I looked up to see Maurice’s hand frozen on my shoulder. My arm moved on its own, bringing the screen of the phone to the front of my face. A new line of text appeared.

  [TUTORIAL QUEST: GET YOUR GET BACK - PART 1]

  Underneath read a small description with two pending options.

  [Maurice offers to show you the ropes.]

  [ACCEPT: + + + REPUTATION]

  [DECLINE: - - - REPUTATION]

  For a moment I went to the decline option. My first memory in this world were scars in my arms and head. I didn’t have my bow, armor, or any spells that could defend against the Arch Dragon and his minions.

  But I found myself staring at the symbols that appeared before “reputation”.

  I could lose reputation in a tutorial? A beginners quest? I was the ranger of the party that challenged the Arch Dragon.

  If I lost reputation now, would that be tied to the loot I could receive?

  …

  Would that be tied to the party I form later?

  Who would join a low rep ranger?

  …

  This man who offered me a chance to rank up in this world must be a blessing sent from my world. Who else would offer me the chance to prosper?

  [QUEST ACCEPTED! GET YOUR GET BACK - PART 1]

  [OBJECTIVE: GATHER LEADS]

  My arm moved the phone back into my pocket. Time resumed again.

  “Maurice,” I smiled and placed my arm on my new cousin.

  “Let us get our get back.”

  We shared a chuckle for a moment. He brought me closer for an embrace and shook my hand afterward.

  “Good. I thought you were gonna be a bitch about it, not gonna lie.”

  “I’ve stood before Arch Dragons. Finding who did this to me will be paltry compared to that.”

  Maurice stared at me.

  “You’ve been on the game too much.”

  He patted my shoulder and walked toward the kitchen. I fetched the knife I tossed aside and followed behind him.

  “You came just in time, Maurice. You can help me prepare the leather for the armor.”

  I gestured to my crafting process with pride. Maurice looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Jamal, what the hell is this, man?”

  Perhaps he was too impressed with my idea.

  “It is my preparation,” I responded. “I found no armor or weapons in this house. Do not worry, I am a skilled craftsman. Maybe I can even teach you something–”

  Maurice screamed and grabbed my wrist, positioning himself between me and the shoe.

  “NIGGA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! NOT THE JORDANS!”

  Nigga?

  “Maurice, calm yourself. And who is this Jordan? Is he the owner of this shoe? Should we find him?

  Maurice wrestled the knife from my hand and cradled the shoes of Jordan. Perhaps they did not belong to me.

  Maybe this Jordan would seek them later.

  Maurice took a moment to breathe deeply. He turned to me and spoke in a low tone, setting the knife down.

  “Jamal, lock in. We are putting the shoes away.”

  “What do you suggest I do to protect myself then?”

  Maurice smiled.

  “Easy. Grab your mom’s nine.”

  I smiled back.

  “Nine what?”

  Maurice exhaled deeply and set the shoes down. He walked toward me and gave me a hug. I awkwardly reciprocated his embrace.

  “Jamal,” he said, “Whatever they did to you, we’ll get ‘em back for it.”

  He let go but maintained a grip on my shoulders.

  “Look at me. We are putting the shoes away. I’ll take you to get some food. I’ll call Jackson and Trenton, let ‘em know you’re okay and where to meet us.”

  At the mention of food, my stomach growled. I appreciated how genuine he was, surely sent to protect me in my time of uncertainty. This was the tutorial, after all, I figured it was wise to listen.

  I nodded. Maurice was on the phone while helping me pick up the place. I overheard him use the word “nigga” every so often in conversation. I pondered what that word meant. I surmised it must be a casual term for “comrade” or “friend” with how many times he said it in succession.

  We finished clearing the mess of my crafting station and stepped outside. We took two steps from the door before he stopped me.

  “Are you gonna lock the door?”

  My left pocket became slightly heavier. I reached inside to see a pair of keys now in my palm.

  Was Maurice a wizard? His wisdom certainly seemed befitting of a mage.

  After I locked the door, a familiar chime from my phone played. I took it out of my pocket to see another message.

  [TUTORIAL: BASE SECURITY]

  [Locking your base will raise its defense against invaders. Note that higher level invaders will require stronger base defenses as you progress. The level of invader you attract is based on your reputation level.]

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I looked up at the old house with disdain.

  If Jordan wanted his shoes back, he would have no trouble taking them.

  I put my phone away and followed Maurice. The reflection of his dragon blinded momentarily with a bright red luster.

  I’ve never seen a dragon look like that.

  I lacked the words to describe it, but everything in me knew this was the type of dragon that a nobleman rides in. He pointed a small device at it and looked at me.

  “I finally got that remote start kit working. Check it out.”

  He pressed a button. The dragon roared in response, coming to life at his command. He crossed his arms and laughed. I dropped my jaw in amazement as we kept moving toward the beast.

  “What sort of dragon is this? It is mightier than mother’s no doubt.”

  “Jamal it’s…it’s a 2018 Dodge Charger.”

  A dragon charger.

  We stepped in. I was fervently inspecting the interior when his dragon spoke.

  “Bluetooth Connected.”

  I heard music accompanied by another voice. It shook the entirety of the dragon.

  It was then I understood exactly who my cousin was.

  A dragon sage. He started an incantation as he commanded the dragon to move.

  “...hittin' that fire, jump in?that whip, thumb in that bitch…”

  We flew at an amazing speed. The roar of the dragon nearly drowned out the music. Soon we were with the rest of the dragons, moving in sync to their rhythm. I felt proud to be seen with a beast such as this. In no time at all, we arrived at a building with bright orange trim.

  Popeye’s.

  A tavern.

  Maurice led me in and scanned the room. He flicked his chin upward toward two men in the booth. As he led me over to them my eyes darted around looking at the food of others. If it tasted as good as it looked, I would get my strength back quickly.

  “Nigga, can I help you?”

  A man had noticed me staring at his food. Maurice spoke before I managed to respond.

  “Hey man, he just got out the hospital. Jamal, come on.”

  I pulled my gaze from his food and continued after Maurice. One of the men in the booth stood and raised his hand to Maurice. He met his palm with a swift motion, causing a crisp pop to ring through the air. After their brief embrace Maurice turned their attention to me.

  “Trent, that’s my cousin Jamal.”

  Trent raised his hand as he did before. I tried to mimic the same motion Maurice had done.

  I missed his hand entirely.

  Trent and I briefly made eye contact. I opted for a simple handshake as the second man in the booth stood to greet me.

  “Jamal, this is Jackson. We grew up together.”

  I chose not to risk my previous failure and shook his hand.

  “Jackson,” I said, “Any friend of the dragon sage is a friend of mine.”

  Jackson turned to Maurice and Trent.

  A tired chuckle escaped his lips as he let go of my hand.

  “You see what I mean?” sighed Maurice.

  “Oh they fucked him all the way up,” Jackson said. “Sit down, we ordered a bunch of food, just get me back later for it.”

  A number was called. In response, Trent stood and came back moments later with several boxes of food. He handed each one of us a cup, and went to a bright red structure. I followed behind Maurice.

  I peered over his shoulder to see him press his cup on the back of a strip. Dark liquid flowed into his cup, topped with a beige fizz.

  Ale? Rationed at our own pacing?

  I hovered my cup near each of the options.

  Coke?

  Sprite?

  Dr. Pepper?

  Why did a doctor produce ale in this world?

  “Hey can you pick and go?”, said a voice behind me.

  I turned to respond.

  “Apologies, but have you tried this ale? This Doctor known as Pepper sounds like a reliable fellow, but–”

  “Nigga, just pick a damn soda and move!”

  I opted for the ale made by the Doctor known as Pepper and moved back to my seat. The allies of Maurice had not started eating until I sat down.

  Jackson listed out the feast in front of me.

  “Alright so we have biscuits, mashed potatoes–I got us two sixteen-piece meals, dark meat only–”

  “That’s it?” asked Trent.

  “Shut your big-back ass up, you didn’t pay,” Jackson snapped. “You’re welcome, nigga, damn.”

  “Thank you, Son of Jack. This feast will prove most beneficial in our path to get the get back.”

  “Nigga, what?”

  Maurice rolled his eyes and took a bite from a biscuit.

  “He wants to find the dude that shot him.”

  “Yes,” I added, “I will make him pay. I cannot afford to lose reputation so early in my journey.”

  Trent, Jackson, and Maurice all looked among each other. They must be in awe of my strength to carry on, despite my injury.

  “Nigga, if you don’t shut your corny ass up!”

  Trent was howling in laughter. Jackson covered his eyes and chuckled as Maurice choked on his biscuit.

  “Oh my god,” Trent continued, “They shot him stupid!”

  Maurice was the first to recover. He took a sip from his drink and coughed loudly, quieting the rest of the table.

  “Jamal,” he sighed, “Just eat. I’ll cover your part, just get me back later.”

  I took a piece of the crisp golden chicken. The smell was unlike anything I knew back in [ ].

  Back in [ ]!

  Damn.

  I tried to remember what the name was until I had my first bite.

  What was this seasoning? A single tear flowed down my cheek as I chewed in bliss.

  I put the chicken down and reached for a biscuit.

  Oh my gods.

  If my patron deity was still looking out for me, this was proof enough. I went for another biscuit, immediately shoving it in my mouth.

  “Damn–what the–damn, Jamal chill!” said Maurice. “You’re gonna–”

  My throat closed instantly. I see now the rich flavor was a siren song to cease my breath. I started hacking violently, determined to clear the blockage.

  But the density of the biscuit proved stronger than my will to swallow.

  “Nigga, take a damn drink!”

  The Doctor known as Pepper.

  I hastily grabbed the cup and gulped his elixir. Within seconds, I was restored to my normal state.

  “Slow down,” Maurice said, “The food ain’t going anywhere, dude.”

  “You’re right, Maurice. Remind me to find the Doctor known as Pepper. I owe him my life.”

  I resumed eating at a careful pace. A minute later, the Son of Jack asked me a question.

  “Ey, is there anything you remember about the dude? Any colors?”

  “I…”

  Something was forming in my mind.

  A man in front of me, holding a gun.

  Two men behind him. They leaned on a vehicle.

  One of the men wore a shirt of…

  Blue…

  Orange…

  And…white?

  The image in my head disappeared as fast as it had come.

  “Three of them,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Three of them. I can’t remember the other two, but one wore a tabard of blue, orange, and white.”

  “Those bitch-ass niggas,” Maurice said, “That’s the West Side Stans. Fuck.”

  “Well,” sighed Jackson, “Now we know. And we know where to find them.”

  I smiled.

  “Excellent, Son of Jack. Let us find these Stans of the West Side, and get our get back.”

  A sound from my phone played.

  [GET YOUR GET BACK - PART 2 - QUEST UPDATED]

  [OBJECTIVE: LOCATE THE SHOOTER]