Mud is honest. It doesn’t pretend you’re better than you are. My face was pressed into it, cheek bone to cold muck, and whatever body I was in decided breathing was optional for a second. I coughed and tasted dirt and pond scum and something like pennies. When I pushed up, my hands weren’t my hands. The fingers were thicker, the skin tinted a dull blue like bad stage makeup, and the nails looked like they’d been filed by someone who hated me personally. A glow pulsed behind my eyelids. I blinked, and the glow stayed. A window floated in front of my face, politely ignoring my panic.

Raymond C

Grunt [Lv. 1] — "Welcome, Hero" HP: 18/18 | MP: 5/5 STR: 5 | DEX: 4 | CON: 6 INT: 3 | WIS: 4 | CHA: 5 You have been selected as Player Character 12,437. Please do not disappoint your audience. My audience could kiss my ass. The last thing I remembered was my monitor flashing a shutdown notice for Ocean’s End. Server retirement. End of service. A cheery little pop-up thanking everyone for their memories. I’d slammed my fist into the desk, and then the world turned white. Now I was in a ditch full of reeds. Midges swarmed in my ears, and somewhere nearby a frog made a sound like it was laughing at me. A jaunty arrow appeared over the mud, pointing northeast. [Escape] blinked underneath it. “I am going to punch whatever programmed you,” I told the air. The air did not care. Standing up was a lesson in biomechanics I hadn’t signed up for. My center of gravity was wrong, my knees wanted to go two different directions, and the mud tried to keep my boots like it was charging rent. Boots. At least I had boots. They were cheap leather, soaked through, and they made a squelch every time I moved. I waved a hand through the floating window. It slid aside like a well-behaved app. “Okay,” I said. My voice came out lower than mine, with a wet edge, like I’d been gargling pond water. “Tutorial. Great. Where’s the logout button?” No logout button. The arrow bobbed patiently. I followed it because the alternative was staying in a ditch until something with more teeth than me noticed I existed. The swamp went on forever in every direction except the one the arrow wanted. Reeds as tall as my shoulders, black water that sucked at the soles, and clouds of bugs that seemed attracted to my eyeballs specifically. I tried to jog and immediately tripped over nothing. The system helpfully popped up a tooltip. [Movement Tip: Try lifting your feet.] “Thanks,” I muttered. “Brilliant.” Another window winked open, this one flashing like it was proud of itself.

Quest: Civilization or Bust

Survive Mudwater and reach the Road to Civilization waypoint south of Isaacchester. Escape the swamp ditch Reach Isaacchester gate Find the Road to Civilization Reward: Adventurer’s Starter Pack. “Let me guess,” I said, slogging onward. “Half a sandwich and a pat on the head.” The arrow led me to a rise in the muck, a strip of land that pretended it wasn’t a swamp by being only mostly wet. Ahead, through the reeds, wooden spikes stuck up like rotten teeth. Isaacchester. The name floated over it in translucent letters, because of course it did. The palisade wrapped around a handful of sagging buildings and a muddy square. Smoke crawled from a chimney and immediately gave up. A group of other blue-skinned… things… trudged in the same direction. Some were taller, some had tusks, one looked like a lizard that had lost an argument with a paint bucket. Nobody talked. We all followed our arrows like good little NPCs. My status window insisted on staying open, like it was afraid I’d forget how embarrassing it was. I tapped INT. Tooltip: Capable of understanding simple instructions. Eventually. I stopped walking. “Excuse me?” The tooltip didn’t change. It just sat there, smug in its little rectangle. “Eventually,” I repeated, then kept moving because arguing with UI elements wasn’t on the critical path. At the gate, a human guard leaned against the post, helmet cocked back, bored eyes sliding over me. “Another one,” he said. He waved a hand like he was shooing a fly. “Don’t die in the street. Makes the mud smell worse.” I stepped through the gate and into a square that looked like it had been built by people who hated right angles. Everything leaned. A training dummy with a sword stuck in its ribs sat in the center of the mud, surrounded by wide-eyed newbies taking turns smacking it like they were apologizing. A bell rang somewhere, more out of obligation than urgency. My arrow tried to drag me toward a low building marked SKILL HALL, but a kid intercepted me, darting out from behind a barrel. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Leather jerkin, hair like a bird’s nest, and the kind of smile you see right before your wallet disappears. “Hey, blue,” he said. “Starter dagger. Real steel. Only five iron.” He held it out. The blade was brown. Not “rust-colored.” Rust. It looked like someone had dug it up as a prank. A small item window flickered when I looked at it.

Rusty Dagger

Common Damage: 1-2 Durability: 6/20 It is technically sharper than a spoon. “One to two,” I said. “It adds up,” he replied, like he’d rehearsed that line. “Does it?” I asked, and kept walking around him. “Wait,” the kid said, quick-stepping to block me again. “Okay, okay. Four iron.” I stopped and looked him over. There was a tiny ticker in the corner of my vision, the kind I used to curse when developers cluttered a HUD. Urchin Merchant Collective: Neutral. “Ray,” I told myself. “Don’t start a war with the tutorial’s pickpocket faction on minute ten.” I pointed past him to a broken crate by the wall. In it sat a lump the size of a fist, half covered in slime, pulsing like it was trying to remember how to be alive. The kid followed my finger and snorted. “Trash. Slime egg. Doesn’t even hatch right.” A window obligingly popped up.

Threadbare Slime Egg

Common — Pet Material Value: 0 iron Status: Dormant The kind of thing you throw at someone to prove you have hands. “Sell me that,” I said. He blinked. “For what?” “What do you want?” His mouth worked, searching for greed. “Two iron. And you still need a dagger.” “I’ll give you five,” I said, “for the egg and that cracked pot over there. And next time you see me, you’ll have something better than tetanus.” He leaned in. “You got friends?” “I’m making them,” I said. He took my coins so fast they might’ve been on cooldown. The pot was the kind of thing you’d use to store sadness. Cracked, glazed once upon a time, now spiderwebbed with old stains. I cradled the egg in both hands and it squished a little, like it resented being noticed. “Hey,” I told the kid. “If I’m still alive tomorrow, I want you to find me. I’ll buy supplies. Real supplies.” He stared at the egg. “You’re gonna raise that?” “Either that or start a soup kitchen.” His laugh came out as a cough. “Go talk to Trainer Bess. She’ll fix your… choices.” The arrow tried to tug me toward the SKILL HALL again. I followed it just long enough to see the signboard full of weapon silhouettes and the line of grunts waiting to be handed basic combat skills like candy. A panel slid into view, bright blue and way too cheerful. Alternative Build Detected. Recommended Respec: Accept [Free] or Continue [Irresponsible] There were two buttons. ACCEPT was green. CONTINUE was gray and tiny, like it was embarrassed. I jabbed CONTINUE. The alert didn’t vanish right away. It lingered. Dismissed. We look forward to your educational failure. I turned away from the line. A couple of the other blue-skinned newbies watched me go, their eyes blank in that way people get when they’re following a quest marker and hoping nobody notices they’re scared. I headed toward the edge of town, egg and pot hugged to my chest, and tried not to think about how easy it would be for some passing hero with a shiny starter sword to kick me into the mud for loot. Outside the palisade, the swamp pressed up like it wanted back in. The town didn’t have a moat. It had a concept. My arrow spun once, offended I’d left the approved route, then snapped south toward something labeled ROAD TO CIVILIZATION. It also tried to pull me toward the sound of clanging practice swords. I went the other way, skirting the wall until the buildings thinned out and the mud turned into trampled grass. The egg bumped against my ribs with every step. I didn’t know if it needed warmth, or mana, or to be insulted into hatching. A small pet panel hovered when I looked at it too long.

Threadbare Slime Egg

Unbonded Integrity: 3/3 Hatch Condition: Unknown It quivers when you speak, as if regretting its choices. “Same,” I told it. A croak sounded from the reeds. Something moved in the water, fast and low. I kept walking like I hadn’t noticed, because in every game ever made, the tutorial wildlife exists to teach you that you’re allowed to hit things. I wasn’t interested in being taught that lesson today. The sun was already sagging toward the horizon, painting the swamp the color of old bruises. I found the barn because the arrow didn’t want me to. It was a dark shape beyond the last field, half-collapsed into cattails, with a roof that had given up in sections. The doorway hung open. No NPC stood nearby to wave me in and explain what a safe zone was. Perfect. Inside, the air smelled like wet hay and mold. A few broken stalls lined one side, and something had scratched symbols into the wood—either a warning or someone’s idea of decoration. I set the pot down carefully and eased the egg into it. “Okay,” I said, lowering my voice like that mattered. “New plan. We survive the night. Then we figure out how to make you into something that doesn’t die if someone looks at you.” The barn wasn’t empty. It was just between tenants. Something scuttled in the loft, and I froze with my hands out like I was about to negotiate with whatever lived up there. “Hey,” I said. “I’m not here to start anything.” A wet sneeze answered me. A swamp rat the size of a small dog dropped from the hayloft and hit the dirt with a slap, then immediately decided my toes were an enemy nation. Of course it did. A red bar appeared over its head.

Mudwater Swamp Rat [Lv. 1]

HP: 12/12 I backed up. My boots slid in the muck. The egg in the pot gave a tiny wobble, like it was cheering for the rat. “Glurp,” I said, without thinking. The egg pulsed. A prompt flickered. [Name Registered: Glurp] The rat lunged. I stomped down, hard, and my foot hit something springy and angry. [Attack: Stomp] -3 damage It bit me anyway. You have been afflicted: Minor Bleeding -1 HP per 10 seconds. “Unbelievable.” I grabbed a broken plank and jabbed it like a spear. It scraped the rat’s side and did basically nothing. [Improvised Strike] -1 damage Then the egg in the pot burped. A thin string of weak-looking slime arced out and landed on the rat’s nose. [Glurp: Weak Acid Dribble] -5 damage The rat shrieked, staggered backward, and ran in a tight circle like it couldn’t believe the math. “Okay,” I told the egg. “We can work with that.” The rat stopped spinning and came at me again, eyes watering, teeth out. “Do it again,” I told the pot. Glurp’s egg did not, in fact, do it again. It sat there like a damp rock and let me handle my own bad decisions. The rat hit my shin. I yelped, hopped, and brought the plank down like I was smashing a keyboard. [Improvised Strike] -2 damage It squealed and bit the plank instead of me. I used that, shoving the board forward and pinning it against a stall post. “Bite this,” I said, and stomped. [Attack: Stomp] -4 damage The rat’s health bar dipped into the last sliver. It thrashed, scrabbling for purchase. Glurp burped again, apparently deciding it would be embarrassing if I won without help. [Glurp: Weak Acid Dribble] -3 damage The rat went still. A small, ugly shimmer popped out of its chest cavity like a bubble rising from a corpse in a movie that was trying too hard. [Drop Acquired: Monster Core (Rat)] It wasn’t inventory magic. It fell into the mud with a plink. I stared at it. “That’s… not hygienic.” The system offered no comment. My bleeding debuff ticked once more, then faded. I picked up the core with two fingers. It was warm and faintly vibrating, like it wanted to be anything else. From the pot, the egg pulsed once, eager in the saddest way. “All right,” I told it. “If you’re going to be my first party member, you’re going to earn it.” I wiped my fingers on my pants and regretted it immediately. The fabric was already wet, so it just spread the rat-core warmth around like I was marinating. The pot trembled. The egg wasn’t hatching. It was… leaning. “Don’t tell me you eat these,” I said. A tiny prompt blinked beside the egg. [Pet Interaction Available] I touched it. A menu opened with exactly one option, like the system was daring me to pretend I had choices. [Invite to Party] I hesitated, because inviting an egg to a party felt like something you did on Facebook when you’d given up. I pressed it anyway. Party Invite Failed. Reason: Target is not sentient enough to accept invitations. “Rude.” I glanced at my stats again, half expecting a hidden Social score to be laughing at me. Nope. Just the same sad spread. I looked around the barn for anything useful. A torn feed sack hung off a nail, stiff with old grain dust. I ripped a strip free and wrapped it around the pot’s crack, cinching it tight. If this world wanted to be a game, fine. I could play that. I held the rat core over the egg like I was about to bless it. The core buzzed harder, drawn toward the slime. “Okay, Glurp,” I said. “Here’s the deal. You become real, and I’ll get you out of this mud. You stay an egg, and I’m going to start looking for a different kind of bad idea.” The egg pulsed twice, which I decided was consent. I set the core into the pot, against the egg. The core sank into the slime like it wasn’t solid at all. The slime swallowed the rat core with a slow, obscene gulp. The pot’s crack hissed as a thin film of green spread across it, sealing it like spackle applied by someone with zero standards. The barn went quiet. Even the bugs outside seemed to pause, waiting for the punchline. A new prompt unfolded in front of my nose. [Core Assimilation Detected] [Eligible Target: Threadbare Slime Egg] [Initiate Evolution? Y/N] “Yeah,” I said, because apparently I was the kind of guy who signed terms of service without reading. The pot lurched. Slime rose, not in a dramatic fountain, but in the way cold oatmeal gives up when you stir it. The egg membrane tore and the whole thing slumped outward, spreading into a puckering blob. A face tried to happen. Two dents formed where eyes might go, then popped back out. “Take your time,” I told it. It shivered, then firmed up, edges rounding. A little pseudopod lifted, testing the air like a baby reaching for a rattle. Pet Evolution Complete. Threadbare Slime Egg → Mud Puddle Slime. A card snapped into view.

Glurp

Mud Puddle Slime [Lv. 1] — Bondable HP: 6/6 | MP: 2/2 Skill: Weak Acid Dribble It has achieved the absolute minimum required to be a problem. Another button appeared under it. [Invite to Party] I hit it before the system could change its mind. The button depressed with a soft click that I felt in my teeth. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the air in front of me shimmered and a ribbon of text rolled out like a sigh. Party Formed. Raymond C + Glurp. A second box followed, smaller, like it didn’t want to be seen applauding. Unorthodox Behavior Acknowledged. Reward: +10 XP “I knew you cared,” I told the empty barn. My XP bar, which I hadn’t noticed until now, crawled forward an insulting amount. Not even enough to make me feel like I’d accomplished a chore. Glurp oozed out of the pot. It left a wet print on the dirt, then dragged itself forward until it bumped my boot and stuck there. “Okay,” I said. “Personal space is something we’ll learn later.” A thin line of blue light connected us, visible only in my UI, and a new panel appeared in the corner.

Party: Raymond C

Bond with Glurp (1/1) Keep party members alive Outside, the swamp chirped and buzzed like it was taking bets. I leaned back against a stall post, the damp wood pressing through my shirt, and stared at my stat sheet again. INT still read three. The tooltip still said eventually. Fine. I didn’t need to be smart. I needed to be stubborn, and I’d been practicing that my whole life. “Tomorrow,” I told Glurp, “we find the road. We don’t fight anything with more HP than you can dribble on. And we start collecting every piece of trash this tutorial left on the floor.” Glurp made a sound like a clogged drain agreeing.

Grunt Tax Policy

Chapter 1: Welcome to Tutorial HellFree

Readers also enjoyed

Chapter 1: Welcome to Tutorial Hell
Free