The afterglow of victory was a potent, heady thing. Chris stood on the steps of the now-stable Upshur County Public Library, the afternoon sun warming his face, still basking in the triumphant chime of his Level 7 achievement. The world was blessedly normal, the only evidence of the recent chaos the fluttering yellow caution tape he had ducked under on his way out. He had done it, and had come out the other side stronger. He had won.
He took a deep breath of the wonderfully non-glitched air and turned to head home, a feeling of quiet satisfaction settling over him. Just as he thought the rewards were over, one final, profoundly important notification appeared in his vision.
This window was different. It wasn't the celebratory gold of the quest completion screen or the sterile white of a ModBot citation. This was a sleek, professional, almost corporate gold, like a formal letterhead from a very important, very powerful company.
[USER PERMISSIONS UPDATED]
[User Standing: Valued Contributor]
[Abilities Granted: [Item Creation], User may choose a [Class], Access to the [Messaging System].]
[New Title Assigned: Arbiter]
Chris stared at the words, his mind struggling to catch up. This wasn't just a reward. This wasn't XP or a new skill. This was a fundamental change. He had new permissions. He had access to core systems he hadn't even known existed. And the title... Arbiter. It felt heavy. It sounded official, like a judge or a referee. It was a promotion. He had gone from being a random player who had stumbled upon a bug to a recognized, credentialed member of the team.
As he stood there, internalizing the weight of his new title, the HUD that he had grown so accustomed to flickered once. The simple display of his level, XP, and EP vanished, and in its place, a completely new user interface loaded.
The new UI was sleeker, more refined. The font was sharper. And there were new tabs, new menus, new possibilities. Along the edge of his vision, a clean, minimalist bar now displayed a series of selectable icons: [STATUS], [ABILITIES], [QUESTS], [CLASSES], [ITEM CREATION], and [MESSAGING].
The amount of new, complex information was overwhelming. It was like going from playing on a free-to-play mobile game to sitting in the cockpit of a full-immersion VR rig. But it wasn't scary. It was intensely, breathtakingly thrilling. He had to get home. He had to get back to his command center.
He rushed home, his mind racing a mile a minute. He burst through the front door, barely registering Misty's surprised "Oh, you're back!" from the living room. He bypassed his parents completely, a man on a singular, urgent mission. He took off toward the hallway and didn't stop until he was safely behind the closed door of his bedroom.
He slumped into his gaming chair, his heart pounding not with fear, but with pure, unadulterated excitement. He was a kid on Christmas morning who had just been given the greatest video game ever created, and now it was time to explore the menus.
With a mix of awe and trepidation, he focused his will and mentally selected the [CLASSES] tab. A new window, crisp and professional, opened in the center of his vision.
[USER, please select your first Class.]
[Warning: This choice is permanent and cannot be changed (though future opportunities may be present to gain new classes). Your chosen Class will determine your primary path of advancement and the types of skills you will unlock.]
This was it. This was the source of true power. In every RPG he had ever played, the choice of a class was the single most important decision a player could make. It defined everything that came after. He felt a familiar thrill, the same one he felt every time he started a new game, but this time it was magnified a thousand-fold. This wasn't for a character. This was for him. What would the options even be? He speculated wildly. Would there be a Riftwarden class, like his character in Vexlorn? Would his new title, Arbiter, be a class option? Or would the System, in its infinite, passive-aggressive wisdom, offer him something like [CLASS: Disaffected Millennial (LVL 7)]? The prompt simply hovered, waiting for him to indicate he was ready. He decided to explore the other menus first. This was a decision too important to rush.
With a giddy sense of excitement, he closed the [CLASSES] window and mentally selected the [ITEM CREATION] tab. The interface that appeared made him gasp. It was beautiful. It looked almost exactly like the crafting menu from Vexlorn, a game renowned for its intuitive and satisfying crafting system. On the left was a long, scrollable list of item names. In the center was a large window that would show the item's description and stats. On the right was a box that would display the required resources and a large, inviting "Create" button.
The list of items was immense. He scrolled down, seeing thousands upon thousands of "blueprints," as the System called them. Most of them were grayed out, their text a faint, inaccessible color. He focused on one at random, a blueprint for [Plasma Rifle (Standard Issue)]. A small pop-up appeared over the grayed-out text.
[INSUFFICIENT KNOWLEDGE: Lacks prerequisite understanding of plasma physics and directed energy weapon principles.]
He scrolled further, finding a blueprint for [A Perfectly Toasted Bagel with Cream Cheese]. It, too, was grayed out.
[INSUFFICIENT RESOURCES: User does not possess [Cream Cheese (Grade B or higher)].]
He scrolled and scrolled, a kid in a cosmic candy store where all the candy was locked behind glass. But then he found a section near the top labeled "Basic Unlocked Blueprints." There were only a handful of them, but they were a start.
"Cup of Coffee." "Basic Sandwich (Turkey)." "Wooden Chair (Four Legs)."
And, humorously, a blueprint that immediately caught his eye.
"Self-Propelled Lawnmower (Gasoline Model)."
A grin spread across his face. Pete. All week, his step-father had been complaining about their ancient, sputtering lawnmower. It was a relic from the late 90s that required a complex ritual of prayer and profanity to start. The thought of solving a real-world, practical problem for Pete—of actually contributing something useful to the household with his System magic—was incredibly, surprisingly appealing. This was his chance to be something other than the guy who had to be reminded to take out the trash.
Feeling bold, he selected the lawnmower blueprint. A detailed diagram of a standard push mower appeared in the center window, along with a list of required materials on the right. He recognized the list as being the same as the one he'd seen when he'd inspected the blueprint a moment ago. He felt a surge of confidence. He was Level 7 now. He was an Arbiter. Surely, he didn't need to go scavenging for scrap metal like a low-level player in a post-apocalyptic survival game. He could just... make it.