Sky Pride-Tax Evasion In The Fantasy World

The fat bastard’s fat ass took up four seats on the subway, but his reek filled the whole car. The smells seemed to radiate from every greasy inch of the giggling menace, rising and spreading from under his nauseating fedora. The anime girl on his XXXXXXXL T Shirt looked like she was crying, the death she prayed for not coming fast enough.

Most of us had, by silent agreement, pushed ourselves to the far ends of the car. Not all of us. One guy was sitting directly in front of the worst thing to happen to Japan since Jake Paul, staring him down like a half ton of wagyu. They were kindred spirits. One guy should have been sealed in an orca-sized space suit, the other was already fully covered in a black robe. The stench made me lightheaded. The lights were spinning. The doors opened- Fourteenth Street, the L Train and the promise of sleep in Brooklyn. I scrambled out the door.

My feet carried me on autopilot to my platform. My eyes were burning, my breath was coming short and raspy. The smell had infiltrated the soft tissues, burning and corroding them. Water! I needed water! But after working the overnight shift at the bakery after a six hour catering gig, my water was as gone as my alertness. Hacking and wheezing, I rubbed my watery eyes and saw… her.

She was perfect. Not the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, or the sexiest, or the anything-ist, she was just perfect, and perfectly herself. Casual jeans that showed off her amazing hips, a gray tank top that showed off her toned belly, black hair that she casually tucked behind an ear that seemed designed by the highest angels themselves. One look, and I was lost. I knew I would never speak to her. We would never see each other again. Just two people, crossing paths on the New York Subway.

I was tired. I looked like hell. I felt like hell. I knew, knew, I radiated some absorbed Chernobyl stench from the monster on the W train. I didn’t even try to shoot my shot. I just looked, trying to memorize every scrap of her. Trying to form an indelible memory of the one that got away because I never dared to chase. And behind her was some nasty looking, hobo looking, after picture from a fireworks safety campaign looking freak creeping up on her. I could hear the L train coming.

No. No, I have had entirely too much of everything today. Too much. I don’t want to see the most perfect woman in the world die, and I really don’t want to have delays on the line. I can live with a broken heart. I can’t live if I’m kept from my bed. I tried to yell something.

“GGHAKK!”

Shit. I ran forwards waving my arms. The freak only had eyes on her, but I was laser focused on him. I could do it. I would save the girl and become a New York meme, and they would carry me away in an Uber Black to Brooklyn and my mail order foam mattress-

“PERVERT!” Something burning covered my face. Like the sun itself was pissing in my eyes. I screamed, and some of it got in my mouth. I slipped, staggering back, the noise of the train was so loud!

My head was spinning. Smells, the smells were suddenly all different. I was still blinded, staggering around, waving my hands to keep from bumping into things. I tried to explain I wasn't a pervert, or at least not one that was a right-this-second-problem, but all that came out was another gargling rasp. I was cold, why-

“ZOMBIE!” Something crashed into my ribs. A surprisingly dainty, if rock hard boot, I think. I don’t know. The shattering pain knocked the air from my lungs as the bone fragments stabbed inward, popping my bronchi like balloons in a carnival game.

“REBUKE!” I could feel some terribly bright light shining on me, almost prickling my face. I knew it was time to go into it. It had been a short, disappointing life, but at least now it was over. Then the light vanished. Somehow, I always knew I wasn’t getting a harp and a halo.

“Ohshitohshitohshit! Fuck! Cure Minor Wounds! Damn, did you have brittle bone disease or something?! Restoration! Cure Moderate Wounds! Just don’t fucking die, okay? Holy shit, not today, I’ve already got the investigators so far up my ass we’re going to need to get married. I do not need to catch a body-”

I blinked hard. My vision came back. I was healed. Somehow. I don’t know how. But something must have happened, because I’m in some damn Ren-Fair looking place, and some blond bombshell in fantasy cleric clothes is looking really shifty.

“HEY! HEY CHIEF! Yeah, come over here for a second. This one of your people?”

“Never seen him before, your Ladyship.”

“He’s not one of them, though, right?”

“He’s not wearing the usual clothes, and they all arrive at the village square. Though I don’t recognize the clothes either.”

“Then who is he?” She demanded.

The Chief was a stout man with a deep tan. I noticed the thick gold chain hanging over his white shirt and black leather vest. Slicked back black hair, and narrow eyes. He stroked his chin. Scarred hands, burns on his arms. The cooks I know had arms like that. Cooks, and some other people…

“Skinny guy, weird clothes, sick, taking that road, must be a pilgrim. Maybe hoping for a blessing or something. Seeing all that blood he coughed up, maybe he was expecting a one way trip. Or a miracle.”

“OH THAT’S JUST PERFECT!” She slapped her hand over her face and took deep, calming breaths. She looked down at me. “Heeeey little buddy. How are you doing?”

“I… where am I? Who… how?”

“Oh sweet Mitna. Oh cat fucking… Buddy? Guy? Do you know the phase of the moon?”

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“Um. No?”

“Who the king is?”

“King? What king?”

“Do you know where you are?”

“No. This isn’t… this isn’t where I was. There was a loud noise, something hit me-”

“LET'S NOT WORRY ABOUT THAT! Sorry, sorry, that was loud, I’m sorry. Look. Um. Okay. Okay, we can… we can make this right. Ah…” She looked around, rubbing her fingers together. “I don’t know greater restoration. And I can’t have people finding out about this. And before you suggest something Chief, no, I have to keep things clean. Priestess, remember?”

“And those investigators you mentioned. Should I send some of the boys?” The Chief asked.

“Unless your boys think they can go toe-to-toe with the hard cases from the Congregation on the Doctrine of the Faith, they should stay the fuck inside. Shouldn’t they?”

“As you say, Your Ladyship.”

“It’s Your Grace when I’m in the robes. And it’s about to be “The Accused.” Fuck. Is there… Isn’t that old farm up in the hills empty?”

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“The old Gramesci place? Yeah, been empty for years. Since the incident.”

“Okay, okay, fallow land, Church land. My land. This can work. Saaaaaay buddy, you probably need a place to stay.” The brightest smile I had ever seen was beaming at me. I was exhausted, beaten up, yanked every which way, I’d have agreed that I was a ham sandwich at this point. And I did need a place to stay. I needed sleep even more than I needed answers. Catering followed by bakery work? I needed so much sleep.

“Yes. I do.”

“So… I know a quiet little place where you can stay rent free for a while. But you have to stay there, okay? No coming down into the village except after dark, and only if it’s urgent. Chief Paul here will send plenty of people around to help you get settled. Just… checking up on you, okay? Maybe bring you some food until you get set up?”

“I’ll see to it, Your Grace.” The big man nodded.

“Wait, rent free?” There were two words I had never heard together.

“Yeah. Isn’t that a great deal? Very generous of me, right? Chief Paul, grab the deed. He can have the leasehold. Free of charge. And since it’s Church land-”

“No taxes.” The chief laughed. “Sure, sure. I’m sure he will be quiet as a mouse, for as long as he needs to be. Isn’t that right?”

He leered down at me.

“My own place, rent free? The mice will have to wear socks to be as quiet as me!”

You try living in a Brooklyn fifth-floor walkup with four roommates. The spot could be on fire and I still would have said yes. And my head was spinning, and I still don’t know what the hell is going on.

The Chief called a couple of guys over as we walked through the village. They ran off and came back with baskets of stuff, and pretty soon we had a whole procession up to the farm house. It was small, barely a couple of stone rooms and a thatched roof. There was a broken down fence around what I guess was once a chicken coop, a barn that should have been condemned, and what probably were once fields. The fields mostly looked like grass and little shrubs and things.

“It’s… uh… kind of you guys to help me get set up here.”

“Her family run things around here, and now that she’s moving up in the Church, well. She asks, we do.”

“I get that, I get that.”

“Hey little Paul, go back to the village and see if there is a spare mattress anywhere, this one is fucked.” A fat guy yelled at one of the helpers.

“Go yourself, Tony, I’m trying ‘ta fix the roof here!”

“Still, really generous of you.” I did my best to smile. The village chief waved it off.

“You don’t know yet, but this is nothing new for us. You see, people just turn up in our little village. Mostly they are… problem solvers from far away. People used to working nasty jobs with a blade or a spell, if you follow me. Willing to trade blood for gold. All of ‘em strangers to these parts, so they don’t know what’s what. They don’t stick around long. We get them set up, give them the lay of the land and set them on their way. I see you aren’t one of those kinds of people, but that’s not a bad thing. Maybe, if you keep your head straight, you could be one of us.”

A lot of things started clicking very, very fast.

“Helping these traveling problem solvers… would you say it's your thing?”

“You know what? You are right. It is our thing.”

Big Paullie, Little Paullie, Fat Tony, and La Cosa Nostra. I had landed in a mob den. And the only way out was in a box.

____________________________________________________________________________

I was lying in bed. The bed was all wrong. It wasn’t the right size. I don’t know how to describe it. Bigger than a twin, but just a little too small to be a full sized bed? The proportions were just a bit off. Also, the mattress smelled funky and was lumpy as hell, the bed itself was a wooden frame and ropes holding up the mattress, The house was dim and airless, and all in all, not a big improvement on my apartment in Brooklyn. There was no indoor plumbing. So. That would be a thing.

In the Godfather, when things got too hot in New York, Vito sent Michael back to Sicily. To a beautiful little village, where he met a beautiful woman, fell in love and nearly died in a car bombing. Just how things go, when families struggle. And now here I am, in the beautiful little hill country village. They already knew I wasn’t one of the traveling problem solvers. Wasn’t connected. Wasn’t made.

Worse, I didn’t know how I was going to live even if they didn’t decide to tidy up loose ends. Stay on this farm? Unless they planned to deliver three meals a day, firewood, soap, everything, I was going to die up here, and soon. I have zero farming experience. The most green I ever saw in one place was Central Park.

I had a brief thought about trying to find these “Investigators,” but immediately gave it up. I had no idea where these people were, whether they would care enough about me to be helpful, and which ones had already been paid off. Besides, I couldn’t even make it past the village. I might not know what the hell is going on, but I’m pretty sure I saw people doing magic. So until I could figure out what was what, I’d be staying put.

For sheer self preservation, I would have to become a criminal. That was the only way they would trust me- if I was one of them. If they could sell me out if they had to snitch for immunity. Except the heat was on, according to the cleric mob boss, so there was strictly limited amounts of crime that it would be safe to do. Can’t bring down too much attention, or they would decide to ‘remove’ the troublemaker. So what to do?

Smuggling? Impossible. Drug dealing? Impossible. Murder for hire? A priestess nearly one-shotted me, so. No. Also I get squeamish seeing dead rats in the traps, so. Murder might be a bit heavy for me. Trying to be a thief in a mob town sounded exceptionally dumb, as did rape, arson and bigamy.

I drummed my fingers on the squishy mattress, then clapped. TAX EVASION! They mentioned repeatedly that I was supposed to stay at home and that this property was rent free and tax free. Well then. All I would have to do is figure out some home businesses and never honestly report my taxes. So long as Big Paulie knew I was one of them, he wouldn’t feel like he had to take drastic action.

Flawless. Absolutely flawless. Other than not having the faintest idea how taxation works here or what kind of businesses I could do from home.

There was a little fanfare and some brilliant golden letters materialized in front of me.

CONGRATULATIONS! LYDIA, YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN BY THE GODS TO-

“My name is Liam. I’m a Comp Sci Major who, despite spending nine grand on a bootcamp to learn Xerpin, still can’t land a job in tech. I’m not her. Unless the job the Gods have chosen for me pays one hundred and eighty grand, plus the rent-free house, in which case, sure, I’m Lydia.”

WAIT. WAIT A SECOND. YOU ARE A DUDE.

“Have been my whole life, yes.”

I SPECIFICALLY WANTED A HOT CHICK.

“Don’t we all? And yet.”

THIS IS BULLSHIT. MY CHARACTERS ARE ALL HOT CHICKS. I’VE BEEN ROBBED.

“Yes. No one has ever suffered as you have suffered. And you are…?”

SCREW IT, THE AI CAN RUN THIS INSTANCE UNTIL YOU DIE AND I CAN GET A NEW CHARACTER. GOOD LUCK WITH THE WHATEVERS. OR WHATEVER. GOING TO LEAVE A ONE-STAR REVIEW, I SWEAR TO &$&@#!!(

“Right but if you can just elaborate on who you are? And what all this is?”

There were crickets. I know there were, I could see them hopping around on the floor. Worse, there was no answer from the glowing words. A few minutes later, there was a muted chime and some dull silver letters appeared.

CONGRATULATIONS CHARICTERNAME-

“Liam.”

CONGRATULATIONS LIMA-

“Liam.”

CONGRATULATIONS LEANNE-

“Liam. L-I-A-M”

CONGRATULATIONS-

“I swear to Christ if you fuck this up again I will poison your LLM like only a Comp-Sci major who watched AI eat his job can do.”

CONGRATULATIONS LIAM.

There was a pause.

“Thank you.”

YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED BY INSERTNAMEHERE TO SAVE THE MAGICAL REALM OF PERGOLA.

“Isn’t a pergola one of those things that are supposed to provide shade, but not too much shade, if the sun is at exactly the right angle, but mostly look like you were too stupid and broke to work out a roof or an awning?”

THE MAGICAL REALM OF PERGOLA IS IN DANGER! BRAVE ADVENTURER, ONLY A INSERTCLASSHERE CAN-

“Sorry, class? Like, only a peasant or a bourgeois or something? Or is this some fantasy thing? Not going to lie, I tried like hell to avoid the nerd stuff once I saw myself seriously considering a pair of cat-ear headphones and striped thigh high compression socks.”

There was another round of crickets. I had no idea how loud they were. This was a horrible revelation. Sleep was going to be a major challenge.

INFINITE PATHS STORY SYSTEM ENGAGED. DIVERTING FROM MAIN STORY PATH. REWORKING PROGRESSION SYSTEM. CHANGING REWARDS. CHANGING RELATIONSHIP SYSTEM. PROCESSING. PROCESSING. PROCESSING…

…

…

THE MAGICAL REALM OF PERGOLA IS IN DANGER! BRAVE ADVENTURER, ONLY YOU CAN SAVE IT! BUT BEFORE YOU CAN BECOME AN ADVENTURER, YOU MUST MASTER THE BASIC LIFE SKILLS OF THIS WORLD.

“Most sensible thing I have heard all day. Yes. Let me learn the basic life skills of this world. PLEASE let me learn them.

START TUTORIAL MISSION? (RECOMMENDED FOR NEW PLAYERS)

“YES. God yes. Ten thousand times, yes.”

TEN THOUSAND TIMES TUTORIAL ACTIVATED.

“Wait, no-”

That was fifteen years ago. I’m still in the tutorial. But hey, life in a tax haven has its perks. And it all started with eggs.