"Only a fool rushes into action. A wise man knows that the world can wait until after lunch."— The Tao of Idleness, Book 1, Verse 12
The odd thing about waking up in a clearing that smelled suspiciously of lavender and felt too solid for a coma dream was that, somehow, it seemed like it was actually happening. It wasn’t just the absence of a blood-splattered delivery van in my field of vision or the fact that my body didn’t feel like it had been pancaked. Well, not just that, anyway. It was both of those absences and the lack of anything else going on which immediately had me on my guard.
No police. No paramedic. And no ambulance-chasing lawyer who would absolutely be delighted to represent me for ‘no win, no fee.’ Although, considering recent experiences with ‘my learned friends,’ I wasn’t going to be anxious to roll that particular rigged roulette wheel again. No, instead of all that real-world chaos, my circumstances seemed to be almost serene—birds singing, brooks bubbling, a gentle breeze—and honestly, it was freaking me the fuck out.
I lay there on my back, staring up at the tree where my shoe was hanging, feeling this weird itch in the back of my mind like something was supposed to happen. And then, as if on cue, it did.
Ding.
A soft chime echoed all around me, the sound of a message notification from my ancient mobile. My head whipped around to see if I could spot the resilient little bugger, but there was nothing there. Just that same peaceful, slightly-too-bright landscape.
Then the weird noise happened again.
Ding.
Yeah, there was no ignoring it. Mind you, even if I had wanted to, the appearance, directly in front of me, suspended in mid-air, of a glowing rectangle popping up like a hologram was pretty damn insistent, too. It almost looked pretty cool, except that instead of a futuristic sci-fi message, it looked like a cheap knockoff of a video game interface. The words:
System Initialised. Assigning Class...
flashed before my eyes. It ‘flashed before my eyes’? Fuck. Sorry about that. I’m not quite on my game yet. Less cliched narrative descriptions will be on their way just as soon as I pull my shit together.
I blinked, my brain barely catching up with the sense of the words. “Assigning? What do you mean, assigning?” I asked aloud to . . . nobody. Literally no-one. “Surely, as this is clearly a world constructed by what is left of my vegetabalised brain, I should be given a bit of fucking latitude in what is going on! If my psyche insists on doing this, shouldn’t I at least get a choice on what happens?”
The words flickered out of existence like they were being too cool to even acknowledge me – ah, you’ve met my brother then, eh? - and were replaced by a new line of text:
Class Assigned: Freeloader
There was a beat of silence. I could almost hear my subconscious smirking. It’s always hated me, the judgemental prick.
“Freeloader? What sort of Class is that? Come on! Where’s my Mage? Where’s my Warrior? Where’s all the fucking customisable options for me to create a High Elf Kick Ass Sex-Kitten?” But there was no one to answer. Just the same smug little interface floating in front of me.
Congratulations! As a Freeloader you excel in doing the bare minimum while benefiting from the efforts of others. You gain experience passively from those around you and can accumulate resources without actively participating in tasks.
My eyebrow twitched. Okay. So that didn’t sound too bad, actually. But really? Freeloader? I don’t know about you, but you kind of expect your coma dream to be a bit more open with the options for heroism and a little bit less with the snarky self-examination. I mean, it’s not like there’s much point in me becoming a better person now, is it? I’m roadkill!
I opened my mouth to argue that point, but then the truth of it sat heavy in my gut. Yeah, I guess what the screen was saying made sense. A deep, annoying, bitter part of me – bitter? Better? Certainly, one of the two - knew this was the Class I deserved. If this was some sort of waiting area for the afterlife – because if this wasn’t a dream, then this is what this is, right? That fucking van had marmalised me – then the Supreme Being in charge had seen right through me. Fuck. I was kind of regretting being stoned in Sunday School now. Seemed like that might have been a helpful tutorial . . .
“Because that’s exactly what I need after my violent death, isn’t it?—a magical intervention calling me lazy! Who the fuck do you think you are? My mum?”
The hologram continued to scroll text, utterly oblivious to my existential crisis:
Abilities Unlocked:
Lazy Aura
Passive Assistance
I didn’t have time to process what any of that meant before a new pop-up appeared, flashing annoyingly bright:
Quest Accepted: Learn Your Role
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Objective: Survive the day.
Reward: 100 XP, Idle XP Gains Unlocked
Survive? What the fuck was my psyche up to? Was I on Murderworld? I was barely adjusting to my post-splattering existence, and now I had to worry about surviving? This was like when I did my first shift at a well-known fast-food outlet fronted by a creepy fucking clown. Two seconds of training and then dumped straight on the drive-through till. Sartre was wrong – Hell isn’t other people. It’s hungry people wanting burgers.
A strange rustling sound pulled me out of my thoughts, and my head snapped toward the bushes at the edge of the clearing. For a moment, everything was still. Then, without warning, the bushes parted, and a small, grey-skinned creature tumbled out—like a goblin straight out of a budget fantasy movie.
Okay. So that description was pretty much on the giant crooked nose. The creature’s beady eyes locked on me, and its jagged teeth bared in what I assumed was a welcoming grin. Maybe. I took a slow, cautious step back, holding my empty hands open in the universal gesture of ‘I don’t want no trouble, bud’. Other than being used as antisemitic tropes in surprisingly successful fantasy fiction, goblins weren’t supposed to be real, right? But here we were. In my new plane of existence. And not a teenage wizard in sight.
As the creepy motherfucker advanced, something else popped up in my vision, making me flinch:
Danger Detected: Goblin (Lvl 3)
“Of course it has a level,” I said. “Of course this is happening.”
I should’ve been panicking. Or running. Or doing something that a normal person would do when faced with a goblin. Yeah, that sentence didn’t scan too well for me either. But you know what I mean. I didn’t move. Not out of bravery, mind you—I was scared stiff and lacking in any obvious options.
The goblin inched closer, drooling slightly.
I glanced at my stat screen again. Freeloader. This was obviously supposed to be some kind of Support Class, right? So, what? Did I just... support? Was that my skillset? Do nothing? That seemed insane, even for me. And I had almost made a profession of slacking. But honestly, if it meant not getting torn apart by a goblin, I was willing to try. Trust me, when it comes to opting out, I am somewhat of a Grandmaster. I took a deep breath and stood there. Motionless. Useless. Just existing in the most low-effort way possible. Or ‘second year of uni,’ as I categorised it.
To no one’s surprise more than mine, the ‘possum’ strategy seemed to work. The goblin stopped. It hesitated, sniffing the air as if it had momentarily forgotten I was there. It snuffled away for a while before slowly backing away as if completely losing interest in meat being back on the menu. I blinked in disbelief.
Was that it? Did I just survive my first encounter by being so unremarkable that the goblin couldn’t be bothered to fuck me up?
Ding.
Lazy Aura Activated
Enemies within range may lose interest in attacking if you do not engage.
I stared at the message. “That... that’s actually a thing?”
The goblin, still sniffing around, eventually gave up and scampered back into the bushes, leaving me standing alone in the clearing, victorious in the laziest way possible. Go me.
“Okay. So that happened.”
*
Time passed, and I wandered around the clearing somewhat, aimlessly trying to figure out what was going on. So, I was dead. Or as good as. That much seemed pretty clear. You didn’t bounce back from that sort of impact. Bounce, certainly. Not so much with ‘back’. Ergo, that I now appeared to be stuck in some sort of low-rent RPG purgatory was a vibe, but, hey, I could imagine worse outcomes. I knew I hadn’t been a bad enough boy to be destined for the fire and the torture and the evil version of Mr Tumnus, so if goblins who got bored when planning to attack me were as bad as this place got, I could roll with it.
I’d just begun to make my peace with things – hey, I’m nothing if not a ball of low-energy passive acceptance – when a new notification appeared, this one less jarring than the last:
Quest Progress: 5% Complete. Keep surviving.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m crushing this!”
Whatever was behind these messages didn’t seem to care about my mini-celebration. Nor the sad little victory dance I shuffled out. Instead, the words were replaced by another set of instructions popping up, this time showing a tiny countdown at the bottom.
Next Objective: Acquire resources.
“Right. Resources. Because that’s not super vague or anything. You know, if we’re really going to be throwing ‘slacker shade’ around here, I think a bit of self-reflection on the part of whoever is crafting these messages would be nice.”
There being no answer to my snark, I rubbed my hands together and squinted at the surrounding landscape. There were no obvious treasure chests or piles of loot lying around. This wasn’t a proper fantasy setting, was it? But as I took a few steps forward, another notification appeared, accompanied by another soft ding:
Loot Leech Activated: You passively collect resources from your surroundings.
Wait... what?
I looked down, and sure enough, a small pile of coins and a random stick had just materialised in my hand. I hadn’t even seen them, let alone touched them.
"Seriously?"
The screen flickered again, this time showing a progress bar labelled Idle XP Gains. A slow, steady trickle of XP began to fill the bar, ticking up bit by bit.
I stared at the bar, fascinated and yet vaguely annoyed at the same time. I tend to think of this as my factory setting. “I’m literally stood here doing nothing, and I’m getting stronger. Where was this in my previous life?”
Before I could question the ethics of all this, another pop-up appeared, outlining the unlocking of another, hard-earned ability, Borrowed Strength.
Borrowed Strength: Your stats increase based on those around you. Find stronger allies to grow more powerful. Random Trigger Modifier.
Of course. I have to say, this was starting to feel like some sort of psychic intervention. Did I really dislike myself so much? Here I was, dealing with the aftermath of my presumed death, and I was having the piss taken by floating words in the sky for relying on others to get by in the real world! Hey, I had no shame. If whoever - or whatever - was doing this thought I was going to have a moment of honest epiphany and suddenly wish I’d made more of my life, then they were going to be sadly mistaken. And if it was some version of ‘me’ in charge, then that went double.
As far as I could tell, I was gaining experience just by hanging. Awesome. Living the fucking dream, mate. The fucking dream.
I pocketed the coins and brandished the random stick. I may or may not have made humming noises as it did so. It was hardly much of a weapon, but if another goblin showed up, it might buy me enough time to... I don’t know, stand still again and hope for the best.
10% Complete. Survive the rest of the day.
Great. At this rate, I’ll be a god by lunchtime.
I swung the stick lazily, testing its weight. As pathetic as it was, it gave me something to do while the Idle XP Gains bar continued to fill in the background. Part of me – look, it’s a very little part, but I must get some morality points for feeling it at all, right? - hated how passive this system was. My afterlife shouldn’t be this easy, right? Yet, another part of me—the major part. The part that has always thrived on minimum effort—was loving every second.
Second life? Killing it, mate.