Begin

The Tutorial
Tuesday May 10, 2022

It’d been a normal day for me: wake up, toast a bagel, walk the few blocks to the train station at Woodley Park, ride for fifteen-to-twenty minutes to downtown DC, headphones in to listen to the latest audiobook, get off at Farragut north, walk three blocks and enter the federal building. You know, work shit. Say “hello” to the office gossip, who I happen to know for a fact likes to use their gossip patrol in the morning to rat to the boss about anyone who is late. Fuck you, Jerry.

The fact of the matter was that I wasn’t looking for an opportunity. I wasn’t looking for a damn thing, really, life was going rather well. I had an on-and-off thing going with a sweet girl, my family was still all living in another state, and work paid well. The first signal of that lady fate was knocking was an alert noise from my phone. Keep in mind however, I always keep my phone muted in my desk, and I was seated in the bathroom. I knew it was my phone though, because it was coming from my pocket.

A pop-up for an ad with a little symbol in the form of a letter J at the top along the alerts bar, next to a few missed texts. Tapping the top bar, I pulled it down and saw simply: JUMPER ALERT: You’ve been selected!

Scam? Virus? Searching through the settings, I wasn’t going to click on that business, and since I couldn’t find the source of the program, I turned on the virus scanner and set it aside. Something to deal with after work.

A few hours later, I was off work and headed home. The subway car slowly emptying out leaving me sitting across from a woman. A rather striking woman.

“You ignored my message, Jack.”

I glanced over at her, thinking I’d heard my name, but assuming she was on a hand’s free. Coincidental name. This lady is definitely not someone I know, I’d remember someone that good looking.

“No, I was talking to you, Jack Carver.” She repeated and the earbuds in my ears promptly fell from my ears.

“Uh, do I know you?” I asked, glancing up and down the car as I reached into my pocket to try and get the recording turned on. I’d need it when I reported this to work.

“Not like that. I’m here to present you with an opportunity..”

Now, I could tell you the entire contents of the conversation, about how I’d out-maneuvered the woman I’ve taken to calling my Recruiter. How I’d asked a thousand questions, and been informed of every detail..

The truth is, after about thirty seconds she showed me some magic, some impossible magic and explained the basics of the Jump. I was still rather baffled by the magic, but she pressed on and when she asked if I was interested, she produced a good-ol-fashioned clipboard and asked me to sign.

With a feather.

I’m not sure if I was thinking it was a joke, I’m honestly not entirely sure what I was thinking. It seemed like I was being asked how I felt about the idea of dating a bunch of super-models. All of them. In a row. It’s like being asked if you want to go to the moon, and given a step-by-step of how it’d work, and then signing. It’s being asked an impossibility, and while my brain was still cooling down, I signed.

— // —

Once I’d signed, I found myself looking a simple tablet while she sat next to me, explaining that my first jump would be a tutorial, but to make sure I read everything. No skimming because it’s boring flavor text for a perk I don’t care about.

Her next piece of advice: try to negotiate with the Benefactor when they seem to be in a good mood. It turns out she isn’t a Benefactor, she’s a Jumper. “As I near,” she paused then, and it was like she was consulting another source, “As I near the climax of my story, I was given the opportunity to invite one person from any world I’ve ever visited. I chose my homeworld, and used a rather complex algorithmic search combined with several forms of augury to locate the person with the highest chance of survival, and who would serve a net positive to their Jumpchain. It chose you, Mr. Carver. You and sixteen others. Three others declined before you did, so you got lucky. They didn’t want to leave their family behind.”

“So, I can’t bring anyone with me?”

She went on to explain companions, in short. “I can’t answer every question you might have, we’re on a time limit, you have an hour left. But in short, yes, there’s a chance you could grab someone from your family.”

I started reading. https://drive.google.com/file/...dUGSexYq-ISvQ4o/view

Ten different tutorials, each one, one year. Slice of Life, Survival, Horror, Military, Modern Adventure, Super Hero, Modern Occult, Historical/Alt-Historical, Fantasy and Science Fiction. One year in each, each being pulled from a list of applicable worlds at random. I could choose the order, and I’d obviously move Horror to the back of the pack, given me more time to acclimate and learn to fight.

Reading through everything, I decided that the drawbacks weren’t too bad, and looking to the Jumper next to me, she was stone-faced. Forbidden from helping me in that way. “I can’t die in this tutorial, but I can normally, and that’s a ‘chain end’?” she nodded to the question.

“And it says that everything I take applies to my bodymod, you said that means it applies no matter what to every form?” This also earned a nod at my understanding.

I started by adding the freebies: Body Like a Jumper and Mind Like a Jumper. Which had the immediate effect of trimming fifteen pounds from around my gut, returning a bit of hair to my head, and made my mild depression feel a bit less cloudy. The scar across the back of my hand where I’d nailed it in my teens, gone.

Pulling open a notepad, I first tabulated my choices and then quickly started inputting them. It was a doozy of a list, as I took 1100 points in drawbacks. The fact that I couldn’t die was only part of it, genuinely, I didn’t think most of the drawbacks would be too bad in short one-year bursts, for the benefit of having things like Boredom Immunity, forever. Boredom Immunity not only making me immune to boredom, but letting me fast forward through repetitive tasks. Wow.

All in all, I took a whopper of a list of Perks: Sexy and I Know It, turned me into a genuinely handsome man. Self Motivation would make doing things even easier, and as I’d always had problems keeping motivated going to the gym, 50 points were a discount, really. Common Sense felt like a bit of a waste in comparison to everything else, but maybe it wasn’t. It’s what my Jumper friend here had called ‘Fiat Enforced’ which means I’d always have common sense.

Lacking any self-defense skills, I took Fists of Justice for Krav Maga, wanting a no-nonsense self-defense skill. I took No Matter Where You Go, There you Are for another 100, gaining immunity to PTSD but also instilling a total sense of self. Just my gut instinct, but I felt like the PTSD immunity would be huge, especially given the military tour I’d be doing in the next ten years.

Getting to the perks for the Origin I’d chosen, Power Gamer, I took the free option for my origin: Oh, the Possibilities which gave me a MacGuyver-Esque cleverness for using my possessions and assets. Followed by the discounted What’s Mine is Mine and Hard Work Pays Dividends. The first making it so that skills never deteriorate, which would be useful across time, and would ensure that I’d age gracefully. The latter perk would make me learn things FIVE times faster than a normal person.

I wasn’t really interested in Eagle Scout in a forever sense, and felt like given some time, I could learn everything it gives, but knowing I’d have to do a Survival tutorial for a year. Advanced Military Training would supplement that, and help with the ‘fighting’ aspect that Fists of Justice had given me. The Quick and the Dead would give me peak human reflexes. How fast is that? Apparently, the movie is applicable. I’ve seen it. That’s pretty fast.

Class Training: Fighter. I’ve played a bit of D&D. It’s not the most creative class, but it’s good at all sorts of weapons, armor, and not much else. Nothing else would give magic, but this would let me use any weapons I could find or scavenge, especially in the Fantasy and Alt-Historial worlds. Student of War would make me an expert in tactics, strategy, logistics, and organization. All very useful things.


Sherlock Scan would help me spot the clues if that ever became relevant, frankly, I picked it for the coolness, less than because I was certain it’d come in handy. I would learn better. Be Not Afraid would make me immune to mind-bending and destroying effects from eldritch abominations, and made me immune to any form of spiritual corruption. The latter seemed more important in a day-to-day Jumper life, but the beginning wasn’t without use either. The Sights, All The Sights would give perfect memory, without limits to capacity, able to be edited by myself, in perpetuity. Also able to retroactively make sure I remember my past might be handy in the future.

Circling back, I had decided to get Harmony from the Collector, but I’d have to pay full price for it. It’d make it, as far as I could tell, so that not only could I mix energies that were otherwise contradictory, but that I could mix genetics in the same way. I wasn’t sure how that’d work out, but my gut told me that it might be worth it.

In the items section, I had two hundred points in free items to get. I selected three things. First, the Stamp of Fiat Approval. I had an idea as I was reading that there were two things I’d try to get. The first would be some sort of super-soldier serum or something from the Superhero world. If I could make it as good as a perk item, I could use it in every world. Even in every world of the tutorial! I felt a bit sneaky thinking like that. Barring that. A spaceship or some sort of science-fiction gun. We’d have to see what we could find though. The second item was Favorite Treats. I’d look more in my first few tutorial years, but my gut instinct told me that there was some sort of drink that would give me all my nutrients and water, it’d basically make Survival easy mode. Boring, but easy, and if I could find a source of water, I'd switch off every weak for my favorite meals.

Lastly, I spent two hundred points upgrading Bare Necessities so that I’d have a permanent lifestyle worth two-million a year in local currency, with home, vehicle and everything all paid for. All taxes accounted for. It’d make several of the tutorials quite a bit easier.


— // —

Each drawback would only be for the duration of the tutorial level in question, and would end with the Jump. Two points I’d confirmed with the woman beside me. The drawbacks I’d taken were:

Slice of Life: Accident Prone, which would work as advertised on the lid, and Odd Jobs which would make me switch jobs frequently. I wouldn’t need the money, but some requirement might make me keep working, not the end of the world however annoying.

Survival: Disability would give me a disability, but nothing permanent. The other two were poor choices, and could make me repeat the year. I briefly debated the Resource Shortage, and how it might conflict with my Treat item, but was told that it’d be disabled mostly likely.

Horror: None. Not making the horror level any harder!

Military: none. The first would make it a total pain, and the latter two would make it a possible Tutorial Ender.

Modern Adventure: Retired, Extremely Dangerous. Bruce Willis in that movie was a total badass, if being a bit old is the price of a good perk, I’ll let it ride. I ignored the other two. The comic relief one would be actual torture, and the secret society would make things unnecessarily difficult in a way that I might have to redo the year.

Super Hero: Massive Collateral and PR Nightmare would both make it harder to hero, but I figured if I could maintain a secret identity, it’d be something I could almost ignore. The first would make me cause massive damage on accident, while the latter would make people generally dislike me on a PR level.

Modern Occult: Masquerade. It’d basically give me a job, and I’d have to be a bit of a hitman, but I trusted most of those people would be assholes anyway. Wait, am I being cavalier about being a hitman? Can I actually do that? Hopefully being in the military would brace me for it. Hopefully.

Historical: Modern Sensibilities. Never culturally adapt to the setting. Weird, but not the end of the world, I’d be getting a similar experience in science fiction. Hopefully being perplexed for a year wouldn’t be too bad.

Fantasy: Bandits and Siege at Fort Jumper. Being waylaid by bandits, muggers and bullies would be a pain. But I plan to use my money from Bare Necessities to pay for a big adventurer squad in this tutorial level, which would also help with the second drawback. A mercenary crew to help watch my back and use magic to revive me? Maybe on that last bit. I’d be buying good armor to help fend off the siege.

Science Fiction: Three Sea-Shells. Sort of the same as modern sensibilities, but reversed. I’d never get accustomed to being in the future, and it’d make for a strange year. But for the points, it’d be worth it.

— // —

That concluded the whole point selection, back down to zero cp.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:00, Tue 10 May 2022.

It was time to choose the order of the levels, and I decided to go  by order of what I perceived as difficulty but split survival and horror with alt-history as a break between the two worst at the end, and the skills I wanted to learn. I wanted military before survival, though I trusted the former could be more deadly, it’d give me a chance to learn even more survival skills in preparation. Horror is absolutely going last on the list, because  no matter what, it’s not going to be fun, and I need to prepare for it.

1. Slice of Life.
   
2. Superhero.
   
3. Science Fiction.
   
4. Military.
   
5. Modern Adventure.
   
6. Modern Occult.
   
7. Fantasy.
   
8. Survival.
   
9. Historical/Alt-History.
   
10. Horror.

Suddenly as soon as I hit the insert button, the screen changed and I read:

Welcome Jumper!

I do things a bit different from others who run these little jumps. This section is supposed to be generic and frankly a bit boring, instead, I’m going to make background choices that reflect what you might pick if you were given a chance to do so. At least, if you had a chance to pick, and still picked the drawbacks you did. I don’t think you’d have taken that Retired Extremely Dangerous if you really thought it through, but I’ll make it work.

Try to keep it entertaining.



There was no transition between the time-stopped subway car and arrival, and even as I slid into the life of Jack Cramer. It was odd, but not uncomfortable having details expand backwards through my mind. It felt like a new life too, not like some tacked on backstory at the beginning of a movie for exposition but like a rich life full of ups and downs. Not that oddly, most of this life’s story had been pleasant. He-I was benefiting from my perks, bare necessities, sexy and I know it, and a handful of other perks that would have needed to have been part of his backstory prior to my arrival.

Handsome, healthy and wealthy. The worst thing in his life? His, no, my inability to hold down jobs when he.. I want to work and being incredibly accident prone. My drawbacks. I can see how they’d played out. There’s a reason I don’t own any glass furniture and I have a fully stocked first-aid kit in the bathroom.

The room of my large-upscale apartment  is just a touch past ‘comfy’ to the point of being posh. The leather couch looks nice and comfortable, but it also has a little filigree fanciness on the back and the front of the arms. The coffee table is the same, with dragons made out of a single piece of wood and a hard marble top. It’s all expensive and rich, and very nice. I was apparently quite a nerd in this life, and I don’t mind it.

I knew a lot of role playing games, a lot of how to play, and a good list of friends to keep in touch with to keep games going. I’d also been given a simple objective for this life that I needed to slice: keep active with the hobby.

Anyhow, I’m living in Germany now, apparently, and the Earth is basically the same, as far as my memories seem to indicate.

1. Grabbing my laptop, I sat down and started making some plans for my next year:
   
2. Read at least 5 books on survival in various biomes, plant identification and other similar skills.
   
3. Start taking martial arts classes.
   
4. Other classes? What other skills do adventurers need? People trying to survive a horror movie?
   
5. Car maintenance!
   
6. Do the roleplay thing at least twice a week.

Like a man fueled by pure motivation, because with the help of my Perks, I am just that, I find myself pulling out my phone, I get to work and check my bank account, bills and generally making sure everything is set. The housing bills, lifestyle “stuff” like the phone and internet are all handled from my trust fund, and I have no obligations. Zero.

Why do I work? Apparently I feel the need to? I’ll need to examine that. The work thing had to be a drawback for a reason.



Over the next week, I’ve put the pieces together to start/continue my life as new Jack in Roleplayer land. I have joined an online Roll20 community that plays Shadowrun several times a week, I’ve signed up for a mixed martial arts class and started attending for an hour a day, picked up an armful of books on everything related to survival/plant identification, and another set of classes and books for vehicle repair and maintenance. My goal with the last is to be able to fix a car in that future horror scenario, off the sound of failure or whatever it makes, alone. Quickly.

Over the next few months, I start to find myself fast-forwarding through whole blocks of time. Usually only really pausing to enjoy the smell of the roses when I’m roleplaying as my street samurai in Shadowrun, or dating. I’m trying to stay active socially, but not to get too attached, so it’s almost all casual.

But as much as I’m fast-forwarding with the help of my perks, I’m still learning a lot. I’d come into the world with a handful of perks that’d help make me a great fighter, and it shows, but the real practical experience is helpful in making it all come to the forefront. Feeling less like I’m surprised at my reactions and actively participating.

The survival training is much the same way. Three months of hard work have created no shortage of new memories, adding to my already formidable skill with all the skills of an eagle scout and military man. The car repair has been largely the same. Class-attendance and intensity of focus have turned a year and a half average program into a few months for me.

But the real surprise has been working. Yep, can’t hold down a job. Keep taking them though, and keep putting my name out there. I’ve had my bank account increase by close to 170 thousand USD every month, but still, compulsion to work and losing the jobs.

The accidents.suck, but I can somewhat mitigate them with my reflexes and “Sherlock” vision, which tends to help me spot the real hazards before they become serious. I’ve managed to only need stitches once.

The roleplaying has been a real eye-opener, and I’ve learned a lot of things that might be handy for a guy going into the multiverse as I seem to be. In particular, I get the feeling that some of these universes might be good knowledge to remember in the future, which makes me think that reading lots of stuff would probably be for the best. So I’ve started nerdin’ the hell out and relying on my super memory rather than trying to learn this stuff by heart.

But yeah, the first year has indeed proven to be slice of life. No hassles, easy. I can see how this would be good for a vacation, it’s a lot like real life, in fact, it basically is real life. No crazy powers except my own.

As the year-to-the-minute approaches, a tablet pops up into my lap reading:

Congratulations on surviving your first year, you’ve managed to do the bare minimum by surviving a slice-of-life scenario with modest inhuman talent! You sorta don’t suck, but you sorta do. Didn’t even go out and fight crime. Luckily your second choice will let you fix that, so try to keep it interesting. For your superhero tutorial: I am Iron Man.

Once again, you’ll be inserted as you, just different. Based on your tendencies and pre-existing skills, you’ve been assigned the traits correlating to a hero of the Asgardian persuasion. Hail, Jack, God of Asgard. That’s a dumb name, but it always was.

-Sunny




Who the hell is Sunny anyway, why are they in charge of the Jumps? Is this all theirs, or are they some sort of middle-man? A director? An editor? They do seem to want me to be entertaining, is that for them, or for others?

As the shift in perception came and passed, I found myself in a new me. Jack, bastard son of Thor. I suppose it’s possible, however unlikely that I could be taking the place of a pre-existing character, but more likely perhaps I’m some sort of new fiction fitting with his actions of my “father.” He’d probably slept with my mother at the right time in some passing fancy.

Born on Vanaheim to an Asgardian soldier, my mother has acknowledged my likely father only in passing, but she’s a proud warrior and has no need for a “snot-nosed royal brat.” Did I mention that she’s older than most civilizations on Earth? Er.. Midgard. Yeah, mom’s a badass.  Her name is Hilda and she’s a big deal in the village which means we have a rather big house by such standards, and though the people of Vanaheim are a bit more oriented toward nature and magic than swords, my mother is an exception. She’s what shows I’ve watched would call a Shield Maiden, less so the maiden part, I guess?

It’s all very medieval-feeling, but we have running water with no pipes anywhere, functional toilets and showers, and the food is amazing. We read a lot too. The medieval feeling is mostly in the garbs and the way things look. Other than that, everything I’ve seen has been very Pacific Northwest, and I sometimes wonder if I won’t see some people in flannels coming out of the forest. Lots of big evergreens and perpetual fog in places. There are roars sometimes at night of huge creatures, though nobody even bats an eye.

Anyhow, I have no last name now. I remember my past two lives as easily as my new one, but like the first time, I’m finding it a bit strange to have a whole new background and life. My new me fits in better than previous Jacks has. My handsomeness is stellar even among Asgardians, but we’re all fairly handsome, remarkable and unusual people on Vanaheim.

I’m now sixteen years old, and look about the right age for that. I’ve spent the past sixteen years learning languages, a trade, smithing (which is far more complex,) and learning to fight with my mom.

Over the next few days, I get used to things, and then start sparring with mom.

Knowing that I don’t want to be stuck here, and feeling perhaps that this is a compulsion of the tutorial level, I’ve been trying to get her to help me get to Midgard to travel and learn about the universe. Oddly enough and despite all expectations to the contrary, it’s working.

Mother is going to allow me to join her and some others on a trip to Asgard, where she imagines I should be able to find someone willing to let me use the Bifrost.

Several days later Sif and the Warriors Three show up looking amazing and a touch like their actors from home, but not quite, they’re more real and there is definitely a case of “look alike” less than “That guy from Chuck is totally a Warrior now, and Chris Hemsworth apparently migrated from Australia.” They have arrived to escort my mother and her “delegation” as friends, to Asgard, and mom has said that if I play my cards right I should be able to travel afterward.

Arriving in Asgard, I briefly spot Heimdall and then we’re walking to Asgard proper. A very long walk, I should point out. We’re all of Asgardian-level physicality, and I think I might be a step above even that, but still, why not put horses nearby? It’s not like an invading army would want to use enemy horses. Especially Asgardian horses, they’d probably be smarter than some humans and strong enough to kick a hole through a tank. But it’s not my place to speculate.

The meeting in the throne room is completely unrelated to me, and my mother and the others keep myself and a few others outside. Plans change, I guess.

Afterward, we have a meal in the meadhall and the libations run like rivers. “I’m even thinking like one of them now..”

As we’re preparing to head back to Vanaheim, I get a chance to bring up the idea of being sent somewhere other than home. The target of my supplication: Loki. That baked my noodle for two seconds, and then I rolled with it.

Putting an arm around my shoulders, Loki walked with me along the Rainbow Bridge toward the Bifrost proper, that golden sphere standing idly.

“My young friend, there are many worlds to see and play in, but you must be careful of the machinations of those mortals. They’ll try to cheat you.”

“Has uncle Loki had such encounters before?” I asked, being a bit irreverent and overly-friendly with the prince who didn’t know I was technically his nephew. Knowing him from the films, I know his duplicity, but I also know that he can play the long game.

“Say not such things young Jack, uncle Loki is the god of mischief and can count the number who have led him astray with their words on a single hand. The world of Midgard right now is deep in their own strife as they have been for a century, but they are petty mortal squabbles. You need not concern yourself, find some joviality, make merry and be away before they make trouble for you,” he advised. Playing into my words rather than refuting or admonishing me, I think his plan at that point was to use this all later to make some manner of mischief, but I’ll likely never find out.

“We will bring you back in one year, young warrior of Vanaheim,” Heimdall declared. They probably did this sort of thing often, but for me it was pretty awesome.
Heimdall seemed to accept that Loki was seeing me to Midgard. Though I’m still a bit unsure how this normally worked or if it was the power of the plot working with me. It’d felt like that way in the first tutorial level. I’d always been steered toward working and roleplay, as the two cornerstones of life, no matter how much I’d personally been predisposed to ignore the former seeing as I had no need for the money. I’d given most of it away to charity by the end, but also single-handedly probably spent a small fortune on gaming books and the apartment next door so that I could knock out a wall and have a functional library slash gaming room.

I’m getting off topic, but suffice to say, the worlds so far seem to conspire with me as long as I move in the direction of the plot.

The day I arrived there were many things happening, but the most notable of which was a “world fair” in New York City. The year according to a newspaper stand is 1943, so that’s where I am. Captain America: The First Avenger.

It took me a few weeks to come up with a plan, during which I thwarted crimes on people six times. Five of those six times, I knocked in a wall or two, and probably did more damage than the original crime would have caused. I was quickly labeled, “The Brooklyn Smasher!” and my origins were both bizarre and unknown. I started wearing a mask when I felt compelled to stop crime, and did it mostly at night.

But the papers and their readership did not like me. Would I be remembered as the world’s first supervillain or vigilante, if I came back in 80 years and looked into it?

In any case, just as I was beginning to get tired of eating food from the soup kitchen and telling people I was fourteen and not a “slacker,” their slang for someone who was dodging service. When I’d actually grumbled about it outloud. The next day, I found a key in my pocket with a letter directing me to a First Bank of Manhattan.

Truth is, I’d have enlisted for the extra military training, but that’d put me out of position to grab the serum.

So, I hunted around Brooklyn until I found the shop with the old lady with the machine gun. According to my memory it’s an antique store, and likely in Brooklyn because Steve remembered so many places on the way. I recall those too to guide me close, walking past the places where he’d been in fights and been beat up.

It takes me another two days to find the place, and by that time, I’m beginning to think that my plan might have legs. I know that the guy will run out of the shop and jump into a mini-submarine parked at the harbor near some shipping businesses. A day from there, I find the spot where it’ll be parked, recognizable by the shape of the pillars, bricks and concrete.

Now for the plan:

1. Intercept double-agent guy between lab and harbor.
   
2. Bump him over.
   
3. Get the stuff.
   
4. Fiat Stamp it.
   
5. Drop it or crush it.
   
6. Can’t let them change the storyline too much.

In the next month, I continue my vigilante activities, and my press is not improving no matter how many kittens I save from trees or people I keep from nefarious ends. Apparently smashing a car to flinders as part of saving a kitten is against the rules. The urge to engage in vigilante activities isn’t as compulsive as my daily-life stuff was, but it’s definitely not non-existent. I’m hoping it isn’t like this in every jump, or it could get annoying having my preferences for how to do things over-ridden, but so far it hasn’t made me do anything too insane.

Oddly enough, I wouldn’t say I’ve had a single “real” fight yet in my year and a few months of of Jumping. There were no fights in the slice-of-life roleplay level, and all of my fights in the MCU have been either against my mom or someone else I’m training with, or against a normal person who to me moves in slow motion and has the skills of a particularly awkward penguin.

My Lightning Reflexes combined with an Asgardian physique has resulted in a rather spectacular level of reflexes.

As the month comes to an end, I finally spot the changes around the Antique Shop I’ve been looking for. More security, more people loitering on the street. The experiment will be soon. I somewhat regret not being able to be in place to save Dr. Erskine, but the layers of problems with that were dense. He’d have to be close, he’d have to tip them off in a way that isn’t seen as a hoax, and most importantly, he’d have no lasting impact on the setting. The document he’d seen had indicated that after he left, this world would reset. Future visits would be uninfluenced.

So, do his best and get the serum? Sounds good.

Then I saw them from the window of the cafe I’d become a regular fixture at, Peggy Carter and Steve. Short skinny Steve. He’d be different in half an hour.

That meant I needed to go.

Heading to the harbor, I prepared to stand sentry where he’d be coming through. My garb: a plain workman’s, though I’ve smeared my face with enough grease to make me look even more downtrodden. I don’t want Steve remembering me.

This is totally insane by the way, but my Perks are keeping me calm. I am a little afraid, but I am acting through the fear. My motivation is pure and driving. I’m definitely not the same person I was prior to the jumps, but at the same time as different as I might feel, I also feel more. The weird way I’ve taken to fighting crime and fighting in general, the willingness to commit to a plan to rob a member of HYDRA.

The insanity soom comes running. I step out from behind the pillar and launch a fist. No words offered, no hesitation. I’ve had to rehearse this moment in my mind repeatedly. The fist connects and the man crumples like a wad of tissue paper around my fist and goes flying into a nearby brick wall with enough force to crack it. I hadn’t held back, even a little.

“Hold up there, mister!” I yelled out, getting into my newsie twang.

Sprinting over to the man, I reach into his pocket even as one hand goes out to see if he’s alive. Grasping the vial I find there, I feel a faintly satisfying click in my mind as the “Stamp of Fiat Approval” takes seat and then I crush it in my grip. The agent still has a pulse. This might change things slightly, perhaps, but I doubt it. He’d probably crush the cyanide tooth as soon as he woke up.

In preparation for my role, I’ve decided to use a newsie sort of voice for the character: “Oh ‘eya mister, I saw this guy shootin’ atcha, so I ‘it him and ‘e just went out loik a loit, ‘e did.” My accent is probably terrible, but apparently it passes muster with Cap.

“Watch out kid, he’s still armed.” Definitely Steve Rogers, he moves in to take the pistol away from the man and moves over to see if there was anything he could do to revive the man. “He’s still alive. Good job kid, must have a mean right.”

“Me mum always says so, anyway, good luck to ya mista.”

Then I made myself scarce. Steve tried to get me to stay, but I just waved him off and took off. He had to stay with the unconscious HYDRA agent, and while he might be a trained soldier at this point, he isn’t trained to deal with someone playing at being a civilian.

The remainder of the year went relatively unscathed. I had a few close run-ins with the cops, ‘close’ in the sense that they chased after me, and I jumped to the top of a building, but not in the sense that I almost got caught. I never hesitated in the face of a gun, since I was bulletproof, and I didn’t want the hassle.

I kept training, though the items on offer were limited. Money was no problem of course, and I’d moved into a nice place a while back, but it’s not like there were a glut of books with relevant rules about things I’d find useful.

So I did what any self-respecting vigilante would do. I bought a gun, or twenty. A boat-load of ammunition, and then started heading off to remote parts of New York every few days to practice shooting. A lot of shooting.

Something tells me I could have done more, but I’m not sure how to access Asgardian magic, and I didn’t want to accidentally explode. I was accidentally causing enough damage as is

As before, a few minutes before the year ended I found myself with a new tablet in my lap and an introduction:

Better this time, you set an objective and accomplished it, though the year I dropped you in helped (*self pats on back*) and you did what you were supposed to do. Welcome to the universe that’s so often at war they put it in the title, the not grimdark one. This one is a bit less direct about what you should be doing, so just try to be fun.

That was a new intro. I’m on a desert planet, my name is still Jack, and I’m a bounty hunter and self-trained force user. I’m on the planet Jakku. Okay, I know this, Rey is somewhere on this planet? Anyway, I’m a human or near-human enough that I can’t tell the difference at a glance, and my memory confirms it. I have dark hair, short in this case, and I’d been figuring out how to use the Force since I was young. As always, I’m handsome in a way that’s downright stupid, clean, and athletic, and have a steady income. Though in this case, it’s because my parents own some big business on Coruscant involving industrial exhaust machines. Mitigating the effects of pollution on the planet.

They send me quite a healthy sum every month, enough to make this job and this lifestyle rather pointless. All my superpowers are of course gone, but I still have my learned skills.

While I’m contemplating my new existence, I realize I should make a to-do list.

• Alien babes. Apparently, I should hook up with a few, so as to avoid the wrath of the ones who put me here? Jumper-lady?
• Get a ship? Even as I think of this, I realize, I have a ship in a private hangar outside my home. A Lancer Class pursuit vessel.
• Rey. She’s my link to the story, and I feel like I should link up with the story.
• Lightsaber sounds. Lightsaber sounds.
• Learn to use the Force, better.

The first order is around, and we need to be in place to help Finn and the Resistance, but that doesn’t mean I need to stay in the desert. Ship already secured, that leaves Rey? I should probably also practice the Force a bit first? Though I have some skills from my perks, I am hardly an expert.

But first, lightsaber sounds.

Drawing the lightsaber I keep under my jacket, I extend the blade and start swinging it around like an idiot for a minute before I actually try to perform some of the martial arts moves I know. I’m not bad! At least, I think so.

Training with the Force over the next week before I go anywhere, I decide I’ve had enough idling around and get in my ship. Oh, I know how to fly this too? Three Seashells kick in. I know how to fly the ship suddenly, though not expertly, but using the bathroom on my new starship? This is going to be an awkward year.


— // —

Using my inherited skills and memories as a bounty hunter, it takes me less than an hour to track down Unkar Plutt and the starship graveyard. He’s not a slicer, but former me knows his way around the holonet. That said, it isn’t the holonet that turns up results, it’s a few quick visits and awkwardly trying to figure out how to activate buttons on the outside of gates.

Looping a few hundred miles by my measure as a kid who grew up on the education of the Imperial system at heart, though Asgardian measures and German metric definitely pop into my head–though the latter are fading, I hadn’t spent much time actively learning them, and while my memory is perfect, it feels like that’s more of an application of my life than the life I lived before I inserted. The backgrounds are neither perks, nor did I learn them myself.

Arriving at the junkyard, I put on my full gear and head out to look around on a speeder bike, this one looks a bit like a “crotch-rocket” from Earth without the wheels and with the back extended a few feet further than it should. It can seat two, maybe, in a pinch.

My armor is form-fitting and snug, but breathes well and keeps me cool. In the mirror it reminds me a bit of that newer Dune movie, and maybe Mass Effect. A bit shinier with more plates than Dune’s stillsuit. I wear a cloak over it and my head to keep the sun off, the whole thing is gray and plain. The cloak serves to hide my lightsaber, whereas my other weapons are worn openly. My helmet has a single optic over the forehead.

Time to figure out whether Finn and the First Order have shown up and thrown everything into chaos.

Nope.

The Millenium Falcon is where it was apparently left.

That gives me ideas on how to insert myself into the plot, and I think I can make it work. Instructing my droid (because of course I have several) to take the ship back to my home base, I offload several crates of supplies under the cover of darkness and load them onto the Falcon. I’d originally planned on just camping there, but not knowing how long I’d need to be here, I finally caved and just went and paid Plutt for the ship. It was a bargain for the fastest ship in the galaxy, but he was still a conman.

Then, I set up camp, get the bathroom system working though my brain struggles with the contradictions of understanding and not, and then settle in for the haul.

The plot will come to me.

While I wait, I practice for several hours a day with the force, moving things, moving myself, flipping off of walls. I even manage to find Luke Skywalker’s old remote, the small hoverdroid shoots stunners at me while I practice with my lightsaber, eyes closed.

I’m not sure how strong I am in the Force, but what I might lack in amazing Force potential, I make up for with learning speed. Five times faster, and no sense of boredom. There is no ‘downtime’ necessary to keep my mind fresh. I simply learn, and learn, and never get bored of it. I eat to stay alive, and I struggle with the simple mechanics around the ship, but I do my best not to break anything.


It takes a week for Finn and Rey to show up. I hear them running into the ship, and they split. It’s curious that even in my memories in the movie, they didn’t question that the ship already had lights on in the interior, but maybe that’s because I was there? No, that doesn’t make sense, but they didn’t question it now either. As they split, Finn going to the ventral turret while Rey went to pilot. They’d manage, but I could help things along and ingratiate myself, and maybe save Han Solo.

Sliding into the dorsal turret up top, I have to climb a short ladder and clip in.

“I don’t know why you people are messing with my ship, but let’s get these first Order slime off our tail,” I spoke into the headset as I settled in.

“Who is that!?” I heard echoed.

“I’m Jack, and this is my ship, now keep flying.”

It took me a few missed shots to get the hang of the gun, but once I did, I was an ace. I could practically close my eyes and still hit shots with the help of the Force, and some of the various background skills that I’d picked up on this jump level. A bit of a smattering of a dozen different skills. Original Jack flavor had brought the fighting skills up a level, but Star Wars Jack had a good helping of a variety of skills fit for this setting.

That and my military training that seemed to update with every setting–though I don’t think either of my previous lives really justified it. Either German army or Asgardian.

Once we’re clear, without nearly so much flying, I go to meet them in the main galley.

“Like I said, I’m Jack, this is my ship, I bought it. You’re trespassing,” I greeted them, I wanted them dancing to my tune.

“I’m Rey.”

“Finn.”

“You’re Force Sensitive? Interesting. What do you want with the ship?”


“What? And this droid needs to get to the resistance, it has information that could lead to Luke Skywalker,” Rey looked uncertain about what I’d just said.

“Don’t worry, it’ll make sense later. Let’s go, Takonada is our destination.” I didn’t really want to go there because it’d mean a brawl with the First Order, but Rey needed to find that light saber. Or did she? It wasn’t Sidious’ lightsaber, it was Luke’s and Luke wasn’t even a dark side Force user.

Once we were underway at lightspeed, I pulled Rey aside. Drawing out my lightsaber, I flipped it over to her and as she caught it out of the air she activated the blade and then paused, and I could feel the Force working through her. Showing her things with some form of psychometry.

Connecting her to the Force through the closest thing I had to a Force artifact.

“I.. what was that?” she asked.

“That was you connecting to the Force through my lightsaber. Can I have that back? What can you do?” I asked Finn, he’s a good soldier, but I don’t necessarily need him.

It was while I was considering the need of those around me, that I finally removed my helmet, showing off that face I’d paid CP for. It was immediately obvious that I shouldn’t just go around flashing my face unexpectedly, because both now looked a bit shocked at my good looks though I acted oblivious. Perhaps that perk was a poor choice sometimes.

“I can fight.”

“Time to learn to do more, start learning the layout and

“That’s the name?” Finn asked.

“Yeah, it’s the Millenium Falcon. Why do you think I bought it?”


“The one that made the Kessel run in 14 parsecs,” Rey exclaimed, and like Han Solo, I corrected her.

“Twelve. Yeah, that’s the one, now I expect the resistance needs the droid yesterday and not three weeks from now, so make a list of anything that needs repairing if you come across anything.”



We made the trip to Takonada relatively quickly, and while we traveled, I used the same training that I’d been undergoing with the remote, to train Rey and when she was tired or busy, to train Finn. While Rey came along like she had in the movie, prodigiously fast, Finn did not, he wasn’t even a tenth as fast as me.

“You should know,” I had told them both separately while we were traveling at Lightspeed, ”I’m self-trained, if you really want to learn about the Force, you’ll need to find a master. Luke Skywalker. But I can teach you how to fight a bit better, and the basics of using the Force.”

And I did, we only had a few days of travel in which to train, but I worked them both. But mostly Rey, I gave Finn some pointers, but I wasn’t about to make anything of him in short order, and I’m not an experienced teacher.

I practiced alongside them both however, and so grew my skills as well.

Arriving on Takonada, I lead them inside and didn’t let Rey wander off. She was more responsive to my request, as I’d built more of a rapport than Han Solo had, though she didn’t have a child’s fascination with my story, she was intensely attracted and I’d been teaching her interesting things. She would listen to a simple request.

Inside the temple, she found the lightsaber, again. Though she handled it better than in the film, she still ran off to: “Take a breath.”

I talked to a few people, including Maz, though she wandered off. I knew that the Resistance would show up and save the day, I just needed to be in position. Once again, Maz handed over the lightsaber, but to me, and I passed it along to Finn.

“Hold onto this for Rey.”

He agreed.


Inside Maz’ castle, the first indicator of the arrival of the First Order was the sounds and then we felt as the strafing runs started hitting the structure. We emerged to fight, while I knew Rey was soon to be encountering Kylo Ren.

Stepping out into the fight, we did better than the old man combo, mainly because I was armed to the teeth under my cloak, and had things like thermal detonators and a heavy blaster rifle that could chew through groups of First Order troops.

Shooting and moving, I kept Finn with me and as things were looking grim, we were saved by Poe Dameron.

Yeah, watching him fly in person is even better than a movie. I don’t know how long it’d take to get that good.

A few minutes later, even as the battle was ongoing, we watched and “tried to catch” Rey as she was taken by Kylo.

The story progressed much as the movie, I just kept out of the way. Though without Solo, there was a lot more questioning of Finn and myself, and I had no choice but to tell them that I’d bought the ship, and let Finn explain BB8.

We traveled from there to D’Qar with our new friends in the Resistance, my particulars were verified. I was a bounty hunter, I’d bought the ship, Finn was my character witness sorta and he had Poe, we had BB8. Everything went okay. Later, we watched as planets were destroyed by Starkiller Base, and I felt the massive disturbance in the Force.

It really is unpleasant to feel all those lives vanish, though my perks likely did some work to keep me from feeling too much dread.

The meeting that followed went similarly. Rescue mission to get Rey, I mean, to blow up the base by deactivating the McGuffin generator. “I volunteer. We can take the Falcon, we’ll need a pilot though.”


And just when I thought I’d derailed Han Solo dying by him being nowhere near the plot, he walked in. Right at that moment. All swagger and man smell. There were conversations, none with me, mostly Han and Leia and Chewy throwing in a “rrrrr” here and there. Some alterations to the plan involving Han.

And soon we were headed to that planet sized base.

Swooping in, we proceed through the levels though in a slightly more efficient manner, and the plot happens much as one might expect. There aren’t really any deviations.

Han dies, we escape, lightsaber duel in the woods while I’m on the ship with Chewie. My “students” do a fair hand better against Kylo, but only a bit, he’s still largely playing with them.

In the aftermath, Rey decided to head to train with Luke Skywalker. Now having his location as she does, while Finn is a bit less committed to the idea. Perhaps seeing the difference between him and Rey he has decided to stick to his strongpoints.


I go with her, if only so that I can meet Luke. He’s still a dour old fart, but whatever choices have been slotted into this version of the setting, he didn’t become totally unreasonable as soon as Episode 8 would have begun. Every day he trains us diligently so that we don’t get ourselves killed, though he is still a bit reluctant to engage with the world, he’s not suicidal.

Fan fiction?

Within the next month, we’d settled into a rhythm of training, and Rey and I started going on what in hindsight I’d call “dates” occasionally, by which I mean, we’d spend hours together and make eyes at each other. Neither of us wanting to alter the status quo. It was, in hindsight, cute and almost adolescent in our lack of pursuit of intimacy past

It took me almost to the end of my year to realize that her connection with Kylo Ren had been altered by my presence, once again, I can only attribute that to the Fan Fiction aspect.  Was I some sort of self-insert now?

I finally made a move on her with about a week left, and that went splendidly. Athletic and splendid. I’m still not 100% sure how things will work in the future, but I’d like to bring her along on my adventures in the future, even if she isn’t a romantic interest.

As to the training, the training in the Force might be useful if I can ever pick up the Force in a way that lets me carry it with via Perk Fiat, but lacking that, the year’s training improved my ability to parkour, my swordsmanship and hand-to-hand, and my general sense of self. I’d say that I’m more able to meditate now.

Oh, and moving to the island had one big advantage: I was no longer nearly as confused by everyday science-fiction conveniences.

The tablet which appeared this time was unexpected:

You didn’t get with alien babes, but you did the young forbidden love thing. It was cute, no punishment needed.

To: [Redacted]
Subject: Change of Duty

Welcome to the Extraterrestrial Combat Unit. As you have been briefed, this organization has been created following the failure of individual states to contain and eliminate an alien aggressor. You have been chosen to join a regional XCOM Field Base, tasked with the interception of hostile craft, elimination or capture of hostile forces, and the research and duplication of hostile technology.

Good luck, Commander

When I arrive in the base, I’m surrounded by other soldiers, identifiable by how we stand, though we’re all out of uniform. All of us are fresh recruits to XCOM. We’re a motley bunch of soldiers of varying levels of skill, but all a rather solid amount of commitment to the challenge of the defense of Earth.

For the first three months, I’m training, hard, everyday. All sorts of skillsets. The trainers recognize my learning speed and memory as prodigious, and I’m getting even more training because of it. I’m learning how to work the alien systems, my first-aid skills are being brought even further along, and my shooting and hand to hand skills are all progressing swiftly.

I apparently have no talent for psionics, which is a shame, since that is apparently a thing in this world, but in every other aspect of being a soldier, I’m excelling and progressing well past the skillset of a special forces soldier.

Once the trainers are satisfied, and a brief visit to the on base doctor, I’m officially cleared for active duty as an assault trooper at the rank of corporal and out the door on my first mission three days later.

—

Operation: Crimson Priest
I’m issued a laser rifle and deployed first on a supply raid in Paris. We’re transported into a remote area and proceed into the city in civilian disguises. Unlike in the game, from what little I remember of it, we’re not limited in size, ability to scout or time, we can approach things more like a mission from my roleplaying days what feels like a lifetime ago, playing Shadowrun. We aren’t automatically on a clock, so we take the time to know what we’re walking in to, we can act like civilians unless they have psionics in play, and we are able to plan our mission to the letter.

We’re almost detected a few times, but the day of the heist is simple: we forged transfer papers to get me on site, but I snuck in all the same so that I wouldn’t be getting examined, relying on my stolen uniform to get me where I need to be. I then hacked into an onsite computer and told the locals to ship us almost everything not strapped down to a secondary site, then snuck back offsite. The fact that fear doesn’t even slow me down is rather handy on a mission.

The stuff was all delivered, as per orders, by ADVENT command.

We waited for them to drive off, back to their tasked site, and then loaded everything up. We ended up with a bigger haul than we’d been assigned to collect.

—

For the next three weeks, seeing as I was uninjured, and the mission was a success I was promoted to Sergeant. My memories tell me that this is an insane promotion rate, but it means access to better gear and more training. The training is much the same. I’ve made friends with the other soldiers, which is sort of par for the course in these levels, though it is unfortunate to know that I won’t know anyone longer than a year. Even if I come across the ‘xcom jump’ in the future, they won’t remember me. Same with Rey.

I do miss her sometimes. Was fun having someone, even if she is a bit of a Mary Sue.


—

Operation: Stone Thorn

We’re on a recon this time. Pure scouting, like in the first case, we are able to get a bit closer to our target than the games might make you think is possible. High end surveillance devices can be placed in the area and networked to a PAN. All showing up as local cell phones, periodically changing so as to avert suspicion.

I’m getting better at modern day computers every day.

I’m able to fast-forward large periods of time, and spend a great deal of time training skills that involve reading. I’ve memorized several books on survival, and explosives. The others think I’m strange, and they’re not wrong, my ability to self-motivate and never get bored of it is inhuman.

We’ve managed to figure out the target of the recon: there’s going to be a political rally in a month, and we’re scouting one of six locations.

We remain for another month.

A week before the end of that month, I’m tasked with taking a shot if one is offered and a sniper rifle the size of my leg arrives. We move to a secondary location for an angle on the arrival area, since I can’t wait for the target to be static, they’ll have shields on stage.

The shot goes off without a hitch. My first assassination. I don’t feel too bad about it, the guy I’d shot was literally selling out humanity for personal gain. Not ‘some people’ ‘humanity.’ It matters more than I’d like to admit.

—

Exfiltration was  fine, we’d practiced it for a week and were out of the area and RTB in under a week. We took our time to make sure there were no tails, but it wasn’t overly difficult. We’ve noticed however that there has been an increased amount of psi based surveillance and countermeasures meant to pick out infiltrators.

Returning to base, I had two months of downtime. Also unlike the game, we aren’t constantly cycling in and out of missions. There are always teams coming and going, but “the best guys” aren’t always going out every three days for another harrowing mission, until they die. Like XCOM as a militaristic spy agency of sorts has dozens of operators all working for the greater good of mankind.

As before, lots of training, a little bit of socializing. Very limited opportunity to socialize with the type of people I’m attracted to, namely women and an extremely limited range of men. It’s not that there are no women in XCOM, but they are all like Private Vasquez in Aliens, and that’s the cute ones.

I’ve lost several friends over the past few months, but nobody close, yet.

Command has promoted me and upgraded me to a sniper rifle in a rather vaguely named Alien variety. They have apparently been spending all their creative points on naming missions, not their next-gen alien-fighting weapons. The model I’ve been given is semi-automatic and slightly shorter in nature.

—

Operation: Frozen Summer

The mission is another recon, but they’ve straight up given me a green-light to act on my own recognizance if a target of opportunity presents itself. The rules of engagement with XCOM are pretty much “don’t hurt too many civilians” and that’s about it. We once again slip into our position as a cell outside of Chicago watching an ADVENT facility.

We pass along a lot of traffic and information, and generally keep a physical distance from the site. Preferring technology, since psychics might be able to detect us if we’re spying from close distances. Though they have some tricks that can confound even good cameras, so we’re also testing new techniques out on the fly in conjunction with the scientists  back at the base.

I’m acting as a liaison on all the science stuff, since a few weeks of condensed reading, and photographic memory and perfect recall make me at the very least “not a grunt” as far as the science geeks are concerned. That and my computer based skills are all top notch with all the training.

As time goes on, we’ve progressed from a simple “let’s try this to fix your problem, Frozen Summer” to an actual test site, and have had three scientists escorted to our little mini FOB.

I hadn’t intended to become more proficient with technology, science or invention, but before I know it, that’s all I’m doing some days. Leaving the actual work of surveillance on our target location to the others in the unit.

—

By the end of the summer, the tablet has appeared yet again:
You’re quickly becoming a favorite, keep it up Jumper. Oh, and remember to live your life one quarter mile at a time. Oh, and I’ve relaxed the training wheels, you can alter the worlds more now. No plot-correction, though the characters will still have their typical plot-armor.

That’s all it says, no intro to the next world.

Wait, I know that quote..



I merge into the new world going 140 down the Pacific Coast highway from Seattle to LA, I’m driving a tricked out 1966 GTO with all the top of the line upgrades one could fit under the hood, it’s black on black with black rims and it flies. It’s 2001, my name is Jack Toretto. I’m sixty six, and for the first time older than my actual chronological self by over two dozen years, but at least I’m not an actual child. I’m the usual combination of traits that make up the Jacks in all these levels so far, with the added fact that I actually have military training this time. I was in the military through the eighties and nineties. Invested in the dot com boom perfectly, and pulled out at just the right moment. Just before I retired.

My life in the military had been downright prolific. I had rank, tenure and experience. I’d been special forces and worked with spooks during the height of the cold war, I’d been there during Bush Senior’s tangle with Iraq. I’d commanded boys. I sit on a donut sometimes when my hemorrhoids are acting up.

Interesting, I feel like the Jump is actually updating a bit to justify my skill, I’ve had at least 10 years of training when you accelerate my training to five times speed, perhaps upwards of fifteen or twenty years of a normal person’s ability to handle things and handle boredom. This life will make those skills make sense, and my reflexes are still as fast as the day I was born. My skills are sharp as a scalpel, my memory as sharp as a tack, and I’m handsome as fuck. I’m not just a silver fox, I’m a silver Kitsune. I’m the ten tailed silver fox. I look like Roadhouse Era Sam Elliott cranked up a few extra notches. Whats Mine is Mine, in play, making me age gracefully as well as Sexy and I Know It making me look like a ten.

This me, had been doing my best not to get sucked back in, happy with my honorable discharge and retirement with full pension, and off my feet all day. Slowing the car down to normal highway speeds, which honestly feel a  bit slow, with my reflexes, I’m in LA by sundown.


On arrival back “home” I get my affairs squared away, hire a gardener to come by once a week and to replace my lawn with fake grass. The good stuff. No use wasting water, even if climate change isn’t hitting the Fast universe like my own, I’d rather just have the gardener tending to the shrubs. Okay, that was an unnecessary detail, but I’m an old man now, and that’s where my head goes, that and my sciatica.

I get the house squared away, buy a few extra guns, beside those I’d retired from the service that are tucked away securely, and make sure to get some gym equipment and a gorgeous personal trainer as well. I’ll need to work diligently to stay in shape if I’m going to keep up with these kids. I get a new license since I plan to stay in California for the long haul of the year, and finally go visit the family.

It amuses me to try to think like an old man, getting in character is fun. I should find a perk for it eventually! Did I mention I even sound a bit like Sam Elliott now, I think “Sunny” basically cast me into a version of him.

Rolling up to the Toretto Market & Cafe, I spot Mia and pull off my cap as I walk in the door. “Well hello there miss, would you happen to know where I can find a gorgeous niece of mine ..” I began.

As she turned at my voice, her face lit up and she jumped over the counter to hug me, “Uncle Jack!”

“Ho there, I’m old Mia, you’re gonna break me,” I told her and hugged her back with fierce old man strength, lifting her off the ground and then setting her back down. “Where’s your brother?”

“Over here, old man,” Dom called out as he slipped out of a back room. He’s a hugger too, and looked equally as happy to see me.

“Well now, look at you two. Tell me everything, I’m back in town to stay, so don’t leave anything out.”

Having a family of borderline superheroes is actually pretty nice. These people really care about each other and  we have a lot of barbecues, I’ve been taking cooking lessons alongside my other normal lessons so that I can keep up with the BBQ demands. I go to races sometimes and despite the fact that I’m forty-years older than some of these young women at the races (who all look like they could be cast in a rap video or in a magazine,) are all over me. I don’t spurn such advances, but instead, play it cool. Like an old man who has seen it all, I’m just that stoic and badass.

It only took one time for some young buck to call me: “Old Man Viagra.” And subsequently him getting knocked out in a single punch, for the message to sink in. I wasn’t just old, I was hard.

Day to day, keeping an eye on ‘the kids’ and generally not interfering with their business. Even though Dom tells me about his business with the heists, I just nod and tell him to be careful nobody gets hurt. Felony Murder is a tough beat.

I also help with money by giving what they need to refurbish the house and garage. I give it to Mia directly and tell her to just pay for things directly when Dom is busy. Family takes care of family.

As I’ve thought about things, the only thing I decide to change is the fate of Jesse. The kid who got killed in the driveby at the end of the first film. I make sure to be at the house after the events at Race Wars and when I see the bikers lining up for their pass, I ready myself and smoothly shoot them both in the head even as they’re getting off their first few shots.

Lightning reflexes and years of training all drilled for moments like this.

Mission accomplished.

That was just the first few weeks, the plot didn’t take long to play out. The remainder was pretty easy going, I “took care” of Mia and the garage after Dom disappeared to Baja Mexico, and Brian was off working his job. Jesse and a few others were still around though, working the garage. The next plot wouldn’t be for a while, so I trained, I ate good food, and I enjoyed life, making sure to do my best to improve things for others as well.

I eventually met Tej and Brian again toward the end of the year: talked shop with Tej about tech and computers, and gave him my advice on investing. “.. and that’s what I think you can invest in going toward 2020.” If the universe doesn’t cease to exist and he follows my advice after I disappear, he’ll be even richer.

When I wasn’t with the cast of the movies, I was enjoying ‘retirement’ as a badass, which meant periodic brawls for no particular reason, stopped a convenience store robbery, and of course.. I was learning to drive even better and driving really, really fast.

My skills as a mechanic also progressed to “professional” levels. It was a better version of the Slice of Life story, once the tumultuous periods were over. Far more family, more connection.

The tablet came while I was out for lunch at the cafe, and time stopped with it:

Another world well handled, you changed fate but not too much. You were a bit lite on the adventure side, but you didn’t run away from the plot. You let it happen and only acted when it felt right. The plot will spin on almost entirely unaltered. Well done. You fit into the plot rather well, and it all felt like a natural continuation of the story could have happened.

For your next level, you’ll be stuck with the Cheerleading Vampire Slayer and Friends. Try to get yourself deep into the plot this time, and get in with Buffy or Willow. Just a suggestion.

Those were the clearest suggestions I’d had yet, and though I hoped that every Jump in the future wasn’t rife with production suggestions like I was a cheap show on cable, I didn’t mind that instead of being told I was sucking eggs.

Emerging into a new consciousness, I find myself sitting in a classroom while a teacher was droning on about calculus.

I’m not related to anyone on the cast, my name is Jaq’el, or “Jack” and I’m a half-demon. Not a bad deal really, super-strength, speed, durability and regeneration. Similar to Groosalug, but no stupid haircut, and I think I’m a fair shade stronger than him too. In any case, I’m a student at Sunnydale, and nobody knows what I am.

But the plan is to change that.

The tentative plan is to pull a similar “trick” as I’d deployed in the past levels. Help the main characters and ingratiate myself as a means of introduction. No real scouting necessary, I just started going out on patrols that night, staking baby vampires when they rise, and fighting the occasional spooky thing that need not be mentioned. I’m now a veteran in terms of fighting experience and skill, with dozens of intense years of training to several types of weapons.

The plan had been to first run into Buffy in the cemetery and use proximity to make the introduction. Having her on my side would make all the rest fall like dominos.

I’m still not fully accustomed to being a “ten’ however, and by the end of the first week I’m getting serious contemplative looks from: everyone who is interested in guys. I mean, I’d seen similar effects in other worlds, but teenage girls are extra hormonal.

And while I knew them from the show, I decided to get to know the three top options: Cordelia, Buffy and Willow. Personally, rather than just jumping on the one with the biggest chest, rear or cutest face.

Toward that end, I ended up meeting up with them in the library several times over the next month, and they eventually let slip that Buffy was a Slayer.

Shocked Pikachu face.

“I should admit something as well then, I’m uh, half-demon, but totally nice.”

That got a reaction, and they were wary for a bit, but eventually everyone seemed to accept me at face value, and I was being honest when I said that I had no ulterior motives, and intended no harm.

I ended up going on a date with Cordelia first, because she was the most aggressive about it, wanting to land the “new hottie” before anyone else. As I knew she later would reveal, she wasn’t nearly as vapid and bitchy as she appeared at first, but I quickly realized that she still needed some character growth before I, an adult who’d lived six extra years in six different universes, would want to even consider dating her for anything other than a casual fling. Though as far as types go, she was definitely more my speed, I didn’t want to burden myself with that sort of attitude for a full year.

Buffy and our encounters left me feeling like she was looking for someone damaged. That’s they only way I can explain it. There was something about me that didn’t click for her.

Willow was by no means “the last choice” but she’s the one I’m listing last, because we hit it off like peas in a pod. I hit it off better with her than I ever did with Rey, and that’s saying something. I always patrolled with her, and encouraged her to learn magic, showing her to the Magic Box. I started learning a bit beside her, but I knew none of it would hold outside the Jump without the Perk for it to make it overcome the contextual problems.

From week to week, I trained and studied and basically brought all of my grades up. The help of perfect memory was sufficient. I helped with problems, Scooby’d with them, and helped with problems. Motivation is still as ripe as the day it was given, so training continues, though I’ve of course mixed in training with Buffy. Adding to her repertoire and my own. I’m a better trainer than Giles could ever be, and a billion times better as a sparring partner at her level with decades of training with weapons, hand to hand and a gun, though I never really show off the last bit.

When Miss French showed up a few months in and tried to woo the menfolk, I was apparently somewhat resistant to her call, enough to not be smitten at least. Though I did take Xander and Giles, by force, and evacuate the area for a few days while Buffy dealt with it.

From week to week, the usual encounters that pop up from time to time are fewer than the show might make them seem. There were only twelve episodes in the first year, and so they’re spread across several more months. I help to mitigate damage a bit better than Buffy and the Scoobies had previously, with less collateral death, though I’m not sure I’m helping Buffy become her best self by pitching in too much.

Angel’s attention to Buffy is still weird when he shows up, and I’m trying not to be hypocritical since I’m technically in my forties and dating a highschool girl, but my body at least feels like a teenager, even if I have extra memories crammed in. I am Jaq’el. So my attraction comes from a part of me that isn’t a creep, and she’s a mature girl. It’s a bit of an over justification, but I don’t feel guilty about it.

Come time for Prom, and “the Prophecy” I know that things will work out, so I do my best to keep everyone safe, and help Buffy where I can. She slays “The Master.” And the season is officially over.

The tablet had little hearts on it now.

As you’ve surmised, I’m pleased. You’ve also been guessing that I’ve been making you participate in the past, you were right then. It was a hidden drawback I forced on you for your benefit, I’ll give you additional points for it in the future. You haven’t asked, but no, you can’t have your supersoldier serum until you finish the tutorial. Good job not dying yet!

Keep me entertained!

The next world is extremely long-term not the sort of thing that someone has active daily  adventures in, so I’m relaxing all requirements for you and will be focused elsewhere until that siege happens. Also, enjoy trying to figure out the old ways.

Though maybe keep up the sexy times, momma Sunny likes those, big boy.

I merge into the new world going 140 down the Pacific Coast highway from Seattle to LA, I’m driving a tricked out 1966 GTO with all the top of the line upgrades one could fit under the hood, it’s black on black with black rims and it flies. It’s 2001, my name is Jack Toretto. I’m sixty six, and for the first time older than my actual chronological self by over two dozen years, but at least I’m not an actual child. I’m the usual combination of traits that make up the Jacks in all these levels so far, with the added fact that I actually have military training this time. I was in the military through the eighties and nineties. Invested in the dot com boom perfectly, and pulled out at just the right moment. Just before I retired.

My life in the military had been downright prolific. I had rank, tenure and experience. I’d been special forces and worked with spooks during the height of the cold war, I’d been there during Bush Senior’s tangle with Iraq. I’d commanded boys. I sit on a donut sometimes when my hemorrhoids are acting up.

Interesting, I feel like the Jump is actually updating a bit to justify my skill, I’ve had at least 10 years of training when you accelerate my training to five times speed, perhaps upwards of fifteen or twenty years of a normal person’s ability to handle things and handle boredom. This life will make those skills make sense, and my reflexes are still as fast as the day I was born. My skills are sharp as a scalpel, my memory as sharp as a tack, and I’m handsome as fuck. I’m not just a silver fox, I’m a silver Kitsune. I’m the ten tailed silver fox. I look like Roadhouse Era Sam Elliott cranked up a few extra notches. Whats Mine is Mine, in play, making me age gracefully as well as Sexy and I Know It making me look like a ten.

This me, had been doing my best not to get sucked back in, happy with my honorable discharge and retirement with full pension, and off my feet all day. Slowing the car down to normal highway speeds, which honestly feel a  bit slow, with my reflexes, I’m in LA by sundown.


On arrival back “home” I get my affairs squared away, hire a gardener to come by once a week and to replace my lawn with fake grass. The good stuff. No use wasting water, even if climate change isn’t hitting the Fast universe like my own, I’d rather just have the gardener tending to the shrubs. Okay, that was an unnecessary detail, but I’m an old man now, and that’s where my head goes, that and my sciatica.

I get the house squared away, buy a few extra guns, beside those I’d retired from the service that are tucked away securely, and make sure to get some gym equipment and a gorgeous personal trainer as well. I’ll need to work diligently to stay in shape if I’m going to keep up with these kids. I get a new license since I plan to stay in California for the long haul of the year, and finally go visit the family.

It amuses me to try to think like an old man, getting in character is fun. I should find a perk for it eventually! Did I mention I even sound a bit like Sam Elliott now, I think “Sunny” basically cast me into a version of him.

Rolling up to the Toretto Market & Cafe, I spot Mia and pull off my cap as I walk in the door. “Well hello there miss, would you happen to know where I can find a gorgeous niece of mine ..” I began.

As she turned at my voice, her face lit up and she jumped over the counter to hug me, “Uncle Jack!”

“Ho there, I’m old Mia, you’re gonna break me,” I told her and hugged her back with fierce old man strength, lifting her off the ground and then setting her back down. “Where’s your brother?”

“Over here, old man,” Dom called out as he slipped out of a back room. He’s a hugger too, and looked equally as happy to see me.

“Well now, look at you two. Tell me everything, I’m back in town to stay, so don’t leave anything out.”

Having a family of borderline superheroes is actually pretty nice. These people really care about each other and  we have a lot of barbecues, I’ve been taking cooking lessons alongside my other normal lessons so that I can keep up with the BBQ demands. I go to races sometimes and despite the fact that I’m forty-years older than some of these young women at the races (who all look like they could be cast in a rap video or in a magazine,) are all over me. I don’t spurn such advances, but instead, play it cool. Like an old man who has seen it all, I’m just that stoic and badass.

It only took one time for some young buck to call me: “Old Man Viagra.” And subsequently him getting knocked out in a single punch, for the message to sink in. I wasn’t just old, I was hard.

Day to day, keeping an eye on ‘the kids’ and generally not interfering with their business. Even though Dom tells me about his business with the heists, I just nod and tell him to be careful nobody gets hurt. Felony Murder is a tough beat.

I also help with money by giving what they need to refurbish the house and garage. I give it to Mia directly and tell her to just pay for things directly when Dom is busy. Family takes care of family.

As I’ve thought about things, the only thing I decide to change is the fate of Jesse. The kid who got killed in the driveby at the end of the first film. I make sure to be at the house after the events at Race Wars and when I see the bikers lining up for their pass, I ready myself and smoothly shoot them both in the head even as they’re getting off their first few shots.

Lightning reflexes and years of training all drilled for moments like this.

Mission accomplished.

That was just the first few weeks, the plot didn’t take long to play out. The remainder was pretty easy going, I “took care” of Mia and the garage after Dom disappeared to Baja Mexico, and Brian was off working his job. Jesse and a few others were still around though, working the garage. The next plot wouldn’t be for a while, so I trained, I ate good food, and I enjoyed life, making sure to do my best to improve things for others as well.

I eventually met Tej and Brian again toward the end of the year: talked shop with Tej about tech and computers, and gave him my advice on investing. “.. and that’s what I think you can invest in going toward 2020.” If the universe doesn’t cease to exist and he follows my advice after I disappear, he’ll be even richer.

When I wasn’t with the cast of the movies, I was enjoying ‘retirement’ as a badass, which meant periodic brawls for no particular reason, stopped a convenience store robbery, and of course.. I was learning to drive even better and driving really, really fast.

My skills as a mechanic also progressed to “professional” levels. It was a better version of the Slice of Life story, once the tumultuous periods were over. Far more family, more connection.

The tablet came while I was out for lunch at the cafe, and time stopped with it:

Another world well handled, you changed fate but not too much. You were a bit lite on the adventure side, but you didn’t run away from the plot. You let it happen and only acted when it felt right. The plot will spin on almost entirely unaltered. Well done. You fit into the plot rather well, and it all felt like a natural continuation of the story could have happened.

For your next level, you’ll be stuck with the Cheerleading Vampire Slayer and Friends. Try to get yourself deep into the plot this time, and get in with Buffy or Willow. Just a suggestion.

Those were the clearest suggestions I’d had yet, and though I hoped that every Jump in the future wasn’t rife with production suggestions like I was a cheap show on cable, I didn’t mind that instead of being told I was sucking eggs.

Emerging into a new consciousness, I find myself sitting in a classroom while a teacher was droning on about calculus.

I’m not related to anyone on the cast, my name is Jaq’el, or “Jack” and I’m a half-demon. Not a bad deal really, super-strength, speed, durability and regeneration. Similar to Groosalug, but no stupid haircut, and I think I’m a fair shade stronger than him too. In any case, I’m a student at Sunnydale, and nobody knows what I am.

But the plan is to change that.

The tentative plan is to pull a similar “trick” as I’d deployed in the past levels. Help the main characters and ingratiate myself as a means of introduction. No real scouting necessary, I just started going out on patrols that night, staking baby vampires when they rise, and fighting the occasional spooky thing that need not be mentioned. I’m now a veteran in terms of fighting experience and skill, with dozens of intense years of training to several types of weapons.

The plan had been to first run into Buffy in the cemetery and use proximity to make the introduction. Having her on my side would make all the rest fall like dominos.

I’m still not fully accustomed to being a “ten’ however, and by the end of the first week I’m getting serious contemplative looks from: everyone who is interested in guys. I mean, I’d seen similar effects in other worlds, but teenage girls are extra hormonal.

And while I knew them from the show, I decided to get to know the three top options: Cordelia, Buffy and Willow. Personally, rather than just jumping on the one with the biggest chest, rear or cutest face.

Toward that end, I ended up meeting up with them in the library several times over the next month, and they eventually let slip that Buffy was a Slayer.

Shocked Pikachu face.

“I should admit something as well then, I’m uh, half-demon, but totally nice.”

That got a reaction, and they were wary for a bit, but eventually everyone seemed to accept me at face value, and I was being honest when I said that I had no ulterior motives, and intended no harm.

I ended up going on a date with Cordelia first, because she was the most aggressive about it, wanting to land the “new hottie” before anyone else. As I knew she later would reveal, she wasn’t nearly as vapid and bitchy as she appeared at first, but I quickly realized that she still needed some character growth before I, an adult who’d lived six extra years in six different universes, would want to even consider dating her for anything other than a casual fling. Though as far as types go, she was definitely more my speed, I didn’t want to burden myself with that sort of attitude for a full year.

Buffy and our encounters left me feeling like she was looking for someone damaged. That’s they only way I can explain it. There was something about me that didn’t click for her.

Willow was by no means “the last choice” but she’s the one I’m listing last, because we hit it off like peas in a pod. I hit it off better with her than I ever did with Rey, and that’s saying something. I always patrolled with her, and encouraged her to learn magic, showing her to the Magic Box. I started learning a bit beside her, but I knew none of it would hold outside the Jump without the Perk for it to make it overcome the contextual problems.

From week to week, I trained and studied and basically brought all of my grades up. The help of perfect memory was sufficient. I helped with problems, Scooby’d with them, and helped with problems. Motivation is still as ripe as the day it was given, so training continues, though I’ve of course mixed in training with Buffy. Adding to her repertoire and my own. I’m a better trainer than Giles could ever be, and a billion times better as a sparring partner at her level with decades of training with weapons, hand to hand and a gun, though I never really show off the last bit.

When Miss French showed up a few months in and tried to woo the menfolk, I was apparently somewhat resistant to her call, enough to not be smitten at least. Though I did take Xander and Giles, by force, and evacuate the area for a few days while Buffy dealt with it.

From week to week, the usual encounters that pop up from time to time are fewer than the show might make them seem. There were only twelve episodes in the first year, and so they’re spread across several more months. I help to mitigate damage a bit better than Buffy and the Scoobies had previously, with less collateral death, though I’m not sure I’m helping Buffy become her best self by pitching in too much.

Angel’s attention to Buffy is still weird when he shows up, and I’m trying not to be hypocritical since I’m technically in my forties and dating a highschool girl, but my body at least feels like a teenager, even if I have extra memories crammed in. I am Jaq’el. So my attraction comes from a part of me that isn’t a creep, and she’s a mature girl. It’s a bit of an over justification, but I don’t feel guilty about it.

Come time for Prom, and “the Prophecy” I know that things will work out, so I do my best to keep everyone safe, and help Buffy where I can. She slays “The Master.” And the season is officially over.

The tablet had little hearts on it now.

As you’ve surmised, I’m pleased. You’ve also been guessing that I’ve been making you participate in the past, you were right then. It was a hidden drawback I forced on you for your benefit, I’ll give you additional points for it in the future. You haven’t asked, but no, you can’t have your supersoldier serum until you finish the tutorial. Good job not dying yet!

Keep me entertained!

The next world is extremely long-term not the sort of thing that someone has active daily  adventures in, so I’m relaxing all requirements for you and will be focused elsewhere until that siege happens. Also, enjoy trying to figure out the old ways.

Though maybe keep up the sexy times, momma Sunny likes those, big boy.


There was no warning about what world I’d be going to, just a sudden shift and the bounty of memories. I am Arthalion, and I am the youngest child of Finarfin and Earwen, younger brother of Galadriel. I’m fair-haired, and despite appearing in my teens, I’m as mighty as any full grown adult and perhaps the fairest child in all of Middle Earth. I’m a student of the sword, arts, and all manner of craft, my life prior to my arrival is full of love and learning.

My life is easy going and at an Elven pace. I train constantly with my uncle Fingolfin, who despite all my years of training makes me feel like an idiot child. My one advantage is my reflexes which combined with my natural Elvish grace and some sort of unnatural growth I seem to have, is making me grow exceptionally fast. Both in terms of body and skill.


I hope I don’t grow too tall.

The rest of the year was rather unremarkable from my point of view, and more of an opportunity to study with a genius-among-genius once in a multiversal level talent like Fingolfin. Some of my inability to participate stems from my age still being too young as the Noldor measure things, but I do my best. Ever trying to improve.

Every time I wander into the woods, there are bandits. I’m not sure where they are coming from, or how they exist here, but they do, and I am forced to slay them. My plan to gather mercenaries for this adventure has proven fruitless, and my wealth is meaningless.

Several months, and many bandits later, we attended a festival where my uncles finally reconciled. Apparently they’d been quarreling over something.

The attack happened then: Melkor and Ungoliant attacked, killing the Two Trees of Valinor. In the battle that followed, I fought valiantly for a young man with the perfected training of the elves, nearly five year’s worth of training under Fingolfin, plus all my own studies. His training further amplified my learning, and there was the environment, very conducive to the experience.

I fought the hordes brought by the Dark-er Lord, and the giant Spider.

And then I died. Valiantly.


Laying on the ground are you? Well, you have three options. Repeat this level–

Even as the voice spoke, I let out a blood bubble from my mouth and cut her off, “Repeat the level.”

Same verse, same as the first. Again Arthalion, youngest child of Finarfin and Earwen, younger brother of Galadriel, nephew of Fingolfin, grandchild of Finwe. My family is kind of amazing. I train every day now, with more intensity, compounding on previous learning. I’ve started trying to learn some of the ways of Elvish crafting but they would take me years and years of study, even with my increased learning speed, so I decide that now is not the time. I just need to survive the battle.

I decide to focus a bit more on learning woodcraft this time, learning to slip among the trees like a leaf in the wind.

And of course, my bow-work and swordsmanship grow exponentially with every lesson I can squeeze from my betters. Every day of training is like five, every time I see a move, it’s like I’ve practiced it already, and I never need to have anything repeated.

Sharpening myself on the bandits now, trying to kill their number with the exact number of motions that make up their count. Twelve heads, twelve movements. It takes timing and skill, but it sharpens my skill, making it a game. The inability to experience PTSD is a godsend.

Death comes quicker in the next siege. I push my luck and try to land a killing blow on Ungoliant and take two blows which end me, just as fast.


Repeat? Repeat.

This is the thirteenth attempt of the Lord of the Rings, Silmarillion. I have tried hiding through the battle, I have fought with tooth, nail and bow. I have borrowed a weapon from the hand of a fallen master, and it has proven only marginally better than my own in prevailing against the tide of darkness.

I was once again Arthalion, youngest child of Finarfin and Earwen, younger brother of Galadriel, nephew of Fingolfin, grandchild of Finwe. My family is kind of amazing. I train every day now, with more intensity, compounding on previous learning.

My learning has approached what a normal highly focused person to learn, and a normal man five times that because I never grow bored, and though I practice ten thousand shots with the bow a day, changing my posture and the angle, I can fast-forward through it. It’s the same with the sword, my training when I can corner uncle Fingolfin (and I know his habits this year like my own, where he eats, where he likes to meet with friends, etc.)

Practice against the bandits is now done in a manner that involves the fewest movements I can manage. Killing three with a single swing is considered a success, anything less is a failure.

Through guile, I have managed to finagle a method of improving my gear in all respects, it takes knowing too much and seeing patterns across resets. I have a bow, sword and mail all of the finest make, short of mithril. My blade is unnamed, but it is as sturdy as necessary.

Fighting again, but maintaining my distance from the heart of the problem. We cannot defeat the terrible Spider and Melkor, or save the Trees. But we can live.The battle is long and hard, a true siege. I send out thousands of arrows and fight in concert with the glorious warriors in their shining armor around me.

In the end, as the trees die, I live.

Well done. You didn’t go out of your way to pursue intimacy, but sometimes it isn’t in the cards, and you were entertaining despite the nature of being an Immortal Elf in a land of Immortal Elves. I continue to be pleased. The only thing I can tell you about the next world (that’s a lie, I could tell you way more) is: “War never changes.”

The intro to his jump is a trippy one for a moment, I find myself sitting on the exact seat in the exact train that I’d been on when the Jump has started. I’m in the Capital Wasteland, and this Jack had been taking a break from kicking the business out of the local version of bandits. This version had been experimented upon with FEV and is in fact a super-mutant. I’m almost ten feet tall, strong enough to lift a car, and tough enough to soak weapons fire long enough to retaliate. I also soak up radiation and get stronger because of it. I’m missing an eye, but that’s not the worst thing to be dealing with, I lack binocular vision, but I can make up for that with a lifetime of experience.

I can also safely say that I am the best looking super mutant to ever exist in this universe, other Jumpers may have had a similar experience, but in this one, I am definitely it. I’m like a sexy Hulk more than a lump of tumors and green mottled skin. My Sexy and I Know It also makes me as clean as if I’d just bathed, so there is no dirt on me, even though there should be. My face is actually pleasant to look at, somehow the oddness of being a giant with no body or facial hair just works for me.

https://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3L_.../s1600/slashfilm.jpg

I’m wearing scrap armor made out of pieces off a tank, and carry a sword six feet long. I am smart enough to put together a ranged weapon, though it’d need to be one of those modified to work with power armor.

“I can handle this.”

After some thinking about it, I decide to try and make contact with Megaton. I’ve had little need for it so far, but seeing as this is my first time I don’t have a steady source of food, I make use of my Treats perk to get myself a big bucket full of chicken fried rice mixed with lots of vegetables and eat it all while I walk through the tunnels. Moving quietly and smoothly.

From my memory of the game, Megaton is directly west of Arlington Cemetery what seemed like a few blocks but I knew would be several times further in the reality of the situation. Which meant I’d need to cross the Potomac or travel down to the Metro Station and remember which tunnel leads out west. Knowing my immunity to radiation, and in fact, the fact that I could thrive with radiation, I opted for the river route and headed south to the next station. From my stop it’d be Dupont Circle, or I believe it appears to be called Dupont Station in this universe.

The whole area was swarming with raiders and a few feral ghouls. None of which was looking for companionship, but with my skill, resilience and armor, was able to make short work of by moving quietly and taking many of them by surprise. The fact that I even could take them by surprise was a surprise to me, but I suppose all that time practicing as an elf had paid off in making me able to walk unnoticed.

My strength is enough to kill most of the raiders with my bare hands in moments, and the ones who make noise enough to open fire don’t really hurt all that much. I’m able to soak a lot of damage with this body and heal quickly afterward.

The tunnels are a mess of collapses and crashed subway cars, and I’m enormous, but with a bit of work, I manage to get to the surface. Climbing the long disused and locked-in-place escalators that descend up out of the dark dreary hellscape. The world above is worse.

I’ve only missed a few steps so far with a misjudge of distance, and the drawback disability are definitely not the worst thing I’ve had to deal with.


As I pass through the Capital Wasteland I make sure to pause and collect a lot of useful items, anything that might have resale value if I can sell it in Megaton. That is assuming I can at least trade with Megaton, if not get a house there. I find the latter somewhat unlikely, given my status, but I can survive the radiation and the monsters, I think.

Heading west, I swim across the Potomac, the radiation is refreshing really, and I slide my head under the water to drink of the water and then pause to fill a few Nuka-Cola bottles with the raw river water. I pause by the shore after killing some mirelurks with my sword, to eat a quick meal of chicken fried rice, my Treat of choice.

I could probably camp out nearby the whole year, but that sounds boring and uneventful. It wouldn’t go over well with Sunny, and seeing as how I am going to be doing that Horror genre level next, I need to keep my benefactor happy.

The trip to Megaton is filled with several encounters, though they aren’t quite as dense as the game might make one believe. There isn’t a new rash of monsters every few hundred feet, no new encampments of raiders, but it’s not hard to spot where there are groups of them. I move between the shattered remains of the older buildings and start to approach where the suburbs used to be. No longer made entirely of stone, the atomics that’d dropped here have leveled the ground and left only craters and battle fields. Tumbled over concrete structures in places the sole remains of a life once lived.

Megaton is different. It’s built around the remains of a stadium, much like Boston’s Diamond City, though the bulk of it is actually being used now, and it’s proper sized. Shrouded in corrugated steel to reinforce the walls in places, and cresting over the walls slightly in places. The skeleton of a roof still visible in places even from outside.

At the entrance are a handful of folk entering, though I keep a great distance, watching with the scope of a rifle I’ve taken off a dead raider.

The main defense of the gate is handled by a robot that if my memory serves, and it does of course, is called Deputy Weld. He wouldn’t mind me, but I’d need to get him to have “Sheriff” Lucas Simms come out to talk to me, since if I walked in, I’d certainly get shot at. Super Mutants are not usually too friendly, though there are exceptions, like Strong and others.

It takes a bit of planning, so I wait for nightfall. The Deputy remains at his post, and when it seems like foot traffic has died off, I approach and am greeted: “Howdy pardner!”

“I need to talk to someone in charge, can you contact them for me?”

“Affirmative.”

There was a wait then, robot information being sent into town, somehow? Some manner of wiring unseen? The rugged Simms emerged not too long later and I kept my hands up, and hoped for the best, ready to run off at the slightest provocation. “I come in peace.”

“You’re a mutant, don’t see many of your kind talking to folk around here.”


“I imagine not, I’m not violent and just wish to be able to trade in town from time to time. I expect I wouldn’t be welcome to live here,” I began.



I was wrong.

I’m not sure if I was supposed to be able to survive the way that I did for the following year, but I managed to become a fixture of the town.  I remained that way, going out to hunt for the resident science sorts, collecting and delivering, and generally doing the quests that the Lone Wanderer would have done or repeated whenever they showed up. Simms even tasked me with security at one point, and got me a cyclical Laser Canon. I don’t know if I ever read the name when I played the game, briefly, but it looks like a gatling gun and shoots lasers. Apparently they’re commonly used by “my folk.”

I sat in the pit near the bomb, which had a much bigger area cleared out around it in the case of this universe, and the hazardous radiation was more heavily minded.

Eventually about six months in a vivacious redhead who everyone was calling “the Lone Wanderer” showed up. It was bizarre how they addressed her like that, she called herself Diane. On that whole business to do with water.

I made myself available to tag along in case she needed backup, and she did, though she seemed to prefer the company of others who didn’t get her shot at by random people who might be otherwise friendly. Or rather, she didn’t like seeing me get shot at.

She didn’t blow up Megaton.

I offered to teach her some improvements to her melee skills if she ever wanted, it was a simple relationship. Quid pro quo. I was handsome, for a super mutant, but even that didn’t make me liable to get anything out of the ladies of Megaton. No matter how much bigger the population was, I was still not a viable alternative.


By the end of the year, I’d learned to survive in the wasteland. Though not survive in the way that I’d imagined, it was a lot more scrounging, scraping, scrapping, shooting and selling than it was hunting for berries and building lean-tos. But I suppose it was as much as, if not more so, a struggle to survive if I didn’t use my Treats perk to get myself buckets of food that way. Water was never scarce, with the decline of climate change problems, there were fewer droughts and so the Potomac seemed to run heavy the entire time I was there.

The tablet showed up one day while I was sitting in the shallow pool of water around the bomb in town:
You survived and made it look not so difficult, but kept it relatively interesting. Not your best work, but not so bad either. That’s the nature of the survival tutorial, I could have dropped you in the Yukon with a buck-knife and a prayer, and let you sort it out, and that’d have been equally boring but more of a challenge, At least you fought giant scorpions this way. Anyway, my comment going forward is to just remember that if you ever find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin’.

The hot sun was beating down on me and as I came to wakefulness, I realized that I was laying on a rock in the middle of some southern desert like expanse. I’d have personally placed it somewhere in Arizona, perhaps, back home.

It takes me a few days to get a handle on where I am, and I only tangentially know where I am, even then. It occurs to me when I start to hear the names of local places, and I start to recall my tale: North Yankton. I was born in North Yankton, I’m in my twenties, I’ve had run ins with Dutch’s gang, and a handful of others all across the southwest. I’ve been as far west as San Andreas. My name is Jack Carver, I’m 31, I’ve been a hired gun, cavalryman for the North, and a dozen other things besides. None of them nice, but I have no warrants and my reputation is relatively untarnished.

I’m in Red Dead Redemption. The year 1911, puts me into the era when John Marston was working for the government and all that business. It’s twelve or so years after the second installment.

From my memory, I have a vague idea of where John could be, but there is no canonical travel route, it was definitely an open-ended game.

In the meantime, I go looking for my new house which is a flippin’ mansion in Saint Denis, Lemoyne. The corollary being Louisiana, and a fair few hundred miles to the east of where I am now. I’m currently working on setting up a business in Black Water, West Elisabeth–which seems to find commonality with Missouri, perhaps. Incredibly western vibe, that place.

My business is something akin to a protection racket. Pinkertons Lite. I’ve been calling it the Carver Agency. Very creative congratulations to previous me.

Walking back into Black Water, I have only faint memories of how I’d ended up out in the desert, but it doesn’t take long to get my bearings. I wire Saint Denis to have them arrange for money so that I can buy a horse and supplies and ride back “home.” I need to get used to this place before I start pushing an agenda.

It takes three days for the money to be arranged through the banks, lacking a proper wire exchange.

It’s about then that I remember the drawback I’d taken for this world: Modern Sensibilities. I’d had a similar experience with the three seashells, but now I’d be experiencing the reverse, and I have to tell you, seeing people on horses and throwing their buckets of refuse off their decks is something I’m not sure I’d have gotten used to anyway. It’s all rather weird and lacks sense. There has to be a better way to dispose of ones refuse.

— // —
Still dealing with constant culture shock, I bought a big black stallion named “Thunder,” a new lever action repeater rifle, a new revolver, enough supplies to make the trip, and then hired a coach to drive me. I wanted a horse on hand if I need or wanted to drive off, but it wasn’t dreadfully pleasant.

Being in this universe, I should have expected we’d be waylaid sooner rather than later, as within a few hours of leaving Black Water we’d had a gang on our tail.

After being informed of our predicament by the driver who was pushing the horses, I grabbed up my rifle and leaned out the side of the coach. Now, I can’t say that I hit every single shot, but I hit better than eighty percent, center-mass. One to a horse, the rest to the gang. They broke off. Thankfully, unlike the games, people give up in this world when you put some lead in them. I managed to get by unscathed.

We continued our trek, taking several stops at camp grounds and small settlements on the way east. Running into a few hairy  encounters, but the one gang of robbers had been the only true threat.

On arriving in Saint Denis I found the town really was the mirror of New Orleans. All French influence on a swamp. A smelly swamp that, damnit, the drawback was influencing me, but I couldn’t get over the barbarity everywhere. It’s like these people had no sense of being clean. Luckily, with my Perks, I’m always clean, but it still smelled something awful.

My house was palatial by any measure, at least ten thousand square feet, with a dozen usable rooms, a fenced in yard and running water, a rarity in Saint Denis.

The first floor of the house is dedicated to the Carver Agency, and the dozen people I’ve hired, all reliable gun hands, trackers, natives and investigators. Former police and army being common, but also just reliable folks in general.

“Gentlemen and lady, I’m looking for a man named John Marston. He’s being coerced to work for an Agent Ross working for the Bureau of Investigation,” I explained as I indicated the map, and started throwing my money around to get traction. For the first time, I was really planning to use my money for something other than a house, car and a place to eat.  I indicated the map and indicated the area I remembered playing and glancing at the map. “You’ll find him here. Find his family, get a place set up to relocate them. But more than anything, I want everything on Ross and his branch.”

I needed information first.

— // —
It took a month for the orders to pay off, and in the meantime, I spent my normal amount of daily activity practicing my shooting and a few new skills like knife and hatchet throwing, and horse riding. I’d had some experience riding horse in the Lord of the Rings, in Aman, but not to this degree. I ride at least three hours a day, which is quickly making me quite proficient, and my thighs conditioned like leather.

Knowing the way that “Sunny” enjoys things, I’ve been going to the cat house on a regular basis, and have begun courting a fine young woman in good standing from down the street. As seems proper. Though without a real connection to these people, it’s mostly a way to do something other than train, not that I’m bored by training, but being better than adequate in bed is a part of being a good jumper, I suppose.

The information which my subordinates deliver is promising. I have a general location for John, have found his family Abigail and Jack (coincidental naming, that) and a slew of dirt on Ross. The man’s not exactly dirty, but he’s a bastard, and I’d have no problem getting him dumped in a shallow grave.

They’ve also figured out where Dutch van der Linde is, still alive. I make sure they’re paying attention his status, the death of John is preceded by the suicide of Dutch off that cliff.

“We’re re-locating, all of us within two weeks to Beecher’s Hope, and I want a dozen more steady, quiet, mean gunmen willing to do some dirty work on some bad lawmen.”

We set up outside of John’s family’s place, about three miles away in a canyon and make like we’re setting up an outpost for our business. In fact, within a few days, we’re doing just that while my scouts, who are quite capable of being unnoticed when they want to be, practically elves in their woodcraft, are keeping an eye out for the attack I’ve warned them is coming for John.

It’s my contribution to the plot. Sparing John Marston a stupid GRR Martin style death. Brutal for the sake of being brutal.

We get a warning almost too late, one of my scouts coming screaming in, and we’re off in under a minute. I’m paying these men months worth of wages for their work here, and frankly, an unsustainable amount of money if I were going to be staying here into the future. Loaded for a real shootout, we crest the ridge as the Ross and his cronies are pointing their guns at the barn. Trying to induce John to come out.

Dropping from my horse as I get a good line of sight along side the rest of my makeshift gang, I draw the long arm from my saddle holster, and start picking them off from behind. Rapidly. My reflexes and skill making me deadly, and my surprise giving me four good shots before they’ve even realized where the bullets are coming from.

They realize it quickly, and between myself and the men at my command, they’re  all down in a hail of fire practically within ten seconds. None of them even make it to cover. We’d had too much advantage.

“That’s it gentlemen, collect your pay from Mr. White and head off, you didn’t see what happened here, you weren’t here. You don’t know who I am, and you don’t want to,” I told them all and my second in command had the new hired guns paid and sent off, though a few were curious, they were mostly all just happy for the pay against who they’d been told were a bunch of low life grifter lawmen.

It wouldn’t have held up in the long run, but I didn’t need it to, it just had to get me through the rest of the year here.


Shaking John’s hand, I introduced myself, “Jack Carver, saw you about to be gunned down mister, thought I’d lend a hand. I’m launching a local branch of the Carver Agency a few miles thataway, nearer to town. If you’re ever looking for work.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks Mr. Carver. Name’s John, John Marston,” he introduced himself.

That was it, I pushed a few guys over there to continue to expand our business, and figured he might show up some day, but for the most part, I played clean-up and rode out the remaining months in relative peace. Working on the business was a new exercise for me, and I made sure to consult with “the best” that money could afford me, to get a handle on the way business should be run.

The tablet showed up again a few months later:

Performance was adequate, considering the limits of the setting, you made good strides to start something, which isn’t always a new Jumper’s priority, and you saved the protagonist. Always a fan favorite, that last. Since you’d either die or make short work of the majority of horror antagonists given your over-zealous pursuit of being a badass, I’ve opted to put you into a Dark World. A world of darkness, you might even say.

Torpor will result in a repeat, even if you aren’t dead.


I am Jack Carver the year is 1998. I’m not an ancient vampire, but I’m not too young either, I’m in a middle ground that has yet to let me really taste the full breadth of what my bloodline might allow me to learn but a powerful Elder all the same. My sire was the Prince Mithras, which makes my generation, a word for the potency of my blood and proximity to the source of our power, enviable. I’m fifth generation by bloodline, but only three hundred years old, in terms of chronology. My clan is, like Mithras’ was, Ventrue.

Recently in kindred (vampire) terms, I’ve served under Anne Bowesley, and before her, Valerius. My age combined with my sire, have made me a target for diablerie, but I’ve managed to get by with quick wits and sharp eyes for traps, and as I grew, I eventually reached a stage where I was all but untouchable save to the Methuselahs, who I’m still not sure could best me in combat. It’s enough of a threat that I would not want to test them.

That was before I was joined by my current memories.


This is doable. It’s supposed to be doable, but it feels eminently doable in the sense that I need to avoid the rare psychopath willing to diablerize me, for a year, and that’s about it. I’m hungering for blood and there is a certain sense of unease, but I believe that my immunity to spiritual corruption is sparing me from the lure of the Beast, which from my days as a “generic roleplayer” remind me would otherwise be affecting me. Though the memories of it are strong, I was apparently rather adept at keeping my humanity despite the passage of time.

My Victorian style mansion is large and filled with weapons and those who serve me, both ghoul and otherwise. There are no mirrors in the house, but I trust that I am handsome, my hair is black and long enough to be seen if I pull it forward, about shoulder length. Among my collection are silver blades and other weapons, which I apparently use for hunting werewolves, and even quite a few guns. Oddly enough, despite the feeling of being ancient and out of time, I was apparently quite up with the times. I have a good security system with more than adequate coverage for any threats of a mundane nature, and a rather well concealed escape method that should be undetected. Mostly since I dug it myself over a hundred years ago and haven’t ever mentioned it to anyone.

We are protected in a sense from the notice of Hunters by a “cover family” that has served me for two centuries and benefited greatly from my largesse. I ask very little of them save that they stay out of my way and make their fortunes, live some extra years and provide me cover.

That brings us up to date, I think. It takes me a long moment to really settle into my self as I sort through three centuries of memories, of the death of Mithras, of my revenge on his killer Monty.

I’ve recently, apparently, taken up the mantle of Sheriff. Unusual for such an ancient city to have such a young sheriff, but the Prince is only a hundred years or so older than me, so it matches us quite well. I know that in the V5 continuity I’d fear her as an unrepentant Diablerist, but there is no hint of that in her here, though I suppose I could be her first.

I’ll need to be wary of her.

Mentally, I review my social calendar, and pulled out my phone and opened my laptop. Checking for any ongoing issues that required my attendance as a Sheriff, my Hounds have left a few messages, but they are reliable sorts and are mostly taking care of their own problems in an effort to keep me appeased, or playing some sort of game. It matters little.

The social calendar for the next few months includes a trip to the Elysium and a visit with Queen Anne.

My thralls and ghouls are all reporting business as usual.


The next month is largely uninspired. I attend the Elysium in an expensive suit, a sword at my hip, and say practically nothing. Just stand watching while others mingle. I speak only a few words here and there to those who would seek my favor, or rather, my grace if they ever transgressed, some do the same for the Prince, others for her closest allies.

It’s political through and through, and though I don’t consider it my style to seek that sort of political acumen, I imagine I’ll need to pick up some perks to help me learn to sort through the Gordian knot that is vampire level politics. Every smile is concealing a dagger, and yet every veiled threat is both friendly greeting and .. a threat. It’s very weird and prosaic. These people have developed an art of it that transcends mortal political games. They play games with human politicians as pawns.

“Videl,” I greet the Nosferatu spy-master as she comes near, it’s not a title that’s official, it’s just what she is. Playing to her strengths. She is about as beautiful as a Nosferatu can be, just inhumanly strange in a way. Pale as driven snow, her skin is so lacking in pigment I’d suspect she were an albino before the Embrace had I not known otherwise.

“Ripper.” That’s her favorite greeting, I can assure you, I am/was not Jack the Ripper, but it’s a “joke” between us, and has been for over a century.

“You’ve seen something and wish to share,” I hazard a guess.

“Hunters have been asking questions around some of Queen Anne’s businesses,” she informs me and hands me a slip of paper.

They are the Prince’s domain, and her business to deal with, but this, like anything else, is a test and a political play.

I don’t mind. “Thank you for doing your duty to bring this to our attention, Videl.” I play the game and make sure not to imply that I or the Prince owes her anything for the report. The play is acknowledged with a nod.

“I’d like to speak with you later, about arranging some new safe houses for my Hounds and servants,” I say smoothly. The Nosferatu are good at that sort of thing, and I don’t mind returning the favor for such a service, or paying for it directly.


It doesn’t take long for the majority of the Elysium to pass. I’m beginning to think this might be an easy level, when I arrive home and find Lucinde, Justicar of the Ventrue and Red Alastor of the Camarilla. She’s the secret police of the secret police of the secret police. She isn’t more powerful than me on a 1-on-1 confrontational level, I know that we’re relatively of an age, and I’m generationally more powerful, but she has an organizational weight behind her words that I do not. “Sheriff Carver.”

“Justicar,” I greet her and bow politely. She’s in my Haven, so I expect this is a social call, but well, we’re vampires.

“I’ve decided to make you an Alastor,” she spoke matter-of-factly, all business, no political maneuvering. “You’ve served your Prince well, your Sire’s passing was unexpected. I would see you doing more for the Masquerade. Do you accept?”

“I thought such ranks were made of Archons, but I accept.”

So that was how things went from “this is doable” to this is a horror level. I’m flying to Buenos Aires to investigate a rash of disappearances that may or may not be related to someone on the Red List. The local Prince has sent a message that they believe someone on the list is in the area, and it has been handed to me.

Callisti y Castillo, Prince of the City, and one of the oldest vampires I’ve personally met, and she is utterly intrigued by my face. Her collection of art indicates she has quite the fondness for “collecting” art, indeed. We spend much of the time before I depart engaged in conversation about all manner of things, though my experiences pale to hers, she is skilled at conversation and makes me feel like I’m not “just an Elder” in her presence.

She shares with me the findings of her people, and sends me on my way, though not before exacting a promise that I return for a continued visit. She apparently wants to help me work on my Portuguese tongue.

The investigation takes me deep into the heart of the Amazon with a group of thralls, Hounds and local militia provided with silvered ammunition, in case we have problems with any of the local wildlife.

This move, possibly helped along by my Common Sense perk, ends up paying dividends with a night raid by what are later described by my attendants as “cat people.” I can only assume they’re werepanthers or something. We lost a handful of men, but just as many of the enemy.

That night, I go hunting and return after killing half a dozen and leaving a warning to the rest: “I’m here for our business, not to intrude, but any further attempts on my life will be met with obliteration of this village and all the others I find between here and my target. Jack Carver.”

Yeah, I signed it.

I’m not sure if cooler heads prevailed, because werewolves around the British Isles would not have been so clear minded, but we are unmolested by werecats for the remainder of our journey to the small village our trackers have pointed us toward.

Arriving there at night, I pass through most of the city in a single evening and find no trace of anyone that fits with our target, though I find a runway.

I really will have to speak to my people about doing research, this whole journey could have been skipped, all the same I do satellite phone for a plane to come the next day.

While I’m sleeping, the thralls of the Hounds of Buenos Aires with me churn up clues.

There have been a handful drained and left exposed with the hallmarks of a known member of the Red List: Diego de Firenze, the Madman of Calcutta. A Setite who’d gone above and beyond being just a member of the Sabbat, which by itself was enough to warrant some severe aggression, but Diego goes above and beyond. Leaving bodies in the worst imaginable shape, having endured the darkest of torments, and with no question as to their arcane nature. Branded and “altered.”

We spent the next six months scouring the region, but the man wasn’t elusive, he just wasn’t here anymore. Eventually, we took a plane back to Buenos Aires and I reported that we’d found nothing. I would say that I improved my investigative skills, but it didn’t feel like it after that period.

The remaining several months were spent with Callisti. She is a strange bird who I would not wish on anyone as an enemy, and the constant fight with the Beast has made her even stranger. I knew our time was coming to an end soon however, so I did my best to remain unattached to the Toreador in an emotional sense. Something she sensed but seemed to attribute to my beast rather than my incoming exit from this reality.