he didn''t want to use it for war, which he knew he would, but it was still magic! The thing previously allocated to the realm of pure fantasy was now within his grasp.

    His eagerness must have shown on his face, as Joanna sighed at seeing it. Personally, she would be happier without her son having magic, but that was because she knew he had no choice but to enlist or be conscripted, and with who his father was, enlisting was really the only option that would allow the man to save face.

    Just imagine, an Admiral''s son having to be forcefully conscripted into the army. People would question his patriotism if his own son refused enlistment. And with how militaristic the Empire is, such a thing could ruin not only his career, but their whole family as well.

    She just wanted her boy to be safe from harm, was that too much for a mother to ask for?

    *Line Break*

    Sweat poured down his face again as Mark made his third attempt to complete a simple 20 foot walk. His first attempt failed at around the 60% mark, and his second and the 80% mark. Going by his linear improvement, he should be able to make it the entire way this time.

    But he was really struggling on the last few feet. Just three more steps and he would do it. However, he legs were once more being incredibly uncooperative. They just didn''t want to pick his feet off the ground and scooting them across it would be cheating.

    Sure the saying that cheaters never prosper is a load of crap, but he would only be cheating himself, and that was something he refused to do. He could cheat the system just fine, but not himself.

    That''s why he would make these stubborn legs of his move even if it killed him. With a pained groan, he forced his right leg up and took another step, panting from the exertion. Two more. Just two more and he would be done.

    "You can do it sweety. You''re so close!" his mother encouraged, but he more or less tuned her out. He couldn''t allow himself to become distracted by such platitudes, not when he was so close to achieving his goal.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Honestly, he can''t remember the last time he worked so hard for something. Sure, working 18 hour days was pretty rough, especially after a couple of weeks, but for some reason the stress and pain of that just didn''t compare.

    With another screaming groan, he lifted his left leg up and managed another step. Just one more, and he''d have done it. Just one more, and he''d be that much closer to achieving the freedom he so desperately wanted.

    He gave himself several seconds to catch his breath and when he did, he used up all his remaining willpower to move his right leg one more time. Once he did, he collapsed into his mother''s waiting arms.

    "You did it! Oh, mommy''s so proud of you. You definitely earned those cookies today," she said, and Mark couldn''t agree more. Cookies sounded like an awesome way to end the session.

    However, there was one more bonus to completing his objective, one he didn''t expect.

    You have successfully completed the first stage of your rehabilitation. You have earned 5 pts.

    Markus stared at the image, thoughts of cookies cast to the wayside. This was it, the first points he''s earned since coming here. Looks like he could gain points by completing certain tasks, good to know.

    But that was something he could think about later. Right now, his mind was far too frazzled from his therapy and all he wanted to do was rest a bit before he tried to learn how to use magic. He had a feeling that would be even more taxing on the mind.

    Unknown to the two of them, they were being watched from the other side of the window connecting the hallway to the therapy room. Dr Eckhart stood beside another man, one who looked like he was in his late twenties, with short blonde hair and green eyes. He wore a standard military uniform, one adorned with a few medals he earned during his time of service.

    His name was Otto V?lkner, Captain of the Tactical Instructor Unit, Magic Division. He was here after learning that their nation''s Admiral''s son awakened from his coma with an extraordinary amount of Magical Aptitude. Normally, such a thing wouldn''t warrant his personal attention, but it was so high, in fact, that it broke every previous record. Created quite the buzz in the upper echelons, and not just of the military.

    It piqued his interest, and he volunteered personally for the assignment. And so far, he hadn''t been let down.

    "Kid''s got a lot of grit, that''s for sure. If he can make it through that, boot camp should be a breeze," the man joked. Not often you see a kid willing to put up with that kind of pain. He''d be a monster in the future, that''s for sure.

    "I dare say he''d find the challenge thrilling, if for no other reason than to escape the hospital," Eckhart jested as well, getting a snort from the other man.

    "You mean to tell me kids don''t like being cooped up in here? What''s the world coming to?" Both of them shared a small laugh at that, watching as they placed Markus in a wheelchair.

    "I think it has more to do with his inability to walk properly than any real distaste for the hospital," Eckhart said somberly, regarding the boy as he was wheeled out of the room.

    "Yeah, can''t blame him for that. Broke my leg once when I was around that age. Worst damn summer of my life," Otto said with an exaggerated shudder.

    "Of course, no kid likes to be restrained, especially boys. It gets even worse after puberty, trust me," Dr. Eckhart said, and Otto believed him. He knew what he was like when all that testosterone flooded his system, the manic energy he could never quite get rid of. He could only imagine the torture he would have been in had he broken his leg when he was 13 instead of 8.

    "So, when do I get to meet him?" Otto asked, eager to see what the kid could go. His hand traveled to the case he had in his pocket, one containing the gear piece that would allow the kid''s Computation Jewel to actually work.

    "Let''s see, he and his mother should be heading towards the cafeteria for some lunch. You''re welcome to join them if you wish," Eckhart said, rubbing his chin in thought.

    "Uh, no offense Doctor, but I think I''ll pass on the hospital food. I''ll just get some food from the cafe down the street, and meet him once he''s done" Otto said.

    "The food''s not that bad. It''s just an¡­ acquired taste," Eckart stated, but the way he hesitated did not fill Otto with confidence.

    "Right¡­ Well, I''d rather acquire my taste somewhere else. Want me to bring you something, or would you prefer the food here?"

    "...I''ll take a roast beef sandwich, if it''s not too much trouble."

    "Yeah, that''s what I thought."

    *Line Break*

    Markus sighed in content as he was helped back into his bed. It still hurt both his pride and his body to be aided in such a fashion, but being able to rest after his strenuous ordeal was worth it.

    The nurse then checked his legs, noting that they didn''t have as much fluid buildup as they did before. That was welcome news, though he didn''t think it warranted being smothered by his mother.

    Afterward, Mark settled into his bed. It wasn''t the most comfortable thing in the world but it felt like heaven at the moment. Unless heaven included those so-called gods who sent him here, then he would rather stay far away from it.

    About a minute after the nurse left, Mark heard a conspiratorial "Psst," coming from beside him. He opened his eyes to see his shifty-eyed mother holding up her purse like she was about to make a drug deal.

    "Hey, you ready for some dessert?" she whispered, opening her purse to reveal the admittedly tasty looking cookies from earlier. Mark rolled his eyes at his mother''s antics.

    "You know they already caught you with those, so why are you still trying to hide them?" he asked. She gave him another huff.

    "Well, if that''s your attitude, I guess I''ll just have to give them all to Dr. Eckhart," she said petulantly. Mark groaned internally. "Are we really doing this again?"

    "I see. Plotting a long term assassination against the doctor via diabetes. How very clever of you mother," he said, acting like he was genuinely impressed.

    She looked at him with wide, owl-like eyes. "Huh, diabetes? What are you talking about?"

    "No need to play coy with me mother, I''ve seen through your scheme," Mark replied, nodding to himself like he figured out the secrets of the world.

    "Who''s scheming in here?" said a voice from the doorway. Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear.

    Mark looked over and saw Dr. Eckhart standing at the door along with another man in a military uniform he didn''t recognize. Both of them seemed amused by the mother-son byplay.

    "Ah Doctor, perfect timing. I just discovered my mother''s fiendish plot to eliminate you by means of cookie induced diabetes. I have no idea what she has against you, but you might want to consider getting in some extra cardio to counteract the cookies effects," Mark said. The two in the doorway blinked owlishly at the boy, much like his mother.

    After a few moments, the doctor burst into laughter. "Is that right? Well unfortunately for her I''m quite healthy for my age. It will take an awful lot of cookies to bring me down."

    The two entered the room, mirth dancing in their eyes. Joanna sighed at her son''s antics, though she also had a fond smile on her face.

    "You know, I''ve never even thought of killing someone with diabetes before. That kind of outward thinking could be useful in the General Staff," spoke the strange man.

    "Please don''t encourage him," Joanna begged, noting the smug smile on her son''s face. The man chuckled a bit before the doctor decided to introduce him.

    "Markus, Mrs. Adler, let me introduce you to Captain Otto V?lkner, of the Tactical Instructor Unit, Magic Division. He''s here to help you get a grasp on your magic to hopefully aid you in your recovery," Eckhart said, getting renewed looks of interest from the two.

    "I see. It''s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Joanna Adler, and this is my son Markus," Markus said, getting confused looks from the man. His mother only sighed despondently.

    "Please ignore him. Thank you for coming all this way to meet with my son. I really appreciate it," Joanna said, standing up to shake the man''s hand. He happily did so, letting out a chuckle.

    "Think nothing of it. It''s good that he has a sense of humor. Lots of fuddy-duddies in the military, let me tell you."

    "So, Captain, what exactly is going to happen here today?" Joanna asked, retaking her seat. The jovial mood of the room dropped a bit, and Markus turned to the man, curiosity written all over his features.

    "Well, first I''m going to assign a Formula for the Computation Jewel to cast. Something simple, like say, levitating this pen," he said, pulling out a pen from his pocket. "Doing this should allow Markus here to get a feel for his magic, so to speak. Once he has a basic grasp, we can move on to something more advanced, while working our way up to Medical Formulas."

    Mark ruminated on his words. What he said made sense. By doing a basic exercise as he outlined, it reduced the risk of injury, especially with an already frail 6 year old child.

    "Are you well versed with such formulas? Medical ones, I mean," Mark asked. Otto turned to him, a smile on his face.

    "I''m afraid not. Nothing more than basic first aid. Saved my life a time or two though, so I definitely recommend learning at least that much."

    "I see. I suppose you''ll be needing this back then," he said, holding up the Computation Jewel.

    "Ah, yes. You know, I''m surprised they let you borrow one of these. Those guys up in Requisitions can be real pains in the ass," Otto said, taking the Jewel from him. He then pulled out a case from his pocket, opening it to reveal none other than the missing gear.

    "I imagine they''re attempting to bribe me," Mark said, getting an aghast look from his mother. But Otto merely laughed, giving the feeble young boy a smirk.

    "That''s quite the accusation kid. But let''s assume that was true, tell me, is it working?"

    It was now Mark''s turn to smirk, "If I say no, will I get more stuff?"

    This caused Otto to let out another barking laugh. "You know what, I like you kid. We could sure use someone like you in the unit," he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

    "I''d appreciate you not trying to take my boy away from me," Joanna said, a bit of bite behind her words. This caused Otto to adopt a more sheepish look.

    "Of course ma''am. I only meant when he was older. Certainly not anytime soon. The military is no place for a child," he said, trying to pacify the irate woman. Judging by the way her shoulders slackened, it seemed to have worked.

    With that settled, he slid the final piece into place, allowing the Computation Jewel to be used for its intended purpose.

    "Alright, that should do it. Tell me Mark, what do you know about magic?" he asked, as the Jewel glowed slightly. The boy in question watched with speculative eyes as Otto loaded a Formula to be cast.

    "Not much. I know mages use magic to force their will upon the world, interfering with its natural laws, but that''s about it. The Jewel in your hand is used to enact calculations to aid a mage in doing so," he answered, with Otto raising an eyebrow in question.

    "Tell me, how do you know that? Did one of you tell him?" Otto asked, looking towards Joanna and Eckhart. Both of them shook their heads, just as surprised as he was.

    "I only told him a bit about magic, but I never said anything about the functions of a Computation Jewel," Eckhart clarified.

    "Me neither," Joanna stated. All three of them then turned their attention towards the child on the bed, who felt suddenly put on the spot.

    "Mind explaining then, Mark?" Otto asked. Markus gave him a shrug. "I figured it out while inspecting the thing in your hand. I have yet to figure out exactly how it performs these calculations, as the device I received was missing a part and thus, inactive."

    All three of them gave him surprised, and impressed looks. "Is it really such a big deal that I figured it out? I mean, it wasn''t that hard while fiddling with the thing," he thought. Their faces said otherwise.

    "Oh Mark, mommy''s little genius," Joanna said, tears falling from her eyes, leaning over to smother him in her arms, much to his frustrations.

    "Mother, I can''t breathe. Your boobs are suffocating me!"

    The other two just stared at the scene, a whirlwind of thoughts dancing around in their heads. "Damn, we might have another Schugel on our hands. The upper brass is going to love this," Otto said. And Eckhart, well¡­

    Eckhart looked like Christmas came early.

    But eventually, they got to the point of Otto''s visit. "Alright kid, it''s all ready. Let''s see what you got," he said, handing the Computation Jewel over to him, while holding the pen in the palm of his hand.

    Mark took the device from the older man, holding it gingerly. This was it. He was really going to use magic for the first time. In that moment, he actually felt as old as he looked. He closed his eyes and concentrated, directing the magic within him to force his will upon the world.

    He had been practicing feeling out his magic whenever he had a moment to himself, which was a shockingly precious commodity. But even with so little privacy, he was able to get a feel for it, making activating the Computation Jewel in his hand fairly simple.

    The gears in the Computation Jewel began to turn, and Mark could feel reality bending to his desire. He opened his eyes, the others noting with some surprise that they appeared to glow like embers in a fire. And then¡­

    The pen rose.

 Plans Moving Forward

    Brigadier General, Hans von Zettour stared at the file in front of him with a contemplative look on his face. A couple of months ago, a young boy, one Markus Adler, took his mandatory Magical Aptitude test and broke every record in the books. Not only that, but it seems like he was a budding genius, one that was likened to a young Schugel. If that was true, then the Empire was truly blessed by God.

    The paper he just finished reading was a report given by Captain Otto V?lkner. It describes his interactions with the kid over the last two months. From what Zettour could see, the kid was a shoo-in for the R department. The higher ups were already kissing Admiral Adler''s ass because of it too.

    According to the report, he was just shy of what one would call a genius, but had a remarkable intellect all the same, seemingly picking up on concepts faster than anyone the good Captain has ever encountered. As terrible as it might have been, this young boy getting into an accident may have been great boon for the Empire.

    "Still reading the day away you old fuddy-duddy?" spoke a voice from the doorway. Zettour looked up, a small smile gracing his face at the sight of his old friend standing there.

    "Well, one of us has to be able to read. How else would anything get done?" Zettour asked, getting a snort from his friend, who made his way into the office. The man in question is Brigadier General Kurt von Rudersdorf. Unlike his friend, Rudersdorf was what one might call, brawny, and his personality matched his physique, preferring to handle everything as straightforward as he could.

    "If you ask me, you do too much damn reading. It''ll ruin your eyes, you know," he said, sitting down in front of Zettour, pulling out a case of cigars from his pocket, before selecting one for himself and offering one to his friend.

    "I''m afraid that''s a risk I''ll have to take," Zettour replied, waving it away. With a shrug, Rudersdorf lit it, savoring the rich taste and aroma. Smoke filled the room as he happily puffed away, Zettour returning to the paper in front of him.

    "What''s caught your attention this time? Not like you to be so fixated on a single scrap of paper," Rudersdorf questioned, a curious glint in his eyes. After all, if it was good enough to catch someone like Zettour''s eye, it must be interesting.

    "Would you like to read it for yourself?" Zettour asked, holding out the paper for Rudersdorf to take.

    "Just give me the highlights," he responded, making Zettour chuckle.

    "Very well. I was reading up on Frank''s kid. I''m sure you know the one," Zettour said, making Rudersdorf grunt in agreement.

    "Yeah, hard not to with the howling of the upper brass. The next Schugel they''re calling him. Don''t tell me you buy that tripe?" Rudersdorf questioned, a disappointed frown on his face. But Zettour wasn''t detoured, not in the slightest.

    "I wouldn''t say that. This is the firsthand account of Captain V?lkner, who''s been helping the kid access his magic to hasten his recovery. According to him, while the kid may not be on the same level as Schugel, he''s remarkably brilliant all the same. Talent like that shouldn''t be squandered," Zettour calmly stated, learning back in his chair.

    "Well, you''re not wrong there. And even if he isn''t Schugel''s equal, with the results he got from the Aptitude test, there''s no way they''ll leave him alone," Rudersdorf mentioned. He felt a bit bad for the kid. Just out of a coma and the whole military is clambering to get him to sign up. The boy''s balls hadn''t even dropped yet!

    "That''s true. According to V?lkner, the kid''s also been requesting books on engineering. Mostly weapons and other military gear. Not exactly the normal reading material for a child," Zettour stated.

    "Putting it mildly. Is he just putting on airs, knowing he''s being watched, or do you think the kid can actually read that stuff?" Rudersdorf questioned, taking another long puff on his cigar. "If he can, kid''s got me beat, that''s for damn sure. Can''t make heads or tails of those things. As long as they work, that''s good enough for me," he continued, making his friend chuckle.

    "Only time will reveal that answer, I''m afraid. I did hear his mother is quite¡­ objectionable to the whole thing," Zettour said. That got another snort of amusement from the bulky general across from him.

    "Hah, never get between a mother and her child. Especially when that kid just woke up from a damn coma. If those idiots upstairs keep pushing too hard, they could cost us a valuable asset," he said.

    "My thoughts exactly. Perhaps we should set forth a proposition. A kind of¡­ youth program. One aimed at fostering the growth of our nation''s children, fast tracking them to an officer''s position when they are older," Zettour proposed, getting an interested look from Rudersdorf.

    "Not a bad idea. I can certainly see the merits of something like that. Especially with the growing tensions," he muttered. Both of them could only sigh at that. Things weren''t looking too good on the international stage. Both feared it was only a matter of time until they were forced into conflict, so they''d better prepare now, while they still had time.

    An ounce of prevention is worth more than a pound of cure, as they say. And if they could foster some talented officer''s before the bombs started dropping, that would give them more of an advantage.

    "I''ll work on drafting a proposal. I know how afraid you are of paperwork," Zettour said, a smirk on his face. Rudersdorf couldn''t help but laugh at that, knowing how true it was. Just because he had to do the scourge known as paperwork, didn''t mean he enjoyed it.

    "Right you are. But I suppose I could at least read this one, considering it''s you who wrote it," he said, getting a chuckle from his friend.

    "Well, I certainly appreciate your consideration," Zettour said wryly. After that, the two began hammering out the basics of the idea, interspaced with a good amount of small talk.

    *Line Break*

    It''s been a few months now since Markus was first visited by Otto, and he''s been making remarkable progress since then. At least if the doctors, nurses and his parents are to be believed. He wasn''t sure if he would call his progress remarkable, but he has certainly been steadily improving.

    After completing his first magic lesson, he received another 5 points, bringing his total up to 10. That gave him just enough to purchase something from the first Tier of Talents. Part of him wanted to wait until he could afford a Perk that would reduce the cost a bit more, but then again, if he waited that long it would only stall his recovery that much longer.

    And he really wanted to get out of the hospital already.

    So instead, he opted to purchase the first Tier of the Medical Formula Talent. With it being Intelligence based, the cost was also reduced by 25%, so he only had to use 7.5 out of his 10 points.

    Looking at his list of Perks and Talents, he couldn''t help but frown at how barren it all looked.

    <u>Perks</u>

    Higher Education: Reduces the cost of all Intelligence based Talents by 25% (Obtained by earning a master''s degree)

    Programmer: Reduces cost of Programming Talents by 25% (Obtained by earning a bachelor''s degree in Programming)

    Expert Programmer: Improves the effectiveness of Programming Talents by 25% (Obtained by earning a master''s degree in Programming)

    Gamer: Your body is now that of a video game character, allowing you to surpass the limitations of normal humans. (Obtained by divine gift)

    Magical Prodigy: Increases the Tier of your Magic Stat by 1. (Obtained by divine gift)

    Talents

    Programming: Tier 3

    Running: Tier 1

    Cooking: Tier 1

    Mathematics: Tier 3

    Gaming: Tier 2

    Gunsmithing: Tier 1

    Driving: Tier 2

    Military Strategy: Tier 1

    Marksmanship: Tier 1

    Survival: Tier 1

    Medical Formula: Tier 1

    Gardening: Tier 1

    Drawing: Tier 1

    Was that all an entire lifetime''s worth of accomplishments? "Was my life really so dull?" he questioned, frowning. He didn''t really think much of it at first, having other things to preoccupy his time with, but now that he was actively looking at how to improve, he couldn''t help but notice.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Perhaps he could take solace in the fact that his second life was sure to be filled with excitement. Naw, screw that! He''d take the boring old him over the one that was going to be blowing people apart in war. Even if his past life was rather drab all things considered, he was still content with it.

    Regardless, if he wanted to win this game and shove it in those damned aliens'' faces, he needed to consider the best path forward. That''s why he was currently going through the list and checking it twice, looking for Perks and Talents that would prove useful.

    The Mechanical Engineering and Mathematics Talents were two of his top priorities, figuring they would be his best bets into figuring out how the Computation Jewels worked. If he could prove how valuable he was as a weapons developer, they might not send him to the front lines.

    At least not for a while. He knew the chances of him never seeing combat were slim to none, given his apparent prodigious magical talent, but he might be able to delay it until there was no other alternative than to deploy him.

    Now, to make them as cost effective as possible, he needed perks that would reduce the amount of point expenditure required to level them up. Thankfully they were both Intelligence based Talents, so the cost was already lowered by 25%, but if he could get that to 50% before enlistment, and raise those Tiers up a few levels, that would greatly improve his chances.

    After that was the Gunsmithing Talent, which he was already a Tier 1. Probably due to his research for the game he was making and his upbringing. But being able to make more effective, deadly and reliable weapons was a nice backup and boon to his first plan.

    He idly remembered about the weapons malfunctions on the first and second World Wars, such as the Italian Red Devil hand grenades, as well as issues with torpedoes. If he could produce more effective and reliable solutions towards things like these, that would cement his place in the R department.

    After that, he next plan was as a Medic Mage. While current military doctrine would put them on the front line with any other mage unit, given the rarity of having a talent towards Medical Formulas, they were rarely sent off with their units, typically staying in camp unless they were needed.

    While it wouldn''t keep him from the front lines, it would keep him from being in the thick of the fighting. Theoretically, anyway. It was a good backup plan, but the chances of it backfiring on him were too great to ignore. Option 1 was still leagues better.

    After that, his focus would be on furthering his abilities to survive while in the thick of combat. No matter how many plans and contingencies he made, if he didn''t account for the very real possibility of combat, he would likely die. So to that end, he was making sure he had a pretty good idea about what Perks and Talents would help in that regard.

    Talents that increased his ability to shoot accurately, such as his Marksmanship Talent, or anything that aided his magical abilities as well were to be considered. There were talents for about every Magical Formula there was, not to mention one''s for hand to hand combat, swordsmanship, knife fighting, etc. He''d have to be somewhat picky with his selection, as there were quite a few to choose from.

    After more than a month of looking through his catalog of choices, he felt fairly confident about his choices.

    <u>Priority</u>

    Photographic Memory Perk: Allows the user to remember everything he has seen in vivid detail. (Cost 100 Points)

    Architect Perk: Reduces the cost of Engineering Talents by 25%. (Cost: 75 Points.)

    Ordinance of Ordnance Perk: Reduces the cost of all Weapon Crafting Talents by 25%. (Cost 75 Points.)

    The Numbers Don''t Lie Perk: Reduces the cost of numbers related Talents by 25% (Cost 75 Points)

    Inventor Perk: Improves the parameters of all inventions of the creator by 25%. This applies to improvements of items already in production. (Cost 100 Points.)

    Mechanical Engineering Talent: Tier 4

    Mathematics Talent: Tier 4

    Gunsmithing Talent: Tier 4

    Bladesmithing Telent: Tier 4

    Artillery Engineer Talent: Tier 4

    Explosives Engineer Talent: Tier 4

    Armor Engineer Talent: Tier 4

    Mechanics Talent: Tier 4

    Naval Engineer Talent: Tier 4

    Automotive Engineer Talent: Tier 4

    Drawing Talent: Tier 3

    <u>Secondary</u>

    The Doctor Is In Perk: Reduces the cost of all Medicine related Talents by 25% (Cost 75 Points)

    Time Heals All Wounds Perk: Reduces the time it takes to treat someone by 25% (Cost 80 Points)

    Field Medic Perk: Reduces the cost of the First Aid Talent by 50% (Cost 50 Points)

    First Aid Talent: Tier 4

    Medical Formula Talent: Tier 6

    Medicine Talent: Tier 4

    <u>Tertiary</u>

    Survivalist: Reduces the cost of the Survival Talent by 50% (Cost 50 Points)

    Toughness: Increases the user''s Health and Stamina. Reduces the amount of accumulated fatigue from strenuous acrivities. (Cost 75 Points)

    Improved Toughness: Further increases the user''s Health and Stamina. Greatly reduces the amount of accumulated fatigue from strenuous activities. (Cost 350 Points)

    Deadeye: Reduces the cost of the Marksmanship Talent by 50% (Cost 80 Points)

    Insomniac: Reduces the amount of time required to gain the benefits of a full night''s sleep from 8 hours to 6 hours. (Cost 150 Points)

    Ambidexterity: Allows the user to use his non dominant hand as well as his dominant hand. (Cost 35 Points)

    Magical Attack Master: Reduces the cost of all attack magical formula Talents by 25% (Cost 150 Points)

    Magical Defense Master: Reduces the cost of all defensive magical formula Talents by 25% (Cost 100 Points)

    Magic Swordsman: Reduces the cost of the Magic Blade Talent by 50% (Cost 50 Points)

    I Don''t Need a Plane Perk: Reduces the cost of the Flight Formula Talent by 50% (Cost 50 Points)

    Survival Talent: Tier 3

    Marksmanship Talent: Tier 4

    Pugilist Talent: Tier 3

    Knife Fighter Talent: Tier 2

    Military Strategy Talent: Tier 3

    Running Talent: Tier 3

    Driver Talent: Tier 2

    Flight Formula Talent: Tier 4

    Explosive Formula Talent: Tier 3

    Penetration Formula Talent: Tier 3

    Homing Cluster Formula Talent: Tier 3

    Optical Formula Talent: Tier 3

    Guidance Formula Talent: Tier 2

    Interference Formula Talent: Tier 2

    Magic Blade Talent: Tier 4

    Optical Decoy Formula Talent: Tier 3

    Observation Formula Talent: Tier 3

    Heat Detection Formula Talent: Tier 2

    Passive Shell Formula Talent: Tier 4

    Active Barrier Formula Talent: Tier 4

    Markus felt fairly good about his choices, but even if there were some Perks and Talents in a lower priority, that didn''t mean he wouldn''t purchase them before his top priority choices. Things like Toughness, Insomniac, I Don''t Need a Plane, and Ambidexterity were just all around good.

    That being said, if he could get his top choices anywhere near those levels before or during his time in the Military Academy, or more specifically, the Officer Candidate School, he would be sitting pretty for that posting in R .

    Thinking over the list, he didn''t understand why every damn magic formula had to have its own Talent. Couldn''t they just be grouped together or something? That would have made his life an awful lot easier.

    Deciding it was best not to think about, Mark reached over to the end table by his bed and picked up the newspaper. He remembered when he asked about getting it, his parents were sure surprised that he wanted to read a newspaper of all things. But without t.v, it was the best way to be kept abreast of the happenings in the Empire and abroad.

    Sure there was the radio, but they were even more propagandistic than the papers, as hard as that was to believe, so he preferred to get his news from marginally less biased sources. Not only that, but he also asked for the papers of neighboring countries, which shocked them even more.

    The Empire itself was analogous with Germany from his old world, at least to some extent, and the surrounding countries also mirrored his old world''s counterparts. Like the Francois Republic, which was basically just France. He had never been so glad to have taken French lessons in high school. Thank goodness for teachers with huge tits, else he wouldn''t have considered it.

    He was a bit rusty, but he was able to get the gist of what they were saying. The biggest takeaway was that the Republicans, which was a weird thing to say considering he used to be a U.S citizen, did not like the Empire.

    Shocker.

    According to them, we were just a bunch of war hawks who wanted to take over the world. Mark knew a thing or two about propaganda, but that was laying it on a bit thick. Although, considering the demonstrations in the streets and their own news articles that demanded the destruction of the Fatherland''s enemies, he could see how they would believe that. But those were clueless citizens, not the higher ups in charge.

    And it wasn''t just the tensions with them either. The Legadonia Entente Alliance, which was made up basically Norway and Sweden, claimed that the Norden mountain range belonged to them, and there have been increasing calls for military action to take it. Supposedly they had a treaty of some kind that would prevent them from doing anything too aggressive, but at the end of the day, that was just a piece of paper.

    And according to their papers, which required him to have a dictionary to translate, their economy was in the tank. The people will only tolerate a bad economy for so long before they start a rebellion, and Mark feared that the government would do something foolish to switch the blame. Like invading Norden, for example.

    But that seemed a little far-fetched, considering the strength disparity between the two nations. You''d have to be a real idiot to do something like that, but their civil unrest was something to look out for. Desperate people do stupid things.

    To the East lies the Russy Federation, in other words, Russia. This is the country that made Markus the most nervous. Communists weren''t like normal people, especially the ones who genuinely believed in their utopian vision of the world. They were the most radical, and the ones most likely to instigate a war all in the name of worker revolution.

    Something which already took place in their country, supposedly. It was only a matter of time until they came after the Empire, as their monarchy was antithetical to their own beliefs. They needed to be watched carefully.

    But not every country nearby was hostile. Illdoa, this world''s Italy, was friendly enough with the Empire. He didn''t know if they were fascists in this world, and their papers didn''t reveal much either. Another country to watch. Nothing worse than being stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend.

    That''s how Mark spent the next few hours, trying to get an idea of the current political landscape of the world to plan for the future. It seemed everyone was sitting on a powder keg, just waiting for the spark that would ignite it. Mark knew it was coming, he just didn''t know from where.

    Placing the paper down, he sighed as he looked out the window. He needed to get better, and soon. His physical therapy was going along well, but it was still agonizingly slow. He could walk up a flight of stairs now, which was good. Wore him out something fierce to do it, but he could.

    Looking over at his accumulated points, he couldn''t help but frown at the low number, 12.5. He was able to increase it a bit every time he completed a new task in his physical therapy, thankfully, but it was still so damn slow.

    Oh well, nothing he could do about it. He just needed to continue on the path and hopefully be able to get some more points later. He imagined he''d get a good amount for making a full recovery, but he had no proof of this beyond the points he''s already earned.

    Looking at the clock, it was about time for his parents to arrive for his next session. His father couldn''t come by much, but it was always nice when he could, so Markus could get a better idea of what was happening beyond the propaganda. His mother frowned whenever he asked about it, not wanting her baby boy to concern himself with such topics, but he needed to be prepared.

    War was coming.

 Freedom!

    Frank Adler watched his wife bustle about the living room with some amusement. She was currently in the process of cleaning, which would be a completely normal thing to do. Ordinarily, that is. There was just one teeny, tiny little problem.

    "Honey, don''t you think you''re going a little overboard? This is the fourth time you''ve cleaned that room this week," Frank mentioned. His paper remained unread on the table while his coffee slowly cooled beside it. This would normally frustrate the man, as his need for caffeine typically outweighed anything else this early in the morning. But he did so love to watch his beautiful wife.

    She was currently dressed in an old pair of pants, one that clung to her frame in oh so tantalizing ways. The newspaper was far less interesting than his wife''s derriere, and for the first time in a very long while, he didn''t feel the need to drug himself silly with coffee to wake himself up.

    Joanna stopped what she was doing, turning to face her husband with a huff. Her shirt, a dirty old white thing, was raised up slightly, giving Frank a peek at his wife''s fairly toned stomach.

    "I don''t know how you can sit there so calm. Our son is coming home today! I have to make sure everything is perfect," she claimed.

    "I''m pretty sure you''ve already killed every last dust bunny in this house. And their families. Can''t get much more perfect than that," Frank said teasingly, taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee, making a displeased face as he did so. He liked his coffee black as the night and hot as hell.

    "That''s a morbid way to look at it," Joanna said, but she had a small smile on her face nonetheless. Frank chuckled before he stood up, his tepid beverage no longer holding any interest whatsoever.

    "But it''s not inaccurate. Tell me, what''s bothering you?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her. Joanna sighed as she leaned into his touch, feeling some of the tension melt away.

    "It''s just¡­ a lot, you know? I keep thinking, what if it''s not good enough? What if he doesn''t like it here? What if he wants to leave? What if-" she started, her tone quickly becoming manic.

    "Shh-shh-shh¡­ None of that now. You''re worrying over nothing you know. I''m sure you''ve heard more than your share of complaints he''s given about being in the hospital. I think he''ll like being here a whole lot more than that," he said, gently swaying his hips, like they were dancing, with Joanna following along.

    "I can''t argue with that. I think if he was stuck there any longer he might try and burn it down," she joked, getting a chuckle from the man. She had a small smile on her face as she felt the rumble in his chest.

    "Let''s hope it doesn''t come to that. I don''t think our insurance would cover that," he said, making her choke out a laugh.

    "Our rates would go through the roof," she said.

    "You know, I have a better way to deal with stress," he said, a hint of mischief in his tone.

    "Oh, and what is that?" she asked.

    "This!" he yelled, before sweeping her up into his arms, making her squeal in surprise.

    "Frank, what are you doing!? Put me down right now!" she shouted. But it was clear from her smile that she didn''t want to be anywhere else.

    "Oh, I''ll put you down alright, just as soon as we get to the bedroom. This is the last time we''ll have the house all to ourselves, and I''d like to make the most of it," he growled, making his wife shiver with need.

    "Well, don''t keep me waiting. Take me stud," she purred, dragging a finger across his face. Now it was his turn to shiver.

    "Oh you asked for it now," he said, before quickly heading for the stairs. The two of them almost took a tumble as they were going up, far more preoccupied with making out like a pair of horny teenagers than anything else.

    *Line Break*

    Markus sighed as he waited in his room, staring at the clock as it constantly reminded him of how late his parents were. Seriously, what could be keeping them so long? Normally he wasn''t averse to them being a bit late, enjoying his solitude, but not when he was finally getting out of here.

    Having nothing better to do, he started fiddling with the Computation Jewel he was trusted with. Without this thing, he likely wouldn''t be getting out of the hospital so soon. After having it for a few months and feeling the way it helped manipulate his mana, he had a better understanding of how it worked.

    Not to mention being told what they were based on, the Differential Analyzer. Something he was only vaguely aware of existing in his previous world. It was a rudimentary analogue computer used to solve differential equations.

    Thankfully, that knowledge wasn''t classified and he was able to get his hands on a few books, thanks in part to his father. From there it helped him understand the little devices on a basic, rudimentary level. But as nice as the knowledge was, he couldn''t help but feel like he was being tested.

    He certainly wouldn''t put it past such a militaristic nation to do something like that. Hell, he''d be more surprised if they didn''t. Even so, it proved invaluable.

    Seeing as his parents still weren''t here yet, he decided to look at his Stats. Willing the translucent screen into existence, he stared at the numbers in front of him. None of his personal Stats had changed, unfortunately. He was still a weak child after all. But once he was out of this place and could move about without being under constant supervision, he hoped that would increase.

    If not, he''d just have to wait until puberty reeled its ugly head. He was not looking forward to acne again. No siree.

    But that was future Mark''s problem. Right now, present Mark had his own shit to deal with. His time within the walls of this sterilized prison hadn''t been totally wasted as far as his game was concerned, as he had made slight progress in a few Talents, such as Magical Control, which he gained a single Tier in, reaching it last week.

    It was strange, the difference it made. You''d think that by spending the time required to actually raise the Talent up a Tier, you wouldn''t notice the improvement the Tier level actually gave. But that couldn''t be further from the truth. It was like night and day.

    Take his Medical Formula Talent for example. With it being at Tier 1, he could easily use it for basic first aid and muscle recovery, which is what was intended in the first place. But just by getting the Magical Control Talent to Tier 1, the amount of mana he used for the Formula was noticeably less. Normally he''d feel a bit fatigued from using it, but not now.

    That didn''t mean he could use his magic willy-nilly, but he could use it more, and with more efficiency. Not only did it take less mana to perform the Formula, but it was also more effective. Not enough that it was at another Tier or anything, but it was still something to take note of.

    Beyond that he was also able to get the Rapid Recovery Perk, which increased the speed in which he healed from injuries or illness by 10%. He wasn''t Wolverine by any means, but it was still a nice little bonus to have. Too bad he didn''t get it until he was completely recovered already. He could have been out of here a couple of weeks ago if he had.

    Along with that he had gained a decent number of points to spend. Ninety, in fact. He was planning on using them to purchase the Photographic Memory Perk for 75 Points. He had decided on that Perk first due to all the studying he''s been doing while in the hospital. He had learned some techniques to make studying more effective while in college, but he wouldn''t need that all if he could just remember everything.

    He could purchase it now, of course, but he decided to wait until he was all alone. He had no idea what would happen once he bought the thing. Would it hurt? Or would it be painless? Would he pass out? Or would there be no change at all? He didn''t know, and felt it was better to wait until he was ready to sleep. That way if he had to scream, he could do so into a pillow. And if he passed out, well, he would already be in bed.

    Beyond that, there wasn''t much he cared to buy. At least, not yet. Better to just accumulate the points for now. Looking out the window, Markus saw his parent''s car pulling up.

    "About time," he thought, watching them get out. His father looked far too pleased with himself for his liking, while his mother was practically glowing. Just what were they up to to have such satisfied looks on their-

    Oh¡­

    Gross.

    *Line Break*The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "Thank you for everything doctor, truly," Frank said, shaking the man''s hand. Mark was certain that if he did so any harder, the older man''s arm would come right off. Being an active duty member of the military, Frank was in excellent shape.

    "Of course, Mr. Adler, it was my pleasure," Dr. Eckhart said, his voice wobbly from the handshake.

    "I don''t know how I can ever thank you for taking such good care of our son," Joanna said, giving the doctor a hug. Now he looked like he was about to pop, his face turning an interesting shade of blue. His mother may not have been in the military, at least, not anymore, but she was still pretty darn strong.

    "Mother, perhaps you should let him go before we''re forced to go on the run for murder. He''s starting to turn purple," Markus said, making the woman release her hold on the man.

    "Oops, sorry," she apologized as he took in gulps of air. For a second there, he thought he saw his dearly departed wife, beckoning him to the other side from across a river.

    "It''s fine, Mrs. Adler. Just try and remember I''m an old man," he joked, getting a sheepish look from Joanna.

    "Anyway, I think it''s time for you all to leave. I don''t think I''ve ever had a patient I was so sorry to see go but so happy they''re leaving," Eckhart said.

    "Don''t worry doc, I''m sure we''ll see each other again," Markus said.

    "As happy as that would make me, let''s hope not. I''d rather not see you in the hospital ever again," he said, giving a rueful chuckle.

    "I didn''t mean as a patient. I could always just visit to bug you, you know," Mark said, making all of them chuckle. Not that he ever intended to, but he figured it was nice to offer.

    "Well in that case I welcome the company. Now, let''s see about getting you discharged, shall we?" he said, getting eager looks from all parties involved.

    "I couldn''t agree more. Come on, let''s go," Frank said, wrapping an arm around his wife and son. One looked positively over the moon while the other had a look of resigned acceptance.

    "Ah, before that," Echart said, grabbing the wheelchair assigned to Mark during his stay. Said child looked at him with an expression that said, "really?"

    "Sorry, hospital rules," Eckhart said with a grin. Markus groaned before sitting down in the chair grumpily. "Fine, but don''t let my mother drive."

    "What why!?" she asked indignantly.

    "You know what you did mother," he replied.

    "...Fair enough."

    The group made their way to the entrance of the hospital, with Frank pushing his son in the wheelchair. It wasn''t his first time doing this, having spent as much time as he could with his son during his recovery, but he hoped it would be his last. Seeing Mark in a wheelchair was not a good feeling.

    Joanna walked beside them with a small pout at not being able to steer her son. Just because she sent him into the wall a time or two, or nearly pushed him down the stairs, and once into the elevator, didn''t mean she couldn''t handle it.

    But she wasn''t too bothered by this fact, considering he would be coming home. Oh, she hoped he liked it. She kept his room just the way it was, never touching a thing. Actually, given his personality shift, he probably wouldn''t like it as much. Oh well, that just means they would have to do a little redecorating.

    Which meant shopping!

    "Ok, now if you two would just sign here, you''re free to go," Dr. Eckhart said, handing them a piece of paper. Mark frowned as they signed it without reading it, feeling doing so was rather foolish. Who knows what they could actually be agreeing to. If they just sold him to a sweatshop in this world''s China, he was going to be pissed.

    "That should just about do it. You are officially your parents'' problem once again," Eckhart joked. Markus rolled his eyes at the attempt at humor, but his father at least found it amusing.

    "I''ll make sure to drive them insane, doc. That way they can come and be your problem," Markus said, completely monotone, getting a full belly laugh from the man.

    "I hate to tell you this, but I don''t deal with the psych ward all that much. But I appreciate the thought."

    With that, Markus was finally released from the hospital. He shook his head as his mother gave Eckhart some more cookies, looking like she was making a drug deal. Thankfully, cameras haven''t reached the stage where they could be used for security purposes yet, so there was no chance of someone getting their hand on the footage and doctoring it to blackmail his father.

    He didn''t think it would feel so good to step outside. Sure it wasn''t the first time during his rehabilitation that he was allowed into the great outdoors, but this time it was different. This time, he wouldn''t be going back inside.

    He was finally free.

    The family of three made their way towards their vehicle, with his parents making sure he was belted in tight. Mark sighed at this overprotectiveness, but he supposed he couldn''t really blame them. He was leaving the hospital for the first time in about a year and a half, give or take. Some caution was warranted.

    "Alright, ready to head home?" Frank asked, smiling at his family. It felt good to have everyone together. For the longest time, he didn''t think it would be possible, that the last trip he would take with them all together would be in a hearse. He was glad to be proven wrong.

    "More than ready. Just drive carefully," Joanna said.

    "I agree. I would rather not return to the hospital so soon because you decided to drive recklessly," Mark commented, looking out the window. Frank had fake, crocodile tears streaming down his face as he started the car up.

    "My own family doesn''t trust my driving¡­"

    "There, there," his wife soothed, rubbing his back. But the snickering painted a very different story than what her tone of voice suggested.

    "Oh, honey¡­" he sniffled, staring into his wife''s eyes.

    "If you two start making out, I''m walking," Mark said from the back seat, his tone about as lifeless as one could imagine. He had no desire whatsoever to see his parents of this world act like horny teenagers.

    "Oh come on son, we''re just expressing our love for one another," his father said, a big smirk on his face.

    "Please express it when I am not in the vicinity, if you don''t mind. I would like to avoid mental trauma for as long as possible," he replied, getting a chuckle from the older man.

    "You''ll understand someday, when you have a beautiful wife of your own," he said, backing out of the parking spot. Their home was a good twenty minute drive, give or take, as they were a bit out in the country. His father enjoyed the peace and quiet it provided, as did his mother.

    "But that day better not be anytime soon, you hear?" Joanna said, giving her son a stern look. Markus only rolled his eyes, "I make no promises mother."

    "Oh Frank, did you hear that? He''s planning to run away with some two-bit, home wrecking hussy," she cried out, getting confused looks from both male occupants.

    "Uh, sweetheart, I don''t think that''s what he said," Frank said, rather uneasily.

    "Are you calling me a liar?" she snapped back, hotly.

    "Nope, not me! Son, do not run off with any hussies, understand?" he said in a stern, yet frightened tone.

    "Not really, but ok," Mark replied, bored.

    "Good," his father said. They continued to travel along the well kept roads, but it was somewhat slow going, given that there were more demonstrators out and about, screaming nonsense about going to war.

    Fools. If they knew how high the price of a modern war was, they wouldn''t be so eager to pick a fight. He wondered what this looked like on the world stage. It could certainly be used as propaganda against the Empire, if their enemies were smart about it.

    Not his problem, he supposed, at least not yet. There was little he could do about it anyway. His hands idly played with the Computation Jewel in his hands, having become somewhat of a nervous habit.

    As they passed by the protestors, Markus saw someone in an alley. It was a young blonde girl, about his own age, with the bluest eyes he''d ever seen. She was wearing a long sleeved brown shirt, with a dirty white dress that went down to her ankles. Both garments looked like they''ve seen better days.

    Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and Markus saw her give him a look of curiosity before the moment passed, her form being blocked by all the rabid Imperial citizens. And no matter how hard he searched, he couldn''t catch a glimpse of her.

    "What are you looking at sweetie?" his mother asked, turning to give him a look of curiosity.

    "Nothing, mother. Nothing at all."

    *Line Break*

    "So, this is it then? The accepted proposal?" asked Brigadier General Rudersdorf, once more sitting across from his longtime friend. He held up a piece of paper in his hands, skimming the contents. He had no desire to read the whole blasted thing after all. It was nearly 500 pages long! He had far better things to do with his time.

    "Indeed it is. I take it you didn''t read it?" his friend and fellow Brigadier General, Hans von Zettour asked. Though his tone of voice suggested he already knew the answer, he question was mostly to tease his less than studious companion.

    "Just give me the rundown," Rudersdorf demanded, not answering the question. Zettour chuckled, picking up the proposed legislation and giving it a once over.

    "As you wish. Most of our ideas were accepted with minimal haggling. Seems like the military and the bureaucrats are on the same page for once," Zettour said, his eyes rapidly reading the words on the sheet.

    "Hmph, about damn time. Our enemies are nipping at our heels, no need for us to be at each other''s throats," Rudersdorf said.

    "I agree. But it seems like they decided to add some addendums to our proposal as well. The biggest one is removing the age restriction of enlistment for those with sufficient magical aptitude," Zettour said, with a frown. Sure they wanted to introduce legislation that would create an education program for kids to fast track them into an officer''s position, but that was only when they were adults.

    "Child soldiers huh? Wonder where they got that idea from?" Rudersdorf said wryly. It wasn''t exactly a secret that they wanted to get their hands on a certain someone whose magical aptitude test broke every record in the Empire.

    "Where indeed. But if they think Admiral Adler is just going to hand over his child, they''re in for a rude awakening I believe," Zettour said, placing the paper down.

    "I''d be more afraid of his wife if I were them," Rudersdorf said, making Zettour chuckle. "Too true my friend, too true."

    The two sat there in companionable silence, thinking about the future of the Fatherland, until one of them broke it.

    "So tell me, how soon until the program gets initiated?" Rudersdorf asked.

    "Hmm, let''s see¡­ I believe it will start next semester. They''ve already hired plenty of veterans to get the program underway," Zettour said, rubbing his chin in thought.

    "That fast huh? Guess those pencil pusher''s are good for something after all," said the larger man. Normally getting something like this set up would take years. Endless debates and red tape blocking their every move. But now, with the outcry of the people demanding war, they seem to ignore all that. Maybe they''re hoping it will appease them, even if it''s only for a short while.

    "There''s a first time for everything. Let''s hope it all goes smoothly," Zettour said, reaching into one of his drawers and pulling out a bottle.

    "Oh, the good stuff," his friend said, watching as a pair of glasses were set onto the table. Zettour then opened the bottle, taking a moment to enjoy the aroma, before pouring the two of them a glass.

    "What can I say, this is a cause for celebration. While I don''t agree with removing the age limit for mages, getting the Junior Officers'' Training Corps up and running so quickly is a good thing," Zettour claimed, sliding one of the glasses towards his friend.

    "You don''t have to convince me to have a drink," Rudersdorf claimed.

    "No, I don''t suppose I do," Zettour said with a chuckle, holding up his glass. "To the Reich."

    "To the Fatherland," his friend said, the two of them clinking glasses together. Neither one knew what the future would bring, but they were certain war was on the horizon. Perhaps, with this new initiative, they would be in a better position when the shit hits the fan.

    One could only hope.

 Party Time!

    The cold December chill bore down on one Markus Adler as he sat idly on the ground outside, wrapped up in an old jacket that was just a wee bit too small for him. Considering it''s been probably close to two years since this body had a chance to wear it, that''s not exactly surprising.

    Currently, the one known as Markus was enjoying a book. The tome itself was a rather large, leatherbound thing of some cost. His father had managed to procure it for him as a gift for escaping the hospital, and the young boy was eagerly absorbing its contents.

    The book contained a detailed account of the voyage of one Edward Teach, better known as Blackbeard. The story itself wasn''t so different from the one he knew about in his own world, with just a bit more magic to it.

    Literally.

    It was almost like reading a Pirates of the Caribbean script. But still, it was an intriguing tale, written from the perspective of one of his crewmates, Richard Conningham. Supposedly, Blackbeard had learned the secrets of magic, using it to call forth an undead horde and make his cannons explode with the force of a nuclear bomb.

    Markus wasn''t sure how accurate it was, especially the part about the zombies, but increasing the power of his cannons was well within the realm of possibility. After all, Explosion Formulas were a thing, according to Captain V?lkner, so there was likely some truth to that part of the tale.

    As he continued reading, a large Peacock Butterfly landed on his book. Mark gave it a curious look, watching as it opened and closed its wings, almost like it was stretching before continuing on its way. Several seconds went by before that''s exactly what it did, taking flight into the open air.

    He didn''t think he''d see a butterfly of all things in the middle of winter, but he supposed stranger things have happened. He was living proof of that. Sadly, he doubted the beautiful creature was long for this world. Food was scarce this time of year, and there were precious few flowers left which contained the nectar it required to survive.

    Watching it for a bit, book momentarily forgotten, his mind wandered to the possibility of his own flight. Learning that mages could fly on their own power, or the power of the Computation Jewel really, he couldn''t halt the wellspring of anticipation that bubbled up from inside him.

    What would it be like, he wondered, to fly through the air without a care in the world, the freedom of a bird at his fingertips. Could he handle it? Man wasn''t exactly designed for flight, neither their bodies nor their minds.

    Guess he''ll see when the time comes.

    Letting out a yawn, he gently closed the book, not wanting to damage the delicate bindings. While not the original, it was still quite old, far better suited as a collection piece rather than a fun story for a six year old.

    Standing up, he started making his way back towards the house. It was a nice, two story building that was neither extravagant nor plain. Apparently, Frank believed in doing things in a happy medium. Not that Markus found issue with that.

    The inside was filled with various knick-knacks that he collected during his time in the Navy. Little trifles here and there interspersed tastefully throughout the home.

    His mother''s additions, however, were far less middle of the road, bordering on excessive. The large, ornate grandfather clock came to mind. While tasteful in its own right, it was somewhat out of place with the rest of the decor.

    Then there was the weird artwork hanging up in various spots in the house. Mark was all for a nice painting here and there, but these took abstract to the extreme. He was almost certain that whoever made them was high on acid.

    His mother certainly had strange tastes.

    Next to the house was a garage with various tools that he somehow doubted his father could use. As competent as he was leading the Navy, a handy man he did not seem. Most of the tools, in fact, looked brand new.

    It was sad, if you think about it. At least the car got use out of the building.

    There was one oddity he noted while exploring his new home. There were no trees anywhere on the property. It confused him at first, given that they lived on several acres of land. How could there not be a single tree?

    Then he remembered it was a tree that had caused his, or Markus'' accident. It made far more sense when looking through the lens of a grieving family. Hopefully they wouldn''t take it out on every poor tree they come across.

    They needed those for oxygen.

    Opening the door, he was greeted with the now familiar sight of his home. He could hear, and smell, his mother baking in the kitchen. He did his best to ignore his stomach, who demanded food, but he made a compelling argument.

    Even so, history has shown that listening to his stomach would only lead to trouble. It''s what got him isekai''d in the first place.

    As if it could hear him, his stomach gave a pitiful growl, almost like a puppy getting chastised for pissing on the carpet. "Don''t give me that. You know what you did," he thought, glaring down at the noisy organ.

    "Hungry, sweetheart?" asked a voice coming from above him. Startled out of his internal chastisement of his stomach, he looked up to see his mother staring at him with amusement. Markus blushed at realizing his stomach must have been heard.

    "I could go for a bite," he admitted, making his stomach give a victorious cheer. He silently told it to be quiet as his mother laughed.

    "Alright, but not too much. Don''t want to spoil your appetite now, do we?" she commented. Markus nodded, knowing she was putting a lot of effort into her Christmas eve party. Not that he was bothered by this fact, as that just meant he would be able to enjoy the fruits of her labor.

    The ham in particular smelled amazing.

    "Good. I''ll make you a sandwich. Why don''t you go and put your book up and wash your hands," she told him. Not waiting for a response, likely believing her orders would be followed, she spun around and headed back into the kitchen.

    Mark rolled his eyes at his mother''s behavior but didn''t argue the point. As intelligent as he appeared to the rest of them, he also appeared as a small child. And small children had to be reminded to wash their hands.

    Making his way up the stairs, thankful he could do so without feeling exhausted afterward, he entered his room. It was¡­ colorful, to say the least. Not surprising, given that it belonged to a five year old, but it was far from his taste.

    Not that he had the heart to tell his parents that, especially his mother, who was very proud of the state she kept the room. "Didn''t touch a thing," she said, which wasn''t true in the strictest sense, given that she needed to clean and that required touching. But beyond being obnoxiously semantic over the issue, he conceded the point.

    There were posters of the military plastered on the wall, with one rather impressive rendition of an Imperial Battleship. He had half expected them to be pictures of superheroes, but seeing as they haven''t been invented yet, it made sense that his walls would be bereft of them.

    "Note to self, create Dc and Marvel," Mark muttered to himself. If there was one good thing about being sent to another world more than a hundred years into the past, it was the amount of plagiarism he could get away with.

    Did it still count as plagiarism if it hadn''t been invented yet? Didn''t matter, he was going to profit off of the hard work of those from his original world.

    His room also contained a large chest filled with toys he was likely to never touch. Not unless he suffered a catastrophic brain injury and ended up a little bit special. He''d probably love all those colorful blocks then.

    His bed was also a bit of an eyesore, at least in his opinion. He was sure his previous self loved sleeping in a racecar, but his current one was less enthusiastic about the whole thing. He didn''t complain too much about it though, but only because it was comfortable.

    And red.

    Speaking of his bed, he was immensely grateful for his foresight to wait until he was safely nestled beneath its covers before purchasing the Photographic Memory Perk. As he feared, it had knocked him right out.

    The reason being that he apparently remembered everything from his past in near perfect clarity now. He didn''t think it would have such a boon, but he wasn''t complaining about the results. Made his plans of plagiarism that much easier.

    He did have to wait a few days before he was able to buy the Perk, as his mother kept staring at him as he layed in bed. It was creepy and gave him nightmares. Just the thought of someone watching him sleep gave him the shivers.

    Thankfully, when she was convinced that he wouldn''t disappear on her, she relented. But the damage had been done. The real trauma wouldn''t show up, hopefully, until he was well into adulthood.

    Placing his large and quite frankly, heavy book into his bookshelf, right next to the children''s book about dinosaurs. It was more than a bit discordant. His eyes drifted towards the numerous foreign dictionaries he was given during his stay in lockup.

    That was another added bonus from his Photographic Memory Perk. Not just the fact that he could remember every word and their meaning, but he also gained a Tier in the Linguist Talent due to his efforts made to decipher foreign newspapers. Made learning new languages much easier.

    He was still far from fluent, but he did have a solid grasp on almost all the languages spoken by countries bordering The Empire. He was sure it would come in handy down the road. Perhaps he could become an interpreter for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?

    Much better than being shot at.

    Making his way down the stairs, he entered the kitchen, spotting a sandwich placed on the small table next to a glass of orange juice. Sitting down, he looked to see just what he was having for lunch. Judging by the orange, gooey substance oozing from the sides, he assumed it was grilled cheese.

    He could live with that.

    But as he went to grasp his meal, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks. "Did you remember to wash your hands?"

    Looking to his right, he could see the stern visage of his mother, hands on her hips and glaring down at him.

    "Well?" she asked, tapping her foot against the ground.

    "...Yes?" Mark replied. If only he was a better liar, but alas, his mother saw right through him. Cross off acting as a potential future career path.

    "Nice try mister. Now go wash your hands," she ordered, pointing towards the bathroom. Mark thought about just grabbing his plate and making a run for it, but he suspected his surprisingly athletic mother would catch him without issue, and he would suffer all the more for it. Not for the first time he cursed his tiny body.

    He didn''t want to admit that she would have likely caught him even if he was in his old body as well.

    Sighing, he rose from the table, glumly walking towards the bathroom like a prisoner on death row. Joanna gave a satisfied smirk before returning to her duties.

    *Line Break*

    It was nearing evening when the guests started to arrive. Markus wasn''t sure what to expect from the party, given that his own experiences during Christmas time were¡­ rowdy. Instead of good cheer it was always some kind of competition, from wrestling, to boxing, to shooting. Hell, there was even an ATV race one year!

    Befitting a family blessed by the God of War, he supposed. Too bad the loser of said competitions forfeited all rights to dessert. And guess who the loser was each year?

    But it might have been better than what he did have to deal with. Namely, other children. They ran around like squirrels on Meth, screaming at the top of their lungs for reasons Markus couldn''t fathom. He tried to mingle with the adults instead, but his attempts were rebuffed.

    "Go play with the other kids," they said, pinching his apparently pinchable cheeks. After the fourth time, he was tempted to grab one of his father''s firearms and become a news story. Thankfully, his rational self won the battle, but it was a hard fought one.

    However, it was clear that interacting with the little hellions was out of the question. The adults thought him precocious, while his peers called him boring. At least it gave him the perfect excuse to excuse himself.

    Stepping outside, he sighed at the raucous noise coming from the home. Well, at least they were enjoying themselves. Far better than being miserable during the holidays.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Staring out into the driveway, he noted a familiar vehicle heading towards the house, followed by another, less familiar one. It seems like his father is home. Perfect timing. He needed someone to control his mother, now that she brought out the adult drinks.

    Someone other than him, of course.

    Standing up as the vehicles came to a stop, Markus walked towards the edge of the front porch to greet his father. He was surprised, and also a little pleased, to see Captain V?lkner stepping out of the car with him.

    However, the two who emerged from the second car were a mystery. They were both fairly tall men, each with a thick mustache and wearing a military uniform, but that''s where the similarities ended.

    One was much smaller than the other, girth wise. Not that the other man was particularly round, more like he ate bricks for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The smaller one also had a more aristocratic look about him, eyes taking in every inch of his surroundings, while the second walked ahead with a certain, self assured swagger.

    They were¡­ interesting, to say the least.

    "Hey, son. What are you doing out here?" Frank asked as he approached his home. From behind him, his two guests'' eyes zeroed in on the young child once Frank referred to him as son.

    "So that''s him, huh? Sure doesn''t look like much," whispered Rudersdorf to his longtime friend.

    "People say the same about me," Zettour quipped back, getting a snort from the other man. He couldn''t argue that. Most thought his friend belonged teaching at a university rather than soldiering. He, however, knew better.

    Zettour, the crafty little devil that he was, absolutely belonged in the military.

    As the two were having a conversation, Mark was having one of his own with his father.

    "I''m afraid our home has been invaded by rambunctious alcoholics. And mother is enabling them with eggnog. Or they''re enabling her, I''m not sure," Mark told him, making his father stare into the window, watching as his wife let out a cheer after chugging down a glass.

    "Well, you can''t really blame her. She''s been pretty high strung for the last year," Frank replied, listening as the group of adults cheered.

    "If you say so," Mark replied, sounding unsure but not wanting to argue. It sounded more like an excuse than solid reasoning, but he supposed it did make a certain amount of sense.

    "Did you at least get some dinner?" Frank asked, getting a nod in return.

    "Yes. Say what you will about her inebriated state, but she certainly outdid herself with the cuisine."

    "Good, she''d be very upset if you didn''t get anything to eat. Before I go in and make sure she doesn''t do something she''ll regret, I''d like to introduce you to some colleagues of mine. You remember Captain V?lkner, I''m sure," he said, stepping aside.

    "Of course, how could I forget my magic instructor. How are you, Captain?" Mark asked, giving Otto a polite smile.

    "Doin'' good kid. Merry Christmas," he said, giving his own smile. It''s been a couple of months since he''s seen him, having been too busy with a new batch of recruits who were about as useful as a chocolate covered turd.

    "And these two gentlemen are Brigadier General Hans von Zettour, and Brigadier General Kurt von Rudersdorf," Frank introduced, but his tone was far more strained than it was with V?lkner.

    Mark gave them suspicious looks as they approached to give their own greetings. He could only give a few guesses as to why such high ranking officials were stopping by to greet him.

    However, he couldn''t exactly call them out on it, opting instead for a polite greeting. Better to make a good impression rather than a poor one. If they were to be his future employers, it wouldn''t be good if they thought ill of him.

    "Nice to meet you, sirs."

    "You as well, young man. I''m glad to see you''ve made a full recovery," Zettour said, reaching out to give the young boy a handshake.

    "Thank you," Mark replied simply, shaking the older gentleman''s hand.

    "That''s quite the grip you have there," Zettour said, staring right into Mark''s eyes, who couldn''t help but feel like the General was peering into his soul, judging him for all he was worth. He seemed to find whatever he was searching for satisfactory, releasing Mark''s hand.

    "Thanks. Guess all that physical therapy paid off."

    "I''ll say. You''ll make a fine soldier someday," Rudersdorf said boisterously. He reached down to shake Mark''s hand as well, the difference between him and Zettour couldn''t be more apparent.

    Zettour''s handshake was measured, almost probing in its intent. But Rudersdorf''s was more akin to a gorilla playing the drums, no subtlety whatsoever. If he compared it to opening a locked door, then Zettour was using a lockpick while Rudersdorf chose a battering ram. Both would get the door open, but the methods couldn''t be further apart.

    It made him wonder at how they made for such a good team, at least according to Captain V?lkner anyway. Perhaps it was as simple as playing off of each other''s strengths.

    "Careful, Kurt, you might break his hand," Zettour said, seeing the way his friend practically manhandled the boy.

    "Bah, kid''s tough as nails. He wouldn''t break so easy," Rudersdorf mentioned, getting a roll of the eyes from his colleague.

    "Be that as it may, I doubt he enjoys shaking like that."

    Confused as to his friend''s meaning, Rudersdorf cast his gaze back on the young child, and realized his handshake had gotten a little out of hand. An earthquake might have been more gentle on the boy.

    "Oh, sorry about that. Don''t know my own strength sometimes, hahahaha!" he laughed. Mark took a moment to collect himself, feeling like just got off a rather violent rollercoaster.

    "Don''t worry about it. But if you don''t mind me asking, what are you two doing here?" Mark asked.

    "Ah, well, we were having a discussion with your father about the new legislation that passed recently, one that removed the age restrictions for those with sufficient magic to join the military. That led to a conversation about you and we asked your father if we could meet you. After all, we''ve heard quite a lot about you from Captain V?lkner. Nothing nefarious, isn''t that right Kurt?" Zettour asked, giving his friend a look.

    "Hmm," Rudersdorf responded.

    "Uh huh¡­" Mark stated, giving the Captain a look of betrayal. Said man could only shrug his shoulders sheepishly. Mark couldn''t really fault the man, given the nature of things, but he still didn''t like it. Even though he suspected as much, he didn''t think things would escalate this quickly.

    He''d heard about the newest piece of legislation, of course. Mostly his parents discussing what it could possibly mean for his future. But there were also articles in the newspapers that detailed the change in full. The Imperial journalists praised the move, of course, while the foreign ones condemned it, claiming the Empire was trying to train child soldiers.

    Mark couldn''t really blame them for that belief, as there was some amount of truth to it at least. The law was changed due to him, after all. But he doubted what the Empire wanted was to thrust a child not even in the double digits onto the battlefield. No amount of propaganda spin would win them support for that.

    "I get the impression you don''t quite believe us," Zettour stated with some amusement, rubbing his mustache.

    "Because I don''t," Markus stated, flatly, causing his father to let out a choking cough. Mark hadn''t exactly planned to be that blunt about it, but at the same time, they weren''t exactly being subtle about their intentions either. They wanted to measure him up, see if all the hype held any merit to it.

    The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable long time, and for a second, he thought he''d made a mistake.

    That is, until Rudersdorf let out a full belly laugh.

    "How refreshing! Usually I''m surrounded by useless yes men shitting themselves in fear just thinking about the truth. Nice to hear some plain speak once in a while," he said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye.

    "You can''t exactly blame them, Kurt. After all, their just soldiers trained to follow orders," Zettour chastised, but it was clear from the uptick of the corners of his mouth he found the whole thing amusing as well.

    "Their members of the General Staff, not some grunts digging a ditch. They''re supposed to give their opinions, not kiss our asses. Might as well just get rid of the lot of them," Rudersdorf huffed, his temper rising. Just thinking about them made him want to break out the cigars to ease his stress.

    "If you do that, you might have to do some actual paperwork," Zettour chimed, bringing the larger man up short.

    "You make a good point. Guess we can keep them around then, even if I can''t find a pair of balls between them. Damn eunuchs."

    Mark watched the back and forth with a bit of interest. This certainly wasn''t how he expected two people with reputations to act. Talk about jarring.

    "Has anyone ever told you two that you act like an old married couple?" he asked, bringing them all up short. Everything was silent for a moment as they processed his words before erupting into laughter.

    Well, Rudersdort did. The others just chuckled.

    "My wife says it all the time, in fact," Zettour said.

    "Good woman. Mean right hook," Rudersdorf said, holding his jaw. Mark was sure there was a story there, given the gleam in Zettour''s eyes, but he thought it best to ignore it for now. No need to get too personal with the people who want to put a rifle in his hands.

    "So, Mark, you excited to start up school again next month? I heard you took some tests so you could be placed with those of your year," V?lkner asked, getting the other''s attention. Mark, however, merely shrugged in response.

    "I wouldn''t say I''m excited. More¡­resigned to my fate," he said, getting a snort from the larger general.

    "Can''t blame you there. I always hated school," he said.

    "You mean you hate reading," Zettour said, amused.

    "Same thing."

    "Given how smart you are, why not try and skip a few grades?" asked V?lkner, getting the topic back on track. The two generals turned their attention back on the boy, wanting to hear the answer. After all, if he really was as smart as they were told, skipping ahead shouldn''t be a problem.

    Mark, however, shrugged. "I could, but I''d rather not give the enemies of The Empire reason to assassinate me."

    The others gave each other a look at that, clearly not expecting that answer.

    "What exactly do you mean by that, son?" Frank asked, more than a little concern in his tone. Mark gave a sigh, not exactly thrilled to be explaining this to them.

    "I''m sure by now most interested parties are aware that the son of the Imperial Admiral has recovered from his coma. Not only that, but if they have any competent spies within The Empire, I''m sure their aware of my Magical Aptitude score and has likely heard about my so-called advanced intellect as well," he started, somewhat sarcastically at the last point, knowing he was just above average in intelligence and only seemed like a genius due to his age.

    The group were following along with his explanation, and Zettour had suspicion about where he was going with it. But he kept his mouth shut, wanting to hear the child''s reasoning first.

    "Somehow, I doubt our more ardent opponents would be comfortable sitting back and letting someone like that grow up to be a threat. It would be far more prudent of them to nip such a person in the bud," he continued.

    "Hmm, I can certainly see our enemies reaching such a conclusion. If we heard about a similar circumstance, then The Empire might be willing to remove such a child as well," Zettour admitted, though the thought of killing children left an extremely bad taste in his mouth.

    But if it was for the Fatherland, he was willing to swallow however bitter a meal he had to if it meant securing their future.

    "Exactly. However, if I was to just show myself to be average, maybe a bit above, at best, then my potential killers might chalk it all up to Imperial propaganda," he finished explaining.

    The four adults were impressed, to say the least. The boy thought of something none of them had even considered. He''d make an excellent officer some day.

    "I see. I must admit, your reasoning is impressive. I can find no fault in your conclusion. What about the rest of you?" Zettour asked, a sharp look in his eyes. The others gave it some thought, but it soon became clear that none of them could find one either.

    "I can''t believe I never even considered¡­ What kind of father am I?" Frank asked himself. It was so obvious in hindsight. His son, awoken from a coma with intelligence likened to Schugel and more magic power than anyone in the history of The Empire?

    Would the other nations just allow a threat like his son to grow into his power? No, they wouldn''t. It was clear the path the more hardliners would take. They wouldn''t be able to risk it.

    "Now there''s no reason to be so hard on yourself, Admiral. No one thought of the potential downsides of having such an extraordinary child, too swept up in the benefits," Zettour said.

    "Listen to the old fool, Frank. Now that we''re aware of the possible dangers, we can prepare," Rudersdorf consoled as well as the gruff man could.

    "But¡­"

    "Listen to them, father. You have made for a perfectly adequate parent. Don''t start doubting yourself now," Mark said, getting a chuckle out of the man.

    "Perfectly adequate, huh? Guess that''s better than being inadequate," he commented with a chuckle before a look of realization crossed his face.

    "Hang on, is this why you got only C''s and B''s on your tests?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his tone. Mark gave him a smug look.

    "Of course. Appear strong when you are weak, and weak when you are strong. I believe that saying works well with my current situation."

    "Hmm, The Art of War, huh? Impressive. I believe there''s another quote that''s relevant. To deceive one''s enemies, you must first deceive your allies," Zettour stated.

    "I suppose. Though I''m not deceiving all of my allies," Mark shot back, getting a chuckle from the general.

    "Nerds¡­" muttered Rudersdorf under his breath, getting a chuckle out of V?lkner. But before anyone could respond to that, the front door swung open, and a clearly inebriated Joanna Adler stepped into the cool night air, eggnog sloshing onto the deck.

    "Hey! What are you all doing out here?" she asked, her words obviously slurred. Mark groaned and facepalmed, watching with embarrassed eyes as his mother stumbled out of the door.

    "Hello there, Mrs. Adler. Lovely evening we''re having," Zettour said, putting on the charm. But even in her current intoxicated state, she wasn''t buying his bullshit.

    "You! What are you doing here? Trying to take my baby away? Well I won''t let you! He''s mine, you hear me. Mine!" she yelled, grabbing onto her son and squeezing the life out of him. Mark gave them a look that clearly said, "Help me," but none were brave enough to try.

    Zettour wasn''t sure about how to respond to the clearly agitated woman, looking helplessly at his bemused friend. Clearly, he could expect no aid from the man.

    "Now, Mrs. Adler I can assure you no one is trying to take your son away," he tried to placate, but her eyes only narrowed further at him, face flushed from both alcohol and motherly fury.

    "Liar! I can see right through you, you devil! I''ve already told your superiors, he won''t be joining the military until he''s all grown up!"

    Given the conversation they just had with the boy, Zettour wasn''t so sure of that. Mark needed to be trained to defend himself at the very least. He''d have to discuss it with Frank later, away from his clearly agitated wife.

    Then the man could talk to his wife on his own time, well away from Zettour. Let him bear the brunt of her fury.

    "Honey, how many glasses of eggnog have you had?" Frank asked, giving his wife a nervous look. She didn''t drink all that often, but when she did, she didn''t hold back.

    "Glasses?" she asked, confused, making the man even more nervous. "Who needs glasses? We live and die by the bottle ''round here!" she cheered.

    Yeah, that''s what he was afraid of. He was also afraid of the color his son''s face was turning.

    "That''s great dear, but uh, maybe you should let go of Mark. He''s looking kind of¡­ blue," Frank said. Joanna looked confused for a second, before shifting her gaze to her son, the one trapped within her deathgrip.

    "Oh, Mark sweetie, mommy''s so sorry!'' she shouted, releasing the poor boy. Mark took large gulps of air, happy to have oxygen back into his lungs.

    "I think I saw a light¡­" he muttered, before a curious sound drew his attention. Turning around, Mark paled at what he saw.

    "Oh, crap," he thought.

    His mother, staring at him with deep sorrow, large watery eyes threatening to drown him in tears.

    "Wah! I almost killed my baby! I''m the worst mother on the planet!" she cried. Nobody knew exactly what to do at the moment. Mark did his best to console the woman, awkwardly patting her shoulder in comfort.

    "There, there. I''m fine, see. You didn''t hurt me at all. You''re a great mother," he said, making her sniffles lessen. Frank, who was watching, couldn''t help but feel amused by this. She was a great parent yet he was only adequate, huh?

    "R-really?" she implored.

    "Really," Mark confirmed.

    "Phew, had me worried there. You should know better than to make mommy worry," she said, attempting to give him a stern look. But her slurred words coupled with her tipsy stance didn''t command the most respect.

    "I''ll¡­ work on that," Mark said, making her nod happily.

    "Good. Now, what are you all doing out here? Come on, it''s time for dinner!" she said, grabbing Mark''s arm and dragging him inside, completely forgetting her ire at the generals. The group watched him disappear inside, refusing to look at his pleading face.

    They stood there for a bit, staring at the door she entered, listening to the cheers from the partygoers inside.

    "Hey, Frank," started Rudersdorf.

    "Yeah?"

    "That''s some woman you got there."

    "Don''t I know it. Anyway, why don''t you all come inside? Despite her current state, she makes a mean honey baked ham," Frank said, walking towards the door. The other three shared a look before shrugging.

    "Don''t have to ask me twice," stated the larger man, walking ahead of the other two, much to their amusement. They quickly followed along, neither one wanting to miss out.

 A Christmas Miracle

    Markus let out a loud yawn as he slowly made his way down the stairs. He did his best to rub away what sleepiness remained, but he feared it was a losing battle. Lat''s night''s festivities went on for much longer than he expected.

    Reaching the bottom floor, he cast his bleary-eyed gaze toward the catastrophe that was the living room. Food was left out on the tables, dirty dishes were piled up haphazardly, bottles littered the floor¡­ It was like a frat house after a welcoming party.

    He''d worry about it later. First came breakfast. Luckily for him there were plenty of leftovers in the fridge. Unluckily, the microwave has yet to be invented. Good thing cold food never killed anybody.

    Right?

    As he opened the fridge, he took notice of the distinct lack of a certain male parental figure. Namely his father. Normally at this time he would be sipping on his coffee, desperately trying to wake up enough function as a normal human being. It really shouldn''t surprise him, he supposed, given the last time he had seen him.

    His mother was drunkenly dragging him upstairs, yelling, "Let''s make another baby!" The following activities they engaged in was the primary reason for his lack of sleep.

    After all, it was hard to reach the land of Morpheus when your parents were making the beast with two backs. And they were not quiet about it either. If what he heard was even remotely accurate, he felt bad for his father.

    Pulling out a few thick slices of ham he decided to make a simple sandwich. He supposed he could make some cereal or something, but his mother refused to buy the sufficiently sugar filled brands, meaning it mostly tasted like cardboard.

    Letting out another yawn, he slathered a small bit of mayonnaise onto the bread. He wasn''t the biggest fan of the substance, but a little went a long way. Once he was done, he stared somewhat blankly at the meal. It was edible, which would have to do.

    But it certainly wouldn''t get him another Tier in the cooking Talent. Might actually be worth investing some points into. Sure it might not be the best thing to spend his hard earned points on for surviving the coming conflict, but he figured some luxuries could be afforded.

    At the very least if he was a good enough cook, he could keep up morale. Might be less likely to get hit by "friendly fire" if he fed them right. Never underestimate the power of good food.

    Taking the first bite of the meal, he thought over the amount of points he did have, 60. Not a whole lot in the grand scheme of things, but it wasn''t bad either. Studying and exercising gave him at least one point a day. Gaining a Tier in a new Talent that he didn''t have to purchase made up the difference.

    Just a few more and he''d be able to get the Architect Perk. Getting that would reduce the costs of future purchases for his necessary Engineering Talents by half. At which point he would get the Mechanical Engineering Talent and the Mathematics Talent up to four. Once that was done, he would move onto one of his secondary Perk choices, namely The Doctor Is In.

    After that, he would spend the time needed to get his Medical Formula Talent to Tier 2 and use his points to increase it to at least 3. Maybe 4 if he had enough. Then he would think of purchasing a few from his tertiary choices.

    All in all, things were going quite smoothly. He''s sure that won''t last, so he''ll make sure to enjoy it while it does.

    Finishing the last of his sandwich and chugging down a glass of apple juice, he returned his attention to the filthy house. With a sigh, he got to work on cleaning it up.

    *Line Break*

    Frank woke up with a shuddering groan. The sun cascading in through the curtains playing drums on his eyelids, refused to allow him any more slumber. Opening his bloodshot eyes, he immediately closed them due to sensational overload.

    "Last night was a mistake¡­" he thought. During the party he had decided it was a good idea to challenge Brigadier General Rudersdorf to a drinking contest. Of course, he had already had a few cups on his wife''s insistence, so he wasn''t in the right state of mind. Otherwise, he never would have made such a miscalculation.

    He should have known something was up when Zettour, that sly devil, smirked as his long time friend was challenged. That should have been the first clue that a mistake had been made.

    Frank never stood a chance. After nearly drinking him literally under the table, Rudersdorf still looked fresh as a daisy, cheeks barely flushed. Just what kind of monstrous tolerance had that man built up?

    He cursed past Frank for his foolishness. He didn''t have to deal with the hangover, the bastard dumping all the responsibility for his actions onto him.

    Feeling a bit nauseous, he forced himself out of bed, nearly tripping on the blankets and whatever else was on the floor. His eyesight was far too blurry at the moment to be able to tell. Perhaps once he''s had his morning coffee he''d be able to tell, but until then, he was half blind.

    Flipping on the switch to the bathroom, a foul smell came up and punched him right in the nose.

    "Oh god, what is that?" he questioned, his vision suddenly clearing, though he wished it didn''t. Then he wouldn''t be able to tell just where that smell was coming from.

    Translate out, it was vomit. Lots and lots of vomit. It looked like there was some attempt made to reach the bowl, but whoever was responsible gave up halfway through and just let loose. He knew only two people entered this room normally, so chances were high it was one of them.

    But before he could think of it further, the sight, the smell, and the aforementioned nausea made him add to the pile. He at least tried to aim for the sink, but seeing as it was full, it probably didn''t matter.

    Once he was done, he wiped the offending bile from his mouth, nose scrunched up from the addition to the already pungent aroma. He gave the room one last look before heading out.

    "I''ll just leave that to future Frank," he said, flipping off the light and leaving. After all, past Frank pushed his problems onto present Frank, so why shouldn''t present Frank push his problems onto future Frank? It made perfect sense to his addled mind.

    Leaving the bathroom and feeling marginally better, though his head still pounded like he was at a heavy metal concert and the drummer was using his head as an instrument. At the very least his nausea was mostly gone, and that meant he could properly enjoy his morning caffeine.

    He took a look at his wife, who was sprawled out on the bed, snoring like it was her job. It sounded like a bear with a sleeping condition. And just like a sleeping bear, he didn''t dare wake this one up. Better to let her sleep off as much as her hangover as she could.

    Even if she was mostly responsible for his own predicament, waking her up would only add to his own misery in the long run.

    Seeing her appearance dredged up memories of the previous night''s carnal activities. His wife sure was wild when she was drunk. Frank was sure there would be some bruising along his hips.

    She was completely bereft of clothing, the blanket barely containing her modesty. Her hair was seven kinds of messy, making him thankful for his own short curls. Straightening out that tangled mess looked like it would be a nightmare.

    Frank quietly dressed himself, thankful her loud snores dampened the little noise he made, before silently opening the door and sneaking out of their room. He doubted she would wake up for anything less than an earthquake, and even that was iffy, but why take the chance? Better to be safe than sorry after all.

    Making his way to the stairs he saw his son''s door already open. Curious, he checked inside, seeing that indeed, his progeny was nowhere to be found. Checking the hallway clock for the time, he saw it was nearly 11:00 A.M.

    "No wonder he''s up already," he muttered, heading back towards the stairs. Ever since awakening from his coma, Mark seemed to be an early riser. Almost as early as him even, and he was in the military! It drove Joanna mad, as she saw it was her responsibility to cook him breakfast. But when the person you were supposed to be cooking for woke up an hour earlier than you, it made having breakfast ready for them impossible.

    And no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn''t get up that early. And even when she did, she couldn''t function. Hell, he remembered one time when she tried and Mark had to make her breakfast!

    He had to admit, seeing his young son taking care of his dopey-eyed mother so early in the morning had been hilarious. What wasn''t as funny was him sleeping on the couch that night after mentioning it.

    Still, totally worth it.

    Walking down the stairs, Frank heard a commotion coming from the living room. Curious, and hoping he wouldn''t have to deal with a burglar while hungover, he crept down the rest of the stairs, making sure not to make a sound.

    Thankfully, it wasn''t a burglar but the sight was almost just as shocking. It was his son, Mark, picking up the trash from the previous evening.

    "Hey son. Whatcha doin?" he asked. Hearing his father speak, Mark turned around to regard the man with a critical eye. It made him feel like he was being subjected to a surprise contraband inspection from his C.O.

    And he failed.

    "Well, I figured you and mother would be far too hungover to clean up after yourselves, so I took it upon myself to do so," he said, tossing a can into the trash bin.

    "Ah, I see¡­ I certainly appreciate the thoughtfulness. And I''m sure your mother will too," Frank responded, sounding rather sheepish about it. How could he not, when his 6 year old son was cleaning up after his parents? It set a bad example.

    "Really? The woman who cries because she can''t fix me breakfast on time? You think she''ll appreciate me cleaning up after her?" Mark questioned, clear disbelief in his tone.

    "You may have a point there son. Still, I appreciate it if nothing else," Frank said, giving the boy a warm smile. One which was not returned, Frank only receiving an acknowledging nod in response.

    "I also made coffee. It should be just about done by now," Mark mentioned. Hearing this, Frank''s expression became one of pure joy, giving his son a bone crushing hug in thanks.

    "Best son ever!" he exclaimed, getting a roll of the eyes from said son.

    "Seriously? You''re happier about getting a cup of coffee over having this disaster zone cleared of trash?" Mark asked, exasperated.

    "You''ll understand when you''re older," he responded with some mirth, rubbing his son''s hair. Mark frowned and tried to swat the older man''s hand away, who only chuckled at his son''s behavior before moving on to more important things.

    Daddy needed his fix!

    Mark only sighed watching the man enter the kitchen, a clear bounce to his step. Talk about having skewed priorities. He could only hope he never met another person who loved coffee as much as him.

    Sure, he understood the siren''s allure of the beverage, seeing as he was subjected to months of late night overtime, but he never allowed it to become a dependency. His father, it seems, didn''t hold the same beliefs. Hopefully, if coffee ever became scarce, he could handle the withdrawal symptoms.

    And if not, well¡­ not his problem. He felt he could safely shirk such a duty to his mother.

    "Ah, that''s the stuff," he heard his father moan from inside the kitchen. Markus shook his head at the antics of his drug addled parental figure. Hopefully it would at least bring him up to full consciousness and he could help clean.

    But until then, it was up to him. Bending down, he grimaced while picking up a particularly sticky piece of paper. He''d rather not know what caused it. What surprised him though was the weight of the object. Even if it was saturated in God knows what, it shouldn''t have weighed nearly as much.

    It almost felt like something was stuck to it. That, at the very least, did not surprise him. Hell, he''d be more surprised if there wasn''t something adhered to its surface.

    He thought it would be food of some kind, given the propensity of which he''s stumbled across half eaten remains, it made sense. However, what came tumbling out was not something edible. Not unless the consumer was a goat at least.

    It was a Christmas ornament. Mark watched as it tumbled to the ground and rolled towards the large tree they had decorated in the corner. Walking over to it, he casually picked it up and inspected it with some curiosity, before turning his attention to the tree.

    His mind flashed back to them decorating the thing. It was¡­ an experience, to say the least. His mother was far too eager to shove whatever she thought looked good onto it. Her decorating style was reminiscent of a Victorian home, where they seemed to believe that if they could see the wall, they were doing something wrong.

    Which means there was a startling amount of tree that was basically invisible. He could only barely make out the tiniest amount of greenery. He thought it defeated the purpose of having the tree in the first place.

    The worst part of the whole process was how determined she was that Markus was the one to place the star on top of the damn thing. The tree was around 9 feet tall, give or take, so even being placed on his father''s shoulders, a precarious position to be in on its own, the process was more treacherous than it had any right to be.

    Especially given that Frank had to stand on a stool to do it. He could have just gotten a small ladder and they would have been fine and dandy but that troublesome woman wouldn''t hear of it. It was like she didn''t remember he was ever in a coma. Or had she already repressed that time of her life?

    Either way, her decorating scheme made placing the round ornament in his hand more difficult than it needed to be. Or perhaps it wouldn''t matter, considering it already looked like one of Santa''s elves threw up all over it. Shrugging, he casually hung it back up on a branch, making sure to block what little greenery remained.

    As he did so, his foot came into contact with one of the presents beneath the tree. Looking over at the pile of gifts, he idly wondered if they should have taken inventory before throwing the party. He wouldn''t put it past one of the children to possess some sticky fingers and appropriate a package for themselves.

    Well if they did, he hopes they enjoyed whatever it contained. No use worrying about it now. Picking up the present he inadvertently kicked, he took note of how soft it was. He figured it was probably some clothes, given his need for such things.

    Most of his own clothes didn''t fit after all, not after being in a coma for so long. He only hoped his mother didn''t get anything too childish. She seemed awfully thrilled by the idea of dressing him up, and he feared for what may lie in his future.

    He did not fancy becoming a dress up doll.

    But as he held the gift in his hand, thinking about all the clothes that no longer fit him, his mind traveled back to that small, blonde haired girl from about a month ago. Her clothes weren''t in the best shape, and he figured she must be freezing, given the time of year and the fact that she wasn''t wearing a jacket.

    It wasn''t the first time his mind wandered back to her. He wasn''t sure why. Perhaps it was how startlingly blue her eyes were or perhaps he simply felt sorry for who he assumed was an orphan. She could have been poor, belonging to a poverty stricken family, but the area he saw her in wasn''t known for its less fortunate citizens.

    Except for orphans, that is. And wouldn''t you know it, there just so happened to be a small orphanage run by a few nuns that appeared near the path leading from his home to the hospital. It wasn''t proof by any means, but it did impart more evidence than a gut feeling.

    Looking at the carefully wrapped package in his hand, an idea started to form in his mind. Perhaps he could donate the clothes that no longer fit him to that orphanage. They were barely used and in excellent condition, so he was sure they would appreciate it.

    He wasn''t entirely sure why the idea appealed to him so much. He never considered such things in his past life, but then again, he was hardly in a position where he could afford the luxury of charity.

    Perhaps it was to assuage the guilt that gnawed at his conscience due to his usurpation of this child''s life, one filled with means and affluence. Or maybe now that he did have the capacity to make a difference, no matter how small, he would take it.

    And with his father being an Admiral, that opened up some rather interesting doors. Perhaps he could do more than make a simple donation. The Navy was known for its culinary expertise, surprisingly, so perhaps he could muster up the troops and prepare a nice Christmas dinner for the less fortunate.

    Tis the season of giving after all.

    Regardless of the reasons why, the thought appealed to him, and now he would have to pitch the proposal to his father. But how to go about it¡­

    Well, he had some time to think as he continued to clean the living room, going over everything he would say to the man slurping up his dirty bean water like it was the antidote to life''s poison. Which it very well might have been, at least to him.

    *Line Break*

    Brigadier General Hans von Zettour sighed as he sipped on his cup of coffee. It was a bit late to be flooding his system with the excess caffeine, but considering his late night, he felt it was well deserved. He stayed far too long at the Admiral''s Christmas Eve party.

    He currently sat in his office, enjoying the rather lazy work day. Most would be put off to be working during the holidays, but he found the work to be soothing this time of year. Mostly because there was hardly anything to do and the General Staff Headquarters was mostly empty, meaning he could finish the year''s last bit of work in peace and quiet.

    Peace and quiet that was ruined by the cacophonous ringing of the phone. Letting out a sigh, he placed the cup holding the solution to all of life''s problems down on this desk before picking up the phone.

    "This is Brigadier General Zettour," he stated curtly. Not rudely, even if he felt a bit cross at having his peaceful afternoon interrupted.

    "Ah, General. I hope this isn''t a bad time," commented the person on the other line. Of all the people who could be calling him, this was the last person he would have expected.

    "Admiral Adler, what an unexpected surprise. I must say, I didn''t think I''d be hearing from you today, given last night''s festivities," he said, leaning back into his chair.

    "Honestly, I didn''t think I''d be calling. How''s General Rudersdorf doing? Well, I hope," Frank said, getting a small chuckle from Zettour.

    "Better than you I imagine. Not many are brave enough to challenge him to a drinking contest," Zettour commented with some mirth. On the other end of the line, Frank let out a self deprecating laugh.

    "Not sure if brave is the word I''d use, General."

    His response got another chuckle from Zettour. "No, perhaps not. Glad to see you''re up and about at least. I remember back in our academy days, he took out an entire platoon all be his lonesome. It made defeating them in the next day''s war game a breeze."

    "Ah, I see. So he developed such a high tolerance for strategy did he? Glad his liver''s on our side, at least," Frank muttered, making Zettour give a much louder laugh this time. Perhaps having his peaceful afternoon interrupted wasn''t so bad.

    Or perhaps he should save that judgement for when he finds out the reason for the call.

    "I''ll be sure to pass along your sentiment. Now, why don''t we get down to the reason for your call?" Zettour stated, his words taking on a far more professional tone.

    "Of course. Let''s see, where to begin¡­"

    After hearing the reason for his call, Zettour could only sit there in disbelief. Never in a million years would he have suspected that for being the reason the Admiral phoned him.

    Yes, he would have much preferred a nice and quiet evening. As pleasant as conversing with the Admiral was, the headache his words caused simply weren''t worth it.

    "Do you have any idea what you''re asking Admiral?" Zettour questioned. He heard a sigh come from the other end of the line, and the General got the distinct impression he knew exactly what he was asking for.

    "I''m aware of the logistical nightmare, General, but I do believe the idea has some merit. And not just because it was my son who suggested it," Frank shot back. Zettour leaned back in his chair once more, stroking his chin in thought. His eyes caught sight of his now cold coffee and he couldn''t help but frown.

    He hated cold coffee. And with his usual assistants off for the day, he would have to make some more himself.

    "Is that so? Then please, enlighten me of these merits," Zettour ordered, though he had no real authority over the Admiral, being from completely different branches of the military. But considering what he was asking, well¡­ he felt some authority was in order.

    He did have seniority over the younger man, after all, and age came with its own authority, one that was hard to overcome for most, and Zettour was not opposed to using such a means to get what he wanted.

    "Of course. First of all by providing such humanitarian aid to its citizens, it would foster a greater sense of loyalty within them. There''s also the added propaganda we could use to do the same with the rest of the citizenry. Such a thing would likely cause an uptick in recruitment as well," Frank started.

    Zettour conceded the point. Certainly such an act would endear their citizens to the Empire and would be looked on favorably by the rest of the world. But it was still a massive undertaking.

    "Secondly, it might distract the more war mongering members of our society, at least for a time. Give them something else to think about," Frank continued. Like Zettour, he too was frustrated by the constant calls for war. Dealing with pirates was enough of a headache as it is, adding war on top of that would be a nightmare.

    "Third, it would shed a light on the less fortunate members of our society and may convince the rest of our citizens to lend a helping hand as it were. After all, if the military is doing it, shouldn''t everybody?"

    Zettour considered that point. There was certainly an air of self reliance in the Empire. Not that that was a bad thing, per say, but they tended to take it to the extremes, to the point that charity itself was nearly considered a faux pas. It was a valid criticism of his home, he would admit.

    "And lastly, it''s something that no other government in the world has done. At least, not recently. We would show the world that we, the Empire, care more for its citizens than they do. A small flex on the world stage if you will," Frank said.

    Now that was a thought that made Zettour smile. Showing up the entire world with such a simple act, relatively speaking, would do wonders for morale. That such a militarily structured country would do something that they, with all their lauded ideals of pacifism could not achieve was the greatest present the Empire could hope for on Christmas.

    It was also just hilarious. Zettour might agree for that fact alone. But still, even if the idea itself is simple, completing it in less than a day was¡­ well, not impossible but certainly staggering in its logistical complexity.

    But then again, Zettour did love a challenge.

    "Why come to me with this Admiral? Don''t tell me you wish to utilize our extremely talented chefs here at the General Staff office?" Zettour joked.

    "No, I think not General. I''ve heard the horror stories coming out of your kitchens. Rather let my own boys handle that if it''s all the same to you. No, what I need your help with is provisions," Frank said, receiving a hum of acknowledgement from his colleague.

    "Of course, as a member of the Service Corp, I would be able to provide you with some assistance, especially given I''m the highest ranking officer currently on duty. I take it you haven''t spoken with Supreme High Command yet?" Zettour questioned, but he already knew the answer. Better to have two high ranking officials pitching an idea than one. Because if two of them thought it was a good idea, that gave the concept far more credence.

    "Right, thought I''d get your opinion on the matter first before dealing with them. Hopefully they have someone with a sunny disposition stationed there today," Frank replied.

    "Well, good luck with that. I don''t think that person exists," Zettour said with amusement. Most of the higher ups were more interested in their own positions than what they could do for the Empire with them. It was frustrating, having to answer to such men, but that was life in the military.

    "You don''t have to tell me twice. So General, what do you think of the idea?" Frank threw out. Zettour took a moment to respond, thinking everything over. Honestly, they didn''t have much to lose by providing aid to the needy, and the good PR might be well worth the hassle. There was one thing that concerned him though.

    "Tell me something. Have you or your son considered the ramifications of doing such a thing? The people may grow to expect handouts and full bellies every day. The Empire can''t support something like that," Zettour stated.

    As much as he agreed with the criticism that they put far too much emphasis on self reliance, he couldn''t exactly argue with the results. He didn''t want to create a welfare state where people would rather receive handouts than work. That would eventually lead to the collapse of their nation.

    "I agree. Mark said something similar and says he''ll work on a proposal to address such a thing. Something about an incentive program? He doesn''t have all the details worked out, but it sounded interesting. He was also pretty excited for something he called, vertical farming?," Frank said, catching Zettour''s interest once more.

    "Vertical farming?" he questioned.

    "Yes sir. He said you could increase the yield and make better use of available land by growing certain food crops vertically rather than horizontally. Hence the name. Again I''m not sure on all the details, but it might be worth a test run come next season," Frank said.

    Zettour stroked his chin in thought. Young Mark became more and more interesting by the day it seems, and he was already sufficiently impressed with the lad on their previous meeting. His potential value as an Imperial asset was growing as well. All The more reason to make sure he wasn''t lost to nations hostile to the Empire.

    "I see. I look forward to reading those proposals. Back to the matter at hand however, I say we give this crazy idea a try. I''ll get Rudersdorf on board too. If I have to work on Christmas, then I''m sure not leaving him out of it," Zettour mentioned, getting a chuckle from Frank.

    "Of course. You wouldn''t want to leave the missus out of the fun, would you?" he jested.

    "Indeed. It would put him in a foul mood if I did," Zettour joked back. The two quickly put a plan in place before making a call to someone higher up on the chain of command.

    They didn''t know if it was possible to accomplish everything they wanted, but perhaps the Empire would receive a Christmas miracle.

    Later that day¡­

    The sun was starting to set and General Winter was launching a devastating evening assault. Snow had started to sprinkle down from the sky, gently floating along the air currents until it reached the ground.

    Caught in this surprise attack was a young mother and her daughter of only 4. The two wore essentially rags as they made their way towards one of the soup kitchens, hoping there would be something hot left for them to eat.

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    "Mommy, I''m hungry," the little girl whined, holding her mother''s hand as they walked the nearly empty streets. In her other hand was an old teddy bear that had clearly seen better days.

    "I know sweety. We''ll get something to eat soon, I promise," claimed the mother, hoping she didn''t just make another empty promise to the girl. Seeing her child shivering in the cold and clutching her empty belly in pain was the most heart wrenching experience in her life.

    It made her feel like a failure of a mother.

    When she found out she was pregnant, it was the happiest moment of her life. But when the girl''s father, an Albish noble who she foolishly believed had actually loved her, found out, he was all too eager to ditch the extra baggage.

    She had sacrificed everything to be with him and this was the price she paid for love.

    He had even threatened her with death if she ever spread any rumors about him, like claiming that he would abandon his daughter and her mother. She snorted at that. It wasn''t a rumor but a cold hard fact, one that was simply inconvenient for him.

    Just like taking responsibility for his own actions was. She wasn''t sure if his reach extended into the Empire or not, but she wasn''t willing to risk the life of the little girl holding her hand on the chance it didn''t.

    Because as much as she hated the man, the moment she held her baby girl in her arms, her rage had all but evaporated. No matter who fathered her, she loved her daughter dearly, and would do anything to make sure she was happy.

    Even if she had to resort to selling her body. If that meant she could provide a better life for her than it would be worth it.

    But those thoughts were for another time. Right now, she needed to get some food in her daughter''s belly. They were nearly there, and even if the food wasn''t particularly appetizing, it was still food. It was far better than nothing.

    However, as the two of them approached the soup kitchen, she saw a military truck with soldiers bustling about doing¡­ something. Her heart dropped into her stomach when she saw them enter the same building they were going to.

    Fearing the worst, she marched up to a man, one who was shouting out orders, fully intending on interrogating him. Antagonizing the military was typically in the shallow end of good ideas, but she needed answers and her daughter needed food.

    "Excuse me?" she asked as she approached. The man in question turned around, curious as to who was calling for him. She noted he was young, about the same age as her, give or take, with a clean shaven face and short, cropped hair.

    "Yes? How can I help you?" he asked, glancing down at the little girl beside her, who quickly hid behind her mother.

    "Is there something wrong with the soup kitchen? I was hoping¡­" she said, giving her daughter a melancholy look. She just couldn''t bring herself to say the words. The Empire did not look kindly on those who couldn''t help themselves, even if there were institutions in place for people like her.

    The soldier, seeing the look, gave her a kind smile. "No worries ma''am, the kitchen is open. We were just making a special delivery," he said. His words caught her attention, shifting her gaze to the rest of the soldiers who were pulling out trays from the truck.

    "Special delivery?" she asked as the other soldiers went by. The smell coming from the trays made her mouth water. It smelled like freshly made roast turkey. She could hardly remember the last time she ate something like that.

    "Yes ma''am. The Navy and the Army worked together to procure a nice meal for those¡­ less fortunate," he said.

    She could hardly believe his words but the proof was right in front of her. Could this really be happening?

    "Mommy¡­" cried the small girl. The mother''s eyes snapped back to her daughter, watching her shiver from the frigid air.

    "I''m sorry sweety, we''ll go inside right away," she told her.

    "Or course. Wouldn''t want to keep the little one waiting. Allow me to escort you out of the cold," he offered, ignoring the snickers of the men behind him.

    "That''s not necessary," she tried, but he was having none of it.

    "I insist," he said. Left with no other alternative, she walked beside the young man, entering the building as he held open the door for her. Once inside, she gasped at what she saw.

    She knows he told her that there was a proper meal ready for them, but she wasn''t expecting this much. The soldier, seeing this, couldn''t help but grin, feeling that the extraordinary amount of effort that went into making this happen was worth it.

    "I can''t believe it¡­" she murmured.

    "Mommy, is that food for us?" questioned the small girl, looking at her mother with hope in her eyes. She opened her mouth to answer her daughter, but the words wouldn''t come out. She was far too choked up with emotion.

    Seeing this, the soldier took it upon himself to answer in her stead, kneeling down to address the adorable little girl, clutching her old teddy bear to her chest.

    "That''s right. You can eat as much as you want," he told her, a smile on his face. One that she returned with a big toothy grin of her own.

    "Wow¡­ Thank you so much, Mr. Soldier!" she shouted, rushing forward to envelope him in a hug. Her mother went to chastise her, but the soldier merely returned the hug with a laugh.

    "You''re very welcome. But really, it''s Brigadier General Zettour and Admiral Adler you should be thanking. They organized the whole thing," he told her. The young mother was determined she would remember those names, if for no other reason than the smile they put on her daughter''s face.

    "Thank you. Thank you so much. God bless the Empire," she cried, tears leaking from her eyes no matter how hard she tried to hold them in.

    "It was my pleasure ma''am."

    "Emma. My name is Emma," she told him, wiping some tears from her eyes.

    "And I''m Alice!" chirped the little one.

    "Well, it''s very nice to meet you, Alice. And you too Emma. I''m Second Lieutenant, Armin Richter. Now why don''t you two go and get yourselves some food. I have a few more deliveries to make tonight," he told them.

    "Okay!" smiled the small bundle of sunshine.

    But before the man could leave, Emma called out to him.

    "Lieutenant!"

    He stopped and turned around, giving her a curious look.

    "Yes?"

    "Will I¡­ Will I ever see you again?" she asked, voice tinged with hope. She knew it was stupid of her, but there was still that foolish part of her brain that longed for a proper romance. The chances of him wanting to be with a woman who had a child with another man were slim but¡­

    She already witnessed one Christmas miracle. Who says she can''t experience another? Maybe that was greedy of her, but still¡­

    "I''d like that," he told her.

    Hearing his words made her heart leap into her chest. With one final goodbye, he turned and walked out the door. But that wouldn''t be the last time she saw him. The two would meet again and eventually marry and have two more children. The young soldier would even survive the coming war and walk his beloved daughter down the aisle at her wedding.

    But that''s a story for another time. For now, let us return to a young man unaware of the lives he changed this day, traveling towards a certain orphanage where a certain girl lived, unaware of the changes this meeting would have on his own life.

    *Line Break*

    Mark was regretting the choices he made leading up to this moment. He was currently fastened in the backseat of his family''s car, driving towards the orphanage with the trunk full of presents. One he wrapped himself, holding onto it as they traveled to their destination.

    What might be the problem you ask? Everything seems fine, doesn''t it? Well, you would be wrong. When Mark and his father revealed their plans to his mother, who was little better than a zombie at that point, she claimed she had a brilliant idea, perking right up.

    Mark should have known something was wrong right then and there. The smile on her face and the sudden dissipation of her hangover were telltale signs that he would regret the coming hours.

    What was this bright idea of her you might be wondering? Cosplay. And not just any cosplay, oh no, but one that matched the season. His parents were now dressed as Mr. and Mrs. Claus, while he was relegated to the position of slave.

    His mother called him an elf, but he begged to differ. In no Christmas story did Santa pay them a fair wage. Or any wage at all. They were slaves in all but name and he has joined their ranks this day.

    That''s what he gets for trying to be a good person. No wonder so many people were assholes.

    "Oh sweety, you look so cute! I could just eat you up!" Joanna cooed from the front seat, turning to get a good look at the irritated young boy.

    "Please do mother. Then at least I will not be subjected to this humiliation," he replied.

    "Oh don''t be such a grumpy pants. It''s Christmas, try a smile," she chided, looking at him expectantly. But if she thought he was capable of such a thing at the moment, she was sorely mistaken.

    "Perhaps you should give me a sip of your special drink, mother. That seemed to put a smile on your face last night," he quipped back.

    "Now Mark, that''s a drink just for grownups. And I''d rather you not remember mommy in such an embarrassing way," she said, a blush clear on her cheeks.

    "I feel the same way about this outfit you forced me into. It''s humiliating," he muttered. It wasn''t like he was against elves themselves. Link and Legolas were pretty badass. But seeing as he looked more like a Kebler elf than one killing orcs or saving princesses, he felt he was more than owed some emotional leeway.

    "But it''s cute¡­" Joanna whined, trying the old puppy dog eyes.

    "I''m already wearing it, mother. No need to rub salt in the wound," he said, completely unaffected by her attempts. His cavalier response only made her put even more.

    "Frank, our son is picking on me!" she complained, making said son roll his eyes at her.

    "There, he did it again!"

    "Now honey, I don''t think that''s the case. He''s just antsy to be meeting new people is all," he said, hoping to calm her down. It worked, at least somewhat, as she leaned back into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest with huff.

    "Well he doesn''t have to be such a meanie about it."

    "For the record, I have no issues meeting new people. At least not when I''m wearing appropriate clothes, and not that of a slave," Mark chimed in, just when Frank thought he would have some peace and quiet.

    "Santa does not keep slaves!" Joanna called back, offended by the mere notion.

    "He doesn''t pay them, mother. What else would you call it?"

    "Christmas joy!"

    "I don''t think slaves are allowed Christmas joy."

    "Frank!"

    The Admiral was very glad the trip wasn''t a long one. He didn''t think he''d be able to survive otherwise. The roads were a bit icy, but maybe he could speed up just a little.

    Several minutes went by with Mark pointing out all the flaws in Santa''s system, driving his mother insane, before they reached their destination. Frank thanked whatever deity there was as they came to a stop behind a military truck.

    The group got out with Mark shivering from the cold. Even with his new jacket on, it was still rather chilly. Luckily his mother wasn''t so bereft of sanity she would make him traverse the cold winter night without something to keep him warm, even if it did clash with his outfit.

    When he told her of his intent to donate his clothes that no longer fit, she allowed him to open up some of his presents, at least the ones that contained clothing. His new jacket, which was a sherpa style with a dull red coloring, fit much better than his old one.

    And the color was better too.

    Mark stared up at the building resting on top of a hill while his father went to greet the commanding officer. It was an old thing that was clearly in need of some repairs. The stonework on the outside was crumbling in certain spots and the gutters appeared green, even in the dim evening twilight.

    Next to the orphanage was a small field used for gardening, fenced off with whatever lumber they could find. He suspected they grew food rather than anything ornamental, given the lack of funds he was sure they were subjected too. There wasn''t anything in said garden at the moment, given that it was winter.

    He saw some kids and one of the nuns step outside to see what the commotion was. He watched his father walk up to the woman with another soldier and start to talk to her. After a few moments, the nun seemingly burst into tears and looked to be on the brink of collapse.

    The children who were out there swarmed him, and it seems like his father had no idea how to handle them. It was pretty funny, Mark had to admit, watching his father be harassed by children while dressed as Santa.

    But the person he was hoping to see had yet to reveal herself.

    "You know Mark, it''s a really great thing you did," Joanna said, wrapping her arms around her son from behind. She had a soft smile on her face and looked to be holding back tears of her own.

    "And yet you put me in pointy ears and a green tunic," Mark quipped, leaning into the woman''s embrace. She was very warm.

    "Oh shut up. Don''t ruin the moment," she chided gently, and Mark stopped himself from saying anything further. At least for the moment. As Joanna smiled from watching her husband be overwhelmed by small, hyperactive kids, yelling for backup, her eyes drifted down to the gift in her son''s arms.

    "I''ve been meaning to ask, who''s that present for? You never did say," she asked, a slight hint of suspicion entering her voice.

    "I don''t know yet. I don''t know her name," Mark said, not realizing the landmine he just stepped on.

    "Her name?" she questioned, tightening her hold on him.

    Her question caused Mark to freeze, recognizing his mistake. He knew how his mother felt about him getting too close to girls, calling them "homewreckers" and "hussies".

    Damn, he should have been paying more attention. Now he would have this to deal with.

    Um, I mean, it''s for¡­"

    "Yes, go on. Who''s it really for?" she pressed, and he could feel her eyes boring holes into the top of his head.

    Crap, he couldn''t think of an excuse. And the longer he took to answer, the more suspicious she became. That means he only had one option available to him.

    "Look, over there!" he shouted, causing Joanna to turn in that direction. But all she saw was the military truck.

    "Look at what? I don''t see¡­" she trailed off as she looked down at her son. Or tried to at least. But where there used to be an adorable boy dressed like an elf, there was now empty air.

    He was gone.

    "Mark! You get back here right now and tell me who this little homewrecker is!" she yelled, watching her son flee towards his father, who by now was trapped beneath a pile of children, with another officer grabbing hold of his hand and trying to pull him out.

    He ignored them, even as his father yelled for help, running into the orphanage itself, searching for a place to hide. He''s sure his father would survive somehow. If his mother caught him, he might not be so lucky.

    Inside the orphanage, a young blonde haired girl with eyes of icy blue casually read one of the few tomes the nuns were able to provide, completely unaware of the chaos outside.

    She was glad to have something to read that wasn''t filled with the usual religious propaganda. She didn''t want to disparage those with religious beliefs, but after meeting the so-called God, whom she referred to as Being X, refusing to acknowledge his claim of Lordship, she wanted little to nothing to do with religions.

    So of course, that dastardly fiend would see fit to sentence her to a life of poverty surrounded by nuns. It was a clever ploy to gain her allegiance, but it would prove fruitless in the end. Even if she were forced to recite scriptures and sing hymns praising that false god, she would never accept him into her heart.

    She was currently sitting in her lumpy bed, leaning against the wall, a thin blanket covering her even thinner frame. Life as a poor orphan girl had certainly taken its toll on her. But she would find some way to overcome the trial and shove her success right into that smug prick Being X''s face.

    Flipping a page in the book, her eyes scanned the words on the worn sheet of paper. The story wasn''t terribly fascinating, being this world''s rendition of Little Red Riding Hood, but it was better than words praising her enemy.

    She had just gotten to the part where the big bad wolf devours the granny when someone burst through the door. Of course she knew who the intruder was, seeing as she shared a room with her. Being in a poor orphanage with limited space did not afford her the luxury of private quarters.

    "Tanya! Tanya! Tanya! Guess what!?" the intruder, a young girl with auburn hair, shouted as she ran up to the girl sitting in the bed. But rather than answer right away, the now named Tanya finished the paragraph she was on before addressing the other girl in the room.

    Something she didn''t take kindly to, as she stood by the bed practically vibrating on the spot.

    "Ella, what have I told you about barging into the room like that?" Tanya asked. By the exasperated tone of her voice, it could be easily deduced that this was not the first time they''ve had this conversation.

    Probably not the last either.

    "That''s it''s rude and symbolic of an uncivilized society," the young girl said. She struggled with the bigger words and had absolutely no idea what they meant, but she''s heard Tanya say it so much she had them memorized. Heck, they were practically engraved onto her soul at this point.

    "Correct. Now, what has caused you to disregard my words this time?" Tanya asked, giving the girl a curious glance.

    "Oh right! It''s the military! They''re here!" she said.

    "Why? What did you do?" Tanya asked, giving the other girl a stern look. She didn''t actually believe she did anything, but teasing the younger children in the orphanage had become somewhat of a pastime for her.

    Despite her initial efforts, Tanya proved quite popular with the other children. They just seemed to gravitate towards her for some reason, and her maturity led to the nuns placing her in charge of the energetic little ankle biters far more often than she would like.

    "It wasn''t me, I swear!" Ella shouted back, sounding offended by the accusation. A little too offended, in Tanya''s opinion. Like she was keeping secrets.

    "You aren''t hiding anything are you? Like some candy for example?" Tanya questioned, smirking at the now panicked look of the younger girl. Ella had tried being sneaky about it, of course, but she was only a five year old. Even if the orphanage had been secretly run by ninjas she still wouldn''t be stealthy at that age.

    Or would they be called nunjas?

    "You think that''s why they''re here?" she asked, sounding frightened.

    "Could be. You never know," Tanya stated. The horrified look of the younger girl swiftly turned to anger when she noticed Tanya''s small smirk, letting her know she''d been pranked.

    "You meanie! Just for that, I won''t share any of my candy with you! Hmph!" Ella pouted, turning away. Tanya rolled her eyes at the small waif of a thing in front of her, not that she had much room to talk in that department. Her current stature was a far cry from her previous one.

    Hopefully her shortness would only be a temporary ailment.

    "Good thing I have my own stash then," Tanya replied, unmoved by the threat. Ella turned to give the older girl a look of betrayal.

    "You have candy and you never told me!?"

    "Of course. If I had you likely would have pilfered it," Tanya replied, rising from her bed, if one could even call it that. Candy was fairly easy to come by in the streets, if you knew where to look, and it was an excellent bargaining tool within the orphanage.

    Children were so easy to bribe and there were so many chores Tanya did not want to do.

    "Pil¡­ Pilf¡­" Ella tried to sound out the word, making Tanya sigh. Conversing with children was a chore in and of itself. Unfortunately, she was often relegated to the position of nanny, meaning it was all but an inevitability.

    "P-i-l-f-e-r-e-d," Tanya spelled out. "It means to steal."

    "Well why didn''t you just say so?" Ella huffed once more. Tanya always liked to use big words to sound smart, especially when she had to explain them afterward. Ella, and many of the other kids, believed she did so on purpose, enjoying seeming smarter than them.

    Of course, Tanya did do so on purpose to establish herself at the top of the orphan hierarchy. It ensured that they all relied on her for homework and other such mundanities. She also did so with the intent to appeal to any would-be adoptees, but in her few years of life here, she hasn''t seen a single person come to adopt anyone.

    Seems the Empire isn''t keen on such things. There could be various factors as to why, such as monetary struggles or an aversion to having children at all, but Tanya suspected it was more of a cultural thing than any more grounded reasons.

    Regardless of the reasons, no one in her time here has found a home, so Tanya put such things from her mind. Besides, there was always the likelihood that she could be taken in by someone with dubious intent, so perhaps her unaffiliated status was more of a boon than anything.

    "I did say so. Now, what''s this about the military?" Tanya asked, bringing them back on topic. Her words expelled the lingering irritation Ella felt towards her at the moment, eyes lighting up with excitement once more.

    "Right! They showed up not too long ago. Come on, look!" she exclaimed, grabbing Tanya by the hand and dragging her towards the window. Tanya rolled her eyes but allowed the excitable girl to do as she wished.

    Once there, Tanya could indeed see the military presence. It wasn''t large, so that was good. It means they weren''t likely conducting some kind of assault. But she did worry about what they were here for.

    Were the nuns involved in some kind of illicit affair? She didn''t believe there was anything of the sort going on, but one could never be too careful. No child has mysteriously gone missing or anything like that, so the likelihood of this being an issue of human trafficking was slim.

    Could it be drugs? The kids here don''t ever deliver anything to someone, so the odds of Tanya inadvertently becoming a drug runner was also slim. With the military involved, could it be an act of treason of some kind? Were the nuns secret intelligence officers for a foreign nation?

    Again, the odds of that were low. So why was the military here? Could Being X be involved? She wouldn''t put it past that damnable creature to pull a stunt like this.

    "What do you think they''re here for?" Ella asked, watching as they carried large objects into the orphanage. Her words snapped Tanya out of her rage fueled inner tirade against her enemy before it could fully begin. Shaking her head, she once more focused on what was happening outside.

    "I don''t know¡­" Tanya replied, watching as some kid ran away from an older woman, likely his mother, like he was fleeing from a tiger. She idly wondered if that made said woman a tiger mom. But as amusing as the thought was, it didn''t answer any of the questions.

    For some reason, the kid looked familiar, but Tanya couldn''t place where she might have seen him. It could have been anywhere and no matter how hard she stared, the memory refused to surface.

    "But idle speculation will do us no good. Come on, let''s do some reconnaissance," Tanya said, moving to leave her room.

    "Reconna¡­ Reconna¡­" muttered Ella, once more trying to sound out the large word. Tanya sighed as she once more began to explain the meaning. These kids would be the most articulate orphans the Empire has ever seen.

    The pair made their way down the stairs and to the main entrance of the orphanage, which was more or less a worship hall. Tanya frowned at seeing the large, angelic woman depicted above the altar, but she was quick to cool her expression.

    The Empire, for all its lauded value of logic and reason, was surprisingly religious. The faith of Being X was quite strong in this world, much to her frustration. It was maddening to hear them sing his praises.

    If only they knew how little he cared for their individuality or personal freedom, they might not be so quick to bow their heads to him.

    But there was little she could do about it, at least at the moment. She had no way of revealing to the masses the truth of that thing, so she would simply school her features as best she can and curse his name in her mind. She prayed daily for a pox to fall upon that despicable abomination.

    The pair hid behind one of the wooden pews, watching as the soldiers carried in trays of¡­ food? Tanya blinked in confusion. Was she seeing this right? Why would the military bother expending resources on a bunch of no name orphan children? It didn''t make sense.

    "Psst, Tanya," Ella whispered at the older girl, though her idea of what a whisper entailed could use some work. It was far too loud to be considered quiet. She may have been more inconspicuous had she just spoken normally.

    "Yes?" Tanya returned, in an actual whisper. She felt a bit silly, hiding behind a pew like this, but without knowing the intent of the soldiers, it was better to remain unseen, just in case she was forced to flee.

    No matter how small of a chance that was.

    "What''s that smell?" Ella asked. Tanya felt a small pang in her chest at the question. It was sad to know that a young girl like Ella would be unfamiliar with the smell of roast. Though it was the first time in this life Tanya had been able to sample the aroma of upper class cuisine, even if it was only the middle class, she did have the distinct memories of her old life of eating delicious meals.

    It only made her more determined than ever to rise into the upper ranks of society. Bread and potatoes may have kept her alive, but it wasn''t exactly exploding in the nutrient department. It was amazing how something as simple as good food made one feel like a human being.

    Right now, she felt more like a dog. She supposed she should count her good fortune that she was, at the very least, bereft of fleas.

    "I believe it''s roast beef."

    Tanya nodded at that though the little girl didn''t really understand what that meant. How could she without a proper reference point?

    But the blonde haired girl''s thoughts came to a crashing halt when she realized she didn''t recognize who spoke. She swiftly turned her head to the left, looking over the head of her companion she could make out a figure.

    He was dressed in a warm looking, rusty red coat, the sight of which made Tanya shiver as if her body realized by the sight of the garment that she was dressed far less appropriately for the weather. Her long sleeved shirt offered some protection, but not nearly enough given the swift chill entering the room from the open door.

    His hair was a fiery red color, almost like it was made of actual flames. On top of said flames he wore a small, cone-shaped green hat. That, coupled with the pointy ears she could see, stunned her.

    "Is he an elf!?" she thought. Normally such a notion would be absurd, but considering she was reincarnated into another world by a hypocritical, overworked, self-proclaimed god, she couldn''t rule out the possibility entirely.

    That is, until she saw the strings attaching said ears to his own. That made her feel some semblance of relief. So he wasn''t an elf, just some weirdo in a costume then. She wasn''t sure it was all that much better, but at least she knew how to deal with weirdos.

    His crimson eyes stared into her own with a look of recognition, making her worry exactly how this stranger recognized her. It set her on edge and put her on the defensive.

    "Who are you?" Tanya hissed out, careful not to alert the throngs of soldiers busting about. Ella, upon realizing there was a stranger next to her, scooted closer to Tanya, with the older girl wrapping an arm around her. The blue eyed girl had warned her about strangers and the dangers they posed, and with how smart she was, Ella and the rest felt it prudent to listen.

    Tanya liked to pretend she didn''t care, for whatever reason, but Ella knew she did. Why else would she take so much time to teach them and make sure they were safe? It sounded like caring to her.

    "Ah, right. Introductions. Yes, I suppose that makes sense. My name is Markus Adler, but you can call me Mark," he said, offering a hand to shake. Tanya stared at it for a moment before tentatively reaching out her own hand, introducing herself as Tanya Degurechaff.

    For the first time, she cursed her Japanese politeness. Refusing the handshake would have been considered extremely rude in her past life, and given her desire to climb the corporate ladder, being rude wasn''t exactly conducive to that goal.

    Once their hands connected, both of them could feel a spark of some kind, like a bolt of static electricity. Tanya withdrew her hand immediately, giving the boy a suspicious look, who was staring at his own hand in confusion.

    "So, Mark, want to tell me why you''re here?" she asked, snapping him out of his miniature trance. He turned back to look at her, and that''s when Tanya finally realized where she had seen him from.

    It was about a month ago and she was out and about in the city, hoping to find some spare change or edible treats she could use as currency with the other orphans. Unfortunately, her efforts were stymied by those foolish demonstrators baying for blood.

    She watched the parade from the relative safety of an alleyway, she saw a car drive by, with a red eyed boy in the back seat. His appearance intrigued her, as it was so much different from anyone else she had seen so far, and their eyes met for the briefest of moments.

    But that was it. That was her one and only encounter with this child, if you could even call it that. So why was he here now? Was he some kind of stalker? She didn''t think such a thing was worth considering, given her age and station, but perhaps she had more to worry about than what she thought.

    Mark nodded at her question, but he found himself unsure of how to answer. After all, he himself wasn''t entirely sure of his reasons.

    "I guess it''s due to the season," he said, getting a confused look from the girl. She pondered his statement for a moment before she realized what he meant. Today was Christmas, and there was no better time in the Empire to seem charitable.

    "I see. So you''re here to assuage a guilty conscience brought about by privilege?" she asked. If that was the case then she supposed she could rest a little easier. If he wanted to ease the discomfort of his lifestyle by helping the needy, which Tanya and the rest of the orphans definitely were, she would gladly accept his charity.

    "Not a bad way to put it, I suppose," he said with a chuckle, shocking the girl somewhat. She was so used to explaining herself after using complicated words, she assumed the same would occur now. But he understood her? Or was he simply pretending to save face?

    Ella, however, was trying to figure out what Tanya had implied, her face scrunched up in thought.

    "If that''s true, then why is the military involved?" she asked. If he himself simply wished to give a charitable donation to the orphanage that would be one thing, but the soldiers told a different story. Something wasn''t adding up.

    "Ah, right. You see, my father just so happens to be the Admiral of the Imperial Navy, so I convinced him to utilize the might of the Empire''s military to provide a nice Christmas meal for the less fortunate," he explained, further shocking the girl.

    "This kid is the son of the Admiral!?" she shouted in her mind. If that was the case, then his claim was at least somewhat plausible. The value of having access to someone that high up in the military was enormous, more so if they''re related.

    Come to think of it, she vaguely recalled a story in the paper that claimed the Admiral''s son woke up from a coma. Could he be the one? As far as she knew, the Imperial Navy only contained one Admiral, so he must be. Looks like luck was on Tanya''s side for once.

    She knew that war was on the horizon. Given the rampant, overzealous patriotism displayed by certain members of Imperial society, it was all but guaranteed. The only real question was when it would happen. As much as she hoped it would never happen or that it was a far off problem for the future, Tanya was never one to gamble.

    Which meant she needed some plan for when it did, and this kid might just be her golden goose.

    "I see. In that case, I suppose thanks are in order. But why choose here, specifically?" she asked. She watched his face shift to one of embarrassment, shyly looking away from the girl. The look sent a spike of panic shooting through her veins.

    "That''s¡­ I happened to spot you about a month ago in the city and you weren''t wearing a jacket, even though it was freezing. So that got me thinking¡­ I have plenty of old clothes that don''t fit me anymore, most of them were barely worn, so instead of throwing them out, I could donate them," he said, but his words did very little to comfort the girl.

    "I knew it! He is a stalker!"

    But though his words instilled a primal fear inside of Tanya, it was the exact opposite with Ella, who wiggle out of Tanya''s catatonic grasp.

    "So, does that mean we''re getting presents!?" the girl asked, eyes sparkling. Mark looked down at the small, paper thin girl wearing little more than rags.

    "It sure does. There''s also a ton of toys I don''t need as well, so I hope you like them," he said, reaching out to rub her head. Ella made an excited, squealing sound that would have almost certainly deafened any dog within earshot.

    It did have the side effect of snapping Tanya out of her fear induced state.

    "What was that?" asked an older voice. The three turned and saw one of the nuns looking around confused. It didn''t take her long to spot the three children hiding behind the pew.

    "Children, what are you doing here?" she asked, hands on her hips and glaring at the three of them.

    "Forgive us Sister Irma, we were merely curious about the soldiers," Tanya spoke up. Sister Irma''s expression softened at that.

    "Understandable. It was quite a shock to see them pull up. But it appears as if God has seen fit to bless us with a miracle this day," the nun said, clasping her hands in prayer, giving thanks to the Lord above.

    Tanya grimaced at the reverent tone the woman was using, hating that fact that she was praising that false god Being X. If anything, she should be thanking the boy next to her, given her stalker was the reason for their apparent good fortune.

    But when she turned to glimpse at him, she saw that he too wore a frown on his face. It filled her with curiosity. Why would he be making a face like that? Did he too run afoul that belligerent, free market hating god? Or did he just not like religion in general?

    Could he be an ally in her crusade against that beast?

    She shook her head free of those thoughts. He was a stalker, nothing more. She would use him and his connections as a resource to fuel her ascension through the social and economic hierarchy, but nothing more than that.

    "As you say, Sister," Tanya responded. The nun looked down at them with a smile.

    "Now, why don''t you three come along and get washed up. The soldiers are almost done preparing the spread," she said, reaching down her hand. Ella happily grabbed hold of it, walking off with Irma to do just that.

    Tanya sighed and rose to follow, but she was halted by the boy beside her.

    "Um, Tanya?" he asked, hesitantly. She turned back to face him and saw his nervous expression. That, coupled with the present he was holding, something she had missed earlier, sent alarm bells off in her head.

    "Oh, crap! A present!? I should have expected this. It''s not a good idea to accept gifts from a stalker, but what choice do I have? I can''t afford to alienate such a useful resource!" she thought.

    "Look, I know this is a bit weird, but¡­ here. Merry Christmas," he said, holding out the gift.

    Well, there was no backing out now. With shaky hands, Tanya reached out and accepted the offered gift. It was soft, and Tanya suspected it was an article of clothing, probably a jacket, if his earlier words were any indication.

    "Right, um¡­ thanks. Merry Christmas," she said, sounding unsure. He gave her a nod and she could see the barest hint of a smile forming on his lips. Giving a quivering smile of her own, she slowly undid the wrapping.

    Like she thought, it was a jacket. A thick brown one with wool lining the inside. She was grateful for the neutral color palette, as she didn''t think she''d be able to tolerate something of a more girly nature. Though, considering it belonged to a boy, that was perhaps a moot point.

    Honestly, she was happy with the pragmatism of the gift. He recognized a need and provided a means to satisfy it. And judging by the size, it should see ample use in the coming years.

    So while she disapproved of his stalking of her, she couldn''t complain about the results. Hopefully he wouldn''t misconstrue her acceptance of the gift as something other than simple gratitude. Though she doubted he held any romantic interests in her, given their age, she wouldn''t outright dismiss the possibility either.

    Who knows if Being X could be infecting him with his influence. Better safe than sorry.

    Feeling a small breeze collide with her, she shivered and decided now was as good a time as any to make use of it. She casually put the jacket on and immediately sighed in relief as it did its job shielding her from the cold.

    "Looks like it fits. That''s good," Mark said, nodding in approval. It was actually slightly too big on her but that left some room to grow. Hopefully she would get at least one more winter out of it.

    "Seems like it. But I should do as Sister Irma suggests and prepare for dinner. Judging by the smell, this is not a meal I wish to miss," Tanya said, trying to extradite herself from the conversation before things get awkward.

    Well, more awkward.

    "Of course. I wouldn''t want to keep you. I should probably get back to my parents anyway before mother decides to send the soldiers after me believing I''ve been abducted," he said. Tanya thought he was making a joke, but it was hard to tell with his tone of voice. The last thing she needed was to be accused of trying to kidnap an Admiral''s son.

    "No, we wouldn''t want that. Thank you again for the gift. Goodbye," she said in a clipped tone before spinning on her heel and marching off.

    "See ya," Mark replied, watching her leave.

    "That could have gone better. I should have thought of a better excuse for the gifts. Oh well, at least she doesn''t think I''m some kind of stalker," he thought.

    However, just as he was about to turn around and search for his father, wondering if the children had done him in, his body froze at the sound coming from behind him.

    "Ahem!"

    Turning around slowly, almost robotically, he saw the dull eyed stare of his mother.

    "Mark, who was that girl?"

    "Oh, crap¡­"

    On that Christmas day, Tanya and the other children were able to eat their fill, with enough leftovers to last until the new year. The presents gifted to them would be met with much joy, with little Ella receiving a small stuffed rabbit with the fluffiest and softest fur you could imagine. She would treasure it her entire life and take such good care of it that she would someday be able to gift it to her own daughter.

    Tanya enjoyed her coat and the extra reading material she received, even if it was somewhat juvenile. But she wouldn''t be the only one, as the kids would constantly pester her to read to them. And as much as she would complain about doing so, she would always cave in the end.

    Mark and his family would return home and have their own celebration, with him even able to avoid his mother''s pestering about who the mysterious girl was. They would open presents and eat a nice meal together, enjoying the peaceful holiday.

    And all across the Empire, not a single person went hungry that day. Some would call it a miracle, claiming that the Empire was blessed, while others would call it pure dumb luck. No matter which it truly was, many lives were changed that day, and very few would ever know who was truly responsible.

    But that was just fine by him.

 Learning Something New

    Wilfred Churbull, Duke of Marlborough and First Lord of the Admiralty stared at the paper in his hands with a feeling of irritation. "Christmas Miracle!" the headline proclaimed, detailing how the exemplary Imperial Armed Forces worked together to provide food for the needy.

    "Balderdash," Churbull growled under his breath, taking in a large inhale from his cigar. He was a slightly rotund man with sagging cheeks, giving him the look of a bulldog. An extremely well dressed bulldog, mind you, but a bulldog nonetheless.

    He wore a standard officer''s uniform for someone of his station, and his steely eyes glared at the paper in his hands. He read over the details, lauding the ones behind it with adulation.

    "Nothing but propaganda," he muttered, but what else did he expect? It was an Imperial paper he was reading after all. Though his eyes softened as he took note of the small, malnourished girl happily eating her fill. Even for someone like him, whose heart had been hardened by years of service, he couldn''t help but feel some amount of happiness for her.

    If nothing else, they gave her a good Christmas, earning brownie points the world over for it too. Whoever thought of this scheme was a brilliant person indeed. The whole damn Empire was singing the praises of the military for its supposed generosity.

    And according to reports, they even saw a small uptick in recruits in the new year. Yes, a damn clever ploy indeed. Setting the paper down, he picked up another, flicking some ashes into an ashtray as he read.

    According to spies they have placed in the Empire, the primary ones responsible for this were Brigadier General Hans von Zettour and Admiral Frank Adler. Zettour he knew as a somewhat crafty bastard, a learned man if ever there was one, and Frank¡­

    Well, you don''t become an Admiral at that age without being damn impressive. He couldn''t recall all the details at the moment, but he remembered the incident that propelled him to that position. It involved a mutiny, the kidnapping of one of the Kaiser''s relatives, and a dangerous night mission to rescue him through a tumultuous storm.

    Such a shame he was an Imperial. Churbull would have loved to have him in their own Navy. But as impressive as the man was, that didn''t explain the sudden propensity these men had towards altruism.

    Wait a minute¡­ Looking at the man, Churbull had the nagging feeling he read another report of the man not too long ago. Something about his son¡­ Yes, it was all coming back to him. His son came out of a coma last year, didn''t he? Hm¡­

    "Lieutenant Abercroth," Churbull said, pressing the button on his intercom. A second or two went by before he received an answer.

    "Yes, sir? How may I help you?"

    "I want you to bring me the files on one, Frank Adler, the Admiral for the Empire, along with whatever we have on his son, Markus, I believe his name is," he ordered.

    "Right away sir."

    With that Churbull leaned back to wait. It took about 15 minutes or so before his assistant, Lieutenant Abercroth entered. She was a young woman, about 23, with curly brown hair and a perfect figure. She had a few freckles dotting across her face, and her green eyes shown with intelligence.

    She wore a tasteful skirt in military green that hugged her wide hips, along with a suit top. She looked the perfect part as a military secretary. Personally, Churbull had no idea why the women chose service, and frankly, he didn''t care either. She was highly competent and easy on the eyes. What more could a man ask for?

    "Will that be all sir?" she asked, handing him the requested files. He took them and skimmed the report''s title. Satisfied they were what he was looking for, he dismissed her.

    "No, that will be all Lieutenant, thank you. You may return to your post," he said, already taking out a few files to look through them. She gave him a crisp salute before making her departure, with the older man taking a sneak peak at her hindquarters.

    What, not like he was a monk. And he knew how to keep a professional boundary. Once she was out of his office, he started reading more thoroughly, nothing left to distract him.

    Markus Adler, came out of a coma nearly 8 months ago now. According to reports, his intelligence skyrocketed. So much so that they likened him to their very own mad scientist, Adelheid von Schugel.

    Poppycock, if you ask him. Kid was probably just a bit gifted and the Imperial propagandists ran with it. Made for one hell of a story though. The child of the Admiral gets into an accident, only to wake up a year later as a genius? You couldn''t write a better script than that.

    However, that was the less concerning metric. Commonwealth spies also found out that his Magical Aptitude was on a level unheard of. Higher than anyone in the history of the Empire. Hell, if the numbers were to be believed, the boy might as well have been the spawn of Merlyn himself!

    If he had to guess, it was probably more Imperial propaganda, but how to know for sure? Looking through the reports, he couldn''t find anything beyond the initial record. Either they needed to dock some pay from their spies, or the boy was keeping a low profile.

    But if they were true¡­

    While his nation was currently neutral with the Empire, and enjoyed a decent trade, the future wasn''t set in stone. Should they come to hostilities, which was seeming more and more likely as the years dragged on, they couldn''t allow the Empire such a powerful asset.

    But he needed more information. He would sign the child''s death himself if it meant the continued prosperity of his country. Convincing those soft hearted ninnies in Parliament might be a tough hurdle to cross, however.

    As he sat back to puff on another cigar, needing it to calm the nerves after such a stressful read, his thoughts were interrupted by his secretary.

    "Admiral, you have someone here to see you. A Mr. John," she said. Churbull raised an eyebrow at that, not recognizing the name at first. He was about to tell her to tell him to sod off before his brain finally caught up.

    "Right. Send him in," Churbull ordered. This was perfect. Mr. John was one of their spies, and a damned good one at that if he recalled. If anyone would have the information he needed, it was him.

    The man who entered was about as unassuming as could be, with a face you wouldn''t be able to pick out of a crowd and a receding hairline. He was on the hefty side, but he walked with all the grace of a predator. His smile almost unconsciously put Churbull at ease before the man realized what was happening, sitting up straighter in his chair.

    Yes, the man who entered his office was exceedingly dangerous, but you would never know it. That''s what made him such a good spy. Churbull continued to observe this, Mr. John as he sat down.

    "So, what brings you here today, Mr. John?" Churbull asked without pretense. He wasn''t a man to beat around the bush. He looked like a bulldog and acted like a bulldog. It was just part of his charm. His John Bull spirit, as it was.

    "I heard you were looking into a particularly interesting individual, so I decided to stop by. Do you mind?" he asked, indicating one of Churbull''s cigars. He waved the man off, and Mr. John happily lit one up, sighing in content as the tobacco did its job.

    "I take it to mean you have more information on this, Markus Adler?" Churbull questioned, after allowing the man a customary puff. Mr. John regarded the man in front of him for a moment before nodding confidently.

    "Indeed I do. I just so happened to be in the Empire during their whole "Christmas Miracle" and I managed to get a few nuggets of info into the young man."

    "Well, don''t keep me waiting. Out with it man!" Churbull demanded. Mr. John only smiled politely before taking another drag on his cigar.

    "Apparently, he was the primary architect for the whole thing. He convinced his father, who convinced Zettour, who convinced someone else, and before you know it, free food for the poor. I have to admit, the move was quite unexpected for the Imperials to make, given their seeming aversion to such charity work," John said.

    Churbull nodded at this, well aware of how the Empire valued self reliance above damn near everything. But if a child was the orchestrator of the whole thing, that made a bit more sense. At least as far as the idea of the whole thing went, but¡­

    "How in the blazes did a child convince them of that? Don''t tell me those blasted rumors are true."

    Mr. John nodded. It was a good question, and one that puzzled him as well. So he did a little digging, greased a few palms, and from what he gathered made an educated guess on the whole affair.

    "I wouldn''t go that far. More like it seems Zettour is determined to keep up the ruse," John said.

    "A ruse you say?" questioned Churbull, suddenly a bit more interested.

    "Right. From what I was able to uncover, there seems to be an effort made to make the boy seem more than what he is. His school records, for one, have been altered. The boy''s smart, I''ll give him that, but he''s certainly no Schugel. The Empire replaced its records, which were above average at best, and replaced them with perfect scores."

    "I see. I suspected as much. Imperial propagandists aren''t the best, but when it comes to championing their own they are surprisingly effective. How certain are you of this?" Churbull asked.

    Mr. John stroked his chin in thought for a moment, thinking it over.

    "While there''s always room for error, I''m fairly certain of this. The records were changed somewhat hastily, leaving a small, but decent trail to follow. Wasn''t too much trouble to find the truth. As for how he convinced his father, well, Frank''s known to be a bit¡­ emotional. If his son asked, right after returning home for the first time, I have no doubt the man would cave sooner or later."

    Churbull nodded with satisfaction. Good, if the kid wasn''t the next Schugel, that would put him lower on the assassination list. But there was still one burning question lingering in his mind.

    "And what of the magic. Is he really as strong as reports indicate?"

    "Ah, now that was much harder to ascertain. They hid those records far better than his school ones. But I''m nothing if not persistent. Turns out, the machine they first used was rather old and malfunctioned. But by the time they figured that out it was too late. They had already bragged about it until they were hoarse," John said, a bit of a smirk on his face.

    It was always nice to see arrogant people get put in their place, and in his humble opinion, very few people were as arrogant as the Imperials. Logic and reason were all well and good, but not if you lord it over others and treat them as children.

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    "Well, that''s a relief. I take it they tested him again?" Churbull asked. John nodded, leaning over to deposit the cigars ashes in a tray.

    "Indeed they did. Three times with three different machines. All of them came back as slightly above the norm. But of course there''s no way they could admit that, so they discreetly altered those records as well. The only part that I couldn''t find any alterations on was his propensity for Medical Formulas, so he''ll likely end up a doctor or a field medic."

    Churbull sagged back in his chair, a feeling of relief filling him. Looks like he wouldn''t have to order the death of a child after all. He finished off his cigar before putting it out, ready to place the whole thing behind him.

    "Good. Guess I don''t have to order anything unsavory then," he mentioned.

    "You would order the death of a child?" John asked, seeming surprised. He was good, Churbull could admit. Damn good. But he could see through the act. His tone was perfect but his eyes¡­ They told a different story.

    "I''d put a bullet in his head myself if I had to. But I''d rather avoid such unpleasantness. Now then, any more news you wish to share?" Churbull asked, hinting at the man to leave.

    "Nothing of relevance, at least not right now, but I have a few leads to follow. I thank you for your time, Admiral, and the cigar of course. I''ll see myself out," Mr. John said, standing up. He and Churbull shared a stiff handshake before the spy made to leave.

    Once he was gone, Churbull let out a sigh. He took one last look at the boy before gathering up the files and ordering his secretary to take them back. That''s one less thing to worry about, too bad there were a million more.

    Just another day in the Commonwealth.

    *Line Break*

    Tanya sighed as she stared at the vehicle pulling up. Ever since that Christmas day, her stalker had taken it upon himself to visit her as often as he was able. While she appreciated the sentiment, it was also rather tiring. She had her own duties to perform at the orphanage and his insistence at seeing her made them pile up.

    But it wasn''t like she could tell him to scram. He was far too useful a resource to let slip through her fingers. Especially after finding out she was "blessed" with an abundance of magic. That opened up some doors she didn''t think possible to open.

    And apparently, she had him to thank for it. Or blame, depending on how things turned out. The Empire recently changed its laws to allow anyone, regardless of age to enter, so long as they had magic. Markus, or Mark, as he insisted she call him, felt that she had magic and informed his father.

    That was apparently the spark she felt when their hands connected.

    Now that it was discovered that she possessed the talent, she would be forced into the military when she came of age. Part of her felt appalled by such a notion, it being antithetical to her beliefs of individual freedom and personal autonomy, but rather than being upset by her decision being stripped from her, she would use it to her advantage.

    Namely, to get out of the orphanage as soon as possible. While she begrudgingly admitted some emotional attachment to those that lived here, primarily her fellow children, she wouldn''t allow those emotions to interfere with her rising the social and economic ladder.

    Plus, with all the attention brought on by the so-called "Christmas miracle" the orphanage had received more than enough donations to last for several months, and they just kept coming. Another thing she had to be unwittingly indebted to that boy for. She hasn''t been able to eat this much since she arrived in this world.

    More importantly, it removed some of the guilt she felt for leaving them. Ella was particularly distraught at the thought of her leaving, and Tanya had to promise to visit as often as she could to get her to stop crying.

    It was¡­ strange. In her past life, she never had such close or deep relations as that. The thought of someone missing her so much that it brought them to tears was almost unbelievable. A small, budding feeling that could only be described as joy bubbled up from her chest at the knowledge.

    Which was actually even more reason for her to join. If she joined the Cadet Corps now, she would be able to move up to the Officer Candidate School after a year. From there, it would be approximately two more years before she would graduate as a commissioned officer, and she could send some funds back to the orphanage. Twenty five percent ought to do it.

    It wasn''t purely to aid in her contemporaries, there was also the optics to think about. Sending money back home was a common occurrence, especially if they weren''t well off, so it would almost be expected of her to do such a thing. If she didn''t, she could come across as greedy and uncaring, and that stigma would do nothing to help her chances of promotion.

    It was somewhat difficult to convince the Matron of the orphanage to allow her to join, but Tanya was eventually able to wear her down with facts and logic. While it was true she could join the military at this age, she was still a minor, so she needed permission from a parent or guardian.

    It almost felt like she was getting a permission slip to go on a field trip.

    And the boy currently walking towards her was a big help in convincing the Matron. Apparently, he was quite the linguist, and knew several languages already. Though he admitted to not being fluent in them, it was enough to get a good grasp on the foreign newspapers. Whatever he didn''t know, he had a dictionary for.

    It helped to explain to the Matron that the other countries were gearing up for war, just like the Empire was. Unrest was rampant in the neighboring countries, and it was only a matter of time until something happened. The world was a powder keg, and anything could set it off. If the war progressed badly enough, then Tanya would be drafted no matter her age, given that she had magic, so it was better she be prepared for such an eventuality.

    Pure logic backed up by verifiable facts. It was a beautiful presentation, she had to admit. It felt good to be doing something so familiar, though the fact that it was to join the military put a slight damper on things.

    Still, she had permission, and that was the important thing. Mark said he would do what he could to convince his mother to allow him to join her, but Tanya believed that was wishful thinking on his part. That woman was¡­ something. She could still remember meeting her for the first time when he came by to visit after the New Year.

    Tanya never expected to be called a homewrecker, in this life of her last, but stranger things have happened. The only good part was seeing how embarrassed her stalker was during the whole affair. It was almost worth how mortifying it was, especially because Ella overheard and now assumed she would be marrying him.

    As if. She has no intention to get into any romantic entanglements. Even in her past life she was averse to such things, only figuring she would start a family due to societal pressures. But now that she was a woman, well, that complicated matters.

    She couldn''t say she was particularly attracted to either sex in her past life as a man. Such things simply hadn''t interested her, and she doubted that would change with her gender. Not unless that foul Being X decided to mess with her mind some more, something she wouldn''t put past him.

    But that was something for future Tanya to worry about. Back to the boy''s mother, she was dead set on the belief that Tanya wanted to sink her claws into him and rip him from his mother''s arms. No matter what she said on the matter, the older woman refused to see reason.

    Mark had to threaten her with no more goodnight kisses before she relented in a panic. Tanya wasn''t sure what to make of the woman and neither was her son, apparently. She left that day, but not before sending an "I''m watching you" gesture towards Tanya.

    What a weird day that was.

    "Hey, what''s got you thinking so hard," Mark asked as he reached her, sending a friendly wave towards Sister Irma who was sweeping.

    "Your mother, in fact," Tanya responded. His face took on a look of embarrassment as he sheepishly looked away before clearing his throat.

    "Yeah, sorry about that. Mother can be¡­ intense at times."

    "Putting it mildly," Tanya thought, half expecting the woman to have taken out a hit on her.

    "So, what brings you here today? I have some chores to do, so I hope you don''t mind helping in that regard," Tanya said, crossing her arms over her chest. While it was true she traded candy to switch chores she didn''t like, that didn''t exempt her of all responsibilities.

    "No problem. I was hoping for your help regarding something as well, so this works out. A little tit for tat as it were," he said, intriguing her. So he came with a real purpose this time rather than to simply spend his time with her.

    "And what would that be?" she asked, her head tilting to the side.

    "Ah, well I''ve been working on a couple of proposals for Brigadier General Zettour and I could use some help. With how smart you are, I figured you were the natural one to ask," he said, attempting to flatter her. And while it worked, to a very small degree, she still had a face of doubt on her face.

    "Why would a child be writing up a proposal for someone like that?" she asked, dubious. He hadn''t shown himself to be a liar, but Tanya always felt there was something he was hiding. Some secret he kept close to his chest. She never pestered him about it, of course, given her own, but the feeling was always there at the back of her mind.

    "Mostly my father opening up his mouth, to be honest. The first one is about an incentive program to encourage people to hire those of less means, and for them to get jobs in the first place. The second is a detailed plan to implement vertical farming to improve crop yields," he explained, opening up a folder he was carrying.

    Tanya scanned the contents. It was impressive, admittedly, and she was glad to see him applying free market principles in his proposal. Perhaps this would be more interesting than she thought.

    "Color me intrigued. But why come to me and not someone like your father?" she asked, more curious than accusatory.

    "Well, he''s busy, for one. So I don''t wish to besiege him with something like this when he manages to return home. Second, he''s not the most well versed in such matters. I would appreciate any insight he could provide, of course, but this is a bit out of his wheelhouse."

    Tanya nodded at that. Just because the man was excellent at his job doesn''t necessarily translate that competence to other facets of life. She knew the man wasn''t stupid, otherwise he wouldn''t be in the position he was in, but his knowledge and expertise were likely geared primarily towards the Navy.

    "Understandable. In that case, I would be more than happy to help you in this regard. Providing I get the appropriate acknowledgment for my contributions," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. It wouldn''t be the first time someone has stolen her hard work and paraded it around as their own.

    "Of course. I figured this would provide ample opportunity for you to network with others in the military hierarchy. I''m sure they''re aware of you by now, given your age and closeness to me, but it never hurts to show your own merits," he said, hoping to provide her with assurance that he was not out to pilfer her labor as his own.

    "Well, I guess we better get started then. I hope you know how to use a mop," Tanya said, turning on her heels and marching inside. If he hadn''t already known her, he would have suspected her of practicing for the military already.

    Markus proceeded to help Tanya and the rest of the kids with their chores. They were more than a little excited by his arrival, as he always brought chocolate chip cookies his mother made.

    As crazy as the woman was, Tanya would admit she could bake. Even though she didn''t have the greatest sweet tooth, she wasn''t opposed to a little self indulgence now and then.

    After nearly an hour of this, Tanya and Mark went to her room, with one of the sisters telling them to behave. Both of them shook their heads at the warning. They were far too young to get up to anything improper and too mature to cause mischief. But they simply agreed to appease her and went on their way.

    Once they were settled into her room, Tanya sat cross legged on her bed, reading through his draft while he watched her while sitting on a wooden chair. It wasn''t the most comfortable thing in the world, but he doubted she would appreciate his presence on the bed with her.

    As he sat there watching her read, he took note of her mannerisms. The way her nose crinkled as she digested the words or the way she chewed on the pencil in thought as she contemplated what to add, he couldn''t help but think that she was a very cute girl.

    Not in the way of him wanting to romance her or anything, it was simply a statement of fact. He had no doubt she would be a real beauty in the future.

    Did that influence his reason for befriending her? Not really. He didn''t have the appropriate hormones to care much about that. No, there was something else that drew him towards her, and he had a sneaking suspicion what it was.

    She was smart. Too smart for someone her age. Might be weird, coming from him, but he was a grown ass man in a child''s body. And he suspected she was in a similar situation.

    That thing claiming to be a god said there was another, and he believed she was that other. He just didn''t know how to prove it. Or the right way to bring it up. Given her intelligence, if she wasn''t from his world, she might think him crazy, and that could lead to several complications he didn''t want to deal with.

    So he thought, "Why not ask something while she''s distracted." Seemed like a good idea at the time, except¡­ he had no idea what to ask. But now was his perfect chance, so he had to think of something.

    "So¡­ good thing the Kaiser isn''t named Hitler, right?"

    He felt like smacking himself. But at least if she thought the question was weird, he could play it off as him just not liking the name for whatever reason. It would make him seem odd, given that no one but someone from his original world would know the stigma that came with that name.

    And the moustache.

    But being seen as an eccentric was far better than being seen as insane.

    "Thankfully, the Empire''s population doesn''t seem to contain a large amount of Jewish people. Not to mention it hasn''t bore the burden of the economic downfall brought on by various factors after the first world war," she responded, seemingly without even registering what she said.

    Markus stared at her for some time, his mouth agape. It wasn''t until Tanya turned to him after finished reading through the first draft of his proposal that she realized something wasn''t quite right.

    "What''s with that expression?" she asked, frowning in confusion. She tried thinking back to their previous interactions, wondering what could have caused such a reaction. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to form words. His eyes were wide with disbelief, yet held a glimmer of satisfaction in them.

    "I¡­ you¡­ right¡­" he stammered, making her frown deepen. That was when his question finally registered with her, and her own eyes widened to copy his, growing even larger by his followup question.

    "I knew it. It is you. You''re not from this world either, are you?"