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by Matthew Siege

  I tried to ignore that jibe. "Let's talk about my stats first. Are they set in stone?"

  "They are not. Right now you are Level 0. Zilch. Nada. It requires 100 experience points to reach Level 1. At that stage, you will be given an opportunity to adjust your statistics."

  I cocked an eyebrow at it. "What do you mean 'adjust'? That sounds like I can change more than one of them, but possibly not for the better."

  "I think that 'better' is in the eye of the beholder. When you reach Level 1, you will be able to choose a profession. If you select one that requires strength, it stands to reason that you may want to sacrifice a point from an ability you no longer desire and add it to one that you do."

  "Are you saying I could make myself dumber, if I wanted to make myself stronger?"

  The orb laughed at me. "You are acting painfully stupid right now, but yes, you will be given the option of tempting fate and lowering your intellect even further."

  I was determined not to let its little insults get to me. All of the information it had was important, and if I got distracted by the backtalk I'd miss out. "And if I choose to lower my intellect, would I actually be dumber?"

  "Surprisingly, yes. And if you ever needed proof that the Citadel was created by beings possessing superior knowledge and abilities, look no further than their capacity to somehow find a way to divide by zero, if and when you choose to sacrifice your intellect for another statistic."

  I chuckled. I could appreciate a good slam, even if I was the recipient. "Jokes aside, that sounds like a dangerous road to go down."

  "In your case, yes. After all, an organism needs a certain level of awareness to maintain basic bodily functions. Be aware that making smart choices within the Citadel requires a high intellect. You will be truly changing your attributes."

  Fair enough. That made sense. It also meant that I would have to be damn careful about what I chose to sacrifice, if and when I went that route. My gamer brain knew full well that a well-crafted system didn't have a dump stat, and I didn't think that the Citadel would be charitable if I screwed up.

  "Do you have any more questions?" it asked.

  "Lots."

  "Very well. I should inform you that your thirteen days, thirteen hours, thirteen minutes and thirteen seconds began from the moment you arrived."

  "Got it. You guys have an obsession with the number thirteen, huh?"

  "Not I. The Evvex. The Citadel is made up of thirteen floors, and they own the one at the top. They have thirteen fingers, nine on their right hand and four on their left which, coincidentally, is why all of them are right-handed. I notice you are not."

  "That's not that strange," I said. "Something like a third of humans are left-handed."

  Skill: Guesstimation

  The ability to use common sense and innate instinct to hypothesize.

  Base score - Fourteen

  New score - Thirteen

  The orb swirled. "I have been informed the actual percentage is much closer to ten percent."

  Ouch. It looked like you could lose skill points if you fucked up... "Lesson learned," I told it. "But can we talk about the stats themselves, for a second?"

  "Of course."

  As soon as I mentioned the overarching statistics, I could visualize them. There was a part of my sight that was now responsible not for looking ahead, but for observing the numbers as they sat beside a mental picture of myself.

  I could still see the orb in the glade through it, if I shifted my attention.

  The attributes were all there, written out in a bold font next to an arrow that pointed at the part of the body they were meant to represent. The Strength statistic, a deservedly below average 4, pointed at my biceps. Resilience was aimed at my head, Dexterity my hands, and so on.

  The three characteristics listed under Flesh made sense, and the same with the ones below Finesse. But Friction had three attributes as well; Fortitude, Endurance and Resolve. They weren't anywhere near as clear to me, and there wasn't an arrow on the image to help me out.

  I figured I might as well ask. "Hey, Toot. Help me out with the Friction stats, okay?"

  He dipped and bobbed, obviously flustered. "Who or what, may I ask, is a 'Toot'?"

  I shrugged. "What, you don't like it? Too bad, because that's what I'm going to call you from here on out. It's short for tutorial, which is what you are. Anyway, I'm not changing it."

  "Fine, though I won't be answering to it. What did you want to know about Friction?" he asked.

  I chuckled. "You are shit at changing the subject. Anyway, yeah, what is Friction? And don't just tell me it's when two things rub together..."

  "Those statistics represent the way in which you defend yourself. Your Resilience score will act to protect you from physical harm. Endurance is a measure of how hard you are able to push yourself, whilst Resolve keeps you safe from mental wear and tear."

  After that explanation, calling it friction made sense. It was the only place in the stats where I had a chance to push back against the dangers of the outside world.

  "In case you're wondering," Toot said, "and because I am obligated by the Citadel to point it out, your statistics are predicated on your base ten system. Each race uses their own mathematical codex, but the percentages have been equalized across the board."

  "Okay."

  "This allows you a relatively simple way to gauge your chances of success. Your Intelligence is 7, though I'll certainly ask for that to be reexamined after this conversation. That means you have a seventy percent chance to work out a puzzle or wrestle with a new concept. There are often modifiers though, so don't assume that bumping a statistic to 10 will guarantee success."

  I'd already guessed that I was looking at something along those lines. "If you want to make this whole process quicker for the next dude, just tell them it's like a video game or Absolute Reality, or whatever."

  I was expecting a quick response, but when I didn't get one I looked up at where Toot was floating above my head. Finally, he sank a little and said, "What are those things? They sound fascinating," almost too quietly for me to hear.

  That made me laugh, though I cut it short in case I was in danger of offending him. Was it possible that gaming for personal enjoyment was a human invention? "Basically, you choose an avatar and a role and make your way through whatever world you're in. There are rules, just like this. You might be a tycoon or a kid collecting butterflies or a dolphin. Whatever. Other players are usually opposing you, but even if they aren't, the game creates obstacles for you to attempt to overcome."

  "Fascinating. And do you play these games, Adam?"

  I nodded emphatically. "All. The. Damn. Time." At least until I got diagnosed and threw in the towel...

  Toot let out a low whistle. "Your Faction may have been slow to arrive, but if you really are one of these 'gamers' you speak of, you may go quite far."

  I smiled at the thought. "Have you spoken to all of the other humans who've arrived?"

  "Not me, personally. But one like me has. I have knowledge of them, if that's what you're asking."

  "Are there any other gamers amongst them?"

  "Not to my knowledge. You have a huge advantage though, since it appears that you've spent most of your life training for this."

  I frowned. "Who chooses which human comes to the Citadel?"

  "The Citadel itself. Mind you, the Evvex are the Faction you should truly be wary of. If they seek you out, you would do well to apply your knowledge and attempt to escape before they find you."

  "And if I can't?"

  Toot spun in a quick circle around my head, his way of directing my attention at the area around me. "Then you better get used to this glade, because you'll be waking up here a lot..."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Standing around like this was starting to get to me. I hadn't gone through all of that craziness to get here just to play a few rounds of twenty questions with a sentient bowling ball, no matter how much info he had for me.

 
; "I'm think I'm ready to head out," I told him.

  "Already? There is so much you don't know..."

  "I learn best by doing. Do you have any starting gear to give me?"

  "I do not."

  My heart sank, but only a little. If the powers that be wanted me to be self-sufficient, then so be it. "Okay, then. This is goodbye for now, I guess. Time to get grinding."

  Toot couldn't wave, but he swooped low and bounced off of my shoulder in what I assumed was a farewell. "I have to admit that, though a lifetime of your simulations may have prepared you well for what you are about to undertake, you appear to be an arrogant dolt. However, you are correct about the best way forward. There are a plethora of low-level creatures upon which to hone your skills on this, the lowest floor. As you ascend, I think—"

  I rolled my eyes and interrupted him. If he was going to call me on my arrogance, I wasn't going to bother to hide it. "You think that I'll be surprised by how powerful they get. I'm with you. Thanks for your help, Toot. You've been just shy of useful." That sounded meaner than I meant it to, so I tried again. "Sorry. It's the nerves, I guess."

  He didn't answer. When I looked for him, he was already gone.

  I felt bad about that. He was just doing his job, and I sure wasn't the easiest person to get along with lately. It probably took a special brand of irritating to piss off a being tasked with giving me a standard spiel, but I'd managed it.

  I hadn't noticed it, but the trees had gathered even closer around me while I'd been talking to Toot, erasing the path I'd taken to get to him. The only way out of the woods was straight ahead, across the glade and through the little field of bobbing neon flowers on the other side of the gently flowing stream.

  The water may be flowing oddly, but at least it wasn't deep. Instead of finding a narrower place to leap it, I decide to just wade right on through it.

  It felt like I should say something. This was momentous, after all. I splashed into the water and thought of something equally cliched and poignant. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single—FUCK!"

  I fell forward, splashing into the suddenly frothing, all-too pink water. Stunned, I managed to look down at my legs in an effort to work out why I'd collapsed.

  The answer was obvious. My foot was gone. I watched it float away as three broad-jawed fish-things clipped off big bites of meat and boot leather.

  That little gang of assholes wasn't alone, either. They just happened to be the most ambitious.

  I felt their friends clambering and bumping against my body, snapping crescent slices off me before coming back for more. Panicked, I tried to push myself up to my hands and knees so that I could scramble away from the stream, but all that did was show me how much damage they'd already done.

  Most of my fingers were gone. My flesh was more open than closed. Even though I'd managed to get my body out of the water, the fuckers were really starting to frenzy in earnest. They jumped out of the stream and latched on to me, weighing me down and using their fat, wriggling bodies to leverage away yet more chunks of flesh.

  I beat at them with my stumps as I scrambled up the opposite bank. One of the creatures lunged at my face and bounced off, landing in front of me in the grass.

  I balled up what was left of my hand and smashed it down on the damn thing. It took a couple of tries, but in the time I had before the end, I did all I could to take my fury out on it.

  I couldn't prop myself up any longer, and when I slumped face down on the fish it promptly nipped off my nose. That new, bright pain was somehow the worst, though at least it was the last.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Step!" Toot said, helpfully. He sounded so proud that I almost forgot the horrors I'd just endured.

  "Huh?" I was still in the glade, mere steps from where the fish had dragged me down and murdered me.

  "In the hour since you perished, I took the liberty of researching the phrase you were in the middle of saying. I suppose I was curious. The answer is 'step'. 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step'. That pleases me, because I couldn't understand how any amount of fucks could begin a journey."

  I swatted at the orb in frustration, but he easily dodged my swipe. "Shut up, Toot."

  "I told you I wouldn't be answering to that."

  Whatever. "What were those things, Toot?"

  "A previous human has already classified them. He called the creatures 'Puddle Piranhas'. Are you ready for me to allow the Citadel to share the stats of Flora and Fauna with you?" he asked.

  I thought about informing him that he had just answered to his new moniker, but instead I just said, "Yes, please."

  Puddle Piranha

  Classification: Untameable Fauna

  "These ravenous creatures flatten their bodies, allowing them to thrive in extremely shallow bodies of water. They are dangerous ambush predators, inflating and attacking the instant an unsuspecting prey item is careless enough to stray into range."

  Abilities: Water Dash - Snip - Leap - Frenzy

  Hit Points - 2

  Physical Buffer - 1

  Mental Ward - 0

  Experience Value - 1

  Toot zoomed over to the water, most likely peering down into it. "They're still down there. The part about carelessly straying into range described you perfectly, by the way. Is that what your Earth simulations taught you, to flaunt danger and rush in headlong, without the slightest amount of preparation?"

  "No," I sighed, feeling rightfully like an idiot. "I just got cocky, that's all."

  "Well, as I said, it cost you an hour."

  "Does every death make me lose an hour from my time?"

  "Of course not! The next death will delay you ten hours and the one after that, a hundred."

  "Right," I said, frowning. "So what you're saying is that I should try not to die."

  Toot may not have had a tongue with which to click, but he still managed to tut tut at me. "Should I have mentioned that earlier? I thought it was implied..."

  I ignored him, since he clearly wasn't interested in helping me. I may have earned the low blows I was receiving, but I pushed them aside anyway and concentrated on my stats. I found that I could dig down past the numbers and dive into the combat log itself.

  Better yet, there was an option to get real-time updates, which I quickly worked out how to mentally toggle.

  Right about then was when I realized how much of a dumbass I'd been not to ask about hit points when I had the chance. Now that I'd been brought up short by how dangerous this place was, I looked at how many I had.

  Hit Points - 16

  "Toot, how are my hit points calculated."

  "Your Stamina multiplied by Fortitude. Changes to either will allow retroactive increases."

  Those piranha things had only been doing a single point of damage each, except for the critical hit one had ambushed me with right off the bat, which had done three. Even so, it had taken no more than twenty seconds for the school of them to finish me off.

  At least I'd killed one of them along the way.

  I looked at my experience counter, but it was still at zero. "Fuck this," I growled.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "When you respawn, you lose all of your experience. That's shit."

  Toot buzzed nearer to me, away from the water. I didn't know if he could get hurt or not, but I had noticed how careful he was over by the puddle piranhas' hunting ground. "That is explicitly not the case."

  "Then something's broken and you better fix it fast. I killed one of those bastards and I didn't get credit for it."

  "I see." Toot aimed for an empathetic tone, but only managed to hit slightly condescending. "I'm afraid you failed to land a fatal blow. You did injure one, but his wounds were not fatal."

  "And where is he?"

  "He flopped back into the stream."

  "Oh..." Duh...

  "Did you expect different information?" He sounded so sad, and I remembered how bad I'd felt about treating him like the hired hel
p before.

  "Thanks for the info, though."

  "You're welcome. I am trying to be useful, you know."

  I nodded. "And I appreciate it. It's been too easy for me to pretend that I'm the only one that matters, lately. I guess that's turning out to be a difficult attitude to shake."

  He buzzed over slowly, hovering a respectable distance away from me. "Because of your affliction, you mean?"

  I nodded. I still didn't like to give the word power by saying it, though actively avoiding it seemed to be putting it up on a pedestal in much the same way. "Cancer," I told him, oddly proud that my voice didn't waver. "I've got cancer."

  "You had cancer, you mean."

  I did a comical, almost violent double-take. "You're going to have to back that up and run it by me again, Toot."

  "Forgive me. I can tell by the way your benchmarked biofeedback levels have spiked that I misspoke. Your cancer isn't cured, Adam. I only meant that the Citadel did not elect to include the carcinoma in your current body. Your true form at the station is still suffering from the unfortunate condition. I hope that clears everything up."

  It did not... "My current body?"

  "Yes."

  I looked down at myself, searching for signs of damage from the piranha attack. I didn't find any, and poking and prodding the places where I knew the worst injuries had been inflicted didn't elicit any unusual response. "So, this isn't me?"

  "You currently inhabit a substitute vessel custom-made to exacting specifications."

  "And where am I, right now? The me that's talking to you, that is."

  "You are about to enter the Citadel's first floor, of course. You almost did. Technically, the journey begins on the other side of the stream. Part of you made it. Your total time in the Citadel proper stands at three and a half seconds."

  "That's it?"

  Toot sounded sheepish. "You did die before all of you crossed the stream. I'll have you know that there was much discussion amongst my people as to whether or not even that meager measurement was biased in your favor. I'll have you know that I featured prominently in the ruling, championing your case to the best of my ability."