Another long day in the office. Another long day looking over spreadsheets. Another long day calculating profit margins in my head, like the 163 IQ individual I am. My name is Mark Whooten, and I am the CEO of FunGames. Outside of my window, it grows darker. No surprise, really. Winter is coming nearer every day, and soon, the holiday season will arrive. With it, the parents will start to buy their kids gifts, and our games are among the highest selling in the market. For me, this is all that the holidays are. Profit season.
I glance out across the city skyline. Towers, shimmering beams of glass, towering over the ants who walk across the street. FunGames banners fly across a few of them, advertising to the people of the city, and getting our name out there. Of course, it already dominates the cultural zeitgeist. Our most recent releases, Hyper Man and Dungeon Crawler X have been smash hits in the gaming world. And I myself was behind them. In name, anyways.
A knock at the door.
“Come in.” I say it loudly enough for her to hear.
“Package for you, Boss.” It’s my loyal secretary, Brandy, wearing a tight fitting blazer that perfectly outlines her figure. I initially hired her for her good looks, but her work has been sufficient enough to keep her position well into her 30s.
“Did you screen it?” I ask Brandy, leaning forward across my desk.
“Anything that comes up here to the 55th floor is screened already in the mailroom.” Brandy replies, sternly. “But, yes, I did. I know you don’t trust the fools down there.”
“Thank you. Set it on the table over there, would you?” I motion to the Victorian mahogany table I imported recently. “Mind to not scratch the lacquer. I just had it refinished.”
“Yes, I know. I’m not a moron.” Brandy says back to me, smiling. “Anything else you need?”
I take a moment to think, before responding. “No. You can go home for the day.” The earlier she clocks out, the better. She’s been verging on overtime pay this week, which would cut into margins, and there’s not any work she’d be doing tonight that I’m incapable of.
“Alright.” She nods her head and leaves, taking mind to close the door behind herself. She understands my position. I understand her game. She’s intelligent and driven, and in it for herself. Operates on the same wavelength I do. That’s why she’s still here. She gets it.
The box is finally here. I tear it open with ferocity, ripping the tape and cardboard alike with no regard for the materials holding my prize within. I’ve waited so long for this, a precious idol to adorn my desk. It’s finally arrived.
As I pull the bubble-wrapped object out from the shreds, I feel a smile involuntarily spread across my face. It’s real. It’s here. An emerald, hewn into the shape of the Dungeon Crawler, with my very own face carved into it. A perfect monument to my labors and efforts climbing this corporate ladder and reaching the summit.
I proudly set it on my desk. It shines brilliantly under the lights above, the orange hues shimmering off of the faceted surface of the massive gemstone statuette. Authority. Glamour. Excellence.
A knock at the door. Not that of Brandy, and not familiar to anyone else who I might recognize. “Hello?” I call out across the office.
The door flies in, in a loud bang. I reach for my top drawer, and try to grab my gun, but I’m too slow. In the instant the door flies open, I hear two gunshots, and feel a piercing pain radiate from my chest, and then my shoulder. I can do nothing but collapse in agony forward onto my desk as my own blood spatters across the emerald figurine and the rich wood that builds the desk. I look up, but my vision goes blurry, and the assailant who has surely ended my life is already gone, slamming the door behind themself. I was too slow. And too careless.
I should have lived a better life. I should have done better. Spent more time with my family, had children, and raised them. I shouldn't have been such a conniving viper. I should have donated to charity. I should have been a good person. A better person. I could have made life better for so many people. I’m sorry, God. I should have been better. Give me a chance to repent. Give me a chance to live again. The emerald statuette mocks me, staring at me. A monument to my ego, my own desires, my lavish lifestyle. A figure representing my sins and misdeeds. My last thoughts are of cleaning the blood off of it before everything goes black.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
I suddenly awaken in a dark room, sitting on a cold, hard chair, with jagged edges. The lighting is dim and I’m unsure of what’s happened. My first reaction is to reach for the places where the bullet hit me. Clean. My suit is fine, not even damaged, and still perfectly tailored and fitting me. No blood stains. I take a moment to gather myself, and after realizing that I’m still alive, and that the shooting must have been a bad dream, I decide to look up from myself again. Thank fuck. I’m alive. It’s time to return to my office and get back to work. I just need to sort out where I am.
“Mark Whooten. CEO of FunGames.”
“Yes. That’s me.” I reflexively acknowledge the individual addressing me by a corporate title. Politeness can go a far way in this world. However, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I make out the figure of the individual sitting across from me. “Wait. How do you know who I am?” She’s not a familiar figure, not one I recognize.
“My name is Altena, the Goddess of Patience and Labor. I’ve been tasked by the other Goddesses with instilling in you a sense of humility and gratitude, and changing you for the better. You’re basically my project.”
I sigh, and raise my eyebrow. “So, who put you up to this, Altena? Weird prank. Where am I? Can I get back to work?”
“What? No. You’re dead. Basically dead. I’m giving you a second lease on life in an attempt to try and salvage who you are as a person.” The woman, now more clear in my vision, looks at me with disdain in her eyes. Me! How arrogant! “Anyways, one of the rules for entering into the Trial of Heart and being reincarnated in a new world, this time…” she flips through a stack of papers as if searching documents, though they seem blank to me. “...being sent to Tollaria. You get one wish before you are reincarnated and given a chance to live a better life.”
Reincarnation? Tollaria? I’m starting to think this might be the afterlife. Surely not. However, it’s best I go along with this for the time being, and, if I can, I’ll strike a better deal. “One wish? That’s it?”
“You’re lucky to even get one, human. It can be anything you wish for. You can bring one thing with you.”
“Seriously? So, you’re saying I’m lucky to have died, and that I should be grateful that I’m dead and get one measly wish?” Obviously, the wish is powerful if what this goddess says is true. One wish… If I can get two… “I wish for more wishes!”
“Not how this works. Try again. I’m sure you knew that wouldn’t work.” She adjusts her glasses, which I just now notice her wearing. Her dress, a long flowing emerald green sits over her shoulders, and blonde hair trails over the fabric.
“How about… Can I wish for more of you? More genies?” She scowls.
“First of all, I’m not a genie. Second of all, that is not how this works. I am the Goddess of Patience, that does not mean that I am patient for games. You are a game to me. A bet among deities higher than your perception. Do not try to break this deal or gamify these circumstances. You should be thankful that your bleeding pig corpse even gets to breathe still, after three bullets penetrated your lungs.”
“Well, I only counted two shots, and one of them definitely shattered my shoulder, so only one bullet pierced my lung.” She looks even angrier than before.
“Are you doubting the wisdom of a Goddess?”
“Surely, if you were as intelligent and wise as you claim to be, Goddess, you would be able to grant more than one wish.”
“That’s it, no wish for you. I’ll send you to Tollaria, and the world will sort you out. I’ll see you for a check-in in a month.” She starts to move her hands in a mystical and fluid motion, and I feel the wind begin to billow around me. Suddenly, my chair is lifted off of its feet and I’m sent flying across the room, and suddenly feel myself flying down, air hitting my face with force and tumbling me about as I plummet down towards a lush jungled realm. No, this is no prank. This is real. And I don’t even get a fucking wish. Greedy bitch. I guess I’ll just have to pull myself up by my boo--
I hit the ground with a painful thud. I look up and around myself. Three strange looking creatures hold hands and look on at me, their green skin largely blending into the lush greenery of the jungle.
“Do you need help, sir? You look hurt. We can take you back to the village and heal you, we have medicine.”
“Medicine? I’m sure my insurance doesn’t work here. How much does it cost?” I feel around in my pockets for any spare change, but they’re empty.
The three goblin creatures look confused, and the one who seems to be their leader steps forward, and opens his mouth to speak. “Insurance? Cost? I’m quite unsure of what these concepts are. We’d be more than happy to help you, sir.” What kind of twisted world is this?