Brandon found himself on the ground. The cool stone was some relief against the stabbing pain between his eyes. He rolled over in lieu of standing to figure out exactly where he was.
The smell of wet rock and old masonry permeated the air. White stone walls that reminded him of old Soviet buildings encircled him. The courtyard was big enough to not feel crowded by the four stories of walls and windows, but not large enough to feel at ease. He watched as a single white cloud flew by in the skies above.
He wore a plain tan long-sleeved shirt and tan pants. Neither was fitted, but the crisp lines on each made Brandon assume he had not been laying on the ground long. He was not sure if waking up in strange clothes or a strange place worried him more.
Brandon racked his brain trying to figure out where he was, and how he had gotten here. Muddled imaged dragged through his head as he tried to remember the last thing he was doing. Was I… driving? He thought.
Brandon turned and saw a circle was surrounding him, almost close enough to touch. He shuffled over to the edge; intricate designs of intertwined lines and swirls were engraved on each side of the silver ring. He reached out and traced a pattern with one finger—a second later, a window popped up in front of him.
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Item: Ritual Circle
Description: Unknown
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Brandon tried to wave his hand through the words, but it passed through them without resistance. Looking around the room, he saw that there were a dozen similar rings scattered around.
I have been playing way too many video games. Maybe I need to switch to board games for a while. Brandon realized the pop-up was only in his head, and not part of the physical world. He wondered how he was supposed to close it—it immediately disappeared. He stared at his ritual circle, opening and closing the dialogue a few more times.
“I don’t feel dead,” he said, poking his own arm. “But I guess I wouldn’t really know what that feels like.” He began to wiggle all of his fingers and toes, slowly working though his body checking for injuries. Sure that he was not injured Brandon stood up to inspect the room. Everything seems to be working. Maybe I was drugged. This does feel like the king of all hangovers, Brandon thought.
As if in response to his conversation with himself, the heavy wooden double doors across the room began to creak open. A soft slapping sound filled the silent room as a small plant-like… something, the size of a small dog struggled its way in.
The creature was made of green, skeletal like vines thinner than a finger. It swayed back and forth as it struggled to waddle its way across the room to Brandon. A hint of wet-earth smell hit him as the thing came closer.
Brandon started to walk away from the creature, but its slow and awkward movements gave him more than enough time to inspect the monster as it approached.
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Unknown: Wild Creature
Level: 1
Description: Unknown
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Brandon was sure he had never seen anything like the creature before. Fear turned into curiosity and he stared at the thing’s arms flapping back and forth. Brandon reached down to poke it when it got close enough.
“Son of a bitch,” Brandon yelled a split-second later, pulling back. Two thin red lines of blood streaked the back of his right hand. “Fuck you,” he said, stomping on the monster. After the first hit the thing tried to wiggle away, but Brandon kept at it.
Only once the creature stopped moving did the pain in his left foot hit Brandon—he realized he didn’t have any shoes on. Pain lanced up his leg as he tried to put pressure on his left side. He had to sit down and remove several thick spikey barbs from the bottom of his feet.
Brandon leaned over to poke the creature again, this time more wary and ready in case it moved. The instant his finger touched the creature, another popup appeared.
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Training Tentacular: Wild Monster
Level: 1
Killed By: Brandon Layhe
Description: A small plant like creature. Its slow and weak attacks make it perfect for training.
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“What is a training tentacular?”
“Obviously they are training creatures,” said a voice.
Brandon had been so focused on the Training Tentacular that he had not heard a new person walk into the room. He was able to stand as the person approached him. They were average height with an androgynous face and black-hair tied back in a ponytail. They were a height with Brandon and he looked into green eyes and a stern face. A uniform of dark blue he could not quite place was loosely draped on a lean frame.
“You can call me Sam,” they said coolly.
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Sam
Class: Unknown
Level: 12
Description: She really does not like you
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Brandon blinked the message away.
“Brandon,” he said, offering his uninjured hand. “That thing attacked me first. I guess I got a little carried away.”
“I know who you are,” said Sam. She stood several feet away with her arms held behind her back, and a stern expression on her face. It had been years since Brandon had been in school, but the stare reminded him of standing in the principal’s office about to be reprimanded.
“If you are the one that kidnapped me, I have to warn you I… don’t really own anything. I still owe money on my ’92 Ford Fiesta.”
“I assure you we are not interested in anything you have,” Sam replied, in a flat tone. “Nor did we kidnap you. In all honesty, everyone here at The Facility would very much like it if we never had to see you again.”
“Ouch… Have we met before?”
“Yes… And no. It really depends on how you look at it.”
Brandon shook his head, more confused now than when he started the conversation. He wondered if he would ever get a straight answer out of Sam. “Ah, an admirer from afar,” he replied nervously, internally fighting the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants.
He forced his gaze to stay on Sam and not wander around the room. “You can show me around. Where are we, exactly?”
“We are in one of the Resurrection Chambers on New Earth.”
“Not starting me out slow, then… resurrection, new Earth? I don’t remember dying.” Brandon was not sure how much of the conversation he was going to believe. His eyes caught the Training Tentacular on the ground between them. The creature was not normal, maybe he would have to give some merit to the story Sam was telling him. “Are you sure you didn’t drug and kidnap me?”
They don’t pay me enough for this. Maybe it is time I moved on to the next zone, Sam mumbled to herself. Sam closed her eyes and tried not to groan. She took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. It was not a good sign that Brandon could get under her skin so quickly. Especially after the countless years she had been doing her job.
“What was that?” asked Brandon.
“No, you were not drugged. Yes, you were brought back to life by P.A.T. And yes, New Earth since the old one was destroyed, also by P.A.T.”
“Right…” The stabbing headache Brandon had woken up with was starting to fade, leaving more space for him to think straight. “You expect me to believe that I died, and was brought back to life? Seems more reasonable to me that you kidnapped me to sell my organs on the black market or something.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“It does not really matter what you believe,” Sam said with a sigh. “I am here to do my job. Whether I like it or not, you need to check the boxes on the same indoctrination process as everyone else. Or at least as little of it as I can get away with.”
“So less of black-market dealers and more cult, got it.”
“Follow me,” Sam said, ignoring Brandon.
Without being able to think of anything better to do Brandon chose to follow Sam out of the courtyard and into the hallway.
An otherwise well-lit courtyard, led to a bland empty hall. Doors were placed at sporadic intervals on both sides that left Brandon wondering about the strange layout of the building. Seemingly random numbers were scratched on placards next to each door that strained Branon’s eyes to look at, and didn’t give him any indication on where he was, or what was inside.
After a long walk Sam stopped and said, “This one.”
Brandon tried to read the name plaque next to the door. Unlike the other doors, this one had lines and shapes scratched into the placard underneath the number. The unintelligible words shimmered as if seen through a heat haze, and after a few seconds they cleared and Brandon was able to read it.
“Sheriff Sam? You are a sheriff?” Asked Brandon.
“Is that what you see it as? Hmm, the translation processes do tend to give a slight variation depending on the person, but that’s a new one for me.”
Brandon followed into the dimly lit room popup appeared next to her.
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Sam
Level: 12
Class: Sheriff
Description: She really does not like you
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Brandon walked into a plain room with beige walls. A single metal desk with a chair on each side sat in the center of the room; the sheriff sat down in one and gestured to the other seat.
“You see, I have a problem,” said Sam as she pulled a metallic hockey puck out of her desk and held it up—an image of Brandon appeared above it. “Lift up your left sleeve and show me your forearm.”
Brandon raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told. On his forearm near his wrist, was an unadorned black number one with a red strike through it. Above it, leading to his elbow, was a slightly larger ornate two, also with a red strike through it. Last, was a plain black three wrapped in vines. The barest illustration of blood shown where the vines began to dig into the number.
Brandon sat stunned as he looked down at the ink. He tried to figure out how he felt about the new images etched into his skin. He definitely did not have tattoos that he knew of. He wanted to be angry about it more than anything else. But somehow he felt more apathy than anger. Staring at the vine constricted number three, he felt it aptly described his overall feelings since waking up in this new world.
“Huh, I never had a tattoo before,” Brandon finally said.
“Good, we didn’t miss one of you.” The image of Brandon grew until he was hovering full size over the desk. The hologram of Brandon began to play as if it was a video. He was yelling at something or someone, a vein visibly throbbing on his neck. “We’ve had… problems with you in the past.” The image flickered several times each showing a new picture of him, all yelling at unseen people.
“The first one wasn’t as bad as the second,” she continued. The image changed to another Brandon. He appeared to have gained 40 pounds and someone had removed the sleeves of his shirt. In place of his simple tan t-shirt, he had a strange lumpy vest. Abruptly the picture exploded and Brandon jumped back in his chair.
“You blew up a huge chunk of the front of this building with that version, also killed a few dozen people. Only about half were employees that worked here. The rest were and resurrects like you. Everyday merchants and civilians that were in the wrong place at the wrong time”
Brandon sat, unable to respond for a few moments. He had always found it strange watching videos of himself. Whether it was a video where he was the cameraman, or a surprise video that he just happened to be in. These were different.
In previous videos he could remember being there. As he watched they would bring up memories of sounds, smells, or images of things off screen. With these videos he got nothing. The man looked like him, but that is where it ended.
“That was not me. I definitely never blew anyone up. About 2 seconds before I was here, I was driving my junky car down the interstate to get to the office so I could write code.”
Sam swiped a hand through the image and it disappeared.
“Oh, they were definitely you.” Sam leaned back and put her boots up on the desk. “Not only did P.A.T. notify us of your resurrection this time,”–Sam pointed at Brandon’s arm–“that right there tells the rest of the story.”
Brandon began to open his mouth and refute the claim again, but paused. After a long silence, he asked, “If that was me, why don’t I remember? And why haven’t you just thrown me in jail or killed me or something?”
“This iteration is definitely more insightful than the last few,” Sam said, mostly to herself. She chewed on the question for a moment. “The problem is, P.A.T. does not assign me many rules. But the rules they do give me I have to follow. Period.”
Sam listed off reasons and raised a finger as she said: “Educate new resurectants about the new world.” She raised a second finger. “Offer new resurectants training opportunities. They are vague, so I do get some artistic royalties on how I fulfill them. We already did number two—our little tentacle friend accomplished that for us.”
“That bastard hurt.”
Sam continued, “Number one we can do with our standard orientation video.”
A bare section of wall lit up behind Sam. At the same time, lights dimmed slightly as a video began to play. Brandon could swear he heard a film reel running somewhere as the images appeared.
A view of the resurrection chamber Brandon woke up in appeared. A dozen silver ritual circles exactly like the one Brandon had been surrounded by, dotted the room. A single person stood in every ring, and another person holding a clipboard on its edge, cheerfully chatting with their assigned resurectant.
“Welcome to New Earth,” said a voice that reminded Brandon of old 1950s-era educational films. “By now you will have talked to your welcome agent and they will have eased your transition into your new existence.”
Brandon started to make a noise, but Sherriff Sam just pointed at the screen.
“Over the next few days, you will get to know the exciting and wonderful world that has been recreated for all you humans. We have already resurrected many of your kind, and you will be the” —an electronic voice then read out—“43,783,294.”
The ability to bring people back to life, Brandon thought to himself. But somehow the video has a crappy synthetic voice for custom settings. What’s up with that.
“This will be your third time with us, so don’t worry if you don’t remember anything. We always start with the root image. This means that every time you are resurrected, we use the base copy we made of you from Old Earth, and we modify from there. The rest of your orientation will be learning about all your new magic abilities and classes that will be introduced into your new body.”
“Now, you can return to your welcome agent. They will give you a detailed explanation on all the details you are worried about. Including the, ‘why am I here,’ ‘why me,’ or the always popular ‘do I have to.’ Your welcome agent will also help you as you are assigned your new classes. Good luck and have a wonderful life.”
Abruptly the video ended and the lights brightened slightly. He looked around the office, realizing something.
“Where are all the other people? I’ve seen you so far, but that video had crowds in it?”
“You came back in the off season.”
“You are telling me that there is an off season to being brought back to life?”
“That is what I said.”
The sheriff took her eyes off him just long enough to pull a bottle of murky brown liquid from somewhere in the desk, and then slammed it down in front of Brandon. “Drink.”
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Item: Awakening Drink
Description: A mixture of the Ability Starter Drink and the Class Starter Drink. Sheriff Sam has combined the two so that they can be drunk at the same time.
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Brandon was reminded of a bottle of soda as he picked it up and stared at its contents. Swirls of silver danced as they were pulled in towards the center of the liquid, almost as if trying to urge Brandon closer. He began to get thirsty and his mouth went dry as if his own body was encouraging him to drink the mysterious liquid. He twisted off the cap, floral and earthy aromas wafted up to him, smells that reminded him of springtime and rain.
“P.A.T. doesn’t generate your bodies with magic, so it’s easier to handle you and to ease you into this whole change. It also makes it so that your body instinctively needs this stuff before you become… complete, we can call it.”
Without waiting any longer, he slammed it all down in one go. Brandon expected pain, or the liquid to burn, or for it to cause him to throw up. But instead, all he got was the slight taste of citrus and cloves. He thought he could feel the liquid seep into his body as it went down his throat.
A dialogue box appeared in his vision.
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Class: Multi-Classer
Description: This class also takes an ability slot. Multi-Classer allows you to use skills and abilities from multiple classes.
Range and duration of spells are reduced.
The strength of spells may be reduced.
Mana cost of spells may be increased.
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Ability: Bag Man
Description: You have a dimensional bag that can store anything that you could pick up for more than three seconds. Storage space is determined by your current level.
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“Multi-Classer and… bag man?”
“Hmmm, P.A.T. really did toss you in the deep end. Multi-Classers take a class and an ability slot, to you only got one ability. and we usually spend weeks with Multi-Classers before we send them out, it takes a lot of time to learn a little bit about every other class to get you started. I was curious if the system was going to give you a little help, since it was obvious you were going to get thrown out in the deep end.”
“What do you mean when I get thrown out?”
“You have pissed off a lot of people in your last two iterations. I took the liberty of putting a call out once we knew you had been resurrected. Even after all this time, there is no small amount of people that would give anything to get a little revenge for what your past iteration did. By now, you should have quite a few people waiting for you outside as you leave.”
Sam hit a button that Brandon could not see and a buzzing sound echoed through the office. The door behind him opened and two burly, uniformed men entered. They grabbed him by the arms and dragged him from the room as Sam waved goodbye.
“Good luck. You are going to need it!”