Two hours thirteen minutes to go. If I don't make it through, I'm dead.
I focus on my paper and the next question for Professor Katt in my classroom in W City University Law School.
18) Explain the concept of "res ipsa loquitor" and how it relates to negligence.
I know this. I know I know this. Oh God, I'm tired. I had to study behind the bar at my bartending job. If I didn't take the job, I'd be in debt up to my hairline. Besides, bartending gives me an insight into the human species that will definitely pay off in my law career. I want to make Mom and Dad proud.
Res ipsa loquitor. Res ipsa loquitor. I just reviewed this, somewhere between making the perfect Moscow Mule and trying to break up a bar fight before it happened. My one consolation is that several of the bodies in seats currently sweating this exam and smelling like alcohol and cigarette smoke were in that bar last night, and are probably in worse shape than I am. They probably don't even know I'm in the same class with them.
And my fiancee was there last night, but something felt off. I have an animal instinct, and I think she might be getting bored. But then, I haven't exactly wanted to spend time on wedding plans, which I should be at twenty-five. Maybe I rushed into getting engaged?
Why, oh why didn't I do work-study on campus? Much less humiliating. I've always had a taste for the wild side.
Come on. Focus.
I can't breathe.
Crushing pain in my chest. I feel cold and clammy. My pencil slips from my numb fingers.
Then I hear the screams. The panic.
"Professor Katt! Professor Katt! Something's wrong with Josh Lyonne! He just collapsed!"
"Josh! Can you hear me? If you can, give me a sign."
"He looks pale and in pain. Someone get a baby aspirin!"
"I'm calling an ambulance!"
The olive green classroom dissolves.
My vision goes white, and I'm falling.
Floating.
Falling.
Blackout.
* * * * *
When I come to, the world is made of fog. Colorful fog. An abstract painting. Then, it comes into focus, like a blurry image after you adjust it. Then, everything seems crystal clear.
I'm in a green jungle. Not olive green like my classroom, but vibrant glowing emerald dotted with red and purple and pink. Not just red, purple, and pink flowers, either, but trees and vines. My vision is sharper than ever before, but somehow, I seem lower to the ground.
I try to speak, and a "mrrrp" comes out.
Mrrrp?
"You're awake."
A brunette girl of no more than ten or eleven holds out a hand to me. I sniff, then let out another "mrrrp." What is wrong with my voice? This doesn't look like a hospital.
A digital display flashes in front of me. It looks like a video game screen.
[Congratulations! You have entered Tanglewood, a virtual beast-taming fantasy realm. You have been reborn as a beast.]
Reborn? Reincarnated? A beast? What kind of beast?
I stretch out my hands, and discover that I no longer have hands to speak of, but glowing golden tiger's paws. My tongue darts out.
"That's it," the girl says soothingly. "You can trust me. I am, after all, a beast tamer. Or I want to be." She declares this as confidently as kids that say they're firefighters or superheroes.
Beast tamer? Oh no. Tiger? Oh no. They're cool to look at, and they're interesting, but I've never been one of those people that loved them or had a stuffed tiger. Maybe it's some kind of subconscious phobia? But no, that can't be. I like cats and big cats. Tigers just didn't do it for me.
Another display pops up.
[Name: [None]
[Class: [None]
[Race: [Common Tiger]
[Level: 1/10 [XP 0/100 STATUS: Full
[HP: 6/6 [MP: 0/0 [Stamina 100/100
[Strength: 1
[Defense: 2
[Magic: 0
[Resistance: 0
[Speed: 1
[Charisma: 3
[Luck: -1
[Skills: [Bite (Attack Skill] [Pounce (Attack Skill)] [Sprint (Skill)] [Camouflage (Skill]
Okay, so I'm not entirely helpless, I have some skills and physical power. However, I'm at the lowest level.
I've been reborn into a video game world. I must have died from my heart attack. How does that happen in your twenties? Sure, I've done a little partying, but nothing hardcore. No hard drugs. I don't smoke. My diet could be better, but compared to some of my peers, I'm practically a health nut. I take vitamins. I work out every day. That said, my dad had a heart attack two years ago. It's definitely genetic.
So, I died in the middle of a law school midterm. Unbelievable.
The girl waits patiently. She smells like the jungle. Clean and fresh. She's bigger than I am! I haven't felt this small since I was a human baby in diapers.
"Come on. You need a name! Maybe that's it," she exclaims. "You need a name. That mean poacher didn't give you one. I'll give you one. Blaze. That's what you look like."
Blaze? Huh. Not bad. Not bad at all. I let out a little "mrrrp" and bump my nose against her hand. Laughing, she cries out, "Hey! You're friendly all of a sudden, huh? Okay, Blaze it is."
The system says: [Charisma increased! Luck increased!] My stats get updated.
[Name: [Blaze]
[Class: [None]
[Race: [Common Tiger]
[Level: 1/10 [XP 0/100 STATUS: Full
[HP: 6/6 [MP: 0/0 [Stamina 100/100
[Strength: 1
[Defense: 2
[Magic: 0
[Resistance: 0
[Speed: 1
[Charisma: 4
[Luck: 0
[Skills: [Bite (Attack Skill] [Pounce (Attack Skill)] [Sprint (Skill)] [Camouflage (Skill]
I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, and warm all over. The little girl's hand strokes me. She has some kind of power. That must be it. I can't be feeling this good as a captive tiger. An animal in a beast-taming game. A video game character.
I feel something else, too. A gaming in my stomach. I let out a combo growl-whine-mrrrp sound.
"You must be hungry," the girl declares. "I, Keala, future beast-tamer, will feed you now!"
I need to figure this all out. But food first! All I can do is bump my nose against her hand again to signal yes.