Oh God. Not again.

My new world rushed into focus like surround sound at the cinema.

Three grey walls as thin as school toilet paper cocooned me in a plaster cage. I sat on a hard wooden chair with my legs tucked beneath a low desk.

It was everything bad about my twenties work-life rolled into one. Shitty partitions, back pain, and the inexplicable feeling that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

To top it all off, before I could check my body for remnant bullet wounds, two hands clapped down on my shoulders and a jovial but threatening voice pierced my ears.

If you’ve ever set foot in a corporate office, or a goddamn kindergarten for that matter — they’re eerily similar — you’ll know the voice I’m talking about. The one that is a little too high to be natural, and asks you ‘working hard, or hardly working?’

It’s always accompanied by a shrill laugh and a shit-eating grin that infuriates me even more.

That’s what this guy had.

“Marcus! How are you? Enjoying the GTA so far? I noticed you’re looking a little idle.”

Goddamn. I was shot in both kidneys only thirty seconds ago but the pain of hearing his voice somehow hurt more. And the GTA? Grand-Theft Auto? At least ‘Marcus’ was a tolerable name.

I extricated myself from his sweaty grip and swiveled in my chair. He even had a punchable face.

“Erm, sorry...the GTA?”

He flashed me one of those looks that said, ‘Oh my sweet summer child.’ It pissed me off.

“The Guild Taxation Authority! It’s only written in big yellow letters on every door. Now up you get, I’m taking you on your first guild visit. It’s time you graduates did some work!”

Graduates? Guilt Taxation Authority? Am I the Arnold Baker of this world?

I rose out of my chair and patted my pockets before realizing that the holy trio of phone, wallet and keys didn’t seem to apply here.

Despite the rush of events, I felt like I was taking my reincarnation rather well. I would’ve preferred to go back to childhood so that I could be a super genius or something gimmicky like that, but my body felt young and spry, which was a big tick.

I even had all ten fingers. Phenomenal.

As for my vocation, from what Captain Douchebag said, it sounded like I was employed at this world or country’s equivalent of the IRS.

Go figure.

If everything in this life was the opposite, things were looking up. I was in for a healthy body, clear conscience, a fruitful marriage and an empty bank account.

That’s the price of crime, baby.

I followed Mr. Douche across the floor. He swung his arms like a speed-walker, and I was astounded he didn’t collide with one of the people walking past. Everyone wore the same bored expression that I’m sure plastered Arnold Baker’s face at every waking moment.

We broke out into the sunlight onto a slapdash road of sandstone pavers and packed clay. I squinted my eyes, shielding them from the sudden light. A woman walking the other direction yelled out to Mr. Douche as we crossed paths.

“Adam! Hi! Congratulations on your promotion, very well deserved!”

Adam — I still preferred Mr. Douche — clasped the lady’s hand as they intersected, smiling at her.

“Thank you very much Genevieve, it’s lovely to see you.”

They broke apart and we kept walking down the street. The path didn’t improve until we had travelled a kilometer or so into what looked like a business hub. Here, carts rolled around wide stone paths, taking care not to slip into the gutters. People hustled by, absorbed by devices on their arms.

Confused, I touched my sleeve and felt a foreign object under my shirt. It was cold and angular, like a widow’s eyebrows. Adam still strode along in front of me, waving his gangly arms, so I investigated further, folding back my sleeve until I found a device lodged in my skin.

It was an ugly job by whoever had put it there. A thin layer of metal outlined a rectangular glass interface, and my skin was pale and bubbled where it connected to the metal like some sort of psychopathic welder had experimented on me. My arm looked like a TikTok challenge gone wrong.

From a few meters ahead, Adam noticed my curiosity and felt the urge to chip in.

“Ah, you young folk are always so engrossed by your Navigators. Trust me, it starts losing its appeal once the levels slow down. I haven’t had a level up in four months, and my last one was ‘Water Resistance 1’ because I got locked out of the office on a rainy day. You’ll get over it quick.”

I tried tapping on the screen, but nothing happened. There was no ‘Home Button’ like my old iPhone, and no switch embedded in my arm. I pulled my sleeve back over and saw the screen lighting up through the thin material. Apparently, swiping over it did the trick.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

An array of icons lined the top of the screen, and below them sat five categories.

Combat, Health, Knowledge, Intuition, MAGIC?!

I knitted my eyebrows together when I saw ‘Magic’ on my screen. I’d always been a Tolkien fan, but I hoped to God I wasn’t in Middle-earth.

Hell no.

Give me my tax books and let me stay in Hobbiton please — piss off, Gandalf, I don’t need an adventure, being shot six times was enough.

Everyone knows that as soon as ‘magic’ is involved, people will do some messed up shit in the name of learning. Cauldrons, spells, torture, blood, eww.

I poked around at the ‘Intuition’ category. To me, it was the most mysterious skill-tree out of the lot, as the others seemed to be pretty clear cut. ‘Combat’ probably meant ‘hit stuff hard’, ‘Knowledge’ would be ‘read books’ and such. I wondered if there was a ‘Tax Evasion’ skill. If so, this world was in for it.

A small part of me kicked back at that thought. After more than thirty years in the business, tax fraud was in my blood. But in this world, stationed at the damn intergalactic tax office, I felt the providence of something — fate? — pushing me to avoid the glitz and glamour of the underworld, the gangs and ghoulies. I laughed at myself for the sentimental moment. That was the bullets in my kidneys talking.

I hurried along to catch up to Adam. He stood with one foot in an ornate carriage led by two beasts that looked like hippo-hyena lovechildren. Again, he felt the need to chastise me.

“Hurry on sleepyhead! We’ve got criminals to catch.”

The inside of the carriage looked like a glitter bomb had gone off in a mausoleum. The walls and main décor were all drab greys and browns, accompanied by dull cushions. Each had a liberal sprinkling of some sparkly material that glittered and shone when the sunlight filtered through. I sat down opposite Adam.

“Alright Marcus, this one won’t blow your socks off, but I think it should be a good steppingstone for you. This guild, ‘Ripping Warriors’, specializes in reptile-based dungeons and the collection of reptilian materials. I believe they’re under-reporting the quality and value of the materials they acquire, so I’ve brought you along to help me do some tests. All good?”

It sounded reasonable. Field work on my first day was a decent gig — far better than sitting in a cubicle and ticking boxes.

“Yeah, perfect. Should I care about this thing for now?”

I pointed to the screen under my sleeve, and Adam looked at me as though his explanation before should’ve been sufficient.

I suppose I didn’t get to read the job description.

“Well, yes. As I said, it’s all fascinating stuff for a start. You’ll be getting a ton of notifications of level ups and new abilities. In my case, I won’t see anything interesting since I’ve done this so many times. Don’t get too distracted, you’re here to work.”

It was a terse but reasonable response. Nothing worse than bringing a junior on a work trip just for them to sit on their phone or their mysterious device melted into their skin. Ralph Palagroo would’ve shot me if I’d done that. Not kidding.

The carriage moved off, jolting a bit when we hit a loose stone. Somehow, no one had invented suspension yet.

It didn’t take long to travel out of town. I looked out the window as we bounced along, observing the structures and people around us.

A cathedral caught my eye. It was the most grandiose building I'd seen so far, with great gargoyles lining a wide gravel path leading up to broad spruce doors. A brightly dressed man pushed them open, and I peeked inside at the rows upon rows of pews. Even at this time of day, swathes of the devout were on their knees, begging or negotiating with their chosen higher power. I was very curious what kind of god or gods they worshipped here.

I had never been particularly religious, and I didn’t intend on starting now. I’d been baptized shortly after birth, but the priest dropped me entirely in the water rather than just dipping my head. When I eventually saw the photo of my shocked face resurfacing, I decided that if I didn’t encounter God in that holy moment, it was a sign that I never would.

Once we were out of town the roads turned to dirt, which was smoother than the hardy pavers of the city. The crunch of the ground compacting beneath the wheels was as peaceful as hearing rain on a tin roof. If I was still afflicted with my old person’s bones and head, I might’ve fallen asleep.

Soon, we arrived at a wooden house set on a low brick foundation. A shed sat adjacent, about thirty meters from us. Two people stood outside, chatting to each other as they stood guard.

When the carriage slowed down to a stop, I was a little taken aback. The Ripping Warriors Guild wasn’t the sprawling state-of-the-art organization that I’d pictured in my head — it was a couple buildings out in the sticks.

I think I preferred it this way. It didn’t harbor the pretentious vibe I’d expected.

We stepped out of the carriage and Adam opened a small box attached to the outside. He pulled out two stinking, half-rotten bones and threw them to the beasts that dragged us here, then hopped back in and retrieved a container he had held between his feet. We approached the weathered door and knocked.

“Just a moment!” A voice called out.

Adam smiled, tapping the container with his fingernails. I glanced at the guards standing by the shed. They were keeping a watchful eye on us. Squinting into the shed, I noticed a team of workers knee-deep in some kind of green ooze.

My Navigator vibrated in my arm, which felt extremely uncomfortable. I pulled up my screen and was greeted by a notification.

{Observation : Level Up! Current Level: 1}

I clicked on the icon, which brought me into the ‘Intuition’ skill-tree. I read the Observation skill summary.

Observation (1) : Measures the sharpness of the user’s eyesight, and ability to identify anomalies. Keen users can anticipate their enemies' movements.

Current bonus: +10% Viewing Distance

I just buffed my eyesight?

I looked down the road. It could’ve been the Placebo effect, but the swamp in the distance looked a little clearer, the corroded leaves covered in a glistening sweat. Adam noticed my awe.

“Ah ha! Your first level up. Observation, I see. Rickon the Seer would be proud. He’s trained his Observation for his whole life — he can apparently see multiple days into the future. Of course, seeing the future generally changes its course, but that can be useful.”

I didn’t have time to reply. The door finally swung open, and a man with purple hair and an orange apron greeted us. He had an oven mitt on his left hand and a carving knife in his right.

“Hullo there, this is the Ripping Warriors residence. How can I help?”

Adam puffed out his chest and held up his container, as though that meant something.

“Good morning, I’m Adam Warstock. I’m with the GTA. Marcus and I have come to perform analysis of your materials to confirm their quality. May we come in?”

The guild member stepped back from the door, and his face fell. It was virtually already an admission of guilt. He yelled back into the house.

“Hey! Darol! The GTA is here. They need to talk to you!”

We stood on the doorstep, feeling the house shake as a massive body lumbered through the space. Adam stepped away and checked the shed guards. They’d moved from their patrol. I felt uneasy before I had reason to, like a box of cold caterpillars wriggling up my legs.

Oh fuck, I’m gunna die on my first job.

‘Darol’ came into view, confirming my fate. He had a face like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and he wielded a gigantic, gnarled branch.

Adam whistled in a ‘holy shit’ kind of way and shoved the container into my arms.

“Might be best if you get back in the carriage. Unless you’ve got a weapon?”

I gave a nervous laugh.

Fuck.

That.