“Something isn’t right here,” the registration agent said, frowning at her screen. She refreshed it multiple times, but the confusion remained on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Nil asked, peeking at the dense blocks of information.
“Our readers can’t seem to identify your discipline. What did you say it was?”
“I didn’t. Are you sure something isn’t wrong with your scanner?”
“It was fine a moment ago.” She waved another agent over. “Any idea what the hell is wrong with this thing?”
“Nothing,” her coworker replied, following a swift scan. “This happens occasionally with odd or variant core skill combinations. Just do a manual entry.” He turned his attention to span. “What’s your discipline and skill, Mr Roy?”
“Brute.” Typically, brute-discipline powers involved passive Might boosting abilities. They rarely included active abilities besides briefly enhancing themselves. It was knight disciplines that involved skills demanding timing or tactical thinking. Since Brutal Battery leaned more into Spark than Might or Finesse, Nil doubted it fell into either category. However, he didn’t want to go into detail and divulge secrets. Layla had said that he wasn’t unique but an odd Arcane Warrior variant that used natural forces instead of magic. “I thought I didn’t need to disclose my core skills. Isn’t that a privacy issue?”
“We insist registrants share them in situations like this one,” the man replied. “Most disciplines have a small set of hyper-dangerous skills, too. If our scanner fails, we need at least a demonstration.”
“I’d rather not go into details, but I’m fine showing you what I can do.”
With no monster pursuing him and his life not in imminent danger, it took Nil only a heartbeat to activate and switch between abilities. He took the spoon lying next to the agent’s cup of tea and stabbed himself with all of his strength. Nothing happened to him or the object. Then, he twisted the handle into a spiral. “I can switch between defense and strength enhancement. They can’t function simultaneously, and the transition takes a couple of seconds.”
“I haven’t seen that one before,” Nil’s agent commented. She looked up at her colleague. “We don’t get a lot of brutes with alternating or switching skills. What should I call it?”
“Thuggish Tactics,” Nil lied. “I might as well tell you. My case worker didn’t give me many options on account of my low Mind and Spark potentials.”
The scanner only determined an individual’s discipline. Attributes were treated as privileged information, just like the core skill. Nil found the limitations arbitrary and inconsistent. They claimed dangerous core skills existed but didn’t scan for them for privacy reasons. Nil wondered whether they lacked the technology or the British government was cheap. They did the bare minimum to keep the non-Summoned voters placated while profiting off the relationship with the Schema and the currency the Summoned brought in.
Nil didn’t care as long as he got to control what everyone learned about him. He swapped his Finesse and Spark attributes’ ratings and potential when filling out the form. It made his lie more plausible.
“Why didn’t you go for something Finesse-focused?” The agent asked. “It’s your best attribute. Something swiftness or agility-based would—”
“Stick to the script,” her male coworker told her. “That question is much too personal.”
“It’s alright,” Nil said. “I don’t mind. I had options that let me use hit-and-run tactics and one that even made me venomous. This felt like the best bet.”
“Those won’t do you much good unless you know how to fight.” The agent received another reprimand for her comment but continued without missing a beat. “The agency can recommend trainers and luduses to teach you survival and combat skills. Some even have the resources to master your discipline and skill. The latter might be challenging for you, especially given your oddities.”
The registration process took four hours. Nil had a new physical and digital ID by the time he finished. It made opening a Nexus Bank account a breeze, and he exited the building by half-past-six in the evening, seven thousand pounds richer. The conversion rate initially put a smile on Nil’s face. At the time of the exchange, the British government valued a Schema Credit at a little more than one hundred pounds. Then, they claimed two-fifths of the value in taxes, dampening his spirits.
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Nil visited his apartment, packed all of his belongings, and walked to Great Portland Street Station. He took the fast Metropolitan Line train to Harrow-on-the-Hill. Once at his destination, Nil entered the first fried chicken shop he encountered—his guilty pleasure food—and occupied one of the two tables. He ate a three-piece meal with two drumsticks, a thigh, and fries.
The man behind the counter sprinkled grated cheddar over the fries for an extra pound and topped it with crappy instant gravy. It was a cheap and nostalgic meal. He hadn’t eaten anything since before the summoning and ended up purchasing the same thing again. Nil’s eyes were hungrier than his stomach. He only ate one leg and a handful of fries before giving the rest to the homeless man outside. Nil hoped the gift would earn him the privilege of petting the man’s dog. He left disappointed.
The twenty-minute uphill walk took him twenty-five with his luggage. If not for the improvement to his physique thanks to the additional unit in the Might attribute, the journey would’ve taken him even longer. It was eight in the evening, just after his family’s dinner time when he reached their home.
Udit Roy lived in a small two-bedroom bungalow with his sixteen-year-old daughter and eleven-year-old nephew in a neighborhood well beyond his means. He and the late Elizabeth Gibson-Roy had bought the house using most of their life savings just before Nil started high school. The act ensured he got it into one of the better schools in the borough but made their finances tighter. It was on the verge of falling apart, and the garden had grown into a jungle after years of no occupancy. The family got it for cheap, and they spent all of their time off refurbishing it.
Ten years later, Udit was struggling to keep up with the mortgage and the bills. Investments that appeared secure before the popularization of magitech were no longer so. As Nil walked up the driveway, he noticed the overgrown weeds, the grass left a few weeks unmowed, and the long scratch along the side of his father’s car. The twenty-year-old vehicle appeared a pothole away from being written off.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” His sister, Emily, asked, pulling him into a tight hug. Nil and his sister shared the same light-brown eyes and black hair. They had similar complexions, but he was a few shades lighter than her rich mocha-shaded skin. “Aren’t you eating properly, Sunny?” She poked his side. Despite her status as the younger sibling, Emily had adopted maternal qualities since their mother’s passing. Nil hated the nickname Elizabeth used for him, but now his sister kept it alive. “I can feel your ribs.”
“I’m fine, Ma,” Nil replied, kissing his sister on the forehead. “Is everything okay around here? Are you and Baba well?”
“We’re fine.” Emily raised a thick eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s not like Baba to stop gardening. He’s still getting his insulin, isn’t he?”
“Oh. Don’t worry about that. He's just been busy at work. Sam and I have exams coming up, so we’ve been lagging with chores, too. Baba is still in his study, finishing the paperwork.”
“Why? The council can’t be working him that hard, can they?”
“Rakesh Patel is retiring,” Emily answered. She stepped away from her brother and looked him up and down. The woman frowned when she noted his backpack and suitcase. “Baba wants his job.”
“Isn’t Rakesh Patel five years younger than Baba?” Nil asked. “They both should be retired now.”
“If only things were that easy.” Emily smiled. She sniffed the air around him. “I can smell that you’ve already had dinner. Let me brew us some tea, and you can tell me why you’re here. Is everything okay at work?”
“I got summoned.”
Emily froze midstep. She looked up at her older brother wide-eyed for what felt like an eternity. He held his breath, half-expecting his sister to explode at him. Instead, she looked down the hallway to the open door in the back. Soft lamp light glowed through it. “Baba, get your arse out here!” She yelled. “Your son finally did something stupid.”
When telling his family about recent events, Nil embellished details and avoided revealing how many times he had almost died. He remained truthful about the circumstances surrounding his summoning, unique discipline, and abilities. Worried about his father’s health, he concocted a colorful tale regarding the quest. Emily appeared unconvinced but said nothing.
“The Schema will give me mostly escort and protection jobs,” Nil told them. “They don’t involve fighting things but keeping important people alive. I also get an option of three quests during each summoning. So, I can always pick the least dangerous.”
“And what about cheffing?” Udit asked. “You’re a sous in a Michelin-starred kitchen. Are you just going to give that up?”
“Chef fired me after I missed work because of my summoning.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “He doesn’t want a sous chef that disappears for indeterminate periods of time every couple of months. I’ll make excellent money with the quests, though. It's enough to support myself and help you out.”
“That’s not necessary, baba,” Udit said. “Your sister and I can take care of ourselves.” He smiled at the mostly silent Sam. The little boy had stuck to Nil’s side since the moment of their reunion. “You just worry about yourself right now. I don’t care that you’re mostly taking low-combat quests. This summoning business leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The thought of my boy getting magicked away to other universes is going to ruin my sleep.”
“Do you mind if I stay here for a few days?” Nil asked. “It's just until I figure out what to do.”
“Of course,” the pair said almost in unison. His father sped away to inflate an air mattress and arrange bedding for it while his sister threw his dirty clothes in the laundry. Nil did the dishes with Sam in the meantime, feeling optimistic about his future. Then, he saw the condition of the house, its furnishings, and its appliances. The money he sent his family every week wasn’t enough. Things were worse than he had guessed, and they needed more help than earnings from a mortal quest would earn him.