June, 2014 — Madison, Wisconsin — University of Wisconsin–Madison
The heat had settled in early that summer.
By late morning, the sun had already flattened the campus, baking the concrete walkways until the air above them wavered. Even the trees looked tired—leaves hanging still, offering shade that felt mostly symbolic.
Daniel Mercer stood at the edge of the football stadium, one hand resting on the handle of a pressure washer. Water hissed against the bleachers, evaporating almost as soon as it hit the metal.
Every few minutes, a faint breeze drifted through the open field.
It never fucking lasted.
The reflective vest clung to his back. Sweat slid down his spine, soaked through his shirt, and collected at his waistband. His hard hat did nothing except trap heat. He resisted the urge to take it off. Someone from facilities might pass by, and he really didn't feel like getting written up for heatstroke and OSHA violations.
From where he stood, Daniel could see the road bordering campus. Cars rolled past slowly, windows up, air conditioning humming. A group of students crossed the field in the distance, moving without urgency, summer backpacks slung loosely over their shoulders.
Someone might reasonably wonder why he was standing there instead of inside.
The answer wasn't complicated.
He needed the money.
More accurately, he needed predictable money. The kind that didn't disappear because someone canceled a tutoring session or decided they "weren't really feeling calculus anymore."
The university's facilities department hired student workers every summer. The work was simple—cleaning, hauling, repainting, setup and teardown for events. It paid by the hour and came with a small hazard bonus during heat advisories.
Daniel took every shift he could get.
While the washer ran, he did the math again—he always did.
Rent was $620 a month. Utilities averaged another $90. Groceries, if he ate like a monk with a death wish, stayed under $45 a week. Tuition ran about $410 per credit hour, which meant every eight-hour shift shaved off a microscopic slice of a single class.
It was depressing how clean the numbers were.
Not enough to feel good.
Enough to matter.
He shut off the washer briefly and leaned back, careful not to sit. The metal bench behind him radiated heat like a spiteful griddle. He counted the rows he had left instead. Numbers were reliable. They didn't lie or pretend things would magically work out.
"Mercer."
Daniel turned.
Mark Reynolds approached from the shade near the equipment truck, moving slower than he should have been. He wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt, breathing heavily. Mark was a graduate student in applied mathematics and the summer crew's acting supervisor—competent, exhausted, and painfully aware that one workplace incident could nuke his entire semester.
"You good?" Mark asked. "You've been out here all morning."
"I'm fine," Daniel said.
Mark squinted at him. "You don't look fine."
"That's just my natural glow," Daniel said. "Very in right now."
Mark didn't laugh. "We can rotate you inside for a bit. Storage needs organizing."
Daniel hesitated.
Every part of him wanted to say yes. His legs felt weird—light, floaty, like they were considering early retirement.
"I'll finish this section," he said. "Another hour."
Mark frowned. "You sure?"
Daniel nodded. "Yeah."
There was a pause. Mark clearly ran through a mental checklist—hydration, liability forms, emails he really didn't want to write.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll check back."
"Thanks."
Mark headed back toward the truck, relief obvious in the way his shoulders dropped. Finding students willing to cook themselves alive for hourly wages wasn't easy. Daniel knew that. So did Mark.
Once he was alone again, Daniel turned back to the bleachers.
He noticed, absently, that the white paint on the metal steps was uneven—someone had rushed the job years ago. He wondered if they'd been paid hourly or by contract.
If it was contract, that explained a lot.
⟨═══════ ◇ ═══════⟩
Then the rows bent upward.
At first, it felt like the world had shifted half an inch to the left. The stadium lights seemed way too tall. The horizon tilted, corrected itself, then tilted again like it was drunk.
That wasn't right.
"Oh, shit," Daniel thought.
His grip loosened.
The ground came up faster than expected.
He hit the concrete on his side, the impact dull and strangely distant.
Voices rushed in almost immediately.
"Hey—he's down!"
"Turn off the equipment!"
"Get his helmet off—slow, slow!"
"Daniel! Hey, fuck—can you hear me?"
Someone shook his shoulder. Hard.
"No response."
"Call it in—now!"
"We need shade—move him, move him!"
The sky narrowed into a thin, blinding line.
Then disappeared.
⟨═══════ ◇ ═══════⟩
Daniel Mercer was a first-year mathematics major at a state university he hadn't planned on attending.
He'd applied for computer science. Missed the cutoff. Mathematics had been the backup option—less competitive, less defined, and much harder to explain to relatives who thought "math" meant teaching high school forever.
Harder to justify now.
He had no clear picture of what came after four years of proofs and problem sets. Graduate school was expensive as hell. Industry wanted skills he wasn't sure he'd be taught. Academia promised prestige in exchange for poverty and patience.
His family lived two states away. His father worked maintenance at a manufacturing plant. His mother's medical bills arrived regularly, thick envelopes that never seemed to get any lighter. His younger sister would be applying to college soon.
There wasn't much room to screw up.
So Daniel worked.
Campus jobs. Weekend shifts. Anything legal, hourly, and boring enough to let him think without breaking his body too badly.
Standing in the sun, doing work that didn't require a single neuron to fire, sometimes felt like a warning shot from the universe.
And then—
⟨═══════ ◇ ═══════⟩
He opened his eyes.
Everything around him was white. Not bright. Just empty. Like someone had forgotten to load the textures.
"This is… not a hospital," Daniel said. "Unless hospitals got really weird."
No machines. No voices. No sense of depth.
Before panic could fully kick in, a translucent screen flickered into existence in front of him.
Daniel took a step back on instinct.
"…You've got to be fucking kidding me."
Text appeared line by line.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then exhaled. "A system. Of course it's a system."
He'd read enough fiction to recognize the setup.
After a beat, he asked, "Alright then. What do you do?"
No voice answered.
Only text.
⟨────────── ◇ ──────────⟩
⟪ Scholar Advancement System ⟫
Purpose:
To improve the user's academic and research capability.
Additional functions will unlock progressively.
⟪ · · · ⟫
Core Disciplines (Theoretical Foundation)
Level cap: 10 · Experience earned through missions
Mathematics — Foundational discipline. Determines advancement limits
Physics
Biology
Engineering
Materials Science
Energy Science
Information Science
⟪ · · · ⟫
Applied Branches
Unlocked through prerequisites or general points.
Blueprints
From small-scale devices to megastructures.
General Points
Used for missions, problem-solving, or unlocking branches.
Missions
Three available at a time. One may be selected.
⟨────────── ◇ ──────────⟩
Daniel didn't speak.
For the first time, mathematics wasn't being treated like the consolation prize you get for almost making it.
Before he could think too hard about that, another panel appeared.
⟨────────── ◇ ──────────⟩
⟪ USER DATA ⟫
User: Daniel Mercer
Mathematics: Level 0 (0/1000)
Physics: Level 0 (0/1000)
Biology: Level 0 (0/1000)
Engineering: Level 0 (0/1000)
Materials Science: Level 0 (0/1000)
Energy Science: Level 0 (0/1000)
Information Science: Level 0 (0/1000)
General Points: 0
Missions: None
⟨────────── ◇ ──────────⟩
"…Zero across the board," Daniel said.
He stared at it for a second.
"Wow. Fuck you too."
He didn't get the chance to dwell on it.
His shoulders jerked violently.
The white space shattered.
And his consciousness was ripped away.