Jonathan, as a good, upstanding citizen, had an obligation to undergo Dungeon Duty. What was Dungeon Duty? Well, it was kinda like jury duty, except you were the criminal, and everybody else would be looking to see if a rare or powerful class popped out of your ass.

Unlike many others his age, Jonathan had no interest in dungeons. He didn’t care about classes, levels, or stats. He just wanted to live a quiet, peaceful life reading books, watching movies, and eating delicious food. Of course, his plans had gone to shit once dungeons and monsters started appearing in the world, but he never lost hope that society would once again transform back into the boring, peace-loving, nerd-infested sanctuary that it had been.

In recent years, however, that goal seemed to be getting farther and farther away. The dungeon problem was getting worse, not better. More and more outbreaks were happening, at a faster pace, and the existing number of Dungeoneers seemed not able to handle it all. Thus, people of all ages were now obligated to undergo testing, to see if they had a rare [Class] that might turn the tides of battle.

Jonathan had pushed off his assessment date as far as he could. But the Dungeon Association had now put its foot down, mailing a letter stating quite sternly that as a healthy, able-bodied male of 25-years old, he needed to fulfill his obligations like everyone else.

For a moment, he had contemplated running away to Canada. Then he remembered that Canada no longer existed. It had long been taken over by a Dungeon Outbreak involving an army of [Mutant Geese] and [Maple Syrup Slimes].

With no other options available, Jonathan had made his way to the Dungeon Association Office on a cloudy Wednesday morning.

“Name?” the lady at the front desk asked him.

“Jonathan Gabriel Vincent.”

“Here’s your number. Please enter the room on your right when called.”

Barely a minute passed before his number was called. His butt hadn’t even warmed the seat yet. He entered the room and was escorted down a long hallway by a man in a trenchcoat, leading to a pair of heavy-duty, triple-reinforced, bulkhead doors. The man escorting him swiped a card across the access pad on the side; the doors gave a hiss and opened to reveal a clinically-white interior, completely empty except for a strange, bright crystal hovering in the middle of the room.

“Go on ahead,” the man said. “Further instructions will be given prior to your assessment.”

Jonathan entered the room, and tried not to look too closely at the strange crystal that was his only roommate at the moment. Somehow he knew that it would be involved in deciding his fate, like a less interesting Sorting Hat from Harry Potter. Please not a rare class, please not a rare class, he prayed silently. After a couple seconds of silence, a voice echoed through the intercom.

“Jonathan Gabriel Vincent.”

“Yes?”

“Is that your name?”

“Yes.”

“Is XXXXXXXX your current address?”

“Yes.”

“Have you subscribed to our mailing list for the latest updates, hottest deals, and coolest new gadgets and toys?”

“What?”

“Oh sorry. That was uh… that was for something else.” He could hear papers being shuffled, and a throat being cleared. “Continuing on… I would like to ask you some questions regarding your medical history.”

“Okay.”

“Are you currently taking any prescription medications?”

“No.”

“Do you have a family history of heart disease, high blood pressure, asthma or allergies of any kind?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Excellent. That’s insurance taken care of. Please take a step forwards.”

Jonathan didn’t obey immediately. The insurance part threw him a little.

“Wait. What’s about to happen to me?”

“Nothing, if everything goes to plan.”

“What does that mean?”

“Relax. It’s no big deal. We’re just going to have you touch the Dungeon Crystal in front of you, see how it reacts, and analyze the results.”

Numerous scenarios starting rushing through Jonathan’s mind, none of them good. “Oh my god. Is that why its glowing? It’s radioactive, isn’t it? Just like Chernobyl. What did they call it? Elephant’s Foot? How long have I been exposed? Am I going to die? You god-damned government bastards! I knew you would pull some shit like this! Making mutants and shit in your underground labs! I ain’t your god-damned guinea pig. I bet all this Dungeon-crap isn’t even real, just a coverup for one of your fucked up government experiments—”

“Mr. Vincent! That crystal is not radioactive! And the mutant experiments aren’t even hosted here, they’re all the way down in Florida—”

The voice was abruptly cut short. A few, awkward moments passed before the intercom started up again. The voice that spoke to him this time was female.

“Sorry about that… ehm … experiencing some… technical difficulties.”

“Are you serious? I’m not an idiot. I can tell what just happened.”

Silence.

“So, mutant experiments in Florida, huh?”

“Mr. Vincent, please proceed with your assessment.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Mr. Vincent, the fate of the world depends on it. Dungeons, unfortunately, are a very real and and present threat. Each day, despite our best efforts, we inch closer and closer to complete and total annihilation. Without your help, it is conceivable that—”

“Is that… are you quoting a line from a movie?”

“No.”

“That sounds like something from a movie.”

“It’s not. Please continue with your assessment.”

“If I say no, are you going to let me out of here?”

“No.”

Jonathan looked around.  There was no way he was breaking out through the layers of reinforced concrete or the bulkhead doors that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie anytime soon. His stomach gurgled. He just realized how hungry he was, having skipped breakfast because he thought that there might be a complimentary lunch of some sort.

“Fine. I’ll do it. On one condition.”

“What?”

“I want a free meal.”

“Best we can do is two free donut vouchers.”

“I’ll take it. ”

With a sigh, Jonathan walked back to the glowing, floaty crystal in the middle of the room. The lady on the intercom ran him through on what to do.

“Now, using your right hand, reach out and touch the crystal, ensuring that you maintain sufficient contact with your palm and index finger. Hold this position and count down from ten.”

Slightly nervous, Jonathan swallowed what little spittle he could muster and followed the instructions. He flinched as his hand made contact with the crystal. Huh. That wasn’t so bad. Just kinda warm, like fondling a Rubik’s cube that had been sat out in the sun for a bit. He began counting down.

Ten Mississippi. Nine Mississippi. Eight Mississippi. Seven. Six…

At first he felt nothing. Then there was a jolt, like he had been struck by lighting. “Ahhhhhhh!” he screamed, before realizing it didn’t hurt.

“Good job. Now stand pat, we’re analyzing the results.”

As he waited, he noticed something happening in his body. First was the heat. He felt a tremendous heat, starting from the spot where he had touched the crystal, spreading to his fingers, his limbs, his chest and his head. It was to such an extent that he wanted to strip off all his clothes, before remembering that there was a woman watching him at the moment, and he wasn’t exactly in the best shape of his life.

That heat turned to sweating, and then blurred vision. He began to wonder if those two free donuts were going to be worth it.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

 

| Congratulations, you have obtained the S-tier rare class, [Overlord]!

 

The line of text suddenly appeared in the middle of his vision like some intrusive pop-up ad, complete with a ding! sound.

“What the hell is this?” he shouted.

“I can’t believe it,” the voice from the intercom said. “An actual S-tier class. For the first time in history. Hold still, Mr. Vincent, we’re running through the simulations now.”

More time passed. Jonathan wondered if he had accidentally been duped into becoming a test subject for some highly-intrusive social media technology meant to beam advertising directly into his head.

“That’s weird…” the voice was back, and sounded disappointed this time. “An S-tier class, but why is the combat ability so low?”

“Miss… can you tell me what’s going on? Why am I seeing and hearing things now? How much LSD did you guys pump me with?”

“That’s just what happens when you obtain a [Class] Mr. Vincent. No LSD required… god knows how expensive that is these days. Alright, work with me here—can you try thinking… Status?”

“Status?” As soon as those words entered his mind, a screen of some sort appeared in front of his eyes. “Oh my god. Do you know how dangerous that is? What if I was driving?”

“Please read out what it says under Attributes.”

“Attributes… attributes… ah, here it is,” Jonathan muttered. “Strength: 1. Agility: 1. Stamina: 1. Intelligence:1. Wisdom: 1. It’s all 1. What do all these things mean?”

“It can’t be…” the voice sounded desperate now. “What about the next section?”

“Physical Damage: 1. Spell Damage: 1. Defense: 1. HP: 10. MP: 10. Dodge: 0%. Block: 0%. Health Regen: 1. Mana Regen: 1.”

Stunned silence followed his words. The voice sounded very close to crying. “The computer wasn’t wrong. Everything it showed was correct… an S-tier class with no combat ability…”

“Is that… is that bad?” Jonathan asked gingerly.

There was no response.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

The intercom started again. This time it was an automated message. “Thank you for completing your Dungeon Duty assessment. Results will be mailed to you within the next 5-7 business days, along with next steps. Please collect any and all articles of clothing and valuables you may have dropped during the process; the Dungeon Association is not responsible for any loss of items incurred on its premises. Have a nice day!”

“That was weird…” Jonathan said, before suddenly remembering something important. “Hey! What about my donut vouchers?!”