When Jon had first appeared, his heart had been pounding with anxiety and the exertion of his evening run. He had calmed as curiosity overtook him examining the posters, and he had nearly forgotten his abduction for the last few minutes. But when the noises from the hallway registered, his breaths once again became ragged. He felt a rush of heat, and he sat with one arm on the table and one resting on his leg, tense and leaning to the side.

  Confusion overtook fear as the creature shuffled into view. The door clicked shut behind it, and Jon couldn’t help but stare. It was unlike anything he had ever seen: squat, bent like an old man, and carrying a briefcase in one hand with a folder in the other. Its face was tortoise-like, and it had a patchy white beard with tufts of white hair sticking out where Jon might have expected ears. Its eyes were oddly human, light brown, and extremely large. They peaked out over a large beak-like mouth which curved down past its chin. It looked like a plushy version of a tortoise you might find in a gift shop, but without a shell, walking on its hind legs.

  The turtle-thing was wearing a dark-green suit too large for its frame, with the result making it boxy over its shoulders. It wore a similarly forest-green bowler cap.

  Without a word, the creature shuffled forward and sat in a second black office chair. The back of the chair was about a hand taller than it was. Jon was sure the chair had not been there when it opened the door, and he almost found its sudden presence more unsettling than the alien itself.

  The creature paused, cracked its neck by tilting it to one side, then put the brief case down. The folder fell on the desk with a smack a moment later, a disorganized stack of papers sliding out as it landed. Then the creature took off its bowler cap and set it on the desk. It sat down with a slight groan.

  Jon examined the papers as it sat down. The edges of some were folded and creased, others were clearly facing in the wrong direction, and, oddly, the portions Jon could see appeared to be in English. There were large stains on the two front pages. In any other context, Jon would assume the creature had spilled coffee on them.

  Jon wasn’t sure whether to bolt, fight, laugh or cry. Another flash of heat traveled through his body as it studied him. Adrenaline. He briefly entertained the idea of attacking the creature; yet, as the panicked thought of fighting the alien occurred to him, he had a premonition of extreme danger. He took a calming breath, and he ultimately remained still, doing nothing at all.

  Then the creature opened the folder, and took out a crisper bright white sheet from near the bottom, turning it and shoving it across the table to him. The hands had three fingers and an opposable fourth digit which looked more like another finger than a thumb. Each digit ended in a long claw, reminiscent of the Velociraptor replicas Jon had seen at the natural history museum. Tommy loved those things.

  “So, this is you,” the turtle-thing said.

  The turtle’s voice was that of an older man. It was cultured, and reminded Jon of a British talk-show host rich enough to forget the cost of produce. A host that was being forced to read a script he hated.

  Jon pulled himself out of his thoughts and glanced at the sheet the turtle-man had given him.

  At the top of the sheet, the page stated

  Name: Jon Walton

  Below that appeared to be a few stats: power, agility, discernment, intelligence, toughness, and presence. The turtle-man began to speak again:

  “You may call me Herman. I will be coordinating your initial introduction to the system and your class selection. I can answer basic questions about this new world you find yourself in, but not any details which would give you an undue advantage.”

  Herman paused for an expectant look at Jon.

  “Uh yes, where are we? Can I return home?” Jon asked.

  Herman gave him a sympathetic look, and dropped the scripted tone, speaking calmly and a little more warmly.

  “We are in the bureaucratic records halls somewhere beneath the roots. Per the terms of the contract you signed, no, you may not return home unless you earn that as a boon for high-performance.”

  Herman gave a wry smile. At least, that was how Jon interpreted the twisting musculature at the corners of its beak. Herman continued in the manner of someone discussing a manager they disliked behind their back:

  “Or unless you develop the requisite skill to divine your prior location and subsequently manipulate space and time to the degree required to return. Neither is particularly likely if we are being honest, but the latter may be a little more probable.”

  “Contract?” Jon said, confused. He continued:

  “I asked for more information, and then to progress to the character selection suite. I didn’t sign any contract!”

  Herman’s smile faded, and he sighed again.

  “Listen friend, I am going to be frank. Being blunt will save us both a bit of time. This is far more important for you than for me, as we have only a short while here. The contract was included in both prompts, but you had to request to see the terms prior to signature if you wanted to see them. Signature in this case referred to any affirmation of proceeding, which provides a degree of equity to the intellectually-challenged species who find themselves here. Consent is very important in this place, but informed consent is not. You should be extremely cautious with any system prompts you are given.”

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  With a sinking feeling, Jon asked,

  “What did you mean by space and time? I felt like it was only a few moments between when I first received the prompt and when I got here. Shouldn’t it only be space?”

  “I meant,” Herman answered, “What I said.” He hesitated a moment, as though debating how much to say, then continued:

  “It’s somewhat irrelevant. Even if it were space alone you would be long dead before you returned to your home, if you were traveling without the assistance of the tree. As it is now, I couldn’t tell you if you are fifty thousand years in the past or two hundred in the future relative to your base time. At least, not without checking things well beyond my clearance. Further, I couldn’t tell you the relative time between this place and that one, so even if we are currently in the relative past or future, that may not remain the case.”

  Herman gave him a sad look as Jon’s terror continued to worsen. He looked like he wanted to offer Jon a handkerchief or a tissue. All that look did was piss Jon off more.

  Maybe Herman was not directly responsible for Jon’s plight, but the turtle-man was part of a system that enabled it. As long as that remained the case, Jon considered his sympathy complete bullshit. Jon knew it was not a helpful feeling to express right now, and did his best to keep it under wraps. He tried to turn back to actionable information.

  “What about my family? Are they still on Earth? Was I the only one brought here from my planet, or are there others?”

  “If you were within a few miles of them, your family is almost certainly still on your home planet. In general, a representative sample is selected, part of this process is relative randomization. To avoid disruption of the native population, certain hard-stops are placed to prevent large groups from being affected at once, which might draw attention to these events.”

  “How large of a sample? And won’t the disappearances draw a lot of attention regardless? My family will certainly notice I am gone.”

  “Typically ten to twenty thousand subjects are taken from planets like yours. Your family will not notice you missing as your physical form remains present there, though in a minimally-responsive state. Assuming your body was nearby, of course.”

  “You mean I am some sort of clone, or just my consciousness?”

  Herman shrugged.

  “You are you, and that body is that body. I wish I could tell you more, but that is as much as anyone knows. Otherwise, we are confident the other body’s physical health in that location has no effect on you here. The reverse is not true, however: if you die here, that body dies too.”

  Herman continued,

  “I said we would be here for a short while. I should tell you that a ‘short while’ in this case means we have less than half an hour to cover a great deal of ground and complete your class selection. If we fail to get you through the class selection, you will be ejected from the suite as a null class. This would leave you at your base level without any skills. Coming to this place is nearly certain death. Leaving in that fashion will remove the ‘nearly’ portion of that statement. A similar ejection is also the system reaction to violence towards administrators: at least by sentient species in this section of the roots.”

  Jon took a calming breath, and then several more. Herman waited politely in silence. Jon thought of his wife sitting on the couch as he left, of his son waiting to see him in the morning, of his daughter who had only taken her first steps a few weeks ago.

  “Face towards the flame,” he thought. A breath. “Some suffering is inevitable.” Another breath. “We are all so small.” Another breath.

  There was a chance, and a way back. His family was safe if Herman was to be believed, even if Jon was not. Everything else was just details. He needed to take each step as it came, and figure out the rules if he wanted any chance in this place. He took another breath, and began focusing on what he could change. Whatever power was behind this place, it was beyond anything he had ever encountered, facing it directly was not even a question. He had a strong sense that the turtle-man could kill him in moments without any assistance.

  “Can I see that contract?” Jon asked.

  “No. Although it is possible to earn that right if you progress far enough. I would recommend against using anything you earn on it. The terms are the terms, and the legal system you find yourself in is not geared towards anything resembling fairness. Aside from binding you to this world and its associated system and rules, the terms are irrelevant until you either die or succeed enough to earn a boon, as previously stated. There are no appeals. There are no do-overs.”

  “What would have happened if I hadn’t signed?”

  “After a few minutes the prompt would fade. It would reappear each hour for the first week, then each day for the following week, then each week for the next month after that. Beyond that point, it would appear monthly until either the time of stasis expired or you did.”

  “How long is the period of stasis?”

  “About 400 years.”

  “How is that even a choice?” Jon asked bitterly.

  “There is always a choice,” Herman said softly. “The question is the price.”

  Jon ignored the statement, which felt a little melodramatic. Maybe the turtle would stare into the middle-distance and shed light on his tragic backstory next.

  “And a boon? Like one that releases me back to my former life? What do I need to do to earn one?”

  “Conquer the four realms, destroy the false gods, or earn the favor of the tree. Preferably, all three.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Herman turned his gaze from Jon back to the sheet in front of him.

  “It will become apparent. However, we have strayed from permitted questioning. You will need to explore the realms if you want to learn more. This world is far from fair, but there is always a chance. You will need something to drive you if you wish to reach the peaks. A way home is a better motivation than many found here.” Herman cleared his throat, then continued:

  “We are burning through your time Jon. We only have a few minutes to get through some essential information and make your class selection. The actual class initiation process takes some time as well. Unless you have an objection, I will plan to take over the interview from here: I strongly advise you to follow my lead to conserve your remaining time.”

  Herman paused to glance at Jon, who gestured for him to continue, then Herman tapped the sheet in front of him.

  “Name: Jon Walton

  Level: N/A

  Class: Null