In the Medic tent, I was pleasantly surprised to see my favorite healer, Marjorie, was out for the Day. In her place was the ugliest-looking Orc I had ever seen. His long boar-like tusks were pitch black, curling just above his dark green lips. He had a jagged scar running down the length of 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.

  I didn't even speak, just showing the man my 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?" I 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 me.

  "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 trying to even the scales and balance its game, ensuring no one got too OP. I, however, was in the camp that believed the system could only modify living organisms and, therefore, would channel less energy into those with alterations.

  "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. I 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 my nerves and put me at ease. I saw my 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.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Dane exited the tent, pondering the Doctor's final words.

  ...

  "Number 605, please move to counter 13." A synthetic voice called over the intercom system.

  I approached the counter timidly as I 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.

  "Yes, this morning, while walking to the Coliseum, I started receiving system messages," I 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.

  "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.

  "Number 710, please proceed to counter 13." The synthetic voice called out.

  They made me complete the paperwork even though we still had to submit our screen for viewing. After living in what was essentially a third-world country, this reminded me of the old world so much that I had to double-check to see if there weren't cameras set up in one of those old-time prank shows.

  I walked to counter 10 with my paperwork in my sweaty hand, nervous about the submission of my character sheet to the official. When I got to the counter, I faced a slug-like man with no face. He had three sets of arms and four sets of what I 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. I felt pressure in my temples, and before I knew it, I had another voice alongside my inner monologue.

  "Hello, please share screen," the slug said.

  "Um, sure thing. But how do I do that?" I asked

  "Think share screen and acknowledge prompt." the strange monster-like man said.

  I shared my screen and saw it fly over to the attendant. He gathered my papers and stamped them with the elven word for approval.

  "Please go through door on left."

  I walked to the door, which slid open with a loud whooshing sound. As soon as I stepped through the barrier, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and before I could think, I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head. The world slipped away from me, a perfect dream.

  ...

  When I woke up, my eyes began searching for any light in the hot and humid room. We must have been moving because my motion sickness was in full swing. I hurled straight in front of me.

  "Ahhhh, what the fuck." A young voice in front of me said in annoyance.

  "Did someone really puke on me? That is not cool." The man who must have been in front of him scratched out.

  I couldn't feel my arms or legs. They were bound with my arms being secured tightly to my torso and my legs looser but still would prevent me from running—the areas where the rough rope touched raw and chaffing. I was disoriented and couldn't stop the room from spinning. I closed my eyes as hard as possible; I could do nothing. I would have to wait until someone fetched me. For a moment, I began panicking, my thoughts racing about everything that could go wrong.

  ...

  A bright light piercing the opening of a cargo bay door woke me 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 me, and once again, I was in darkness.

  "System alert suppression is active; functions are now reduced to minimal."

  My resource bars disappeared, and I could no longer pull up my system screen. I felt a nudge from behind, which must have been a baton.

  "Get moving earthbound." The soldier said with finality.

  I began to walk and occasionally felt a smack to the side that the soldier wanted me to go. I was glad that they tied me so tightly, which helped numb the pain while still being able to feel the pressure from the baton so they wouldn't hit me in a different place. We must have reached our destination because I bumped into the person before me, feeling someone behind falling into my back as well.

  "Welcome to your new home, earthbound." A vile-sounding women said with amusement in her tone.