My head snapped up.
"Me?!" I barked, my voice coming out as a smooth, masculine baritone that was utterly alien.
"You're the one who's been standing there completely naked for five minutes!"
Jonny's panic froze.
His amethyst eyes widened as he followed my gaze down… to himself.
Then his eyes darted back to his own body.
A spectacular crimson blush washed over his pale elven skin, all the way to the tips of his pointed ears.
"YOU'RE NAKED TOO!" he shrieked, his voice cracking into a ridiculously high pitch as he fumbled to cover himself.
"AND YOU WERE STARING!"
"I was inspecting your new character model!" I shot back, the familiar rhythm of our arguments a comforting anchor.
My new voice boomed with more authority than I intended.
"You've been nerfed!
"You're useless as a tank!"
"NERFED?!" he screeched, his face a mask of horrified outrage.
"You call this a nerf?!
"And don't think I didn't see you admiring your own 'starter weapon'!"
"It's a significant hardware change!" I roared, gesturing wildly.
"I have to run diagnostics!
"I have to know the specs!
"This is basic resource management!"
"You call your new dick a 'resource'?!"
The sound of our screaming finally died.
What was left was this awful, heavy silence that was a thousand times worse.
The only thing I could hear was the ringing in my ears and the sound of my own humiliation.
We just stood there, two mismatched statues of pure, unadulterated shock.
My brain, which had blue-screened for a solid minute, finally started to reboot.
It skipped the whole 'emotional trauma' folder and went straight to a system diagnostic.
Fact one: We weren't dead.
Good.
Fact two: We were in some fantasy world reject forest.
Okay.
Fact three: We were completely, totally, ridiculously naked.
Crap.
This was a critical failure of starting gear.
An absolute epic fail.
Jonny—or whatever the hell he was now—was still trying to cover his new chest with hands that were way too small for the job.
His face was a masterpiece of horror, all flushed and red in a way that totally clashed with his new silver hair.
He looked like one of those fancy porcelain dolls that just watched its owner get shanked.
My eyes drifted down my own body again.
Toned muscle.
Limbs I didn't recognize.
And the new, uh… central hardware… that was giving me a weird draft.
It was a bizarre and deeply unsettling feeling.
I was a stranger in my own skin, piloting a body I had zero user manuals for.
Finally, the part of my brain that used to organize raids and calculate loot drops took over.
Panicking was a waste of mana.
Shame was just a stupid debuff.
"Okay," I said.
My voice was a baritone now.
It cut through the quiet like a sword.
Sounded weird, but it also sounded like I was in charge.
It sounded like a raid leader.
Jonny flinched, his big purple eyes snapping to mine.
They were wide with a terror that was almost funny.
"Priority one," I said, holding up a finger on my new, unfamiliar hand.
"Find something to wear."
"Priority two: figure out what the hell is going on."
I paused, giving him one more head-to-toe scan, then gQuinnced down at myself.
"Priority three," I finished, my voice flat.
"Stop staring at my default equipment package."
His face somehow got even redder.
Is that even possible?
"I WASN'T STARING!" he shrieked, his new girly voice cracking.
"YOU WERE THE ONE DOING THE… THE INVENTORY CHECK!"
"It's called a tactical assessment," I shot back.
The old rhythm of our bickering was a strange comfort.
"I need to know what resources we have."
"Right now, our only resource is a shitload of indignity."
Before he could scream another reply, the serene voice from the void spoke in my mind, its tone as pleasant and calm as ever.
Good morning, Quinn.
How may I assist you?
I am detecting a critical vulnerability to environmental hazards due to your current lack of covering.
Would you like me to locate a nearby resource?
My eyes narrowed.
Helpful.
And also really insulting.
The universe's GM was now my personal assistant, and its first suggestion was a thorny bush.
"Yes," I thought, directing the response internally.
Excellent.
A suitable resource has been located.
Woven-Thorn Brambles can be found 30 meters to your north.
The leaves are broad and durable enough for basic weaving.
"System says there are thorn bushes that way," I said, pointing north.
"We can use the leaves."
Jonny stared at me, then at the forest, then back at me.
His face was a mask of pure disgust.
"Leaves?" he squeaked.
"You want me to wear… leaves?"
"You got a better idea?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Unless you want to keep talking like this."
"We can go find some squirrels to judge our fashion show."
He let out a strangled groan.
"Fine," he grumbled, his voice dripping with poison.
"But if I get a rash in my new… crevices… I'm blaming you."
With that settled, we started the most awkward walk of my entire life, trying to use our hands to cover up what little dignity we had left.
It wasn't working.
My new body was coordinated, but my brain kept forgetting its dimensions.
I nearly tripped twice.
Jonny, even with his new elven grace, moved like a spooked deer.
The silence was killing me.
I had to establish some kind of order.
"We need new names," I declared.
He stopped dead and glared at me.
"What's wrong with my name?"
"Everything," I said.
"Jonny is a guy's name."
"A big, dumb warrior who thinks 'hit it 'til it dies' is a genius strategy."
"It is a genius strategy!" he howled.
"You're not a big, dumb dude anymore," I said, ignoring him.
"You're a… delicate elven maiden."
The look he gave me could have curdled milk.
"Do not," he hissed, his voice dangerously low, "call me a delicate elven maiden."
"My point is, the name doesn't match the character model," I said, crossing my arms.
I uncrossed them a second later when I realized it just made things more obvious.
"We need a cover story."
"Aliases."
"No one's gonna believe your name is Jonny."
"I don't care!"
"It's my name!"
"Think of it like an in-game name," I argued.
"Something to use 'til we figure this out."
"Something… elfy."
He scowled.
"Like what?"
My mind raced.
Something short, elegant, easy to scream in a fight.
"How about… Yael?"
He paused, like he was tasting the name.
"Yael," he repeated.
The sound was soft.
It fit.
I could see the war on his face.
The Jonny part of him wanted to fight it.
But the naked-elf-in-a-forest part of him knew I was right.
"It's… fine," he grumbled, like he was swallowing rocks.
"For now."
"But don't you dare enjoy saying it."
"No promises," I said.
"Now, what about me?"
He looked me up and down, a flicker of his old asshole self in his eyes.
"How about… Moron?"
"Hilarious," I deadpanned.
"I was thinking 'Quinn'."
"It's simple."
"Close to my old name."
"Quinn," he grumbled.
"Fine."
"Whatever."
"Can we just get to the stupid bush now, Quinn?"
He said my new name like he was chewing on glass.
Perfect.
We kept walking.
The bramble bush was just ahead, a thicket of big, dark green leaves.
Salvation.
"Now for the cover story," I said, keeping my voice low.
"I'm a mage."
"A scholar, traveling to study the local pQuinnts."
Yael snorted.
"You?"
"A scholar?"
"You once tried to use a grimoire as a coaster."
"Details," I waved off.
"And you… you're my sworn protector."
"My bodyguard."
He stopped walking again.
This time, it wasn't anger.
It was pure, horrified outrage.
"My… what?!" he shrieked.
"Sworn protector," I repeated patiently.
"It explains why we're traveling together."
"A protector?!" he yelled, gesturing at his own skinny body.
The movement caused an undignified jiggle, which just made him angrier.
"Quinn, look at me!
"I feel like a strong breeze could kill me!
"My arms are like twigs!
"My only defensive abilities are these stupid, distracting… assets!"
He had a point.
He was built like a rogue, not a tank.
High AGI, high CHA.
Zero STR.
He was the glass cannon now.
"It's an aesthetic," I explained.
"The beautiful, graceful elf warrior protecting the mysterious human mage."
"It's a classic trope."
"People will buy it."
"I don't want to be a trope!" he wailed.
"I want to be a meat shield!
"I want my pecs back!
"I want my dick!"
His last sentence echoed a little too loudly in the quiet woods.
I sighed.
"We work with the gear we're given, Yael."
"You're a dexterity tank now."
"You don't block, you dodge."
"Re-spec your brain."
"I'll re-spec your face!" he threatened.
We were just a few feet from the bush.
Our salvation from this naked hell was right there.
And then, the ground in front of it started to move.
It bubbled, like thick, spoiled porridge.
The damp earth churned, and a foul stench, like a swamp fart, filled the air.
Shapes pushed their way up from the soil.
They were translucent, like blobs of shivering, dirty jelly with bits of leaves and animal bones floating inside.
One, two… three of them.
Three slimes.
They were completely blocking our path to the bush.
We were trapped.
We had no weapons.
And we were still, I cannot stress this enough, completely naked.
One of the slimes quivered, and a slimy tentacle shot out.
It lunged straight for us.