He looked at his notes to see what was next.

Production…crafting. If he could get his shadow stuff to a high enough level that it wouldn’t turn to sludge, he could start fashioning plastic items. Eric had said the tires outside had been made by a [SHAMAN OF SHADOWS], but he had said they were made from carbon, not rubber, and that it was done with the aid of an [ELEMENTALIST]. Something he would have to ask Eric more about. But the main point was that he needed to train his skills. He just had to figure out a good way to do it as he no longer had rats to attack, and he didn’t know if non-violent uses counted towards training or not.

Moving on. Next was…info. Information.

Information usually covered newspapers, libraries, internet, spies…and that was what he was doing now, gathering it, processing it, forgetting it…he already tried talking to all the people present in the town, including the locals, but to no avail. His only choice was to wait for the other recruiters to arrive and hope that they were willing to talk to him at all, let alone be able to provide new information. He, of course, could use Her Majesty to spy on people, but that had two problems. The first being magic, or skills for detection; Goodie doubted it would go over well if he was caught peeping on people. The second being language; while he knew a few words in the local tongue, yes, no…kill him; he was far from being able to hold a conversation with anyone.

And then there was culture. From art to entertainment and politics to religion. All the people stuff. He wasn’t sure he wanted to contemplate this topic as he was certain it would all end badly for him. And he had neither the taste or imagination for art, but while he didn’t really know art from a pretty picture, he knew it generally dealt with the expression of ideas and questioning of the established order. Things that could rile-up the wrong sort of people.

Religion and politics, the same thing as far as he was concerned, was already a no-go for him.

And entertainment? He already felt like a fool, like he was the butt of some cosmic joke that everyone but he was in on. Besides, what would he do? He wasn’t fit enough to dance, he had neither the voice or memory for songs, and musical instruments for him were up there with rocket science and quantum physics.

He moved on as the next two categories were the most important or at least he felt that they were.

Health and safety.

Most games would usually unite them into one category, but he didn’t know if he could simplify things like that, after all, his life wasn’t a game. While there was some crossover, health mainly concerned the internal, such as disease and injury, while safety could be anything external, from fighting crime or fire to sanitation.

He sighed as he leaned back, lifting his head to stare out the skylight while he thought about how to handle his health and safety.

Firefighting wouldn’t be too much of a problem as the gaseous form of his shadow stuff that he had used to suffocate the rats back in the city, could also be used to deprive a fire of oxygen. His only concern was that out here in the open and windy forest, a fire could grow to a raging inferno. Something he could do little to combat.

Of course, he had never actually tested to see how much of his shadow stuff he could summon at once. It was always on his to-do list, but he was just too much of a lazy shit to get round to it. If he could summon enough shadow stuff at once…and maybe if converted it to a liquid or semi-liquid form, he would have better results? Something he would have to test. And something he would probably leave to the last moment.

He needed to start getting off his arse and do shit, he couldn’t let his life be led by others anymore.

Thankfully, he already had sanitation dealt with. Sort of.

When he had first started playing with [SUMMON SHADOW STUFF], the first thing he had tried to do was create body armour. While he had technically succeeded, the armour had turned to sludge when he later took it into the sewers. While the city had plumbing, few but the richest of its residents could enjoy warmed water and even at the height of his career as an exterminator, he was nowhere near to being one of them, so he had to resort to cold showers or bird bathing with a cloth and basin. While not rank, his body odour had become…noticeable, but after he had finished peeling the remnants of his armour from his skin, its presence lessened significantly. The fact that he could notice this effect while in a sewer should testify to how noticeable it was.

Further refinement of the process had him summoning a sort of latex bodysuit each morning, he didn’t know if it was because it came through the skin, or from under the skin, or from his skin, but the process of removing it left him relatively clean. He still washed of course, but the soap was expensive and water a bitch to gather without the city’s infrastructure.

Crime was something far more concerning to him though. While he had Her Majesty to keep watch at night while he slept, he would be able to do very little to deter people from taking his stuff, especially if they came for it in numbers. This was especially true if, instead of his belongings, they intended to harm him.

The consequences of that latter scenario would fall directly into the health and safety category.

At the moment, there was little to nothing he could do to address the possibility of this happening outside of hoping that it just wouldn’t happen. He had a number of one-off heal spells from his sacrifices over the last year, but without the hordes of rats to exploit, that number had become finite, a valued resource that he would be a fool to waste. So, what else?

There was the classic strategy of buying potions in bulk and drinking one's way to success. But aside from the toxicity effect of drinking too many, he had seen what alchemists were capable of, the horrors that they could produce. To this day he had still never touched one. Instead, relying on the healing from his extra abilities to take care of his body. He was far from eager to let their concoctions warp his innards even if it meant saving his life…no, that wasn’t true, he was a coward and would do anything to save himself. But still, he would prefer to keep potions as a last resort if possible.

He needed his next shadow demon to be a healer of some sort. Though how he would go about finding a creature that could heal, let alone being able to convert it, he hadn’t the foggiest idea. Knowing his luck, if there were creatures that could heal, then they were likely too high a level for him to convert anyway.

As for safety, the first idea to pop into his head was to train his resistances; it would require constant healing, his current capabilities being severely limited and bringing him back to what his next summon would be? It would also require him to become a masochist, which was never going to happen.

If he could, he would get a demon that could heal and act as a bodyguard. Or…if he could find a way to make money, he could just hire an actual bodyguard. …or not, you couldn’t buy loyalty, hiring someone would only be inviting a knife into his back.

“Shit!”

He had forgotten that people would have a huge impact on anything he planned to do. He usually ignored them as they generally chose to ignore him, at least when they weren’t using him as a metaphorical punching bag. …and sometimes literal punching bag, he thought as his body unconsciously moved his knee to a better position. There was no reason too, just old habits.

His knee still hurt from his landing in the sewers. It was nowhere near as bad as his original injury, but the thought of screwing it up again after all he had done to repair it, just pissed him off. He was mostly angry at himself. Not just the injury but this whole mess was a result of his rush. Had he a better grasp of the time, or at least a little more patience, he would be back at Ms Kolsin's lodge, tucked into his oversized bed without a care in the world.

He rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t crying again; his thoughts had just distracted him enough from his stress that his fatigue finally had room to start to take a toll on his body, its effects putting a strain on his eyes as he tried to keep them open. But he couldn’t sleep yet, he only had a few months left. He had to finish his plan.

Order and chaos. Both extremely complex subjects. What he read had online came off as more philosophy than a discussion on game design. The guy who wrote the article actually went on to write a full-blown essay under each heading. He remembered it clearly because it was one of the few times that he was interested in reading what he would normally consider a bore-fest.

Games usually just simplified them to attack and offence; police vs. Military in city managers, and security and sabotage options in others. Mostly.

Not really an option as he had neither the wealth or influence to maintain and control a gang, let alone an army. He was also concerned about what that would do to his ego. People like him should never have power. With a history of being repressed and abused by the world at large, the first thing he would do with any power given to him, no matter his initial intent, would be to abuse it. People liked to imagine how much better things would be if they were in charge, but he knew that most of the time they would end up as corrupt as those that came before him, and he didn’t delude himself into thinking he was any different.

But self-reflection wasn’t going to bring in the money, so he refocused on the matters at hand.

Order and Chaos.

Order mainly represented itself. Order. But it also represented stability, organisation, and tyranny…which is what true order was. Absolute order was absolute tyranny.

Chaos on the other had represented destruction, change, freedom, and oddly enough, creation.

But his life wasn’t going to be saved by philosophy. He needed order in his life. Specifically, the order of one of Earth’s first world countries, but he was unlike to get that, so he would just have to settle for what he could get. He would have to talk with Eric about how their security measures worked and what he could do to support them.

As for chaos, the only way he could obtain freedom was with destruction. So, he would have to play the arsehole game. It always came back to that.

He rolled his eyes and regretted it the instant he did so, the combination of that plus being tired and stressed caused his eyes to strain. He could already feel a migraine coming on. He really hated his stupid body.

He lay back for a bit, just to give himself a short break. While he did so, he asked himself how he would go about doing it if he did choose to play the game. He couldn’t go one on one with anybody, not that he ever would if he could. Macho actions were for morons.

He had summons…well, a summons at the moment? So, military then?

How would he go about militarying then? He mused, making up words as his fatigue eroding his ability to care about anything anymore. He desperately wanted to shut his eyes, but he knew had to get through this. Time was important.

He didn’t know how to make guns or explosives. He wasn’t good at strategy games beyond zerg rushing, and he didn’t have the numbers for that. In the end, he could only think of applying trench warfare. Which would involve digging. There it was again!

Was that the third- or fourth-time digging had come up? Whichever it was, it was too often to ignore. Goodie wrote down digging on his little list.

After resting for a moment, he returned to where he left off.