Chapter Six - Walking In Another Man's Shoes Is Not A Great Experience

*plink* …*plink* …*Grunt* *plink*

*plink* *plink* …*plink* …*plink* …… *Groan*

*plink* …*plink* .. *plink* …*plink* *Eeek*

*Snap* *Bang* *Clank* Finally managed to break the fucking manacles binding my hands overhead. Rubbing my wrists to massage the ache and pain away and trying to restore some circulation. Sitting down, I take a few minutes before working on my leg bindings. And it only took me an hour or so. I am only guesstimating that using the timing of the *plink* of the water based on a single *plink* per second.

Really, what is with all the metal furniture, pain and bloody knives. I swear, it’s like living in a novel with a totally sick and deranged author who likes the S&M scene a little too much.

Sitting there, I am starting to seriously wonder how the hell the health and stamina system works. For the entire length of my pampered vacation here, not once did my health drop below the five mark. It can’t be that it only registers hits taken, as I suffered more than enough to drop my health to zero and initiate a respawn. I think that it only records hits and damage taken to a set proportional point where it changes conditions to register only potentially fatal wounds. Mr Z inflicted a lot of damage, but nothing fatal.

Maybe if he had left the wounds as they were, maybe I could have caught some infection, gangrene could have set in. If I was left to wallow in my own faeces, then I could have developed sores and later complications. Turns out Mr Z really did know what he was doing. He was in complete control the entire time, well, until the end he was. Everybody is entitled to making the odd stupid and fatal mistake every now and then. The most important thing is that you learn from it and continue to grow. That is, unless your dead.

At the five-point mark, it did feel like I had lost all my remaining strength and endurance to fight back, so maybe the points work on the basis that up until the critical failure point, I am still able to fight and go on, like a notification, but at a certain point, I have to heal myself as I will be the equivalent of a drunk date (limp and useless).

As for stamina, I have yet to see that drop a single point. In games, all actions that require movement of some kind, no matter how minor, uses up stamina points unless the regen is greater that the drain. But here, now, for me, stamina seems to be on the fritz. Hmm. Maybe. Maybe stamina acts in the opposite way of the health bar. Maybe it only starts to register until I reach a natural point where I am stretching myself, pushing myself beyond what I am currently capable of. Maybe it only comes into play when I am trying some new skill or ability or exercise that pushes the status quo.

It could like be a body builder who is using familiar weights for simple muscle warming up exercises. He is not pushing himself to be stronger, but to just limber up. It is only when he starts using the more serious personal weights that he starts to push himself. And stamina would measure the time limit until the weight starts to have an adverse effect on his body before he has to stop and rest and let his body recover. He wouldn’t use up stamina simply walking a relatively short distance at a relatively average speed. Stamina will be used on either an extended trip or if he starts to jog or run when he is only used to walking.

It makes some sense if it works like that. With my only two physical skills so far, Balance is something that we naturally have and wouldn’t use stamina unless I was trying to use it in an unfamiliar situation like tightrope walking. Sneak would only take up stamina if I was using it for a long time, as so far it only relies on the careful placement of my body.

Hmmm. Interesting if it is true. Of course, it is entirely possible that I am as dumb as a box of rocks and my limited brain capacity will never be able to figure it out, like math. What is math? What is two plus two? Is it fish or maybe rock, or infinity? Please tell me. Mrs Harman, my math teacher, is a really hot granny who I so want to impress, her knickers would look so nice on a heap on my bedroom floor.

As always, YOU DECIDE!

I think that is enough time deliberating the state of my life, let’s get to work on breaking these bonds so I can get out of this, palace. Looking down, I can’t see any obvious locks or clasps and these rings are not giving me any wiggle room in order to loosen the shackles. Placing my hands on the chair, I slowly explore down the legs. Hmmm. It feels like a simple bolt or nail that is holding the clasp closed. Gently easing the bolt/nail up, it finally comes loose, and relief of all reliefs, the bands finally swing open. God, people think heaven is so far away, but I can tell you that if you experience a tightness anywhere on or in your body for long periods of time and they finally loosen, that is heaven right there. Like a morning shit, you feel literally ten pounds lighter.

Just one more set to go, and there, the last bolt slides free, and so too am I, free that is. I don’t know how to describe how good this feels, Like, imagine that you have been sitting at your desk all day, and you want to stand up, but then your psychotic co-worker points a gun at your head and tells you that if you stand up, that will be the last thing that you’ll do. It’s nothing like that at all.

Gently standing up, I take a few more minutes to walk around the chair stretching my abused muscles, trying to get some semblance of feeling back into them. At first, I almost collapse, my calfs giving way underneath me, but that is why I keep a tight grip on the chair at all times. Eventually, normalcy does return.

Behind me stands a metal doorway, with a heavy duty steel-like door, with a handle like you get on walk-in freezer doors. Pushing it open, a brick-lined hallway stands before me, with more pipes leading outwards and at the far end, I can see a door, but this time one with light leaking around the edges.

The highest priority is to get some clothing, as I don’t want to traumatise some passing kids, get done for public nudity and be placed on the Sexual Offender Register. I have enough troubles at it is.

Walking down the corridor, there is another room to my left, about 3-4 metres away from my private cell. Opening the door, a shit stinking cloud of miasma slams into my face, making me retch, but bringing nothing up. Yep, really glad I haven’t eaten anything so far. Waiting for the smell to pass, I look up, and there I see what appears to be a dead body sitting in a chair just like mine. Fucking thieves. No respect these days.

It appears to be a male, but without the dangly bits, and it’s torso completely mangled and missing whole swaths of skin, I can’t be absolutely sure, bit it is definitely muscled enough to be a guy. Looks like I wasn’t the only one that Mr Z was entertaining. I know, master of the obvious, but I like the inner monologue, helps me stay sane sometimes. Stepping into the room, I see a surgical table on wheels holding a variety of either surgical tools or torture paraphernalia. There are saws, scalpels, electrical thingamabobs that look like the things that morticians use to open up chest cavities and slice off ribs.

*Shudder*. I am trying my best to not think of what they are used for in this context, but my mind is so totally morbid. I think I need a lobotomy to erase these images in my mind. *Shudder*.

But helpfully, there is a big ass knife, almost long enough to be a short sword. It’s about as long as my forearm, about half an inch thick, with a serrated edge on one side and an extremely sharp and smooth blade on the other, coming up to a wicked point. I think I’m starting to drool with desire.

Stepping in, I reach over and pick Mr Stabby up.

Congratulations! You have selected Dagger Mastery.

Dagger Mastery – As you gain proficiency, you will gain bonus’s when wielding a dagger. At lower levels of this skill, you will be given tutorials on how best to wield this weapon.

Dagger Mastery : 0/1000 – Beginner Tier

Your dagger has now been moved to your inventory. Please equip to use.

Cool. Watch out Mr Boss, because before you know it, I will be sneaking up behind your ass and shanking you right in the neck. Booyah. I think that I am starting to feel some jonesing to unlock other skills now. This is so addictive.

Opening up my inventory, I see the equip menu pop up with the grid listing of my available items. On one of the square boxes, I can see the dagger. Concentrating on it, a submenu pops up:

Dagger – Unknown Make

Quality – Excellent

Condition – 230/250

Enchantments – None

Requirements – None

Owner – Dude

Odd, another thing that is missing from the usual. No damage information. Maybe it is determined by how I use it, where I strike my target and the condition of the weapon. It kind of makes sense. Rather than saying that it does like 100 damage, it would instantly kill my target if I shoved it up under their palette and into their brain. So rather than just being arbitrary, it uses real life damage modifiers. After all, a blunt ass knife would be more useful as a blackjack rather than a cutting instrument. Aww. I’ve got to use some common sense. So boring.

And it’s not asking me if I want to equip. So useless. Concentrating, I imagine dragging the knife onto the mannequin on the right of the screen and letting it settle into my left hand. And suddenly, like a veil has been parted, a brief swirl of light encompasses my left hand, and then I am holding the dagger. Yes!

Closing the inventory, I inspect the knife. Beautiful. And it seems I can freely switch the knife from hand to hand, place it back onto the tray, and pick it back up with the notification screen popping up telling me it has been moved back into my inventory. I wonder if this means that nobody else is able to use it. Or how would I abandon the knife, or trade it away?

Do you wish to unbind Unknown Dagger?

Yes / No

Well, that solves that mystery. Choosing No, and store in back in my inventory. I can figure the mechanics out later, for now, I need to find some clothing, and maybe some water to clean up. Healing doesn’t eliminate the mess left over from the initial wounds.

Exiting the room, I continue to explore. A few more rooms like the previous are present both on the left of me and the right of me. I open the final doorway to my right before the ‘Exit’, only to find a changing room. To the left is a series of walk-in showers, bathroom sinks and mirrors above each set of taps. To the right are various shelves, containing towels, hairdryers and a massive assortment of clothes, all arranged according to size. There are underwear garments, jeans, chinos, shorts, t-shirts, shirts, jumpers and finally shoes.

This must be where Mr Z and presumably other colleagues of his come to change. And to the extreme left, almost hidden by the wall, is a large hole in the floor with a plaque above reading: “Please place of clothing in the disposal chute when entering this facility.” Well, that explains that. It must be a forensic countermeasure. No possibility of tracking blood from the prisoners and other DNA evidence into the outside world when they are finished off. Efficient, I kind of like it.

Stepping into the shower, I finally manage to get myself clean. And it is glorious. I spend the full twenty minutes washing my hair and body, using some surprisingly, pleasantly surprised that is, feminine shower washes.

After I am done, I step out and proceed to the sinks. There are tooth brushes and paste, with handwash. Weirdly, looking around, I can’t see any sign of any toilets. I don’t want to know, and I don’t need to go. I give myself a vigorous brushing out, I need to eliminate that awful odour from that first room I found. Luckily the others were empty and clean, but with similar setups. And I don’t want to know how much activity this facility needs to see to need so many rooms.

Finishing with my teeth, I rinse my mouth and check to mirror to see if I have missed any of the toothpaste. And maybe to preen a little. Everyone has got a vain streak in them, no matter how small, and I know that you know that I know that you think I’m hot.

“What the FUCK!” I jerk back, and heart immediately kicks into high gear, pounding away like a sledgehammer. Looking back at me is a face that is totally unfamiliar to me. Where before in my first and normal life I was brown haired, down to my shoulders with faint blond streaks, deep green eyes with flecks of pale-ish blue, with a smooth although longish face with thin lips and small ears, what looked back at me was something totally different, alien almost.

Now I am wearing the face of an almost chubby little fuck, with podgy cheeks, bulbous lips, high forehead with thick blond hair, the colour of flaxen wheat. You know, dirty blond. I don’t seem to have a speck of facial hair anywhere, which is unusual, as I couldn’t take a day not shaving without hair sprouting thick and proud. There was this one time when I was eighteen, I sported a beard all the way down to my pecks, all rights, moobs. But it was impressive, especially for it’s food retention properties. But then a friend convinced me to shave it, saying that I looked like a homeless bum. And I haven’t looked back.

Also, this body is not so finely tuned either. All in all, this is scaring the shit out of me, like I can feel the shit trying to leave my body, but held back only in thanks to my excellent sphincter control.

Forcing myself to calm down, I step back to the mirror, and run my hands around my new body, trying to get a ‘Feel’ for it. And I have to say, that under the slightly chubby exterior, I can feel some impressive muscles that I had been yearning for before my ascension. I had tried for years to put on muscle mass, but unfortunately, I had one of those bodies that couldn’t gain an ounce. I can feel your hateful glares from here, but it isn’t as good as you think in is. Sure, I could eat whatever the fuck I liked. Doughnuts, crisps, cakes, McBonnets every single night, and not a added pound to be found.

But it also meant that I couldn’t put on any muscle mass either, and I didn’t like my body all that much. My doctors kept on telling me that I had to put on more weight, that I was grossly underweight for my age and height. That is was borderline anorexic. But it didn’t seem to compute to them when I all but shouted into his face that no matter the crap I ate, I couldn’t gain the weight.

Maybe now with this body, that will no longer be true.

I have a theory. Maybe when I re-incarnated, I didn’t reincarnate into a newly grown version of my body. Maybe I came back in a dead man’s body. That would explain why I was snatched and grabbed from the motel room, why I was the only person to fit the description of the man that tried to kill ‘The Boss’. Fuck, another reason not to die again. What if I come back in a woman's body next time? Sure, the opportunity to explore the finer sex’ danglies and hairies would be great, but not being able to piss whilst standing up? I’m not sure if the tradeoff would be worth it. Not to mention menstrual cycles. And having to dress up with some semblance of fashion, and makeup. Nope. If I come back as a woman, I’ll just keep killing myself till I get a bloke's body. I’m not sexist, I’m just lazy.

And what about when I finally manage to get back home? My mum and sister won’t recognise me. Fuck! No, those are not tears, it’s just that I have allergies. Or this new body has allergies. Taking a few minutes to centre myself again, I force myself away from those thoughts. I will just have to cross the bridge when I come to it. Maybe if eventually, I can learn Illusion magic, I could present my old self to my now distant family. But that is for a later time. Time to get stronger, smarter and meaner.

Throwing the towel and toothbrushes down the disposal chute, I cross over to the clothing side of the room. I start to go through some new selection of underwear, unsure what will fit my new body. Fuck, I’m crying again. Pull yourself together fuckwit. Eventually, I find a pair that fits. 40 large. Fat fuck. And so now getting dressed, I choose a pair of dark blue denim jean, with a white shirt and smart black shoes, with odd socks. I don’t know what it is with the odd socks, but ever since I can remember, I have always worn odd and unmatching socks, if for no small part of that it annoyed my mother something crazy. She is a bit of a neat freak. *Sniff*.

Pansy.

Now armed, and finally dressed and prepared for the world, I step outside of the changing rooms, with a leather jacket stored in my inventory with several changes of clothing as well, just in case, I exit the changing room, a step in front of the door to the big wide world, prepared to embrace my destiny.