As he bent down to grab the first piece of clothing. Once he had tossed it into the laundry basket, the system registered his action: "Item 1 of 50 complete." He moved faster, picking up socks, shirts, and jeans, each piece adding to the count, the system keeping track of his progress. The timer continued to tick down in the corner of his vision, a constant reminder of the urgency of the task.

As he worked, Ryan’s mind began to wander. The mundane act of cleaning created a space for his mind to tinker with things he generally left to the periphery. He thought about his mom, how she had raised him as a single mother, working tirelessly to keep everything in order. Guilt tugged at him as he realized he could have done more to help out, to lessen her burden.

His thoughts drifted to his absentee father, the man who had left them both behind. His mother had always described his father as having an unhealthy obsession with finding the man responsible for the Minerva Down Incident. Ryan had heard the story countless times—how his father had been so consumed by a new "lead" that he completely missed the moment when Ryan's mom had tried to tell him she was pregnant. And then, just like that, he had vanished, leaving behind a heartbroken pregnant wife.

When Ryan entered high school, the mystery of his father’s obsession became his own. He started looking into the Minerva Down Incident himself, trying to piece together the fragments of a story that had defined so much of his life. It was tough to find much from the time preceding the Crisis; many digital records had been corrupted during that tumultuous time, but his local librarian, Mrs. Oaks took pity on him and used her connections with other districts to help him piece things together.

That research provided the foundational knowledge he later drew on for his essay, the one that had won him the Perspective Goggles. But the essay had been more than just an assignment—it was a way for him to process his father's absence, to seek some connection, however distant, to the man who had left him behind.

The task log added new objectives: "Organize desk—Bonus points available. Make bed—Bonus points available." Ryan moved through the room with a newfound determination, tackling each task not just for the contribution points but as a way to bring some order to his chaotic thoughts.

Finally, the first part of the quest ended as he gathered the last of his clothes and headed to the laundry room. The chime sounded again, signaling the completion of Part One. The display updated: EventQuest—Part Two: Start laundry. Do you accept?

Ryan sighed but nodded. He might as well finish what he started. As he loaded the washing machine, he heard another chime and noticed a new prompt flashing in the corner of his vision:

Side Task: Kitchen Cleanup! Your mother didn't have time to do the dishes before her night shift. Finish cleaning the kitchen before the laundry load completes.

Accept?

| Yes | No |

He had only walked past the kitchen briefly on his way to the laundry room, yet the PerSpectives had picked up on the fact that it was messy, and somehow surmised it had to do with his mom not having time to do them? The deductive reasoning was a bit suspect, he thought, but on the other hand, that sweet CP he’d promised his mom he could earn was calling out to him. Hey selected yes.

The PerSpectives scanned the kitchen counter and highlighted the dishes with different pastel colors, making it appear as if they had auras surrounding them. Plates emanated a lavender glow, cups were pink, and silverware yellow. The operating system broke down the chore into sub tasks, sorting, rinsing, and placing them in the dish washer. He began stacking the dishes to the side of the sink so he could have enough space to scrub properly. Some of the dishes hadn’t been cleaned in a while and the food had formed a molecular bond with the material. Why didn’t his mom ever yell at him to do his chores? She must have been so by the time she got home. He began scrubbing.

While he worked the PerSpectives took it upon themselves to open up a news feed for him. A rectangular screen came into being, as if it were a tablet sitting on the shelf behind the faucet, allowing him to glance at it while he worked without obstructing his view or causing him any disorientation.

“An astral fissure opened above the Argon building in inner city last night,” a female reporter was saying as footage of the city at night was showing on the display. Ryan’s hackles rose at that information, and he gave the broadcast closer attention. On the display, chaotic lights lanced in electrical arks above one of the tallest buildings in the city, a stark contrast against the black of the sky. The footage appeared to have been taken by a civilian, as it was initially focused away from the action. There was an explosion which caused the video to shudder wildly before centering in on the accident. “The initial spike in radiation caused several craft to collide with each other, resulting in an explosion that rocked the towers nearby. Three people were killed in the crash instantly, while six more were hospitalized.”

An astral fissure, Ryan thought, how long had it been since one of those made the news? He was working with mounting frustration on a bowl that had once held oatmeal, which had since been transmuted into some form of indestructible concrete. Five, or six years? He gave up on using the sponge and grabbed a metal spoon to try and chip away at it. I was in sixth grade when that one that took down one of the seven towers in Inner City, so yeah, five years. Geeze. The reporter continued her story.

“The Ministry of Integrity dispatched their Alpha Team to repair the rift almost immediately, and it was sealed in a matter of hours. We reached out to the Ministry for comment, but they have not replied as of the time of this broadcast.” Ryan glanced up from his excavation of mount oatmeal at the mention of the Alpha Team, but there didn’t seem to be any footage of them. His friend Lisa would probably be having a field day with this story. She had an unhealthy obsession with potential Incursion Events. Ryan gave up on trying to remove the oatmeal from the bowl and decided to just fill it with water and deal with the rest of the dishes while it soaked. The newscast had brought on an “expert” to discuss the event of the previous night.

“We haven’t seen a rift this large in almost a decade,” a man was saying. He was dressed in a tweed suit, which was probably nice when he bought it, but clearly had a stain on the vest he was trying—and failing—to hide with his coat. He had greasy hair that was combed tightly against his scalp, and his thick glasses magnified his eyes, making him look almost alien. “The one that took down the Richter Tower, five years ago, was not even half the size of what was forming last night.”

“Would you consider this an isolated incident?” the reporter asked.

“It is hard to make any predictions at this point.” The man pushed his glasses up his nose, causing his eyes to become a little more human. “In the past, if there was a large enough tear, we would expect there to be a few smaller distortions form as a sort of ripple effect. Something of this size. Well, it does no good to speculate. If there isn’t anything within a few days, I would say we’re safe from a full-on cascade effect.”

“What would have caused such a large tear to form, professor?” she asked.

“Again, it is difficult to speculate. I have railed against this administrations lack of transparency for some time now, but have been stonewalled and shut down at every attempt. The Ministry has been keeping us in the dark about how much the fabric of reality was truly damaged during the crisis and I—”

“Thank you, Dr. Kettleman,” the reporter cut him off before his tirade could gain more steam, clearly regretting having asked that last question. “We would like to make clear,” the newscaster said with a hint of annoyance, “that we do not condone any conspiracy theories on this network. That being said, we will be keeping a close eye on the developments as they unfold.” The important facts of the story already having been laid out, Ryan had somewhat tuned out during the commentary. He would be able to discuss things with his friends when he met up with them the next day. He had a lot to talk to them about, he thought, glancing around at his interface.

Ryan had made enough progress on the dishes that he felt ready to start filling up the dishwasher. He dropped open the door and pulled out the bottom rack. Like it had with the dishes, the PerSpectives scanned the compartment and then highlighted areas matching the their aura colors, providing him with what it considered to be the optimal placement of each dish. He started stacking in plates, getting a little chime in his ear each time he matched one up with the corresponding color. He noticed tiny numbers adding up in his vision. Is it giving me a bonus multiplier for how many dishes I put in at once? Nice.

The news report had him thinking about the Crisis. An event that occurred right around the time he was born, shaping the state of the world he grew up in more than the Minerva Down Incident had shaped his father’s. It had not been lost on him that the Crisis occurred soon after his dad’s disappearance, but none of his research had managed to make a connection between the two. There was never any public acknowledgement that the Minerva Down Incident and the Crisis were related, but somewhere in his gut he felt they had to be somehow. He thought of it as his own personal conspiracy theory that he didn’t mention to anyone else.

As he let his thoughts meander, he finished loading the dishwasher, finally got that oatmeal bowl taken care of, and wiped down the counters. He was ready to get outside and see what he could get up to with his new augmented reality device. He wanted to see how much CP he could earn before his mom got home. He grabbed his jacket from the entryway closet and slid it on as a new system message popped up on his screen.

All Tasks Complete!

New Achievement!
Complete an Event Quest Successfully.
You’ve Earned a Bronze Trophy!

Total CP Earned: 235

Calculating XP…

A progress bar appeared below the icons in his upper left vision, flashing as the system calculated how much he earned. After a moment it filled itself up about two thirds of the way. Almost made it to level two, he thought. Also, the 335 CP he now had made him grin stupidly. He stepped outside to see what trouble he could get up to with his new device.