In the Medic tent, Dane was pleasantly surprised to see that Marjorie was out for the day. In her place was the ugliest-looking Orc he had ever seen. His long boar-like tusks were pitch black, curling just above his dark green lips. The man had a jagged scar running down the left side of his face. His eye was grey and dead from the rough cut that had been cauterized very well, suggesting that a plasma blade made the cut. He, for sure, had seen a tour as one of the conscripted or perhaps even a war-slave.
"Welcome to the chop shop. My name is Doctor Green; what are you in for?" Said the Orc.
Dane didn't speak, just showed the man his mangled hand.
"Thanks, kid, but I'm not hungry today." Doc Green said with a deadpan expression.
"What?! No, can you please fix my hand?" Dane said in a pestered tone.
"Well, kid, I have healing magic, but you need a high priest to fix that. I am going to have to amputate. Don't worry; with the recent magitech advances, you are getting a better deal. You will have to spend more time working off the elves' generosity, but what's another few years of service? It'll put some hair on your chest." The healing Orc told Dane.
"Do you have any in stock?" Dane said with a long sigh after
"Fresh out, I'm afraid, but I will chop that hand off and get you to the magitest with no bleeding and a full health pool." The medic said with his head held high.
Dane didn't want to be a cyborg, as it would have limited his class selections and pigeonholed his future evolutions. There were two theories about why the system despised man's interference. Many thought it was simply an attempt to even the scales and balance the game, ensuring no one got too overpowered. However, there was a camp that believed the system could only modify living organisms and, therefore, would channel less energy into those with alterations.
Dane was in the latter camp and looked at the mechamonstrosities with disgust.
"Just take it off. I'll figure out how to fight one-handed later," said Dane, resigning to his fate.
The ditch doctor nodded in understanding and pulled a laser scalpel out of his leather bag of instruments. He began the procedure with precision, taking everything off just above the wrist. Dane was in excruciating pain and tensed every muscle in his body during the exchange.
"Kid, you have to stop fidgeting. I need to get a clean cut. Just because I work in a tent doesn't mean this is a circus." Said the blunt Doctor
The Orc began to recite a spell with his eyes closed. Dane couldn't make out even a syllable of his mage tongue. The chant, however, sounded and felt more tribal than the elves from earlier that day. Something about it, however, calmed his nerves and put him at ease. He saw his health bar slowly climb until it was full.
"Thanks, Doc," said Dane, genuinely grateful not to have the phantom pain that he had often heard amputees complain about during camp.
"You're welcome, and just a piece of advice: when they place you, if you don't get a good class, don't take it. You will have plenty of opportunities to pick and train a new occupation. But if you get stuck with a slave class, you will never make it back home for my healing today to mean anything," Doctor Green said with an amount of sincerity that startled him.
Dane exited the tent, pondering the Doctor's final words.
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"Number 605, please move to counter 13." A synthetic voice called over the intercom system.
Dane approached the counter timidly, because he didn't know what to expect.
"Hmm, this is strange. When I scan your biometrics, you don't have any readings. Do you have the system already unlocked?" The bureaucratic woman in a suit asked.
Dane was suspicious immediately, but he relented when he saw the angry line of waiters behind him. "Yes, this morning, while walking to the Coliseum, I started receiving system messages," He told the woman, who flashed an expression of shock for a split second. Her face returned to the uninterested clerk he saw when he first approached the counter.
'It's probably fine,' he thought to himself. If it were that big of a deal, they would probably have given him a bigger reaction.
"Please go to counter 10 and fill out form 3b, which you can find on the west wall. Next." She said with disinterest, like most people working a menial job.
Her attitude helped him to reaffirm his thoughts.
"Number 710, please proceed to counter 13." The synthetic voice called out.
They made him complete the paperwork even though the candidates would submit their screens for viewing after the magitest. After living in what was essentially a third-world country, this reminded him of the old world so much that he had to double-check to see if there weren't cameras set up in one of those old-time prank shows.
Dane walked to counter 10 with his character sheet in his sweaty hand, nervous about submitting it to the official.
When he got to the counter, he faced a slug-like man with no face. He had three sets of arms and four sets of what he had assumed were legs. However, the legs were too small to do anything other than help the man slide his slimy torso across the floor. He wore a blue jumpsuit, resembling a janitor or mechanic more than an attendant. Dane felt pressure in his temples, and before he knew it, he had another voice alongside his inner monologue.
"Hello, please share screen," the slug said.
"Um, sure thing. But how do I do that?" Dane asked
"Think share screen and acknowledge prompt," the strange monster-like man said.
He shared his screen and saw it fly over to the attendant. He gathered the papers and stamped them with the elven word for approval.
"Please go through door on left."
Dane walked to the door, which slid open with a loud whooshing sound. As soon as he stepped through the barrier, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and before he could think, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. The world slipped away from him.
When he woke up, his eyes began searching for any light in the hot and humid room. They must have been moving, because the motion sickness that Dane had almost forgotten about was in full swing. He hurled straight ahead.
"Ahhhh, what the fuck." A young voice in front of him said in annoyance.
"Did someone really puke on me? That is not cool." The man who must have been directly in front of him scratched out.
Dane couldn't feel his arms or legs. They were bound tightly and secured to his torso. His legs were looser, but still prevented him from running; the areas where the rough rope touched were raw and chafed.
He was disoriented and couldn't stop the room from spinning. So he did the only thing he could do, he closed his eyes as hard as possible. He would have to wait until someone fetched him. For a moment, he began to hyperventilate, his thoughts racing about everything that could go wrong. Soon, he passed out.
A bright light piercing the opening of a cargo bay door woke him the second time. Soldiers in tactical gear walked in and started placing bags on people's heads and collars around their necks. They got to Dane, and once again, he was in darkness.
[System Notification]
"System alert suppression is active; functions are now reduced to minimal."
Dane's resource bars disappeared, and he could no longer pull up his system screen. He felt a nudge from behind, which must have been a baton.
"Get moving, earthbound." The soldier said with finality.
Dane walked and occasionally felt a smack to the side that the soldier wanted him to go. He was glad that they tied him so tightly; otherwise, the smacks would have probably hurt when the kind guards were guiding him. They must have reached their destination because he bumped into the person in front of him and felt someone falling into his back as well.
"Welcome to your new home, earthbound." A vile-sounding woman said with amusement in her voice. Dane couldn't figure out why he thought she sounded hot. She must have had a few A's in her name. Whatever, it was something he would have to address in therapy if he ever made it out.
