Sniff.

Sniff sniff.

As I laid in the bed, folding my tail under myself in fetal position, cuddling my pillow close to my chest, I couldn’t help but let out a few, pitiful cries. Nothing loud enough for my father and mother to hear, of course–I didn’t need them thinking I was any less of a man than they already were.

I just…

I cannot believe they did that. I cannot BELIEVE my father forced my hand and sent me into active duty! Active! As in, I’ll be fighting to survive on the frontlines, all for Neptune’s dream of control! All for his dream of wiping out the rebel sea dogs. Sea dogs that I don’t even care about–I’m not a royal, not a Loremaster. It’s not my control of the System Mechanics that’s being threatened, now is it?

Wait.

Actually… perhaps it is. Now that I’ve officially joined the System, officially become a player in its less-than-lovely game, I suppose I should care what happens to it. If people are hacking into it, if rebels are trying to infect our Mechanics with a virus, then my brain is affected, too.

This stupid decision keeps getting worse and worse.

Hesitantly, I close my eyes, hoping to get a few hours of restless sleep in before the inevitable happens tomorrow morning. I suppose I could get a head start and visit the Military Entrance Processing Station right now, be one of the final recruits of the evening, but why on earth would I want to wish my dear bed goodbye earlier than necessary? So, with a sigh, I snuggle up further into my pillow, pulling my tail against my torso and drifting off to–

DING!

My eyes shoot open, my face greeted with the bright glow of the System Screen. Can’t this infernal nag leave me alone?! Can’t it see I’m tired–that I’m low on XP or whatever? I squint, hardly able to see what little reminder it has sent me.

[REMINDER: Quest Accepted: Join the Military]

[Progress: 0%]

[You have 39-hours remaining to complete this Quest.]

A reminder for thirty-nine hours? Really? Is that necessary? Or is it just mocking me at this point? I’ve already hit accept! I’ve already sworn my life away and said goodbye to freedom!

Fine. You win, Neptune. I’ll get up.

Aggravated, and with great reluctance, I dragged myself out of bed and threw on my oldest, dirtiest shirt, then tied it tight with a used rope around my waist–-no way I'm taking something valuable to the barracks. And, considering the sheer amount of sweat I produce while simply thinking about which move to play next during an Herbalist’s Haven match, I have a feeling the physical exertion I'm about to partake in will drench and wreck the thin, pen shell fabric of my nicer, sea-silk shirts.

After grabbing whatever other necessary essentials I assumed I would need, I quietly made my way out of the house, completely silent save for the slight sloshing of my tail and the tiny bubbles that sprung out of my gills with each labored, anxiety-riddled breath. I could see my parents speaking amongst themselves in the common room, but I decided not to wish them goodbye. What was the point, really? I already know what they’ll say–”We’re proud of you, Firth,” or “Finally taking responsibility, Firth?”

Hmph. Whatever. I am not taking responsibility, I am simply avoiding death.

Ever since I discovered it, my dream was to become an ocean-class champion at Herbalist’s Haven. To win each and every tournament and, one day, get a card and character dedicated to myself! And, perhaps that character would date my favorite of their mascots–the lovely kitchen witch. But now… now my plans have changed. Now I have adapted, evolved, grown.

Now, I have a new destiny.

I’m going to climb the ranks of this godforsaken military country!

Why?

Well, it’s not for the lawmaking, not for the power, not for the marble statues that come with my backside on the throne.

It’s to throw my parents in the dungeon.

That’ll teach them. They’ll be all like, “Wow, we should’ve never pushed our son to do something more than necessary–we’ve created a monster.”

Yeah.

A monster of their own undoing.

Unfortunately, the float to my demise was short. The Military Entrance Cavern wasn’t far from home, after all—my father preferred to be close to his old comrades that still worked there. I had never thought much of the space before, never looked at it other than to marvel at how much of an eyesore it was in our otherwise pristine and well-manicured town, but… it was here. In front of me. And now I was forced to get a good glance at it. I approached the giant structure of ancient, petrified coral, passing through its entrance, which was guarded by massive stone statues of long-dead sea nobles. The deeper I traversed, the more people I could see being funneled inside. And, judging by their faces and grim expressions, they were other, unfortunate souls, the same as me. At least we were all in this together, united in our mutual despair.

Sigh. 

Inside, the process was as soul-sucking as I expected. I was greeted by stern-faced clerks in armor made of glittering shells, clearly polished to perfection. They handed out scrolls to myself and the other miserable attendees, directing us to various stations, where I had to fill out forms, write signatures, fill out more forms, and then present myself to the first invasive part of the recruitment–the physical exam.

“Come,” the examiner, an elderly merman with a long, wrinkled face and pertinent sneer gestured, calling me forth. I swam over to him, glancing behind my shoulder, my eyes locking onto the line–practically a crowd of people–waiting their turn behind me. Was there no privacy curtain? No way to conceal whatever the examiner may say, may comment on, may dislike from any of my fellow recruits?

As the merman began prodding at my softer midsection, his sneer morphing into a judgemental and almost disappointed scowl, I realized that no, there was no way to hide what was about to go down from the group of young recruits that would soon become my colleagues. “You’re not exactly battle-ready, are you, young man? Maybe we should skip the infantry and send you straight to kitchen duty. We do need someone to taste-test the rations, sometimes they’re spoiled.”

Wow.

I tried to keep a straight face, but his comments hurt more than I’d like to admit. Sure, I wasn’t chiseled like the other recruits with all their fancy, rippling muscles and cool, sharp fins, and sure… I could afford to lose maybe ten pounds, but I’m not exactly useless! I stood a bit taller than the others--I just need to show that off, make it known, make it obvious. So, I straightened up, hoping to impress with my height, but all my blatant peacocking got me was a raised eyebrow.

The examiner then circled around me to inspect my tail, “A hammerhead whale, eh? Sturdy, but not exactly known for agility. And those braids…” He flicked one of my long, aqua braids dismissively, “Not very practical for combat.”

Not practical for combat? Tch. Well, of course not. I didn’t grow them out thinking I’d one day protect and serve, for goodness sake. To me, they were, I don’t know. Kind of cool. And they kept the hair out of my face when I played Herbalist’s Haven, so they were useful, too! But what would this guy know about that, hm? What would a silly examiner know about the awesome highs and debilitating lows of my favorite trading card game?

Not much, that’s for sure.

After my excruciatingly humbling experience with the examiner, and having to hear my vitals, stats and current feats read at an insurmountably loud volume in front of every new soldier known to merkind, my System Profile was finally set up, and I was good to go.

[Name: Firth Ridire]

[Level: 1]

[Combat: 0]

[Intelligence: 0]

[Stamina: 0]

[Luck: 1]

[Charm: 0]

[Skills: Herbalism I, Potion Making I, Swim I]

[Special Abilities: N/A]

[Occupation: Soldier, Merfolk]

Wha–level zero? On basically everything?! I stifle a barely audible gasp, my face going red at the revelation. Even my intelligence… the skill I was so convinced I had been honing and leveling with my STRATEGY card game… was at zero. Zero! And all of my colleagues could see it!

I wanted to swim away and die somewhere, but I was momentarily distracted by another person’s System Profile being read aloud, showcasing their stats next. This merman was certainly younger than me–most here were–and clearly frail and skinny.

[Name: Iessaí Nele]

[Level: 2]

[Combat: 3]

[Intelligence: 0]

[Stamina: 2]

[Luck: 0]

[Charm: 1]

[Skills: Swim II]

[Special Abilities: N/A]

[Occupation: Soldier, Merfolk]

Huh? This guy’s combat is already at three? And his swim is leveled up to its second form, too?

Was everyone here getting a headstart on training but me? Perhaps I misread the room earlier. Perhaps everyone was miserable not because they were getting drafted, but because they wanted the line to move faster.

I wanted to open my profile again, examine it more thoroughly from the privacy of my own eyes, but I couldn’t quite figure out how exactly to open it. Do I pinch… like this? Or wave my hand like that?

All I seemed to achieve was opening, closing, and re-opening my current mission status, which only served to further stress me out.

My valiant efforts were cut short by one of the guards ushering the group of recruits toward an enormous kelp chariot, drawn by a team of armored seahorses. Despite its size, the crowd had to uncomfortably pack in, with some doubling up and finding their seat in the lap of another soldier. We were heading toward the training grounds, where we’d stay the night before our placement trails the next morning.

Eugh. The thought of engaging in public placement trials was enough to make my chest tight with nervousness and my heart squeeze anxiously. Even though it was cramped, I didn’t want this ride to end. The sooner we got to the grounds, the sooner I had to sleep, which meant the sooner I had to wake up and make a fool of myself.

I slouched in my seat, keeping to myself but listening intently to the conversation of my fellow recruits. A few of them were comparing their skill trees, talking about the abilities they’d unlocked, the weapons they’d mastered. Everyone seemed to be confident, at least compared to me.

“What about you?” One of them–a broad-shouldered merman with a sharp jawline and far too many muscles for his age–nudged me. “What skills have you unlocked?”

“Uh…” I scratched the back of my neck, trying to come up with something that didn’t sound completely pathetic. But, before I could conjure some incredible, heart wrenching story, I was interrupted.

“Wait, you’re the old guy with, like, zero stats, right?”

Great, now I was under scrutiny. Instead of playing it off, I froze up, unsure of what to do. These teenagers… were making fun of me. Me! The son of the great Knight Ridire. And man, was it deserved.

Once more, my attempts to answer were thwarted off. The chariot came to a stop at the training grounds–a great expanse of sand and rock, illuminated by glowing sea plants and guarded by towering steeples of coral and miscellaneous ocean foliage. We were herded off the vehicle and into a series of assigned rooms. One per recruit, and each was identical in their spartan simplicity. There was a bed woven from salt-tolerant plants, a cheap material, only used in the ocean world thanks to its ability to withstand seawater–hardly. A small table carved from rotting driftwood, and a conch shell that emitted a soft, soothing hum. Weird that they would have that, but… I was certain I’d figure out the reason why soon. I threw myself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

My new life…

Sucks!