Ethan Stark had always considered himself the human equivalent of elevator music—present but unremarkable, filling space without demanding attention. At thirty-two, he'd mastered the art of blending into the background of his own life. His apartment in suburban Chicago was neither messy nor tidy, his job as an IT systems analyst neither fulfilling nor miserable, and his social life neither exciting nor nonexistent. He existed in the comfortable purgatory of mediocrity, and until this morning, he'd been perfectly fine with that.
"System error detected. Initiating emergency protocol."
The robotic voice came from everywhere and nowhere, freezing Ethan mid-bite of his slightly burned toast. He blinked, waiting for his neighbor's weird home automation system to stop bleeding through his walls again.
"Subject: Ethan James Stark. Status: Selected. Function: World Repair Agent. Initiation sequence commencing in ten seconds."
Ethan snorted, setting down his coffee mug. "Very funny, Mike!" he called out, assuming his tech-obsessed neighbor was playing another elaborate prank. "Your AI still sounds like it's from a nineties sci-fi movie!"
No response came except for the mysterious countdown that continued: "Nine... eight... seven..."
A tingling sensation spread from Ethan's fingertips up his arms. The air around him seemed to thicken, shimmering like heat waves on asphalt in July.
"Wait, what the—" The words died in his throat as blue light erupted from his cheap IKEA coffee table, coalescing into a translucent holographic display that hovered at eye level.
"Six... five... four..."
The display flickered, then stabilized, revealing a user interface that looked like the lovechild of a Bloomberg terminal and an RPG status screen:
WORLD REPAIR SYSTEM v7.3.12 Agent: Ethan J. Stark Status: Pending Initialization Threat Level: CRITICAL
"Three... two... one..."
Ethan's studio apartment dissolved around him like pixels in a dying computer monitor. His last coherent thought before reality itself seemed to reboot was simple and profoundly human: I didn't even get to finish my coffee.
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Ethan awoke spread-eagled on what felt like cold marble. His head throbbed with the mother of all migraines, and his mouth tasted like he'd licked the underside of his refrigerator.
"Welcome, Repair Agent Stark."
Groaning, Ethan cracked open one eye. He found himself in a vast circular chamber that defied architectural logic. Massive pillars of swirling light supported a domed ceiling mapped with constellations he didn't recognize. The floor beneath him featured intricate, glowing circuitry patterns that pulsed rhythmically.
"What the actual hell?" he muttered, pushing himself up to a sitting position.
"Hell is a subjective concept not relevant to our current predicament," the voice responded, somehow managing to sound both mechanical and condescending. "Please stand to complete biometric synchronization."
Ethan staggered to his feet, noticing with alarm that his ratty Chicago Bears t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms had been replaced by a skintight bodysuit of some metallic fabric that shifted colors like oil on water.
"Okay, I'm officially freaking out now," he announced to the empty chamber. "Is this a dream? Did I accidentally take Mike's edibles thinking they were regular brownies again?"
A holographic panel materialized in front of him, displaying what looked like his driver's license photo—except way more flattering than he remembered—alongside scrolling streams of data.
ETHAN JAMES STARK AGE: 32 OCCUPATION: SYSTEMS ANALYST SPECIAL SKILLS: NONE DETECTED HEROIC POTENTIAL: MINIMAL MENTAL STABILITY: ADEQUATE SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 26.7%
"Hey!" Ethan protested. "'Minimal heroic potential?' And what's with the survival rate? That seems unnecessarily specific!"
"Statistics are provided for transparency," the voice explained. "Your profile indicates you are supremely average, Agent Stark. This is precisely why you were selected."
"Selected for what exactly?" Ethan demanded, watching as the room around him continued to shift and change, revealing what looked like window-sized portals opening along the walls, each displaying different scenes—a medieval castle under siege, a futuristic cityscape with ships flying between skyscrapers, a lush jungle where the trees appeared to be made of crystal.
"The multiverse is experiencing critical failures," the voice explained. "Reality kernels are corrupting at an unprecedented rate. The World Repair System requires agents capable of adapting to and repairing damaged reality constructs."
"And you picked me because...?"
"Exceptional individuals disrupt system balance. Heroes create dependencies. Villains generate additional instabilities. You, Ethan Stark, are neither. You are a utility function personified—adaptable, unremarkable, and statistically unlikely to make things worse."
Ethan wasn't sure if he should be insulted or relieved. "So basically, I'm cosmic tech support?"
"An adequate analogy."
A pedestal rose from the floor, supporting what looked like a wristwatch designed by someone who thought subtlety was a communicable disease. It gleamed with multiple buttons, dials, and a screen currently displaying the same blue interface he'd seen in his apartment.
"This is your System Link," the voice explained. "It will provide guidance, track your objectives, manage your inventory, and facilitate your progression through skill acquisition and attribute enhancement."
"Wait, skills? Attributes? This sounds like—"
"Your cultural framework would classify this as a 'game.' This interface was specifically designed to be familiar to your species. The actual metaphysical mechanics are considerably more complex."
Ethan cautiously approached the pedestal and picked up the device. It immediately clamped around his wrist, causing him to yelp in surprise.
"Biometric synchronization complete," the voice announced as text scrolled across the watch's screen.
WELCOME TO THE WORLD REPAIR SYSTEM Tutorial Level Unlocked: Beginnings Main Quest Activated: Stabilize Local Reality Construct Reward: Survival + 1 Attribute Point
"I don't recall signing up for this," Ethan said, tugging futilely at the device now fused to his wrist.
"Consent was implied when you silently witnessed three consecutive reality anomalies last month and failed to seek psychiatric evaluation."
"Those were anomalies? I thought I was just sleep-deprived! The talking squirrel, the backwards-flowing shower, my neighbor's cat walking through my wall—"
"All symptoms of reality degradation in your sector. Your perception and subsequent rationalization indicated compatibility with our requirements."
Ethan ran his hands through his hair, trying to process the situation. "Let me get this straight. The multiverse is breaking down, and instead of picking, I don't know, a quantum physicist or a superhero, you grabbed a guy whose greatest achievement this month was beating the water level in a twenty-year-old video game?"
"Precisely. Low expectations yield high adaptability metrics."
"That's... not how that works."
The room suddenly dimmed, and all the portals along the wall flickered simultaneously.
"Warning: System resources degrading. Tutorial abbreviated. Commencing emergency deployment."
"Wait, what? No! I have questions! Like, a lot of questions! Like, what's happening to my apartment? My job? My cat—wait, I don't have a cat, but if I did, who would feed it?" Ethan backed away from the pedestal. "I'm not prepared for this!"
"Correct. Unpreparedness is your primary qualification." The voice somehow managed to sound both sympathetic and impatient. "First deployment imminent. Destination: Reality Construct 42-B, designated 'Elderwood.' Local classification: Fantasy-Adjacent Realm. Threat level: Moderate."
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
One of the portals expanded, showing an idyllic forest scene with suspiciously perfect lighting. Ethan could smell pine and something floral through the opening.
"Your objective: Locate the source of reality corruption and apply fix protocols. The System will provide guidance as needed."
"And how exactly am I supposed to 'fix' reality? I can barely fix my own WiFi router!"
"Skills will be unlocked as needed. Starter package activated."
Ethan's wrist device pinged, and he looked down to see new text appearing:
SKILLS UNLOCKED: - Basic Analysis (Lvl 1): Identify simple system flaws - Reality Patchwork (Lvl 1): Apply temporary fixes to minor reality tears - Enhanced Pattern Recognition (Lvl 1): Notice things that don't belong INVENTORY UPDATED: - Repair Kit (Basic): 3 uses remaining - Emergency Extraction Beacon: 1 use (WARNING: Significant cooldown period) - Protein Bar: 1 unit (Hint: Don't die of hunger)
"This is insane," Ethan muttered. "I can't just walk into another world and start 'fixing' things! What if I make things worse?"
"Statistical analysis indicates you cannot possibly make the current situation worse," the voice replied with what Ethan could have sworn was a hint of amusement. "Deployment in three... two..."
"Wait!" Ethan shouted, his mind racing for an excuse, any excuse. "I didn't agree to the terms and conditions!"
"One."
The floor beneath him vanished, and Ethan found himself falling through iridescent light, screaming until his lungs burned. The last thing he heard before the transport completed was the system's parting message:
"Terms and conditions apply retroactively, Agent Stark. Good luck. Try not to die immediately."
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Ethan landed face-first in a patch of impossibly soft moss, the impact somehow cushioned by what felt like the world itself adjusting to catch him. He spat out a mouthful of dirt and organic matter, pushing himself up to his knees.
"I'm going to file the mother of all complaints when I get back," he groaned, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
The forest around him was both familiar and alien—trees stretched skyward like in any Earth forest, but their bark spiraled in geometric patterns, and their leaves shimmered with an internal light. The air smelled sweeter, richer somehow, and Ethan could have sworn he heard distant music intertwined with the rustling foliage.
His wrist device chimed, drawing his attention.
WELCOME TO ELDERWOOD Local Time: Dawn of the Third Age Threat Level: Moderate (Escalating) Main Quest Updated: Investigate Anomaly at the Elder Heart Warning: Local inhabitants may be hostile to outsiders Hint: Not everything is what it seems
"Great. Super helpful, thanks," Ethan muttered, looking around for any sign of civilization or immediate danger. His new "skills" weren't exactly providing any useful information yet.
A soft blue glow caught his attention, emanating from a small flower at the base of a nearby tree. As Ethan watched, the flower's petals opened and closed in a rhythmic pattern that seemed distinctly unnatural.
His wrist device pinged again.
ANALYSIS SKILL ACTIVATED Identified: Reality Hiccup (Minor) Recommendation: Apply Level 1 Patch
"And how exactly do I do that?" Ethan asked aloud.
As if in response to his question, he felt a strange tingling in his fingertips. Instinctively, he reached toward the glitching flower. A thin stream of blue light extended from his fingers, enveloping the plant. The erratic behavior slowed, then normalized, the flower settling into what appeared to be its natural state.
PATCH APPLIED SUCCESSFULLY XP GAINED: 5 PROGRESS TO LEVEL 2: 5/100
"Huh," Ethan said, looking at his hands with new appreciation. "That was... actually kind of cool."
A twig snapped behind him. Ethan whirled around to find himself face-to-face with the business end of an intricately carved wooden staff, wielded by a slender figure in leaf-patterned robes.
"Who are you, outsider?" the figure demanded, pushing back their hood to reveal pointed ears and eyes that shifted color like kaleidoscopes. "And what did you just do to our sacred bloom?"
Ethan's mind raced through his limited options. Run? Fight? Try to explain that he was an interdimensional reality repairman drafted against his will?
His wrist device chimed one more time, displaying a new message that made his stomach sink:
TUTORIAL COMPLETED Good luck, Agent Stark. Remember: In the multiverse, death is only sometimes permanent.
"Well," Ethan said, raising his hands slowly, offering what he hoped was a non-threatening smile, "that's actually a funny story..."
The elf's staff began to glow ominously, and Ethan had the distinct feeling his "minimal heroic potential" was about to be put to the test.
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Before the elf could incinerate him on the spot, a series of discordant chimes filled the air. The forest around them seemed to shudder, leaves flickering like bad television reception. The elf lowered their staff slightly, eyes widening.
"Another breach?" they whispered, more to themselves than to Ethan.
Ethan's wrist device vibrated violently.
WARNING: REALITY FRACTURE DETECTED PROXIMITY: 50 METERS AND CLOSING SEVERITY: MODERATE RECOMMENDATION: INVESTIGATE WITH CAUTION
The elf's attention shifted from Ethan to something behind him. "By the Eternal Grove," they breathed.
Ethan turned slowly, following their gaze. About fifty yards away, hovering between two ancient trees, was what could only be described as a tear in reality itself—a jagged, vertical slash in the air that revealed swirling chaos beyond. The edges of the tear pulsed with sickly purple light, and small objects—leaves, twigs, even insects—were being drawn toward it.
"Is that... normal around here?" Ethan asked, already knowing the answer.
"The Veil has been thinning for months," the elf replied, apparently deciding that Ethan was the lesser threat compared to the reality fracture. "But never has it torn so completely."
Ethan's device pinged again.
OPPORTUNITY DETECTED: DEMONSTRATE VALUE SUGGESTION: SHOW LOCAL YOU CAN HELP ADVANCED ANALYSIS RECOMMENDED
"I might be able to help with that," Ethan said, surprising himself with the offer.
The elf looked skeptical. "You? What could a human possibly know about the fabric of our realm?"
"More than I did thirty minutes ago," Ethan muttered, cautiously approaching the fracture. His newly-acquired Enhanced Pattern Recognition skill activated without conscious thought, and he began to notice details about the tear that would have otherwise escaped him.
The edges weren't just pulsing—they were trying to knit back together, only to be forced apart by something emanating from within. The tear wasn't random either; it followed what appeared to be pre-existing stress lines in reality itself, like a crack spreading through weakened glass.
His wrist device offered more information:
ANALYSIS COMPLETE TEAR TYPE: FORCED BREACH (EXTERNAL ORIGIN) SOURCE: UNKNOWN ENTITY ATTEMPTING CROSS-REALM TRAVEL THREAT LEVEL: UPGRADED TO HIGH RECOMMENDATION: CLOSE BREACH BEFORE ENTITY COMPLETES TRANSITION
"Something's trying to come through," Ethan said, backing away slightly.
"Impossible," the elf replied, but their tone lacked conviction. "The barriers between realms have stood for millennia."
"Yeah, well, apparently they're having a going-out-of-business sale," Ethan quipped, his mind racing. He checked his inventory, wondering if his pathetic "Basic Repair Kit" could possibly handle something of this magnitude.
The tear suddenly expanded, doubling in size. A gust of hot, foul-smelling air blasted through, nearly knocking Ethan off his feet. The elf braced against it, their robes whipping wildly.
"It's destabilizing!" they shouted over the howling wind.
Ethan's device was flashing red now:
EMERGENCY PROTOCOL ACTIVATED REALITY CORE BREACH IMMINENT SKILL UPGRADE AVAILABLE: EMERGENCY PROVISION ACCEPT? [Y/N]
Without hesitation, Ethan tapped 'Y'.
A surge of information flooded his consciousness—knowledge he shouldn't have, couldn't have, but somehow did. His fingers began to move of their own accord, tracing complex patterns in the air that left trails of blue light.
"What are you doing?" the elf demanded.
"I have absolutely no idea," Ethan replied honestly, continuing the intricate gestures. "But it feels right."
The blue light from his fingertips began to weave around the edges of the tear, like thread through fabric. The tear resisted, pulsing violently. Through the widening gap, Ethan caught glimpses of something massive shifting in the chaotic void beyond—something with too many limbs and eyes that glowed like dying stars.
"Oh hell no," Ethan muttered, redoubling his efforts. The blue threads tightened, pulling the edges of the tear closer together. "Whatever you are, go find another reality to crash."
The presence on the other side seemed to become aware of him. A tendril of darkness, thin as a whip but radiating malevolence, shot through the narrowing gap toward Ethan's face.
Without thinking, he ducked, narrowly avoiding contact. The tendril struck a tree behind him, and the bark instantly blackened and began to crumble.
"That's just rude," Ethan said, fear giving way to a strange, unexpected anger. Who did this cosmic horror think it was, trying to invade this place? Sure, Ethan hadn't asked to be here either, but at least he wasn't dissolving trees with his touch.
With a final, decisive gesture, he brought his hands together in a clapping motion. The blue threads contracted sharply, forcing the tear closed with an audible snap. A shockwave of energy blasted outward, knocking both Ethan and the elf to the ground.
Silence fell over the forest, broken only by the normal sounds of birds and rustling leaves.
Ethan lay on his back, staring up at the canopy, breathing hard. His entire body tingled as though he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket, and his vision was spotted with blue afterimages.
His device chimed softly:
BREACH SEALED SKILL: REALITY PATCHWORK INCREASED TO LEVEL 2 XP GAINED: 50 PROGRESS TO LEVEL 2: 55/100 NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: MINOR REALITY ENFORCEMENT STATUS: EXHAUSTED (REDUCED ENERGY REGENERATION FOR 1 HOUR)
"What... what are you?" the elf asked, now standing over him with a mixture of fear and awe.
Ethan managed a weak smile. "According to recent information? I'm a World Repair Agent with minimal heroic potential and a 26.7% chance of survival." He paused, then added, "But you can call me Ethan."
The elf extended a hand, helping him to his feet. "I am Lysandra, Warden of the Eastern Groves." She studied him with those kaleidoscope eyes. "You sealed a breach that our most powerful mages have failed to even approach."
"Beginner's luck?" Ethan suggested.
His device pinged again:
QUEST UPDATE: ANOMALY AT ELDER HEART LIKELY CONNECTED TO BREACH ATTEMPT RECOMMENDATION: GAIN LOCAL'S TRUST AND ASSISTANCE DIRECTIVE: PROCEED TO ELDER HEART WITH GUIDE
Lysandra was still watching him closely. "The Elders must know of this. Will you come with me to the Heart Grove? They will want to meet the strange human who can mend the Veil."
Ethan glanced at his device, then back at Lysandra, who was waiting expectantly. He sighed. Apparently, the System had just volunteered him for a field trip to meet the local leadership, who would probably have even more questions he couldn't answer.
"Lead the way," he said, brushing dirt off his strange, color-shifting bodysuit. "Just... if we run into any more tears in reality, or you know, tentacle monsters from the void, don't be surprised if I scream a little. I'm new at this whole 'cosmic repairman' thing."
Lysandra's expression softened slightly. "Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. Come, Ethan Stark. The path to the Heart Grove is this way."
As he followed the elf deeper into the impossibly beautiful forest, Ethan couldn't help but wonder how his life had gone from mind-numbing mediocrity to interdimensional crisis management in the span of a single morning.
His device offered one final message before falling silent:
ADAPTATION RATING: SURPRISINGLY ADEQUATE SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: ADJUSTED TO 32.4% SYSTEM MESSAGE: CONTINUE DEMONSTRATING INITIATIVE
"Gee, thanks," Ethan muttered. "A whole 5.7% increase in my chances of survival. I feel so much better now."
But despite his sarcasm, a part of him—a part he hadn't known existed until today—felt strangely alive. For the first time in years, possibly ever, Ethan Stark was doing something that mattered.
Even if he had no idea what he was doing.