1. A Sword That Shoots Guns

I wake, not with a start, but with a sword in my hand.

Normally, that'd be cause for alarm. I don't own a sword, nor have I ever held one in my life (unless you count those sick-ass sticks you sometimes luck into on a hike). If I've woken up with a sword in my hand, knowing that the object in my hand is indeed a sword, something really dramatic and alarming must've happened to me.

But I'm not alarmed. Instead, I'm relieved. Because something really dramatic and alarming did happen to me, and the fact that I've woken up at all is a miracle worth celebrating.

The last thing I remember is facing down the barrel of a gun—yet another object I've never owned. And before you go all 'murica on me, no, this happened in Vancouver, Canada, where you're more likely to die to bad sushi than to gun violence. So yeah, this was highly unusual and definitely a cause for alarm.

I'm not clear on the deets of how it all went down. I'd just grabbed a medium black coffee from Timmy's (can't do the Double Double; lactose intolerant) and was on my way into work when this strange thick fog descended all around me. Some real Silent Hill shit. Next thing I know, I was surrounded by a bunch of fantasy cosplayers (I can only assume they were cosplayers, not that I recognized any of the IP).

Which was already super weird, but even weirder, the cosplayers all had guns. Not greatswords or axes but, like, Glocks and AK47s (I don't actually know if they were Glocks and AK47s; those are just gun words I know from basic media literacy).

One of the cosplayers, a long-haired woman with elf ears (lowkey a baddie, not gonna lie), pointed a gun in my face and said something in a foreign language (Maybe it was Elvish? Dunno, never read Tolkien. Sue me). I mean, how do you even react to that? At this point, I had no idea what this even was. A publicity stunt? Some TikTok bullshit? An actual mugging?

Well, it turned out to be none of those things. Because the elf girl didn't even give me a chance to put my hands up and chuckle nervously before she just up and pulled the trigger. And wouldn't you know it? It was a real gun. With a real bullet that went into my real face.

So yeah. Even though I did wake up with a sword in my hand, all in all, I'm more relieved than alarmed. At least I'm alive, right? I don't know where I got the sword from, but I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. Hospital must've thought I was one of the cosplayers, or maybe—

Except... I don't wake up in a hospital room. Or any sort of room at all. No, I'm in the middle of the woods somewhere. Lush and thick with greenery.

I sit up groggily, trying to get my bearings. I don't recognize this forest at all, which to be fair isn't all that surprising. Don't let my hiking reference fool you; I'm definitely not an outdoors person. You'd think I would (or should) be, considering the part of the world I live in, but hey, I grew up with Playstations before graduating to PC Master Race. Sue me.

Once I determine that this is neither a hospital nor a forest I'm familiar with, the next thing is to check myself over. Weirdly enough, I'm still dressed in the same dress-shirt and khakis I'd worn to work. I even have the lanyard with my photo ID: "Mars Carver. IT Support. Vancouver Coastal Health." Even more surprising, as far as I can tell, there aren't any new holes in my face, nor really any injury to speak of.

I look exactly as I did the moment I got shot by Elf Girl. Minus a coffee (which I wasn't married to; Timmy's has been going downhill for some time) and plus a sword. Speaking of, maybe it's finally time to check out this freaking sword in my hand.

Look, if you're expecting some PhD-level knowledge and exposition here, you're not gonna get it from me.

I have a degree in Psychology. Realized pretty quickly I didn't know how to leverage that into a livable wage. Did some online courses and managed to get this entry-level IT job at a hospital. My daily routine consists of browsing Reddit while occasionally helping a doctor or nurse reset their password.

Even outside of work, my only exposure to weapons (medieval or modern) is of the digital variety, and you bet I don't care enough about them to learn their characteristics, historical backgrounds, etc.

All that to say, to me, the sword in my hand just looks like a sword. The kind you might swing around in Elden Ring or some shit, you know? Gun to my head (too soon?), I'd venture a guess that it might be called a 'claymore', but I say that with zero confidence. As I pick it up, I realize it's got real weight to it. The kind that convinces you this thing can and will take lives in the right (or wrong) hands.

What I can say with 100% confidence is that I'm not those hands, right or wrong. Like, I wouldn't call myself completely hopeless when it comes to physical prowess, but come on. Even I know you need years of dedicated practice to be a competent swordsman. A few years of high school basketball way back when and letting a pair of dumbbells collect dust in the corner of my room ain't gonna cut it.

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Once I've come to terms with the weight of the sword and my inadequacy to wield it, it's time to decide on next steps. The situation is all kinds of fucked up, but that doesn't mean I've got nothing to go on, right? So, let's think through what I do know.

I know that I was on my way to work on a regular-ass Tuesday when a crazy Elf Girl shot me in the face. I know that said face is intact and that I myself still draw breath, full and unlabored. I know I woke up alone in the middle of a forest I don't recognize, in possession of a medieval weapon I know nothing about.

That's when a kind of—let's call it a hunch—creeps in. Because every item I listed sounds absolutely bonkers and nonsensical on its own, but taken together and in sequence, it's almost as if...? Surely not...?

Anyway, I decide the logical thing now is to find help. Anyone that can help me de-bonkersize the situation. I check my pockets and find that the coffee isn't the only thing I lost. No wallet, no phone. Maybe I did get mugged, after all?

I get to my feet, looking around to see which part of the forest looks the most 'helpful'. Honestly, the trees are just as lush and just as thick everywhere, so I just have to pick a direction and go.

Before I take off, I hesitate for a moment, wondering what to do about my sword (is it even mine, though?). It's heavy and unwieldy, and we've already established that I'm no good with a sword. In the end, I decide to lug it with me. Maybe I could sell it? Or turn it in to Lost and Found?

But I know the real reason I held onto it. It's because of that 'hunch'... and this sword happens to be the only way I could protect myself if that hunch turns out to be accurate—as bonkers as that might be.

I wade through the trees (Don't expect me to know their names. Psychology, not Forestry, remember?) until I come to a sort of clearing. Sunlight breaks through the canopy to tell me it's about midday, and only then do I realize that I'm uncomfortably warm. I'd begun the day to a brisk autumn morning in the Pacific Northwest, and I'm no meteorologist, but it really shouldn't get this hot this soon! My dress-shirt is soaked through. Sweat falls from my brow and onto my clearance-aisle Sketchers. And I'm already starting to feel light-headed.

Not good. Need to find help right away, otherwise I might really die, of heat exhaustion rather than to gun violence. So, imagine my delight when I hear noises from the other side of the clearing. Bunch of shouting that sounds like commands and signals (not English, as far as I can tell). If I weren't so woozy from the heat, I'd break into a run to meet my rescuers.

Except... the things that emerge from the thicket definitely aren't here to rescue me. There are about five or six of them, shouting and jumping excitedly at the sight of me. Green-skinned, yellow-eyed, and about as tall (and loud) as my nephews that I have to babysit every other weekend. Except they're a lot meaner-looking than my nephews and mean-sounding too, with high-pitched cackling that shows off their rotted teeth.

Goblins. Yup. First, the Elf Girl with a gun. And now this Goblin gang shouting nonsense while brandishing clubs and scimitars. That hunch I had is looking more and more prescient by the minute, and I've never been gladder to have woken up with a sword in my hand.

One of the Goblins, the least vertically challenged of the lot, points his scimitar in my face and yells something monosyllabic. It's not a Glock or AK47, but right now, that scimitar looks no less deadly. Right on cue, the other Goblins raise their weapons overhead and charge at me en masse.

I mean, how do you even react to that? I do the only thing that remotely feels like self-defense, which is to raise the 'claymore' to my side (with some difficulty, mind you) and swing it in a wide arc, hoping against hope that the blade might catch or at least deter some of the green monsters.

What I don't expect, even in my wildest dreams, is for the claymore to spit out a pistol, one that starts firing even as it follows the arc of the sword swing.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! One bang and one bullet for each of the five underlings that charged at me. They all drop to the ground, one by one, soaking the grass beneath with lurid red blood as they do. The pistol too disappears into thin air, as if it'd been the product of an overactive imagination.

That leaves only the 'boss' Goblin, who I imagine earned that promotion simply by virtue of being half an inch taller than his mates. Buddy's still pointing his scimitar at me, but he's no longer shouting nor cackling. Instead, he just has this dazed look to him, mouth gaping with a bit of drool hanging off the chin.

Just because the Goblin is in shock, doesn't mean I'm any less scared of him. I raise my claymore again, even though I'm a good few meters away from my target. I'm too chickenshit to go any nearer though, and I just do an awkward overhead swing, hoping the pistol thing wasn't a fluke.

It wasn't a fluke. The swing summons the same pistol again, and this time, it fires just once. Once is all that's needed. A spray of fresh Goblin blood, and boss-man too crumples like the rest, dead before he even hits the ground.

As for me? Well, you can probably imagine. Sweat-soaked, trembling, and panting heavily like I'd just run a marathon. Even my consciousness is about to float away, and the only thing that keeps me grounded to my new bonkers reality—the only thing that keeps me sane—is my sword.

As I look at my sword with renewed understanding and tons more questions, two main thoughts stick out in my mind. First is, holy shit, it's a sword that shoots guns! Second is, okay, I really need to find me some earplugs.