Chapter 4

The titles were far from my favorite thing, but I had to start somewhere. I pulled up the title menu—the way everything was spaced gave the impression there was space for dozens of titles, though I still only had two. Jaded Eye was currently set as primary. That’s right. I’d mouthed off to the system and accidentally equipped the title before everything hit the fan.

I read the description again: <A trite yet tragic event has twisted the user’s ability to see the world through a clear lens which is further augmented, making them adept at identifying traps and avoiding ambushes. However, the difficulty accepting good things at face value will also increase.>

It still felt like such an obvious swipe at me. “Trite yet tragic,” was a hell of a way to describe someone’s personal apocalypse. But the resulting effects were what I was interested in. Adept at identifying traps and avoiding ambushes.

Okay, in for a penny, in for a pound. If there was anything to this, there were two events where the title could have potentially helped me. When I nearly opened the door and realized they would have men posted outside, it was like my mind had done a backflip to get me to stop. Considering the level of panic I was experiencing, having just indirectly witnessed a killing, I’m not sure I would have stopped without something influencing the decision.

But the cameras were far more compelling. As far as I knew, I had no idea how CCTV surveillance worked. Never read an article, never had any reason to research it. But somehow I was able to discern, clear as day, the direction the cameras were most likely facing. Would that fall under the “identifying traps,” category, maybe? Come to think of it, I’d felt the same psychological force holding me back when I’d made the decision to stake out the apartment first.

I focused on the original title. Born Nihilist. A prompt appeared, warning me I’d be locked into the title for six hours. Jaded eye had theoretically saved me several times. But if I was going to figure any of this out, I needed to experiment.

<Born Nihilist: Augments the user’s existing proclivity to remain calm and rational, even in the worst of situations.>

Strange that this title didn’t mention any drawbacks. Maybe it was because the benefit wasn’t as good as Jaded Eye? Other than a general lack of panic, I couldn’t remember much of a difference in perception at the hospital before that original switch.

I confirmed. And then, everything shifted.

When I was little, my father took me kayaking in the open ocean. We only ever went the one time, partially because—after I tipped it—we lost the kayak, but mainly because of everything that happened after. We spent over an hour treading water in the grasp of an unannounced undertow, watching the shore grow farther and farther away. At some point I got tired and slipped off my father’s back, and was pulled under into the ocean. I held my breath until my lungs were at the point of bursting, spasming, heaving in desperation.

Then someone pulled me up. My father. He’d managed to get the attention of a nearby boat and I was lifted into it, in shock and shivering. But the moment I realized we were in the boat, a feeling of relief so complete and raw washed over me, and I fell straight to sleep.

That was what it was like, when the title switched. The terrifying, spiraling panic attack worse than any I’d experienced vanished with a steady ebb, slowly fading away. The critical part of my mind wondered if it was just the meds kicking in, but I knew it wasn’t that. The relief had never come this quickly, this easily.

There was something to this.

In for a penny, right? I opened the notifications and scrolled. No new titles were unlocked, but there were plenty of messages.

<Level Up: Ordinator has reached Level 2.>

Why? I hadn’t accomplished much. I’d used my only ability once and the most exciting thing I’d done was run away. The question was answered by the next notification.

<Quest Complete:>

Primary objective complete — Escape the hospital.

Secondary Objective Complete—Escape without resorting to direct violence or receiving further injury.

Tertiary Objective Failed — Escape without being spotted.

<EXP GAIN: (M)>

Wait. How did that even work? I shifted into an old theory-crafting mindset, one left long forgotten from back when I had time for games. I remembered a new notification popping right as the bullet pierced the wall. Were quests organic, forming to serve my current needs? Or was I being directed?

If it was the second possibility, I wasn’t sure I liked it.

<Probability Spiral has reached Level 2>

From one use? There was likely an exponential ramp, but if it was that easy to level, I could power it up with minimal effort. It was one advantage of the ability’s low profile I hadn’t realized until just now. Again, I focused on the ability, and again, I got no further explanation than the original flavor text.

<Skill Points Available: 5. Feat points available: 2.>

I opened the skill point screen.

<Stats>

Strength: 3

Toughness: 4

Agility: 5

Intelligence: 8

Perception: 5

Will: 6

Companionship: 1

<>

There was a confirmation prompt at the bottom, so any changes I made were temporary until I locked them in. I increased intelligence, just to make sure it wasn’t capped at 10. The number rose to 13 before I dialed it back down to 8. I was tempted to leave it at thirteen, dumping all available points into it. My intellect had always been my best trait. The annoying thing was, the existing stats were more or less accurate. Working out at the school gym had fallen by the wayside in recent years. I was still fast on my feet, but not that fast. There were no tool tips or expanded information for any of the stats.

Which rankled. It wasn’t like I could pull up a wiki. Not to mention, I still had no idea what I was building towards. Was the system meant to just integrate into my daily life, or was there a larger goal?

I knew, subconsciously, how deep I was in. I was embracing the system because it served as a distraction from the real worries—worries that had dulled since the title change, but still rattled around in my head.

I pulled up the feat screen and was immediately floored. Dozens of options, if not hundreds. Most were yellow, which I took to mean common traits. They scaled everything from the classics, like Fire Resistance I, to more obscure entries, like Collector I and Archivist I. An even larger number were grayed out, and there the names got more questionable and cryptic: Vampire. Explosive Tendencies. Synecdoche. I couldn’t focus on anything that was grayed out for an explanation of what they did. Further annoying me, there was no description of the unlock condition for most of them either. I scrolled down to the bottom and found a dozen blue tinted perks that were class specific for the Ordinator.

And my stomach dropped.

The first Ordinator feat in the list was Assassin I.

<Assassin I: Increased damage against other users.>

As I scrolled through the perks, my suspicions were confirmed. I think, up to that point I’d assumed the system was serving a greater purpose. That users would be up against a greater threat. That there was a point in all this, delusion or not.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

But no. I knew what it was. The Ordinator was clearly a PVP class. And nearly all of the class specific abilities had something to do with screwing over other users. Siphoning experience party members received. Sneak attacks. Manipulation. That was unsettling to say the least. There were a half-dozen perks at the bottom that were gray and blue, class specific but completely locked.

I read through the available ones again, until I found the perk that was absolutely the right choice. The only choice. Double-blind.

My door opened, startling me out of the single-minded focus.

I smelled her before I saw her. The scent of gin clung to her like cheap perfume. She staggered over. I could only see half of her, a pleated blue skirt that reached her ankles and bare feet.

“You didn’t come to tell me you’re back,” she said. Her voice was distant, vaguely sing-song. “It’s not like I’ve been worried sick this whole time. Grieving.”

“Did you even look for me?”

“Yes,” Mom said. She didn’t sound sure about anything. “The first day. Hospitals wouldn’t tell us anything. No one by that name admitted, blah blah. You hurt?”

“No.”

“Good… that’s good.” There was a grunt and mattress squeaked as she lowered herself down to sit on the floor, back to me. Her legs were folded up under her and she was leaning slightly to the side.

Ellison had been too kind in his estimation. This wasn’t dark orange on the warning scale. This was early red at the very least.

“I almost died,” I said finally.

“We’re all dying, Matthias. Just a matter of time.”

No, I mean someone almost shot me.

But before I could get the words out, she spoke. “I need… to tell you something.”

This was irregular. Mom didn’t confide in me, wasn’t the type. And she was oddly lucid, for how far gone she sounded.

“How bad is it?” I asked.