Pulsating light blinding my eyes, screeching white noise assaulting my ears. A sudden flash and I'm standing in what looks like a futuristic room with metal walls. I blink a few times and take a few steps forward, then fall to my hands and knees.

“Blarg!” Projectile vomit away!

Mab practically teleports away from me. “That is revolting! Why can't I have a normal guide contract!?”

Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I turn to Mab, “Well if you would have warned me we would be traveling via disco ball at a trance festival, I could have braced my guts for the rising rebellion.”

“You humans, always so demanding. Take, take, whine, grumble, pout!”

I shake my head and chuckle, “Do you even listen to yourself? Take that brush and paint your species with it as well.”

I've finally gotten my legs under me, leaning on one of the metal walls. A hissing sound catches both of our attention, we turn and brace for trouble. Yes, we. Little Mab flew over to above my head, ready to juke in the event of projectiles. Whether she has any offensive capability, I’ll only hope to find out later.

The hissing sound is the sliding door system opening and admitting a smartly dressed man in an adult, nylon looking onesie. Mainly white, with gold trimming and no noticeable seam. No hat, but a small gadget on his right ear with a visor going over his right eye. At least he isn’t a red shirt.

“Welcome to th- What is that disgusting smell?!” Whatever greeting he was going to give was thwarted by my awe-inspiring BO.

“Lieutenant Scott, I’ve found my Contract and need to get him cleaned up. Would you mind getting us a room where we can clean up and discuss the situation?” Mab saves the day as I can only stare and try not to laugh.

“Yes, your highness. Private Mann will escort you to your rooms.” Said Private saluted and started to head towards our designated room. I follow, while holding in a chuckle, eager for an hour long soak in a giant bathtub. A shower will do, but it’s been almost half a year since I’ve had a decent bath. Deployment to Japan for Ops training spoiled me something fierce when it came to bathing. I love me some onsen.

I can hear Lt. Scott as we head down the hallway, “...nd get this room sanitized ASAP! We can’t have any other dignitary show up with the room in this condition.”

I guess I made an impression with my amazing stench and vomit puddle.

After traversing down several hallways and what I think is an upward direction on a lift or futuristic elevator, we arrive at another set of unremarkable doors that I’m guessing are our quarters. How do people navigate in all this dreary monotony? Seriously, there is next to nothing that can be used to identify the hallways and rooms. Maybe I need an aid or something, like their fancy eyepiece with colored lense that registers over 9k.

“The bathroom is down the hall, that way. Throw your clothes in the bin by the door, those nasty things need to be incinerated.” Mab orders with a degree of majesty while fluttering around a smaller home-like layout near the ceiling of the massive room.

I stop before entering the hall, “I’m rather partial to these. They’re comfortable, with lots of pock-” Mab cuts me off, rather rudely. “No, they are soiled beyond an industrial cleaning. Just toss them and I’ll order you some new ones. You certainly have the credits for new clothes if you beat the world quest.”

“Mab.” My reply is flat and without emotion, “There is only one person that shops for me besides myself and she’s dead. Don’t push me on this, you will not like where it goes. Just talk me through what needs to be done while I clean up. I need to take a look at what I’ll be dealing with now anyway. You are supposed to guide me, right?”

Slightly subdued, she acquiesces as I make my way into the bathroom. Huge! Like my own personal onsen, with water in the bath already steaming away. I shuck my stained and nasty clothes, as Mab requested. Going to miss those, they’ve been with me since I got here… Yup, best to burn them.

Thinking about Mab a moment, I’m grateful she doesn’t have a really high pitched young girl voice. That would drive me nuts. She’s about the size of a baseball, with what looks like fairy wings. I could be mistaken, since she’s a flying night light and all. Maybe one day she’ll turn off the glow and I’ll be able to see if she has anything approaching a human figure. Just... tinier.

While I’m not crazy about sitting still after dealing with the frozen time status, the background music is soothing and appeals to a calm mind. After scrubbing myself raw, I take a few moments to check on the shape of my body. No other scars or scraps than what I re-entered into the customization screen way back when. I’m a little leaner than before with pretty good muscle tone, but I don’t look emaciated from lack of sustenance. My hair could use a cut though, it’s gone all shaggy and long. Definitely in need of a shave too. Shrugging, I sink blissfully into the hot bath with a contented sigh.

“Finally in the bath?” I hear Mab from the other side of the door.

“Yup, come on in.” Being in the military, you lose your sense of shame in a hurry or be ridiculed for it - fiercely.

Mab buzzes in through a smaller entry above the door I through, flitting about the room for a perch. Getting comfortable, she starts in on the lecture. “When you are in a safe zone or a hub, you can access the Shop. Just say aloud or think Shop and you should get a screen pop up with what is available to you. Delivery is free to the room you are staying in so long as the item in question is available at the store you have accessed.”

“Before that though,” Mab interjects before I can finish processing the Shop info, “Send me your stats so I can take a look at what I’m dealing with and offer any advice to you.”

“Uhh.” I stall for a moment, trying to figure out in my head how to do that. Giving up, “How do I do that?”

“Of course, you’ve been crashing around like some drunk behemoth while in world XZ-545. Think status and poke your finger through the window, then swish it at me. Think about sharing it with me.” Mab calmly explained, surprising me a bit as I figured she’d lord it over me for not knowing something everyone should. I quickly pull up the notes real quick and add the planet name to it so I don’t forget it. The epic quest did pique my interest after all, but I’m sincerely hoping Frænir isn’t the cause.

“Also, you can share any screen you have access to with anyone you give permission to view it. You just say or think ‘I give permission’.” She continues to explain as I take a moment to stare at my new stats. Something obviously changed. “Since we are Contracted, I already have permission, but you still need to send it to me to look at.” You could hear the capitol C when she said contracted.

I swish the status screen at her after perusing it. My stats and experience went up, but my level did something funky.

Name:

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Gram D. Randal

Age:

29

Job:

Soldier

Level:

1 (37)

Exp:

721,124

To next lvl:

19,876

Race:

Human

Stat points:

185

HP:

980

MP:

1060

SP:

1030

HP Regen/min

49

MP Regen/min

53

SP Regen/min

51.5

Strength:

81

Agility:

92

Intelligence:

86

Endurance:

84

Dexterity:

99

Wisdom:

66

Charisma:

62

Luck:

2

“Why did my level go back to one?” I ask in a confused tone.

“Hmm.” Mab starts flitting about, her version of pacing the room I suppose. “You’re stats are really good for what they are. To answer your question; since you have not spent your stat points, the system will not recognize you as level thirty seven. For most people who observe you, they will only see your name and level one. In low population worlds, that isn’t an issue. On hubs and high populations worlds, you may be hunted for a perceived low level.”

“I’m honestly not sure how to take that. Even in this fantastical game world, there are still player killers.” I slowly shake my head in dismay. “System?”

“Player killers? No, just killers.” Mab explains. “People kill people all the time. All races do it, for one reason or another. Whether greed or religion, there is always a reason or justification for killing others.”

With that bit of philosophy shared, my mind is put back at ease. People are people, after all. Nothing special changed when ‘migrating’ over. No special rules or limitations were in place, other than normal law and order. I was half afraid this ‘system’ would collar things like that, not to say I’m going to go on a killing spree. Definitely a weight off my mind there though.

“The system is what we call the screens you see, as well as everything that comes with it. Level, experience, actual stats for physical and mental ability. The strangest  two, when they were encountered, were both charisma and luck. Not really quantifiable if you really think about it, but there it is.” Mab was fairly absent minded as she explained that bit. Wonder why.

“Good to know, thank you Mab.” I imagine there will be a lot of ‘thank yous’ handed out, but information about the unknown is priceless to me at the moment. “Now, what’s the deal with the jobs? During the migration, I noticed that there really wasn’t a limitation of which I could choose from. Are they fancy titles or is there meaning to them?” Back to more important questions!

“Very astute question, Gram.” Slight praise, maybe she’ll be a decent partner after the dust settles. Always good to have someone watch your back. “Jobs accrue experience, just like your stats do when actions are completed pertaining to that job. The more actions taken for the job, the better the perks gained from it.”

Fidgeting in the tub a moment, I think of how to ask my next question. While I did a lot of scavenging, there wasn’t a lot of taking orders or completing missions accomplished in XZ-545 - Now dubbed Zombie world, since the designation is bland and hard to remember. Pre-emptively, I think skills. A window pops up that’s totally blank. Narrowing my eyes, I sight on Mab and ask, “My skills window is blank. Any reason for that?”

“Toss it here and I’ll take a look.” Putting words to action, I swipe it over to her.

She makes speculative sounds as she looks at the screen. “It’s not blank, you are just unable to see it for some reason.”

“Well, that’s just funderful. The system hates me so much it’s hiding my own skills and perks from me.” I tilt my head back on the rest and put an arm over my eyes.

Mab stops and hover in place. “Why would you think the system hates you?”

“You mean besides the snarky comments, no experience gains, or loot from completed quests?” I ask her like she should know while settling my eyes on her. “Back when I got here, I think I accidentally turned off the notifications. So I half thought this was all a bad fever dream, except that it took over three months. Too long for a nightmare.” I shudder, something like that would suck, bad. “Then I happen to say status while complaining out loud. Enter snarky comments galore in my thousands of blue screen notifications.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of snarky comments from the system. Maybe it’s a Migrant thing? We’ll ask if we come across any others.” She sounded so sure of herself. I honestly enjoyed the snark, I just don’t like the hiding of things. Especially the hiding of my things.

She goes back to flying about the room again, muttering and making odd sounds. Turning to me (I think she did?), “You do have skills, perks, and even a few abilities. I can see them plain as sol-light. What’s odd is every time I go to tell you what they are, I get a system message that states it’s part of your quest and not to share them with you. You have a quest like that?” She started slowly but sped up near the end there.

Pulling up quests, I see nothing other than for Zombie world and I tell her as much.

“So mysterious! I like mysteries. I wanted so badly to be a detective when growing up, but obviously that didn’t work out.” Excited turns to whining real quick. I wonder if I need to watch her around sugar or make sure she doesn’t get any at all.

“Back to the jobs, the perks and stats bonus per level are both really good for you. Especially if you want to make it a profession.” Back to Fantasy Haven 101. “To answer the unasked question, a profession is combining several jobs into one. This allows more stat gains per level and gives access to rare, legendary, or even unique perks. But you have to qualify for it by having the requisite perks gained from each job you are wanting to join and have a competence with said perks and job class.”

If Mab had arms and legs she would have taken lecture pose #4. “A perk, or perquisite as it’s formally called, is a beneficial increase to a skill or skills. A skill is an ability that can be learned from someone and taught to another person. An ability, while not limited or unique, is a talent or skill that cannot be learned or taught. Extremely rare, almost viewed as legendary, barely a quarter of the universal population has one or will be able to get one. The percentage of people is likely lower, but I’m not an expert in who all has or will get one. The Archivists record any and all they can, while trying to determine the full capabilities and limitations of said ability. Quite fascinating really.”

And it was. While a large info dump, it was very informative and useful. She was either asked about this often enough to include it all together or she figured out I was going to ask. Either way, win for me.

“Before I get too pruney and wrinkled from the bath, guide me through the buying of stuffs?” The only reason I’m asking is more for her sake. The room is comfortably temperature controlled, so I would walk around nude if she wasn’t present.

“Can do!” Back to hyperactive. “First, think inventory so you know how much you have to spend. Then I’ll guide you through buying clothes and selling anything you don’t want hanging around your inventory.”

Nodding, I think inventory. Typical blue screen pops up, giving a large grid system filled with an extreme amount of things. My eyes bulge a bit and Mab notices. “If you have a lot of items, there is an auto-sort feature at the top right you can select. It’ll stack similar items and then sort by importance and rarity.”

“Thanks Mab.” Sorted, now there isn’t an innumerable amount of junk cluttering up my display. Items stack at one hundred per similar item, so that could be useful. Not interested in the junk I’ve collected yet, I look questioningly at Mab.

“Oh, right. Your credits total should be on the top left.” Glancing there, I tilt my head to the side. That can’t be right, too many digits.

“You sure Mab? Cause that number looks too big. What is a credit worth or give me a good comparison?” Skeptical is how I’m feeling at the moment.

“Yes, yes, that’s where it’s at. A credit is worth… eh, that would take way too long and take an extreme amount of history and explaining to fully understand. Hmm…” Back to the flying around the room again. Definitely sure that it’s her version of pacing. “So it’s like this: a normal person earns an average of one to two thousand credits in a month. A loaf of bread is worth about five credits, a poor quality shirt is worth about thirty credits, a decent steel sword is worth about six hundred credits… Does that give you a good baseline?”

I nod slowly. One last thing to check, then I’ll know if I’m decently well off or just an average joe. “What is a house worth?”

“Weeell. There are factors to consider; like the safety of the world, the location in said world, and the overall size of the house and land. There are more factors, but that should be a decent start.” Take lecture pose #7. “So a mostly safe planet, about fifty acres equivalent of land, a decent sized lake, and the house being two stories tall with eight rooms and a nice bathing area. That would run about 125,000 credits. Now tell me how much you have!”

Should I be honest with her? She hasn’t done anything overt to earn my trust… but then she hasn’t really done anything to make me wary either. I swipe the screen to her and wait to see her reaction.

I wasn’t disappointed. “What is this ridiculous number?! You have got to be kidding me! I’m a freaking queen and barely make over a hundredth of that!” Cue melt down.

Having a figure of 1,376,444 credits on my screen, I pull up the shop while she’s off on her rabid tangent.