Hello, World!

Patrick Doherty’s eyes snapped open. The air was thick with smoke and incense, the heavy scent of blood clinging to the walls like damp rot. His back pressed against something he hoped was water but feared was not. Above him, a dim flickering light threw wild shadows across carved pillars and faded banners.

Beneath him, a circle etched in jagged, unfamiliar runes glowed faintly. Naked and exposed, the cold stone bit into his bare skin.

Patrick: "If this is some kind of joke, it’s a terrible one."

A voice burst out from the shadows.

???: "He’s alive! He’s alive! We did it! I told you it would work this time, didn’t I?"

The voice came from a man in pale robes, scrolls tucked under one arm and dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, or weeks for that matter.

Patrick pushed himself up with effort, the weight of his own limbs heavier than usual. A pounding ache settled in behind his eyes, like a hangover without the fun beforehand. His voice came out hoarse, scratchy with disbelief.

Patrick: "Where the hell am I!? You have some nerve taking me here! I was drunk... but not drunk-drunk! Like come on!"

Head Researcher: "So, mild cognitive clarity. That’s promising."

While Patrick blinked, his brain still halfway between panic and confusion, the man in front of him turned slightly to the gathered mages behind him.

Head Researcher: "Subject Thirty-Seven is responsive. No immediate signs of summoning backlash or soul inversion. Possibly stable. Remarkable. What is your name, sir?"

Patrick: "..."

Head Researcher: "..."

Patrick: "..."

Head Researcher: "...your name, sir?"

Patrick: "Taking a man and you don't even know his name? At least do me the favour of a background check! Patrick. Patrick Doherty! Well... I'm more so known as 'Paddy'."

Head Researcher: "Ok, Paddy, any sort of-"

Paddy: "Sorry, Thirty-seven? What happened to One through Thirty-Six!?"

The man gestured toward the corpse pile without looking at it. Paddy followed his hand, then paused for a moment. Three dozen of them, maybe even more than that, stacked like wood at a bonfire. Patrick blinked hard.

Head Researcher: "They were… unsuccessful."

No one argued.

Patrick: "You don’t say! What did you even do to those lads and ladies over there!?"

...

Patrick: "Listen, I think you’ve got the wrong man."

Head Researcher: "On the contrary. You’re the first to survive. That makes you exactly the right one."

The man’s voice was calm, almost disturbingly so, as though Paddy hadn’t just been plucked from his home and dropped head-first into some sketchy dungeon.

Behind him, the mages were still moving around in a strange mixture of panic and reverence. One scribbled furiously in a floating tome. Another gagged into the sleeve of their robe. A third kept casting nervous glances toward the corpse pile, like it might get up and walk again.

Head Researcher: "Everyone, we finally have completed phase three. Now, for-"

Paddy: "Will you just tell me what is going on here man!? I didn’t sign up for any of this. You think just because I didn’t explode on arrival, I’m fair game for whatever the hell is going on here!? No way! No way man!"

The man stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, and lowered his voice just enough to sound like he was trying to be gentle. It didn’t help.

Head Researcher: "You misunderstand. This is not coercion. It is history. You are the first recorded successful human transfer! A true marvel! You must be a powerful hero only spoken about in legends! I understand this must be disorienting. Perhaps mild instability of identity but-"

Paddy: "My identity’s perfectly stable, thank you! I drink cans on the weekend, work on the weekdays, and I have no clue what you mean by summoned, but you have clearly gone and summoned the wrong fella."

At that moment, the chamber’s door clanked open. A young assistant stumbled in, sweaty and frantic.

Assistant: "Master! The haul from the experiment! We... We’ve gotten ourselves more constructs!"

Behind him, a pair of attendants struggled to wheel in a rickety wooden cart stacked with mismatched junk. 

On top of it all sat a grimy, half-broken vending machine, glowing slightly as if even it  was confused by the situation. The head researcher spun on his heel.

Head Researcher: "Ah! Excellent timing! Our summoned hero may be able to see through their uses!"

He turned to Paddy and gestured grandly to the vending machine like it was the greatest thing to ever exist, well, ever.

Head Researcher: "Do you recognise this… divine construct?"

Paddy: "..."

Patrick looked at it. Then looked at them. Then back at it.

Patrick: "…That’s a vending machine."

He scribbled it down. Another mage touched the machine reverently.

Assistant: "It hums softly. As though it's… alive."

Patrick: "It’s not alive. It sells drinks… when you put coins in it."

Head Researcher: "The Hero communicates with metal gods through tribute-based mechanisms. Interesting."

The head researcher’s face lit up with childlike wonder. Paddy just took a deep breath at the situation he was in. He stared at the corpse pile, the glowing runes, and the various people around the room. His brain made a single, clear decision.

Without warning or any sort of hesitation, he shot forward and kneed the Head Researcher square in the bollocks.

Head Researcher: "AAAAAAAARGH!!!"

The man collapsed like a sack of cabbages. For a heartbeat, the room was silent.

Then Paddy made a run for it, wet footprints slapping against the stone.

Paddy: "NOPE."

In nothing but his birthday suit, he bolted for the only door in the room.

Head Researcher: "Did anyone... lock the door behind them?"

Assistant: "I thought they did!"

Head Researcher: "DAMN IT!! AFTER HIM!"

Paddy vanished into the hallway with the sound of clanking armour and flapping robes behind him.

He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know what any of this was. But he knew one thing for certain:

If they wrote legends about this moment, he hoped they remembered how fast he was.