The giant roared. The bridge swayed. Hundreds of people’s lives hung in the balance.

  But all Mallmart Momo could focus on was that screen.

  “Pick a class?” she repeated to herself, quietly, disbelievingly. Her stomach churned. Her ears started ringing again, like a second grader playing a recorder with all the wind in his tiny chest.

  Because, because—

  Is this when she finally became special?

  ***

  Up until age sixteen, every day of Mallmart Momo’s life had looked pretty much identical.

  Wait—no. Let’s start over. There’s only one main character today.

  Up until age sixteen, every day of Momo’s life had looked pretty much identical.

  Every day, she’d rumble over to Mission High School, her third school in as many years, and illegally wedge her clunky Yaris into one of the teacher’s parking spots. (She couldn’t afford one of the normal ones, and the widely-feared Mrs. Lawson had been on mental health leave for two years. No one in the school administration had the guts to check why she’d still be parking there at seven A.M. everyday.)

  She’d squeeze out of the car, hoodie tied up as she snuck through the hallways, and shuffle to the back of the classroom, sleeping until the intercom jarred her awake. The highly sympathetic English teacher would give her that look, Momo would refuse her hundredth extended olive branch, and then slip away to the empty, humid art room for lunch, spring open her tupperware full of bulgogi, and perch alone by the window and watch the other kids eat in the lawn.

  Then, because she needed an extra job to help her parents pay the increasingly high rent bills, she’d skip her last class to make it to Mallmart on time, shout along to Linkin Park in the car and run two consecutive red lights without noticing, before slowing down at the curb when she inevitably spotted Lucy West on her way to her shift at the thrift store. Momo’s heart would beat like a frenzied horse looking at that girl, an upperclassman by one year, french-braided hair and Metallica t-shirt, way cooler than Momo would ever be, and Momo would tell herself she’d introduce herself someday.

  She never would.

  If it all sounded like the opening to a movie about a depressed teenager on a rocky downhill slope to an unhappy death in upstate New York, that was purely coincidental. Momo liked her life. She preferred it this way. Things were good. She was left alone. No one bothered her. She enjoyed the solitude.

  And sure, she couldn’t sleep without a sitcom playing in the background. Sure, she didn’t really have any other contacts on her phone besides her brother and Nancy from work. Sure, she still couldn’t really have a conversation with her parents that went beyond the weather or gossip about someone’s kid from church. These were all normal, average, regular teenage experiences. They sucked, but they ended when she moved out. They will end when she moves out.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  —Are all thoughts she used to tell herself.

  But after Momo met her, she didn’t get the luxury of that anymore.

  Momo could remember the vivid details of the encounter like it had happened that very morning. She could tell you the way the grass in the Nether felt on her skin. How everything changed in the span of one second. How one moment she was apathetically arranging maternity wear, weighing which fast food place she’d throw money at after work, and the next, she was a trembling mess in an old medieval fortress, confused and scared, while a clone of herself with wings and horns and a big, soft smile told her that everything she thought she knew was a lie.

  “Take this bracelet,” the other Momo had said. “Something to remember this moment by.”

  So she’d taken the bracelet. And she’d sat in that cold, scary fortress until she found her. The witch with the breath like car exhaust. Sera was just like the other Momo had warned her. A real nasty customer. But once Sera had figured out that the other Momo had fled, she had changed tone. She squatted in front of Momo, her bright blue eyes narrow as she looked at her as if she was just a speck of dust.

  “It’s an aberration,” the bald woman had said, like it was a diagnosis. She wasn’t talking to her anymore; it was a comment toward her companion. “Not the real thing.”

  Not the real thing.

  Not… the real thing.

  ***

  As one does when they have a sudden need to suppress their emotions, Momo picked up smoking.

  Then she accidentally crashed her car.

  Real-Momo told her she found it floating around in the Nether somewhere.

  Figures.

  ***

  The screen flickered in front of Mallmart Momo. Swallowing down the emotion in her chest, she pressed down on it with her hand. She was surprised by just how real it felt, the haptic buzz that carried over her finger and fizzled through her arm pleasantly. This was it. This was her moment.

  “An aberration,” she said to herself. “I’ll show you an aberration.”

  The screen offered her four choices. Wizard, Rogue, Warrior, and something called… the Maverick?

  She clicked the last one. The text of it was colored a slightly different shade of yellow.

  Maverick (Soul Class): Maverick walks a path only they can see, trusting that with each step, they'll carve something extraordinary out of the chaos. Forge your own path as a daring risk-taker, unbound by conventional rules. The Maverick thrives on adaptability, quick reflexes, and a bit of luck. With the ability to unleash risky strikes that increase critical hit chances and evade attacks with agile sidesteps, the Maverick seizes any opening to turn the tide. This class comes with an instinct for improvisation, allowing the use of found items as weapons or tools in a pinch.

  Her eyes raked over the text once, then several more times, drinking it in. She hovered her finger over Soul Class, and another box overlaid the class selection.

  Soul Classes are classes that reflect the true nature of one’s soul. They are only available to those at the beginning of a System Takeover on any given planet.

  Momo blinked, feeling a rush of warmth spread through her chest. A daring risk-taker, unbound by conventional rules? That was really… the true nature of her soul? It felt silly even considering it. She’d been described as “unfocused” and “disruptively sleepy” by teachers before—but maybe this was just the same thing, inverted. The other side of the coin.

  She decidedly ignored the other class options, and selected the Maverick.

  Maverick Class Acquired

  New Quest Acquired

  [Fight For Dominance]

  The Lord of All Lords, Kyros, seeks a champion. Someone with incredible strength who can defeat the competition. To prove your worth, you must defeat as many Nether spawn as possible within a 2-week period. While eliminating other humans will not affect your score, it will not earn you points toward your path as Kyros’s champion. The human who demonstrates the greatest potential will be summoned to his palace in the sky.

  Your current ranking: #7.2billion

  Mallmart Momo stared at the text for a long time as the cold breeze flooded past her. Something was building inside her—a chemical reaction. A slow, decisive smile crept up her face.

  The heavens needed a champion?

  She glanced up at Real-Momo in the sky, frowned, then looked back at the screen.

  Okay then. They were going to get one.