Chapter 6

A Clear Mind

19 hours, 49 minutes until Elimination (Culling).

I step out of Save-Some-Bucks, the fluorescent glow of the store lights receding behind me as the automatic doors swish shut. The parking lot is eerily quiet, the occasional passing car the only sign that the world hasn’t completely lost its mind—though, given the sirens in the distance and the knowledge that people are fucking exploding, I’m not convinced.

The cops showed up about an hour ago, long after Dave had turned into modern art across the break room floor and walls. Apparently, a customer had called 9-1-1. Took them forever to get here. Something about getting flooded with calls of spontaneous human combustion. Yeah, no shit.

I gave my statement to a cop who looked like he hadn’t blinked in an hour. He nodded along as I told him what happened, not really reacting beyond the occasional tight-lipped grimace. At the end, he just muttered something about staying inside and left. Like that was going to help.

I washed my shoes in the store’s restroom before leaving. They’re still damp, but at least they’re not Dave-flavored anymore. Small victories, I guess.

The drive home is . . . weird. Too normal. The sky is still blue, the traffic lights still change from red to green, and the radio still plays the same five popular pop songs on repeat. But there are fewer cars on the road. Fewer people walking the sidewalks. Like the world is holding its breath, waiting. I’m sure most everyone is in lockdown mode.

When I pull into the driveway, the sky is darkening and the porch light is already on. The second I step through the front door, my mom is on me.

“Oh my god, Joseph!” She throws herself at me, arms tight around my ribs, squeezing like she’s trying to fuse us together. She’s shaking, half crying, half laughing. “You’re okay. Thank god, you’re okay.”

I hug her back, though my arms feel stiff, awkward. “Yeah, Mom, I’m fine.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, hands on my face, scanning me like she expects to find a bomb fuse sticking out of my nostrils. “Your sister called back. She’s safe too, thank heavens!”

I nod, relieved. One less thing to worry about.

Over her shoulder, I spot my dad standing near the kitchen. Seeing him is like looking into a slightly distorted mirror. He’s got the same dark hair, though his is slicked back and starting to go gray at the temples. Same nose, same tired eyes touched with deep laugh lines. But a beard that he’d let get a little too long. He’s too skinny—Mom always says he forgets to eat when he’s busy—but he’s still got that quiet, steady presence. He’s still in his work clothes, his button-up slightly rumpled, like he just got home too.

Mom finally lets go, and I step past her to hug Dad. He squeezes tight, warm and solid. “Glad you’re safe, son.”

“You too,” I say, and for a second, everything almost feels normal.

Almost.

I pull away from Dad, offering both of my parents a shaky smile. “I’m just glad everyone’s okay,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “It’s been . . . a wild day. I’m gonna get out of these clothes and lay down for a bit.”

Mom nods, but her brows knit together with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale, honey.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” I back toward the basement stairs before she can scrutinize me further.

Dad claps me on the shoulder as I pass. “Get some rest, Joe.”

I nod and head down. The moment I step into my room and shut the door behind me, my body betrays me. My hands are trembling, my breath comes in quick, shallow gasps, and my legs feel like they might give out.

I stumble to the bed and sit, gripping the mattress like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. My head drops into my hands, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

What if Mom and Dad are in this too? Silent Participants in this God Game. What if they have timers counting down in their heads, just like me? What if my sister does? She called back, she’s safe—for now. But Dave had been fine, too. Right up until he wasn’t.

I choke back bile. Jesus fucking Christ. Dave, I think.

My skin feels too hot, my heart hammering like it’s trying to break free from my ribs. I peel off my shirt, letting the cool air hit my sweat-damp skin, then collapse backward onto the bed. I try to breathe in slow, deep pulls, but my chest is tight, and each inhale feels like it barely does anything.

I don’t know how much time I have left.

I need to check.

I squeeze my eyes shut and focus. “System.”

Nothing. No response.

A fresh wave of panic flares through me, and I clench my jaw against the urge to scream. I force my thoughts into something more deliberate, more structured. “Menu.”

A haptic tingling flares at the front of my mind. A faint glow pulses inches from my face.

There it is.

The interface flickers into existence, waiting.

The glowing interface hovers in front of me. The menu pulses softly, waiting. I push myself upright, wiping my damp palms against my pants before focusing on the words.

MENU:

Attributes & Equipment

Point Allotment

Inventory

Daily Reward

Quests

Party [Unavailable]

Social Lists [Unavailable]

Retainers & Pets [Unavailable]

Equipment & Item Synthesization [Unavailable]

Marketplace [Unavailable]

Discussion Channels [Unavailable]

More than half of the menu is locked. Figures. The Quest description had said something about unlocking additional menu options as a reward for completing it. Still, there’s enough available to poke around in. I hover my thoughts over Attributes & Equipment, and my intent to mentally select the option is met with a haptic tinging in the front of my mind as the menu shifts, expanding into a new window.

Name: Joseph Sullivan (Participant No. 4,432,444)

Race: Human

Discipline: Spellcaster

Class: Currently Unavailable

Level: 1

Health Points (HP): 15 [Current: 15]

Mana Points (MP): 3 [Current: 3]

Stamina: 30 [Current: 30]

STATISTICS:

PHYSICAL STATISTICS:

Strength: 5

Dexterity: 3

Constitution: 3

MAGICAL STATISTICS:

Intelligence: 1

Willpower: 2

Spirit: 1

See Equipment?

The stats look the same as before. No secret power-ups, no hidden abilities. I was half-hoping that now that I was a spellcaster, my Magical Stats would have received a boost of some sort. No such luck, I guess.

I sigh. “Okay,” I mumble. I mentally select the ‘Equipment’ option and the interface flickers, the information in front of my face changing in a flash.

EQUIPMENT:

Head: [Empty]

Left Hand (Hold): [Empty]

Right Hand (Hold): [Empty]

Left Hand (Finger 1): [Empty]

Left Hand (Finger 2): [Empty]

Right Hand (Finger 1): [Empty]

Right Hand (Finger 2): [Empty]

Left Arm: [Empty]

Right Arm: [Empty]

Body 1: [Empty]

Body 2: [Empty]

Legs: [Empty]

Feet: [Empty]

Additional Accessory 1: [Empty]

Additional Accessory 2: [Empty]

ADDITIONAL MENUS:

Spells

Skills

Abilities

Traits

When I focus my attention toward the Equipment section, the interface shifts like a page turning in mid-air. A diagram of a faceless humanoid outline appears, labeled lines extending from parts of the body to the slots that were just outlined on the prior screen.

It’s standard RPG fare. Though it’s pretty expansive compared to some games I’ve played in the past, it’s also limiting in a number of ways. Only four rings? What if I want to wear five? What if I want to wear three on one hand and only one on the other? Or, what if I wanted to go full goblin-mode and load my fingers full with magic bling? Who’s stopping me? What would the System do? I guess only time will tell.

Each slot is empty, which is disappointing. I don’t even have a rusty dagger or a cracked leather belt to my name, so the whole thing feels like a sick joke.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

I back out and select ‘Spells,’ hoping for something—anything—that might give me an edge or semblance of protection on whatever waits for me inside one of these ‘Gates.’

The interface pulses and flickers.

Generating Starting Cantrips. . .

The three dots blink in rhythm, over and over, like a boot screen from a 90s videogame. Somehow that doesn’t inspire confidence. What kind of omnipotent cosmic System needs a loading time? After a moment, the screen updates with a soft chime.

CANTRIPS:

* Wizard’s Hand

* Light

I squint at the words, waiting for more. That’s it? I mentally click through the descriptions, and two small, glowing blue boxes pop up.

Wizard’s Hand (Conjuration Cantrip)

Casting Time: Instantaneous

Mana Cost: 1 MP

Range: 30 Feet

Duration: 1 minute

Description: Conjures a spectral, floating hand composed of pure mana within Range. The hand lasts for the duration or until you dismiss it. The hand vanishes if it is beyond Range for longer than 5 seconds. You can mentally control the hand, using it to manipulate and interact with objects. The spectral hand cannot attack.

Light (Evocation Cantrip)

Casting Time: Instantaneous

Mana Cost: 1 MP

Range: 20 Feet

Duration: 30 minutes

Description: Creates a harmless sphere of heatless light imbued with radiant energy, producing light equivalent to a torch. The sphere can be held in the caster’s hand, or remain suspended in the air near the caster’s shoulder (or affixed to any inorganic surface).

I stare at the screen. For a moment, I genuinely expect a third cantrip to pop up—something cool like Fire Bolt or Magic Missile. But no. That’s the whole list.

I slump against the headboard, dragging a hand down my face.

So, I can lift ten pounds remotely or create a floating glow stick. What am I supposed to do? Politely illuminate the monsters while they rip me apart?

Still… having Wizard’s Hand is better than nothing. And Light could be useful if the Gate is, I don’t know, a spooky cave or something. Not that it makes me feel any less fragile.

I shake my head and flip over to the next category: Skills.

No Skills available at this time.

Great. I check Abilities.

No Abilities available at this time.

Awesome! Traits?

No Traits available at this time.

Perfect. I’m basically a glorified sack of meat with glowing hands. And one of them is a spectral hand!

I lean back and sigh through gritted teeth. What the hell’s the difference between Abilities and Traits, anyways? Skills, I assume, are the Physical equivalents of my Spells. But what separates an Ability from a Trait? I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. Why am I even thinking about this right now? I should be thinking about how to not become Dave 2.0.

Still, I make a mental note to figure that out—assuming I don’t explode before then.

I need more information. I need a plan.

And I really, really need to work out.

But first, I should check out the rest of the System’s Menu options.

I shift my focus to the next item on the menu—Point Allotment. Maybe I can bump up a stat or two?

The screen blinks and a message pops up:

No points to allocate at this time.

Of course not. Why would the universe cut me a break?

I back out with a sigh and tap Inventory next. If the System’s feeling generous, maybe there’s something useful hiding in there—hell, I’d take a rusty butter knife at this point.

The screen refreshes.

Inventory currently empty.

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. Yep. Just me, myself, and a whole lot of impending doom.

Next up—Quests. The Gate Initiation message pops up immediately, the timer in bold beneath it:

18 hours, 28 minutes.

Time is slipping through my fingers. Every second wasted brings me closer to becoming another stain on the pavement. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to think about how many others are watching their own timers tick down—how many have already hit zero.

For a brief, fleeting moment, a thought passes through my mind. What if waiting for the timer to hit zero is a better fate than whatever is waiting for me on the other side of those Gates?

I swallow the panic rising in my throat and move to the last available menu option—Daily Reward. It’s the only thing left that might give me something. Anything.

The moment I select it, a new message appears with an obnoxiously cheerful chime:

Congratulations, Participant! You have claimed your first Daily Reward!

Reward: 1 Novice Spellcaster’s Beginner’s Bag!

Next Daily Reward available in: 23 hours, 59 minutes.

1 Novice Spellcaster’s Beginner’s Bag added to Inventory.

“Isn’t ‘novice’ and ‘beginner’ a little redundant?” I say.

Without any further hesitation, I exit the Daily Reward menu and navigate back to Inventory—and sure enough, there it is. A small glowing icon labeled ‘Novice Spellcaster’s Beginner’s Bag.’

I focus on the item and another window opens in my interface, with a description of the item.

Novice Spellcaster’s Beginner’s Bag: A bag containing essential items and equipment any novice spellcaster would need to begin their journey in mastering the arcane arts.

A cascade of new items floods my inventory, each one materializing with a soft chime. I stare at the list, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry.

Novice Wand (Beginner)

Basic Cone Hat of Wizardry

Cape of the Arcane Student

Basic Mana Potion (x2)

Spellbook (Empty; Beginner)

I let out a long, slow breath. “Well,” I mutter, “at least I’m not empty-handed anymore.”

I tap on each item, pulling up their descriptions.

Novice Wand (Beginner):

[A simple wand carved from the branch of a mundane oak tree. Barely better than waving a stick around. +1 to Spellcasting Efficiency (-1 MP to all Spell Costs).]

Basic Cone Hat of Wizardry:

[Classic wizard chic. Provides no actual protection, but hey, you’ll look the part. +1 to Willpower.]

Cape of the Arcane Student:

[This flimsy cloth cape is the hallmark of every novice spell-flinger. Try not to die in it. Grants wearer use of one free Cantrip spell once per day.]

Basic Mana Potion:

[Perfect for novice spellcasters as it has been prepared to replenish the full mana reserves of a typical beginning spellcaster. Restores 15 Mana.]

I blink at the potion’s description.

Fifteen mana.

I have three.

Fifteen?! I could chug the entire bottle and still have twelve mana points left over that I literally can’t even hold. My chest tightens as I resist the urge to scream, or maybe punch the wall. Of course, the System would give me items that are only useful if I weren’t built like a gym rat who accidentally walked into Hogwarts. It’s all part of what I asked for when I accidentally elected to be a Spellcaster.

I sigh and open the last item—the Empty Spellbook. The description is as bleak as I expect.

Spellbook (Empty; Beginner):

[An entry-level spellbook used to record and track learned spells. Currently empty. Wow. Try harder.]

“Wow. Try harder,” I mock under my breath, shaking my head. If the System had a face, I’d punch it.

I stand from my bed as I equip everything—because why the hell not?

Pixels of white light surround my body, forming into the objects from my inventory.

The wand is light and smooth in my grip, more like a chopstick than a magical conduit. The cone hat feels ridiculous, but it sits snug on my head. I take a peek in the full-body mirror on the wall of my room. It’s a stereotypical blue cone, covered in sewn-on silver stars. The cape? It hangs loosely around my shoulders like something out of a high school play. I feel like a reject from a low-budget fantasy convention.

Perfect.

I stare at the glowing 18 hours, 12 minutes sitting at the edge of my vision. I need a plan. I need to find a Gate. I need—

To calm down.

My pulse is too high, my thoughts are bouncing around like pinballs. If I’m going to survive this insanity, I need my head screwed on straight.

And there’s only one place that ever does the trick.

The gym.

It’s stupid, but it’s my reset button. Something about lifting heavy things and putting them back down clears the noise in my brain like nothing else.

I unequip everything using the System’s interface and my body is surrounded in a flash of the same white pixels of light. A second later and I’m back in my normal attire—no more pointy wizard cap.

I shove my phone in my pocket, pull on a fresh tee shirt and head upstairs. Mom and Dad are still in the living room, the news droning softly in the background. I pause by the door long enough to catch a snippet.

“…multiple human explosions reported across the city, authorities are urging residents to remain calm—”

I swallow hard, push down the rising dread, and pull on my sneakers.

If the world’s falling apart, I’m going to face it the only way I know how—one rep at a time.

----------------------------------------

The familiar clang of metal on metal echoes through the Diesel Athletic Club as I step inside. The smell of sweat and rubber wraps around me like an old blanket—comforting in its own weird, gritty way. For all the eerie quiet on the streets, there’s a surprising number of people here. More than I expected.

I guess when the world goes insane, everyone has their own way of coping.

Some guys are hitting the free weights like their lives depend on it—hell, maybe they do. A group of girls are laughing near the cable machines, like it’s just another Thursday. For them, maybe it is. Either they haven’t been roped into the God Game, or they’re better at pretending than I am.

I flash my key fob at the desk scanner and walk through without a word. No one’s paying me much attention, which is exactly what I want. My mind’s still chewing on the absurdity of cone hats and wizard hand spells, but here? Here, I can focus on something real.

After warming up, I head to the squat rack, load a couple of 45s onto the bar, and step under it. The cold steel rests across my shoulders, a weight I know well.

Up. Down. Breathe.

It’s supposed to burn. It always burns.

Except—this time, it doesn’t.

I rack the bar and blink down at the plates. That felt too easy. I’m not supposed to warm up with 225 like it’s nothing.

Curious, I slap on another set of plates and step back under the bar. 315 pounds. I’m careful as I lower myself into the squat, but the movement feels smooth. Effortless.

I hit depth, drive back up, and—

No strain. No ache.

I could do this all day.

I rack the bar again and just . . . stare at it.

Okay. That’s not normal.

I’ve been lifting long enough to know my limits, and this? This is way beyond them. My muscles should be screaming. My legs should feel like jelly. Instead, there’s this weird, light buzz under my skin—like my body’s just waiting for more.

I wipe a hand across my face and exhale slowly. The System. It has to be. My Strength stat is only 5, and it’s already making me stronger than I’ve ever been. If this is what 5 feels like, what the hell happens when people start pushing towards higher numbers?

I wonder if the others—the ones caught up in the Game, the Participants—are feeling the same thing. The guy on the chest press a few feet away grunts as he pushes through another set. Is he a Participant too? Are we all just wandering around, waiting for the next notification to pop up and decide whether we live or die?

The thought sits heavy on my chest.

I push it aside and move to the bench press. Time to see how deep this rabbit hole goes.

A few minutes later, I’m repping out 275 like it’s a warm-up. My heart’s pounding—but not from exertion. This isn’t just adrenaline. My body feels stronger, faster, more efficient.

This is freaking awesome! I think as a re-rack the weight after what had to be forty relatively easy reps.

I stand and take a look in the mirror that runs along the entire back wall of the weight room. I don’t look any different. Fairly large arms and rounded shoulders, but a softer midsection that betrays my former life as ‘the fat kid.’

My phone won’t shut up.

It’s been vibrating in my pocket non-stop since I started my workout, but I’d shoved it to the back of my mind—focusing on the burn, the weight, anything but that. But now, while I sit on a worn wooden bench in the locker room sauna, the notifications claw their way back to the surface. I pull out the phone from the extra towel I had it tucked within and start scrolling.

Breaking News: Strange Portals Appear Worldwide.

‘Gates’ Spotted in Major Cities—Authorities Baffled.

LIVE: Is This the End? Experts Weigh In.

I snort at that one. “Experts.” Right. Like anyone knows what the hell is going on.

The grainy video clips paint a surreal picture—floating, shimmering ovals of light cropping up everywhere. Sidewalks. Subway stations. The middle of the goddamn highway. No two are exactly the same, but all have that same eerie glow.

The news anchors are trying to sound calm, but it’s obvious they’re barely holding it together. Hell, I’m barely holding it together. Some reports claim the Gates are harmless—people walk in and . . . disappear. Others say the Gates aren’t so kind. One video shows a guy stepping too close and getting shredded into a fine red mist. Is that what happens when a non-Participant attempts to enter a Gate?

Or is it some other fucked up twist on this God Game.

I rub the back of my neck and exhale, feeling the heat from the sauna prickle against my skin.

One thing stands out: Gates are popping up in cities. Big ones.

Chicago. New York. Los Angeles. Tokyo. More people, more Gates. Makes sense, in a twisted statistical way. But does that mean my chances of finding one here—in Cleveland—are lower? Or are there more Gates out there than the news can even track? I take another deep breath. Statistically speaking, if Gates appear in higher numbers in areas of more dense population, then I probably have a similar chance of encountering a Gate here.

And the biggest question: Can more than one Participant enter the same Gate? And are there enough Gates for every remaining Participant to complete their first Quest? Or are we in a race against both time and each other, fighting for limited resources?

The thought makes my stomach churn. If there’s a limited number of Gates, then the rest of us are just… dead. Eliminated. Culled.

God, this is insane. Less than a day ago, my biggest concern was whether I could find a better job, bounce back from all the shit that went down in New York. Now? Now I’m wondering how many poor bastards have already exploded because they couldn’t find a glowing magic door.

I let my head fall back against the wall, breathing in the thick, wood-scented air. My brain’s spinning in circles and no amount of overthinking is going to solve this. I need to act.

I finish my time in the sauna, letting the heat bake away the tension gnawing at my nerves. When I can’t sit still any longer, I shower off quickly, dry myself, and slip into fresh clothes. There’s only one move to make next.

I have to go downtown.

If Gates are more likely to appear in crowded areas, Downtown Cleveland is my best shot. It’s not Chicago or New York, but it’s the busiest place I can get to without wasting precious hours.

I pull my hoodie over my head and tighten the drawstrings. I toss on my thick, winter coat as I step out of the locker room and make my way towards the gym’s exit. The world still looks the same—but it’s not. Not anymore. Somewhere out there, a glowing doorway could mean life or death. My life. My death.

I take a breath and focus. “Quest timer,” I say, honing my focus and hoping the System is still listening.

A faint glow flickers into the corner of my vision—a digital clock ticking down in soft, crisp, white digital numbers:

15 hours, 41 minutes until Elimination (Culling).

The clock is still running. I’m not dead, not yet.

With a clear mind, I step out of the gym and into the biting cold. I have a Gate to find.