As Bru-haha reached out to touch the scroll, his primary desires were twofold: to avoid being struck down by the Wizard’s displeasure and to gain the privilege of selecting some of the movies. He anticipated that the bribes from his fellow tribesmen for movie choices would be substantial. However, when the scroll exploded in a shower of sparks, so too did Bru-haha's perception of the world.

  His mind felt lighter, faster, and more insightful. New opportunities in this strange world unfolded and blossomed before him. In that moment, he realized much that he hadn’t before about this world, yet he had not moved from this one plot of lifeless land. Then he fell backward, passing out.

  When he awoke, he could see a red screen before his eyes:

  ^

  Congratulations! You are now a Wizard’s Familiar!

  Bru-haha

  Strength: 14

  Dexterity: 13

  Constitution: 14

  Intelligence: 16*

  Wisdom: 13

  Charisma: 17

  Luck: 12

  MP: 0/0

  HP: 62/62

  You have formed a familiar contract with Alexander the Wizard. Your intelligence score has been increased proportionally to your contractor's highest stat.

  Warning: You are now unable to lie to Alexander the Wizard.

  Warning: Alexander can see through your eyes when he chooses to.

  Congratulations! You are now able to use parts of the Earth system.

  “Can you see a blue screen?” Alexander asked as Bru-haha sat up.

  “I see a screen with my name and some number,” Bru-haha said, testing his first lie of omission. “It seems the contract increased my intelligence a not insubstantial amount,” he added, moving Alexander’s attention to results the wizard would be pleased with.

  “Excellent!” Alexander the Wizard exclaimed. “Your language skills have already improved. I would like to test some other skills, Bru-haha. It says I will be able to share your sight. Why don’t you go around the corner, and I will attempt it.”

  Bru-haha stood, shook his head back and forth, and slapped his face, fully waking his mind. He gave a thumbs-up to Ridley and walked around the corner to where the wizard’s colleagues worked. One of them glanced up at him before quickly returning to his tasks, hunching his shoulders as if trying to ignore Bru-haha’s presence. Bru-haha noticed a picture on the corner of the man’s desk, with a nameplate reading Gregory Miles, Accounting.

  Sensing the man’s unease, he looked at the picture on the desk.

  “What a beautiful wife and children you have, Gregory. I hope I can have a family and house like yours one day,” Bru-haha said.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Gregory turned and offered a hesitant smile. “Why, thank you. I hope you manage it as well.”

  Bru-haha smiled back, causing Gregory to squeak in fear and turn away, shielding his head with a binder. Bru-haha dismissed the human’s cowardice, but noted the importance of conversing with someone who controlled money. Reflecting on his appearance, he looked at his nails—unkempt and likely repulsive by this world’s standards.

  A soft light began to glow in the corner of his vision.

  “I see you looking at your hand. Thank you, Bru-haha,” Alexander’s shouted from across the room, confirming the shared-vision ability.

  As he walked back to Ridley and Alexander, he tried a different smile. Both Little Fury and the Wizard seemed disturbed by it, but masked their reactions. Bru-haha made a mental note to practice his expressions in a mirror soon.

  “Master Wizard, on the way here, Ridley and I caught two of my clansmen fighting. I believe we need to write them up,” Bru-haha said.

  “Yes, of course! Straight to business. I am very hopeful for your future, Bru-haha. As for the fighting, this is becoming quite consistent. We will need to find a way to curb these conflicts,” Alexander replied.

  “Ridley also decided to punish them by temporarily revoking their privilege to watch movies—an excellent suggestion, as my tribe cares little for consequences that lie far in the future,” Bru-haha added.

  Alexander nodded approvingly at Ridley, who beamed with pride. Bru-haha noted her need for the wizard’s recognition—something he hadn’t registered previously, as he honestly hadn’t cared. His higher intelligence, combined with his charisma, seemed to help him understand the power of social dynamics.

  “If I may make another recommendation,” Bru-haha continued, “If the entire orc tribe goes a full day without an incident, reward them with a taco dinner the following day.”

  “Tacos?” the Wizard asked, puzzled.

  Ridley smiled at Bru-haha before explaining, “They apparently love tacos because they remind them of the crunch of bones before getting to the marrow—without their mouths bleeding from splinters afterward.”

  “This is just far beyond my expectations, Bru-haha. I knew choosing you would yield great benefits for relations between the orcs and management,” Alexander said, tilting his head back slightly, visibly proud of his decision. “I am willing to bet you can easily pass your temporary residency test now. Then you can leave the Congo premises for errands!”

  “Thank you for the opportunity. I believe I can accomplish much here, Master Wizard,” Bru-haha replied, thinking to himself: Far more than I ever dared hope…

  —Harvey the Game Master—

  Harvey blinked. As if waking from a trance, he closed all the windows floating before him. He wasn’t sure how long he had been digging through settings, lowering them all to their least threatening levels for a time. He had attempted to manage Earth in a way that would make the irreversible changes feel comfortable. He had even gone so far as to guide politicians in an underhanded way to avoid extra turmoil. He was convinced his actions, at least in part, had caused things to spiral out of control. He often wondered if he had been set up to fail all along.

  Still in his bean-bag chair, he looked down at the red, desiccated finger that sat before him on the floor. Mortimer had been playing with it and often tried to steal it away with a whine. That one finger sent chills down his spine. Waking from that trance had sent his fragile understanding of his abilities spinning sideways.

  He turned on several settings that were new to his level-two nature. Another shock upon reaching level two was that it now felt like he was just another character in a game, playing on the strings of someone else’s game. He didn’t like that feeling and sent a quiet apology to his players.

  The pedestals of administration he had distributed after his level-up would help government entities make contact with those with classes and organize their new magical resources. They would also soon be able to petition those who had classes for tasks, able to pay them out with their own resources. Sort of a government guild—until he figured out how to make a traditional one. These could be taken over and claimed by other world leaders, but war wasn’t going away just because of inter-dimensional visitors.

  There were so many settings he was unable to change back and notifications he didn’t understand that he had long felt control was gone; he was simply meant to be a supporting role rather than a god-like entity.

  Feeling overwhelmed, he pet Mortimer for a bit and let the cat steal the finger again to play with. Maybe he should feed the cat as well…

  That last thought bugged him. When was the last time he had fed Mortimer? He didn’t remember. His thoughts continued to drift. When was the last time he had eaten? When was the last time he had left his apartment?

  Feeling disturbed, he stood up and walked out his front door. He felt good as the sun hit his face and decided a nice walk to the pizza shop would be relaxing. He ignored the fact that he didn’t feel hungry. He moved across the parking lot and crossed the street. His favorite pizza shop exuded an amazing smell, and he walked in, deciding on a pepperoni-pineapple pizza for lunch. He was one hundred percent pro-pineapple when it came to pizza ingredients.

  Approaching the cash register, nobody was there, so he called to the back of the kitchen.

  “Hello!”

  He received no response. Looking for the bell, he dinged it, but there was no sound—it must have been busted. Just then the phone rang, and a female employee he didn’t recognize moved from the kitchen to answer it. The cashier didn’t even acknowledge him, which was rude, but he waited for her to finish her call.

  After she placed the order, she hung up the phone and moved back to the kitchen to start it.

  “Excuse me!”

  No response.

  Harvey felt a deep sense of dread as he moved to the kitchen to tap the employee on the shoulder. She didn’t even register it. So he went to grab the pizza box on the table. As he lifted it he waived it in front of the employees face.

  She glanced around the room confused, looking for the pizza she had just finished preparing.

  Am I… a ghost?