Hah, that damn nerd. How in the world do you finish everything? There isn't even a crumb of bread to munch on. I wished he was alive so I could strangle him with my own hands, feel his scrawny neck snap under my grip. Now I'm stuck suffering because of him, stomach growling like a pissed-off zombie.
I searched for anything—anything—I could eat to shut it up, rummaging through the mess of this dump. Jokes on me, though—I found nothing, not even a stale chip hiding under the couch. The room stank of sweat and despair, a nerd's paradise gone to hell.
Couldn't lift a damn thing either, arms weak as soggy noodles. That's when it hit me—the best use of this system yet. Lifting crap for me. I touched my bed, its lumpy mattress sagging under dust, and imagined storing it in that dimensional warehouse or whatever the system called it. Boom—shit disappeared, gone in a blink. That's what I call using 100% of my brain, mate.
[You have stored a beyond useless bed in your dimensional space]
[Useless bed - ∞]
"Well, guess the system ain't useless after all," I chuckled, a dry rasp escaping my throat.
[Of course, I'm glad you realized it was you that was stupid, host]
System sounded offended, like it wanted to throw hands. But like they say—a hungry man cares not for blah blah blah. That's Isaac Newton, right? Best poet ever. I aced tests about him back in school, brainy kid that I was, though you wouldn't guess it now.
[You have stored smelling socks in your dimensional space]
[You have stored a nuclear threat-level shirt capable of killing all marine life in the ocean in your dimensional space]
[Host, can you please stop using your dimensional space as a refuse dump!]
System was throwing a tantrum, voice shrill in my head. Did I care? Nope. I kept going, storing everything—the crusty socks, the toxic shirt, a half-dead chair—until the room sparkled. Sarcasm, obviously. A gaming nerd's lair never gets clean, not with grime caked into every corner like a second skin.
Finally! My hard work paid off! I get to live! The feeling? Like your country winning the World Cup—pure guess, though. Mine never did when I was kicking around in my old life. I found a pack of noodles under a pile of junk, its shiny wrapper glinting like treasure. Picked it up, willed it, and—bam—heard the sound of an angel's harp.
[1 pack of noodles has been stored in your dimensional space]
[Pack of noodles - ∞]
No time wasted—I imagined it, and ten packs dropped in front of me, crinkling in the dim light. Willed back the cooker I'd stored, a scratched-up pot, and some water too—electricity still hummed, thank God. Didn't wanna risk it cutting out, so I'd stored water earlier. Infinite supply now, sloshing in my headspace. Cooked up something hot and nice, steam curling up in the stale air, and ate. All ten packs—gone, just like that. Surprised? Don't be. I was hungry enough to chomp a zebra, stripes and all.
After a solid meal and gulping water 'til my gut sloshed, what'd I do? Sleep. Lights out, goodnight, see ya tomorrow—head hit the floor, and I was gone.
Woke up feeling energized, a rare win. Whipped up the only thing I had—noodles, yeah. It's the apocalypse; food ain't growing on trees. Gotta eat scrupulously, so ten more packs it was, their salty scent filling the room. Ate and figured I'd sleep again, but the lousy system had other plans.
[Daily quests!]
[0/20 push-ups]
[0/20 sit-ups]
[0/2 min cobra stretch]
[Reward: 1 free stat point]
"Damn system, what the hell is this?" I grumbled, voice rough. "You and I know this is mission impossible, right?" My build—scrawny, weak, a zombie's wet dream—made it unfair as hell. But that reward? One stat point? Had to bite the bullet.
"By the way, you damn system, what do you mean by free? I'm bloody working for it!" I yelled—well, not too loud, mindful of the undead pals shuffling outside, but you get me, man.
[I can stop the quest if host wishes]
"Nah, that's fine," I shot back, cheap and smug. "Guess I'll be kind as usual and humor you." That's how my daily exercise kicked off—me, groaning like a drama queen.
Four hours to finish those quests. Plenty of time—world's ended, what else am I doing? Stats popped up, mocking me in the dim glow:
Name: Ray Graham (Jon - Orphan)
Strength: 3 (still shit even after eating like a glutton)
Agility: 2 (zombie's appetizer if you ever step out)
Intelligence: 3 (not a total moron, I guess)
Charm: -5 (ugliest soul I've ever seen—yikes)
Stamina: 2 (don't croak on me, pal!)
Vitality: 1 (yeah, he's toast)
Luck: -3 (did you piss off the goddess of fate or what?)
Pretty obvious what changed—luck bumped up a bit. Could drop dead any second otherwise, never go tell, pal.
Ten Days Later
It's been ten days since I got reincarnated into this crapfest of a world. Daily rewards stacked up—9 attribute points, sweet little nuggets I've dumped into dragging my negative stats outta the gutter. Here's the latest:
Name: Ray Graham (Jon - Orphan)
Strength: 3 (still shit even after eating like a glutton)
Agility: 2 (zombie's appetizer if you ever step out)
Intelligence: 3 (not a total moron, I guess)
Charm: 0 (still the ugliest soul I've ever seen—yikes)
Stamina: 2 (don't croak on me, pal!)
Vitality: 1 (yeah, he's toast)
Luck: 0 (guess there's hope for the unfortunate)
Stats still look pathetic, but what do you know? I stay cooped up here for a month, something might work out. That's the plan—hold out before I puke at the sight of noodles. Signs are showing already; I'm down to five packs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, their flavor turning sour in my mouth.
Entertainment's the gaming PC that nerd left behind, its screen flickering in the corner. Infinite copies mean no battery worries—electricity crapped out three days ago, leaving the room dim and quiet. When the PC I'm using starts dying, I save my game, copy it to the hard drive, and—bam—start fresh on a new one. Even the richest dude alive couldn't swap gadgets this fast. Won't shade anyone, though—not today.