CHAPTER ONE — WELCOME TO THE SYSTEM

  Warmth swallowed Adam whole.

  Not the gentle kind.

  The kind that grabbed him by the collar and dropped him.

  His legs vanished out from under him and he fell backward hard, landing in an old wooden chair that creaked in protest like it hadn’t been asked permission. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and Adam let out a sharp grunt as the chair rocked once, twice—then settled.

  “Son of a—”

  The white light around him faded.

  In its place rose a room straight out of a bad Western rerun.

  Rough wooden walls. Low ceiling beams darkened by age and smoke. A scarred bar ran along one side, its shelves lined with dusty bottles filled with liquids in colors that suggested poor decisions. An old upright piano slouched in the corner like it had lost the will to entertain anyone.

  The place smelled faintly of whiskey, old wood, and history that didn’t care if you respected it.

  Adam sat there, breathing slowly, hands gripping the chair arms.

  “Well,” he muttered. “This is new.”

  A boot rested on the bar.

  Then another.

  Sitting behind it, legs crossed casually atop the counter, was a man who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a sepia photograph and refused to apologize for it. Worn boots with silver spurs. Clean black trousers. A white button-up shirt tucked neatly beneath a black vest. A wide-brimmed hat tipped forward, shadowing sharp eyes.

  He twirled a silver pocket watch lazily, the chain glinting as it swung.

  The man looked up under the brim of his hat.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” he drawled. “You made it without screamin’. That’s usually a good sign.”

  Adam blinked. “I fell into a chair.”

  “Details,” the man said pleasantly.

  He swung his legs off the bar, stood, and stretched like someone who had all the time in the world. Then he strolled around the counter, boots tapping softly against the floor, and stopped a few steps in front of Adam.

  “Welcome to the System, partner.”

  Adam stared at him.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Adam said slowly. “I finally lose it, and my brain gives me a cowboy.”

  The man chuckled. “Now that hurts my feelin’s.”

  Adam squinted. “You’re Doc Holliday.”

  The man tipped his hat just enough to show a grin. “John Henry Holliday, at your service. But folks who know me—and live—tend to call me Doc.”

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  Adam exhaled sharply and leaned back in the chair. “Right. Of course. I die, and my last hallucination is the Wild West.”

  Doc shook his head. “Nope. Ain’t dead.”

  Adam frowned. “That’s… not reassuring.”

  Doc shrugged. “Depends on how you look at it.”

  He clicked the pocket watch shut and slipped it into his vest. “You didn’t die, Mr. Commeree. You transitioned.”

  Adam snorted. “That sounds like something people say when they don’t want to explain what happened.”

  Doc’s smile widened. “You’re gonna fit in just fine.”

  Adam straightened slightly. “Then what was that screen? The one that showed up before I got yanked in here?”

  Doc leaned against the bar, folding his arms. “That’d be the System knockin’ on your door.”

  “System,” Adam repeated flatly. “Sure. Why not.”

  Doc nodded. “See, folks back where you came from like to argue about how the universe works. Gods. Afterlives. Reincarnation. Heaven. Hell. All that mess.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Truth is, it’s all real. Just not how they think. The System ties it together. When someone dies, how they lived—and what they believed—helps decide what happens next. Some rest. Some come back. Some end up in places best left undescribed.”

  Adam grimaced. “And some get cowboy HR?”

  Doc chuckled. “Every now and then, someone gets offered somethin’ different. Administration. That’s the road I took.”

  Adam tilted his head. “You’re telling me you’re… what. A cosmic middle manager?”

  Doc winced. “Now that’s just cruel.”

  He poured himself a drink from one of the old bottles and took a slow sip. “I help folks cross thresholds. Sometimes I offer ’em a chance.”

  Adam folded his arms. “You said I didn’t die.”

  “Didn’t,” Doc agreed. “But administrators get discretion. We can offer the System to folks we think need it. Or deserve it.”

  Adam studied him cautiously. “And you picked me?”

  Doc nodded. “I did.”

  “Why?”

  Doc’s expression softened, just a fraction.

  “I know what it’s like to be dyin’ slow,” he said quietly. “Tuberculosis chewed me up piece by piece. Pain every breath. Folks drifted away. I spent more than one night starin’ down the barrel of my pistol wonderin’ if endin’ it early might be kinder.”

  Adam swallowed hard, fighting the emotions that were swirling in his mind.

  Doc continued, voice still easy but heavier now. “I was thirty-six when I died. Thought I had the whole world ahead of me. You’re the same age. Same pain. Same kind of look in your eyes.”

  He met Adam’s gaze. “Only choice you had left was how you wanted to die. I didn’t care much for that.”

  Adam wiped at his eye with the heel of his hand. “Damn it.”

  Doc raised his glass slightly. “You ain’t special because you suffered. You’re special because you kept goin’ anyway.”

  Adam took a steadying breath. “So if this is real… what should I expect?”

  “Well,” Doc said, brightening a touch, “for starters, you keep your memories.”

  “All of them?”

  “Every last miserable one,” Doc said cheerfully. “Pain makes for a fine teacher, and you already paid tuition.”

  Adam grimaced. “That’s comforting.”

  “You’ll also be tagged as a Reincarnator,” Doc continued. “Means you have increased adaptibilty to system mechanics, hell I’ll even throw in identify and communication skills fer free. Handy thing when you’re droppin’ into a new world.”

  “What world?” Adam asked.

  “The system named the planet Veridion,” Doc replied. “Three times Earth’s size, with magic, monsters and a host of fantasy races. Humans ain’t exactly at the top of the food chain.”

  Adam smirked faintly. “Figures.”

  “Classes and professions exist,” Doc went on. “But you don’t get handed nothin’. You earn skills by how you live. What you do, what you avoid. The System watches.”

  Adam nodded slowly. “So it’s not easy.”

  Doc drained his glass. “Son, if it were easy, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.”

  Adam straightened, a fire lighting behind his eyes again. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  Doc smiled.

  “Now,” he said, stepping forward, “as a courtesy for crossin’ worlds, you start with two rare skills.”

  A faint shimmer appeared in front of Adam showing him the descriptions.

  “Extraction,” Doc said. “Lets you loot what you kill.”

  Adam blinked. “Of course it does.”

  “And Subspace,” Doc added. “Storage. Keeps your hands free.”

  “Now that I can appreciate,” Adam muttered.

  Doc looked at his watch and extended his hand. “That’s all the time we got. Good luck, Mr. Commeree.”

  Adam stood and took it.

  “Welcome to the System.”

  Warmth surged through him. Energy twisted in his gut, hollow and sudden.

  “Hey, Doc?” Adam said quickly.

  Doc tipped his hat. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  Doc smiled. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  The floor vanished.

  Adam fell.