The Great Questions

Commencing System Integration Protocol...

The grey, translucent message hovered in the air. Bob deliberated. He turned from the message to his paperback and then back to the message. He asked the great, salient question of our time:

"Can I ignore this?"

A few seconds rolled by. Then a few more. Nothing dramatic happened.

"Yes, I'm just going to ignore this."

Bob turned definitively back to Jonny the Man.

Planetary Handshake Attempted... Planetary Handshake Success

Bob was an upstanding citizen of the world. He would do his part.

He made a valiant effort to read the text. It all meant nothing to him. It sounded two or three levels above his pay grade. Bob worked in quality assurance (in case you didn't know).

Commencing Potential Value Analysis... Initiation Candidates Identified

Bob started to wonder whether he ought to exit the tub. It was hard to say one way or the other.

Loading System Initiation... Initiation Plane Generated

Something was happening. Bob felt confident he could assert at least that much. He slowly started to close Jonny the Man. Now was not the time for literature.

Bob stopped himself.

Had there ever been a more pressing time for literature?

Bob really wanted to find out what Jonny was going to do next. And now seemed like his only chance. It wasn't like the universe could penalise him for reading, could it? No, there couldn't possibly exist an in-the-bath penalty.

Scheduling Initiation Transport... Initiation Transport Scheduled for T-60 seconds

"One minute! But that's not enough time."

Bob could barely wade through a paragraph in sixty seconds. Jonny the Man and Kai Vortex were locked in a desperate, death-defying duel. Bob wouldn't get to find out who won! He searched frantically. He lasered down the page. Maybe. Just maybe...

Initiation Transport Countdown: T-30 seconds

Bob closed Jonny the Man. It was no good. There wasn't enough time. These stupid messages blocked out his vision. Bob had been deprived of his final pleasure. The world really was a heartless pit.

Initiation Transport Countdown: T-10 seconds

"I've gone crazy, haven't I? Batshit crazy. Work stress. I knew it would get to me eventually, but I thought I had more time. Isn't it supposed to happen in your forties? I'm still in my twenties. It's not fair."

Initiation Transport in 3

"Oh no, here she comes."

Bob clenched the sides of the tub, preparing himself for the worst, even as he battled the maddening impression that he had forgotten something important. He bit his lip and tried to think.

Initiation Transport in 2

He hadn't left the stove on, had he? Was it something to do with work? Had he paid his phone bill this month? No, that didn't feel right. Come on, Bob, think!

Initiation Transport in 1

"George!"

George was lying on the bathroom threshold just where Bob had left him. The dog cracked open an eye and looked around at his master. He gave a happy, carefree smile like all was right with the world—

Executing Transport

The world blazed white, then snapped back into focus. Bob fell a half-inch or so to the ground and splashed down into a patch of mud, butt-naked, with nothing but the paperback in his hand.

Bob couldn't believe it.

The system had gone and slapped him with an in-the-bath penalty.

Greetings, sentient. Welcome to the System Initiation!

Best of luck

Today truly was the worst of days. The evilest holiday in the whole wretched calendar. Where was the welcoming warmth, the soothing swirl of mist, the gentle glow of indoor light? Instead he was sitting in a brown puddle of mud, in what looked like a forest, and yes, of course, it was raining. Just a grey drizzle from an overcast sky, but couldn't a man catch a break?

Challenge One (1/4):

Defeat the boar

Bob slowly worked his way to his feet, groaning and grumbling, cursing and complaining. He rubbed tenderly at his backside. He hadn't landed well and he bruised easily. And all the while, he was trying his best to avoid soiling his paperback (he was at a really good part).

He was up. He was standing. The great man is the one who always gets back up.

Bob stood there in the empty forest, the rain drizzling down, and he stank. The mud just stuck to him. It had gotten everywhere. Truly everywhere. It must have splashed up when he was catapulted here, because even his front was spotted and spattered with the stuff.

How was he supposed to get this slime off himself? He had no towel or tissues. Nothing at all to wipe with. In sheer desperation, he used his one free hand to scrape away thick clots of mud and throw them onto the ground.

This was less than effective.

If anything it only seemed to spread the mud around, resulting in a wider (though thinner) continuous sheen.

He needed to find himself civilisation, a hot shower, a cotton towel and some fresh clothes. Even a system initiation must have a few essential services. It was just then that he heard a low, nasal call from the bushes, maybe thirty yards ahead, followed by a rustling that steadily increased in volume.

"Jesus Christ!"

An adult boar (think giant brown pig with sharp white tusks) was nosing its way through the undergrowth.

"Challenge, my arse! How in god's name am I supposed to defeat that thing?"

A dagger materialised in the air in front of him. He fumbled, he almost saved it, and then splat, the dagger fell straight into the thickest part of the mud.

"God dammit! Very funny. Very funny..." Bob mouthed, shaking a fist vaguely in the air, as though threatening the tree in front of him.

He reached down and... hesitated.

For pity's sake, he'd just wiped off his hand.

Did he really need the knife?

But a low grumble from the bushes was a persuasive argument. Bob plunged his hand back into the mud, seized the dagger and readied himself. Which is to say he crouched slightly and held the dagger out in front of him, mostly for effect.

The boar didn't seem to have noticed Bob yet. Maybe Bob could just sneak away. Yes, that's what he'd do. He'd just tiptoe away, nice and easy, one little step at a time.

Squelch!

Bob glared down at the treacherous mud.

The boar reacted instantaneously, eyes wide, head turning directly towards him, tusks glistening menacingly.

"Ok, Bob, you've got this. Nice and easy."

Bob finally dropped the book he'd been carefully protecting all this time.

A man can only do so much.

"You'll step out of the way at the last second and stab it as it passes. Easy-peasy, easy-peasy. Here she comes."

Bob tossed the dagger between his two hands, the steel blade spinning in the air, as he tried to project an air of calm professionalism. Like he was cool and ready, not arrogant, just confident enough to want to wrap things up.

That is... until the boar roared and charged at him.

Bob mistimed his catch.

Most unfortunate. But he had the wit to give up the thing practically immediately and just legged it for the nearest tree. The boar followed, gaining speed, head down, tusks forward. The boar was gaining, gaining, gaining—

Bob jumped up into the tree just as the boar impacted the trunk.

The tree rocked. The branches trembled.

Somehow, god-willing, he held on.

Sure he was panting his lungs out. Sure his feet, hands and knees were scratched all over by the knobby bark. Sure he looked like some island savage who'd just emerged from a thorn bush. But Bob was grinning ear-to-ear. He was alive! He was alive!

The boar circled the tree, its beady, little eyes glaring up at Bob, as it huffed and puffed its displeasure at the indecent intruder. But indecency was the least of Bob's concerns. He leaned back against the trunk and sighed to himself. This was turning into quite the ordeal.

Bob supposed he ought to be asking himself whether he was dreaming. That was what characters tended to do in these situations. But somehow Bob didn't really see it that way. He was a practical thinker. A head-on-shoulders kind of guy.

After all, he was here, wasn't he? Living, running, suffering (mainly suffering). It was just as real and a good deal more painful than anything else he'd experienced in his twenty-four years on this planet.

Yes, agreed, that he was not in his bath, enjoying a warm soak and a quiet book, was surprising. Most surprising. Bob granted that. How had he gotten here? How could he get back? What had all that strange text meant? All complete mysteries. Bob granted all this.

But then the universe had made its wishes very clear: "defeat the boar." What good would it do to stand there debating the motivations of a being infinitely more powerful than oneself?

The job was simple. Defeat the boar.

And he meant to give the thing the old college try.

Problem was, see, how the hell was he going to manage that, stuck up in a tree, butt-naked, his only weapon buried in the mud ten paces away? And for Pete's sake was this rain ever going to let up?