I woke in a pool of remorse. I’d tried to alienate the very essence of what I needed to survive this loop. I didn’t even have the excuse that I’d been drunk when I’d done it. I lay there for longer than I should have, trying to get the courage to summon Terra and face the music. They loved me. They would forgive me. They were just going to be mad because they were worried. I felt like some recalcitrant teenager and that didn’t help.

Ugh. When had I gotten so weak? What was going on in my fucked-up head? I needed to get up and fight. I hated that they’d gotten into my head without even talking to me. This is what they did, though. They would say these reasonable things and then walk away as if you were going to just bow under the pressure to become what they wanted you to be. Worst of all, I hated that I hated them.

People are going to tell you that you’re bad. They’re going to say it from their deep-seated commitment to their own perspective. They need you to buckle under and be the bad person so they can feel justified in what they do, when the only real justification is that they’ve always done it this way. It is the most insidious evil on any world, the assertion that the way it’s been done is the only way to do it. It doesn’t seem like it’s all that bad, and that’s the trap. Their way is considered the right way even as it eats away your awareness of yourself as a diverse and unique individual.

This college was my nightmare. Was it petty? No. They want you to think that. They tell you that they do things for your own good and the good of the society they create. They justify anything to keep you from exposing their willingness to do anything toward that goal. It’s been done to them, and they’ve come out better for it, so they must do it to you as well. It is the exact pattern of justification for abuse that is recognized everywhere but in those who wield the keys to higher society.

From the Breakfast Club to Dead Poet’s Society, the theme is the same. The need to tame the individual is essential for the good of society. It isn’t true. The only reason an individual needs to be tamed is so that corruption of those in power can continue. The problem was that the college won the quest if it flunked me out, and the college won if I graduated. The only way out was to discredit the college and that would take far more than a single person.

I let the truth soak into me, swallowed hard, and summoned Terra, ready for their anger. She had barely begun to appear when Dom summoned her back. A little anger was good for all of us, but anger between us would only serve them. And my self-pity inspired rebellion was only shooting myself in the foot.

“I’m sorry,” I told them both before they had a chance to say anything.

“Fuck that,” Dom growled into my mind, Terra too quiet. I summoned her back because I needed to touch her. “Are you alright?”

“No,” I admitted angrily. “And that pisses me off.”

“Good,” Dom replied even as Terra leaned into me, granting the comfort I craved.

“I’m okay physically,” I told him, and felt him relax a bit.

“That’s a start,” he said more calmly.

“I just remember it all,” I pet Terra and ran off my extra mana by casting Clean on everything in the room. “The college and what they did to me, both times.” I barely managed to hint to Dom that this had happened both at home and in the previous loop. I was hoping that he understood. “It’s hard to shake off years of their bullshit.”

“I’m here this time,” he let me know that he understood.

“You were there the first time too,” I shook my head, trying and failing to sift through this taint in my mind. “Hundreds of thousands of people attend colleges every year. How did they get through it? How did they stomach the hypocrisy?”

“Years upon years of brainwashing.”

I knew he was right. In my old world, I hadn’t been able to fight it. In this one, I could and I had to. I guess the problem is you. Someone is reading and judging me right now. It’s why I’m stalling. I know that you won’t understand how much I hate them or how wrecked I am by their hypocrisy until you see what they do. I’d say, “Wake up,” but, like everything else that can mean something, it’s a phrase that’s been battered to death upon the waters of mediocrity. Okay, I’ll show you.

I didn’t need them to teach me magic. I knew magic. I didn’t need them to teach me how to conform to their morality. I had my own honor and priorities and because of that, I was condescendingly branded childishly irresponsible. Absurd. It sounds good, but it is truly absurd. Try to remember that my goal was to defeat this place and everyone in it. Fizzbarren’s goal was to create a story to rival popular wizardry fiction. UNLV won if I graduated or flunked out, and Fizzbarren won if I did it in a way that makes a good story, but I also lose if you stop reading so I have to make a good story anyway.

Lots of folks have been run through this Catch-22 of whatever you do someone else wins. In my case and the case of everyone sucked up into it, our Catch-22’s were designed by this story engine of Fizzbarren’s. It’s about more than Beau, Lily, Chester and my family. Before I was ever sucked in, there were dozens of slim books on the failure shelf in Fizzbarren’s living room workshop. Those people weren’t like you and me. They couldn’t think of solutions that went sideways enough to win even when Fizzbarren put them in situations that were win-win for him. He was truly amazing at creating those situations, but maybe that was because he was put in them often enough by our own society as it grew around him. Still, understanding him did not mean I condoned his actions, and I was hoping I was going to be able to stop him. After all, if I didn’t, I’d be up on the shelf with the rest of them.

So, hang on by hanging up whatever preconceptions you might have about how the story goes from here. This is satire, not popular fiction. Your mind is going to want to lock into the expected plotline, but my survival depended on disrupting that. It’ll be a little uncomfortable. Ratcheting anything out of the societal expectations is always closer to horror than fantasy.

“I’m coming,” Dom said into our link.

“I know,” I whispered out loud because I needed to hear my voice in the emptiness of our little dorm room. “You have contacts for the Capital?”

“I do,” Dom’s tone was smug. It should be. Dom had just taken out and taken over the Thieves’ and Assassins’ Guild in Siff. He was doing what I’d done the first time, only he was doing it with a deliberateness that I hadn’t had back then. I wished I could be there with him, but I trusted him to get it done, mostly because it extracted revenge for Kat’s death. It was good motivation for both of us, but it was better in that taking over that Guild was key to establishing our reputation here in the Capital.

Dom and I have been married for many years. Pillow talk explorations of how to undermine the underworld of Fizzbarren’s pathetic world was exciting to both of us, so it was easy to slip into our CMS (crazy monkey sex, in case you forgot). Fizzbarren, jaded old curmudgeon that he was, abhorred romance, so it was the only place we could plan or scheme. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t detailed, but it was a way to get on the same page. Killing everyone in the Underground of Siff would barely have taken a few hours at our levels. Resetting the very core of what the Thieves’ and Assassins’ Guild was in that town took the rest of that day. Dom was still a few days away by coach because he’d revamped a whole guild. When I’d done it, I’d pulled a Norma Rae and stood on the table until they’d joined the union. Dom had done it the opposite way by pulling a Hoffa, only Dom had disappeared on purpose.

What I hated was twiddling my thumbs in the Capital. I’d gone through the logic. What would happen if I didn’t show up to class? I’d get bad grades. What happened if I got bad grades? I’d flunk out of a college that wouldn’t exist in a few months. But I couldn’t flunk out. Then I’d lose. And I wasn’t going to lose. This was me pulling myself together. I did what I do. I did magic without them. Did Fizzbarren think that flunking me out of college was an epic defeat for me? Possibly, but it would take longer for them to flunk me out than it would take me to take them down this time. Still, I had to play the game long enough to break it.

There it was. There was the core of my mental blubbering. I had to play the game and be the student they wanted me to be even as it turned my stomach. And that was another insidious side effect of their officious snatching of me from where I’d been and launching me straight at the main plot. I was doomed to do as they asked, while they found fault with everything I did, and did everything in their power to mold me into a drone just like them. They didn’t do any of this consciously or purposefully, any more than an abusive parent beats their children because they’ve thought long and hard about how to raise their kids. They simply do what was done to them without questioning the truth or morality of it. These college officials were grasping at the tradition they didn’t dare question. With that bit of self-reflection, I could get on with it.

Will +5

Intelligence +5

I strolled into the main registrar’s office after perusing a helpfully posted map of the campus. I wore my leathers on top and some loose comfortable pants as a tiny rebellion that helped me. No one cared what a student wore. I kept my hands in my pockets as I got in line. The line wasn’t real, but it was always in existence. There was no reason for it except to mimic the campus back home.

After several minutes, I started to take cookies out of my inventory and pass them around to students. What? It’s hard-wired into me to try to make people happy. I might as well use it to garner goodwill. Students are notoriously hungry and grateful for any food. Since the engine based its characters on basic clichés, I could count on them. I shook hands and made friends. It’s amazing what cookies and a smile will buy you. Lines are a great place to campaign. More politicians should try it. They could start in lines at the food bank.

Charm +2

“What can I help you with?” the registrar asked me, her wire-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose.

“I’m signing up for classes,” I told her, casting a heal at her squinting eyes just to see if it would work.

“What year are you?” she rubbed her eyes and squinted again. She was surrounded by piles of papers held down by rocks. It should have been a computer and I could see her mind fumbling to deal with what she wasn’t really trained to deal with.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“First year, but I had some transfer credits,” I pushed a cookie at her, but she looked at it as if it was a spider.

“No thank you, I’m on a diet,” she said, and I had to hide a laugh. Every official on campus had come from my original college. “You’ll have to see a counselor about transfer credits.”

“Okay,” I took my cookie back and ate it myself, while she sneered a look at my thin form.

“Basic first year classes are almost full,” she shuffled papers around, still rubbing her eyes.

“What are my choices?” I asked, casting the heal again, focusing on her eyes and trying to settle them into a clearer pattern.

Spell Learned: Cure Deformity

Exp +30 (1,780/788,209)

There it was. Awesome. That would come in handy. While all these people had been brought over from my old world, they hadn’t been “fixed” like I had. They weren’t all sixteen and free from their home maladies. With this spell, I could fix that on an individual basis.

“None,” she answered, glaring at her glasses, and then setting them next to the small knickknack that was straight out of a dollar store. “Registration opened months ago, so I can only get you into a few of them.”

“Whatever basic classes I need, just put me in them,” I pulled out another cookie, casting my new spell. The frumpy woman’s back straightened a little and she lost a few pounds. It wasn’t enough for her to notice but it was something. “You sure you don’t want one?”

Cure Deformity +1

Exp +10 (1,790/788,209)

Her eyes settled on the cookie, and I could almost see her drooling over it. “No,” and I almost admired her self-control. Almost.

“Okay,” and I ate this cookie too, but she was now busily scrawling stuff on one small slip of paper while checking boxes and filling out other forms that used to be in a computer.

“Here,” she handed me the small paper with my class list on it.

“Thanks,” I smiled at her scowl, and she forced that scowl into a semblance of a smile.

“Next,” she called before I’d even turned my back.

I scanned the sheet. She’d given me awful professors. They were the bottom of the barrel because the scenario was set that way. That was okay. I planned on killing them all anyway. It wouldn’t last. The churches were another fight for another day. Getting into the vaults that held the resurrection runestones would instantly alert Fizzbarren who could then take a direct hand, as this world’s god, in punishing me for my transgressions. The only way to counter the runestones was to get the priests to refuse resurrection services.

I headed over to the line for counselors, which was longer, and started the process again. I had a lot of cookies. I ate a lot of them. I cast a lot of clean and repair spells, the lower versions, on grateful college students. I taught the clean spell to half a dozen of the students who seemed more conscious than the average drone but I had to do it surreptitiously, because it was way against the rules. Even a slightly woke drone could read a spell from a scroll and learn. There were more than enough forms around to be able to have access to tons of paper for it.

Teaching +3

Exp +30 (1,820/788,209)

It was a numbers game really. Politics always was. I would have been this generous anyway, but this time I knew the worth of that generosity and I did it more freely than I had before. Did my knowledge that kindness was useful make it less kind? You decide. In any case, it was increasing my profession skills, so there were tons of reasons to do it. I was never the most sociable person, but I swallowed my nerves and made the effort.

Intelligence +1

“Karma,” they called my name and I excused myself from the group of giggling students who had formed around me to shield us from view.

Have you ever wondered what it would take to become President of the United States? My dad, a high school history teacher, had taught me the path that no one seemed to know. This was how it started. Be nice. Politicians all know this stuff, but they do it so callously that they lose whatever favor might have been gained from the process. In my generation, they wrote a book about how to garner friends and it had been so popular that it had spawned a religion.

Intelligence +1

“Cookie?” I offered my counselor the treat with a smile that didn’t need to reach my eyes. The students were potential allies, but all staff were my enemy. I had to keep this in mind, but the method of revenge was the same as the method of garnering favor. Kindness.

“No, thank you,” the counselor frowned at the treat. “What can I do for you?”

“So kind of you to ask,” I replied my face plastered that slightly dimwitted expression that they expect a student to have. “I was told by the registrar to come in and ask about transfer credits.”

“Do you have transcripts?” the man asked, looking like he’d dressed in the dark and never known a comb except for the wisp of hair that covered the bald spot.

“How could I have transcripts?” I asked, breaking the script they were trying to write. “I have been kidnapped from my hometown, dragged to this place and told I have to attend college for two years before I’m allowed to work magic that I’ve been using for most of my life here.”

A baffled expression crossed the man’s face and I almost felt sorry for him. He hadn’t been a bad man the first time I’d met him in my old world. He’d been jaded, tired, and incapable of seeing beyond the rules they bound him by. He might have started wanting to help, but once he’d realized that the rules really made that hard, he’d lost his love of his job.

“I think what you’re really looking for is being able to challenge a class,” he blithely overlooked my claims of wrong-doing. Watch for these. There are a lot of them. “If you think you have enough knowledge to challenge a course, we can administer a test and you can get credit for the class without having to take it.”

Perception +1

I’d had transcripts back in my old world and they’d barely accepted them when they were official. I had no hope that they’d give me any credits. I went through the motions because I was supposed to do it. I’d also tried to challenge a class. That’s how I knew the scam that challenging a class was. Like this.

“How much does it cost to take this test?” I interrupted his ruffling of some forms.

Subtlety +1

Exp +10 (1,830/788,209)

“The same amount that it would to take the class, but you’d get the credit immediately,” he explained, finding a paper and handing it to me. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Other than who to report a kidnapping to?” I asked, using the form to create an extra clean scroll.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question,” his brow creased. Wasn’t this the real problem? That they didn’t understand the problem with what they suggested. How is this different than a cult leader convincing his followers of the necessity of starting a race war, and the brainwashed results that look at any different opinion as being incomprehensible?

“What happens if I fail the test?” I asked, and watch this.

Subtlety +1

Exp +10 (1,840/788,209)

“You will have to take the class instead to get credits,” he explained, feigning patience.

“And will I have to pay again to take the class?”

“Of course,” he shrugged. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “So, I can take a test and skip the class if I pass but I’ll have to pay again if I fail. What’s on the test?”

“What do you mean?” See? There’s that blind acceptance that this is a completely reasonable concept, but it’s more insidious than that.

“Who writes this test?” I asked.

Subtlety +1

Exp +10 (1,850/788,209)

“I don’t know for sure,” his frown increased, his cherub cheeks beginning to redden. I knew who wrote the tests. I’d talked to a few professors who actually wrote these tests, back before they were standardized in any way. They purposefully inserted concepts and vocabulary that was specific to their classes. They did it because they truly believed that no student should be able to test out of college. They needed the college process to be long and hard to justify that fact that it was supposed to separate the worthy from the unworthy, the garbage man from the CEO, the maid from the teacher, the banal from the educated. Pretty slick, when you think about it.

Intelligence +1

“I’m just working out the logistics here,” I acted confused because this was supposed to be the first time I’d explored the concept of challenging classes. I tucked the scroll I’d made on the back of that form into my pocket to surreptitiously put it in my inventory. “Professors get paid to teach a class only if there are enough students in class. Students can wager the cost of the class on thinking that they are smarter than the professor who wrote the test. If they win, they get to skip the class. If they lose, they pay double for the class?”

Subtlety +2

Exp +20 (1,870/788,209)

“Uh,” he seemed to slowly follow my logic. “Did you want to challenge a class?”

“Why?” I asked so casually that it disturbed him. “It’s tooled against me. I come from Vegas, a gambling hotspot. The odds are always on the side of the house. I think I’ll just take the class.” I had the resources at this point to pay for my classes. Fizzbarren hadn’t balanced the money system with the rewards that came out of the dungeons, so I was set financially this time.

Subtlety -1

“Suit yourself,” the man said, seeming to be glad to let the idea go. That’s okay, I wasn’t explaining it to him. Even if someone other than the professor makes that test, it is tooled to make you double-pay for a class, not to help you skip things you supposedly already know. The college is invested in making sure you take their classes and they’ve brainwashed everyone from the professors to the students and everyone in between that it is hubris that must be crushed for a student to challenge a class. It’s like saying you’re smarter than them without their help. The only response they know to that is, “Who do you think you are?”

Perception +3

“Is there anything else?” he asked me though he was already moving to go get the next student in line.

“Yes,” I replied, calmly sitting in the chair at his desk. This is the key to unnerving those caught in the machine’s brainwashing. The calmer you ask questions, the less ammunition they have to expel you. No matter how outrageous your question is, remain perfectly calm, as if you are asking about coffee or the weather.

“What?”

“I want to know who I can report the kidnapping to?” I said with a bland smile. The expectation is that I would be furious and ranting, but part of the dismantling of their faith in the brainwashing is the very nonchalant way you express the ideas. They are ready to call you an extremist and have you escorted from the building when you appear to be emotionally out of control.

Subtlety +1

Exp +10 (1,880/788,209)

“That isn’t my department,” he flung his hands up, and then schooled his face into a politeness he did not feel. It is very unnerving to hear about a crime in such a calm tone of voice. Lawyers everywhere know this. I’d considered pre-law briefly. What? Like it’s hard? “Maybe you should talk to a mental health counselor. We have several on staff. It’s a part of your student fees so you can go see them for free. Just like with your school counselor.”

“Is it really free, if I have to pay the student fees for it regardless?” I asked. Now, they truly believe these lines, just like an abuser believes in, “I’m doing this for your own good.” That doesn’t even cover the fact that this man has now said that my desire to report a kidnapping is a mental disturbance rather than a criminal act.

Subtlety +1

Exp +10 (1,890/788,209)

Intelligence +2

Perception +2

I need you to watch this and understand. I can only win if you can see it in another way. My story is only more compelling than Fizzbarren’s if more readers will take a look at this satirical view and say, “Hey, maybe she’s right.” You can’t just stick me in a box as a whiny teenager and go back to your normal life like nothing is different.

Charm +1

“Here’s a card for our counseling center,” he stuck a piece of paper in my face and put his other one on my shoulder. That’s the move. Standing over me, he looked down on me with pity. That is how they have learned to treat you like a child and undermine your importance. It is the essential building block of this particular college. “Now I need to help other students.”

The cue is that I am now supposed to stand, look down at that card and be lost. I’m supposed to think, “Maybe he’s right.” I’m supposed to feel helpless and unheard but be aware that this is oppression. It is the same as that abuser saying, “No one will believe you over me.” Watch for it.

Perception +2

“Do counselors now deal in crimes?” I pressed, but I knew I was done here.

Subtlety +2

Exp +20 (1,910/788,209)

He responded with a condescending tilt of his head. I did rise and leave his office, but I tucked that card back into his hand.

“Maybe you should go see one of them.” I patted his hand that was still on my shoulder.

Subtlety -1

“We’re just trying to help you,” he waved the card in my face like he was shaking a finger of shame at me.

I’m not trying to be preachy. I know how you hate that. I’m just trying to show you a different perspective of what’s being said around us every day of our lives. Some part of you knows that you’ve been treated this way too. Some part of you knows it’s wrong, but what can you do about it?