Apocalypse: Generic System by Macronomicon (shoe dog free ebook TXT) 📕

was guaranteed to fail. In this case, failure might mean death.

“Hey WAIT A MINU-“

Teleporting

Between one blink and the next, The roof above his head vanished, replaced with blue skies as bold and natural as any he’d ever seen.

The air went from musty motel to natural earth and plant scents in a fraction of a second. The light shifted.

Jeb was sitting up in the middle of a forest, with no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there.

Why the hell did I pick impossible!? Jeb thought, eyes wide as he glanced around the forest.

Welcome to the Impossible tutorial!

Your sacrifice will not be in vain!

You are currently in the Death Wilds of Pharos! In the crates behind you, you will find supplies to help you complete your trial.

Jeb glanced over his shoulder and spotted three crates behind him. Each of them looked like they were five feet on a side with open tops. Jeb could see metal bits coming out the tops of the crates.

You are currently in a Safe zone. Monsters are unable to enter or attack the Safe Zone. Safe zone will expire in 14 days. Tutorial will be complete when the boss has been defeated. Once the tutorial is complete, you will be teleported back to humanity.

To better prepare you for the Impossible tutorial, you have been awarded with fifteen free Ability points. Use them wisely.

Jeb waited for anything more. Any more words to reverberate through his mind, but all was quiet, and so he clambered to his feet, tossing the pink blanket off of himself.

Difficulty? Ability points? What the hell is going on? Am I still high? Would I even know?

Jeb glanced down at his rough hands. Am I in some kind of game? Jeb picked up a bit of dirt and rubbed it between his hands before letting it fall. All of his senses were crisp and clear. He definitely wasn’t high any more. And if someone was jacking his brain, matrix style, it was a damn good simulation.

And that means what? All this is real? Impossible didn’t sound good.

“Hey, can I change the difficulty? I was making those choices in an altered state,” Jeb said aloud, hoping whatever omnipresent thing had done this was able to take last minute requests.

No answer.

Worth a shot, Jeb thought, stomach sinking as his gaze fell on the crates.

“Shi- ow,” Bits of forest poked through his socks as he made his way to the supplies.

The leftmost crates had weapons of every conceivable kind, with the sole exception of firearms, but if it killed things, and it was powered by muscle, it was on the list.

He even spotted an African throwing axe and an Atlatl complete with a dozen darts halfway between the size of a javelin and an arrow. Needless to say, there were plenty of spears, swords, bows, crossbows, axes and knives.

Is this thing bigger on the inside? Jeb wondered, putting his hand into the box and reaching toward the wall of the crate. His hand came into contact with the wall a good foot further out than the side of the crate should’ve been.

Well, that’s fuckin’ weird an’ magical.

Jeb moved to the next box. It had armor of every description, from police riot gear, to full medieval plate armor, to armored bikinis.

Upon finding an armored bikini in the box, Jeb raised an eyebrow. Finding this here meant a couple things: Whatever aliens had done this shit to him had been trawling through comics and art to figure out what ‘armor’ should look like. It also meant whatever superintelligence had been doing it either wasn’t paying attention to human physiology or didn’t care that fantasy tit-protectors didn’t actually stop arrows.

Or….

Am I in a fantasy world with fantasy physics? Teleportation seems to be possible, so why not magical bikini armor?

God, I hope so.

Although, that opened up an entirely different can of worms that begged the question of intent-based physics, or whether everything was an abstract simulation.

Let’s not overthink it. Jeb thought, tossing the bikini aside. Better safe than sorry on the armor front.

The one thing he’d learned from the few times he’d let his younger brother drag him to his SCA sessions, was that actual armor looked…kinda goofy.

He found what he was looking for: a brigandine, heavy leather plated pants, and a decent shield.

Any soldier had to take weight into account when they were choosing their gear, and this was no different. Jeb set the armor he’d chosen up against a nearby tree as he inspected the next crate.

This one was a gold mine.

MRE’s, water, a shovel, toilet paper, rope, matches, med kit, super glue, salt, even a bottle of morphine and some needles…Goddamn. There was even a G.I. stove that looked like it had been ripped right outta someone’s WWII memorabilia. Just fill with something flammable, pump it a few times, and it’s good to go. No electricity or nothing required.

Well, at least I’m not gonna starve immediately, Jeb thought to himself, idly grabbing the shovel and tossing it beside the armor.

Once he’d pulled out enough gear and assembled a kit, he went back to the weapon bin.

What’s the smart choice here? He thought, scanning through the choices.

Crossbow with a sword and board seemed like the go-to answer.

Over the next half an hour, Jeb put on the armor, made a rope sheath for his sword, tied the first aid kit onto his back, made a shoulder strap for the crossbow and harness for the bolts. Then he used the matches to start a fire.

Before he left, he tossed a couple armloads of green wood atop the merrily burning fire.

For the next hour or so, he would have a nice smoke signal to orient himself on. It would be the stupidest thing he could imagine to