Today is January 21st of the year 2088. I'm in a room right now. Or, to be more specific, the living room of my apartment. Above me is the faint hue of orange lights, and below is the cold touch of concrete. As of the moment, I'm on a simple wooden chair, possibly about to dig into noodles, possibly stuck in contemplation over something I don't quite understand.

"Hm."

My mind wanders off at this instant. For some reason, I feel drawn to the prospect of where I live and the environment around me. Something about listing off basic facts that helps one recollect themselves, I suppose.

In regards to that matter, I believe it needs to be said that I live on a street appropriately dubbed 'Buckfair Street'. 

It's nothing too special, really. I mean, it's located in a decent area of town. But, to be honest, almost everywhere here is 'decent.'

Kingsville isn't exactly the most fun place out there. Just another of the many towns built after the invasion and destruction of England. Because of its relative location and size, there isn't too much to do.

Just mounds to climb and a few hills to visit. 

To my knowledge, at the very minimum.

Now that something's changed, I seem to be feeling distinctly unsure of what I know, or who I am for that matter.

—How do I put this?

Let's start with a basic summary of who I am.

To be honest, I don't think I'm a terrible person. By conventional standard, I can be an arse, sure. I'm foul-mouthed, I get pissed pretty easily, and I may or may not have more than a slight inclination towards punching someone. But with that said, I'm not beyond moral virtue. I've pummelled my fair share of cunts, but that's the thing.

They're cunts I pummel. Not some defenceless infant at their mother's teat. No, I'm talking proper bastards that piss me right off, you know? This might seem like a bizarre thing to consider, so I'll just explain myself.

I'm trying to justify my existence.

Well, not so much in the philosophical sense of why I was born, but rather more along the lines of 'what is happening to me'.

Over the past few days, I have been awfully contemplative. For some strange reason, unknown to even myself, some degree of self-awareness has permeated my being.

That is to say, in addition to my typical depressed, angsty contemplation, I have considered a great many things of a more philosophical nature.

Whether it be the meaning of life, whether living is truly worth it, or if vampires are inherently more evil by virtue of sucking human blood.

Fuck me. That sounds awfully pretentious, doesn't it?

Usually, I'd agree. No bloody point in fucking about and crying about your own lack of accomplishment while simultaneously stroking yourself off to pseudo-intelligent babble, is there? But let me explain further. It was two days ago, when I returned from a routine night walk, that a sense of purpose came into me. If that sounds strange, it's because it damn well is. There was no bloody priest or monk to preach to me about life or anything. Just a sudden revelation, that's all.

Which, for me, is quite the sudden turn.

As someone who once lacked the motivation even to brush their teeth, suddenly being motivated to become better and kick the shit out of something is quite the divulgence.

To be honest, I'd given up on accomplishing anything about five years ago. When you live in a world full of demons, gods, cyborgs and reside in a country with the literal King Arthur ruling over it, you'll be damned if you didn't feel a little shite if you were just a normal civilian.

I mean, seriously. Am I not supposed to feel bad? You're telling me some cunt out there is born with the ability to jump twenty metres high, shoot fire out of a little stick, and I can't even punch a wall without breaking my hand?

Now, all this might seem terribly irrelevant, but there is actually a point. You see, right in front of me is a menu.

You know those annoying popups that appear on pornographic sites (not that I would know, I'm not a sexual degenerate) or on video games? Well, for some reason, one of them is floating in front of me right now. Some sort of rectangular blue square. Now, if I recall, I don't have implants in my eyes. I'm not one of those cyberdruggies. The type that replaces their flesh with prosthetics and whatnot? Yeah, no, not exactly my thing.

So, when it comes to why I have a menu telling me I have magic video game powers, it's either a case of me losing my mind or me just being some kind of chosen one. That isn't to say the latter possibility is certain, but I'm definitely tending towards it.

I mean, sudden self-awareness two days ago, desire for power mixed with magic powers out of nowhere? Save for the fact that it's right in the middle of me eating cup noodles; the whole thing is quite climatic.

At this point, I'm not quite sure how to react. So, being the curious bastard I am, I thrust my hand forward. The tip of my index finger touches the menu. There's a tangible feeling as a result. Like soft satin fabric rubbing against me. Meanwhile, the menu itself remains stationary.

It doesn't move.

It just stands there.

As I look on at the menu, the implications of what it really means gets to me.

What does that even mean? Do I have infinite stamina or something? Am I invincible? Can I just respawn? What type of video game character? I mean, fuck me. You could at least be a bit more specific. Fighting game characters function under a completely different set of guidelines than MMORPG ones, for instance, so for all I know, this information is all very useless.

Unless...

Wait. Actually, ah, fuck me. I'm dumb as shit. Chances are, it's an MMORPG character I have the power of. I mean, these sorts of menus seem to be quite popular within that genre. Probably.

Bollocks. I won't lie. There's a bit of irrational anger in me.

As things turn out, I'm still quite stupified by the whole ordeal and didn't stop to realise that 'further information is available in the stat menu' could suggest, just maybe, I should call upon the said menu instead of looking like a colossal turd sandwich.

Menu! I think to myself, realising I might just be losing my marbles. Stat menu. STAT. Status. Stat-uuuuuuuus. Gamer bod. Gamer body. FUCK.

"Menu!" I yell, "Stat menu. Stat. Status!"

The next second, a new menu appears. It's another blue box, though bigger than before. This time, it has my name, status, race and a series of five stats with numbers ascribed to them.

Health. Strength. Dexterity. Resistance. Defence.

Each one a attribute, and each one with a value ascribed to them, determing their power.

So, it's a bit like an RPG, then. Those types of games tend to have these numbers. From all the ten RPGs I played anyway. I'm no professional uber mega basement dwelling gamer, but I've had my fair share of experience.

With that out of the way, I end up clicking on the strength box to check what it entails.

Interesting. So, that's what it means. Well, I mean, that's pretty great if you ask me. Lifting 160KG is pretty fucking cool. If it's real that is. For all I know, this could still be a major prank. I mean, am I really supposed to believe that I just so happened to get special powers? The government could've put nanomachines in my water and fucked my brain sideways.

But what if they didn't?

You know, it's crazy to think. But maybe, just maybe, this is real. I mean, I might be going insane, but what if I'm not? Maybe I do have video game powers. I'm not sure how, or aware of what type of bullshittery got me this, but what if? Call me insane, but the prospect of power is too tempting. Maybe, just maybe, I can get something out off this. And maybe, I can actually become a legend.