I got out of prison on a Tuesday. Walked out with a trash bag of state-issue clothes. By Wednesday, the pop-ups hit like clickbait ads, and not the fun kind with sexy singles.
Fresh air still tasted wrong, like chain-link and bleach. I hadn't even figured out what to do with freedom before the world tried to collar me again.
[🌍 PLANETARY UPDATE IN PROGRESS]
Integration Event: SYNCHRONIZATION — EARTH INSTANCE
Please remain calm. Temporary sensory anomalies, spontaneous transmutation, or space-time displacement are within expected variance.
Estimated Completion Time: 0:00:12
Patch Notes: Core reality has been updated to System 892.458486.12904.776-BETA. Please review new Class templates after synchronization.
Thank you for your cooperation.
I barely had time to read it before the world started screaming, the ugly, throat-shredding kind. People hit the ground like their strings had been cut. Phones coughed smoke. Two cars down, a guy lit up from the inside. His eyes went first. White flash, then blood. He dug his nails in deep, peeling skin like he wanted them gone.
My stomach lurched. Then some poor bastard dissolved into a rainbow, like Pride Month hijacked by a meat grinder. I didn't even have time to flinch.
Horns blared. Glass shattered. The air wailed with them. My ears rang, ozone and iron thick in my throat.
Twelve seconds shouldn't be enough time for the world to go feral. But here we were.
Then something moved in front of me. Not through the crowd, out of it. Like it stepped sideways from a place that shouldn't exist.
My brain stuttered. Legs too long. A face like wet paper sagging over bone. Joints that moved like they were arguing.
It grinned, and not in a "welcome to the neighborhood" way.
I didn't think. Group homes burned that out of me. Holding cells too. I see something that looks at me like prey. I swing first.
I drove forward, shoulder and weight behind the swing. Fist slammed into what passed for a face, sagging paper over bone.
Crunch.
It folded fast, like gravity had just remembered to collect its debt. My knuckles flared hot, not pain but spark, like steel on flint. Something old grinned through me when I swung.
No blood. No scream. The thing shattered like black glass, the sound crawling under my skin, then nothing.
The light snapped. Not warmer. Not brighter. Just... office. Hospital-wall clean. Paperwork clean.
Somewhere, the integration timer hit zero.
Then the cheer slid in, blue and smiling: "Welcome aboard, Earth. Tutorial tier." Sign here to live longer.
And the panic stopped.
Like a switch.
People blinked at their pop-ups. The guy with someone else's blood on his shirt smiled like it was Christmas. The rainbow smear on the pavement, the burned-meat stink... and everyone just accepted it.
I waited for the screaming to come back. It didn't. A fancy pop-up, and everyone forgot about it.
The System just called it: "within expected variance."
And people bought it.
I glanced at the guy next to me. His shirt was spattered red, not his blood, not unless he'd grown extra ribs in the last twelve seconds. He just stood there, blinking at the pop-up.
"Did you see that?" I snapped, pointing at the smear on the pavement where rainbow guy had dissolved. "He fucking melted."
Nothing. He tapped his screen, smile twitching like a kid unwrapping presents.
I shoved his shoulder. Hard.
He turned like I wasn't there. Kept tapping shiny buttons. Free loot. Fresh starts.
Starts. That's the lie they always sell.
"A fair start." "Second chances." "Rehabilitation."
I've seen all those posters before, usually from the wrong side of the desk.
Juvenile hall. Group homes. Court-mandated therapy. Anger management. Adult corrections.
Hell, by now I could list the stages like a guided tour.
"Here we see the taxpayer-funded attempt at rehabilitation. Please keep your hands inside the restraints."
Panel helpfully popped up with the sales pitch: pick a pathway to qualify for the Standard Tutorial.
The menu opened on Warrior, all biceps and bad poetry. Forge your body, break the tide, yadda yadda. The only part worth reading was the numbers: +10 STR, +5 VIT, plus a starter kit: iron greatsword, reinforced plate.
Rogue was knives, shadows, the usual backstab kink.
Cleric came with hugs, prayers, and laying hands. Not that kind I like though. Hard pass.
Further down it spiraled: Court Bard. Dungeoneering Accountant. Beast-Friend (Advanced Rodents). I swear one line just said Horse. Not a joke. Just... Horse.
Perks stacked like STDs at a frat party, bullet points breeding faster than rats. My thumb cramped before I hit the halfway mark.
Praise be to the almighty bullet point.
Faces around me went slack, eyes glassy. Same look I saw when my aunt shattered her femur brawling for a $99 flat-screen on Black Friday. The System dangled shiny toys, and people were ready to bleed for them.
Something paced under my skin. Leash around my neck, daring me to bite.
Shouts rang out as people called their picks, sprouting steel, light, and lightning like kids unwrapping toys. For them, it was Christmas morning.
But I've worn enough collars to know one when I see it, and I'd rather crawl through broken glass than take another template that doesn't fit me.
I guess the panel didn't like being ignored, because it pulsed brighter. Text got bolder. The edges flickered red, crawling like malware pop-ups on a pirated porn site, bright and insistent.
Then I saw it. The buried line. Lawyer font. Gray. Half-size. No glow. The part normal people scroll past. The kind of thing you only find if you've spent half your life combing through "technicalities" people used to screw you.
Alternative Path Available: [Earth-Origin]
(Deprecated – Not Recommended)
[Earth-Origin Path: Ragebound – Norse Line]
Notice: Per Integration Accord §12.4.9.b, this Legacy option is disclosed for compliance purposes only.
I blinked. The text flickered, like the System was only showing it because some law forced its hand.
I knew that move, technically allowed, deliberately buried. Fine print nobody sane ever reads.
And yet, it hooked me. Something about it felt... familiar.
Yeah, I know it's just some lines of text.
No, it doesn't make sense to anthropomorphize a pop-up.
But fuck you.
It reminded me of the runt squirrel I used to feed at the stump out back, ribs showing every time it tried to breathe, too stubborn to quit.
The Confirm button sat in the corner, same color as the background, like a legal disclaimer before a suicide.
But hey, even dying sounded better than kneeling for another system built to bend me over. So I hit Confirm without blinking.
And when I did, I swear I felt teeth bare in the dark behind my eyes.
A flicker, like someone had dragged a knife across the System's perfect veneer. Not clean lines. Not a pop-up. Just a jagged scrawl across my vision:
R̵̩̊_̶̞̌_̷̯͛_̵͓̋_̶̱̀_̷̣̏_̸͓̋_̵̬́_̸͕͠_̶̻͂R̷̻͠
̴̼́"̴̹̅.̸͈̌.̸͕̀.̴̥̅'̸͍̀b̷̢͆o̷͙͠u̷̲͠t̸̤͆ ̶͖͌d̶͈͗à̸͓m̶͓̆n̴͈̂ ̴̗̏t̵̛̤i̶͉͋—̶̞͝"̷̰̇
Not System-clean. Meaner. Claws on bark. A laugh in the static.
I blinked.
Gone.
No pop-up. No prompt. Just the sure, wrong feeling that something outside… not the same as the System? …had leaned in close and scraped a laugh across the back of my teeth.
The System didn't acknowledge it. Didn't even blink. Like it was pretending nothing had happened.
Then the world just... shifted.
One second I was on a city street, staring at a screen no one else saw.
The next, I was somewhere else. Bright lights. Rough stone. Old.
Then that annoyingly cheerful pop-up came back. 'Welcome aboard. If you're Legacy, you get pretty much nothing.'
Well, you get a grocery list of potential side effects.
Nausea. Migraines. Even "loss of skeletal cohesion." Real fancy. Sounds like a death metal album. And that's just the highlights.
I've had court summons that sounded friendlier.
At least a judge has the decency to look you in the eye when he screws you.
The blue of the System drained out. And the gray of the Legacy rolled in. Earth-Origin, Ragebound, Norse line. Legal stamp pretending it matters. Root at 1%. And proceed with symbolic Awakening.
No explanation. No suggestions. Not even a "good luck."
Felt like booting into a dev console nobody's documented in decades.
But that last line lingered:
"Proceed with symbolic Awakening."
Which meant... what?
Fight? Carve something? Make a silly little dance?
I waited.
No message. No hint. No tooltip.
Then, like it was tired of watching me scratch my ass and wait for divine inspiration, another window blinked open.
STATS
Per Integration Standard §4.3.2, a baseline of 5 (five) in each attribute represents the average adult human.
Strength 8 (+3 above baseline) Vitality 7 (+2 above baseline) Dexterity 6 (+1 above baseline) Intelligence 2 (–3 below baseline)
I stared at the numbers.
Stronger than average. Tougher. Faster. Dumber.
Yeah. That tracked.
Even the new System was calling me stupid.
Cute...
Around me, people were grinning.
"Accept tutorial?" one asked aloud.
He vanished in a flash of gold.
Another held up a glowing icon and shouted, "Teleport to training grounds!"
Whoosh. Gone.
Someone else laughed.
"The System gave me a sparring partner. Said I get XP just for training."
Then the ground dropped out under me.
No prompt. No option. No fancy lights.
Just me, yanked sideways like a bug getting swatted.
Heat stuck to my skin. Burnt metal. Old blood.
Circular arena. Scorched walls. High ceiling. Dark windows. Stone chipped like someone had gnawed on the walls.
No faces visible. But I could feel eyes, hundreds of them, watching me like a dog in a pit fight.
Twenty meters out. Dead ahead.
A goblin. Waxy green skin. Belly sagging, half-starved and half-stuffed.
Rusted knife. Edge still bright. It's been busy.
It had tied a sock around one arm like armor. Filthy. Stiff in patches. The fabric glistened in places it shouldn't, like someone had wrung it out for reasons best left unimagined. The sour-sweet stench hit me from meters away.
Its eyes caught mine.
And when it grinned, the gums were black.
[TUTORIAL ENCOUNTER: 1/10] 🎉
Welcome, valued Classed User!
Module: Melee Combat (Introduction)
Objective: eliminate the designated hostile target.
Recommended Participants: Solo Level 1 User, or Team of 1–2.
Estimated Difficulty: EXTREMELY LOW.
Survivability Rate: 99.75% (congratulations on your excellent Pathway choice!).
Tip: Relax and enjoy! This module has been carefully designed to be safe, simple, and rewarding.
Reminder: every great hero starts here. 🌟
Please remember: User satisfaction is our highest priority.
That was it.
My grand tutorial briefing, except it wasn't even for me.
Everyone else got gold stars, training wheels, and a cheerful System handjob.
I got... a starving goblin with tetanus.
The goblin started circling, knife twitching in its hand.
Like it had that same smirk I've seen on cops, caretakers, judges.
Of course it did. They all wear the same face.
I didn't survive in prison to die in a fucking tutorial...
Heat spiked behind my eyes, that mean bastard I've been trying to keep chained in the basement for years. The beast was already grinning, not with my mouth, but through me all the same.
Vision funneled. Pulse slammed in like war drums.
Then it hit, a flicker across my vision. Jagged black text. Same as before. Gone too fast to read, but the sound stayed: that scratching, chittering laugh. Crawling under my skin like it belonged there.
My teeth ground together.
That thing, whatever it was, wasn't the System. But it watched me the same way. Smug. Certain. Like it knew what I'd choose.
"You all think you can tell me what to do..."
The spark caught. Red. Hot. Familiar.
The one that shows up when people smirk like I don't belong.
When they think I'm just here for their entertainment.
They call my anger a disorder. How'd that legend put it... people got used to disrespecting folks and not getting punched for it. That's the disorder.
The gobbo grinned.
Something in me grinned back.
The corners of my vision went red.
They wanted me compliant. On rails. On a leash. Instead, I grinned wider...