Chapter 2: Chapter 2 – Character Creation

In my uncaffeinated fury I stabbed at the X and made this cheerful, ominous prompt go away. It was honestly just way too much to deal with for this early in the morning. One did not simply attempt good cheer without coffee.

It was weird. Not just because it was there, but also because it was broken. A section of the character screen or sheet or whatever zoomed in and opened up, revealing a new page filled with basic avatars and options. And there was this option for species.

But most of the choices were grayed out.

Which sucked, because if I was going to be stuck in a game, I wanted to be the biggest and baddest thing I could be. Minotaur? Nope. There but grayed out. Giant. Would love it but currently unavailable valued player.

It was like one of those games where you bought it knowing full well it was about 20 DLCs from being complete. In this case all it had were the basics. Human, Elf, Dwarf, Halfling. All right next to each other in the selection process, and all right ready to be taken and played.

Or lived. Whatever.

And after those four it was an infinitesimal loop of just grayed out nope.

It sent my rage flaring. Without Patches stuck in my creation screen with me, I felt like I might black out and have an aneurysm.

I took several breaths, slowly lowering the rage and feeling myself calm down with each one.

Screw it. I’d be a human. I didn’t even bother looking at their modifiers and stats because the rest of those basic races would ruin me in ways that I just didn’t want to be ruined. They’d distort my hard-bodied six foot three, either stretching it tall and thin, crushing it short and broad, or shrinking me into a cute miniature version of myself.

As much messed up as I had in my head, I was honestly pretty fine with who I was and what I looked like. Unless it was a Minotaur or something cool, I’d pass. Next please.

RACE SELECTED! HUMAN!

HOW ORIGINAL . . .

The words flashed into my face without warning. I felt myself dodge back, trip on some floor debris, possibly one of my barbells, and almost fall on my back. A quick cast of my nimble hands about me are all that kept me from slamming into the floor. I stayed at a 45-degree angle for a few brief seconds, one hand gripping the edge of a counter that I didn’t know that I had.

NICE SAVE! I DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD IT IN YOU. YOU GET ONE SUCCESS POINT.

USE IT WELL.

What the hell.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. No dice. Sighing, I moved on to the next part of my character creation screen. I If I was going to be stuck in some game life, I at least wanted some say in how I got to play it.

Plus it’d be nice to be able to see something other than game screen.

The race screen, all filled out and accomplished, slid itself away in an overly dramatic stately procession and proceeded to be replaced by a new screen. My avatar was still there, and it looked just like me, which was good. I was also naked, which wasn’t so good.

What kinda game had I gotten myself stuck in?

I settled down, though, as I looked through the rest of it. The rest of the page stated ORIGINSin a futuresque font, and a list of options filled the screen. Again, most of them were grayed out. But the ones that remained were pleasant enough.

I had a PRIMARY ORIGIN: VETERAN which the system had decided to give to me for free. Whether they’d gotten that information from brain probes, anal probes, or a simple Google search history I really didn’t care. Because, well, that’s all I was at this point. Unless they had bank security guard as an option.

Thinking about the origin opened it up. It simply stated that I had a 10% experience bonus when using skills related to modern arms and equipment, which definitely felt like a good bonus to have.

But SECONDARY ORIGIN was an open slot, and just like with the RACE screen I was able to focus on my options and pluck one up and drop it in easy as pie. The ungrayed options were:

Outlaw
Professor
Oligarch
Gangster
Entertainer

Joker’s Wild

And wouldn’t you know it. There was something that sounded suspiciously like I’d be able to shoot enemies with lightning if I got it. If only it weren’t grayed the hell out.

Mystic

I tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but wow did I want to throw some fireballs.

I settled down and opened up the options that were available to me.

Outlaw – Breaking the law isn’t just something you do. It’s something you were born to do. All skill checks involved in criminal activity find their difficulty ratings lowered by one point. It might not seem like much, but over the long run that’s a hell of a wild ride.

That sounded pretty good. I didn’t exactly know what it meant but I’d played enough RPGs to know that it’d be useful.

Professor – No one knows why, but you love to learn. And you are good at it too. Learn chance multiplied by 5 and card limit increased by 1.

Oligarch – Well look at you with your fancy shoes and expensive ties. You might have come to the wrong part of town but you came with a nice suit, one epic loot, and ten times the starting cash.

Gangster – Some crooks smash and burn. Others loot in style. You receive two very rare loots, one NPC goon, and four times the starting cash. Don’t spend it all in one place!

Entertainer – Some got the moves and that certain swagger. Los Vegas style charm, moves like Mick Jagger. All skill checks involved in entertaining others find their difficult ratings lowered by one point.

Joker’s Wild – Don’t care what you get? Want something completely outside your selection queue? Well buck up buttercup and step on in for a ride on Joker’s Wild. We’ll give you a class, one that isn’t on the list, and you’ll have to stick with it for the entirety of your first level.

Joker’s Wild. I stared at the option. None of the choices were exciting. They certainly weren’t something that screamed choose me. But they weren’t bad either.

Still . . .

My eyes wandered over to the Mystic class, all grayed out and begging for me to take a shot. I could imagine myself blasting fireballs all over the place.

I mean, I was still half sure that I was, in reality, just sitting in a rubber room, encased in a straitjacket, rocking back and forth moaning, “In the game, in the game.”

But even if it weren’t real, it didn’t matter.

Because it would feel real. More real than my life had been since I got back from the service, I was sure of it.

I selected Joker’s Wild and let ‘er spin. A thousand different origins spun by and I noticed Mystic swing by twice. My heart jumped every time it passed on by.

It slowed down and in my mind’s eye I could hear the grinding tick of the wheel as it clicked to a halt. And then, there it sat. My new origin.

Blood of the Divine – You are descended from the once mighty gods of the heavens. You attain resistance to mortal magic 10% and your very words lilt with magical expression, giving you advantage to all diplomatic rolls.

I kinda cocked my head at that one. It seemed quite underpowered as compared to its title. But, whatever. The magical bonus seemed pretty cool. Hopefully it would help out.

I closed it out, sweeping it away from my mind.

And another menu opened. This crap wasn’t ever going to end, was it? I felt the old familiar rage boil in my belly, and took in deep breaths, letting it subside. This was important.

The first part read Primary Class and underneath it were three images.

The first showed a screaming long-haired commando, nude from the waste up, his camo pants ragged and torn, and perhaps flapping a bit too high over his shapely buttocks as he swung his M60 machine gun in a sweep around him. This one read Warrior.

The second showed a frowning man in a shabby but well pressed suit and tie, sitting at a desk, reading from one book and scribbling notes into another. Scholar, the label beneath proclaimed in embossed gold.

The third showed a man hiding behind a wall, a maniacal grin pasted over his face and his pointer fingers in each of his ears. The shockwaves and flames of an immense explosion could be seen in the background, the bodies of men flying in every direction.

The label here read Specialist.

That honestly seemed like a very broad category. I tried to pass it all by, maybe see what was ahead. But it wouldn’t let me. I stared at my choices.

Warrior was what I was good at. Scholar, fat chance. But Specialist? What the hell was that?

The whole thing seemed ill-built. Surely there should be a lot more choices.

Screw it. I used to kill people. That picture could well have been me over in, well, over there. I just let that thought fade away. There was no reason to visit over there ever again. Not if I could help it. I chose Warrior and let the system bring me over to the next spot.

The box shut and another popped into place.

In-Genre Classes (Cyberpunk, Mafia), this one read. Alright, that made a bit more sense. I guessed that the primary class selection had a big impact on what I would find here, as did the genre titles in the parentheses. But the origins and all of that probably did too, and there was no going back when I tried, so I’d just pick what suited me best on here and move on.

Black Belt (black belt specialty here)

Bodyguard

Detective

Gangster

Hitman

Mob Boss

Police Officer

Private Investigator

Security Guard

Soldier

Streetfighter

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Street Militia

SWAT

Thug

Vigilante

I went through each of them, checking their skills and attacks. It was interesting how overarching some of the classes were. As an example, the security guard was weak, but he had a bunch of bonuses in diplomacy, started as part of a team, and was alright employed at a bank.

I almost took it. Seemed familiar.

The evil-type classes looked pretty crazy. They sounded too much like the guys I used to fight did, so I didn’t choose any of them.

But the Vigilante. I checked him out. There were two sub-types, leader and loner. And leader gave me bonuses to persuasion skill and diplomacy checks, as well as a number of follower bonuses that I didn’t quite get yet . . . but that I figured I’d understand as time went by.

In my past I’d been a grunt. And I’d been made to do a lot of stupid things.

If I was in charge, I’d do the right thing at the right time. Yeah. Vigilante Leader. I was in.

I chose my selection.

Now it popped over to a sheet that I had faced many times playing RPGs online. Stat boxes. They were all nestled together in a thick grid of words, numbers, and their effects.

STRENGTH: +5% STR-BASED DAMAGE / +10 CARRY WEIGHT / +8 LIFT WEIGHT //// -5% DAMAGE / - 10 CARRY WEIGHT / -8 LIFT WEIGHT

FINESSE: +5% FIN-BASED DAMAGE / +1 DODGE / +1 MOVEMENT SPEED //// -5% FIN-BASED DAMAGE / -1 DODGE / -1 MOVEMENT SPEED

INTELLIGENCE: +5% INT-BASED DAMAGE / +1 SPELL RESIST / +1 LEARN CHANCE //// -5% INT-BASED DAMAGE / -1 SPELL RESIST / -1 LEARN CHANCE

CONSTITUTION: +5% HP / +1 POISON RESIST / +1 VIRUS RESIST //// -5% HP / -1 POISON RESIST / -1 VIRUS RESIST

CARD LIMIT: +1 CARD POINT (CARDS COST POINTS, CAN HAVE SO MANY EQUIPPED TO USE AT ONE TIME PER CARD POINT TOTAL) //// -1 CARD POINT

WITS: +1 INITIATIVE IN COMBAT / +1 CRITICAL CHANCE / +1 DETECT SECRETS //// -1 INITIATIVE IN COMBAT / -1 CRITICAL CHANCE / -1 DETECT SECRETS

At present I had a 12 in everything for being human, then another +1 to everything across the board for being a vigilante leader.

I have to say, having 13 in all categories didn’t feel too shabby.

I noticed a little subsection beneath them all labeled SUCCESS POINTS that didn’t have anything in them, and I just let them be.

Another screen flipped open. This one was filled with skills of every sort. Possibly tens of thousands. It was divided by tabs into Martial and Civil and I could flip back and forth between them as much as I wished.

Many of them were already filled in with numbers after them. I saw my marksmanship with a M16 marked 10 out of 10, same with grenades. I also saw that my skill with a bayonet was 0.

Made sense. Never trained with one.

Over and over I rolled through skills, looking for stuff that might help me. On the right-hand side of it all, the system informed me that I had ten points to distribute between it all . . . and as a warrior class I could spend 6 on martial and 4 on civil.

I kept that in mind, enhancing my ability to Camouflage by one, putting one in something called Danger Sense, and placing 4 in a category labeled Ranged Energy Weapons. Seemed like it might be important since it was listed there.

And for my 4 in Civil, I went over to Persuasion and shoved the whole lot there. I never was a big talker, and I could use all the help that I could get.

Done.

Now came a screen labeled Talents. There were a lot there as well. And all of them had grandiose names, like Punchmaster, Two-hand Titan, Windowpuncher . . . but when I checked their stats, they were mostly 10% bonuses to this or that. I took the talent Leader of Men and reveled in knowing that my 4 in persuasion, coupled with whatever hidden rolls the system would make for me, would be that much higher when resolved.

I waited for the next screen, but instead deep melodious tones, hinting at mysticism and adventure, filled my ears.

WELCOME, GAMER, TO PRESTIGE GAMING! AUGMENTED REALITY NANOTECH DOESN’T JUST SIMULATE THE FEEL OF THE GAME. YOU ARE IN THE GAME. FLYING, THROWING FIREBALLS, SMASHING THROUGH BUILDINGS — WHATEVER YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, YOU ACTUALLY ARE.

WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

A blank rectangle hung in front of me, Kevin Daley already input and set to go. It sounded good, but rather than just pass it on by and leave it that way, I wanted to think this through. I could change my name to whatever I wanted. I mean anything at all.

I thought Bamfy McSteele and watched as the letters filled the screen. Funny but no. I followed up with Roswell Sightings, then Engorged Woods. And in a fit of laughter I became Chief BigPexbefore trying Max Thunderdamag. The screen cut off my attempt and I internally sighed.

Achievement Unlocked: Going off the rails

Well that was fun to watch. Are you mad, or just uncertain. Either way, you are going to need all the help you can get.

Here’s a card.

You’ve received: Static Shock

I laughed. Yeah, I needed help alright. An image flashed before my eyes, an actual graphic that showed a powerful electrical swirl, and I grinned wildly.

That would definitely do.

It flashed away and I was back at the naming screen. Staring at it, I realized I had to take this seriously. I mean, I had this fat thumbs habit of pressing ‘confirm’ on phone apps when I didn’t mean to. This thing here, well, I didn’t really want to end up being named Total Chud or something dumb, because of an accident.

And this game had a lot of communication skills in the Civil section. Skills that I had 1 or 0 in. I’d bumped my persuasion up hard, but what about the others. I was going to have to deal with people in possible non-combat situations.

And that, to me, meant intimidation by other, non-skill based means.

See here’s the thing I learned in the military: fights could be avoided. Peacekeeping was sometimes shooting, sometimes crunching people til they gave up, but mostly it was talking people down.

Carry a big stick, you know the drill. But most of your wins were done with a growl and a tough-looking uniform.

Hoorah.

On top of that was the possibility that I could never put points into the Charm stat, and get through everything by flexing my big muscles, narrowing my eyes, and giving everyone the death glare to get out of various situations. An awesome name would build an awesome reputation.

Kevin, as wonderful a name as it was, wasn't going to cut it.

Not for this.

I’d chosen to be a vigilante, so he should take a hero name. Someone cool and cold. Blade. Batman. Machete.

No, those guys were loners. I was looking to lead.

Dirk. Yes. It was like a Machete, but the name was more stylish. It rolled off the tongue.

And something immovable. Hard to break. Stone, easy answer. Dirk Stone I entered into the rectangle. I stared at it, mulling it over in my head. Yeah, I’d follow a Dirk Stone. And I wouldn’t want to get in the way of a Dirk Stone if he was on the other side.

Dirk Stone it was.

I mentally affirmed my selection, and the box went away, replacing by a 3-dimensional cutscene. The booming baritone of a husky, handsome-sounding man filtered through his brain, overlaid by heroic-sounding music.

Dirk Stone, human resident of Okichi. Formerly a member of the 1stof the 3rd Cavalry Regiment, Echo Troop, he fought for the forces of Dokdo, securing several victories and gaining fame as a capable commander and fearsome battlefield soldier.

I watched myself, a freshly-bleeding scratch over my cheek, as I jumped a trench, waving my men forward. A muddy, dead field pitted with craters stood before me. Artillery exploded and men fired weapons, both ballistic and energy based.

And when Dokdo surrendered to the might of the Muscovitian forces, he was one of the penniless and homeless exiles of the shattered nation’s military, the battle units disbanded and the former nation just a memory left for historians to wax hypotheticals over.

There I was, marching out of a dusty, tin-hut camp. I’d traded in my gear and battle fatigues for blue jeans and a rough-looking v-necked shirt best described as a modern tunic. I had my wallet back, it looked like. But it must have been empty because I watched myself rifle through it and then curse.

In the far distance I saw one flag change to another. Dokdo to Muscovitia, apparently.

Back in Okichi, he served as a gun-for-hire for the increasingly powerful gang leaders and warlords rising up over the battered Muscovitian annexation. He was there when the former mayor was executed by a neo-nazi gang leader named Der Fuhrer, a meaningless grunt in a sea of them, standing guard over the man as he slaughtered the city leadership, one by one, then ordered the men off to kill the politicians’ families.

There I was, fighting street battles in my civvies. A black t-shirt in this fight, a gray one in that. And always blue jeans. Apparently, this me had a thing for them.

I stood there with a bunch of nondescript men and watched Der Fuhrer slaughter. It was graphic. I tried to turn my head, but this program in my brain was merciless.

For Dirk, that was one step too far. He left the Okichi and set off to make a new life in the city of Gojira-X.

I walked away from the city. The cutscene panned out and I saw that much of it was broken or burned out.

Only to quickly find that it wasn’t just his hometown that had descended into gang-based anarchy.

I saw more gangs battling, more innocent people running and fleeing, skirts flapping and a teddy bear dropping into a mud puddle.

Tired of the gangs and the violence, unknown in the new city, Dirk Stone decided that enough was enough. His hometown was already taken, a cesspool city-state of crime and violence that only a nuke could solve.

There I was, standing all noble-like, the perfect straight-backed heroic pose. Behind me, the vague outline of that original Dokdoan flag flapped while inspiring music played and crescendoed.

A health meter appeared in the upper righthand corner of my vision, reading 69 hp, 0 mana, as if to further indicate that things were about to go pear-shaped.

But Gojira-X, they still had a chance. He decided it was time to fight.

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