《Monochromacy》 1 - Fading It was a Friday afternoon in the office when Betty realised her world was losing color. When she was younger, the world felt bright, the sky a vivid blue. Greens were so sharp to her eyes that she could almost smell them, delightful like freshly mowed grass on a Saturday morning. But she was only twenty-something, she thought. She was twenty-something, and everything was losing color. The world was losing its hues, it was once a sparkling ocean, and now it was just a place where great big storm clouds rolled over, obscuring beauty in their wake. Even her name was washed out, she thought. Betty. She pursed her lips in a grimace as she watched the printer-copier suck and thud. A name seen on an obituary at the end of a black and white newspaper, reserved only for those born sixty or seventy years before her. She watched the ebb and flow of the copier as if it were something natural. First, a page was pulled into the mechanism, then a bright light brushed the surface, and then it was gone. On and on it went. Betty didn¡¯t even realise she had zoned out. She was staring at the back of her eyelids, listening to the machine. And in her mind¡¯s eye, she found herself in the middle of a dimly lit warehouse. Each click, thud, and scan of the machine dropped pages down from the skylight. Click, thud. First, a drizzle. Then, a monsoon. Click, thud. The paper leaves kept falling like corporate snow until she was being suffocated by a mountain of white rectangles. And when the summit had breached the ceiling, all light had begun to fade. It was so dark, in fact, reds and blues seemed to meld together. Monochrome. Before long, the paper had no more space to pile and pressed down. When it did, she found it harder to breathe. If only it would stop for a moment, she thought. If it would give her a rest, only for a while, then maybe she could last another forty years beneath the mountain. ¡°Ah, Betty Beasley!¡± A voice interrupted. When she snapped out of it, she found herself still photocopying in the same office she had found herself in for the last two years. ¡°Hi - uh, yes Mr Simmonds?¡± Her boss was a plump, bald man that was bursting at the seams. Betty thought he looked stitched together, like a big beige animal-balloon held together by an odd-fitting dress shirt and trousers. ¡°Machine¡¯s out of paper,¡± He said. Betty noticed she was standing in his shadow of sorts, his body blocking out the dull-blue overhead lights of the office printing room. ¡°Be a darl¡¯ and fetch some reams for me from the basement, will ya?¡¯ She caught a waft of coffee-breath as he dropped the keys in her hand, and before long she was off. Trailing down the stairs towards the basement, she walked with the pace of somebody not paid enough. And when she did, she thought about the daydream she had about being suffocated by mundane paperwork. The same paper, all day, in and out, scanning documents for a company she hardly knew much about. Then she thought about this little job Simmond¡¯s had given her. A little sidequest, her mind quipped. It dampened her spirits to think about how something simple like being tasked with something out of character at work brought her such joy. Even though she had worked at the company for some time, she really didn¡¯t understand what they did there. Most of her job entailed printing and copying purchase orders for codes of products she never saw, objects that she could never visualize in her mind¡¯s eye. On the long days it helped time go quicker when she imagined what things people might be buying or what her job really meant in the big world. But she never did figure it out, so she learned to enjoy keeping busy was the best way to keep the clock¡¯s long hand tick-ticking away. The elevators never worked in this building, so she walked the stairs down to the lower levels towards the basement. And it was on those very stairs when she noticed something. It wasn¡¯t a trick of the light, a mirage - Betty¡¯s world really was losing color. Her stomach turned and seemed to bounce with every step. Was she sick? If so, was it her mind, or her body? Her eyes? Before long, she had reached the basement door. What she did know was that no-one had visited this dilapidated part of the building in a long, long time. This can¡¯t have been where the company stored office supplies, she thought. It was too untouched, a place where people no longer visited. All it was missing were the cobwebs. The steel of the basement door was cold to the touch, and the lights that flickered for a moment dissociated her, further bringing her away from assessing her vision. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Hello?¡± Betty called out. The door clicked open and gave way easier than she thought it would. ¡°Anyone down here?¡± There was nothing but a small echo in the dark room. She flicked the lightswitch, and long strobes of lights flickered on, each revealing how far the storage room really went. The walls inside the room were rather nondescript. Stockpiles of files that spilled out haphazard documents were stacked on each wall of the elongated room. Even so, everything was meticulously labelled and numbered. Betty grabbed one of the folders and blew away the coat of dry settlement on top. When she did, dust coated her tongue and throat and caught in the light that shone from overhead. Despite the effort that somebody had clearly put into labelling these files, once pulled out, the paper itself contained nothing. No print, no writing, nada. That¡¯s when something caught her eye. It was only after the final lamp made a mechanical shutter, click and pop and switched on that she saw it for what it was. At the far end of the long room, seemingly a hundred feet away, was a single, blinking computer terminal. Betty made her way towards it as fast as she could in her office heels, never keeping her eyes off the documents flanking her sides in case anything of interest popped out to her. But nothing ever did. Nothing ever popped out to Miss Beasley. Everything until now had begun to feel so¡­ washed out. But something about the computer screen she was then face to face made her feel alive. It was different. It was mysterious, it was something new. Her hands brushed the dust from the keyboard as she stared at the interface. After a while, it whirred on, and a single, green chevron blinked upon its black screen. I don¡¯t know what to type - I don¡¯t know how to use these old things, she thought. I just do the copying. ¨CHELLO WORKER!-- A robotic voice sounded from the corner. She had been too preoccupied with the computer terminal to notice a small television in the corner. It was mounted the way a security TV might be, hunched and in the corner with a staticky screen reminiscent of all old big-back televisions. ¡°Hello?¡± Betty said. She felt unnerved, a sudden feeling of I-shouldn¡¯t-be-here-right-now overcame her. And when she turned her head behind her shoulder, she was reminded how long the hallway was. How far she would need to run out of there. ¨CIS YOUR WORLD FEELING DRAB?-- Upon the screen was a single smiley face that moved to different expressions. The same sort of text-based emotions that Betty may have received from her grandfather testing out texting. ¨CLIKE NOTHING MATTERS? LIKE EVERYTHING IS LOSING COLOR?-- How does this¡­ thing¡­ know about that? It was my mind after all. The marbles had already started rolling, and the track¡¯s out of length. Now they¡¯re falling out, and I¡¯m losing them. A short video began rolling on the archaic TV. The visuals were fuzzy and the sound muffled - it reminded Betty of an old VCR. The smiley face from earlier flew onto screen with the technology of a PowerPoint animation. From it, a large white beam shot across the display to what seemed to be a cartoonish crystal. Once the light hit the prism, it refracted into several different colors of a rainbow before the robot started speaking again, this time over the logo of his company. ¨CPRISM INDUSTRIES: BRINGING COLOR BACK TO YOUR LIFE.-- For a while, Betty sat in silence, always checking behind her shoulder, half expecting her boss to be standing at the doorway with his arms crossed, half expecting to wake up out of a feverish nightmare in her bedsheets. Back on the computer display were a few text boxes she was beckoned to press with Enter and Arrow Keys: *** CLASS: WARRIOR ARCHER MAGE WORLD: 1 - BLUE LEVEL: 0 - TRAIN *** ¨CPLEASE SELECT YOUR STARTING CLASS, WORLD AND LEVEL ON THE TERMINAL, WORKER.-- Her hand reached for a few keys and it hovered there for a moment as she caught her reflection upon the glass. Without a second thought, she turned tail and made way for the exit. She couldn¡¯t possibly mess around with the controls, pressing anything at all might make something in the company go awry. She pictured Mr Simmonds and his bald head shaking with disapproval if she reached her office floor with no paper reams, nothing but dust and spiderwebs in hand. Before long, her time paid for the week would be cut in half once the higher-ups caught wind. She had no time for these sorts of misadventures. Luckily for Betty, the walk to the exit was long. Really long. A far stretch of boring documents that spared her enough time to think. A moment was all she needed to ponder back to the daydream she had earlier with the pile of documents swallowing her. Enveloping her as she did the same copying and printing day in and day out for a company she hardly knew. Betty could hear the lights shutting off behind her every step as she approached the door. The robot was relentless. ¨CPLEASE SELECT YOUR STARTING CLASS, WORLD AND LEVEL ON THE TERMINAL, WORKER.-- Don¡¯t turn around, just go. She thought. ¨CPLEASE SELECT YOUR STARTING¡­.-- She froze for a moment. She never felt a feeling like she had in that moment. That her purpose, until now, was as meaningless as the blank pages filling the documents around her. How many years would I survive in this place? She pondered. Screw it. With one quick motion, Betty turned back around towards the computer end and began sprinting towards it with all she had. Loose pages of files began to fly into the air and float down to the ground in her wake as her running wind shook them from their shelves. She didn¡¯t think to choose a class. She didn¡¯t think about much of anything. Betty only thought of doing something new. A game? A puzzle? What was this? The floor made an audible screech as she brought herself to the computer and smacked ENTER on the keyboard. What¡¯s the worst that could happen? The computer whirred, beeped, and played an 8-bit chime. That¡¯s when the ground began to shake, and everything turned a blinding white. And Betty began falling. Very, very quickly. 2 - Train Betty was falling into emptiness - through a white space, devoid of corners or walls. It was all featureless, save for when she looked upward to see the once large chasm she had fallen into shrink to the size of a pinhole as she fell. At first, there was a rush of wind that billowed her clothes as she spiralled further and further below the earth. However, it had occurred to her that this was the antithesis of the underground. If she really did sink below the floor, why was everything so blindingly bright? Air rushed past her body at hundreds of miles per minute, cooling her skin and whistling at her ears. This seemed to go on for some time, until after a while there was no wind at all. And a little after that, there was no perceivable sound left in the void - not even Betty¡¯s own screams. Then, without warning - a subtle sound began ringing in her ears. First, the volume of a whisper, then a slow hum. Is that a¡­ train? Betty thought to herself. Although her voice was lost to space, she was glad to hear the voice in her head. Before long, she could feel the ground at her feet again, and the vibration and hum of a vehicle. It was a train. When she came to, Betty felt a conflict of emotions, all jumbled up and shaken by the moving carriage she found herself on. Her feelings at that moment were mixed. At one end: fearfulness of the unknown: How long was she falling for - did time even pass during her fall? Where was she, and where was the train headed? But on the other end was something lighter: Reassurance. She was alive, she felt the familiar pull of gravity and oh, how she missed sound - the chugging of the enormous train brought a huge smile to her face. The walls of the carriage rattled and rang as the tracks darted over precarious terrain. It was steampunk of sorts, walls adorned with copper plating and pipes with gems of various colors. Almost every color was there, except for one: Blue. Betty had been so fixated on her new surroundings that she had neglected to stare down and check if she hurt herself from the fall. When she did, she noticed that her familiar office outfit, the same one she used to have multiple sets of in case of a coffee spill before work, had gone away. In its place was a slightly heavier outfit stitched together by tanned leather hides of a creature¡¯s skin she could not recognize. Every few inches of fabric had an oval-shaped disk embedded within that looked like murky seawater. When she rustled around, the warm streaks of sunlight that came through the shutters of the train carriage caught on the ovals and reflected brilliant iridescent streaks across the ceiling. And again, all colors were there, except blue. She could feel her face wrinkle up, confused. So there¡¯s a ceiling. She looked up, in disbelief of how she could have possibly fallen into the carriage. And there was something else peculiar: Once she had gotten herself up from the dusty wooden boards of the floor of the cabin, she noticed she had been holding something. It felt like it was accustomed to her grip, and that she has used it a handful of times, but still thought that it might blister her palm if she held it for too long. Within her hold was a long wooden sword, with a blade as sharp as it could have been for its makeup. The weapon looked formidable to little Beth, the copy-and-print corporate worker, but she thought it could be easily thought of as a joke to any foe she found herself up against in this realm. Upon inspection, its miniature splinters in between the oak splits made it look like the true caricature of a weapon it really was. The sword made her mind hark back to the odd terminal she had pressed before her descent. Betty knew that she left everything on default when she smacked Enter, so as a class she must have picked the class of¨C ¡°A warrior?¡± A voice announced from the doorway. It was hoarse and raspy like a snake trying to speak. ¡°I can¡¯t believe this.¡± It was hard to see his face. The door he had opened let light flood into Betty¡¯s carriage. She held up her sword defensively, taking a few swings before the man grabbed her wrist and stopped her. ¡°It¡¯s okay, I¡¯m from Prism too.¡± He said. ¡°I¡¯m an accountant, uh¡­ was, an accountant there.¡± The man let his grip loosen, and Betty¡¯s arm fell free. She holstered the excuse for a sword. Up close, the man¡¯s features were quite distinguishable, but Betty had never seen him working at the company. He had high cheekbones and a thin jaw, darted with a five o¡¯clock shadow. ¡°My name¡¯s Myron,¡± He said. ¡°What¡¯s yours?¡± ¡°My name¡¯s er,¡± Betty scrambled to think, scatterbrained. She writhed around deep in the folds of her mind but no matter what, she could never loosen that name. ¡°I, I don¡¯t know.¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. And she wasn¡¯t lying, either. Ever since her fall through the void and into the train, she couldn¡¯t remember her own name. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Myron insisted. ¡°I didn¡¯t remember mine either when I, you know - fell.¡± ¡°So, is Myron your real name?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯ve been here for two years. And it¡¯s the best I could come up with. Nothing like you would hear back home, is it? Well - should I change it? You¡¯re the only one that¡¯s going to be using it.¡± The man was well built and quite handsome. And with the confidence that he had grabbed her wrist earlier, Betty expected him to be better equipped when speaking to a stranger rather than seeking approval off the bat. ¡°I think that¡¯s a fine name, Myron,¡± She said. The train shook for a while over a swervy track and the two steadied their footing. ¡°You¡¯ve said you¡¯ve been here two years, where exactly is¡­ here?¡± ¡°Well, by here, I mean right here. This train. Specifically,¡± They both walked from the cabin Betty had awoken in to the next in line. ¡°My dilapidated little carriage. I¡¯ve been living in this place for two years. I can¡¯t leave.¡± There was silence for a while as Betty put two and two together. On the far wall of the carriage was a metal gate, lined with mechanical contraptions of bronze or copper gears. The width of the carriage was some four arms-width wide, and upon each corner of the carriage were two circular panels, one that flashed green and one that was a solid red. Two buttons, but only one person was here. An impossible feat. ¡°Two damn years,¡± Myron started. ¡°Two damn years I¡¯ve been in this carriage. As far as I¡¯ve been concerned, it¡¯s no carriage - it¡¯s a coffin! Sleeping my nights away on the cold benches here. Wasting my days away opening and closing the door to the back carriage, hoping I¡¯d see another adventurer pop in so I could leave.¡± ¡°Some would argue this place is a purgatory, I mean, my hair never grows, I don¡¯t get hungry, I don¡¯t feel aged. And for two years I have been waiting for someone to help me open this damn gate. It needs two people, one on each switch. I¡¯ve tried everything - stretching, throwing my bow at it, shooting it, nothing will budge the stupid thing.¡± He caught me looking out of one of the shutters. ¡°And what of the world? What have you seen from your carriage window?¡± ¡°The same rolling hills, cliffs, waterfalls. This train is seemingly on a circular track, round and round and serving only as a training area for new adventurers.¡± We both looked up at the blinking light, then the red one. ¡°You have no idea how desperate I am to see what¡¯s on the other side. I¡¯ve only had a glimpse.¡± ¡°How did you get a look? The door¡¯s looks bolted shut.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Myron started. ¡°I¡¯ve seen two other people here before you showed up.¡± ¡°So, then you should have been able to leave, right?¡± Betty asked. Myron sucked his teeth before shaking his head. ¡°Huh. Not exactly. You see, they weren¡¯t really dressed like you or I, they looked more experienced. Maybe even rich. A man and a woman - they were wearing light clothes and had lush white hair. They wouldn¡¯t even look my way twice.¡± He seemed to ball up his fist as he spoke. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t even look at me when I pleaded with them as a prisoner. But, in retrospect, I understand it now. This tutorial gate can only ever let two people through at once. Meaning, if I went with one of them, the other would have to remain. And they simply couldn¡¯t have had that. Now let''s open that door already Miss¡­ uh-¡± ¡°Lets,¡± Betty quickly cut him off. ¡°Hold off on my name for now. Don¡¯t want to end up picking a name like Myron.¡± He sighed. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s it, screw you. I knew you didn¡¯t like the name.¡± ¡°Easy to remember though.¡± ¡°I guess. Get the door.¡± Betty put down her sword against one side of the train carriage. Together, the pair lent in and put a palm each over the touch-panels to the door. A green liquid began drip-feeding out of the spinning turbines on each side of the door. It filled up the glass and copper pipes and was sucked towards the centre of the door, the same way paperwork used to soak up markers in Betty¡¯s previous life. One by one, the bronze locks began to pop and unlock in succession once the liquid engulfed the middle device. ¡°Say Myron, are we in some sort of game?¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t believe so.¡± ¡°Then some alternate reality.¡± ¡°No. At least that¡¯s not what I¡¯ve been told. See, those people that came through here before, they mentioned something to me. They told me that this was our true reality, and the one you and I are from, the one with the printing and copying and accounting - that¡¯s the dystopia. That this, this world,¡± We both looked at the door still twisting and opening, then to the hills rolling outside the train through the shutters. ¡°This world is where we¡¯re really from. That our lives started here, not the other side.¡± ¡°And do you believe them?¡± Betty asked. ¡°Have no choice. Until now, that conversation, well - that was all I had. Get ready. You won¡¯t like what¡¯s coming.¡± Betty had her sword close her chest. Myron had his bow drawn so tightly, he could nearly snap the string. The gate groaned as it creaked open. The smell of sulphur and death emanated from underneath. Betty followed Myron¡¯s lead when he pulled up a cloth mask from around his neck and covered his nose. ¨CWELCOME TO PRISM INDUSTRIES. LEVEL ZERO COMMENCING¡­.-- Inside, amongst the darkness and haze, they managed to spot eight creatures. All were shifting around and coiling on the floor in puddles of moss colored muck. Suddenly, one came right for the pair standing at the doorway. It dodged an arrow, ducked under the swing from Betty¡¯s sword, but before she could blink, it had begun swallowing Myron whole. 3 - Venture There was a rhythmic clatter of the train¡¯s wheels against the tracks as Betty watched the commotion, frozen in fear. Myron was writhing around with the creature on the floor as Betty, the woman who forgot her name, busily hurried around for her sword. The wooden toy for a weapon had fallen onto the floor once the carriage began snaking around reckless terrain. The thing that climbed on top of Myron looked very much like a person, though it looked as if someone had painted a human from memory. The parts were all there, but something was missing. It had skin the color of bone, which turned to slime once it wrapped around Myron¡¯s limbs, his throat. The shape of the creature seemed to mold and change, wisps of skin flaring up in the windy carriage and moved like the smoke and flame of a candlelight. Betty finally appeared in front of Myron when he needed her most, her wooden sword held awkwardly in both hands. She was trembling, clearly out of her element, but her eyes were wide with desperation. Without hesitation, she swung the sword at the monster choking Myron¡¯s neck. The blow struck with an unsatisfying thwack, but the force of the hit seemed to send a ripple through the creature''s amorphous form. It recoiled, momentarily distracted, and Betty didn¡¯t hesitate to strike again, her sword making contact with the creature¡¯s gelatinous surface now exposed from its human disguise that peeled away like paper. To Myron''s surprise, the blow forced it to break apart into a mess of dripping ooze. Just when the man thought he had freed the bow that was pinned underneath him, another slime had reached where he was, wrapping its tendrils around his arms that were already wet with green blotches. Betty went for the second slime, this time with a lunge of the sword. ¡°Stay down!¡± Betty shouted, her voice shaky but resolute. It penetrated through the creature with initial resistance that felt to the woman like stabbing through sun-damaged leather, which must have been its rubbery skin. Once deep enough, the blade gave easily into its interior of gooey makeup. When she retracted her weapon out of its shoulder, it quaked for a while. Waves of agony seemed to dance through the creature, before a distinct pop was heard throughout the train. All of its skin-facade seemed to shed away in bits like a popped water balloon, leaves of flesh breaking away as readily as fallen leaves from a tree in Autumn, remaining only as a cascade of a green waterfall, which, unfortunately, had just poured out all over Myron¡¯s body. ¡°If there¡¯s a tanner in this place, you¡¯re buying me a new one.¡± Said Myron. ¡°Saving your life wasn¡¯t enough?!¡± Betty shot back. Without warning, a wet slap shoved her down with force. Betty went tumbling straight into the wooden floorboards of the carriage, and as she fell the tip of her sword became wedged. Above her, one of the slimy masses lurched, a translucent-green lake of mucus pooling at its feet that stung the air with the smell of rotten mulch and sulphur. Pulling and jostling the wooden blade would not set it free. From the corner of Betty¡¯s eye, he saw Myron shoot up with a spring in his step, chunks of mossy-colored lumps rolling away from him as he rose to his feet. He had waited for this moment for years, and it had finally come: The chance to put his bow to use. He wriggled his fingers free of gunk and pulled a stone-tipped arrow from his back in quick succession. But the pair saw something rather unexpected. Moving with a mind of its own, the jelly on his skin started to amalgamate and lurch towards the spaces between his fingers with a worm-like crawl. Did these even creatures have a brain? How did they move after being sliced to bits? The two of them stared in horror as the cut chunks of goo operated autonomously. All the while the pale man standing at Betty¡¯s feet inched closer and closer, its maw agape as a tunnel of hungry, toothless sludge. When Betty snapped her head towards her partner, he had already fired an arrow. Her eyes widened watching the projectile soar through the air of the carriage before shooting through the arm of the mass next to her. It gurgled and coughed a splash of sputum and painting across the rustic wall of the train, making it look like how a forest would appear when viewed from the top down. Myron was in his element, and she was impressed. Betty sensed that he had felt the same uncoordination, but beneath that, a glimmer of experience of using his weapon before that simply couldn¡¯t be explained. One, two, three, four, five. Betty listened and heard each and every loading of Myron¡¯s bow before a shot was fired. First, they sounded like a wet splash of a puddle, followed by a distinct clink of the arrow passing through and bouncing off the metal carriage. Lastly, there was a pop before the sound of flooding water as the creatures erupted under the stress of the holes in their makeup. There was no more shifting of feet or bubbling of green appendages. In the new carriage, the pair found themselves alone with the mess, trying to catch their breath. From one of the stains in the floorboards where a monster once stood, Myron salvaged around a pulled out a golden ring the slime must have dropped on the floor once it evaporated. Betty gave him a weird look. ¡°What? I mean it might do something.¡± It was then when Myron noticed the woman was holding her weapon and must have wriggled it free during the scuffle. Betty held it far away from her face, as one would holding something with a putrid odour. ¡°It all feels so unnatural to me. Using this, I mean.¡± ¡°Me too.¡± Myron nodded. ¡°But we¡¯ll get used to it.¡± ¡°No, don¡¯t get me wrong. It¡¯s not using it that¡¯s an issue-¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I saw back there. Seemed like a bit of a problem.¡± ¡°Hey? What are you trying to say? I can use this thing, alright, I saved your ass the first swing.¡± Betty said. ¡°But I would be better off with something else, you know? Something less¡­ confrontational.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯m sorry. Thanks for that. How about we find you a staff?¡± Myron asked. ¡°That would be perfect. You think I can find one of those?¡± ¡°I guess we¡¯ll find out shortly.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. At the far end of the room, past the piles of pretend-human clothes piled in jelly, was another gate guarding path to the next carriage. Myron stood on the tips of his boots and reached for a brass level next to the door. It groaned as he pushed down, before clicking into place. As it did, the roller door began hoisting itself up, revealing the room beyond. Inside, nothing was like the mess the two had left in their wake in the previous carriages. There were no harsh, stained floorboards or rusty walls - this was a place of beauty and opulence. Silver chandeliers draped from the ceiling, their dainty crystal lights shining a soft, warm glow inside of the carriage. Where the walls had once been shoddy metal, they had been replaced by dark oakwood, beautifully smoothed and carved with patterns and a language neither could understand. Every detail, from the maroon carpet below their feet or the golden decorations adorning the walls, spoke of inviting comfort. A reprieve. Most curiously, standing in the center of the car and behind a polished copper counter, was a peculiar figure. The conductor - or rather, the salesman, was a creation of brass and copper. Looking over at the pair was a steampunk creation composed of clinking gears underneath a metallic and glass body. HIs head was a short block pillar forged from ingots that sat upon oddly shaped but flattened panels of various brown and orange metals When he noticed that the carriage had been unlocked for the first time in what must have been many years, he seemingly came alive. His electronic eyes the color of frost began blinking and flashing, his straw-like limbs frantically sorting through his various wares upon the bar top. Below his engraved neck was a single golden placard that read: CURATOR OF COMBAT. ¡°Oh, oh! Welcome adventurers!¡± He sputtered. Betty immediately recognized his robotic voice, the same one that had dubbed over the induction VCR in the basement of her old workplace. Betty and Myron approached the bar with utmost curiosity. Betty reached out one finger to inspect the robot but quickly retracted it after catching wind of Myron¡¯s disapproving shake of the head. ¡°I am the shopkeeper!¡± It said. ¡°Please present your coin bags.¡± The two briefly exchanged a confused glance before noticing the two, conveniently and neatly placed cloth bags at the bar. They swiftly picked them up and awaited instruction. Before they could say anything back to the mech, golden coins began to spill out towards them. From a slot hidden in the palm of the robot, they rolled across the counter and the pair caught them in their baggies. ¡°Each a token for slaying the creatures in the last room. Six for the archer, and two for the warrior.¡± The shopkeeper said, his eyes flickering with each word iterated through his speaker. ¡°You have done well travellers! Now, the question is: How well shall you spend your bounty? Perhaps, to your left warrior, a pretty new stone sword? Or, for the both of you, a concoction of Devil¡¯s Rye? Though, I cannot say if it will bring nightmares or dreams.¡± The robot¡¯s limbs clicked as he gestured to the various items displayed on the counter. The selection was staggering, each item more intriguing than the last. There were vials of shimmering liquids, each with a different hue, some glowing faintly and others bubbling over the lips of their vials. Potions and elixirs of all kinds filled glass bottles on shelves that stretched high above them. On one side of the counter, small mechanical gadgets ticked away¡ªgears, springs, and even strange contraptions that seemed to pulse with barely-contained magic. The opposite side, various weapons, a birch bow, a stone sword, and a couple trinkets. ¡°Er, sir - uh - robot, shopkeeper,¡± Betty started. ¡°Why should we purchase any of these?¡± The shopkeeper tilted his head, and the pair watched in silence as they saw gears turning through the glass of his mind. As if he were thinking. ¡°You, my travellers, are at the last stage of your onboarding! What is through that door, I do not know, I cannot prepare you for it, but you will need my wares to have a good shot and finish your training.¡± ¡°Say, if we were successful, what comes after that?¡± Myron asked. ¡°The train stops, and the door opens. Then you¡¯re on your own.¡± Betty felt something flutter in her stomach, or chest, she wasn¡¯t sure. It was a sensation of both excitement and fear. As daunting as this experience was, she had enjoyed the guardrails up until now. Get to the next carriage. Easy enough. But freedom? One potion caught Myron¡¯s eye¡ªa liquid that sparkled like liquid glow worms, suspended in a crystal bottle. A small brass tag labeled it: ¡°Moonlight Concoct: Temporarily grants the user the vision of an owl. Perfect for hidden enemies.¡± The archer could imagine how useful that would be in an upcoming battle, if there even was one. He turned to Betty, who had eyes flicking to the second item he had seen¡ªa small pouch of glitter dust, labeled: ¡°Silver Mist: Create a disorienting cloud of smoke to confuse enemies for a brief moment.¡± Betty looked at it, her eyes lighting up with curiosity. She could definitely use something like that to her advantage. ¡°Be mindful, though¡ªyour coins are precious. They can only buy you so much.¡± The robot chimed in. ¡°Choose wisely, for you don¡¯t know what is in store for you. May I suggest an array of wares? A broad range of equipment may prove invaluable.¡± Betty hesitated, glancing at the items on display. She could feel the weight of the coins in her bag, but she wasn¡¯t entirely sure how to prioritize. Myron¡¯s instincts told him to go for something that would help them see or react faster, but the weapons on the other side were equally enticing. After all, she didn¡¯t feel quite at home using the sword. ¡°Myron,¡± she said softly, ¡°I¡¯m not sure what we should get... What do you think?¡± Her voice trembled slightly, the weight of their journey ahead pressing down on her. Myron studied the selection. His gaze shifted from the Moonlight Concoct to the Silver Mist, and then to a set of finely crafted arrows, each one tipped with gleaming crystal. They were expensive, but the idea of having a reliable backup against whatever was lurking in the next carriage was too tempting to ignore. Especially if it meant if his arrows could cut deeper. ¡°Do you have anything else available?¡± Myron asked. "Anything not on the counter, maybe something to heal us if we get injured?¡± That¡¯s a good decision, Betty thought. A bit of brains with his brawn. The robot whirred and clunked, before speaking: ¡°I have just the one thing.¡± He began reaching under the counter for something. ¡°You two are neither a mage. So during sorting, I thought not to put it out. My apologies, masters.¡± With two hands, the robot hoisted a large two-handed staff that was under the bar. Myron could almost feel the electricity coming from the woman beside him when she sat her eyes upon the weapon. It was a beautifully crafted piece. The base was constructed with smoothed wood from a tree Betty couldn¡¯t name, with small protrusions where hardened roots served as the grip. At the pinnacle was a long oval-shaped gem that occasionally sparkled with miniature flashes, as if it contained a storm for fairies. Almost to squash her elation, the shopkeeper hurriedly scrawled the price on a piece of folded paper and plopped it adjacent. ¡°The staff will be eight coins.¡± Betty deflated. ¡°That¡¯s too much for us. Thank y-¡± ¡°We¡¯ll take it.¡± Myron interrupted. Betty looked at him with eyes that glossed him over. ¡°We can¡¯t, that¡¯s all our coins! We need to invest in supplies, Myron.¡± ¡°I¡¯m investing in you.¡± Myron nodded. ¡°Told ya¡¯ we¡¯d get you a staff.¡± For the first time since waking up on this train, Betty smiled. ¡°Very well,¡± the Curator said, his gears clicking as he carefully placed a metal pipe, or vacuum, upon the bar. ¡°Bags open, please.¡± The two complied, and soon the sound of swishing violently cut the silence as they watched their coins being pulled straight out of their bags and into the robot¡¯s suction device. ¡°The staff for you madam.¡± He handed her the weapon. It felt like a hot potato in her hands, she didn¡¯t want to drop it. ¡°Remember, you¡¯ll need more than a shiny new weapon for what¡¯s ahead. A strong heart and teamwork are just as important.¡± A speaker chimed from the chest of the mech: ¨CWARRIOR HAS SUCCESSFULLY CHANGED CLASSES TO MAGE¡­.-- So, it¡¯s official now. She thought. I just need to figure out my name. The two still had no idea what kind of challenge awaited them in the next carriage, but now they had a glimmer of hope. The Curator¡¯s voice echoed in the back of their minds as they stepped toward the door of the next car: ¡°The next challenge awaits, brave travellers. Will you survive it? Only time will tell.¡± The train rumbled forward, and when the door finally opened, they both immediately regretted not buying the array of supplies.