1 "a messed up world" (chapter 1)
A/N this is what he looks like
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In the grimy, rain-soaked streets of New York City's Queens, a relentless downpour painted the scene. Amidst the murky backdrop, a diminutive figure darted through the alleys, clad in a battered hoodie that struggled to fend off the persistent rain. The faded grey t-shirt underneath clung to their skin, and weathered pants, accompanied by shoes that barely clung to life, completed the ensemble. A worn cloth concealed their face, shielding them from both the elements and the harsh reality of the surroundings—the drug-ridden, alcohol-soaked, gang-infested slums of Queens.
Navigating the treacherous landscape, where gang wars were a routine spectacle, the figure displayed an uncanny familiarity with the territory. Maneuvering through makeshift paths, weaving between dilapidated structures, they ascended past remnants of decay until reaching a three-story building that exuded an eerie, cinematic horror aesthetic.
Rather than using the conventional entrance, the figure accessed the building through a crude opening sealed with a rusted metal plate. A potential source of infection, for the careless, but it served as an uninviting portal. Dust-laden air accompanied their journey, and they deftly avoided deteriorated floorboards, finally ascending to the building's apex—the attic.
Upon swinging open the entrance to this clandestine haven, a room unfolded before them. Despite being boarded up, small fissures allowed slivers of light to pierce through the gloom. The atmosphere inside revealed a makeshift dwelling—a discarded mattress doubling as bedding, an aged cooler, wooden crates stacked precariously, a shattered TV, and a box that hinted at hidden treasures. At the room's center lay the base of a metal barrel, charcoal, and white ash within, evoking a semblance of warmth.
A solitary chair, a table precariously balanced on uneven legs with various objects beneath it, and a hanging punching bag added to the room's peculiar charm. As the hood was removed, revealing a damp Hootie and the young man underneath, the room seemed to take on a new dimension. The young man, aged beyond his years, sported short red hair, honey-colored eyes reflecting a mature depth, and a pale yet dirt-streaked visage. A faint scar marked his right eye, contributing to his rugged appearance. At a height of 5 feet 10 inches, his slender frame belied the seasoned look in his eyes.
With a sigh, he declared, "Home sweet home," while peeling off his wet hoodie. As the fabric dropped, exposing the fifteen-year-old's lean form, he couldn't help but vocalize his thoughts. "First run after reincarnation, and I can officially say, this world is messed up, and I need items with a lot of options," he muttered in defeat, placing his backpack beside him.
The soul within him hailed from a different word, or so Goldie claimed, the guy who explained to him his entire situation. Reincarnated into a world brimming with gods, aliens, mutants, and humans, he found himself equipped with a unique advantage, a cheat of sorts—the options system. Unlike what you might expect from the name, it's not a system that offers choices based on his situation, rather, this system bestows options upon items based on their history, production method, use, or significance.
The options always intertwined with those factors, sometimes encompassing all of them or just a few. Options, much like items, held different rankings, and Oliver had to level his option skill to be able to give a better option to items, as indicated by the status window.
[Name: Oliver]
[MP: 1/1 (1 MP lasts for 1 minute, 1 MP can be recovered every minute)]
[Skills:
Option: You can grant one item a single option, and depending on the item's history, production method, use, or significance, it would receive a different option. However, it can only receive 1 option, with a 70% chance of failure. Current grade: F, level: 1 (3/1,000) cooldown: 24 hours.]
Oliver, a low-leveled soul with a mere 30% chance of success, found irony in the system's name, chuckling to himself as he emptied his backpack.
"Unless… I make the items myself," an idea sparked in his mind. "Ah, that might be the case," he mused before recalling something. "But first, I am going to need to improve on my living conditions," he declared, surveying his surroundings. "Yeah, that is going to be the priority," he sighed, scanning the items he had acquired.
His eyes settled on a cooking pan, its surface bearing the scars of countless meals. Next to it lay a large, worn-out dark cloth, likely discarded. A couple of water bottles, some canned beans, a bag of charcoal for an inexplicable reason, a mask, a radio, a baseball bat, and an old watch completed the ensemble.
"Nice, some food and water, and some items that hopefully come up with good options," he remarked, contemplating his situation.
Oliver, the name of the body he now inhabited, had a history of solitude. The previous Oliver, as far back as he could recall, knew no family, friends, or companionship. He excelled in survival skills—scavenging, stealing, parkour, and combat. His life revolved around the bare essentials for survival, devoid of ambition or dreams.
"He never had human company and he didn't need one," Oliver thought, reflecting on his past, yes, he accepted himself to be the previous Oliver. "He never talked to anyone aside from those he was selling things to. As long as his stomach was full and he wasn't freezing to death, he was good. And that's how his life has been, surviving from one day to another."
Yet, the new Oliver harbored a different goal. With the introduction of the option system, settling for mere survival was no longer sufficient, plus, it's not as if the hunters that are after him would spare him if they find him.
Observing the scavenged and stolen items, Oliver resolved, "Alright, let's get to giving these items some options." As evidenced by his status window, Oliver had attempted to give item options three times, each ending in failure. "I am hoping I get some good luck," he muttered to no one in particular, eyeing the items at his disposal. "Hmm, let's try the frying pan," he thought, envisioning a filling food option when it's used for cooking.
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well, that is the first chapter, tell me, guys, what are your thoughts, and if you have some ideas on how to improve, .
