Rod Beasley was once a university student in one of the capital cities of the world. Do not think that he was on track to a great, successful life, however, whereby he would earn a great deal of money and status. No, far from it. He had thought that once, though, and had even hoped for it, but that was when he was much younger and naïve about the world; at that time had all these expectations about human relationships and the like. But now? Now he cared for nothing except revenge, for he was, in his own mind at least, a bitter, bitter reject.
That’s why he was there in his own bed, backtracked over a decade hence, and why he had chosen to relive his secondary school days all over again. Initially, he had hoped to go back and make friends, and become popular, and get a girlfriend and all that jazz… But now? Now he just wanted to bring death and destruction to it all.
His best friend, the billionaire tech mogul, had built a medical neurosurgical device, calling it ‘the first of its kind’. Yeah, well, big whoop. That’s what Rod thought about it. Rod always thought negatively about things. No doubt got it from his stepfather. Big whoop, he told himself as he narrated to himself, bored out of his mind. It was one of his self-destructive habits – narrating to himself all the worst things about the world over and over again. Why does he do it to himself, then? He never asked himself that question. Aleku’s success had always irritated him. It was a major reason he agreed to the experiment – to one up him.
Aleku, though, hadn’t warned him that there would be levels in this simulation of his past. There were many things that terrible, egotistical man had neglected to tell him before he agreed to enter the System. Like, for example, that this simulated world was not in fact a hundred-percent replication of his childhood, but instead a manifestation of his psychological state; that he would be fighting demonic entities as a secret-undercover superpowered magical girl samurai, all the while trying to rise the social strata of highschool and dealing with all that comes with being a bullied teenager, knowing too well that the losers don’t end up at the top.
Rod groaned bitterly, turning his head to stifle out the noise coming through the door. He hugged his pillow tightly, squeezing it like a teddy bear as he tried to embrace sleep. But his mind kept ticking.
Another was that he wanted to save his relationship or rather resurrect it from the ashes. That woman had left him because of his behaviour. Well, he hoped by doing this he could somehow prove to her that he was serious about changing. Although deep down he knew that it was a crock of -
Rod suddenly sat up from his top bunk – the bottom bunk having been removed for storage space after his little brother moved out – and scowled like a gremlin at the door, half-asleep still, ditzy and confused, his head weakly balancing like a plate on his stick-like neck.
“Hell,” he heard his stepfather call out, “I pay all the damn bills…”
“Not again,” muttered Rod angrily, his heart pounding. He sighed, “I don’t miss their fights.” The young boy found himself agitated and resentful, and struggling to keep it together. “You’re not a little kid anymore,” he said to himself. “Just reason with them; their adults, after all.”
[You have run out of Magical Points. UNABLE TO USE {ADULT} SKILLS. Regressing...]
“What the hell was that?” he frowned. The black text had flashed so briefly in the bottom of his vision that he thought nothing of it. He wiped his eyes to get the dust out from them, remembering his ex-girlfriend, the woman he still loved wholeheartedly. “Wait ‘till she hears what I’ve done for her,” he thought excitedly, “she’ll no doubt marry me – and I’ll be a very happy man!”
And yet, as he dropped from his top bunk and began dressing, he felt shaken up and angry all of a sudden. He did not know where these feelings were coming from, though, and this made him feel even more terrified.
Shaking it off, Rod inspected his new, or rather, old body, or more accurately, his young, prepubescent body. He felt lighter than usual. His legs were much smaller than he was used to, and so were his arms and hands. What shocked him the most was how hairless his arms were, and how quickly and effortlessly he could flail them about. He jumped up and down giddily.
He was engaged in deep ruminations such as these when their combined voices elevated an octave. It deeply disturbed him, and he grew afraid.
“What is it with them?” he thought hard, his head pounding murderously. The room became sweltering.
[You are unable to cope with the stress levels currently detected in the environment. Regressing...]
“Knock it off!” he roared through the door, his voice strained, his fingers tensed into claws. Again, he dismissed the text as a remnant of some forgotten dream and thought the voice in his head was caused by his parents. But they obviously did not hear him, for they continued ranting at each other like maniacs.
“This is absurd: why am I reacting like this? Yes, I am in my eleven-year-old body, but I have the mind of a grown man! Then why am I acting like a child?” Rod thought with annoyance. “Enough of this!” he snapped.
[Warning: Due to lack of Magical Points, you will be unable to act outside of the normal range of your current age-dependent level. Acute stress will occur. Gain Magical Points before proceeding is advised.]
“Fuck off,” he muttered, half-asleep, rubbing his tired eyes with his little forearm. He still as of yet did not know that the voice was coming from within his head.
He went into the kitchen, where his parents stood arguing with each other like two big dogs and stood like a shivering twig in the doorway; he instinctively hid half his body behind the wooden door frame in fear.
“Stop arguing!” he cried in despair, his voice wobbling and cracking like smashed glass.
Rod recognised his stepfather’s hateful glare. He was a skinny, bald man, always dressed in his navy work uniform, with hallow cheeks and hallow eyes. He was rigid like a thick bark, standing with clenched fists at his side; his lips were pursed into a line.
“Don’t get involved,” he warned curtly.
[Damage sustained: Debuff {ACUTE STRESS} and {FEAR} applied. Because you lack sufficient Magical Points to use {ADULT} skill, you will be forced to use age-dependent lower-level coping strategies. In this case, the passive (REGRESSED) skill will be applied to prevent further degeneration of neuro-psychological hardware: {SELF-LOATHING}. Consequently, the additional debuffs have been applied as a result of this skill: {LOW SELF-ESTEEM and SELF-WORTH}. Gain Magical Points is advised].
[If you do not want to use REGRESSED skills, you must gain Magical Points to purchase ADULT skills. Additionally, you must have Magical Points to be able to use ADULT skills. While the use of REGRESSED skills do not require Magical Points, they necessitate debuffs which may prevent the easy acquisition of Magical Points].
[If Stress Levels reach maximum levels, physiological as well as psychological damage may be sustained. Protective measures are in place. Regressing to age-dependent coping strategies...]
[Additional Information: Regressing involves the over-reliance on Cognitive Distortions to process reality and maintain baseline physiological and psychological security levels. Generating further information...]
A horrible chill ran down the young boy’s spine, and he sunk back into his bedroom, accompanied by a feeling of dread and worthlessness. “I am weak, quite weak,” he cried as he fell into his chair. “How can I get her back if I am so powerless to even stand up to my stepfather?” He looked rugged even as a hairless little boy because his face made him age countless years. His body was shaking with bottled rage. He wanted to attack his stepfather, and he felt utterly ashamed of these feelings. His own lips, therefore, were pressed into a thin line as he stared at his own pale, trembling hands. He wanted to cry. “What’s happening to me?”
“Don’t touch me!” screeched his mother.
“Don’t give me shit, then!” cried his stepfather.
[Environment Scan triggered. Please Wait. Scanning...]
[Scanning completed. Environment found to be Toxic. Stress levels rising... Protective measures applied. Regressing...]
“Won’t you both… die?” cursed Rod with irritation. Hateful images flashed in his mind like a cinema reel; images of violence, of destruction, of blood...
[Reevaluating human (Rod Beasley) for change in Alignment. [Chaotic Good] Alignment found. Not enough information for class generation yet. You act with your conscience, going where it takes you. You make your own way and do not listen to authorities. But deep down you are benevolent and kind, even though you do not think that you are. It is impossible for you to be evil unless you try really hard, and even then, it isn’t a sustainable lifestyle for you.]
Suddenly he was frightened by what was pouring out of his heart. He tried to distract himself with his computer, even turning up the speaker so that it blasted heavy metal to ear-bursting decibels. It seemed, however, that no matter how much he turned up the volume, the noise could not be drowned out. Rod got up, and stormed into the kitchen once again, meaner this time, but equally as terrified once he was noticed by his stepfather. “Must you shout so much?” he demanded. Again, he was half-hidden behind the wooden door frame like a spidery branch.
His mother turned to him and shushed; she was sweaty and trembly and stomped her feet like a petulant child. The yellow pot behind her continued to boil behind her. “Don’t tell me how to cook rice.”
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“It seems that I ‘ave to,” he laughed nastily.
She did not want him to get involved. “Go back to your room, sweetie,” she said, her voice raised in that warm motherly tone.
“I can’t concentrate with you shouting at each other,” he protested, flailing his hands emphatically.
“It’s your mother’s fault,” said the old man. “Tell her to stop getting on my damn nerves.”
“You don’t need to shout at her,” cried Rod.
“Go back to your room!” snapped his stepfather.
“Listen to your father,” said his mother gently.
“Please stop arguing,” Rod asked again.
“This is just how adults talk, darling.”
“It’s how your mother talks.”
The two adults became silent for a few minutes. Rod breathed a sigh of relief as he waited for his heart to catch up with the good news.
“Stupid old man,” muttered his mother. She smiled at her son.
“Oh, there you go again!”
“Well, why don’t you just go ahead and divorce me, eh, Patrick? Go ahead, I dare you. Go ahead and be a lonely old man like your father!” she croaked.
“Mum!”
“I wish I never married you,” said his stepfather.
“Please stop,” Rod pleaded to his mother pathetically.
“Okay, hunny,” she replied softly, her face melting at the sight of her little boy; but then it hardened quickly as her husband began to speak again.
“You coddle that boy.”
“You’re just jealous because your own mother didn’t give a damn about you.”
“You’re a nasty woman,” he spat, clenching his fists. “I’ve had enough of you!” He pushed past the little boy.
Rod’s mother hastened after him, cursing his name, trying to get back at him for all his criticisms and acutely choosing all the words which she knew would damage the old man’s fragile self-esteem. She called him names which went over Rod’s head even though it was as developed as it should be at his age.
“You know,” Rod managed to reflect despite the tumultuous emotions surging inside of him, “I still don’t know what I can do in this situation.” He looked at the front door behind him, seeing that it was light out. “I could go out, but I have no friends to spend it with. Wait, isn’t that what I ended up doing the first-time round? I still ended up a hot mess.”
[Warning: Stress levels are reaching maximum levels. Please consider the use of skills to reduce stress levels. Cognitive Distortions strengthening...]
Rod knew, however, that he had to escape this situation somehow, either by changing it or running away…permanently; the problem was, Rod reasoned, his life was too comfortable to try anything drastic, and yet too insidiously damaging to let it carry on. If he was going to save his relationship by becoming a man who can handle one, he had to change his upbringing. More specifically, he had to figure out how to stop his parents from arguing and being nasty to one another because in the present time he ended up like his stepfather; even worse, he ended up like both of them. He gripped his chest and squeezed tightly, trying to quelch his heartbreak.
[Unable to use {ADULT} skills. Regressing... {Catastrophising} debuff applied.]
“What an idiot! Why can’t you think of something? Maybe the damage has already been done? Why couldn’t it? This has been going on for many years now. Oh, damn it!” he seized his hair in a panic, his heart racing as images of his ex-lover flashed before his eyes. “No, you can’t act the same way as before. You know this very well, too. If you don’t change then it will all be for nothing. Come on, don’t listen to these voices telling you that it’s impossible to change. What did Aleku tell you? ‘Just do it!’ But what does he know? He hasn’t been in my shoes. Oh, the fucking excuses!”
He trailed after them down the corridor and into the living room and marvelled at the furniture: the couches were green as opposed to velvety red as he had been accustomed; he had forgotten that his mother had replaced them when he was eighteen.
“Why are you following me,” asked the old man as he sank into the couch and logged into his laptop. “I’m trying to get away from you.”
“I live in the same house. Or have you forgotten that?”
“Mum, why do you have to keep arguing?” groaned Rod.
“It’s your stupid father’s fault,” she said. She referred to him as his father even though he wasn’t in both blood and in spirit.
Rod went to get in between the pair before they erupted again into an argument, but he struck his toe on the jutted-out leg of the coffee table. “Fuck,” he said, “why the fuck is this here?”
“Hey, don’t swear!” his stepfather shouted at him, his eyes narrowed and dark.
“You know better!” hissed his mother in support. “Go back to your room.”
“Not until you two stop arguing.”
“We’ve stopped arguing,” said his mother. Then she turned up her nose and looked suspiciously at him, and added, “Why don’t you mind your own business.”
“What?” said Rod exasperatedly. “But this is my business.” He was confused as to how this was not apparent. Then after a moment, he blurted with desperation, “if you don’t quit arguing I’ll call CPS.” As soon as he said this, however, he gulped down regret.
“What! Who? Are you mad? Crazy. You are a fool. Why would you do such a thing?” shrieked his mother with a contorted face. “You would be ruining your life if you did such a thing… but go ahead; do it and see where they take you. They’ll take all your things and you’ll be sent to live in a much worser place than this – with no nice things. No, no, no: no nice things.” And she turned to her husband and croaked, “Do you hear this? Where’s he getting all this from? Eh, it’s from his computer, that’s it.”
Although Rod knew better than to believe her lies, he still felt a maddening fear that there was some truth hidden in all that dung. But the woman threatened to take away his computer, his only access to the outside world, his only social outlet, his source of information. “Damn it, even though that thing has contributed much to my twisted personality, without it I’ll be a goner. No doubt I’ll be giving up my computer if I go along with my threat.” He grew instantly pale and shivered, though it was not cold. “Don’t let them get to you! Don’t let them ruin you a second time!” he repeated to himself irritably, “No, I... I am dung; no, I am not! To hell with them...”
His mother was looking at him with side-eyes, waiting to see what he would do next. Both she and her husband sat quietly. Rod stood up and their chins lifted in unison.
“What are you doing?” she croaked, her forehead glistening with sweat.
“Why can’t I do it, eh?” he said to himself, shaking like a tree with his arms at his side.
“Sit down,” called out his stepfather, not bothering to take his eyes from his laptop screen. He sat reclined and murmured to himself.
“You think you can order me around, eh?” thought Rod. He was ruled by fear. The living room felt like an oven on full blast. “Do you not see that I am angry, that you are making me shudder?”
“Your fault,” said his mother bitterly, slouching back on the chair.
“My fault? For heaven’s sake woman, what did I do now?”
[Stress levels have reached maximum levels. Unable to cope... {Emotional Dysregulation} debuff applied.]
“That’s it,” Rod cried out, distressed by the constant audible interruptions coming from seemingly nowhere. He reached for the landline in haste.
“Come on Patrick, help me with the bloody computer,” she said, bolting for the door.
“What are you doing?” Rod asked, alarmed.
“What does it look like? You aren’t going to be needing the computer anymore.”
The little boy struggled to stay his ground. Inside, he was shaking with rage and could hardly breathe. It felt like his body was splitting apart, both his adult brain and prepubescent body fighting each other as though the other was a ravenous viral agent. He did not know what to do and so racked his brain for an answer. However, even that was at war with itself for some unknown, irrational reason. All this nonsense about levels and skills had made him doubt that he was even sane to begin with.
“No,” cried Rod, rushing to his bedroom. “Get out of my room!”
After several more cries and laments, Rod finally got her out of his room, his sanctuary, his safe place; the only safe place he had left. He withdrew from the world with a heavy heart as he sat down at his computer desk.
"He gets it from you,” she cried.
“Don’t blame me,” retorted his stepfather.
Rod leaned against his door, facing his bed, a flat and dull expression plastered on his face. His thoughts were chaotic and dark. A frustrated tear rolled down his soft, olive cheek. It was going to be a long, dark fifteen years of this, he thought hopelessly. Sighing, he lowered his head and sank to the floor, his knees tight to his chest. “My life is over...”
[Class generation complete. Based on your performance and present attributes, you have been awarded four choices of magical girl character classes. Select carefully, because this decision will affect your gameplay moving forward and how you deal with demonic entities. Not all demons are created equal]
“What’s going on?” he frowned, lifting his head and scanning his room. “Oh, my head.” he scratched his itchy scalp. “Where is that voice coming from? No, I refuse to believe that I am losing it. I am not crazy,” he repeated to himself. “I want to change...I really do want to change. But it’s so fucking hard. It’s just so... If I don’t change, I won’t get her, will I?”
[Class -
The car on his parent’s driveway suddenly honked, filling his bedroom with its blaring, eardrum-splitting noise, and interrupting the wall of incomprehensible text that was about to appear in his peripheral vision. “Come on,” screeched his mother hilariously, involving the whole street in their drama, “we’re going to be late!”
“Wait, it’s school today? Oh, come on man,” he groaned, plopping his head into his hands. Then he shot his head up, his eyes wide with hope, and smiled, “Oh, it’s school today! That means that I don’t have to be here.” He bounced up and ran out of the door. “Just keep your head,” he told himself, “Just don’t get any more of these, ‘debuffs’.”
“Where’s your bag?” his mother cried. “Geez, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to you!”
[Debuff applied: {Overgeneralisation}. 2nd Debuff applied: {Emotional Dysregulation}]
“That fucking saying,” lamented Rod quietly as he skulked back into the house to grab his backpack. He felt hot with anger. She had been saying demeaning things like that all his life, and he believed that it had affected him to the point where he came to believe that he was incapable of actually remembering his belongings by himself. “Another way to keep me dependent on you,” he said bitterly out of earshot. He wasn’t worried about saying it to her face, but he just did not have the energy to converse with her any longer, especially after what had happened inside the house. “And she wonders why I’m not nice to her.”
As he was slinging on his backpack, the voice began to ring between his ears again, and the floating black text emerged from the bottom of his vision like pesky eye floaters. “Stop it,” he muttered exhaustedly.
[Class -]
“Fuck off,” Rod said.
“Hey!” screamed his stepdad from the living room. The wall separating them was paper thin. Rod rolled his eyes and mouthed it again rebelliously. He left quickly before the voice invaded his thoughts again. Rod slammed the door to his mother’s 2002 silver Nissan Micra.
His mother drove off hurriedly, rounding the purple overgrown hedge like a rally-driver. She turned on the radio and out came a pop song which Rod hadn’t heard for fifteen years. He felt strange because on the one hand it was objectively a bad song, and his music taste should have changed and matured given that he was in his late twenties at this point, even though he was in the body of his eleven-year-old self, but as it went on, tickling his ear with its repetitive and simply melody, he grew more and more warmed to it. He looked out the window at the grey, brown and white blur, and thought hard the possibilities open to him for change, wondering if he really could become happy. After all, he mused, he’s got twenty years to do it.
[Class -