Chapter Twenty-Five: +1 Dissociation

  I was a good dog mom. A good cat mom, too.

  By which I mean that before I did anything else, I put food and fresh water out for everyone. Then I stripped out of my dirty clothes, changed into clean clothes, wondered for about half a second how I was going to do laundry in this brave new world and if I could find a rift with a laundromat, and finally, finally, finally, curled up on my couch, snuggling deep into my blue throw.

  I patted the couch next to me. Bear, from her position on her own favorite bed, opened an eye, then closed it again. Riley, though, saw where I was and immediately hopped up next to me. He rested his head on my thigh and heaved a sigh.

  “Me, too, buddy,” I told him, scritching the spot behind his ears.

  Zelda was curled up on the couch, too, but at the other end, in a tight little ball that meant she was solidly asleep.

  I opened the Companions pane in my HUD and took a look at Zelda’s status sheet. She was still Level 16, which meant she’d been up all night without either leveling up or the burst of energy I’d gotten from [Mana Absorption]. No wonder she was tired. She’d earned that nap.

  While I was at it, I tabbed over to Riley’s status sheet. He’d hit Level 10. For a moment, I just blinked. How the hell was that even possible? But he’d killed a lot of bugs, many of which had been higher level than him, so all those times through the Dollar General had actually meant something for him. And then, at his level, the rewards for the first rift instance harvest and first rift clear for both rifts were significant. Even for me those thousand point XP bonuses added up fast.

  He’d also evolved his class. When I’d looked at his sheet way back at Level 4—or, you know, yesterday—he’d been a Protector. Now his class was called Safe Harbor. I hovered over the name until the tooltip popped up.

  Safe Harbor: You are the place the pack comes home to. Your presence steadies those around you, your calm becomes their calm, and your certainty that everything will be okay has a way of becoming true. Class bonus: +1 Toughness, +1 Instinct, +1 Spirit per level, plus one alternating bonus point (Toughness on odd levels, Spirit on even levels).

  My fingers tightened on his fur for a second, before I resumed my petting. That was so fitting.

  But if Riley had a new class, Bear probably did, too. I clicked on her tab. She’d made it to Level 11, with her XP total just a few hundred points more than his. And her new class was Hearth Wolf. I almost choked on my laugh. Was the System telling me something? But no, I’d had her DNA tested. I knew she was pure dog.

  The tooltip opened.

  Hearth Wolf: A rare class born of wildness choosing to serve. The Hearth Wolf ranges far and wide, exploring, scouting, mapping the edges of the unknown, but always returning to the home it has chosen. Instincts remain unchanged: sharp, territorial, alert to everything. The Hearth Wolf does not wait to be told what belongs; it decides. Territory expands to include what the Hearth Wolf claims, and pack grows to encompass what the Hearth Wolf brings home. Class bonus: +2 Toughness, +2 Instinct, +1 Spirit per level.

  This time, I teared up. Just a little, not enough for the tears to overflow. But… yeah. She was a good girl, that dog.

  I closed the Companions pane and looked at my own status sheet. The notifications dot was blinking, but I didn’t even have to look at it to see that the System was patting my back. I had a new title added to my list: World First Rift Close.

  I let the description open.

  World First Rift Close

  Throughout the multiverse, rifts are resources. They generate mana, yield materials, and drive integration economies. Most Rift Keepers manage their rifts for years without ever voluntarily closing one. You closed one on your fifth day. That’s… unusual. But you will always have been the first to do so on your world. Recognition of your achievement grants you increased experience gains.

  Title Bonus: +10% experience from all sources.

  Another experience bonus. That was what, 22% now? Given how much XP it took to go from one level to the next now, I was sure that was going to come in handy.

  I glanced at the fitness tracker rings: the inside ring, representing HP, was full, meaning I was in perfect health. The numbers were nice, too: the base of 20, plus 10 points for every level, plus the bonus for my Endurance, meant I was sitting at 210 HP. Compared to my starting place back in the tutorial of something like 36, that felt good.

  The outside ring, representing XP looked like it was somewhere beyond full. Maybe overflowing. I looked at the number and tried to make sense of it.

  64200/47400

  That made no sense. Was the System giving me a retroactive bonus on XP? Adding the modifier to everything I’d ever earned? I wished Jack were here, so I could make him do the math and figure out what was going on. But it looked like I’d earned close to 20,000 XP overnight. How the hell could that even be possible?

  I tabbed back to Riley’s sheet. To reach Level 11, he needed a total of 12,800 XP. He didn’t have it. But that meant that somehow I had earned almost twice his total XP while doing pretty much the same things as he did. How did that work?

  The answer was probably hiding in my notifications. I sighed. Notifications from the System felt a lot like the kind of spam some delivery services did: Your package has left the warehouse. Your package is in transit. Your package has reached Cleveland. Your package is in transit. Was any of that information really useful?

  At least I hadn’t collected endless amounts of bug goo. Those loot notifications—Loot Acquired: Insect Ichor—Crafting Component: Alchemy—were ridiculously tedious. Maybe not quite as bad as the string of dead bug notifications, but close.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I opened my notifications.

  The top message read: Your Administrative Review has been scheduled. Further details will be provided by your assigned representative.

  I blinked at it. You know that moment when I came out of my RMI and saw a guy trying to break into my shed? That feeling? That sensation? This felt a lot like that.

  I went hot, then cold, then straight back to hot.

  Administrative Review? From the System? Assigned representative?

  My throat felt like it was closing up. I did not do panic attacks, I did dissociation, but this felt an awful lot like an impending panic attack.

  I scrolled down to the next message.

  Notice of Administrative Review

  Your recent actions as a Rift Keeper have been flagged for review by the Rift Management Oversight Board. A representative will be in contact to discuss your case. No action is required at this time.

  Rift Management Oversight Board? Case? What case? Why hadn’t I been told that there was an oversight board? The rift tutorial hadn’t said anything about that!

  I was about to start hyperventilating when dissociation kicked in.

  It was fine. Of course it was fine. I hadn’t done anything wrong. This was just some kind of mix-up. I’d be polite and deferential to the representative, apologize for any confusion. Maybe I’d get a warning. Or some kind of fine? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to clear two rifts in a single day? Or maybe bringing JJ into my RMI was against the rules?

  A new notification popped up on my HUD.

  Skill gained: +1 to dissociation.

  I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Did a little square breathing. Three in, three hold, three out, three hold.

  Then I opened my eyes again. I still had notifications to look at. I still needed to figure out what was up with this crazy XP gain. And then maybe I ought to level up, at least once. I wasn’t sure how far that XP would take me, but there was no point in sitting on multiple levels when the real world ought to be getting more dangerous by the minute. And whatever trouble I was in, being higher level couldn’t hurt.

  The next notification read:

  Congratulations, Olivia! You are the first sapient on your world to voluntarily close a rift. You've been awarded the title World First Rift Close.

  Bonus: +10% experience from all sources.

  The one after it read:

  Congratulations! Unnamed Rift N5W12S#486 closed.

  Award: Rift Closure Bonus

  Reward: 10,000 XP

  There it was. With that 22% bonus of mine, I’d gotten 12,200 XP for pushing a button.

  For pushing a button!

  Not even a real button, just an imaginary Heads-Up Display button.

  I stared at the notification for what felt like forever. Maybe a solid minute.

  I was gonna guess—just a guess, mind you—that closing a rift was kind of a big deal. Maybe like a really big deal. Maybe like the kind of big deal that sent Rift Management Oversight representatives to talk to you.

  I swallowed hard. Okay, there was absolutely nothing I could do about any of this. The System had even double-checked and reminded me that closing a rift could not be reversed. So it was done, and I couldn’t change it, and there was absolutely no point in worrying about it.

  I closed my notifications without reading any more of them. There were undoubtedly others. Those gators. Maybe a cute little bonus for helping Alma and JJ get home. Something for killing the Gargantuan Slime and probably a generous boost—maybe even another 1000 XP—for harvesting the second instance of the rift and for clearing the whole darn thing. I’d just take all of that as given, and… did I want to make myself a cup of tea? Maybe some breakfast?

  Yeah, I did. But the power was out. I’d meant to address that problem before everything in the fridge went bad, and I probably still could. The power had gone out sometime yesterday, and I hadn’t even opened the fridge since. If I dragged the generator out now and got it going, I’d get the fridge back and also the stove. Or I could find my camping stove, which was also probably in the shed, or maybe upstairs in so-called guest bedroom. (Junk room. It was really a junk room.)

  I leaned my head back against the couch cushion. It was a great time to set up the generator. Early in the day, so it wasn’t too hot. Plenty of light outside. Reasonable safety, because I could at least see the mana-crazed beasts before they reached me.

  I so didn’t feel like it.

  Alas, sometimes you gotta be the grown-up, even when you don’t feel like it.

  I shifted Riley’s head off my leg and stood up, relinquishing the throw with regret. I could snuggle on the couch again just as soon as I got the generator running, I promised myself. Well, and made that cup of tea.

  Riley stretched out on the couch, his back legs almost kicking Zelda. She didn’t even twitch. His eyes were already closed again. He was tired, too, despite gaining all those levels. It had been a long night.

  Is it cowardice to admit I didn’t much want to go outside without a dog though? Even if it is, I guess I have to admit it. I wanted someone to watch my back.

  I looked over at Bear. Her eyes were open, she was watching, and as soon as my eyes met hers, she stood and ever so nonchalantly stretched. We going somewhere? Her body language said.

  Moving quietly so as not to disturb the other two, I headed toward the sunroom and the French doors to the backyard. It was already getting warmer outside, but the air still held hints of early morning. A little bit of moisture, the smell of the scrub pines on a light breeze. The smell of decomp coming from the front yard, too.

  I really needed to do something about those dead squirrels, although I supposed if I left it long enough, the bugs and vultures would do it for me. Yeah, I really needed to do something about them. Mana-crazed vultures? No, thanks. But one thing at a time.

  I opened the shed door, then remembered that the generator needed gas. Leaving Bear behind to do her business, but keeping a wary eye open for movement from the treeline, I crossed the driveway to the garage and went inside by the side door. I gave my eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness before finding the gas can on the shelves by the door, exactly where it was supposed to be.

  I hefted it as I picked it up, trying to judge the amount inside from the weight. It felt ridiculously light, but I could hear the sloshing, so I knew that was my Strength attribute at work. I thought it was about half full. I’d be worried if I didn’t have my own private gas station sitting in my backyard. As it was, this should be enough to get the generator started and later in the day, I’d hit up the gas station for a refill.

  Heading out of the garage, I walked over to the electric panel and set the gas down. I didn’t see Bear anywhere, but she would have barked if there was trouble. If she was in the front yard, rolling in dead squirrel, though… I walked to the front and looked.

  No sign of her.

  She wouldn’t have gone into the rift, would she?

  It wasn’t new anymore. We’d been in and out so many times that she had to know exactly what was in there. Could she be going for the trash cans again? But she had been being so good. And she’d just had breakfast. And she had to be as tired as the other dogs.

  Head 100% speculating about where Bear was and 100% not paying attention to my surroundings, I stepped into the shed.

  And screamed.

  Thanks for reading!

  Next chapter... is already written. Tomorrow? Yeah, tomorrow. So that's Monday, March 2, 2026!