Apocalypse: Fairy System by Macronomicon (fox in socks read aloud txt) 📕

ceiling. “Needs ventilation. Unless you want us to suffocate on carbon monoxide. And a light source. Tools and a workbench. And a computer for coding and drafting. And a generator to run aforementioned drafting computer.”

Jeb glanced at the smooth stone ceiling. “Start a list of what you need, then give it to Mrs. Lang.”

Eddie nodded.

“In the meantime, help me unload the trailer.”

Eddie’s eyes bulged when Jeb started unloading boxes full of jewelry and lenses from the back of the small trailer. His pegleg made carrying heavy things extra awkward, with only one foot to balance on. Jeb used his Myst to steady himself and stop from toppling over.

He’d gotten stronger over the last few weeks, but he was still only able to lift thirty or forty pounds with his mind. A Myst Attribute of sixteen was good, especially compared to the average Joe, but not great. Especially compared to the average Myst user.

I wonder if I can get some new rings. I wonder if they would work. Jeb’s stat rings had simply stopped working after the powwow with the gods themselves. They’d been little more than paperweights by the time he’d gotten back to the real world.

They had funded his first couple weeks in an inn before The Spike started nagging at him again.

Jeb wasn’t sure if the rings didn’t work because he was no longer connected to The System, or if it was because they’d been burnt out, but the guy he’d sold them to had said they were nonmagical and paid him a handful of silver for the two rings.

Jeb had to assume the guy wasn’t lying, because as far as the salesman knew, everyone could use The System to identify objects, and lying would be ousted in a matter of seconds.

So, assuming I didn’t get shafted, I could probably buy some new ones.

Still, what about contact with the gods had caused his rings to lose their juice?

Speaking of Attributes, Jeb thought, glancing over at Eddie.

“Eddie, what’s your Class?”

“What Class?”

“Your level?”

“Zero,” the scientist said, holding up a circled finger. “I went through the Easy Tutorial and listened to a bunch of safety talks and whapped a straw man with a wooden sword a couple times until they let me go. When I got back to Earth, I immediately put myself out of harm's way.”

“Why?” Jeb asked.

“Because on average, every actual fight I saw, twelve percent of the people involved got murdered,” Eddie said with a shrug.

“It takes about ninety life-threatening fights to achieve level twenty and get a Class. Extrapolating from that information by using point eight eight survival rate raised to the power of ninety to illustrate the total number of fights reveals I would have a one in one hundred thousand chance of surviving until the end.”

“You realize the twelve percent goes down as people figure out what they’re doing, right? That number doesn’t account for experience,” Jeb mused.

“That number also doesn’t account for the fact that I’m goddamn sixty years old, with weak muscles and slow reflexes. I can barely lift fifty pounds. I’m not a young man full of piss and vinegar. Whaddya say we call the math even?” Eddie said, setting the box down against the wall and rubbing his back.

True, he’s not exactly adventurer material. But…

“Eddie, if you want to figure out how to combine human and Myst tech together, we’re going to need to get you a Class.”

The skinny old man puffed up his chest and heaved out a sigh. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

A thought occurred to Jeb. “You think you could modify a bomb-disposal robot?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“Excellent. Add ‘bomb-disposal robot’ to your list. I’m sure they’re not in high demand right now. In the meantime, we need to pawn some of this stuff.”

I need to go on a shopping spree.

Chapter 12: Run Forrest

“You’re serious?” Jeb asked.

“No humans allowed,” the hulking melas said, holding up an orange palm in front of his face. “Surely you can read the sign.” He motioned to a big white sign with scribbles on it.

“This is usually the part where the bribe works,” Jeb muttered to himself, glancing greedily through the window, where dozens of minor magic items were sitting on glittering glass stands. Magic clips, magic pens, magic floaty paperweights.

Farther back, resting inside the glass counter under the watchful eye of the clerk, were dozens of wands, each one hand-crafted with magnificent decorative motifs that hinted at their function.

Behind the counter, there were rich, oiled boxes with silver and gold rings, protected by an iron grate covered with glowing runes. It was enough to make him drool.

“I’ve got money. You can see I’ve got money, can’t you?” Jeb asked, motioning to the case of gold under his arm.

Selling tubs of people’s jewelry had netted him a whopping…sixty bulbs. Turns out a fair amount of the stuff was gold-plated. Add that to some steep price gouging, and he’d walked away with only a bit of cash.

Jeb hadn’t expected to get retail price for the jewelry, obviously, but he knew the seller had to be making money hand over fist reselling those chains, watches and jewels.

Since when is sixty grand only a bit of cash, anyway? Answer: When you’re pretending to be rich.

“I can see you’ve got money,” the guard drawled. “I’m sorry to tell you that your money’s no good here. Non-human Citizens only, I’m afraid. The establishment doesn’t believe you fat monkeys can be trusted with magical equipment just yet.”

Jeb’s jaw dropped. Did I just get discriminated against? But I’m rich! Rich people don’t get discriminated against!

No, wait, I’m thinking of rich and famous people.

Jeb took one last, longing look at the candyland that lay beyond the glass window, watched a richly dressed keegan