Entering Class Selection. Environment based on player data.
The words echoed in a monotone robotic voice, then the sound of quiet conversation brought Blake back to reality. For a moment he thought it had all been a bad dream. He opened his eyes and saw a busy coffee shop bustling around him, a pretty barista who smiled at him from the counter, and a sleek, new laptop sitting before him on the table.
Blake closed his eyes and breathed. Then he read the text on his screen.
Welcome to class selection, said the same sexy, British woman in his mind as he read. This is an extremely important choice, as it will shape all your future decisions to come. The list has already been made according to your talents, but pick the one you feel is best in a vast, chaotic world. Remember the goals of the game. And please inspect your profile.
With a reflexive thought, said profile appeared on the screen.
Blake Nimitz
Strength - 2
Dexterity - 2
Vitality - 2
Intellect - 5
Will - 4
Presence - 6
Luck - 42
Skills/Education: None applicable. Note: these are ordinarily hidden and will not appear in the future.
Classes: None.
Powers. None.
Talents. None.
Titles: Alpha 01 (+2 luck), Alpha tester (slightly enhanced system attention)
Blake accepted his new world and forced his fears behind a layer of will. Then he stared at his skills and education and frowned at the label of 'none applicable'. Well if that's not a condemnation of the education system, he thought, I just don't know what is. And what about all those project management courses?
His statistics weren't exactly a shock in terms of their weight, though he had no idea if a two was terrible and if a six was awesome or just alright. A forty-two luck seemed much higher than anything else, but he supposed that might be just how the stat worked.
Your genetic and background assessment are completed. Initial class suggestions determined. Please stand by.
Blake's laptop screen lit up with a list of classes, just like a damn video game. He snorted when he realized the little avatar under each was actually him, dressed variously in different outfits, generally looking like a caster type in robes or a staff blasting magic. Though there was also a version in a suit shooting waves out of his head. Another guy was surrounded by allies, and looked like he was supporting them by healing their wounds. The list was fairly extensive, and Blake scrolled and scrolled, no idea how he'd choose.
Abjurer? What the hell did that even mean.
Enchanter? A specialist who could maybe infuse items with magic. Too specific.
Conjurer? Some kind of pet class, which was appealing, but sounded too vulnerable.
Priest? No. Just no.
As he kept scrolling he began to feel like he needed to apologize to a girl or two who'd called him afraid of commitment. He was feeling vaguely terrified of choosing any of the specialties on offer. What if the magic specialty he chose turned out to be rather…underwhelming? Or just useless too much of the time? Or chosen by practically everyone else? He wanted flexibility. He wanted opportunity. OK, he wanted it all.
Finally he scrolled all the way back to the top and realized he'd basically missed a class in his enthusiasm to search. They were listed alphabetically.
[Arcanist. A magical master of none, but often better than a master of one. The arcanist can choose any magical path in the game.]
Blake looked around at the somewhat blurry faced patrons of his imaginary coffee shop, and grinned. That was it. That was his class. He'd always been a generalist. The image of him on the screen had many hidden pouches and tricks, in a library surrounded by books. Thinker. Problem solver. A knower of everything. That's me, Blake thought. Adaptability and charm, that's how Blake Nimitz survived in the old world, and that's how he'd survive the new. No doubt he should have thought more, weighed all the options, checked out all the classes and compared and contrasted. But as he did so many times in life, he had a gut instinct that told him this was the right thing, and he went with it. He picked Arcanist.
Initial class selected. Please select your initial powers. You may choose two.
Power list. Right. Well this was going to be considerably harder. As before the list was vast, maybe in the hundreds, and the descriptions were pitifully brief.
Blake suspected the Arcanist in particular had a huge range of choices compared to something more specialized, which would benefit him in the long run but might screw him at the start. Anyway how could he pick without knowing what challenges he'd face? Broad use, he supposed, something flexible. He suspected even in a world of chaos he'd be working with others. That's what he always did, and going it alone in this world wasn't a thing for humans. At least not humans who planned to live long. They were social animals, they worked best in groups, and Blake was a leader of groups. His 'presence' stat was also highest, and powers would likely scale or at least synergize with stats, because well, video game.
He found a power called Mental Influence, and forced himself to take it. If someone had told young Blake he'd one day get to have some kind of mind control superpower, he'd have danced a bloody jig. He couldn't let the little guy down.
But he needed something if words failed, too. There was offensive powers, that was for sure. Fire and ice blasts, electrical touches and acidic spits. That was all fine and dandy but again Blake wanted something…subtle. Something…flexible, because you just never bloody knew. And frankly roasting things alive just wasn't his style.
He smiled when he found Telekinesis. Moving things with his mind? Throwing knives? Undoing bra straps? Avoiding manual labor forever? Um, yeah. That was another damn superpower, and Blake wasn't about to betray his younger self. He picked it without hesitation.
Excellent choices, and congratulations! You are now ready for the tutorial. Please select your tutorial preferences. You have one minute remaining. Good luck!
His what nows?
The power list vanished on his laptop, replaced by some very simple choices.
Forest? Mountains? Desert? Island?
A tropical island sounded pretty nice. Blake picked that without much thought.
Alone, or with others? Again, pretty obvious. He pushed with others and drummed his fingers on the table.
Thank you, intoned the voice. You are now ready for your tutorial. Good luck, player. As always, we are rooting for you.
"I appreciate that." Blake forced himself to smile, then cringed slightly as the people around him seemed to literally melt into the floor. The pretty barista collapsed like she was made of sand, then the chairs, then the walls, until Blake realized they had literally collapsed into sand. He was suddenly standing on a beach.
He heard the gentle sound of waves, and when he blinked the blue sky had appeared above—mostly clear, with a slight breeze blowing a spattering of clouds. He breathed in the salty air, then turned to see a few trees and rocks and other vegetation, but mostly nothing except him on a white, sandy island.
"Hey," he frowned, "I was supposed to be with others."
Just as he'd finished speaking, he heard a slight splash from the water, and turned with no idea what he'd do if it was an enemy. Then with a toss of her long, blonde hair, a young woman emerged and swayed her way up the beach before she noticed him and froze. Blake grinned his most charming grin.
The athletic blonde looked at a small pile of clothes on the sand with something like embarrassment. She was wearing nothing but a sports bra and white panties currently too wet to hide a thing. Her breasts were small and perky, her abs toned, her legs muscled. She was pretty in a reserved, too cool for school kind of way, and Blake swiped her very briefly with his gaze. Then he kept his eyes fastened securely to hers.
"Name's Blake," he extended his grin to a winning smile.
"Mona," said the girl, who seemed to be struggling very hard not to cover herself. "I thought I was alone out here."
"So did I," Blake glanced around the beach again and still saw no one. "But I am thrilled to see I'm not."
The girl still looked wavering between embarrassment and false confidence, and Blake remembered his powers. Time for a test.
He activated Mental Influence, then his eyes practically bulged from his head as his whole world filled with text.
A huge array of the girl's personal details appeared before him, entirely filled with question marks save for her first name. Below several options appeared, basically corresponding to a wide range of desired results. Curiosity? Calm? Anger? Fear? Trust? Lust? Holy shit, lust?! Blake blinked and picked trust.
In the corner of his eyes, a blueish orb swelled then diminished, and as a long time gamer Blake nearly laughed when he recognized his mana. He felt a connection open between his mind and the girl, just as he felt strands or threads of some kind of energy link between them, like he was feeding that mana directly into her brain. It was trippy as hell.
"Something wrong?" the girl raised a brow and Blake assumed he'd failed to keep a poker face.
"Nothing, just uh, a little bit…"
"Hey!"
Blake and Mona both turned to see an older man in jeans and a rolled up lumberjack shirt running down the beach towards them.
By the time he arrived he was out of breath but smiling, clearly doing his best not to ogle Mona.
"Hi. I'm Hank. I was just down…on the far side of the island. You're the first people…I've seen."
Blake smiled politely, a bit unhappy he wasn't alone with Mona for the foreseeable future.
"Nice to meet you, Hank. I'm Blake, this is Mona. We haven't seen anyone else."
The older man nodded and looked around, rising up and catching his breath pretty quick. "I've been looking at the beach life and if I had to guess I'd say we're in a major ocean. It's salt water and warm enough. Pacific, maybe, if that's still a thing. But that's mostly a guess."
"You some kind of sailor?" Blake raised a brow.
"Yeah. Well, sort of. I was a fisherman once upon a time. And I, uh, picked a civilian class, too. Though I hardly know what that means."
Interesting, Blake thought. Apparently people are happy to just say such things. But he wasn't so sure. He looked at Mona, wanting her to speak before him. And maybe it was that healthy dose of trust he'd fired into her brain, but she shrugged and answered right away.
"I'm a Player Class." She pointed back at her clothes, where Blake now realized there was also a long, deadly looking javelin. "I was big into track and field," she said. "All kinds of events. Threw some javelins. Figured I could throw these."
They both looked at Blake expectantly, and he winced as he felt the pressure.
"Player class. Just a generic caster. Nothing special."
Mona raised an eyebrow. "I didn't have the option to pick a caster class, so it's probably more special than you think."
"Oh," Blake shrugged. "Maybe it's based on what we were in life, or something."
"Well," Hank cleared his throat. "We appear to be trapped on a beach. Nothing but trees, crabs, rocks, and the three of us. Anyone have any bright ideas?"
Mona walked back to her clothes and got dressed, then the three of them sat on a fallen tree and stared out at the water. Blake supposed after the events of the last few hours, they could all use a collective moment of processing. Then suddenly the air in front of them blurred, the blue of the horizon colored with brownish red, and in the blink of an eye, another young man of vaguely Indian descent was gaping like a newborn in the island sun.
"Hi," Blake almost sighed.
The man turned and flinched as he inspected the other three islanders.
"Um, hello," he said with an American accent, then gestured at the log as if wondering if it was alright if he sat. They introduced themselves, then waved him onward.
So it went for the next several minutes. Person after person materialized from thin air and awkwardly joined the confused cluster of people watching the others arrive. Every now and then someone would ask a question, and everyone else would shrug or shake their heads. Seven arrivals in total. Five players, two civilians (whose professions strangely appeared before Blake's eyes as 'Fisherman', and 'Carpenter' once they'd introduced themselves). There were all manner of background, gender, and race, yet somehow they could all understand one another. The Indian—Rajesh—assured them they all spoke to him in perfect Hindi. Pam—a pink-haired Californian with an axe—said everyone sounded American, despite Mbopi—a North African—swearing repeatedly he didn't speak a word. And it seemed their time in the new dystopian world was going to be largely an argument about linguistics, until everyone froze and stared into space as ghostly text appeared before all their eyes.
[Tutorial objective: using the island materials, escape to the nearby coast with as many survivors as possible before you are overwhelmed by bogloks, or the rising tide.]
The group all exchanged looks of various concern before Mona spoke up.
"What the hell is a Boglok?"
Blake frowned. "I don't think we want to find out. Did it tell anyone how long we have?"
"Best to assume almost none," answered Hank, and Blake agreed.
"I can't believe this is happening." Rajesh raked his hands through his long hair.
"Me neither. But it is." Blake decided it was time to get this show on the road. "Fortunately, we've got just the men we need to escape." He gestured at their two civilians. "Either that's a hell of a coincidence, or our robot overlord is trying to tell us something." He looked at the men in question. "Think you boys can make us a boat?"
The civilians exchanged a look and both shrugged before Doug the carpenter spoke. "That'll hold seven and cross that?" He gestured to the choppy water. "Maybe. Never made a boat before. But, uh, we can give it a try."
"Alright." Blake clapped his hands. "Pam, Rajesh, Mona—can you take turns with that axe, and start chopping trees and gathering whatever else our builders need?"
"Uh, sure," Pam shrugged. "I guess."
Blake knew the trick was to keep momentum moving before anyone could complain or get any bright ideas. And they might be here longer than they expected. He tried to think quickly—what did they need? What would Mason say they needed?
"Water. Food. Shelter," he mumbled.
"What's that?" said Mona.
"The rest of us," Blake said louder. "We'll deal with the basics. Look around for fresh water, collect crabs. Bugs. Anything we can eat. And maybe we should build some cover, too."
The boat builders and tree choppers went to their tasks, but the others didn't look thrilled.
"We've got a carpenter," said Mbopi. "Let him build the shelter."
Blake smiled indulgently. "A fine idea. But he's building a boat right now, friend. Preferably before we all die. I'd say that takes precedence."
Mbopi didn't look terribly convinced. "We'll I'm not gathering food or water, that's woman's work," said the big African. "Tell that one to give me her axe. I'll help with the boat."
It didn't take a genius to see Pam, the pink haired, nose ringed, probably feminist studies college senior wasn't going to give Mbopi her axe. Except maybe to his face.
"We're all in this together," Blake soothed. "There's no time to second guess or argue. Please just do what we need you to do. It's not forever."
The big man turned and squinted, gesturing at Blake with his two-handed spear. "Who put you in charge, eh boy? What are you, nineteen?"
Twenty, Blake thought indignantly. But it was, of course, a fair question. It had occurred to him he was possibly the youngest person out of the entire group, especially amongst the men. In that moment he felt a pronounced Mason-shaped hole at his side, or possibly Mason-shaped boot in Mbopi's ass. So he smiled and activated Mental Influence for the second time, just hoping that it worked…
Again his vision filled with detail and options he couldn't yet employ. It seemed the more information he had, the better he knew a target and maybe the more he used the power, the more influence and options it would give. The feeling was the same as with Mona—like a tingle in his mind, the same visible strands of mana, the slightly draining bar. This time he used even more, and willed submission. As he did, the hard lines of the man's face softened—at least slightly, his shoulders losing some of their oppositional square.
"I'm not in charge, alright?" Blake shrugged, trying to drive it home. "But we've got a lot to do and maybe not much time to do it. I just want us to survive, and I need your help. That's it."
The big man rolled his eyes. But he stepped back and dropped his spear over his shoulder as he walked towards the beach.
[Mental Influence successful. Experience awarded.]
Blake tried to keep his face neutral, rather than dance with joy. He had bloody mind powers, and they even gave him experience. He felt like he could spend a lifetime just trying to control everyone in sight, and still enjoy his time in the new dystopia. And it was likely just the beginning.
"OK, people," he clapped his hands. "Let's get to work."
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