Part 1: The Cataclysm
Travis kept glancing at the clock; the last 30 minutes of work were always the longest. There was a time when he never bothered checking the time during work. To be fair, he was usually too preoccupied with concerns about his life to look at his watch. Travis was three years removed from serving in Army Intelligence.
He had fought ISIS in Syria, making him a unique example of an intelligence specialist who also served in the field. Contrary to popular depictions on TV, soldiers and agents didn't just analyze intel at their desks and then rush out to pursue suspects.
For Travis, during those intense days in Syria when ISIS threatened to establish a terrorist nation state, protocol was often overlooked. He served as a Major with analysts under him when he was on base, and commanded troops when he was in the field. It was unconventional, but it worked because Travis possessed a specific set of skills that made it effective.
These days, even though his life was no longer in immediate danger, and he didn't have to witness the deaths of comrades or civilians on a daily basis, he still missed the significance of it all. He did look forward to finishing work so he could go home, watch the game, or grab a drink with a buddy. While enjoyable, it felt hollow.
Travis was never motivated by making a lot of money as his current colleagues were, nor did he get caught up in the pursuit of the opposite sex like so many of the guys he worked with. That is not to say that Travis wanted to be single or that he did not enjoy the company of women, he just couldn't find the energy to make it happen.
However, everything would change in a few hours. For now, Travis finally saw the clock strike 4. He picked up a pizza on his way home, planning to watch the Phillies baseball game that night. If he felt adventurous, he might watch a movie afterward, although he'd probably just end up reading before going to bed.
As Travis settled down with a beer before his meal, there was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” he yelled, not expecting anyone, and unable to fathom who it might be.
“Delivery.”
Travis, surprisingly not averse to shopping in person, knew it wasn't an Amazon delivery. Since the pizza was already on his kitchen counter it wasn't a food delivery. Though if he were honest, he wished he had ordered a cheesesteak as well. Maybe they somehow knew he mused chuckling to himself. It was actually funny, that little thought was nothing more than a pointless joke, because things like that were impossible. At least they were before today.
He looked through the peephole and saw an average looking guy carrying what looked like a shoebox. Travis had no reason to suspect anything. Civilian life was so safe for Travis he was almost bored with it.
He opened the door. “Travis Porter?” the man said.
The guy appeared to be a normal dude, except he seemed to be in a daze. Not under the influence of drugs or alcohol, more like he had just woken up and found himself at Travis's doorstep.
“That's me. Where is the delivery from?” Travis asked, noticing the man was wearing ordinary clothes, not a uniform.
“It's a private delivery, sir".
“Okay, who is it from?”
Now the man seemed to be reading from a script, his gaze fixed on some distant point as he repeated what sounded like a recorded message.
"The person identified themselves as your benefactor. I am to inform you that this will not make sense at first, but if you are as smart and savvy as he thinks you are, things will become clear fast enough. While you are in no danger now, danger lurks around the corner. You are to use the items inside to help you escape the coming cataclysm."
Travis was fortunate enough not to carry too much emotional or mental damage from his time overseas, at least that was his belief things would play out a bit differently later on. Yet he wasn't immune to being triggered by certain words, sounds, or even smells. This time, it was the word 'cataclysm,' that flipped a switch inside Travis.
That sounded like something someone would say before they blew themselves up, or worse, blew him up with them. Which is something that he had witnessed on more than one occasion.
Before Travis realized it, his left hand was on the back of the delivery guy's neck, while his right hand twisted the guy's arm hard enough for him to bend forward. Travis deftly moved the box outside his door and kicked the door closed. He led the man inside and bent him over the couch.
"What's in the box, and who really sent you?" Travis demanded.
Before the man could answer, Travis searched him with one hand while still twisting his arm. Not only did he find nothing of import, but the man also wasn't carrying anything — no keys or wallet, nothing. That would have struck him as odd if not for a strange feeling he just got.
Travis didn't know it yet but the moment he touched the box his skills activated. He had a passive ability and one open to growth, it was this second skill that allowed his mind to focus in on what was important, while discarding the unimportant. In this case the delivery guy was unimportant.
He had always trusted his instincts on the battlefield, where you didn't have time for deep exploration. This time his instincts told him that the man was not worth the trouble, and that the box was vital.
Regardless of the feeling his adrenaline stopped pumping and he knew that he had overreacted, but he wasn't going to chide himself for using extra caution. He let him go and the man moved fast to the door, Travis assumed he was running away. At this point, he was going to let him, but to his surprise, the guy went outside to get the box.
"My mission is to give you this box, please take it," the delivery guy said in a monotone voice.
Travis took the box, placed it at the end of his couch, and reached into his wallet. He pulled out a $20 bill and handed it to the strange guy.
"Sorry for the trouble, mate," Travis said.
The guy looked at the money as if he didn't know what to do before finally taking it and leaving the apartment.
"That was quite strange," Travis thought out loud, "but strange things happened every day, even in civilian life I guess." He grabbed the box and sat back on the couch.
The box was pristine and had no markings or anything on it. It wasn't taped shut, so he opened it. Inside, he found a high-end leather journal and a duffel bag.
Travis placed the bag down and picked up the journal. From this moment forward, Travis's life would never be the same.
On the cover of the book, it said,
Game Journal - Travis Porter
Main Character Unique Item/Magic Item/Bound Item
In his army days, Travis knew some guys who played Dungeons and Dragons and other tabletop RPGs. Some of them took it pretty seriously, and they would have loved something like this. They all knew he didn't play, and either way, he hadn't seen any of them in years. There was no way this book was from them in some overzealous attempt to get him into one of their games.
He turned to the first page.
Travis Porter - MC
Race - Human
Tier 3/Level 1
Class - NA (not available)
Subclass - NA
Faction - None
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Alignment - Neutral
Base Attributes
Strength: 7
Intelligence: 9
Reflexes: 9.5
Endurance: 10
Charisma: 7.5
Secondary Attributes
Luck: 10 Willpower: 10 Perception: 9
Travis couldn't shake off the feeling of disbelief as he stared at the words on the page. The journal seemed to outline his attributes as if he were a character in a game. It was baffling, and he couldn't fathom what this was about. His mind raced with questions.
Aside from a passing thought that his intelligence should surpass his physical strength by a wider margin, he did not know how these ratings pertained to him. The terminology being used seemed straight out of DnD and video games, worlds he wasn't really a part of. So why was he sent this book?
Turning the page, he found a section titled 'Skills' at the top. There were two entries listed:
Skills
Analytical Mind - Level 1
Cool Under Pressure - Passive
Flipping to the next page labeled 'Spells', it was empty. The real revelation, however, came on the fourth page, convincing Travis that this was no ordinary game. At least, not the kind he had in mind. It would turn out that he was a player in a game, but one where the stakes were as real as it gets.
The page was titled Missions.
Missions Main Mission: Quests are for Gamers - Gather all necessary supplies and vacate your apartment complex before the timer runs out. The cataclysm is imminent in the Philadelphia area. You must reach the safe zone before it catches up to you Prize: A help section will become available via your journal or other base resources Time Remaining 10:00
While all of this was playing out Travis had the TV on in the background. He of course paid it no mind during the interaction with the delivery guy and while reading this strange journal. Then he glanced up because the screen was packed full of breaking news banners. He knew like most people did that cable news called the anchor breaking wind on air "breaking news", except he didn't have cable news on, it was ESPN. He grabbed the remote and made it louder.
The anchor wore a pained expression. “Let's bring in our meteorologist to shed some light on this,” the anchor said, directing the viewers' attention to a man standing in front of a display. The screen showed three hurricane symbols scattered along the eastern seaboard.
“Carl, what can you tell us?”
“I wish I had more answers, Nancy. When I first heard about this, I thought this situation was nearly impossible. But now, after seeing the data I can tell you there are three hurricanes forming off the eastern seaboard.”
One is off the coast of Maine, another one looks like it will make landfall in Florida, and finally the biggest one is already wreaking havoc in the Caribbean.”
“Each storm seemed to have just appeared with no warning. Either the equipment used by every major storm tracking operation in the world is not working, or more likely Nancy, and excuse my French, but people on living on the eastern seaboard are screwed.”
He looked like he wanted to say something else, perhaps apologize for his lack of tact, but he just kept staring at the camera.
The broadcast returned to Nancy in the newsroom. She had her finger to her ear, clearly receiving updates from the producers.
“It seems like hurricanes are not the only disaster affecting the planet right now,” she said, visibly shaken. “There are reports of volcanoes, both active and those thought dormant, showing signs of activity. Information is sketchy, but there may have been an eruption in Scandinavia already.”
She needed a moment to compose herself. This was what every anchor dreamed of—being on air when something major happened. She was sorry that people were dying, but it wasn't her fault that ratings skyrocketed during a natural disaster. She'd be just as happy reporting on a major sporting event.
The problem for her was that this was not just one natural disaster. She hadn't reported to her audience yet, but there were also reports of earthquakes coming across the wire within the last two hours. She needed to pivot to an on-location reporter so she could compose herself.
Her producer found a sister network with an anchor in a helicopter over an active volcano.
“Let's go to an affiliate in Italy, as a volcano there is showing real signs of activity.”
The screen changed to a middle-aged man with oversized headphones doing a report from a chopper. He spoke English with a heavy Italian accent. Travis wasn't sure, but he thought the man looked excited.
“Italy, the former home of the great Roman Empire, but less well known are the volcanic eruptions that have battered this beautiful land over the years.”
Travis tuned him out as the guy kept on about Rome and Nero. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life to talk about volcanic eruptions in Italy.
During his time as a Major, Travis led a team of analysts and subject matter experts. Their job was to find ISIS leadership, of course, but they also zeroed in on ammo dumps, training areas, administrative buildings, and so on.
Whenever they ran into a tough problem or hit a dead end in an investigation, they would have a brainstorming session. Travis wanted everyone to go through every piece of information they uncovered, tell the group how trustworthy it was, and whether or not it led to something new.
This would go on until everyone had spoken. Now, obviously, Travis was alone, but he did a truncated version of his brainstorming session now.
First, a mysterious driver brought him a package. The driver appeared drone-like and had nothing on him. Travis kicked himself for not getting more information from him, he was so used to things being uneventful that three years removed from real action, and he apparently lost his edge. If the shit really was hitting the fan Travis would work on sharpening his senses.
He was deep in thought trying to make sense of the past 30 minutes or so when something made him look at the screen. The reporter was still going, but the cameraman finally panned over to the volcano. As if on cue, it erupted in an orgasm of superheated magma. The reporter went silent as the helicopter starter furious evasive maneuvers.
Unfortunately for everyone on that helo spewing lava is hard to outrun before it hits the ground.
The world seemed to freeze for a second, even for Travis home on his couch. When the studio anchor came back on, Travis noticed something start to move in the bottom of his eyeline.
After all he had seen since he got home and all his years in the Army, Travis witnessed the most unbelievable sight of his life in that moment. The timer on his journal was starting to count down. 9:55. 9:54.
The reason Travis was able to serve a dual role in Syria was attributed to one main trait. While he was a skilled tactician and fighter, make no mistake, but when the chips were down, he was absolutely calm under fire. He did not let the pressures of the situation affect his decision-making.
It was once said that Travis could mate you in chess while being waterboarded or get a blowjob while passing a stress test. If you needed calm under pressure, he was your man. The new skill that he had only heightened this almost superpowered ability.
How would he have reacted learning that most of these occurrences were perpetrated by a single being? No one will know that for a long time, regardless that is the case. This being is the Dungeon Master and the DM chose Travis Porter for a reason. A not insignificant part of that reason was that Travis would not have a melt down while trying to understand the things happening around him. He would accept his situation and act in the best way to ensure the safety of himself and any under his protection. The DM didn't want a main character that would vacillate.
In the case of the moving timer on what appeared to be normal if high end journal paper, he was correct. Travis saw the ticking clock, spent about 2 seconds getting over how fucking crazy it was, and started moving.
First, he went into his bedroom closet to get his lockbox. In there, he had his Beretta M9 sidearm, the same one he used in the Middle East. The military had phased them out, but Travis loved his M9. He also had $5000 in cash, a few silver bars, and a couple of gold coins.
Travis was no doomsday prepper, but he always wanted to build up a supply of gold and silver to combat out-of-control inflation. Ironically, the reason he did not reach his goal was due to inflation. Who the fuck had money for gold and silver in this economy? Travis liked that joke, but really, he just never got around to it.
The next thing he did was start to pack some clothes, protein bars that he had on hand, plus some medical supplies and a few personal effects. As he was piling everything on the table, he remembered the bag. Was it just to help him carry stuff? He might as well use it.
There was an abundance of bottled water, so Travis decided to grab about 15 bottles and put them in the bag. He remembered once telling a young co-worker that he drank a lot of water, and the kid had responded, "Me too bro, hydro homies!" Travis had looked at him with a deadpan stare. People were so desperate to group themselves up, even over something as mundane as drinking water.
The bag was on the couch, and Travis started throwing stuff in. He thought he had everything he needed but decided to double-check. With just over 6 minutes left on the timer, he wanted to be sure. Apparently, all he had to do was exit his apartment complex, which seemed strange, but he should be good.
One of the few things that gave the DM pause in picking Travis was his lack of any type of gaming experience. If Travis was a gamer, he may have thought about how the first mission in a game is usually part of the learning experience. That was true here and it also slowly warmed the main character up to his new existence.
When he went to pick up the bag, it felt strangely light — wait, it was empty. Now, he was a little worried. Everything he needed, except for his lockbox, was supposed to be in there. Plus, what was he doing for the past 4 minutes if not packing the bag. Was he losing his mind? That might explain everything that happened to him since he got home from work.
On a whim, he reached his hand inside the bag. Nothing. Frustrated and puzzled, he thought about his only heirloom, an old watch from his grandfather. The moment he thought of the watch, it materialized in his hand. He tried it again, reached his hand in the bag and thought of something, the item appeared once more. The thing about the bag is that you needed to just think of the item you wanted, and it would appear. Like in Harry Potter Travis thought, he wasn't a huge consumer of entertainment media, but he had seen that.
A journal that could generate text was one thing, but a bag that didn't gain mass — that defied the law of conservation of mass. Something truly otherworldly was happening, and Travis seemed to be at the center of it. It's not to say that he was happy this was happening, but Travis did feel things inside he hadn't felt since that horrible night in the Middle East.
Despite everything happening, Travis couldn't help but marvel at how incredibly cool that bag was.