Read the Permissions Before you Agree_The Isekai App

I am so tired of waiting,

Aren't you,

For the world to become good

And beautiful and kind?

Let us take a knife

And cut the world in two-

And see what worms are eating

At the rind.

--Langston Hughes

I’d popped into existence and was shivering on the stone floor of what might have been a ruined cathedral. Just seconds before, I’d been messing with my phone, installing the Isekai App.

There had been a wall of text, then the obligatory “Agree to terms?” And there had been a box on my screen. After checking it, I was here. I could still feel the ridges of my phone case against my fingertips. My phone was nowhere to be seen.

Cardboard cargo containers were lined up against the worn, eroded gray walls. They contained clothing: white shirts, tan cargo shorts, boy and girl underthings. Cheap running shoes of all sizes. No glasses; I’m nearsighted.

Shafts of sunlight slanted from gaps in the distant roof. Dense vegetation spilled in: vines loaded with fluffy bunches of leaves and star-shaped white flowers. Bees bumped and buzzed, ignoring me as I picked out things to wear.

Tall windows lined the building, each topped with a peaked arch. Jagged rainbow teeth lined some of them: broken remains of stained glass. A cool breeze filled the hall. It smelled of the ocean. I’d grown up in San Clemente, and the ocean was always welcome. My breathing slowed. Wasn’t this what I’d wanted, even though I hadn’t believed a word of it beforehand?

So you give it your email and agree to the terms, and you get a coupon for a free chicken sandwich. I like video games, if they’re good. I’d thought this had been a new kind of game.

Nope. Apparently all real.

“Huh,” I said.

The cathedral wasn’t just old; it had been through a fight. The stone walls bore many circular, smooth holes, each the size of a hubcap. Their spacing was random, as if made by a colossal machine gun. The walls at the other end of the long cathedral were blackened and charred. A wooden door, ornate and crooked, let in more sunlight around its edges.

That door opened. It didn’t swing open like a healthy door. Someone was moving it from the other side.

A tall man awkwardly lifted the door and leaned it against the wall. He took a black rectangle from where it had been tucked under an arm: a tablet computer. For a moment he stood framed in the doorway by more of that sunlit jungle vegetation, then approached slowly, not looking up from his screen. I later wondered if he’d have kept going if I hadn’t already gotten dressed.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

A tall, skinny face like Benedict Cumberbatch without the handsomeness, plus a layer of middle-aged fat to smooth out any unwanted charisma. Dark hair trimmed by a genocidal barber, pale skin, no facial hair. Well, those huge bristly eyebrows.

Office casual, but with a rather grimy lab coat that had once been white. A paunch. A double chin. When he smiled, it wrapped tightly around his face like a bandanna made of teeth.

Nasty little beady blue eyes gleaming from under those eyebrows. His gray smile didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were cold, bored, uninterested.

I didn’t like him one bit. He obviously didn’t care.

Not the cute elf girlfriend the App had hinted at, not at all. I hadn’t gotten that chicken sandwich either.

He sat on one of the cardboard boxes. It whooshed out a tired puff of air. That box had seen a lot of sitting, I thought. He’d done this before, this exact thing. Many times. Everything he did was practiced, rehearsed. Theatrical. His eyes went back to his tablet.

“Owen Walsh, United States, Pacific Time Zone,” he said, in a smooth, quick voice.

Ever see a medication commercial, and at the end the announcer rapidly reads a list of all the horrible things that could happen to you? Side Effects may include… That’s how he spoke.

I didn’t respond. He looked up at me, hoisted his eyebrow foliage in inquiry.

“Yes,” I said. Tried to. My voice was a broken whisper.

He reached into the pocket of his lab coat and handed me a battered plastic bottle of drinking water. I drained it all at once, then nodded. Better. The water tasted funny, acidic.

He sighed unhappily. “Ordinarily I’d hit you with a few questions. How do you feel about being part of a new world? Want to build a new society? How about making products and medications that could benefit your friends and family back home? But I already know how you feel, and it’s not important.”

These were all interesting questions. I had no answers yet; I would later. I could barely focus on his words at the moment.

“You and I have met before,” he said wearily. “And this time it’ll be chaos. I’ve tried order, and I’ve tried being nice and tried being nasty. This time anything goes.”

I’d met this guy? It seemed very unlikely; he was quite memorable in a sweaty, unpleasant way. Perhaps he’d been a substitute teacher who’d made me uncomfortable? I opened my mouth to apologize for not recognizing him. He cut me off with more of his rapid monologue:

“I advise you not to hurt anyone, or to get hurt. We don’t have a hospital here. If I see you doing anything I don’t like…” His cold eyes dropped to his tablet. He tapped the stylus against the screen.

I’ll describe this as best as I can. I lost my balance first, then my legs folded beneath me. My arms flopped loosely at my sides and my head leaned back with my mouth yawning open. I hit the floor: first my knees, then I leaned back and rolled on my spine against the floor. The back of my skull bumped the cold hardness of gray stone.

I couldn’t move. I found myself helplessly inspecting the ruined roof up there, with its vines and bees and pollen drifting in the sunbeams.

I could focus my eyes. I could breathe, and I started panting in panicked gasps. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move.

A click of his stylus and I regained control of my limbs. My palms and cheap shoes slapped the floor in a hectic, frantic dance. I said: “Gah!” and scrambled to my feet, then rubbing the back of my head where I’d struck. I looked up at him. I was awed and frightened. Awed. This was real, and awful in the literal sense of the word.

He hit me with that expression of utter boredom. Bags under his diamond-chip eyes, a weary face that had seen too much, a face that was unimpressed with me, unimpressed with everything.

“I can do that anytime,” he said. “So be good, Owen Walsh of Pacific Time Zone.” Something about his expression was odd. An amused flash of smirk. Be good, he’d said. Be good. What was that, was it irony? Be good. He got up from his box and offered his hand to shake.

What would you have done? In my defense, I was in shock from the entire introduction. I was in a new place with no memory of traveling there. I’d just lost control of my person, then had it granted again. I looked at that hand, the soft, pillowy hand of this guy, no calluses, no scars.

I shook it. Yes I did. I didn’t slap the tablet out of his hand or try to shove that stylus in his ear. I was terrified of him. Awed.

“I’m Dr. Jeff Harrigan,” he said. That smile again, the one that stretched around his tall head, with his thin middle-aged lips baring gray teeth to the world. “Let’s go see the camp. And call me Dr. Jeff.”

Despite the fear, a bit of steel returned to my spine. I was grateful for it. Dr. Jeff? How informal, how friendly!

I would not call him that. Not ever.

And in retrospect, I know he could see it on my face. And he approved.

Because I was going to get away from him, the first chance I got.

Read the Permissions Before you Agree

Table of Contents