“Uuuuggghhh,” I groaned, slumping further into my desk chair.

Pokle stuck her bright-blonde head into my office space with a mix of concern and humor. “You finally a zombie, boss, or do you want me to go get another course of curatives?” she asked, half-joking and half-serious.

“‘Mfine, I’ll get better eventually.” I took a drink of the overly sweet tea. “How’s the restackin’ of m’schedule goin’?”

“I got you a week. If the Prairieton job is willing to get bumped, that’ll be two weeks.”

I offered a meek thumbs-up. “Great, keep at it.”

Three days out from the mechapedes job and I still wasn’t feeling any better. Next time someone tells me about a medically-necessary curse, I think I’ll just die instead. I took a deep breath and contemplated drinking myself into a stupor, which would only be about three drinks. I laid forward and rested my head on my folded arms. I would have napped if I didn’t feel like a walking talking sack of crap. Instead, I stared out the window.

The denizens of Nassur passed by, each offering hints of their activities and purpose in life. One wore clothes caked in pale dust, he carried baskets of bread with a degree of urgency. A mother walked her with her child, both working hard to carry a long roll of fabric, the mother looped her arm around it while the daughter placed it on her shoulder.

And then, a dark-skinned fellow in light armor walked into my view. He was gawking upward, obviously at my tacky sign. His mouth was agape as his brow and nose were scrunched hilariously.

Suddenly, it clicked. My energy rushed back in a manner that I knew I would repay later. I sprang from my chair and half-sprinted through the office space. I burst out the front door and saw him, still completely dumbstruck by my sign. I cupped my hands around my mouth to shout.

“TRUCK! LOOK OUT!”

Boy, did he jump. He looked all around and didn’t see a truck anywhere. Not that he could, they didn’t exist around these parts. In the absence of a threat he looked at me, first with anger, and then, he began to wonder. He stepped on over to me.

“Are you…?” he started, not quite knowing how to articulate the somewhat complex conundrums attached to his new circumstances.

“From Earth? Yup. First lesson: If someone around here is from Earth, they got sent here via truck. No. Exceptions.” He honestly looked more lost. I couldn’t blame him, the first few months were whack as fuck for everyone. “C’mon inside! I’ll tell you what’s up around here.”

I ushered him into my business and he followed quietly. He still had that starry-eyed look of wonder that hid under the thick layer of ‘what the fuck?’. We made it to my office and he sat across from me.

I offered a handshake first. “I’m Dennis.”

He accepted the shake after a moment. “Cameron, or, Cam.”

His voice was good and smooth. I had him pegged at around 18 or 19 years old. “Nice to meet you, Cameron. I’ve been here a few years, so I’ll be happy to answer your questions. You got some questions, doncha?”

The poorly-maintained calm demeanor he projected instantly shattered as he started off on a rant in the blink of an eye. “Fuck yeah I do! I get pancaked by a garbage truck and wake up in a room with a goddess on her throne like all the crappy animes? Really? And why is it a fantasy world so generic I can taste the vanilla beans from a mile away? And why are your lips purple?” he finished with a voice crack.

I nodded slowly, reminiscing back to when I had many of the same questions and nobody to answer them. “Alright, so, in order: Yes, truck-pancakes, goddess, pick-a-perk, boom. I hope you chose a good one by the way–”

“Celestial Fortitude.”

“Oh good, that’s a nice one. Really scales up well. Anyway, yeah, this is that one generic fantasy world. I mean, have you seen a bird’s eye view of this town?”

He shook his head and slowly realized. “Oh. My. God. No, you can’t be serious.”

“Orange roofs.”

“No.”

“A river running through it.”

“Please.”

“And a circular wall around it.”

Cameron buried his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth. His chest rose with a great big sigh.

“Aaaaaand my lips are purple cuz I got a curse. Half my blood is blue right now.”

“Oh, well, duh,” he spouted sarcastically. He gathered himself a moment later, sighing. “How did you even know I’m from Earth?”

“It’s cuz you’re black.”

Cameron’s jaw hit the floor as he first appeared angry, then slowly turned thoughtful. “I can’t even be mad, you’re right! Everhere I've been is white as shit!”

“Whiter than 1604 London!” I added.

Liking the game, he countered with “Whiter than a snowy Christmas morning!”

“Whiter than a blizzard in ant-fuckin-arctica!”

He raised a finger, then tapped his chin. “Man… I can’t think of anything whiter than that. Is there really no melanin to go around?”

I leaned back in my chair. “Nah there’s, like, these guys from way off in the desert. Turbans, goggles, lotsa face coverings. They’re black under all that fabric. OH and basically any group of note has one black dude. Us Gods’ Chosen—which is everyone from Earth—have tried to figure out where they come from, but they just kinda… figuratively appear out of thin air.”

A frown grew across his face. “Sounds like tokenism to me...”

“S’cuz it is, at least from what we can tell. Anyway, I was about to get lunch. Want to come along? I’m paying, and I bet you’re tired of whatever rations you started with.”

He put his hands together. “Please, man. Anything but bread and hard cheese.”

……

I leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden restaurant chair. “And that’s the jist of the leveling system. You should be able to put a build together for yourself pretty quick, but there is a ‘respec’ service of sorts over in the adventurers’ guilds… if you can afford it.”

Cameron nodded along. “Huh, alright, it’s like… what’s it my brother played… FF 14?”

“Yeah a bit, but standardized items are less common than custom stuff. You’ll figure it out.”

The barmaid came to our table and placed down two tankards for us. I thanked her and she gave that same seductive wink that everyone got and nobody had a hope of cashing in on. Cameron stared a little bit too long as she walked away.

“Do all the women dress like that?” he asked in a hush.

I leaned forward. “I wouldn’t call it streetwear, but kinda, yeah. Skimpy is way too common. Watch out though, you can get your ass whooped all the same if you touch.”

“Just like home,” Cameron said as he took a swig. He plonked down the tankard. “Holy shit, speaking of home, is this really mountain d–”

“Not really. I had them recreate the taste as best they could. This one will get you drunk!”

He looked back and forth. “Really? I’m not old enough to drink,” he whispered.

I chuckled. “Relaaaax. Legal booze age here is ten.”

……

Cameron peered suspiciously at me. “Are you sure you didn’t pick this place because of me?”

I bit into my chicken drumstick, which so-happened to have been breaded and fried. “Pretty damn sure.”

“Come on, man, it’s fried chicken, of course you brought me here on purpose!”

After chewing, I wiped some grease from my lips. “Look, man, curse-induced cravings are something else. I don’t care what you think, I want my chicken.”

Unconvinced, he plucked a piece from his plate and cautiously nipped a piece off it. He froze up as his expression melted away under the experience of actual food for the first time in days. Timidness was forgotten as he started to eat in earnest.

Cameron paused to address me. “Alright, I see watchu mean. I’d crave it.”

……

I felt bloated as I stepped along the streets in the early afternoon sun, followed by Cameron. He was on the tail end of his talk about mathematics, which was his favorite subject and prospective goal for college. I tried to listen, I really did, but math was not my strong suit once those damn letters showed up. I was half asleep when he asked the magic question.

“So what about you? Five years you said it was, since you came here. What have you been doing?”

Oh yeah, I only said five years. “Pest control,” I answered bluntly.

Cameron furrowed his brow. “Really? You’ve been talking like you’re… an adventurer or something.”

I looked both ways for carts (then up, just in case) before crossing the road. “Nope. I took one look at the monsters and went ‘fuck that’. Instead, I worked with a wizard to make something like phones and used my cut of the profits to fund the business… and nab some nice magic items.”

“Magic items? All I got was this bag that holds a good bit of stuff. The sword and armor that goddess gave me are plain as hell.”

I snorted, then looked at him with a smile before continuing. “Anyway, my effort to avoid monsters only lasted so long. After all, they’re the pests in this world a lot of the time. Rats and other small stuff are worth a tiny bit of XP, but it accumulates over time. Every milestone of power I had was another bunch of critters I put on the list. Now I can handle most everything this world considers a ‘pest’.”

“Mmhmm. And where does the curse come in?”

“Oh, that. Well, my last job dealt with self-replicating mechanical centipedes… with lasers.”

He tilted his head down. “With lasers?”

“Ayup. Frickin' laser beams. They were also venomous and produced landmines, or, close approximations. I think it was actually their poo. Anyway, the venom and mines did the same thing: Malignant copper poisoning. After I cleared the ‘pedes up, the cultists that hired me used a curse to turn the magical copper into hemocyanin that will slowly purge from my body.”

Cameron raised a finger with a confused frown. “I have several questions.” I welcomed his inquiry with a wave, so he continued. “For starters, cultists? Aren’t those bad guys?”

“Oh, totally. But pests are pests and that’s what I remove, as long as I’m paid. They also happen to be stacked cash-wise, so I don’t mind.” I shrugged.

“Okay, I see you. Now, hemocyanin… how does that work? Shouldn’t it be incompatible with your body? It’s not even proper blood, from what I remember.”

I offered a more serious expression. “Look, man, I’m alive and I won’t question it. If you’re annoyed that it shouldn’t work, just imagine that there is this extra element that helps the process work smoothly: Handwavium.”

His eyes rolled hard as he shook his head, muttering about stupid shit. I took the chance to build further on his image of the world.

“Hey, if that’s dumb and confusing, just wait until you see half the contrivances in the alchemy system!”

Cameron sighed. “I guess so. New world, new rules.” He fell silent for a long time. “And uh… last question. How… big were those… centipedes…” he asked while suppressing a shudder.

I held my hands about three feet apart.

“THAT LONG?” he cried.

“Pffft, nah. That wide.”

……

I staggered back into my office, utterly drained after acting functional for all of an hour. Cameron was a nice dude. Likes math, anime, and hockey-despite coming from Cleveland (at least it’s not Detroit). I’d bought him five nights at… a nice inn that I crashed at a few times in my early months. We would be meeting again tomorrow as well…

“Hey, boss, Prairieton says ‘fuck no’ and to ‘get here sooner, if possible',” Pokle added whilst sticking her head in my door again.

My chair called to me as I sat down before leaning over and resting my head in my arms. “Mmmm, great. Tell ‘em I’m very busy with other jobs. Anyone call for me while I was out?”

“Nope.”

“Cool. ‘N please let Greesley know I’ll have to push back ‘is volcano rod training.”

She looked fake-sad. “Aww, again? He’ll be so disappointed.”

I sniffled aggressively. “Life’s ‘nfair! Sometimes we want sum’n but we just don’t get it, and it ain’t our fault. Sometimes the dungeon treasury’s already been cleaned out. Sometimes that shiny magic sword y’were savin’ for got bought right before you made your move. And sometimes your mentor just-so-happens to come down with a medically-necessary curse that makes them feel like ass after a BBC marathon! And I’m not talkin’ Bri’ish Braudcastin’ Comp’ny.”

Pokle shook her head. “Alright, you’re in a mood again. I’ll wake you up if anything or anyone is on fire.”

“Thank you,” I said, sticking out another thumbs up without lifting my head.

……

“Ooh, the sack? Come to send another spry young lad into the real world?” asked Armorer Morrison as he entered the lobby of the Black Saphire Guild’s training facility.

“Yyyyup,” I responded flatly from my chair, saving all the energy I could for that one functional hour.

The smug, bearded armorer stopped beside me, stroking his luscious facial hair. “And will this bright-faced lad heed your sage advice?”

I shrugged. “Probably. He likes math, and so I think he’ll understand mass times acceleration as applied to varying surface areas of materials with differing hardnesses.”

Morrison’s smugness vanished as he paused. “Err, come again?”

Deadpan, I looked him in the eye. “Hit thing: Very good. Hit thing just right: More gooder. Know the process of determining how to hit thing just right? Bestest.”

He looked slightly insulted. “So… you meant to say that he is the latter of those examples.”

“I think so.”

At that moment, the door swung open and Cameron waltzed in. “Yo, Dennis!” he half-shouted.

I responded with the whitest, most stoner-like “Yo, dude” I could muster, which made Cameron laugh.

He looked around, taking in the sights as Morrison politely departed. He approached me with newfound vim, like someone had told him everything would be alright. It wasn’t me, I swear.

“So this is the gym?” he asked, casually looking at the training equipment strewn all about.

I bobbed my head side to side. “More or less. Add a little extra bonk to it and I think you’re about there. Come on, I rented a training space for us.”

We moved over to said training space. It was a bit like a dojo, but with some decent padding and a conspicuous suit of plate armor in the center that was standing on its own two feet. I set the sack down on a table and guided Cameron to the suit of armor.

“Cameron, meet your training dummy for today: A plate golem I nicknamed ‘Skelly’. Go on, shake his hand.”

Slightly put off, Cameron extended a handshake. The golem mirrored it until they were close, then yanked its hand away and flipped Cameron the bird. He looked miffed as he turned around.

I clapped my hands together. “Now that we’ve established this guy is a dick, let’s see about beating the crap out of him. Show me that sword!”

Cameron drew his arming sword, one of the three starting weapons that could be chosen. His confidence was so adorably unjustified.

……

I used a little magic to make three chunks of ice for Cameron’s drink. He was drenched in sweat and exhausted, so a cold one was just what he needed.

“Swords fucking suck,” he groaned.

I patted him on the back. “And that’s lesson one for today!” I declared. “Swords are specially made for lightly or entirely unarmored opponents. It’ll carry you through goblins, rats, bandits, and maybe some giant bugs, but plate?”

I gestured to the golem, who only had a single new dent in its pauldron. Cameron nodded with a degree of frustration. “So… what’s the second lesson? Gonna teach me how to use a sword right?”

“Totally!” I said, getting up from my chair and dragging over a barrel of damaged training weapons. “Just chuck it in the bin.”

We were both still for a moment until I laughed. “Okay, not really. Instead, think of that sword as a sidearm.” I unstrung the sack. “And allow me to present: Your first primary weapon.”

With dramatic flair, I pulled a sickle-back war hammer from the sack (think bec de corbin, but one handed and only has the one spike on the back for reduced self-stabbing). “Who needs edge alignment and to target weak spots when you can hulk smash your foe into oblivion?”

Cameron suddenly looked quite interested as I handed him the weapon. He inspected it closely, feeling the sturdiness of the handle and the comfort of the grip. The frontal hammer was shaped into a dull diamond-like point, and the sharp bit on the back was the namesake: A slightly curved and exceptionally thick blade. It was meant to punch clean-through plate.

“Now, take this rejuvenation brew and go show that mithril bastard what-for!”

He stood up, then paused. “Wait, mithril? That’s why he’s so tough!”

I chuckled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Lesson three: ‘Mithril’ is shit. It’s just enchanted aluminum.”

Cameron had an ‘:o’ face that quickly turned to a devilish grin as he approached the golem menacingly. The armor’s confident posture was—all of a sudden—not quite so sure.

……

I flinched between the final bashings. Cameron had, evidently, found the outlet for all his aggression, frustration, and fear born from being unceremoniously dumped (via garbage truck) into a new world. The last, perforating strike to the helmet punched a hole right through and caused the golem to fall apart. He yanked the hammer from the helm and strutted back over to me with a swagger in his step. I gave some soft applause for the show.

“Now that is a weapon!” he commented while feeling up the hammer.

“That it is. But it’s but one part of a complete breakfast.” I pulled a somewhat large buckler from the sack. “You at least need a plate, no?”

He shook his head at the pun, accepting the armament as I stood up. “Now, grab a stick, it’s time for lesson four.”

Moments later, we stood in the ring. Cameron looked confident but concerned. Were we back home, I would have turned and sprinted in the opposite direction at the sight of his muscles. However, we were not back home. The golem had stopped fixing its dents to watch us intently.

A mirror match: One buckler, and one stick for each of us. A battle to the death*. (*Submission due to excessive pain from being whacked.) I knew what he was going to do. Newbies always started with the same offensive. The self-ringing gong struck and we both moved forward.

Cameron swung for my face. I blocked with the buckler and stabbed for his gut. The wood clacked together as he barely deflected with his own shield. He reared back to swing again and I punched his wrist with the edge of the buckler before smacking him hard across the shins with my stick. The pain caught him off guard and I took the opportunity to jab him twice in the belly. Then his buckler came crashing into my cheek in a backhand blow and we separated.

I sprung back and panted, trying my hardest to ignore how ill I felt. Cameron was kneeling to take some pain off his poor shins.

“Damn, you’re fucking fast,” he wheezed out. I could tell from his voice that I poked a kidney or something equally painful.

“Y’done?”

He tried to look proud and tough. “No, I’m–”

My stick sailed through the air and slammed into his chin, ringing his bell but good. I silently commended myself for a good throw as he toppled over from his interrupted attempt to stand.

“I’m done,” he answered, sprawled across the floor.

I went and helped him up, then we split a lesser healing potion 70-30. I took him back to the bench and we both nearly collapsed onto it.

“Lesson number four: Speedy opponents suck, and so do ranged ones.”

He rubbed his chin. “And how will I handle them, sensei,” he asked sarcastically.

“For speed, training and skill. You’ll get faster as time goes on. Range is more nuanced. You could pick up a bow, use a magic item, or boost up your defense to the point where ranged attacks just tickle.”

Cameron scrunched his brow. “No specific solution in that bag?”

“Nope, but the rest is all for you.”

I reached inside and nabbed the remaining contents: A lesser extradimensional bag, a nice belt with lots of pouches and a potion holster, a bundle of healing potions, a generic starter pack of adventuring supplies, and tickets redeemable for two outfits and one pair of quality boots. (Custom-tailored!)

He accepted them happily, but there was a note of disappointment. “Aren’t you like, way high level? Couldn’t you spare like, a magic blast-o-matic or something?”

I sighed, looking off into the nonexistent distance. “I used to do that. I gave some Gods’ Chosen some much stronger starting kits. Powerful magic items and durable armor.”

“And?”

“Well, they grew reliant on them and solved nearly every issue with their equipment. And then, one day they lost some. For one it was stolen, another lost in an avalanche, a third entered a no-gear trial in a dungeon. Without their crutches, they were defenseless. They died.”

“Oh, shit. And that goddess said there ain’t a next world.”

I nodded wistfully. “Ayup. You’ll take this practical, effective starter kit out into the world, finding newer and better equipment over time. You will grow to understand Nassur, its denizens, and—most importantly—yourself as you make the most of the extended lifetime we all get.

“Lesson number five: Anything can be lost, the only thing you will always have is yourself. That is where you should place the most reliance.” I looked Cameron in the eye. “But not even that is guaranteed to you. If you can’t find happiness here, something to satisfy your urge to exist and participate in life… you can lose yourself too.”