The conversation with Richard had been a release of pented-up pressure. The weight of the [WORLD QUEST] no longer felt like a solo burden. His friend had offered the advice of a seasoned gamer, and he felt a surge of confidence.
He was sitting in his gaming chair, feeling better after a successful social encounter, when a new quest notification appeared in his HUD.
[Quest: Bolster Community Morale]
[Objective: The Buckhannon Volunteer Fire Department's annual bake sale is currently failing. The success of this event is directly tied to the town's [Community Approval] stat. Ensure the event is a success.]
[Reward: 200 XP, +5 Community Approval]
Chris stared at the quest, a slow smile spreading across his face. The System was giving him an actionable, manageable task. This seemed like it was his first real mission in the [Civic Stabilization] campaign. And it wasn't some terrifying, world-altering objective. It was a bake sale. A low-level, fetch-quest of community service. This, he could handle.
He got up, a sense of purpose straightening his usual slouch. He had just been given his first daily quest, and he was determined to get a perfect score.
He drove the beige SUV to Jawbone Park, the town's main public green space. It was a pleasant area, with a small set of covered picnic tables, a playground, and a walking path. It was usually a hub of community activity, especially on a nice day.
Today was not a nice day.
The sky was an oppressive shade of bruised gray. A humid stillness hung in the air, the kind that promised a drenching summer rainstorm was just moments away. The park was almost completely empty.
He spotted the bake sale easily. It was a pathetic scene, a small, gathering of defeated good intentions. A single, wobbly folding table had been set up under a large oak tree. Behind it, a few tired-looking volunteers sat in plastic lawn chairs, their shoulders slumped. One of them was a burly, middle-aged man with a magnificent, walrus-like mustache and the weary, stoic expression of a man who has seen too many kitchen fires. Chris recognized him from the local paper as the Volunteer Fire Chief.
On the table sat an uninspired assortment of baked goods. A plate of pale, anemic-looking sugar cookies. A tray of brownies that looked dry. A few cupcakes with drooping frosting. It was a disappointing bake sale.
There were no customers. Not a single person was heading over to browse the wares. The Fire Chief and his small, beleaguered crew were just sitting there, occasionally swatting at a fly, their hopeful enterprise slowly dying a quiet death.
This was his event. This was his raid party. And they were on the verge of a total wipe.
Chris found a spot a little ways away, leaning against a tree, trying to look like a casual observer and not someone performing field reconnaissance. He activated his [INSPECT] ability, targeting the event itself as a conceptual entity.
[Event: BVFD Annual Bake Sale]
[Status: Failing (Critical Morale Failure Imminent)]
[Projected Income: ~$25.00]
[Active Debuffs:]
[- Poor Weather (Impending): -50 to Foot Traffic, -20 to Overall Mood.]
[- Low Foot Traffic: Reduces customer engagement by 90%.]
[- Mediocre Product Quality: -30 to Customer Satisfaction, +50% chance of buyer's remorse.]
Chris analyzed the debuffs like a raid leader diagnosing a problem. The situation was grim. The event was suffering from some pretty bad negative modifiers. It looked like a death spiral. The bad weather was keeping people away, and the few people who might wander by would be put off by the sad-looking cookies.
He had to intervene. He had to be the support class his party so desperately needed. He had to apply some buffs.
The first and most obvious problem was the weather. It was a massive, area-of-effect environmental debuff that was tanking the entire event. He looked up at the dark, ominous clouds that were currently obscuring the sun. He couldn't make them disappear entirely. That would be too flashy, too reality-breaking. But maybe he could nudge the odds.
He focused his will, not on a single cloud, but on the abstract concept of the local weather pattern. He pictured a small, convenient gap forming in the cloud cover, a single, brilliant beam of sunlight breaking through. He focused on the idea of a "sudden, convenient sunbreak."
He activated his [Minor Probability Manipulation] skill.
A significant chunk of his EP bar vanished in an instant. This was a big, expensive skill. He was nudging a complex, chaotic system, and the energy cost was steep.
For a moment, nothing happened. The gray sky remained a depressing sheet. A heavy drop of rain splattered on his forehead. He felt a pang of disappointment. Maybe it had failed. Maybe the weather was more immense than he had the ability to mess with.
And then, he felt a breeze.
A cool, gentle wind began to stir the leaves of the oak tree above him. The humid air began to move. And as he watched, the solid gray sheet of clouds began to thin. A small, brilliant patch of blue appeared, and then another. The dark clouds slowly, reluctantly, began to part.
A brilliant, welcoming beam of sunlight broke through, illuminating the park in a golden light. The beam landed, with an almost theatrical perfection, directly on the disappointing little bake sale table, making the cellophane on the cookies glitter like treasure.
The Fire Chief and the other volunteers looked up, blinking in the unexpected brightness. A hopeful murmur went through their ranks. The environmental debuff was cleared.
Next, the foot traffic. The weather was better, but the park was still empty. He needed to pull aggro. He needed to lure some high-value NPCs into the event zone.
He opened a mental map of the town, his mind trying to conceptualize a GPS of local influencers. He used [INSPECT] to locate several key targets, people whose presence and participation could create a chain reaction.
His first target was Brenda Gruber, the famous Brenda G. from the community forum. He found her instantly. The System showed her location at her home, a few blocks away. Her status was [Bored, Scrolling Facebook]. A perfect target. He focused on her and applied a small, targeted Nudge, an almost negligible drain on his EP. He didn't try to control her. He just nudged the probability that, while scrolling, she would see a picture of a cookie that would trigger a sudden, powerful, and irresistible craving.
His second target was the editor of the Buckhannon Record Delta, a man named Marcel Skinner. The System located him in his office downtown. His status was [Stressed, Seeking Fluff Piece for Page 3]. Another perfect target. Chris applied another Nudge, subtly increasing the probability that Marcel would remember hearing about the Fire Department bake sale and decide it was a more charming, less stressful story than the ongoing budget debate at the town council.
His third target was a popular English teacher from the middle school, a woman named Mrs. Patricia Kappel. The System showed her in the school's teacher's lounge. Her status was [Free Period, Considering a Snack]. The Nudge was almost effortless. He just amplified the "snack" thought and planted the suggestion that a short drive to the park would be a lovely way to spend her break.
The aggro was pulled. The mobs were on their way. Now for the most crucial buff. Quality control.
He walked over to the bake sale table, his hands in his pockets, affecting the look of a casual, potential customer. The Fire Chief gave him a tired nod.
"Afternoon," the Chief said, his voice a low rumble. "Care for a brownie? All proceeds go to getting a new thermal imager for the truck."
"Just looking," Chris said, his eyes scanning the dry-looking cookies. This was his moment.
He used the new, low-level skill from his [Reality Architect] tree, the one he had unlocked after his last level-up. It was an ability called [Modify Object Property (Minor)].
He subtly focused on the tray of chocolate chip cookies. The function's interface appeared in his vision, a simple, three-field form. He mentally filled it out.
[Target Object ID: cookie_tray_01]
[Modify Property: flavor_profile]
[New Value: "Gooey and Delicious"]
He executed the command. A faint, almost invisible shimmer of blue light, a wave of pure, conceptual data, passed over the tray of cookies. They didn't change visibly. They didn't suddenly look plumper or more chocolatey. But their fundamental, metaphysical properties had been rewritten. They were no longer mediocre. They were now, on a core, conceptual level, delicious.
He bought one, just to be polite, handing the Chief a dollar. He took a bite. The cookie, which had looked so pale and uninspired, was warm, chewy, and packed with rich, gooey, melted chocolate. It was, objectively, a perfect cookie.
His work was done. He retreated to his "observation post" under the tree and waited.
The results were almost immediate.
Brenda Gruber arrived first. She power-walked into the park, a woman on a singular, urgent mission. "I don't know what came over me," she announced loudly to the Fire Chief, her voice carrying across the now-sunny park. "I was just sitting on my porch, and I was suddenly overcome with the most powerful craving for a chocolate chip cookie. It was a sign from the Lord himself, I think."
She bought a dozen. She took one bite, and her eyes went wide. "Oh, my heavens," she said, her voice filled with a genuine amazement. "These are the best cookies I have ever had in my entire life." She immediately pulled out her phone and, Chris knew with certainty, began to compose a glowing, five-star review for the community forum.
Marcel Skinner, the newspaper editor, arrived a few minutes later, a camera slung around his neck. He started taking pictures of the Fire Chief, of the table, of Brenda happily munching on her cookie. He decided, on the spot, that this was a charming, front-page-worthy human-interest story.
Then came the teacher. She arrived with a small group of hungry, chatty middle school teachers, all of them eager for a snack. A crowd began to form. Lured in by the growing number of people and the glowing, public endorsement of Brenda G., other park-goers began to wander over.
The cookies, now miraculously delicious, sold out in minutes. People were raving about them. The brownies, which Chris hadn't even bothered to buff, sold out on the sheer momentum of the cookie craze.
Chris watched from a distance as the Fire Chief, a look of stunned joy on his face, counted the cash they had collected. The upside-down fireman's helmet they had been using as a donation bucket was overflowing with crumpled bills.
A chime sounded and a notification appeared in Chris's HUD.
[Quest Completed! 200 XP Awarded!]
[+5 Community Approval!]
The bar for the town's Community Approval stat in his [WORLD QUEST] log nudged upward, from a dismal 28 to a slightly-less-dismal 33. It was a small victory, but it was still a victory.
He watched the happy scene for a moment longer. The sun was shining. The Fire Chief was laughing. The people of his town were happy, their bellies full of buffed cookies. He felt a strange, and yet pleasant sense of civic pride. He was a support class for reality. And he was, he was starting to realize, actually pretty good at it.