Lunch was a subdued affair, cold sandwiches on a back patio that had never been furnished with more than a second hand table and a few folding chairs. Hunger played its part in the quiet, but so too did curiosity, and not one of the trio could be found without a vacant, considering gaze.
For George, it was a simple worry: What would happen to his cat, Nimbus? The black longhair wasn’t the most affectionate of creatures, sure, but it was his. It was his cat when he moved away from his old life and old - now ex - girlfriend. It was his cat when he got a new house, a new job, a new group of friends. He still remembered how Bill got clawed the first time he met the cat, and how Mitchell could pick him up and put him into his coat pocket. George resolved to do all he could to ensure Nimbus didn’t get left behind, which is part of why he was running around in the fields. With all this talk of stats and classes, George was hoping he could get some kind of ranger class, and keep Nimbus as his animal companion.
For Mitchell, it was a bit more chaotic. His thoughts were normally quick and scattered, but now they were at least pushed into one direction. What classes were available? Where were these tokens the message had spoken of? Would the tutorial be more of a dangerous test, or a comfortable explanation? Was it wise for all of them to be training stats together? What if stats determined which classes you could get? What class did he even want? Could he choose from options, or would it just be given? The only definite thing Mitchell knew was that once he had his tokens, he would be systemizing his boots and his shield. The boots were a leftover relic from his time in military school, and the shield was an impulse buy when he had thought he was getting into HEMA. There was still one more item, and it was this that he pondered as he ate.
For Miriam, her thoughts on the supply chain of a chicken burger and its likelihood of surviving the coming Tutorial were cut short by a ringing cell phone. Having left her phone inside, she lifted her watch and answered the call.
“John!”
“Miri! What’s goin’ on?”
“Just having some chicken burgers and chips, how about you?”
“Save us some? Should be an hour or two out.”
Mitchell choked on a bite of burger, but George managed to shout out. “You’re already driving? How?”
“You think I didn’t already have a go bag ready to come back down there? As soon as I saw the message, I-”
“We!” A female voice called out.
“Hi Sarah!” Mitchell gasped, looking around for a drink of some sort.
“Anyways, we decided to come down.”
“What about the family?”
“Florida, remember? We were just house-sitting. If this is all fake, we’ll still be back before they are, and if it isn’t, no way we’re getting to Florida in time.”
“Turns out John’s family is out west right now, so we’re coming to you guys. Got a room for us?”
“Sure, I’ll clear out my office. Not like I need it anymore…” Miriam answered with a hint of dejection.
“Got any stat tips?” Mitchell finally cleared his throat.
“What?”
Mitchell groaned. “If you get hurt, you can gain Vitality points. Have you discovered anything like that?”
“I get intelligence for reviewing medical journals!” Sarah shouted out.
“Oh! Yea, I got a couple strength while we were packing up the car, and a willpower not 10 minutes ago in traffic. The- Hold up guys, looks like there’s a roadblock. I’ll call you back.”
The watch emitted a trio of beeps, indicating the end of the call.
“Well, I’m gonna move wood until they get here.” Mitchell said, leaving his plate on the table and slapping his hands on his thighs to announce his movement. “Going to try for some Strength, see if doing it long enough gives me any constitution or something like that. Miri, you got any old textbooks lying around? I figure if I get too tired I can train my intelligence up.”
She frowned. “I can check. Is this all you’re going to do all week?”
“I mean..”
“It would be kinda dumb not to.” George answered, finishing his own plate. “Don’t know about you guys, but I spent the morning running around a field, and I feel like I could go and do that for the rest of the day and only end up a little bit tired. Besides, number go up make brain happy. Bye!” George again loped back to the trail, our own usage leaving it looking much more well travelled than it ever did.
“He’s got a point. I may not be running around a field but.. Well, I was happy when I was fit, and studying well in military school. I can already feel what he was saying, and if I could make myself smarter, why wouldn’t I? Besides, think of it this way: If my intelligence is one right now, and I get it up to ten, would that make me ten times smarter than I am now? It’s a puzzle and I want to know the answer.”
Miriam sighed. “Fine, but not until I’m done with my lunch. You sit there and relax and pretend everything in the world isn’t messed up.” Almost as if to punctuate her statement, emergency sirens flew by on the distant road.
Mitchell gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course. Just trying to make the best of it.”
Miriam rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re hopeless.”
CHA: 3->4
Mitchell didn’t know whether to tell Miriam that he was getting Charisma off of her. It felt like it would ruin the method if she knew, but even more than that, he didn’t want her thinking his actions were influenced by that, at least not when it came to her. It was simply an added side effect of something he would do anyways. At the same time, though, it felt like he was using her in a way, and that gave him a sense of unease.
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Mitchell was exhibiting unusual behaviour again, Miriam noted. It wasn’t necessarily negative, he just had these moments of peculiarity that would pass soon enough. For now, she agreed to check on him intermittently, when she wasn’t engrossed in reading. She had scoured the house from top to bottom, and the only non-fiction book they owned was the DSM5, a comprehensive manual of mental disorders. With a resigned sigh, she began to flip through it, her eyes landing on various sections.
Her strategy so far had been to avoid overthinking. To not dwell on the fact that with the internet down, she couldn’t perform her job even if she wanted to. To not ponder on how her fiancée and roommate seemed to be adjusting to the new circumstances without any issues. To not fixate on the blue box that appeared before her, declaring that her intelligence had now doubled.
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She tried not to think, but it was incredibly challenging, and so she thought. She thought about her medication, how she only had a month’s supply left and she was supposed to pick up more on Thursday, but now she couldn’t. She thought about the consequences of running out of her medication, and she worried about what that meant for the group. She thought about their landlords, and worried that they might show up and create problems. She thought about Bill and Whitney, and how they wouldn’t be meeting up with her.
Primarily, she thought about how utterly vague this ‘Tutorial’ was. What would it entail, a test? A guided tour? She hadn’t played many games, but she had watched Mitchell play, and often Tutorials were designed to be a risk-free way to familiarise a player with the game controls. The system explicitly stated the tutorial would be dangerous, and refused to provide any guidance on how she could prepare beyond ‘training’ and ‘gathering the party’.
It was all too overwhelming to contemplate, so she focused on reading about mental disorders, finding a small amount of comfort in the fact that she understood her condition and had no doubts about her current mental state.
INT: 2->3
INT: 3->4
WIL: 1->2
George was right, though. Numbers going up did make her brain happy.
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George reveled in the freedom of his life. The future held no work, no responsibilities, and no early mornings! With a triumphant whoop, he vaulted over a fallen tree trunk, maintaining his pace as he rolled out of the leap. After a frown and another lap, he decided against the roll.
The result? Greater speed.
On the first day, he trained solo. The second day would see Nimbus, his pet, joining him on the field, running alongside him. He had yet to plan beyond that, but for now, he exploded from the tree line, his legs pumping with an unfamiliar yet exhilarating fatigue.
He understood the challenge of advancing beyond level 5. It was akin to training for Olympic weightlifting starting with a five-pound barbell. The difficulty had to increase gradually. With each lap, he vaulted over the trunk, his gaze drifting towards the small patch of forest in the middle of the field. He set a goal - he wouldn’t return home until he could charge through that vegetation without losing any speed.
Emboldened by his newfound freedom, George set his sights on the dense patch of brush. He charged towards it, only to be rebuffed by the stubborn vegetation. His initial attempts were met with scratches and scrapes, the undergrowth proving to be a formidable adversary.
Undeterred, George persisted. Each lap, he would charge at the brush, each time making little headway, but never conceding defeat. His body bore the brunt of his efforts, with new cuts and bruises marking his progress.
Yet, with each attempt, he learned. He began to understand the rhythm of the brush, the way the branches swayed, the spots where the undergrowth was less dense. He adjusted his approach, his path, his speed.
Slowly but surely, he started to see progress. He was no longer just crashing into the brush; he was weaving through it, his body moving in sync with the vegetation. The brambles that once seemed impenetrable were starting to give way; The branches no longer obstacles but stepping stones on his path.
By the end of the days light, George was able to make it through the brush without tripping. By the time it hit twilight, he was able to make it through the brush without using the one path he had worn in. By the time it hit midnight, George was laughing as he charged through the trees, that patch having been memorised to the point where he could do it with his eyes closed.
George finally emerged from the forest into the yard: panting, scratched, but victorious. His goal was achieved - not with brute force, but with persistence, adaptation, and an indomitable spirit.
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John was a large man. He’d always been taller than his peers, so much so that he’d gone by Big John for a while in his younger years. A thick mop of curly brown hair sat atop his head, brushing the roof of the car's cabin. Yet, being big didn’t really matter behind the wheel of a car, and he was in such a position as the couple slowed down at the roadblock. Flashing police lights shone on SUV’s that blocked the 2 lane highway, and he felt Sarah jump as a helicopter flew overhead.
No way, that’s a Griffon!
John’s eyes followed the path of the Griffon as it circled above them, its rotors chopping through the air with a rhythmic thud that echoed off the surrounding hills. He could see the distinct shape of the C6 machine gun mounted on the side, a silent promise of firepower. The sight was oddly comforting, a symbol of protection, yet also a stark reminder of the seriousness of their situation.
Sarah, on the other hand, was more focused on the scene unfolding on the ground. She noticed the figures moving stealthily along the shoulder of the highway, their CADPAT uniforms blending seamlessly with the foliage. The glint of sunlight off a rifle barrel caught her eye, and she realised they were armed. “John,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the idling engine, “There are soldiers in the bushes.”
John followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight. He could see them now, the soldiers hidden amongst the trees, their weapons at the ready. A chill ran down his spine. This wasn’t just a simple roadblock. They were in the middle of an operation. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white. “Stay calm, Sarah,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “We’ll get through this.”
It was almost a haze, the time between the car entering the queue and being asked to roll their windows down by the officer. John did his very best not to think about the number of weapons pointed at him, and layed on the charm.
“Good Afternoon sir. Licence and registration?”
One hell of a traffic stop. He thought to himself, even as he slowly reached for the leather fold which contained precisely those documents. “Sure thing, officer. One sec…” He handed the fold over, and his suspicions increased when the officer flipped it open right in front of him. “That’s a nice bird you guys got up there.”
“Yep.” The officer’s response was curt, his hand absently brushing the grip of his holstered pistol, a chilling reminder of the power he wielded.
“Nice rifles too. Where are those boys from?” John tried to keep his voice steady, but the question hung in the air, unanswered.
“Where are you coming from?” The officer’s question cut through the tension like a knife, his gaze never leaving John’s.
“Sundridge. Little town u-” Sarah’s voice wavered, but she was abruptly cut off.
“I got a cousin who worked there. I know where it is. Where are you going?” The officer’s tone was icy, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
John bristled but forced himself to remain calm. “We got family down near Toronto.”
The officer’s demeanour shifted noticeably, his vigilance intensifying. He tossed the leather fold back into the small hatchback with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Travel into urban centres is forbidden for the next week. Pull your vehicle up to the turn-around and go home.”
“Well, it’s not Toronto, it’s more a small town north of a place that’s beside Toronto.” John’s protest was weak, his voice barely a whisper.
“Make way for the next vehicle.” The officer’s command was final, his patience clearly worn thin.
“But, sir, I-” John’s plea was cut short as the officer turned his back, leaving them in a cloud of uncertainty and mounting fear.
Then, the tension cracked.
John’s heart was a drum, pounding a frenzied beat in his chest as the world around them erupted into chaos. The tranquil forest was transformed into a war zone, the air filled with the deafening roar of gunfire and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Bullets whizzed past their car, pinging off the armoured SUVs that formed the roadblock with a chilling, metallic echo. The officers, caught off guard, were like ants in a downpour, scrambling for cover, their shouts of alarm swallowed by the relentless symphony of violence.
John’s instincts kicked in. He threw himself over Sarah, his body a human shield against the hail of bullets. His hand shot out, jamming the car into gear. “Hold on!” he bellowed, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of chaos. He slammed his foot onto the accelerator, the car protesting with a squeal of tires even as it lurched forward.
The roadblock loomed ahead, a formidable fortress now abandoned in the face of the onslaught. John’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed with grim determination. He steered the car towards the narrow gap between the SUVs, the car scraping against the armoured vehicles with a bone-jarring screech of metal against metal. The car shuddered, but it kept moving, propelled by John’s relentless will.
With a final, Herculean effort, they burst through the roadblock, the once intimidating barrier now a rapidly receding image in the rearview mirror. John didn’t dare to slow down, not until the sounds of the firefight were nothing more than a distant echo. Only then did he allow himself to breathe, his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel relaxing slightly.
“We made it, Sarah,” he gasped, a shaky laugh escaping his lips. But as he turned to look at her, his relief turned to alarm. A thin trickle of blood was making its way down Sarah’s arm, a stark red against her pale skin. “You’re hurt,” he said, his voice tight with concern. But the road ahead was clear, the chaos of the now burning roadblock behind them. They had escaped the immediate danger, but their journey was far from over. They had a long way to go, and they were far from safe.