Above the grill, a blue screen hovers.
WARNING: EMERGENCY SYSTEM INTEGRATION.
EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL.
Finally, Ryan thinks. It’s finally happening. Something different. Something most people dream about. Something that isn’t nearly as shocking as it should be. Because, if he’s being honest with himself, he always knew it was going to happen, didn’t he? That thing that pulls him from his ordinary life into something extraordinary.
Case in point, the screen.
It’s there.
Until it’s not.
It vanishes. It’s quickly replaced by another screen. And another. And another.
WARNING.
DANGER IMMENENT.
WORRY NOT.
The screens vanish as Ryan reads through them. A fourth hovers, waiting patiently despite being last in line.
Please accept your complimentary skill package. Y/N
Below the screen, three new screens populate. On each, a word.
Combat.
First Aid.
Survival.
Now Ryan isn’t an expert a screens popping up out of nowhere–
Wait, that’s not true, Ryan amends. Hell, of course he’s an expert. He’s read the web novels. He knows what happens next. First comes the System, then comes the chaos. Possibly monsters and portals. There’s a lot of variation–
He’s spiraling.
Anyway, Ryan thinks. It’s never a good sign when the System offers you free things. Especially not after flashing red emergency warnings. Especially especially when the skills on offers have very little to do with burger flipping and quite a bit to do with fighting for your life.
Of course, Ryan mashes the Yes button, accepting the free skills. Who is he not to? The moment he does, he feels a tingle. Maybe. It might be placebo. Ryan hopes for that “level up” rush that happens to OP MC’s in web novels. It doesn’t happen.
Ryan can pull up all three of his skills with a thought. It’s easy.
The descriptions are a little sparse.
First Aid (Unregistered). Provide first aid.
Combat (Unregistered). Fight.
Survival (Unregistered). Survive.
Sparse might be an understatement.
On another screen, a timer ticks. It has been ticking down since the initial notification.
1:27
Ryan looks around. Apparently, he isn’t the only person who’s gotten a notification. Everyone in the McDonalds is talking, looking, poking, prodding at air.
Some people, the people who are terminally online, have a funny, wild look in their eye that says they know exactly what’s going on. They know. They’ve known ever since those alien structure – what’d the TV call them – those embassies appeared earlier that year.
Weird, space-defying buildings of hard lines and shiny chrome. One day, there. Boom. Separated from the public by yellow tape and hordes of police people. It was obvious.
Something was going down.
Ryan nods.
Whatever it is, internet dwellers are ready to roll with the punches. Because punches, there are gonna be.
Not that Ryan is one of them. He can’t be compared to your typical keyboard warrior.
“Mmm.” Ryan idly flips his blackened patty, charred meat scent filling the clattering kitchen, the chef somehow muscling through an impending apocalypse to serve another Big Mac.
What now? Ryan thinks. He has less than a minute before shit does down. But which shit? Where is it gonna go down? Who is gonna do the shitting?
Ryan doesn’t know. It looks like nobody else knows, either.
His phone buzzes. Ryan doesn’t answer it. His hands are greasy.
He rethinks that. What if it’s his mom? He can’t ignore his mom.
Ryan flips the patty into the trash, puts down his stuff, and reaches into his pants pocket. His phone rings. It is, in fact, his mom. He answers it.
“Sweetie, are you seeing this?” his mom says.
“Uh huh,” Ryan says, eyeing the floating timer screen. “It says emergency.”
Ryan wonders what will his mom say about all this. She hasn’t read the web novels.
Ryan gasps. Oh, shit, he thinks. She’s gonna be attacked by goblins, isn’t she? That’d be bad. His mom doesn’t have the proper self-defensive training, i.e. nerd background, to defend herself. What is she gonna do when the goblins evolve into trolls?
“Mo–”
“Honey,” his mom says, interrupting him mid-sentence. “Honey, it’s happening. The Revelation is here. God is coming to save us all. There’s still time to pray–”
Ryan hangs up the phone, disappointed. Even at the very end, his mom won’t let go of that Revelation nonsense. It’s silly, of course. God in Heaven doesn’t exist. It’s all a fairy tale invented by wackos thousands of years ago.
“Tch.” Ryan doesn’t believe a single word of it. Catholic school is for losers and people in self denial. Not Ryan. He knows what a screen looks like. This is a real apocalypse. One with stats and stuff.
Ryan nods, stroking his peach fuzz chin. It’s gonna be very game-y, he thinks. Very gory, yes, but the good guys are gonna win in the end. Probably. Hopefully. And even if they don’t, they’ll squeeze a good story out of it. That’s pretty much a given.
One of Ryan’s coworkers, Todd, taps him on the shoulder. “Uh,” Todd says, “Are you seeing this?”
Ryan blinks. “Seeing what?” It’s a dumb question. He realizes it after the fact. He feels like a moron. It’s a familiar feeling.
“You know,” Todd says. “The screens.”
“Yeah, I can see them.”
Todd looks constipated. “Should… should we clock out?”
Ryan shrugs. Depends on the nature of the apocalypse. If it’s slow, he might not want to quit his job just yet. If it isn’t… well. They’ll find out soon enough.
“Sure,” is all he says.
Todd nods. They both check their timers.
0:10
The fast food restaurant is loud at this point. People share forum threads and screenshots on their phones. Someone in the corner watches YouTube with the volume up. Someone else swears and rushes from their booth, door tinkling as it shuts behind them.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Parents grab their kids, tense. Staring at thin air.
The atmosphere is getting weird.
0:03
0:02
0:01
There is absolute silence as the timer hits the two-minute mark…
…and vanishes.
Everyone looks at everyone else.
Is something supposed to happen? Ryan wonders.
Maybe it’s late.
As the restaurant stirs to life, customers exchanging secret looks and sighs of relief, Ryan waits a couple more seconds. Still, nothing. His heartbeat is slowing. The restaurant is normal. The sour taste of unmet expectations lingers on his tongue.
“AhhhhHHHH!” a woman screams. McDonalds is loud, but it isn’t that loud. From the play pen area staggers a figure. Dark, slithering rivers cross her skin. Veins. Big ones. They thicken, growing prominent.
Someone stands. “I’m a medic,” the medic announces. He makes his way to the woman. The room erupts with murmurs. The door jingles. Someone has left the building.
The veiny figure stands from where they’ve knelt. They opens her arms. A moment later, they explode.
That’s not normal.
The sight of blood, skin, and bony shrapnel shocks Ryan from the weird funk he’s only just now realized he’d fallen into. Ryan has somehow avoided the worst of the gore. Todd isn’t so lucky.
More screams.
Where the figure was, a fleshy gorilla thing looms. It’s seven feet tall. It looks angry, and strong. This is proven when it screams, pounds its chest, and launches the medic through the glass separating the dining area from the McDonalds play pen.
Kids joined in on the screaming.
Ryan is is beginning to understand why the System gave him the skills it did. There is no way in hell he is staying in McDonalds. He’ll need supernatural skills to avoid dying to that thing if it decides to lumber over and clobber him with meaty gorilla fists.
Ryan’s heart beats triple-time. Is this the beginning of a mini King Kong invasion, he wonders. He doesn’t stick around to find out. He’s read the web novels, but he’s no protagonist.
Or is he?
The gorilla glares at him. It hoots, softly.
Ryan takes the back door. It’s the logical thing to do, he thinks. There is nothing dishonorable in a strategic retreat from an overpowering threat.
Besides, he’s gotten another System notification.
Ryan stops in the alley between buildings, waving away the dumpster smell. He reads the notification. His eyebrows climb higher up his forehead, lifting into the stratosphere.
WARNING.
DANGER IMMENENT.
EVERYTHING IS FINE.
The blue screens flash red. Another screen hovers alongside the first two.
1:37
Another countdown. There are shouts. Some near, some far. The first emergency hasn’t been dealt with. Hell. It’s hardly begun.
Ryan takes a deep breathe. Whatever happens next can’t be good, he thinks. He needs backup. Friends. Allies in this brave new world. He tosses his McDonalds hat toward the open dumpster. It misses. He picks it up and drops it in, patting himself on the back.
Ryan doesn’t litter. It’s not who he is.
He whips out his phone, opens Discord, and shoots a message. His friends will know what to do. They always do. His hands shake with adrenaline as he types.
WizKid33: World ending. Wut now?
Instantly, his phone buzzes.
StabbyMcStabFace69: Run 4 ur life
WizKid33: @masked_samurai_lover @I_like_trees: Where is Pooky?
masked_samurai_lover: ˉ\_(⊙_?⊙)_/ˉ>
Ryan scratches his head. Pooky is the leader of their chat. Without the group’s one and only game master, nothing will get done.
The timer is still counting down.
0:43
The sounds of the city grow louder. Sirens pierce the air, wailing elsewhere. It smells like rotten eggs. Ryan shuffles away from the dumpsters.
There is a cat.
Ryan almost misses it. It peeks out from behind a dumpster. A calico.
“Meow.”
Cute.
It limps from out from behind the dumpster, a tentacle flicking behind it. Tail. Not tentacle, tail.
Ryan frowns. The hair on the back of his neck stirs. A panel of blue light flickers into existence.
Cat
Ryan nods. An identify skill is a must for any self-respectable System. He is sure it will improve as he levels up. Strange how the cat has no level. It must be beneath notice, like an insect. Or his manager.
“ACHOO!” the cat sneezes, its whole body shaking.
Ryan smiles. The adorable kitten looks cross-eyed at the steaming puddle of liquified concrete.
Wait a minute, Ryan thinks. That’s not right. The interface above the creature flickers.
Cat?
The adorable kitten McMuffin cocks its head.
“MeOW?” it says, pitch dropping to depths unreachable by a lifelong chain smoker.
Ryan inches backward, a bead of sweat dripping down his neck.
“HISSS.” The cat’s head splits into a four-petalled flower lines with sharp canines. The alien monstrosity let’s out an un-cat-like roar. The notification above it’s head flickers.
Definitely NOT a cat
“Oh, shit.” There is a soft ding as something in his head clicks. Then a golden shape detaches from himself. It ducks. Ryan stares at the holographic outline of him. “What the.”
The cat leaps.
On instinct, Ryan ducks, mimicking the hologram. Wind ruffles his hair as the not-a-cat flies overhead. It’s behind him, so he spins to meet it. The floor slides from under his foot as he is assaulted by the worst trope known to mankind – a loosely kept banana peel.
Ryan slips. A gold handprint flashes. Ryan slaps his hand upon the spot, automatically folding his hands around the handle of the dumpster, narrowly catching himself.
Is this what it feels to be athletic?
Ryan wouldn’t know. Physical exertion is a game best played by brutes and masochists. Ryan is a member of Society. A man’s man. Work smarter, not harder. The keyboard is his weapon; what need has he, a modern intellectual, for paltry reflexes passed down from a bygone era?
The cat hisses, acidic spittle spraying from between four sets of teeth.
Ryan regrets not following through on his New Years Resolutions. He should have known the apocalypse wouldn’t wait for him to get in shape.
The cat leaps.
High on adrenaline, Ryan doesn’t think before he high-kicks the cat monster midair. Well, tries. His toe pokes it. But he manages to alter the angle of the not-a-cat’s trajectory. Instead of latching onto Ryan’s head, the creature craters into a dumpster. It lands with a CRUNCH.
Proving, once and for all, the beast is not a cat.
Ryan slams the lid of the dumpster closed and leans on it. There is a thump. A yowl.
Then, silence.
Ryan carefully maneuvers a loose bag onto the top of the dumpster, grunting. It’s heavy. If Ryan weren’t so used to carrying the burden of saving the world upon his shoulders – vicariously, through the POVs of a hundred OP MCs – he might’ve failed.
Ryan doesn’t fail. The trash bag doesn’t tear or slip. If a little yellow sludge leaks onto his hand, well, that’s life for ya. Character building.
He steps back.
Thump. The lid doesn’t budge. The Definitely NOT a cat is trapped.
He’s done it.
Ryan fist-pumps.
“I have a System!”
The level up notification doesn’t arrive. That’s alright. Ryan can wait for the big reveal. Surely, it will come any moment now.
You have new Quests available.
“Oh?” Ryan rubs his chin. “Show me.”
A-Rank Combat Quest: Take Out the Trash Before Things Get Messy
Quarantine hostile Mutants long enough for authorities to take over. 0/2
Special: Priority delivery of quarantine object. 0/1
Time Limit: 1 hour
Reward: 100 karma
Accept? Y/N
Ryan accepts the quest immediately. A-rank? Pshaw. He has Skills, baby. And he’s pretty sure he’s already beaten the first Mutant, based on the shrill yowls emerging from the dumpster.
Thump!
Ryan jumps. “Jesus.” It came from behind him.
Along the brick wall glows a vending machine. It wasn’t there a second ago. Or was it? No, definitely not. Ryan pissed on that wall, once. No vending machine.
This vending machine is spotless silver. It has a large touch screen. System-serif font swirls along the screen, looking fancy. Ryan pokes it.
<
“Oh, shit.” Something is happening. The machine beep-boops.
<
“Huh?”
Is this a System thingy? Ryan facepalms. The font! The familiar font should’ve been a dead giveaway. He shakes his head at his short-sightedness. Turns out, the niche System vending machine trope had it right all along.
“Get it together, Ryan,” he mutters. “You’re better than this.”
He hasn’t spent his college years reading all those web novels for nothing, has he? Of course not!
Ryan eagerly brings up his combat level, licking his lips.
Combat (LV 2). Fight.
“Gasp!” He staggers, palming his heart, glancing about the shadowed alleyway.
Ryan has skipped straight past level one to level two. This… Ryan clears his throat. It’s too early to be calling himself Supreme Genius. To do so risks dooming himself to an early death as a minor side character–
Ryan slaps himself. To even think such cursed words! He shakes his head, ridding himself of the red flags.
The red flash reminds him of the timer.
0:10
This is no time to be dilly-dallying, Ryan thinks. He needs every advantage he can get before the Second Wave comes. If they’re killer ants, he’s screwed.
Ryan crosses himself and glances at the vending machine screen. There are a few buttons, but one notification flashes urgently.
<
The moment Ryan’s finger mashes the Yes button, the vending machine groans. There is a clattering, and a thump. Something rattles to a halt. Ryan reaches through the slit at the bottom and pulls it out. But before he can take a good look at it, his timer hits zero.
The notification vanishes.
Nothing happens.
Maybe this wave is late, too.
Ryan looks at the thing in his hands. It’s a circular, off-yellow patch, like something you’d find pinned to the front of a boy scout’s button-up shirt. A red Q has been sewn into the front.
Quarantine Patch. Place on quarantined object. Single use. Lasts 24 hours. Delivered for use in A-rank Combat Quest: Take Out the Trash Before Things Get Messy. Note: Please use responsibly.
Ryan wanders over to the dumpster. He slaps the badge onto the green metal. The keening from within the dumpster cuts off. The narrow, stinky alley echoes with sudden silence.
Ryan jumps as a soft ding heralds his quest update.
A-Rank Combat Quest: Take Out the Trash Before Things Get Messy
Quarantine hostile Mutants long enough for authorities to take over. 1/2
Time Limit: 0:59
Ryan clears his throat, looking around the alley. His quest is halfway over, and he’s not so much as a scratch to show for it. But where’s the other Mutant?
Ryan cups his hands around his mouth. “Here, kitty kitty.” He is eager to test his new Combat level against a second foe. His chest swells with anticipation. He lowers himself into a fighting stance more worthy of an OP MC. So what if he’s only level two? Everyone starts somewhere!
There is a low hiss. Two glowing purple eyes open into the opposite end of the alley. Into the light of the sun pads a cat half as large as Ryan, blinking sleepily. It yawns.
“MEEEEOOOOOOOW.”
Probably Not a Bobcat
“Oh, shit.”
***
From a narrow alley in downtown LA lurches a young man in a McDonalds uniform. He ducks around a corner, sprinting along a glowing trail of only he can see. A moment later, a parade of tentacles erupts from the alleyway. They curl and grasp at open air. Finding nothing, they retreat into the alley.
Biding their time.