I appeared on an empty street. It was day, possibly early morning, though I didn’t have any way to judge the time. Low buildings lined up the street, and I saw a small park a bit ahead. The street was devoid of people or cars. This looked eerily like an after-hours movie set. Farther out, the buildings got taller, becoming skyscrapers. I was near an intersection, and the uncurving streets let me see fairly straight in all four directions. These buildings went on for as far as I could see.
The street was made of a flat material—not concrete or asphalt, but something flat and smooth, though not slippery.
The portal was behind me. None of the people that went through ahead of me were here. Maybe they each got their own exit. I was definitely not going back unless I was forced to.
There was no weather. I wasn’t hot or cold, no wind was blowing, and I didn’t smell anything. I could breathe, but I wasn’t getting anything else from the environment other than sight. I listened but could hear no sounds. The place was eerily quiet.
I finally had a moment to myself. The day having caught up to me, I fell to the ground. I was fired from the company where I had worked my entire adult life. I had died. I didn’t know if I could ever see my parents again. I gave despair the time it had been clamoring for and started crying.
I had begun to digest what was happening to me. I was alone in a world I did not understand, at the whims of someone calling themselves an author. Things around me were fantastical, a combination of magic and technology I didn’t understand.
Was this the afterlife? I missed my parents. I wasn’t terribly close to them, but I suddenly felt the need to call them, to visit. I doubted I’d be able to explain any of this to people on earth. They’d have me committed immediately. Still, just seeing people I knew would make me feel better. All the small things I got so riled up about suddenly felt so irrelevant.
I remember a stupid argument with Julie from HR about the pants I was wearing to piss her off. The pants I was still wearing
I’d had this kind of reaction to what I thought of as being coerced, whether it was warranted or not. It started with my parents when I was young. I remember them telling me not to stay out late. Most teenagers just party and miss their curfew. I truculently waited outside the house until past nine before returning. This was a pattern that continued throughout my school and work life, and it was one of the reasons I never rose much above entry-level despite being praised for my talent.
I kept crying, feeling sorry for myself. After a while, Squeezimodo started making weird noises as if he were constipated or very, very angry. With his very high-pitched noise, it just sounded like someone making raspberry sounds. I didn’t recall pulling him out, but he was in my hand.
“What’s wrong?”
- I’m trying to make grease?
“Why are you trying to make grease?” I asked, so surprised my crying had stopped.
- I’ve heard the expression ‘greasing palms.’ I think that’s my mission in life. But I have to start with one palm.
“Do you know what grease is?”
- Not really, he answered sheepishly.
“Grease is a kind of lubricant that makes machines run smoother. The expression ‘grease a palm’ means to bribe someone. Grease is a metaphor for money since money makes people do things, hence greasing the process.”
He was quiet for a bit and then said,
- So, if you grease a palm, does the grease become palm oil?
I rolled my eyes, but the conversation snapped me back to the present. I needed to survive in order to figure out what was going on. I will find a company door or stay out here for as long as possible. I did not want my head to explode.
I got up.
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Was it just a couple of hours since I was fired? I needed to understand this new world, and the game interface was my first stop.
I could easily reach my inventory, and the items I stowed in it were still accessible. Squeezimodo was in my hand, but the rest were still stashed. Right now, I had the “WHAT I SHOULD HAVE SAID WAS” paper, the Mad Sad Bad Ad Trophy, the faux book, and the empty bottle that contained the reagent.
Thinking about me caused my character sheet to open up.
My stats hadn’t changed, but an upgrade was now listed, the Pathfinder 2.0a Experimental. A new tab called OKRs was available. I wondered how to select it, but the interface was intuitive enough that thinking about it was sufficient.
Objective: Get your foot in the door.
Key Result: Find a door to a company that matches you.
Key Result: Find a coach.
Key Result: Find a way to use the experimental Pathfinder and survive the Great Potential.
So. Objectives and Key Results were like work goals? I felt fully back in the office. I rolled my eyes. This was the quest tab.
“Hey,” I said out loud, assuming the author was listening, “since you’re adding game mechanics, can we use game language like quests and missions? It’s more motivating to have a quest than an OKR.”
Nothing happened. The interface still showed Objectives and Key Results.
“Your target audience is probably going to appreciate that more! It’s less boring!”
A second later, the interface switched to a Quests tab.
Quest: Get your foot in the door.
Mission: Find a door to a company that matches you.
Mission: Find a coach.
Mission: Find a way to use the experimental Pathfinder and survive the Great Potential.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Thank you!” I said.
He didn’t respond. I wondered if I’d get better rewards if I completed more of the missions.
Time to learn about my new friend. Looking at Squeezimodo, I gave it? him? her? a squeeze for good measure. “OK Squeezimodo. We need to talk.”
- Ohhhhh yeah. Do that again. What’s on your mind?
“What are you?”
- An Emotional Support Stress Ball. You were smarter than that at work.
“Let me rephrase this. Are you alive? Are you an animal? Are you a part of me? Are you independent? I’ve never met anything like you.”
It was quiet for a while. At last, it said,
- I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone like me, either.
“Let’s establish some basic things. Can you see?”
- Obviously, you son of an armless blob.
“What’s obvious about it? You don’t have any eyes.”
- So? What’s that got to do with it?
“Most of us see with our eyes.”
- Oh. I think I can see. For example, I see that you need a shave like that horrible Julie said, may both her thumbs relocate to her elbows!
“What’s with all the hand and finger references?”
- I think the ability to squeeze is amazing. If I had hands, I’d squeeze myself all day.
I chuckled and squeezed it a few times for good measure. It certainly had a one-track mind. “We all go through that phase at some point. Don’t make this weird. How far can you see?”
- Anywhere that’s not blocked. I don’t know. I can see those tall buildings far away.
This was interesting. We’ll have to test this. “How about directions? Which direction do you see towards?”
- What do you mean by which direction? If it’s not blocked, I can see it.
Well, that was even better. It wasn’t limited by eyes, so it could see in all directions. “Well, I can only see where my eyes are pointed. Can you see colors?”
- What are colors?
Oh great. I did not relish going through that philosophical debate of ‘What do YOU mean by Blue?’ “See that tree? The leaves are green. So is that door, and so is that sign,” I said, pointing in quick succession.
- I know what colors are, you halfwit with arms. All you did at work was talk about how that shade of mauve did or didn’t bring out the brand value of the customer.
It was trying to aggravate me on purpose, dammit. “What else can you sense or feel?”
- Well, I can hear and understand you and feel when you squeeze me. What else is there?
“We’ll have to experiment. Ok, now for some existential questions. Are you male? Female? Neither?”
- Hmm. I identify as a ball. I know you have a couple. Let’s go with Male.
“Fair enough. I won’t ask how you know I have a couple. Now, you told me about some stuff from my old office. How do you know?”
Again, he took a while to answer.
- I’m not sure. I only remember being awake once you squeezed me on that marble platform in the empty space, but I have flashes of things from before. They come every once in a while.
“Ok, we’ll see if we can figure out what that means. Now, can you see and feel and speak to me when you’re in my inventory?”
- Yes. But I can’t be squeezed.
“Got it.”
I Examined him again, and the label showed up,
Squeezimodo; Emotional Support Stress Ball; Level 1
“It says that you’re Level 1. Do you know what that means?”
- No.
“It means you should be able to gain more capabilities, though I don’t know what those are.”
- Maybe I’ll be able to squeeze myself
I rolled my eyes and squeezed him for good measure.
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My objective, my quest, my way of staying alive, was to find the door to the company. This felt like finding my one true love but with a company instead of a person. It’s time to see how the pathfinder worked. I concentrated on the idea of a door or entryway to my company. It took a minute, but I had a vague notion that I should walk away from the skyscrapers. I couldn’t tell how far away it was, just the general direction. I started walking.
The buildings were odd. They each came from a different era. Some were modern office buildings, metal, and glass. Some were old-style brick, and some had ornamental facades with friezes and bas-reliefs. These depicted everything from general geometric shapes to people to general humanoid forms that were clearly not human since no human had that third eye nor horns. Maybe they were depictions of mythological gods?
Some buildings were futuristic. The materials were not something I’d seen, and they were held up on supports that were too thin for any material I’d ever heard of, considering the weight the rest of the building had to be. For example, one building was shaped like a large question mark, at least seven stories tall, with a base that was just an elevator shaft but a top that held multiple windows and offices or apartments.
Despite the ambient light, the buildings looked as though they were themselves under different lighting conditions. Some were darker, some as if they stood under direct sunlight. It was a weird visual effect since I was standing in a lit street, yet some buildings were very dark. I could still see them, but the ones around them took up my attention since they were much brighter.
The buildings far away kept changing when I wasn’t looking as if they weren’t fixed in place. I would look back to see one skyscraper made of dark metal, and then the next time, it would be higher, now made of light stone. The ones around me were fixed, though. I wondered if the geography of the place kept changing or if something was happening to those high rises.
As I walked, I looked at the signs on the buildings. Some were large painted signs that I could make out. Some were written in weird characters I’d never seen before. Some were tiny metal plates mounted on the doors to the building.
I randomly checked some of the doors, and most weren’t locked. I poked my head in, but saw no one. I kept walking.
Half an hour later, I saw some movement. Something that looked like a small dog was ambling its way towards me, sniffing the ground as it moved. I concentrated on it, and a helpful description popped up:
Whiskers, Mutated Lab Rat, Level 1
Whiskers was the pride and joy of Growth Spurts Incorporated, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Miracle Drugs. It was the runt of the litter and had to be separated from its bigger brothers and sisters and hand-fed in order to survive. It took well to all the drugs and experiments GSInc tried on it, surviving when more and more of its cohort died horrible spasming deaths from failed CRISPR gene editing attempts. When Nibbles, a fellow rat, bit a researcher and caused a company-wide plague that killed everyone, Whiskers waited patiently to be fed. And waited. And waited. It grew hungry and angry and started feeding on the bodies of the people. It has since escaped into the Great Potential, feeding off anyone and anything it can find. It just found you.
That was an oddly long and detailed description. Still, this was a rat. How difficult would it be? I looked at the rat again and realized that while I was reading the description, it had come closer. I had misjudged its size. This was not actually a small rat. Whatever Growth Spurts Inc. had done to it had made it grow. It wasn’t chihuahua-sized but more like a poodle
Rats don’t typically attack people, but this guy bared its teeth at me and started running. I wondered if I could scare it off. I made myself big and yelled. It had not seen the same nature documentary I had, and kept coming. I got my leg ready and, as it came near, volleyed it back a few steps. I doubted that hurt it any. It straightened itself and came at me again.
- Use the trophy!
That thing was indeed indestructible. I pulled it out of my inventory and held it in my hand. As the rat came forward, I swung and hit it. It shook its head and came at me again. I hadn’t caused much damage, and it was going to bite me at some point. I wasn’t sure if it was carrying that plague that its friend Nibbles had, but I didn’t want to find out. I turned around and ran. The one thing I could do that it couldn’t was open a door. Score one for opposable thumbs.
I had my twenty-year-old body again, which meant I was in great shape. Feet pounding the pavement and adrenaline coursing through my body, I ran toward the closest office building, a more modern affair. Thankfully, it was unlocked. I pushed the door open and went in, slamming the door shut in the face of the rat.
I could feel the enraged Whiskers slamming itself against the door over and over, but the door didn’t budge. I collapsed to the floor, breathing hard. What was this horrible place? If this was a level 1 creature, and a single one at that, how was I going to survive?
I took out Squeezimodo and gave him a couple of squeezes. “Thank you for that timely suggestion.”
- I have to keep my main squeeze alive.
“That’s not what that means. Do you have any other suggestions?”
- Get a better trophy?
“I definitely need to get some weapons and armor. This place is not safe. Were you able to see the description for Whiskers?”
- Yes.
“I have a feeling we’re not done with it, and I think we’re going to meet Nibbles as well.”
- How do you know?
“The author has given it a name. They don’t typically bother otherwise.”