“From what news I’ve seen most people think it’s a conspiracy theory or a military drill. Officials haven’t released any official statements either, but I wouldn’t bet on them being able to come and help.” Her words were somber and almost detached. Hands dropped at her side and she had started hugging herself slightly.

Looking past Arthur, James started walking towards the clearing. Avoidance was a perfectly fine strategy, as she could attest. She couldn’t even meet his eyes, just hours ago she was one of those people laughing at the news. Now she was stuck here.

Karma was real. Maybe even as real as the System as far as she knew. James paled as she realized how often she’d said God’s name in vain. Better not think about it. Avoidance was the name of the game.

The clearing looked like an outdoor version of what the medieval structure from the first tutorial must have looked like. Full to the brim with people. Though perhaps she was exaggerating the similarity. It was neatly divided into four subsections, though they weren’t even remotely equal in size.

Most of the grassland appeared to be a training area, containing target practice area, training dummies, and obstacles. The majority of people were there, being led through their paces by a couple of trainers, even now as the early midday sun bore down on them. Others seemed to be on guard, though they had a few open spots in their defense where the men surrounding her now shuffled in.

Another section looked like a camp cooking area, but it was relatively empty of people. James assumed the people there had experience, because otherwise there couldn’t be nearly enough of them to make enough food. Even if they were skilled, though, she doubted the food could be very good.

In general, she tried to avoid mass-produced food, in particular scrambled eggs. Those scared her. They were made from powder of all things! Furthermore, good, scrambled eggs needed to be taken off the heat the second they were finished. Mass cooking scrambled eggs ensured that half would be undercooked, the other half overcooked, and none were done right. She couldn’t smell any of the food this far out, but she’d be sure to let others take the first bite before trying anything.

One section, if she could call it that given its miniscule size, was a medium-sized hut. It had the same medieval vibe as the building from her last tutorial. A small chimney snaked itself out from the roof, gently releasing puffs of smoke into the sky. She found herself attracted to it for some odd reason, and she veered off in its direction. Maybe it’s because she was a lover of cottagecore on Pinterest? But she didn’t really think so since the main reason she was so attracted to the idea was the reclusivity of it all.

The last partition interested her the least, full of an assortment of different workstations such as long tables, some with anvils for smithing, others with space for leatherwork, and yet others with spin-circles for clay.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of the expensive mud, having never liked the feeling of clay on her hands. Something a lot of child therapists had had to learn the hard way, not understanding that if she was willing to speak up about it it must be a deep hatred.

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“Are you the leader?” James asked, though the question really was ridiculous. The answer was clearly yes. And she didn’t really want to get him talking, but what other choice did she really have? As bad as she was as a team player James recognized that the only way to get through this is to be one. And she certainly wasn’t going to challenge him for the leader position. For one, it would be an easy way to die after escaping that same fate earlier, and for another it would require even more human interaction.

It seemed all her choices eventually boiled down to that one variable: people. Of course, she wasn’t sure she really belonged on this team, but that would be a discussion for another time.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat, seemingly going back to a script he had already used a million times before. “Do you have any areas you think you could help us with?”

“I was majoring in programming and veterinary studies, but I’m not sure how that’s going to work out now,” walking through the meadow, James was startled to realize that most of the people she was seeing were men. While she was a programming major, and it was known for being predominantly men, she never went to in-person classes. So her own experience with the CS degree was just her and her computer.

She also doubted the boys in her classes looked like these men. These men were toned and muscular, something she would have been surprised to note in a programmer looking at the screen 8 hours a day. Interspersed were some lone women, but they all seemed to fit the same mold, most likely being athletes or soldiers, just like the rest. And a mold she certainly didn’t fit. The most she ever did was go for a job. Reluctantly. Cue the social anxiety.

Usually, James knew that telling herself she didn’t fit in was irrational, but she couldn’t convince myself of that with the usual conviction this time. For one thing, she wasn’t a guy, or a “bro,” and she certainly wasn’t like any of these women.

“You should probably also know I have pretty severe social anxiety.” That was an understatement, she had once had a respected therapist in tears after she tried to calm her down in a room full of people she knew. To be completely fair, James had tried to tell her about that one family Thanksgiving meal she had attended but the psychologist had admonished her for her “defeatist attitude.” Not that she wasn’t completely wrong, but James didn’t think that that was what was going to help her.

Being outdoors was always preferable, and if this Tutorial had proven anything thus far, it was that she could somewhat deal with people outdoors. She'd always had a hunch that that was the case, but she had never done anything to test it. If this hadn’t proven it, she didn’t know what would.

Still, it was better to tell him now than down the road when he tried to stick her in a room full of people. Or before she had a panic attack in the middle of the crowd of men training. Which definitely wasn’t in danger of happening. Not at all.

“I’ll put you in the infirmary then. We do have one doctor, but I’m sure he’d appreciate an assistant. Just to make sure, you haven’t managed to gain a Class? Or Skill?” James kept her face carefully blank, a look that seemed to convey mild interest. She didn’t have either a Class or a Skill but explaining what she did have could cause some issues.

She didn’t really want to explain how she was from Washington state in the United States. And that she could talk to them because she got her Permanent Skill A Thousand Questions. Or that she only got that from her Title: Mark of the Censured and Censored. Because, for some reason, Mark of the Censured and Censored didn’t seem all that positive a thing to earn.