Vince woke up to a man tipping a foul-smelling red liquid into his mouth. The man was tall and brawny, built like a weight-lifter, and had skin the color of brick. If Vince had to guess, the man was in his thirties, but it was a well-worn thirties, the thirties of someone who had seen and done some shit. Despite this, the man had a rough beauty to him.

“Drink,” the man said. Vince tried to pull away, but the man had a grip on his chin.

Lesser Healing Potion:

How come in every single reality and plane of existence, medicine always tastes fucking horrible?

Vince drank the potion. It tasted like burning gasoline mixed with a liberal dose of cardboard. It went down exactly how he thought it would, but it eased the pain radiating through his body.

“My name is Watkins,” the man said. “My sister found you after you cracked a flare in the offices.”

“Vince. Are we still in the Labyrinth?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” Watkins said, chuckling.

“I don’t exactly have time to waste,” Vince said, trying to sit up. A jolt of pain from his ribs stopped him.

“Well, find the time,” a woman said. Vince twisted to see her, sending a small jolt of pain through his body.

She looked a lot like Watkins, just smaller, thinner, and a lot more angry-looking.

“My sister, Art,” Watkins explained.

“You outsiders…you all are rushing to go somewhere and get yourself killed,” Art said.

“I don’t need to rush to get myself killed,” Vince said. “I do just fine taking it slow.” He finished the potion off and blinked the resulting tears out of his eyes. Beneath his skin, he could feel his ribs mending.

“The potion won’t fix everything, but it’ll fix the worst of it,” Watkins said helpfully.

“Somehow I doubt it.”

“Well, there’s a Way Out in the other room, if you want it,” Art said.

Vince did, but he didn’t let that show. “Why don’t you two use it?”

The siblings shared a curious glance but then broke out laughing.

“Did you hit your head?” Watkins asked.

“Suffer some brain trauma?” Art added.

Vince shook his head.

“Well…did you pay attention when the angel explained everything?”

Vince winced. Watkins chuckled. “That’s a first,” he said.

Watkins looked like he was about to explain, but Art butted in. “You need to leave. Now.”

She stepped forward and reached for Vince. On the bottom of her palm there was a strange diagram tattooed, a bit like a star map. Art pressed her hand against Vince and nothing happened. Then, Vince blinked and he was back in his house, lying on his bed.

His phone, resting on his bedside table, told him he’d only been gone for about ten minutes. Vince sat up and grabbed his car keys. There was no way he was going to go back into the Labyrinth without a bit of preparation.

As he fumbled with his keys, a coughing fit beset him. A burning pain in his lungs and the back of his throat brought Vince to his knees.

Vince quickly brought up his profile window. He checked his status and Terminal Lung Cancer was still there.

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“I guess a healing potion doesn’t heal that.”

Terminal Lung Cancer:

Your cancer can be slowed by healing potions or spells. But to even partially reverse it, you need Angel’s Tears or something more powerful.

Vince unlocked his car door and got inside. “What is an Angel’s Tear? What’s it look like?”

The System did not respond.

—

For once, Vince felt a bit conflicted over gun laws. He’d walked out of Darrel’s Gun Emporium empty-handed and on a one-month waitlist for a pistol, a shotgun, and a rifle, as well as a ton of ammunition. How did people get guns so easily?

What Vince didn’t know is that he could have just driven over state lines, where Republicans had held the governorship since the two Clintons were in the White House and gun laws were far laxer and there was a one-day waiting period, which is what most people did. But Vince didn’t know this, so he didn’t. Instead, he hung his head in defeat and went to the military supply store.

The military supply store looked, on the outside, like a pleasant bakery. It was painted in pastel hues of pink and orange, and there were clouds painted on the windows. Inside was a radically different story.

Inside, it was a bit like being in the trenches, if the trenches were made of shelves stocked high with random surplus and second-hand items. There didn’t seem to be a logical organization to the store either, the aisles just twisted randomly and ended, giving way to more aisles that Vince hoped might eventually lead to a teller.

He wandered around, grabbing things at random, because he had no idea what he needed. Vince racked his brain and started shoving things in his shopping basket. The basket had a faded, scratched out target logo on it.

After about half an hour of shopping, Vince found the counter. Deciding he was finished (largely because he lacked the ability to carry more), he wandered up to it and hit the bell labeled ‘Ring for Service’.

A man appeared out of the back holding a remote. He pointed it at a TV, which flickered on and began playing an old war movie. Muted explosions boomed from the cheaper TV speakers as the man sat down at the counter and stared at Vince.

The cashier was a scrawny, middle-aged man dressed in well-worn army fatigues. The clothes hung off of him like a scarecrow and his skin was so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light.

Strange Cashier:

In 2014, exactly 10 years to the minute after his father cast a vote for George Bush in Florida, this cashier ordered a chocolate macchiato at a hip coffee shop and instead got a vanilla macchiato. He didn’t notice.

Vince was unsure of how that mattered or why the System had said that, so he just ignored it.

The cashier’s eyes wandered up to Vince’s and he frowned slightly. Vince gently set his cart of goods down in front of the cashier.

“I’ll give it to you for two hundred.”

Vince had noticed that none of the items had price tags. “One fifty.”

“One seventy-five.”

“Deal.”

Vince didn’t even bother asking if they took credit cards, he just took out enough cash to pay and put it down in front of the cashier. The cashier didn’t even count it, his hand just shot out and pulled it toward him like a cat pulling a dead mouse.

When he got home, Vince took out all of the stuff and laid it out on his bed. Some of the things didn’t cause the System to react, but some did.

Vince looked at a combat knife with a silvery edge.

Ganeleon’s Combat Knife:

This knife belonged to a soldier who somehow wandered into the Labyrinth. Unfortunately, he wandered into a kobold tribe’s village while they were making a peace deal with a local goblin gang.

Deals 25% more damage against goblins, kobolds, and humans.

Vince wondered if that meant that the cashier and his store had been a part of the Labyrinth but decided that, for his sanity, he wouldn’t think about it too hard. So he didn’t.

Vince looked at a white t-shirt emblazoned with a faded Led Zeppelin logo.

Old Led Zeppelin Shirt:

My favorite album is Led Zeppelin IV. I bet you didn’t even know there were four of them.

+1 to Conception.

Vince slipped the shirt on and waited. He didn’t feel any…better at whatever conception did.

Conception:

The sharp twinge in the brain from faded revelations coming to light, puzzle pieces connecting. Miles away, a raven crows, here, you’ve just figured it all out.

Maybe when Vince’s conception was higher he could figure out what the fuck that meant.

The only other thing that the System reacted to was a black rope made of fine, tough threads.

Fetish Rope:

This rope is intended for use in BDSM and other fetish situations. According to…people, the texture of the twine feels quite pleasurable (or painful, but what is pain other than just pleasure in a new way?) on the skin.

+10% Pleasure when using this rope for sexual purposes.

Vince dropped the rope back onto his bed. Then, he grabbed the rope with the tips of his fingers and dropped it into the drawer of his bedside table. He decided that he’d have to buy some new rope because, well, he didn’t want to use that one in the dungeon.

Achievement Unlocked: You Prude

What’s wrong with someone expressing their sexual interests, huh? Don’t act like you don’t have your own desires and…urges. I know what you’re into buddy, and let me tell you, it would make a nun blush.

Plus, so what if it’s good for sex, it’s also a good rope! Are you going to forgo a good rope because of your weird Puritanism?

Well, Vince thought, for a start, I’m a lapsed Catholic, not Protestant. Secondly, I don’t know if anyone else has the System or could see that rope’s name. And if someone could, I don’t really want to be known as the guy who carries around fetish rope in the Labyrinth, you know?

Achievement Unlocked: Good Point

Yeah, I mean, that’s fair.

Vince sighed. Why was he even bothering to explain himself to a voice in his head?