The sight before him was enough to make even those of an iron constitution vomit, but somehow Stevo was able to hang on to his breakfast. On the blood-splattered ground lay the mutilated remains of a wild boar, which was being devoured by the strangest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. The size of a Great Dane, the monster closely resembled a Preying Mantis on steroids, and was a deep purple colour. Stevo backed slowly away into the copse of deciduous trees behind him, and retraced his steps until he reached the portal. He was fortunate that the mantis-beast was too distracted by it's meal to give chase. Stevo stepped through the shimmering disc and was back on his sofa.
It had all started for Stevo the previous Friday evening. Despite not being part of the ‘after work drinks brigade’ at the office, he’d been dragged along to the pub on this Friday afternoon, as it was Claire from the billing department’s 21st birthday. Though he would deny it if anyone asked, Stevo had a bit of a thing for the petit redhead, and was hoping to walk her home at the end of the night. Unfortunately, when the group arrived at the pub (The Wig and Pen, on the corner near the bank), Clare was enthusiastically met by Damian, a rugby player with a square jaw, a shaved head and biceps the size of Stevo’s Mini Cooper. After a couple of rounds, bottles of some fancy microbrewery IPA for Damian, Prosecco for Claire, the birthday girl left with her sack of muscles. She was soon followed by most of the others from the office. Stevo found himself alone at a table strewn with empty glasses and crumpled crisp packets. The volume of the jukebox lowered for a moment, and the slightly boss-eyed Barman called Last Orders. Stevo finished his Stella (his 6th? He wasn’t too sure.) and started walking home. His Mini would spend the night parked at the office, he’d walk over and collect it sometime the next day.
It was about a ten minute walk from The Wig and Pen to Stevo’s flat, and less than a minute into it the first throaty rumble of thunder rattled the sash windows in the Victorian houses along Pickford Avenue. By the time he reached the junction of Gordon Crescent, the rain had begun falling, leaving Stevo in the unenviable position of being both drunk, and also soaked to the bone by the freezing rain. After a struggle with chilled fingers to unlock the door, Stevo took a few unsteady steps into his flat, peeled off his sodden clothing and collapsed on the sofa. Snoring started within seconds.
Civilization will fall. Earn the skills to build a society.
Stevo awoke with a start. Civilization will fall. Earn the skills to build a society.
Why was this phrase stuck in his head? Why did he have such a throbbing headache? Why was he still wearing one damp and pungent sock?
At some point in the night, he had managed to drag himself from the sofa, past the bathroom, and into his bedroom. A small blessing, as a previous experience of sleeping on the sofa had left him with a sore neck and difficulty turning his head the following day.
Civilization will fall. Earn the skills to build a society.
Then Stevo remembered the voice. It was a unique voice, in that it sounded like dozens of people all saying the same thing at once, but not entirely in unison. In one moment a young women's voice would be to the fore, a fraction later, an American with a distinctive drawl, then the soft speech of a child, the voices rising to prominence then falling back into the crowd within a single word.
The voice spoke to him during his dream. Was it a dream? The voice told him he was one of a chosen few who would be the nucleus of a new society. He would be given training, he would earn new abilities. There would be danger, pain and sacrifice, but he would prevail. As insane as it seemed, Stevo somehow believed the voice. It just seemed right.
If he concentrated just so, yes, there it is, with his eyes closed and a thought, he could see a status screen and menu, similar to the video games he enjoyed, just as the voice told him. So it was real!
A hot shower, then a walk to the greasy spoon on the corner for something to line his stomach and chase away the hangover. Next pick up his car and then back home to see what he could do. Stevo had a plan.
On the rare occasions that Stevo would go drinking on a Friday night, a trip to Sally's cafe the following day inevitably followed. A large mug of hot sweet tea, 3 slices of scrambled eggs on toast, with a couple of rashers of bacon on the side and a generous squirt of Brown Sauce, would generally ease the after effects of the previous night's beer.
Whilst waiting for his order, he grabbed one of the daily tabloids from the wire rack by the door, and started reading. A quick glance at the front page headline, an aging seventies TV presenter accused of being “handsy” with a young waitress at an awards gala, then he jumped to the back page to check the football news. United lost again, Liverpool won again, Everton won for a change, and Spurs threw away a two goal lead and lost at home to Norwich City. The usual stuff.
The food came, and rapidly disappeared. Stevo paid the bill, a tenner, “Keep the change love”, and then he was off to retrieve his Mini. The walk to the office and the drive home were relatively uneventful. By 2.30 he was at home, the front door locked, and the curtains closed, whilst he sat on the sofa to figure out how this “training” would work.
Stevo closed his eyes and brought up the menu screen in his vision. The first option he saw was a “status” screen, which he “clicked on” with a thought.
Stevo. (Citizen)
Level 0
Experience (xp) 0/50
Intelligence 12
Strength 12
Stamina 10
Agility / Dexterity 11
Health 46/50 (regenerating)
Stevo guessed that his bout of drinking had caused his health to drop, and the slight remains of his hangover were reflected in his current score. This would mean his rare trips to the pub would have to become even more infrequent going forward if he wanted to maximise his abilities in the future.
Below his status was a link to his inventory and a basic store page. Stevo was interested to see that he already had a few items:
Basic canvas shorts, basic cloth shirt, leather sandals, simple backpack, wooden club.
The clothes were exactly as described, a dirty beige colour, and entirely unremarkable. When he examined the backpack, the description stated that it was a simple backpack, capable of holding 5 small items. The wooden club was as low-tech as a weapon could be, essentially a slightly heavier baseball bat, the handle bound with string for grip. Stevo wasn't really convinced by it, thinking he'd replace it with something better at the first opportunity.
The store page was next, and Stevo was surprised to see that he had a little money. He apparently had 3 silver pieces. Although he wasn't sure how he knew this, he was aware that ten copper pieces were worth one silver piece, and ten silver pieces were worth a gold piece.
There was little for sale, hopefully there would be better trading options whilst taking part in the missions, quests or whatever they were called.
Amongst the items available, the one that stood out was the Gladius. He'd always been interested in history, and knew that this was a short sword used by the Romans. It was good at both slashing and stabbing. A definite upgrade on the club, it would cost 5 silver pieces. Stevo could sell the club for a pitiful 3 copper, which wouldn't help, and seemed a bit stingy. He would have to wait for now.
The next option he selected was “training”, which brought up several choices on what appeared to be a “mission selection” screen. There was a difficulty slider, which Stevo left at “minimum”, a reward slider, which offered the choice between wealth or knowledge, he kept this this one centered, and a “search” button, which when clicked, brought up two choices:
Option 1. Deliver a small package to the inn in Drebun. Danger: minimal. Reward: 20xp, 1 silver piece.
Option 2. Wild Boar have been damaging crops around Drebun, Kill 2 wild boar in this area. Danger: some risk. Reward: 30xp, 1 silver piece, 3 copper pieces.
A first glance, option two seemed like a bad idea, the thought of trying to batter a wild boar to death with a slightly oversized baseball bat didn't appeal at all! Those piggies were dangerous! Option one seemed a far better bet, even though the rewards were lower, the risk was described as minimal. Admittedly, Stevo had played enough games to know that simple delivery missions rarely went off without a hitch... There was of course a third option, he could do nothing. He could sit back, watch the world burn, and not get involved. For all Stevo knew, this whole thing could be nonsense. Aliens pranking the stupid human perhaps?
There was certainly nothing to lose by sleeping on it. Making a decision without a hangover seemed like a good idea. So that was what Stevo did. He ordered a pizza (pepperoni) and did a load of laundry whilst waiting for the delivery. Then he pigged out whilst watching Star Wars, and went to bed.
