50 Fragment Of The Past
I stood in my cabin, twirling my warhammer in the air continuously. The dip in the effectiveness of my magic had been rather noticeable. In Storm's End, I truly was at my strongest. Not only was Storm Magic more effortless and overall more effective there, but I also recovered faster. This was no doubt due to the natural weather conditions…
Generating enough wind in the cabin to lift the Warhammer and then move it in my desired direction was much more difficult than it sounded. That hammer was a heavy boy, far heavier than a volley of arrows, and required a certain level of focus to upkeep.
Also… my proficiency with wind was a bit lacklustre compared to lighting especially when it came to precise movements. Each second the Warhammer spun in the air was more straining than the last.
Whoosh.
Eventually, my focus broke for an instant, and my warhammer broke loose. I quickly grabbed the spinning Warhammer before it smashed against the ground. As I did so, I felt my arm yank down and stretch. A weaker person probably would've torn something trying that.
"Phew…" I took a deep breath and let go of the Warhammer, placing it against my desk. 'Definitely didn't almost sink the ship.'
Well, it probably wouldn't have devastated the floor to that degree, but having a sizable dent in my cabin would not have been ideal, either. I left the warhammer for the day and played around with my dagger instead.
Eventually, I should be able to twirl multiple weapons like that one Sith lord… I forgot her name. Darth Krayt? Nah, that's not it. Fuck knows. Instead of lightsabers, I could have valyrian steel blades. Or maybe I could use the Warhammer like Thor… perhaps a bit of both at once. Storm Magic is quite versatile…
My thoughts ceased as I focused on my magic exercise.
The constant spinning of the dagger was hypnotising in a way, reminding me of memories I had otherwise repressed. Always moving, the same motion over and over again… with little purpose behind it. It reminded me… of me.
Stack… stack… stack.
It was endless.
…
I saw myself putting in work with one of the deadest expressions I had seen yet. My blue eyes looked so dark and lifeless they might as well have been black. There was no smile, for I had absolutely nothing to smile about.
Why was I here again? Was I dreaming?
I watched my old self waddle along, strained and tired. As I looked to the side, I noticed Raiden Shogun watching alongside me. My mouth opened slightly.
"Raiden?" I questioned, tilting my head slightly.
"It seems that my bond to you brought me here." She said, looking around. "What is this strange place?"
"My old workplace," I observed the towers of baskets that I had stacked for customer orders. The grey, unamusing workhouse which housed most of my unpleasant memories. "Best place on Earth."
I could feel the pain all over again. Back, neck, legs, feet... surprisingly enough, however, my arms rarely ever hurt. I suppose they were made to carry heavy things even then.
It wasn't exactly interesting... but Raiden Shogun looked intrigued enough. She floated around, watching the manager chat away while everyone else got on with their day. The pickers went along into the store with their trollies stacked with ten empty baskets each while I was the sole loader putting all their returning filled baskets in place. From ambient items such as water, tomatoes, microwaves, bread... then the chiller to deal with chilled items such as meat and then frozen, of course.
All me... back and forth, back and forth. Soaking wet with sweat, to cool, to freezing and back to hot.
It wasn't like that at the beginning. Once, there used to be four, then three, then two, until some days, it was just me. Why pay four people to do the same job when one was adequate enough? It was only logical for a businessman looking from above.
Alas, I don't think my old body agreed with that.
Even so... I had the agency of a dead goldfish. I let the stream of life take me wherever. I just worked and slept, worked and slept.
"Is this how it was for you?" She questioned.
"Yeah..." I nodded. "I couldn't tell you the number of times I thought about taking my studies further and eventually leaving. Yet, no matter how angry and frustrated I was, I didn't do a thing about it."
"Arthur, you're taking the piss, mate." The manager walked up to me, looking around. "You're so slow today. Look around... I have no trollies. I need you to fill them up and label them. There's also a click-and-collect customer waiting outside."
I saw a flash of anger cross my eyes before I lowered my head and sped up, breaking my steady rhythm. I was stacking like a demon... whether the basket had one random can of beans or 6x2l water bottles.
Thomp. Thomp. Thomp.
"People loved ordering as much water as they feasibly could," I remarked, chuckling. "It was cheap... but they acted like tap water and filters didn't exist."
"What is tap water?"
"... Well, it's kinda like free water that you can access in pretty much any house. In some places, it's unclean, but in other places, it's plenty drinkable."
"I see... the world of your first life is quite different."
"Quite different is an understatement," I remarked.
After my old self managed to catch up with the ambient, he had plenty of frozen and chilled trollies waiting for him outside. Though, he first went to deal with the customer. He took his order number and went back in, getting his stuff ready.
"That's a big order." The manager remarked. "And the guy... he looks suspicious. It could be fraud; ask for his I.D."
I seemed to shrug, probably not thinking much of it. I hated asking for IDs... confronting people wasn't exactly my strong suit. I'd much rather just get along with my day back then.
I took his stuff outside and didn't even bother asking for I.D... acting like I forgot. Typical.
"You forgot to ask for indentification," Raiden said, raising an eyebrow. "Quite an oversight on your part."
"Just keep observing..." I shrugged.
"Did you ask for the I.D?" The manager asked as I returned.
"... No." I said the truth, even though it would've been pretty easy to lie.
"Go and ask for it, then. Christ, Arthur... it's not that hard."
I turned right back around and went to ask for his ID. Of course, he had it, but he didn't look too happy about the request.
"It's because I'm black, isn't it?" He questioned, shaking his head.
"No... my manager asked to ask for I.D, I-"
"Bullying the vulnerable." The hooded man frowned at me like I was suddenly wearing a KKK cosplay. "What comes around goes around..."
"It wasn't even me." Old Arthur blinked.
"I know, I know, it's alright..." He turned away, packing his stuff into bags quickly. "If I was white though, it would be different, wouldn't it?"
"..." Arthur didn't answer his question... slipping away.
He sighed, going back inside.
Conveniently enough, another customer would come - a white lady. I served her just the same, and the manager made no mention of I.D. It was a pretty small order... so I just did my job. The dark-skinned lad wasn't quite gone yet, watching the whole thing.
"So you didn't ask her for I.D?"
"..." No words came to mind back then.
"Fucking racists..." The man shook his head. "I see how it is."
Issues were quite frequently pushed onto me, given that I was the representative for the customers outside. Whether it's UberEats, JustEat, or Gofer drivers, everything falls on me. Something was late? I had to apologise. The manager made a mistake, forgetting to have an order picked? Me, again. I'd have to ask them to wait patiently...
"I've been waiting for thirty minutes!" One foreign UberEats driver shouted, banging on the door.
I had to go out and talk to him.
"You could cancel the order," Arthur spoke softly, looking like he hardly gave a shit... which was very true. I'm 100% sure I just wanted to go home at that point.
"You said five minutes, but I've been waiting for thirty. Why is it taking so long?"
"... The pickers are a bit slow today," I replied. "It should be ready by now..."
"This place is fucking shet man." The foreign UberEats driver shook his head.
I couldn't agree more, my nameless illegal immigrant friend. It's fackin shet mate. Absolutely diabolical.
"Arthur... I need you to load three vans quickly!"
"Arthur, I need you to pick chilled for me."
"Arthur, I need you to consolidate these items."
"Arthur, I need you to work overtime."
Arthur this, Arthur that, Arthur, please feed my goldfish, fuck my wife really good and drive seven vans at once (he didn't say the last three, but he may as well have)... even I got irritated, and I was just watching this time around.
Eventually, I had done everything... at the cost of looking like a zombie. Meanwhile, the drivers got to complain about having to deliver too much while conveniently ignoring who had to stack every one of their loads. It was a strange phenomenon where they worked the easiest part of the job, yet still complained about it being too hard...
I guess people just like to complain in the end.
The person who should have been complaining most of all hadn't uttered a single word... clocking out and going home.
To me now, it looked more like modern slavery than ever before...
And I was a most excellent slave.
"How much did they pay you for that day? It must have been quite the sum."
"Ahaha..." I chuckled at Raiden's statement. "Yeah, about that... they pay as little as they can get away with. Everyone gets the same wage at this workplace."
"The very same wage?"
"Except the managers, of course. They get the pay and the credit for looking like they're working." I shrugged. "That's just how it is."
"... No wonder you hardly spoke of it."
"All you'd hear is me complaining," I said, shaking my head. "I would much rather leave these memories locked away somewhere and forgotten."
"They are still a part of you... as my days as Shogun are."
Raiden was very curious about London, more than I ever had been. When the dream led us to my apartment, she got to see my messy room, which was littered with NBA memorabilia, from jerseys to trading cards to posters. Almost everything was coloured in purple and gold. Besides that, you could see something about each Lakers legend throughout history... mainly Kobe Bryant.
'Strive for Greatness.'
'Success isn't owed. It's leased... and the rent is due every day.'
'Mamba Mentality. It's a constant quest to be better today than you were yesterday and better tomorrow than you were the day before.'
'I don't want to be the next Michael Jordan... I only want to be Kobe Bryant.'
'There's winning, and there's losing, and in life, you have to know that both will happen. But what's never been acceptable to me is quitting.'
It... was a bit embarrassing. Okay, maybe more than a bit. This is a room that was made for my eyes only.
There were also many history books, comics, anime, games and the like occupying one side of the apartment. Tons of figurines, too, and all of them were 'badass' male ones. I didn't want to delve into that other side. I wasn't that far gone, lonely as I was.
"These were your heroes?" She questioned, looking at the posters of NBA players.
"Yeah... in a way. I looked up to them." I admitted, slowly nodding. These were my roots - I shouldn't be too embarrassed of them. "I wanted to be like them... but my body liked to remind me that it was impossible. I was too short, too weak, too slow, too fragile. I had no talent on top of that."
"And that is why you relish your current strength so greatly..." Raiden remarked. "You can reach the goals that once were no more than a dream before."
I nodded. "In this life, I have no excuses. Zero."
Past me went straight for a shower, then a nap...
Raiden explored further, finding my 'WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE: Westbrick of Russel' poster. I put his price at a modest £999,999,999 and the face on the poster... well, it was littered with darts.
"Who is this? Your nemesis?" Raiden Shogun questioned, observing the poster.
"Ah..." I chuckled. "You could say that."
"Westbrick of Russell..."
After the nap, old me managed to have enough energy to boot up the PC. It was one of those days when I wanted to do something with the little time I had. As I entered my password and the screen moved to my desktop, an image of Raiden Shogun popped up.
"...?" Raiden looked puzzled, seeing herself.
Old me went a step further, booting up Genshin Impact. How wonderful...
However, before he went past the main menu... the dream shattered.
...
Knock. Knock.
A semi-loud banging sound woke me.
Apparently, I had fallen to my desk for a nice nap. I yawned, shaking my head. The dagger hadn't cut me in my lapse... fortunately.
"What is it?" I stretched my neck, glancing at the door.
"Princess Arianne wishes to see you, Your Grace." I heard Arthur's voice. "Should I let her in?"
"What was that about?" Raiden questioned, no doubt thinking about her being my desktop image. "You knew of me... before?"
'Later,' I mouthed. There was never an ideal time to tell Raiden she was a game character. There was just no use in speaking of it. What would she gain other than a potential existential crisis? Maybe it would explain my initial fondness.
Even so, she's very real now... so perhaps it wouldn't matter as much as I thought.
I sheathed my dagger, standing up. This was undoubtedly another attempt (a growing list, might I add) to get me to sleep with her. Alas, I could also turn it into an opportunity to put my foot down and put an end to her little ambition of seducing me.
Though... I don't want to treat Arianne too harshly. She is the heir to Dorne, after all. I have to find a way to get her to hop off my dick while not making her dislike me too strongly.
"Your Grace... are you alright?" Arthur questioned, breaking the silence.
Well, I didn't train my Charisma for nothing. It's meant for these things.
"... Sure, I'll entertain the Princess."
