> Commencing System Integration Protocol...
The grey, translucent message hovered in front of Bob's face. Needless to say, the sight had surprised him terribly, but a long-standing habit of laziness had protected him from any sudden movements. A good thing too because Jonny the Man might have tumbled into the watery depths of the bathtub.
Bob's first thought, after he recovered the capacity of thought, was: "can I ignore this?" He waited a couple seconds and then a couple more. Nothing dramatic happened. "Yes I think I can ignore this," Bob decided, turning back to his book.
> Planetary Handshake Attempted...
>
> Planetary Handshake Success.
Ah, Bob made an indefinite sound between displeasure and confusion. Bob read through the text. It didn't mean a lot to him. And in all honesty, it sounded a little above his pay grade. This sounded like something for the higher-ups, the generals, presidents and prime minsters of the world. Why else do we put them in big, white houses? Bob figured nobody would mind if he, you know, got back to his book. Jonny was waiting and all.
> Commencing Potential Value Analysis...
>
> Initiation Candidates Identified.
>
> Recycle Candidates Identified.
Ah, Bob's sound had shifted along the spectrum towards annoyance. Bob made a token effort to parse the words. He was a good citizen, willing to do his part, even at great personal cost to himself.
"Recycle Candidates" sounded ominous. Bob didn't understand how plastics were recycled, didn't understand and wasn't really interested. But recycling humans seemed like a process many orders of magnitude more complex and painful.
> Scheduling Recycle Action...
>
> Recycle Action Scheduled for T-90 seconds.
Ah, was there a shade of fear in the sound? Bob wondered whether he should get out of the bath. It was a tricky problem. There were lots of variables to consider. For one, the messages were appearing projected over Bob's vision. It seemed highly improbable that they were somehow connected with his bathtub. Improbable but not impossible. Still he was loath to leave the comfort and safety of the warm water on the mere chance of an improbability.
> Loading System Initiation...
>
> Initiation Plane Generated.
>
> Commencing Initiation Customization...
>
> Initiation Customization Complete.
Ah, the masculine acknowledgement of a new development. Something was happening; Bob felt confident he could assert at least that much. He slowly started to close Jonny the Man.
Bob stopped himself. He really wanted to find out what was going to happen next. And it didn't sound like he had much to do with the messages. Or at least, it didn't sound like whatever he did would make any difference. The consolation of the weak. It wasn't like the, what was the name, "the system," wouldn't penalize him for reading, would it? There couldn't possibly exist an in-the-bath penalty, now could there?
> Preparing Initiation Transport...
>
> Initiation Transport Preparations Complete.
>
> Scheduling Initiation Transport...
>
> Initiation Transport Scheduled for T-60 seconds.
>
> Recycle Action Countdown: T-60 seconds.
Ah, Bob's anger flared out in the familiar vocalization. Only one minute. Bob could barely wade through a paragraph in that time. He wouldn't find out who would win the fight. Jonny the Man and Kai Vortex were locked in a desperate, death-defying duel. Now might be Bob's only chance to see the thing through. He searched desperately around for the sentence he'd been reading.
> Commencing World Survey...
>
> World Survey Complete.
>
> World Evolution Criteria Unfulfilled;
>
> World Terraform Required.
>
> Scheduling World Terraform...
>
> World Terraform Scheduled for T-120 seconds.
>
>
>
> Initiation Transport Countdown: T-30 seconds.
>
> Recycle Action Countdown: T-30 seconds.
Ah, despair. Bob closed Jonny the Man. It was no good. Bob couldn’t read the book through the stream of grey messages that obscured his vision. He had been deprived of his final pleasure.
Bob sighed and read back up through the logs. As far as he could make out, these "Candidates" were divided into two groups: "Initiation" and "Recycle". The initiation group was marked out to be transported somewhere, while the recycle group was doomed to face a "Recycle Action."
> Initiation Transport Countdown: T-10 seconds.
>
> Recycle Action Countdown: T-10 seconds.
Ah... Bob pondered the two options. He didn't have to ponder very long. People didn't walk away from a recycle action. The phrase had a finality to it. Initiation, on the other hand, was a new beginning, a place to grow and develop. Unfortunately, Bob's newfound preference robbed him of the divine indifference he had enjoyed earlier. He suddenly felt very invested in the outcome, yet simultaneously possessing no means of influencing it.
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> Initiation Transport in 3
That was when the obvious explanation first occurred to Bob: "I've gone crazy, haven't I? Bat crazy. Work stress. I knew it would get to me eventually, but I thought I had more time. Isn't it supposed to happen in your forties. I'm still in my twenties. It's not fair."
> Initiation Transport in 2
"Oh no, here she comes." Bob clenched the sides of the tub, preparing himself for the worst. He had the maddening impression that he had forgotten something important. He bit his lip and tried to think.
> Recycle Action in 3
He hadn't left the stove on had he? Was it something to do with work? Did he pay his phone bill this month? Had he left the window open? No, that didn't feel right. Come on Bob, think!
> Initiation Transport in 1
"George!" Bob called out to the dog. The dog was lying on the bathroom threshold just where Bob had left him. He hadn't stirred an inch. George cracked open an eye and turned his head around at the sound.
> Recycle Action in 2
That didn't sound good. Looked like they both missed the bus. Bob gulped. His stomach all butterflies.
> Recycle Action in 1
Goodbye George.
The world blazed white and then snapped back into focus. Bob fell a half-inch or so to the ground, splashing down into a patch of mud, butt-naked, with nothing but the paperback in his hand. Bob couldn't believe it. The system had gone and slapped him with an in-the-bath penalty. I told you, you should've gotten out.
> Greetings, sentient. Welcome to the System Initiation!
>
> Best of luck
Today truly was the worst of days. Where was the welcoming warmth, the soothing swirl of mist, the gentle glow of indoor light—he was sitting in a brown puddle of mud, in what looked like a forest, and yes, of course, it was raining, just a grey drizzle from an overcast sky, but couldn’t a man catch a break?
> Challenge One (1/4):
>
> Defeat the boar
Bob slowly worked his way to his feet, groaning and grumbling, cursing and complaining. He rubbed tenderly at his backside; he hadn’t landed well and he bruised easily. And all the while, he was trying his best to avoid soiling the book (he was at a really good part). The result was he had to push himself up with one hand in a rather awkward, unnatural position.
He was up. He was standing. The great man is the one who always gets back up. He stood there in the empty forest, the rain drizzling down, and how he stank! The mud stuck to him. It had gotten everywhere, truly everywhere. It must have splashed up when he was catapulted here, because his front was spotted and spattered with mud.
How was he supposed to get this slime off himself? He had no towel or tissues, nothing to wipe with. In sheer desperation, he used his one free hand to scrape away thick clots of mud and throw them onto the ground. This was less than effective; if anything it seemed to spread the mud around, resulting in a wider (though thinner) continuous sheen.
He needed to find himself civilization, a hot shower, a cotton towel and some fresh clothes. Even a system initiation must have the essential services. It was just then that he heard a low, nasal call from the bushes, maybe thirty yards ahead, followed by a rustling that steadily increased in volume.
“Jesus Christ!” An adult boar, think giant brown pig with sharp white tusks, was nosing its way through the undergrowth. “Challenge, my arse; how in god’s name am I suppose to defeat that thing.” A dagger materialized in the air in front of him, he fumbled, almost saved it, and then splat, straight into the thickest part of the mud.
“God dammit; very funny, very funny” Bob mouthed, shaking a fist vaguely in the air, as though threatening the tree in front of him. He reached down, hesitated, for pity’s sake, he’d just wiped off his hand, did he really need the knife, but a low grumble from the bush ahead was a persuasive argument. He plunged his hand back into the mud, seized the dagger and readied himself. Which is to say he crouched slightly and held the dagger out in front of him (mostly for effect).
The boar didn’t seem to have noticed him yet. No surprise there, must be hard to smell anything through all this mud. Maybe he could still sneak away, yes, that’s what he’d do; ambush it later once it had fallen asleep. He tried to step stealthily away: squelch. The boar reacted instantaneously, eyes wide, head turning directly towards him, tusks glistening menacingly.
“Ok, Bob; you got this. Nice and easy.” He’d finally dropped the book he had been carefully protecting all this time–there is only so much a man could do. “You’ll step out of the way at the last second and stab it as it passes; easy-peasy, easy-peasy; here she comes.”
He tossed the dagger between his two hands, the steel blade spinning in the air, as he tried to project an air of calm professionalism. Like he was cool and ready, not arrogant, just confident enough to want to wrap things up—that is until the boar roared and charged at him.
Bob mistimed his catch. Most unfortunate. But he had the wit to give up on the thing practically immediately and just legged it for the nearest tree. The boar followed, gaining speed. When, thankfully, mercifully, the mud slowed the boar down. Bob never imagined he’d end up feeling so grateful for a spot of mud here and there.
Bob was already in the higher branches when the boar impacted the trunk. He was high and clear, except the tree trembled and shook, and the shaking damn well nearly knocked Bob right out of the tree and onto the waiting boar’s head. Somehow, god-willing, he clung on.
He was panting, breath ragged, his feet, hands, knees scratched all over by the knobby bark. He looked like some island savage who’d just emerged from a thorn bush. But he was grinning ear-to-ear, alive, he was alive; the boar hadn’t yet turned him into road kill. Yet, he reminded himself, placing a steadying hand against the trunk as he looked down.
The boar was circling the tree, its beady, little eyes glaring up at Bob, as it huffed and puffed its displeasure at the indecent intruder. Bob leaned back and sighed. This was turning into quite the ordeal. He reached out and snapped off a ripe apple from the branch in front of him. It had turned out to be an apple tree. Good thing too, because by the look of things, he expected he’d be stuck up here for the foreseeable future.
He bit it into it, rather juicy, if he did say so himself, comforted the soul, a good apple did. He even thought he felt the stinging of his scratches lessen a little bit. When he’d swallowed down as much as he could, he dropped the core into a little hollow in the trunk. First rule of a siege: don’t feed the enemy.
Well then, snack and self-congratulations out of the way, now was Bob's chance to put things in order, iron out the wrinkles in this situation, clean house, you know. And the first order of business was: where in God’s name was he?
He looked up at the sky, but it was one grey ugly face looking down at him. Not that in all honesty, he could have inferred anything from the angle of the sun or the position of the stars. Celestial geometry was not one of Bob’s specialities. But these things are worth trying.
He supposed he ought to be asking himself whether he was dreaming. That was what characters tended to do in these sort of situations. Somehow Bob didn’t really see it that way. He was a practical man. Head-on-shoulders kind of guy. After all, he was here wasn’t he, living, running, suffering. It was just as real and a good deal more painful than anything else he’d experienced in his twenty-four years on this planet.
Sure, that he was not in his bath, enjoying a warm soak and a quiet book, was surprising, yes, most surprising. Bob granted that. How had he got here? How could he get back? What had all that strange text meant? All complete mysteries. Bob granted all this. But Bob was a take-as-you-go kind of guy. And the universe had made its wishes very clear: “defeat the boar.” What good would it do to stand there debating the motivations of a being infinitely more powerful than oneself? The job was clear. Defeat the boar. And he meant to give the thing the old college try.
Problem was, see, how the hell was he going to mange that, stuck up in a tree, butt-naked, his only weapon buried in the mud ten paces away? And for Pete’s sake was this rain ever going to let up? Truly the great questions of our time.