Chapter 2: 2. Rhyme and Reason

Ok, let's get off my high horse for a second and consider this thoroughly. Thinking of the potential future where I'm a warlord can take place later.

First of all, let's just give this whole deal another consideration.

...

Actually, scratch that.

Problem is, I'm not exactly an enclyopedia of knowledge. So, just sitting here and thinking won't change anything. Thankfully, I have just the tool that'll help me change that.

Getting up from my chair, I head toward my bedroom. There, I flick a switch. Illuminated under a warm yellow light is my desktop. It's two years old but still going strong.

Without further ado, I then set about turning it on, opening a browser, and conducting my intricate research. That is to say; I begin to type anything that might relate to 'blue boxes appearing out of nowhere'.

Safe to say, after a dozen or so searches, I learn it's a hopeless endeavour. None of them matches up with what I saw. As suspected, any occurrences related to this are either related to video games or some form of cyber-schizophrenia .

Getting all that information really made me reconsider my stance for a second. Now, I'm not some hardcore patriot who'll run off and die for the king. But at the same time, I sincerely doubt that my government would kidnap me and replace my eyes with implants.

How do I put this?

I guess I'm just more inclined towards the idea that I actually got powers somehow. My initial shock's kinda worn off, so to speak. Even if I am delusional, I also understand that there's no real harm to trying it out.

Worst case scenario, most people think I'm a nut job.

The thing is, who cares? Most people also don't wash their arse. Basing your life on the opinions of the hoi polloi is dumb. I'm not a teenager. I don't need to stroke my ego with the approval of others.

"Status."

To develop my research, I thrust my finger at the dexterity stat.

A blue box appears once again.

Looking at it makes me feel pretty good about myself. 12 metres per second. That's way beyond my old score (pardon the video game lingo). I'm already venturing into slight superhuman capabilities. Supposedly, I can overhead press 160KG and run at 12 metres per second.

You know, this does seem a bit unfair. Like damn. Doubt I can go out there and beat a vampire or something. But some cyborg with minimal prosthetics, maybe.

Excluding that cybernetics save for replacing a lost limb is illegal in New England, and the chances of encountering someone with it are extremely low; that is

Not that I should feel too good about myself, even so. I just got this out of nowhere, after all.

Didn't I spend most of my life complaining about others with their own innate abilities?

On further thought, definitely.

Always did hate cyborg fighters on the principle that they're just buying their way to victory. Same with those granted the ability to cast magic, on the basis of them just being born special. So, what does it say about myself when I, too, have such an ability?

Frankly, I'm not quite sure.

Maybe I'm just overthinking it.

Lamenting over what you can't control is idiotic, really. Best I can do is persevere in the name of all the failures out there.

Deciding on a better course of action, whether it be as a way to take my mind off things or not, I then go and look over 'resistance' and 'defence'. Strange thing about those stats, though, is that there isn't a specific metric I can compare it to.

All it reads is that it reduces the damage I'd take by a certain amount.

No in-depth blurb like 'reduces the force of incoming blows in newtons' or something. Which, really, only makes things even more annoying and convoluted. For one, how the hell am I supposed to know how much damage magic does?

If, by a stroke of unfortunate luck, a simple spell any dimwitted idiot does, let's say, 20 damage, then I would literally die on the spot. On the other hand, 10 resistance could also mean that I negate every magic out there.

What's important to note is the scaling or metric the whole system goes by.

What I really mean to say is that these arbitrary numbers have no meaning. As of yet, anyway. Dammit. Couldn't I have gotten a more straightforward ability or something?

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Are all weird magic bullshit this complicated?

Of course, you could argue that I'm fortunate enough as is to have such a thing and should cease complaining. To which I would say, I agree, but also that you're a proper bastard for judging me regardless.

Anyways, best to push onward. Seems the logical thing to do from this point onwards is to find someone who can help me.

A quick conclusion, I can agree. But I don't want to waste my time. Like, what am I supposed to do? Punch me in the kidney and test how much damage it does?

Do I look like an absolute knobhead?

Could be that the whole ability thing fades away after a day, or even in an hour really, so I might as well check it out to its fullest extent while I can.

However, there is the slightest problem.

Pardon my anti-social behaviour, but how do I put this?

You see, I happen to suffer from a small problem called 'not having friends.' That is to say, that although I am sufficiently charismatic, I simply lack the patience to deal with the majority of people and see them for the insignificant ingrates they are.

Right, so basically, it means that there's only one person I can call. And well, to be honest, I haven't spoken to that person in half a year. See, that right there puts me in quite the conundrum.

On the one hand, she does know magic, and having another person to test things out with would be terribly beneficial. On the other, it would mean that I have to talk with someone.

The time it takes to consider that possibility extends into a slow meandering stillness. Nothing comes out of my mouth for a while. Save for shallow breaths and frantic eye shuffles, it feels as if my very life itself escaped my body.

"Haa..."

My words slur out as if I'm a drunken idiot.

Meanwhile, my body tenses.

Something wet is on my forehead too. I think it's sweat. But that doesn't make sense. Why would I be sweating if I'm feeling this cold?

Hard to say why, to be honest. The heating's on, and it's right in January, so it's not a matter of temperature that's getting to me. That, and well, I suspect that being hot and cold at the same time doesn't make quite much sense.

I look down at my hands. They're shaking. The obvious answer is probably that I'm nervous about inviting my friend over. However, my ego can't accept that.

It's just ludicrous.

I competed in martial art tournaments, for god's sake. Kicked the shit out of Ava back in high school just for pissing me off. And I'm supposed to believe that the prospect of speaking to someone. Mind you, just the thought of it has gotten me all worried?

Piss off.

I refuse to be a laughing stock. And I'll be damned if I'm ever compared to one of those ingrates who can't even utter a sentence without stuttering.

In any case, the only way to prove I'm not a social degenerate is to demonstrate my superiority. And so, with my phone in hand, I fumble my way to a messaging application and click on 'Morgan.'

Having not checked it for quite some time, I find myself pleasantly surprised by what is before me.

Funnily enough, there's just a slew of messages waiting. Maybe a dozen or so had been sent on a weekly basis. Stuff along the lines of 'How are you doing?' and 'I hope all is well', for instance.

It's... Something, to say the least. I'm halfway caught between thinking it's pathetic and being genuinely appreciative of such devotion.

Call me awful, but what does it say about Morgan if she's still this clingy to someone who treats her like shit? Unhealthy, that's what it is.

Plus, her profile picture is still the same as always too. It's quite telling that after all this time, Morgan's still using a picture of us eating ice cream in high school. Well, us and another individual.

Though, I'd rather not acknowledge her existence, to be honest.

Regardless. I should probably spend less time judging the only person who likes me. With that in mind, I waste no time and click on the call button, ringing up my only friend after 6 months of hiatus. Any previous anxiety is gone, and replaced with a good deal of spite, so thank god for that.

She should be awake right about now, and if I stand correct, she'll receive my call soon enough.

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