Whacking my head into the table was not wise. Hard to believe, I know.

But it did wake me up, for one thing. Nothing like a bruise on your eyebrow to keep you working hard, especially when that work is so, so, valuable. Emergency response doctors? Pff. Laborers? Light work. Mindlessly sorting through documents? Now that’s some top of the food chain stuff.

Ah jeez.

My fatigue was really starting to show. The first few days of next to no sleep had been tolerable, but each night was draining me a little more, pushing me ever so slightly over the brink of what was healthy.

Back on Earth, there’d be some guy on TV or some social media platform who’d say that he slept four hours each night for the last five years and now he’s a zillionaire and has biceps bigger than my skull and all that usual bollocks Fortunately, this world was blessed by the lack of doom scrolling and short-form video content. Call me a boomer — I suppose I’m not one anymore, who cares — but it was one of my favorite things about being here. No flashing lights, loud advertisements on the subway and sidewalk, or heads permanently glued to phones.

To some extent, those heads were glued to Navigators instead, but I’d like to rant, so let me do it without pointing out the flaws in my logic, thank you very much.

My next four hours were dominated by picking up invoices, checking the first couple letters of the business name, finding the correct pile, making room for the growing mass of paper, then ordering by date if the business name was a repeat. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, four hours per box.

Twenty...three boxes to go. Ninety-two hours. Eleven and a half shifts.

I might indeed pop before then, but with any luck, the Cavern info from Anpar would come in and I’d have something new to gnaw on. ‘Eager’ isn’t the right word for the Cavern work — it’s hard to be eager to confirm that yes, a rogue guild member, possibly able to crush you in an instant, is on the hunt and wants you dead.

The danger in this job was alarming. And nonsensical. The government sector was virtually the only body of people anywhere in the world where taking someone out, or planning to do so, would create a never-ending investigation.

Unlike the private sector, money and time was a near limitless resource, especially in the context of a homicide. Not only would there be an investigation, but there’d also be teams of lawyers wielding the full force of the law to scrape through every piece of information that they could find reasonable cause to get their hands on, and publicity. Lots of publicity.

But that’s just my two cents.

I picked up my one-thousand-two-hundred-and-ninety-second invoice, catalogued it under ‘PA’ for ‘Paladin’s Might Construction’, then stapled the pile together. Whichever guild I was doing this for — the bottom of the invoice suggested ‘Wily’s White Knights’, weird — they absolutely adored their headquarters. There were sandpits, fountains, pools and all manner of flora and fauna going into this place, along with invoices for gardeners and builders and landscapers.

It made me want to see how construction was handled in this world. With any luck, there’d be a magically enhanced six-armed bricklayer pumping out two hundred bricks a minute, or alternatively, an expert in telekinesis who could just slam together a shack with a swish of their hands.

Not a bad way to make money if gnashing teeth and slimy dungeons weren’t your thing. Hell, I was almost convincing myself out of the GTA just thinking about it.

Next invoice, Marcus. Keep movin’.

I couldn’t be bothered cracking open another box, so I daintily tip-toed through the small path I’d left between my cardboard cubes of doom, turned and went back to retrieve the dagger I’d left on my desk, then left the GTA.

For now, it was time for career number two. Prayer.

Call me weak, or entitled, or whatever you want, but I was getting kind of sick of my nightly jaunts to the cathedral. Sure, I got paid, and the work wasn’t hard, but it was just the grueling beatdown of using my EXP earning ability — my affinity — on someone else’s behalf that really got to me.

Especially when Granton was kind of a dick. I hadn’t noticed it at first — too caught up in the beauty of a stable income and a simple method of acquiring it — but if this little establishment of his was listed on Glassdoor, yikes. That page would be a pit of one-star reviews. Anonymous of course, considering the potential for immediate violent repercussions.

What really pinged me off was sacrificing the time I could be using to strengthen myself for just four hundred dura a night. An amount I could earn in an instant if I was someone like Granton, running around impaling bosses and collecting his bounties.

Anselmar was cool and all now that I knew he wasn’t just a random old hairy buzzard sitting in the pews and not showering, but there’s only so much entertainment I can get out of a guy who opens his eyes for about three and a half seconds each night. I wanted to delve into the mystery of his daughter, and how she ended up powerful enough to be one of humanity’s elite, but at a rate of ten words a night, I could see that information dribbling out over, what, a few years?

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So, when I opened the doors and strode in earlier than I usually would, I wasn’t too upset to see Granton up the front with a severe look drawn across his face and a pile of Ravenous Rendar books in one arm, doling them out to yet another band of newcomers. The fresh meat was even younger than last night’s batch, probably being gathered off the street or pulled from their homes by ‘incentivized’ parents.

He’d abandoned the bright colors and fancy hat this evening, opting instead for a muted green cloak over black pants. He wore his hair long, the blonde locks doing their best to lighten up the drab outfit.

Not that I can judge. I’ve had the same shirt and pants wombo-combo since day dot.

I sat in the pew, jamming myself between two of the people I’d met yesterday. A copy of Ravenous Rendar was passed to me, but I smugly passed it on to the next person.

Now Granton saw me.

“Ah! The prodigy! Stand, Marcus, stand! Come on now, that’s a boy.”

I stood with my knees knocking on the pew in front of me, awkwardly blocking people from passing. Granton didn’t seem to notice my predicament.

“All of you who pray to Rendar, you would not be here if not for this young man. His work helped me discover something very interesting, and from that point on I knew I must have more people to bolster his efforts. A round of applause, if you will. Marcus, would you mind following me for a moment? We have much to discuss.”

Now the people I’d previously blocked had to make their way backwards to let me out. It was becoming a very tense and poorly played game of musical chairs, like the only music we were allowed to play was the scratching of a chalkboard and the ringing of tinnitus in our ears.

It seemed that Granton had free reign of the cathedral. In my short tenure there I’d never once seen a priest or bishop or whatever holy person resides over such a place.

Whether it was foreshadowing or just a Granton-thing, he led me to an area almost perfectly resembling a confession room and told me to enter one side. The room had angled slats like those on old-school bathroom stalls, such that I couldn’t see Granton but he could see me.

It felt claustrophobic and hot, but I tried to remain calm.

“So. What’s up? Any new Deities I should be studying up on?” I asked.

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to talk,” he replied.

We sat in silence for a moment. It was difficult to have a normal conversation without seeing my interlocutor. At last, I gave in.

“Okay. Uhh, is there anything in particular? Did you find a new skill or ability in the Knowledge tree? If it’s a listed skill, I can specifically pray for it if you’d like it boosted.”

“Yes, yes. That would be very good. I’m just cautious of who I can trust right now.”

Ruh roh.

“I see. Well, even if you just tell me, the others can be left in the dark until they’re a bit more reliable? With the amount of people out there, getting at least a little EXP for the skill will still be as easy as hitting the broad side of a—”

“Did you know that my house was partially burnt down recently?”

My cheeks flushed. I stared straight on, hoping to hide the obvious.

“I...did hear rumors, yes.”

“You heard rumors. I see.”

Every part of me wanted to bolt from that room like I had a rabid dog snapping at my behind, but I stayed put. Running was just foolish. If Granton wanted me to listen to his monologue, there was nothing I could do.

I had to shut up and take it.

“The night that it happened, I was in my hotel at Carringhal. Lovely place I might add, everywhere you go there are street cats coming up to you and purring and rubbing your legs just begging for food. Anyway, I thought I’d check my Navigator and watch my EXP rise — it’s my version of counting sheep — and I noticed the strangest thing. My Knowledge skills would go up and up and up, nice and steady, but for about, oh, five minutes each hour? They’d stop.”

I gulped.

“Nothing. Nada. Zilch.”

He really got into his rhythm now.

“So, curious, I checked our permission log. You were still tied to me, so I found it most peculiar when during each of those five minutes, you used a skill called [Domain Thinking]. Now that’s not quite stretching your legs and getting some fresh air, is it?”

This was becoming reminiscent of the time Adam almost beat me up, but Granton was a lot more dangerous.

“So, logically, I waited until you unlocked [Domain Thinking] for me, whence I noticed it would be extremely useful for surveillance. Loe and behold, I asked my butler Donald if he recalled any of the robber’s features from that night, and huzzah! He described you right down to the dimples on your cheeks.”

He ran a nail down the shutter between us, dragging along until he stopped right next to my head. My skin crawled with goosebumps and all I could think of was what potent magic that one finger could blast me with.

Hopefully it would be quick.

“How long have you worked at the GTA, Marcus?”

Oop.

“A week. Maybe more.”

“What did you take from my house?”

“Documents proving you didn’t disclose income.”

“Which manager told you to do it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He didn’t like that. There was an exasperated huff from his room, and a sound like he’d kicked the wall. It was all rather childish.

“I don’t think you understand the predicament you are in. Which manager told you to do it?!”

“I...I won’t tell you.”

Silence. Tapping. My heart attempting a prison escape in my chest.

“Loyal to the end, then. I know it was Adam anyway. There’s what, two other managers at the Haverbark office? Both of them too pathetic to try anything as foolhardy as taking me on.”

So this is it. One week was all it took. I hope my next reincarnation is somewhere a bit more placid. I think I’d like to go back and be one of those old Japanese men that sits in the garden all day, drinking tea and making contemplative noises.

“Bye bye, Marcus. You could have been so much more.”

The shutter between us exploded, and I died.