Both driven by intrigue and a bit of bitterness, I decided to follow this lead.
Search: 「Why do divers pay fewer taxes?」 - enter
Search result: 1,191,000 results
From my standpoint, I thought all divers were wealthy, privileged, and super-powerful people lucky to be granted superhuman strength at birth. On top of that, due to that power, they were all rich, were celebrities, and sometimes involved with politics.
This is the reason that I found the thought that divers - rich assholes - were paying less taxes than me - a poor asshole - crazy. I don't know much about what they do or what makes them so rich, but they are all superhuman, so it has to be easier than what I am doing.
Due to my upbringing and constant stress about my standard of living, I was not the kid interested in figuring out what celebrities were doing, what the Youtuber did to get them canceled, or what some royal family was doing across the ocean. So, although I have heard about divers, and I know they are like actual supermans, I didn't care much about figuring out who they were or what they did in their life.
Everyone said they're like mutants from X-men, so I thought they were all born with these powers. I lamented that I didn't grow up a superhero as a kid and forgot about it shortly thereafter.
So when I saw the Google AI pop-up at the top, I experienced what it was like for the Amish to figure out every kid in America had a cell phone in their pocket. Astonished:
Commonly asked questions:
「Why do divers get so many government benefits, like heavy tax discounts?」
Answer: 「Divers are "registered high-risk individuals under federal oversight; they are granted various financial, social, and legal exemptions due to their high occupational danger..."
To bring more individuals interested in becoming a diver, the government includes governmental incentives due to the hazardous occupation that could lead to grave injury, disabilities, or worse, death.」
"Wait, what? Can a normal person become a diver?"
Right below the Google AI pop-up, I saw a corresponding Canadian statement website talking about divers and the benefits they receive from the government.
I clicked on the link; it was an article going more in-depth about the benefits that 「"low-rank"」 divers receive from the government they are contracted from, at least from Canada. It did say near the top that the benefits and regulations for divers differ from nation to nation. However, Canada had many of the same regulations and systems as the US, as they employ Diver management agencies from the US to come and do much of the same in Canada.
However, when I skimmed the article, I was stunned at the benefits you gain from being a 「"Fate Squire"」 diver, whatever that means, being so good. Based on the small research I have done so far, being a diver is not safe; however, my current situation can not be that much safer, considering I am a little more than a month before the government arrests me and even closer to being evicted and dying of hunger.
After seeing the benefits of being a diver, I wanted to know much more about what they did and what qualifications you need to become one.
Search: 「What do divers do in Canada」 - enter
Commonly Asked Questions:
「What are the responsibilities of a diver?」
Answer: 「Divers enter high-risk temporal or metaphysical natural phenomenon, "Fate Baths" events.
This event may result in the success and enhancement of the diver or can commonly have side effects like psychological trauma, mental illness, or, most typically, death if they were to fail their objective.
The Government of Canada classifies Divers as essential defense and developmental assets.」
"Thank you for the very broad answer, Google overlords; that cleared up absolutely none of my questions."
Skipping forward past all the sponsored websites, I found some more academic-sounding papers or more clickbait articles with headlines that scream out at you, like:
「 Things That They Don't Want You To Know About Fate Baths - Interview with REAL Diver!」
「Why Every Country Wants More Divers! (And Why They Can't Get Enough)」
And my personal favorite:
「He Was HOMELESS 6 Months Ago. NOW He's a FATE DIVER With a Lamborghini!」
Looking at this one, I could not help but almost roll my eyes into my skull; it was disgusting. However, I couldn't stop myself from clicking on it anyway.
When I clicked on it, about half of the article comprised of fluff, and about the other half sensationalized, but somewhere near the bottom was a line that caught my eye:
「Anyone can apply to become a Diver through the DEP (Diver Entry Program). The only requirements are passing a government-administered intake assessment, including physicals, cognitive tests, and the DEP training period. No prior experience, wealth, or ability is required. Join the effort to save our planet from threats; become a hero!」
The last line felt a bit propagandized, but that didn't matter much to me. Something else was my primary attention:
Anyone.
Anyone can give it a try. Even someone like me — a poor bastard — that can't even buy a sandwich from McDonald's.
"So they're like... extreme firefighters meet military or some shit? How have I not heard of this shit?"
I opened up a new tab—
Wait, no, scratch that; I closed my current tab and opened one single tab. My 'bout laptop blew up in front of me when I tried that.
Search: 「Canada government - Diver Entry Program」 - enter
The top link was an official .gov link that looked like it was the right place. So I clicked it.
When I clicked it, I was half expecting to have my hopes dashed in front of me with a dead link or some bullshit like a 「site under maintenance」 message showing up.
Thankfully, I was finally a bit up on my luck. Instead, I was greeted by a very sterile government webpage loaded with a very government-isk-looking website.
At the top, it read:
「Welcome to the Canadian Diver Entry Portal
Apply to become a Registered Diver!」
«Looks like I am at the right place...»
"I think this may just work."
Mhm. However, let's do our due diligence before potentially signing my life away.
«I mean, I still don't know what I'm trying to sign up for. I know right now that the job is big, scary, dangerous, and pays like an unlimited prize ticket at the bank. That's all; that's the extent of my knowledge.»
I almost let myself get click-baited, like the idiots who fell for crypto coins made by celebrities. Hawk-tuah girl—more like Bitch-I-Gotcha-Money girl, am I right?
Before I sign up for this, I probably want to talk to a recruiter or someone that had experience with this stuff before, and I want to do a bit of my research.
I may be poor, but Mommy raised no dumbass.
...Well, I guess Mom didn't really raise anyone, so in either case, I guess that's true.
Once I took my eyes off the top of the website where the signup button was, I looked better at the rest of the site.
A script kiddie could make a better UI than this. When was this made? Probably not in the big two thousand; this is older than me.
The site had a clunky UI, obvious PR in every facet, and some overly chipper stock photos in every corner. Nonetheless, it was usable, and I could probably find some interesting things that would give me answers.
After scrolling to the bottom, I found a FAQ tab and followed it, hoping for a quick skim.
The FAQ tab had tons of questions, all of which led to different hyperlinks and tabs—but no answers on the actual FAQ page itself.
Great.
There was a tab titled: "How Safe Are Fate Baths?"
I clicked it. This was my primary concern.
"Thank you for your interest in national defense!"
The first line wasn't exactly comforting for the reliability of the answers on this FAQ, but we continue undaunted.
"Without training or preparation, attempting to enter a Fate Bath without regulation can lead to high injury or deaths, case dependent. However, by following DEP's world-class classes and preparation and complying with government-mandated regulations, the chances of injury or death are drastically reduced."
Okay—now we're getting somewhere.
So, they provide a class that helps people stay alive. That's good. I expected something like that, at the very least. Still, I had no idea what the job actually was.
I skimmed the rest of the answer. It went a bit more in-depth on what was already said but didn't add much. So I went back to the FAQ.
I scrolled down and found another promising tab: "What Are Fate Baths?"
«Bingo is the name-o.»
I clicked it, excited to finally get a concrete explanation of what the hell all this actually was.
"Fate Baths are dimensional phenomena that manifest as temporary entry points into metaphysical trials. Each Bath is different and forms based on the internal state of the Diver's soul at the time of entry. Outcomes vary and may result in enhancement, adaptation, or fatal consequence."
What in the JRPG hell did I just read?
Dimensional... metaphysical... trials?
'Internal state of the soul'?
I thought I was trying to get a job—not sign up for spiritual Mortal Kombat.
The rest of the page was filled with vague language, like it was trying to sound smart while saying as little as possible. Something about alignment, resonance, aptitude matching, and "Fate Hooks."
Like, okay sure, buddy. You could say anything at this point. I wouldn't even blink if it said, "may involve spontaneous combustion or ego death."
I leaned back in my chair, rereading that line about adaptation or fatal consequence.
So it's a magical lottery system with real consequences and no refunds... got it.
On top of the vagueness, the FAQ didn't even go into what happened during the Fate Bath. It just vaguely danced around it with language like "depends," "changes," or "case-by-case."
Nothing really case in point.
If this was all the knowledge I had going into a job, I wouldn't know my face from my ass—I'd just be twiddling my thumbs, waiting for a straight answer.
The deeper I dug, the more it felt like every answer only opened more questions. No videos. No testimonies. No hard data. Just brochures, promo language, and the digital equivalent of a reassuring pat on the back.
I scrolled through more tabs, hoping for something—anything—that felt grounded.
There was a section labeled: "Next Steps".
I clicked it.
Maybe, just maybe, it would finally tell me something new.
"Interested in taking the plunge? Speak to your local Diver Entry Liaison to discuss qualifications, risk assessment, and early training opportunities."
Below that was a bright blue button:
「Find a Local DEP Recruiter」
Now we're talking.
I clicked it, expecting nothing—but hey, it worked.
A map opened, and after giving the site location permissions, it pinged a handful of DEP offices nearby.
Closest one? About six miles away. Not great. Not awful. Better than nothing.
I sat there for a second, staring at the contact number on the screen.
«If I don't call, I'm just going to spiral. This is the only lead I have that might actually talk like a human.»
I cracked my knuckles. Reached for my phone.
«Worst case, I get a motivational speech. Best case, I get some damn clarity.»
I dialed the number.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
I took a breath.
«Let's see if this recruiter's as good at answering questions as they are at avoiding them on their website.»
{---[==={}===]---}