They say that every important journey begins with the first step. So, with that particular nugget of wisdom in mind, I reckoned that a pair of legs would probably come in handy, right about now. But with no obvious way to move around, or for that matter, to voice my concerns, my disembodied consciousness had little choice but to hang in the blank, virtual space, wondering what fate (or to be more exact, the game’s programmers) could possibly have in store for it.

-[ Some disorientation is to be expected as your code aligns itself to our server. Avatar selection will commence shortly. Please remain calm. ]-

…announced a mysterious higher power.

My disembodied consciousness was not calm. Far from it, in fact. But at least avatar selection seemed to be fairly self-explanatory. The human mind was not designed to drift around a computer server, like a disembodied ghost in the machine. I needed a body, even if it was merely a digital substitute to take the place of the flesh that had been so cruelly stolen away from me. Soon, it seemed, I would have the opportunity to pick the pixelated puppet I’d be sporting for the foreseeable future. Heck, perhaps even for the rest of my digital ‘life’. So that begged one important question; why the hell wasn’t anything happening?

Without warning, yet another message forced itself directly into my mind. I was beginning to wonder if my new digitized form came with its own privacy settings, and if so, how I could gain access...

-[ Congratulations. You have achieved a cognitive synchronization rate of 82%. This figure is sufficient to achieve mind/avatar harmony. Welcome to avatar selection. ]-

It’s about fucking time….

A timer appeared before me, set to five minutes. That small display was promptly joined by three larger, neon panels, each one loaded with reams of tightly packed text.

-[ You will have ten minutes to choose your avatar, distribute your base points, and purchase any items you might require to aid you in your journey. If an avatar has not been chosen by the end of this time period, a body shall be randomly allocated to you. We wish you every success in your rehabilitation, Jacob. ]-

Before I could raise any number of questions about that statement, the timer began its countdown. Crap, a help file would really come in real handy, right about now. I didn’t even know how I was supposed to control this damned interface without the aid of a physical body.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Calming myself, I quickly realized that I could open each menu option with little more than a thought, pushing my will onto the display that flickered before me. Regaining this small modicum of control over my destiny was extremely satisfying. I was no longer the puppet. I was finally ready to start pulling the strings. With my small achievement to bolster my confidence, I began randomly opening windows. And holy crap, talk about information overload. There was all manner of races and skill-sets on offer, each with their own individual strengths, weaknesses, and penalties.

I tried to take in the reams and reams of information, but it was too much for me to process. Concentration was difficult: something that probably had a lot to do with the stress of having my mind literally torn from my screaming body, and callously turned into software. Feeling my control slip again, I began to panic.

-[ I am sensing stress within your emotional profile. ]-

…chirped an anonymous AI. Its tone bore little of the concern for my wellbeing that it professed to be voicing.

-[ Would you like an overview of your available options? ]-

Yes, I quickly replied. I didn’t know who or for that matter, what the voice belonged to, but I didn’t have time to care. If there was one thing I needed right now, it was a hand. Preferably, a hand with an empty body attached, waiting for me to climb inside it and take it for a test drive.

-[ Help file activated. ]-

A female avatar suddenly materialized within my limited field of vision. She was impossibly proportioned, a digital dirty dream with pointy ears, pale skin, and a skimpy leather outfit that barely met the basic requirements of clothing.

I hope they’re not going to attempt to squeeze me into that. I thought to myself. In fact, if they’re going to pick my new body by delving around in my subconscious, I dread to think what perverted pixel puppet I’m going to end up with.

“Hi, there,” said the elf with a wave. “I’m Mai, your personal selection assistant. I’m here to help.” She giggled as she spoke.

Well, thank fuck for that. Perhaps I wasn’t going to end up in an inappropriately slutty looking avatar after all.

“Welcome to your personalized redemption experience” the elf continued, cheerily. “There are three classes of avatar to choose from, and your choices are as follows…”

The ridiculous number of windows I’d opened hastily closed themselves, leaving only the three original panels. Their headings were ‘blade class’, ‘arcane class’, and ‘inhuman class’.

“Which category would you like to study first?” Giggled the elf, jiggling her unnaturally large breasts as she bounced on the spot.

I knew which avatar I really wanted to study, but this was no time for such perversion. I had a serious job at hand. So, I picked one and began the selection process. Not that I knew it yet, but it was a choice that would ultimately shape my odds of survival in this damned piece of software.

And I was about to royally fuck it up.