Chapter 2: Breaking the Status Quo

Chapter 2: Breaking the Status Quo

I dove headfirst into the bed and burrowed my face into the pillow as I thought back on my day and what to do from now on.

Well, that sucked...

Stomping on the injured robber was apparently enough to kill him. I quickly called the cops right after, and they didn’t show up until 30 minutes later, which was enough time for me to snap out of my daze, only to find the store in a mess. I even mindlessly rang a customer out who didn’t seem to care one bit about the two dead bodies while they shopped.

When the cops showed up, all they did was ask me a few basic questions and take a few pictures of the crime scene. They didn’t even take the bodies away, quoting “Not our job.”T/his chapter is updated by nov(ê(l)biin.co/m

Not even five minutes after the police had left, I received a call from my manager, who angrily yelled over the line. “YOU IMBECILE! WHY DID YOU CALL THE POLICE?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THEY CHARGE PER CALL?” He continued yelling profanities at me. In the meantime, I wallowed at the realization of how different things worked in this world.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO SHOW UP TOMORROW ANYMORE, YOU’RE FIRED! AND YOU BETTER CLEAN UP THE GODDAMN MESS IN THAT STORE BEFORE THE DAY ENDS OR I’M TAKING IT OUT OF YOUR PAY!”

I hadn’t even bothered arguing. I had done enough research that I knew it was expected of every business to screw their employees over just because they could get away with it. If you tried to fight back, it would only waste time and money, with the lawsuits always ending in a battle of attrition.

Once you are rich enough, you could bend any rules at will or, at the very least, play by an easier rulebook.

I suppressed my simmering anger and got to cleaning.

I looted the gun and dagger from the bodies before I disposed of them. It didn’t seem like the cops cared at all about their weapons, so I helped myself. It would save me some credits, as I was looking to buy a weapon anyway.

I left the store as soon as the person for the next shift had arrived and power walked straight home.

Once I had enough of self-wallowing, I jumped straight into the shower to clear my head.

I finally had some time to think back on the floating “+10 EXP” message I had seen. Did I hallucinate that, or was it even real? If it was real, then did I attain some sort of system?

I couldn’t help but be a little excited as that thought came into my mind and started testing out my theory. “System!” I called out louder than I had wanted, but luckily the sound of the shower dampened the noise and no one else was here to hear me.

Nothing happened, so I kept trying, “Menu...Status.” On my third try, a menu popped up. The third time’s the charm, they say.

Status

Level:

1

EXP:

10/100

Musculoskeletal:

11

Neural Reflex:

15

Visuomotor Coordination:

12

Endurance:

8

Sensory Perception:

12

Upgrade Points:

There really wasn’t an option to add points to any of the other stats like Musculoskeletal and Neural Reflex, so I only focused on what I could control for now.

So far, there was nothing to show for my efforts, so it was probably one of three scenarios:

It took even more practice to reach level one.The upgrades provided a fixed amount of knowledge/skill. That meant if I naturally learned the same skills before upgrading it, I wouldn’t gain much as it would be redundant content.The upgrade was in a literal sense. It will be an upgrade on top of what I already have, kind of like a +1 to my base stats if this were a game. However, that brings the question of if it would be dynamic; if my natural skill increased, would I suddenly learn more or would I just build on top of what I already had?

Without more information about the system, I shelved away my thoughts and continued practicing my shooting at the range.

On a quiet day at the range, two women approached me and struck up a conversation all of a sudden, “You new at this co? We could give you a few pointers if you want.”

I looked over to the two women who both fit the description of textbook Amazonians to a tee. They were muscular and stood around six feet tall, just around the same as me. However, the one who spoke to me had a distinctive dark red metal right arm and matching cybernetic legs.

“Sure, if it doesn’t cost me anything, why not?”

The one who had spoken to me proceeded to watch me shoot, while her friend began shooting at her own pace in the lane beside me. Once the last of my mag was spent, the target returned, and I embarrassingly examined the results.

“How long you’ve been shooting?” The woman asked without a hint of belittling me in her voice, much to my relief. “Just started up again for a week or so. Previously, I had only shot maybe 3 or 4 times in my life,” I answered while I reloaded.

“You a corpo or something?” She said with an eyebrow raised.

“What...? No, um...orphanage, corpo sponsored.” I quickly made up an excuse and kept my eyes on the target, not wanting to meet her eyes.

“I see, well why don’t you take a look at how we shoot for a bit, and then we will give you some pointers? By the way, I’m Flo and this is Erza,” Flo said.

She then gave me a grin as she drew her large pistol that matched her size while Erza looked over and gave me a quick wave.

I introduced myself before Flo proceeded to demonstrate her shooting skills. It was evident from her form and stance alone that she knew what she was doing. Once she finished, it was my turn again. She helped correct my stance and coached me as I tried to imitate their form.

As they took turns teaching me, I became more comfortable chatting with them and my aim became slightly more consistent as well.

“Nice. You’re getting at least five outta ten in the inner circle now, much better than before.” Flo commented with her arms crossed.

“Better than before, yeah, but how does that even compare to the average?” I curiously asked.

The two of them were hitting seven or eight out of ten shots at a much longer distance than I was shooting from.

“Well, at that distance, the average wasteland raider outside the cities would probably hit about seven. The average security guard with a few weeks of training would probably hit about six outta 10. And as for mercs who have been in the game for a while like us, if they can’t get at least 9 out of 10, they should probably consider different careers. This is a stationary target we’re talking about, after all.”

I soon ran out of the practice ammo I had bought for the day and was relegated to being only a spectator. The pair also didn’t continue for long, as they had apparently only been testing out their new iron.

“We’re done for the day too. Wanna head out to grab a drink with us?” Flo asked as they secured their weapons.

“While that sounds great, I gotta get up early tomorrow, and I don’t have much disposable income right now.” I gave them a helpless smile.

“Well, you take care then and keep practicing. You improved pretty damn fast in a day. We may drop by again sometime. Once you have had some more practice, you could probably make some creds working as a merc if you are willing to take on some risks.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Here, let’s exchange contacts. Oh, you can save this contact as well. It’s for our QG, Fitel, for when you want some merc work.”

As appealing as that sounded, I needed some time to consider the risks first. I would much rather live a long and healthy life where I could enjoy my wealth. The best way to do that was to start a business, but I needed startup funds for that. Mercenary work may prove to be a decent way to break free from being a wage slave.

If there was one thing I learned throughout my life, it was that good health came at a pretty penny. I would need security, healthy food, doctors, financial security, and more.

“QG?” I asked, despite having gotten the gist that it was some fixer guy.

Flo raised an eyebrow questioningly, “Seriously? Quest Giver, the people who mercs like us work with to arrange jobs and guarantee...”

As Flo rambled on, I couldn’t focus on her words. I was too busy screaming internally.

I mean... Quest Giver? Really? Who the hell named that?