Nick had deep and weighty matters to consider, but he couldn’t find it within himself to ponder them just yet. Instead, he decided to start with an equally important but eminently more palatable use of his time, training up some of his brand-new skills. He took a quick look at his profile while deciding where to start.
Light shield would have to wait until he found a shield to practice with. And while he could visualize evading while shadow boxing, he sensed that he wouldn’t be able to improve the skill unless something was actually trying to hit him.
But his sexy new throwing and sword skills were another matter entirely. After a moment of reflection spent gazing out the window, Nick decided to try out throwing first. He’d been swinging his sword around an awful lot lately and he wanted to enjoy a few final hours before he picked up the weapon once more.
Besides, his survival had hinged upon a few lucky tosses back during the tutorial, especially when lobbing the consumable flashbang orbs he had found in the sewer. Improving his aim with a wide variety of objects would increase his range of options during the ordeals to come.
As he began working out the details of his training regimen, Nick realized that he was smiling. That he had come to genuinely enjoy the prospect of improving his capabilities, along with the undeniable satisfaction he felt in watching the numbers on his profile go up. Despite the heartache and the pressure, the stress of having humanity’s future hanging in the balance, he had to admit that he liked this aspect of his new reality. That he liked almost all of it now that he thought about it, except for the blood and the fear and watching good people die in front of his eyes.
Back in his old life, before the System threw everything into chaos, he had been comfortable, content, and relatively satisfied with his daily grind. Competitive gaming had been a solid hobby, a reliable source of income, and a decent social outlet to boot. But quality of life aside, Nick had always considered his existence to be low impact. He didn’t add to the suffering of the world, and his choices did little to leave the planet a better place, excepting his relationships with his family and friends.
But now, now his life mattered. Here, in this very moment, his choices were impacting the fate of his home world. The survival of his species, alongside the myriad lifeforms that called the Earth home. With the shadow of the Mad God looming over their future, Nick was fighting for his people and everything that he loved. He was taking part in events that had shattered the very foundation of human existence. Had witnessed the death of their old way of life and the birth of a new, wonderous and terrifying, chapter in the story of mankind.
Bad Nick, he bit his tongue to punish his brain. No deep thoughts until after dinner. Behave yourself, and let’s go throw some shit around the room. Chuckling at his whimsy, he turned away from the infinite cloudscape and started scanning his suite, searching for promising objects to throw and things to throw them into.
After getting a sense for what he had to work with, he decided to start by fashioning a target. He walked over to his pile of gear and unsheathed his new dagger. After examining its razored edge with appreciation, he headed into the bedroom and pulled a blanket free from the mattress.
His plan was to cut holes of various shapes and sizes into the covering, then stretch it out between some furniture to use as a target. But to his surprise, when he tried sliding the dagger through the cloth, the satiny fabric proved to be utterly impenetrable to his blade. No matter how hard Nick pushed, he couldn’t even work the tip through the light weave. Shrugging to himself, he tried again with his sheet, only to get the same result.
His curiosity aroused, he walked into the kitchen, removed the plainest glass he could find from the shelf, then tossed it high into the air. He ducked behind the fridge, peeking past the corner as the glass came down, preparing himself for a crash followed by long minutes of cleaning up the resulting mess. But that was not what happened.
What happened was that the delicate container struck the floor with a chiming thud before rolling to a stop by his feet, whole and unmarred in any way. Oh. I get it, he slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. The safe room protects the objects inside as well as the people. This must be the System’s version of home-owner’s insurance.
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I wonder if this suite belongs to someone who rents it out to the System. It does seem a bit different from the other safe rooms I’ve seen. In the end, Nick decided that this feature would help his practice more than it hurt it. While this development left him with a momentary lack of a target, it meant that there were now considerably more options as far as things to throw were concerned.
After a bit of contemplation, he was armed with a new plan. Using the kitchen table as a staging area, he began collecting every container that was bigger than his coffee mug, then moved on to gathering up any object he could find that was remotely reminiscent of aerodynamic. When he was done, he went to work spreading his targets across the room. Pots and pans, wastebaskets and dresser drawers, were staggered across the floor at various ranges. He even put some up on shelves and along the furniture to create targets at various heights and angles.
Twenty minutes later, his impromptu training ground was complete and at long last, it was time to start throwing. His first projectile was his shiny new dagger, even though he could tell that it wasn’t properly weighted to be thrown. He clasped the dagger’s blade between his fingertips, with the hilt rising above his hand like they show in the movies. He took aim for a pot he had set sideways on a bookshelf, cocked his arm back, then flicked his wrist while extending his elbow.
The dagger went whizzing from Nick’s fingers, flashing through the air in a wobbling arc. He could tell that his throw was off from the moment of release, dagger missing the pot by a good five feet before crashing to the floor with a clatter. Embarrassed despite the fact that there was no one to witness him fail so spectacularly, he opened his profile, hoping to see that his skill had improved.
To his disappointment, throwing still displayed a fat goose egg, refusing to budge from zero after another dozen throws. I guess you’re going to have to work for it after all Nick. He went to collect his makeshift arsenal, which was scattered around the room, not discouraged in the least. He honestly hadn’t expected his training to bear fruit just yet. After all, he hadn’t felt the skill’s guidance kick in and more importantly, he hadn’t really learned anything yet.
Two hours later, Nick was getting into the swing of things. He had stopped obsessing over checking his profile after every throw and begun placing his full attention into the movements of his arms and shoulders. By now, he was doing the same thing he would be trying if he had wanted to improve his aim without picking up the throwing skill to begin with.
He had set aside all the objects that were poorly balanced, leaving them for advanced practice later on, focusing his efforts on a smaller pile that featured a central balance point and were closer in shape to the spheres and rocks he had been flinging around back in the tutorial.
Right now, he was in the middle of cocking a ceramic mug over his shoulder, aiming for a deep pot he had set halfway across the room. Nick closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, placing his concentration into the weight of the crockery in his hand. Visualizing which muscles he would move to send it sailing along the trajectory he had chosen. How the force would carry the mug forward in a controlled, clean line of force that began with the motion of his throw and extend all the way to his target.
This time, as Nick prepared to engage the muscles in his shoulder, something clicked into focus. A clear impression of the vector he had chosen, and the movement required to bring it to life. Following the flow of this feeling, he brought the mug to one side and then raised it higher, where it would receive a perfect launch from his throw. A spot that somehow felt right.
In that same moment, he opened his eyes and let loose. His instant of perfect concentration lasted just long enough to release the mug and send it flying. He watched in delight as the ceramic container went soaring across the room, arcing up and then curving down to land dead-center in the pot with a resounding clang.
Yes! That’s more like it. Acting on instinct, Nick opened his profile. As he had hoped, there was a new notification awaiting his review.
Through use, you have improved the following skills:
Throwing has increased from [0] to [1].
Eager to internalize what he had learned, he kept on throwing for another hour, trying to reach the same level of focus when releasing overhand, underhand, sidearm, as well as a few more exotic angles. He wasn’t able to raise the skill again, but he was already developing a better sense for the mechanics of throwing.
His new skill subtly guided his efforts, helping him notice when the object he was flinging was properly supported by the movements of his muscles. Of which toss to use at what angle, and how hard to throw to keep the object on target.
That’s a good start, Nick began putting everything back into piles on the kitchen table. His arms were sore from the hours’ long session, but he figured it meant that he had gotten in a little strength training on the side. He decided that it was a good time to take a break and unwind, the first time he had thought about relaxing since his new life began.