LOCATION: TOWN SQUARE
CITY: SYSTEM-GENERATED GRIMWATCH, ALLOVIA
GRIMWATCH INSTANCE #100564
DATE: JANUARY 1, 2027 | TIME: 1:20 AM
On New Year’s Eve, United States President Michael Trent retreated to Camp David for a small gathering of friends and family.
The presidential retreat lay nestled among the quiet forests of Catoctin Mountain, its winding roads dusted with a light sheen of snow. The surrounding pines stood tall and still, their branches heavy with frost, reflecting the amber glow of cabin lights.
Inside Aspen Lodge, a fire crackled in the stone hearth, its warmth mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the distant sound of laughter.
Outside, the night was calm and clear, the kind of crisp winter silence that made even the most powerful man in the world feel small beneath a sky of frozen stars.
The President’s staff served bite-sized snacks paired with beer, wine, and cocktails until around 11:00 PM, when most of the two dozen in attendance switched to sparkling wine and champagne.
Trent was well-known as a hard-working president and an early riser, so the party died down quickly after welcoming in 2027.
Guests were escorted along snow-packed footpaths to their cabins, and Secret Service took their positions to watch over the President, his guests, and the grounds for the night.
Shortly after lying down to sleep, President Trent woke inside what felt like a dream.
He still wore his light blue pajamas, but the room was wrong.
It was still a lodge-style dwelling, but the fireplace was on a different wall. And next to his bed, a dresser sat with a stack of clothes on top.
A note made of parchment was folded neatly atop the clothes.
“Have I been drugged and moved while I slept?” he muttered.
Trent called out for Secret Service.
“Jerry!” he shouted.
But there was no response.
What the fuck… they’re always right outside the door…
He began to grow frustrated with the incompetence, and swung the door open, but there was nothing but a well-appointed hallway of polished wood and stone.
He stepped back inside his room and closed the door.
His eyes drifted back to the dresser, and to the parchment.
Trent crossed the room again and lifted the note, reading through the contents quickly.
---
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Mr. President,
Everything is fine.
You are safe and inside a protected space.
Please change into the outfit provided and join the others outside.
Follow the cobblestone path toward the fountain in the plaza.
Answers await you there.
—The Management
---
“Okay,” Trent murmured, “I must be losing my mind.”
He must be dreaming, right? May as well let this play out and see what happens.
So he changed into the clothes and checked himself in the standing mirror.
It was a strange outfit. Made of soft linen that was somehow both flexible when he moved, and firm when he was still, the clothes fit him perfectly.
The shirt was long-sleeved and forest green. The pants, also fitting so well they appeared tailored to him, were black.
On the chest of his shirt, “TRENT – UNITED STATES” appeared in a clean font when he looked. The words, strangely, faded away when he wasn’t focusing on them.
A pair of high leather boots completed the ensemble, and he sat on the bed to tie the long laces.
The smell of the well-treated hides reminded Trent of hunting.
And speaking of smells, he caught a scent of coffee and baked bread coming from elsewhere in the facility. Once again deciding to play along, Trent left his room and descended the stairs.
As he turned the corner at the bottom, a large tavern opened before him.
Several dozen people milled about in the room. He thought he recognized a few of them, but as he was about to ask someone what was happening, a young woman approached him.
“President Trent,” she said, “we are honored to have you with us. If you would please proceed to the plaza, your orientation will begin shortly.”
“What is this?” he asked. “What’s going on here?”
The woman smiled.
“Apologies, sir, but answers await you by the fountain just outside. Turn left and follow the path.”
He looked around again.
Not a single Secret Service agent in sight.
But…
“Is that Nikolai Baranov from Russia?” he asked. But the young woman had moved on, attempting to guide everyone out of the tavern and toward the fountain.
Trent knew Baranov spoke fluent English, but he decided not to approach. At least not yet.
He shrugged, and turned toward the double doors, exiting the inn and following the throng of people toward the fountain.
As he neared the fountain, he noticed many of the others in front of him freezing in their tracks and staring blankly into space.
“Really,” he muttered, “just what the fuck is going—”
A screen overlaid his entire field of vision.
It was translucent so he could see where he was going, but he inadvertently stopped and began to read.
At the same time, a gentle female voice spoke directly into his mind.
---
Michael Trent
United States President
You are not sleeping. This is all real.
The serums you took, Vitalyx and Rejuvenex, have augmented your physiology. This is the beginning of your Tutorial.
Your time here is tailored to help you understand your new body, discover new skills, and prepare you for the world that awaits you beyond this place.
You will be tested in many ways, some obvious, others not.
If you strive to improve and remain true to yourself, your advancement will be smooth and rewarding.
If you attempt to coast, deceive or take shortcuts, your challenges will increase until you eventually begin to backslide.
The path forward for humanity is one of trial, adaptation, and strength through adversity. You will learn more of this in time.
Combat Class Selection will commence in ten minutes. Please standby.
---
The screen faded from his vision, and Trent was met with the view of hundreds of people standing around the cobblestone plaza, looking entirely confused.
Suddenly, a figure shimmered into existence.
Standing on a raised stage on the west side of the plaza, an elderly man stood.
The morning sun shone brightly on his face, and he smiled as soon as his form solidified.
He clapped his hands twice, then spoke.
His sonorous voice carried through the plaza and stole everyone’s attention immediately.
“Thank you for your attention, everyone,” the man said. “I am Elliot Voss…”