Jack held a key in his hand. He was walking towards one of his dad's many estates, estates that became his at the time of his father's sentencing. It was raining and he took out an umbrella. Holding the umbrella, brought back a very unpleasant memory: the break up with his girlfriend, Lynette.
A month ago he was holding her hand, watching her cry. Regret hit him hard but he had to do it. Just like it was necessary to take a right turn here to reach the estate.
Seeing the mansion growing bigger, he played with the keys. Jingles, jangles.
The moment he put the key in the lock, he felt his heart skip.
"I shouldn't."
He pulled out the key before unlocking it. Setting it in his wet pocket, Jack turn around. His trust in his dad far outweighed the need to know, to satisfy his lifelong curiosity.
What was behind that door.
"Probably more frozen bodies," he muttered walking down the steps.
It wouldn't have been the first time he saw a dead body. Actually, it'd be his 47th body.
"JACK!"
That month old voice made him freeze in his track. Once there were butterflies in his stomach hearing it but now it's sadness and pity.
Her auburn hair was being drenched by the rain. The girl didn't even bother wearing a jacket in this cold weather.
"Lyn, what are you doing here," he finally said.
The wind carried her scent right at him and the smell of alcohol on her breath made him want to drag her to a rehab facility.
"I went to your apartment. Your butler said you'd be here."
She wiped a wet strand of hair from her mouth.
"Are you finally opening the door?" she asked.
His breath hitched.
"Right I told you."
Jack slammed a palm on his forehead. This was his dad's secret yet he told Lyn when they were still on good terms. Did he tell her about that other secret of his? He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to focus on that.
Taking of his jacket, he walked to her, wrapping it around her. Her shivering stopped.
"I'm not opening the door."
Lynette nodded and said okay. She pointed at the mansion with a fancy garden.
"You still believe he's a good guy?"
"My dad is a great man."
She scoffed.
"Instant reply like always. A serial killer is no big deal but you... you draw the line at alcoholics?"
Jack's jaw tightened.
"There's a difference. My dad never laid a finger on me."
He touched the scar on his cheek. It wasn't that he felt in danger around Lyn. Simply he couldn't tolerate someone who'd hit a person they love.
An exasperated sigh escaped him. Rationally he knew it was the alcohol making her this way but he still disliked it. So he wanted to end this conversation and go home.
"What are you even here?" Jack asked, "If you want money just ask for it."
Lynette shook her head. Instead she rummaged through her purse. You'd think she'd find whatever she was looking for quickly in that small black purse. But she was stalling. Scared. Her lips were trembling. After a minute she pulled out a white stick with a pink lid.
A pregnancy test.
"I promise I'll quit. For the baby."
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The two pink lines were screaming at him. So loud, it drowned out the sound of the rain and her breathing. He almost forgot how to breathe.
Baby. His baby.
It had to be fake but she knew he'd check. Maybe she poked holes through the condoms they used. His chest started to constrict. He had to get out.
"Look... I'll call you."
A child. They were 18 it was too early.
Turning on his heel, he rushed to his car, fumbling for the keys in the wrong pocket. He started getting dizzy. By the time his fingers finally wrapped around the cold metal, the world was spinning. His vision blurred. His heart stopped beating. His body slammed against the car door.
The last thing he heard before darkness was her drunken, screaming plea: "Don't leave me!"
But he left her. Jack's soul left earth and flew all the way to somewhere far. To a land of white light. It was a room made of complete whiteness.
Empty.
He rubbed his eyes.
"Hello?"
[What is your name?] A mechanical female voice asked. Not quite human.
A tingle went down his spine. This scene was familiar. His friends talked about these books all the time while he was practicing kendo.
"Jack Der Quiver."
[Jack... Der... Quiver]
The voice went quiet.
"Hi?"
Silence. Jack didn't like this at all.
"Okay..."
He took a step. The next instant, he hit a small coffee table, falling down onto it. Brown liquid stained his white shirt. He looked down at the spilled coffee.
"Who puts an invisible table in the middle of a—"
His train of thought stopped.
[Would you like to reincarnate in another world?]
Reincarnation made this whole situation plausible. In a weird way, Jack had to laugh. Maybe this weird voice god-thing could help him.
Rubbing the back of his head, he said, "I kind of had some unfinished business on Earth... Maybe you could pull some strings?"
He bowed, "Father? Your grace? What do you want me to call you?"
Silence again. Maybe that wasn't the right thing to say.
"Is that a no?"
Sighing, he looked around but nothing changed.
"Yes I'd like to reincarnate."
[Excellent. Would you like to keep your memories from your previous life?]
Without a second thought, "Yes."
[Excellent. Would you like a system?"
"Obviously."
Jack couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He had spent countless hours grinding in ARPGs yet he never got into LitRPG's.
Silence.
He sighed.
"Yes."
The female robotic voice spoke again, now a little smug, as if it was testing him.
[Excellent. Would you like to reincarnate as a slime?]
A what? A slime? Those weak, gelatinous blobs. He imagined himself being killed by a single rat or a child.
"No."
His answer was instant.
Silence.
The void-like room felt suffocating, the lingering coffee stain on his shirt a bizarrely mundane anchor in this metaphysical space. Creeping dread began to coil in his stomach. Was this rigged? A take-it-or-leave-it scenario disguised as choice? The silence stretched, heavy and absolute.
"I'd like to reincarnate as a dragon."
[Would you like to reincarnate as a slime?]
"Alright," he said through gritted teeth. "Fine. I'll be the goddamn slime."
"Yes."
The word tasted like ashes in his mouth.
Before another thought could form, a sudden, excruciating pressure seized him, as if the universe itself was trying to squeeze him through a drinking straw. Jack was sent to another world.
A few moments later in that same white room, a woman wearing a towel ran into the white room. Her hair was drenched.
"I thought I heard something!"
Her wet feet left prints as she approached the spilled coffee table. Her face turned to horror at the sight of the puddle, some coffee staining a white rug.
"Damn! This was new too."