001. Nairobi Hustler
The sun over Nairobi was merciless, a brutal overseer beating down on half-built towers of concrete and steel. Scaffolding gleamed like molten iron, while cement dust thickened the air into something you had to chew through.
Rick wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, but the sweat kept coming. His muscles ached from the morning's labor - lifting, mixing, carrying. His hands, once soft from typing out university assignments, were now cracked, blistered, and caked in dry cement.
He drove his shovel into the pile of sand, ignoring the sting in his palms. The motions had become instinct by now.
Suddenly-
[Unknown Entity]
Initiating planetary multiversal integration protocol…
Rick's head snapped up. He yanked out his earphones.
"Hih!?"
Had someone spoken?
"Buda, ongeza maji! Usitengeneze ugali!" the foreman barked.
Rick glanced at the foreman and bit back a response. The man had been yelling since morning, as if shouting made the heat any less unbearable. He scooped more water from the drum, stirred the mix, and kept his head down. Just a few more hours.
This wasn't supposed to be his life.
Four years at university. A degree in Business IT. Countless sleepless nights coding and debugging projects - for what? To stand here, knee-deep in cement, earning five hundred bob a day?
Bitterness rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down. No use complaining. No one cared.
All he could do was keep working.
Finally, the whistle blew - lunch break.
Rick dropped his shovel, flexing his sore fingers as he followed the other workers to a shaded corner near a stack of cement bags. Someone had found a large rock; that was their table.
Waiting for them was a beaming middle-aged woman, plastic plates in one hand, a large sufuria of steaming food in the other.
Rick forced himself not to do the math, but his brain did it anyway.
Thirty bob for tea and chapati during the tea break. Another seventy for ugali and sukuma now. A hundred gone, just like that.
A full fifth of his pay.
Plates clattered onto the makeshift rock table as the woman dished out steaming ugali and greens. The smell of fried onions and cheap cooking fat filled the air, making Rick's stomach tighten. He accepted his plate with a quiet nod, then settled onto an overturned bucket.
"At least today she's generous," Otis, the wiry guy from Kisii, said, tearing off a chunk of ugali. "Yesterday, I was still hungry after finishing."
A few chuckles rippled through the group.
"You just eat too fast," Musa, the self-declared economist of the site, scoffed. "The trick is to pace yourself - let your stomach process before you take the next bite."
"That's science," Otis snorted. "Who has time for science when they're eating ugali?"
More laughter followed.
Rick ate quietly, listening. Meals at the site were more than just food; they were a brief escape, a time to air frustrations, joke around, and pretend, for a moment, that they weren't breaking their backs for peanuts.
"You've heard about that housing project?" Musa leaned forward, wiping his mouth. "Government says they're building affordable homes, but who's affording them? You think we can live in the houses we build?"
"Doesn't make sense," Otis muttered. "They use our taxes, our labor, then sell the houses back to us at prices we can't afford."
"And we just keep working," someone added.
No one argued. Complaining was easy. Change never came.
The woman clapped her hands. "Don't forget my plates!"
Rick wiped his plate clean with the last bit of ugali, handed it back, and stood, dusting off his trousers.
No one acknowledged his departure. The other workers remained hunched over their plates, eating with quiet determination, their conversations flowing around him like water around a stone. It wasn't hostility - just quiet, deliberate exclusion.
It had been like this since his first day.
They could tell, just at a glance. The way he carried himself, the way his hands still fumbled with the tools sometimes, the way he listened more than he spoke - it all screamed that he wasn't one of them. Not really. He was educated, clearly from a different world, and that difference put a wall between them.
Otis had tried once, cracking a joke about the education system, something about degrees being nothing more than expensive pieces of paper. The others had laughed, expecting Rick to join in, to throw back a sarcastic remark, maybe share some bitterness about wasted years.
But Rick had only given a small, tired shrug. Not quite agreement, not quite disagreement - just an acknowledgment of the joke without letting himself be drawn in.
It was the kind of response that killed conversation.
Since then, no one had bothered with him directly. They didn't dislike him, but they didn't try to include him either. And Rick, in turn, had stopped trying.
That's why he always finished eating early, brushing off his hands and walking away before the break was over.
As soon as he took a few steps, he always heard laughter erupting behind him. A part of him thought they were laughing at him. Maybe about how he still moved like a guy who wasn't supposed to be here. Maybe about how he never quite fit in.
But another part of him decided he wasn't that important.
He would then walk past the stacks of cement bags, past the rusted wheelbarrows leaning against the site fence, past the foreman's makeshift office where sweat-stained paperwork sat in disorderly piles.
Beyond the site, hidden behind a row of shipping containers, was his spot - a low concrete ledge, shaded by the overhang of an abandoned structure. It was cooler here, away from the sun, away from the noise of clanking metal and barking orders.
Most importantly, it was near the apartment block next door, one of those fancy new developments for the middle class. He didn't care about the building itself. What mattered was the Wi-Fi signal bleeding out from one of the tenants.
He connected automatically.
For the next few minutes, he allowed himself to escape. Browsing forums, queuing anime downloads for the night - his little ritual. By the time he got home, he'd be too tired to do anything but watch an episode or two before passing out.
As he scrolled, his thoughts drifted.
What went wrong?
He had done everything right - university, a degree, skills that were supposed to mean something. And yet, here he was, sweating through the day for a wage that barely kept him afloat.
Blame it on corruption. Maybe geography played a part. Rick never stopped wondering if his life would have been different if…
He sighed, shaking off the thought. No point in dwelling.
Ding!
[Unknown Entity]
Commencing planetary assessment…
Scanning population density…
Total humans detected: 8,211,939,609.
Evaluation complete.
Conclusion: Overpopulation threshold exceeded.
Multiversal induction: UNSUITABLE.
Executing corrective protocol…
"Who's there!?" Rick jolted upright, skin prickling as his eyes darted around.
A voice - calm, synthetic, female - had spoken directly into his mind. But there was no one else in the area.
The voice continued, oblivious to his growing panic.
[Unknown Entity]
Directive confirmed: Establishing Safe Zones...
...
Processing Profiles...
Introducing Multiversal elements..
Processed 8,211,939,608 Profiles...
"I swear, if you don't show yourself..." Rick muttered, gripping a nearby rock with sweaty fingers. His pulse hammered in his ears.
[Unknown Entity]
Finalizing...
Corrective Protocol Engaged.
Rick's vision flickered - like someone had flipped a strobe light inside his skull. The world around him glitched. Colors shifted. The edges of objects vibrated as if they were barely holding themselves together.
Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
Before him, hovering in midair, was an immersive curved display panel glowing in hues of blue, orange, and red. The interface felt strangely familiar - like a website he'd visited a thousand times before.
The text on the screen prompted him for input.
[System]
Please select a class:
Warrior
Mage
Rogue
Ranger
Cleric
"Mh?" Rick blinked, his mind momentarily blank. The screen didn't disappear.
I'm seeing things.
A voice is talking in my head.
Should I start a booking in Mathare?
He let out a dry chuckle.
"I've finally lost it. I'm going mad."
A warning flashed in red.
[WARNING!]
The System will designate a random class within 60 seconds…
59, 58, 57…
Rick stilled, his jaw tightening slightly.
"Tsk." He clicked his tongue faintly and tossed the rock away.
"What is this? An AI I haven't heard about yet?" he muttered, suppressing the adrenaline rush. "Or an elaborate prank trying to test my gullibility?"
He took a deep breath. Then exhaled slowly.
Why does this feel so real?
He tried not to think about it but found himself mentally weighing the options anyway.
Warrior? Shields, spears, and oversized swords - definitely not for a guy like him. Construction work had shown him that much.
Mage? That'd be something… if not for the ridiculous rules and study involved.
Rogue and Ranger sounded more versatile.
Cleric? Who'd even pick that at the start? Sure, it was crucial in most RPGs and incredible later on, but…
"Why am I even thinking about this!?" Rick caught himself off guard - smiling, even - as he considered the opportunity. His gamer instincts had picked on instinctively.
Excitement stirred in his chest, undeniable. But lurking beneath it was something colder. A lifetime of disappointment and things not going his way.
Yet, as the timer dipped below ten, he knew he had to make a decision. Just to humor whatever this was.
Rogue or Ranger?
Rick closed his eyes briefly to ponder. 'What if this turned out to be a life-altering decision?'
The ticking from the system grew louder:
5, 4, 3, 2, 1...
"Rogue." Rick finally made a firm decision by voicing it out loud.
[System]
Class Rogue selected.
Profile updated.
Stats distributed.
View Profile?
[Y/N]
"Y- Yes?"
[System]
(Profile)
Name: Rick Munene
Race: Unranked Human
Class: Rogue Lvl. 1
Job: LOCKED (Requirements not met yet)
XP: 0
Health: 100/100
Stamina: 98/100
Mana: 100/100
(Stats)
Strength: 4
Agility: 8
Vitality: 4
Perception: 7
Dexterity: 8
Endurance: 5
Wisdom: 4
Intelligence: 5.
Free Points: 0
Rick wasn't surprised the system had his name. Didn't make it any less creepy.
His eyes skimmed over the profile and stats. So what? Was he about to be thrown into another forced MMORPG? He quit playing those for a reason.
But since the interface was right in front of him... maybe this one would be different. More immersive. So realistic that even his FIFA-obsessed friends would have to admit other games could be cool.
The panel dissolved, replaced by a new window.
[Message]
Your planet has been selected for induction into the Open World Multiverse.
Unfortunately, your planet has failed to meet all the required conditions. But worry not - a Correction Protocol has been enacted to ensure a successful induction. Based on survival probabilities, this protocol should last no more than forty five days.
To ensure fairness, the Fair Footing Idealism has also been activated, giving every human in the planet an equal chance to be a part of this legendary Multiverse.
Your one and only goal is to Survive the Correction Protocol. Or, as humans call it, Survival of the Fittest.
As a Rogue, you have been granted Basic Items to aid you in your task. In your left hand is a Basic Cloak. And in your right hand is a Basic Dagger
Good luck.
Rick felt the information slam into his brain like a freight train.
What the-?! Did he just hear and read that right?!
{End of Chapter}