Aggro Litrpg || Progression Fantasy

With much reluctance, I decided my best bet was to go back underground and take the Tube to Walthamstow. While I wasn't wild about being stuck in a big metal worm surrounded by civilians, it was going to be the quickest way to get across London in order to undertake Mooney's damn fool quest.

Just inside the entrance to the station, a bored busker was playing something that wanted to be 'Imagine' when it grew up. It was not at all easy to see that happening, even if I tried. I headed for the ticket hall at a pace that said I had somewhere to be and didn't mind if the architecture took it personally. The barriers waited ahead of me, all silver paddles and yellow circles, demonstrating the capital's collective trust condensed into very breakable metal. I tried my luck with pushing through the first barrier. It tried its luck pushing right back.

We met in the middle.

There was a loud and expensive-sounding thunk, and the paddles went in two different directions in a hurry. I kept walking right through them. You might think that this act of wanton fare dodging would bring whistles, shouting, and a tannoy announcement about the imminence of my assisting station staff with enquiries. In practice, though, we were currently in one of those regular golden seasons when Transport for London staff had decided that fare evasion was a philosophical puzzle best solved by not making eye contact.

If anything, actually paying for my journey would have drawn an unforgivable amount of attention. The inspectors were demotivated, the ticket machine was broken, and I looked like an absolute unit of a lunatic. Everyone involved in the situation understood each other perfectly and went about our day.

The rubber rail of the downward escalator hummed with the memories of sticky hands. It was a testament to how much faith I was putting in my Endurance points that I risked resting a palm on it. As I did so, I could literally feel the botulism trying and failing to take root.

My minimap was showing nothing especially worrying in the area around me, but I kept checking behind me anyway. I suspected I was likely to have a bit of a grace period before the next contractor found me, but that was no reason for me to get sloppy. As I looked behind for the third time, my eyes were diverted by the advert posters trying to sell me a better version of myself.

Front and centre was a woman glowing like she'd swallowed a minor star and found it agreeable. She was selling a serum, Celestia Radiant Essence Day Fluid, now with Vitamin Moon. The slogan demanded that I Be the glow you owe, which felt less like skincare and more like a threat from a luminous tax inspector. The woman's hair had a volume I could have stored my winter coat in. I wasn't sure about the overall effect. Her skin was claiming to be fifteen, her eyes had seen empires fall, and the bottle she held was smaller than my thumb and probably dearer than the rent on my flat in Camden.

As I continued to glide downwards, the advert was repeated again and again and I tried to work out what the product actually did. The big print said radiance. The small print said results may vary, which I suspected covered everything from dewy goddess to instant melting. There was a pie chart that suggested ninety seven percent of users reported improved 'glow,' although the slices did not add up. A tiny asterisk explained that the test group was eight people in Surrey who all loved brunch. Another asterisk explained that the first asterisk had been discontinued for legal reasons.

My System had a go at making sense of it all. It tagged the bottle as Common Quality with a slight charisma buff and an attracts insects debuff. I pictured myself on a night out, 'radiant' but swarmed by midges that admired my undertones.

Yeah, I was looking for distractions, wasn't I?

I reached the bottom of the escalator and checked behind me again. There was nothing there of concern except a man who was refusing to make eye contact with a poster for hair removal. That one was using a photo of a velociraptor with silkier legs than me.

With appropriate caution, I followed the warren of corridors until the Victoria line platform presented itself before me. I looked up and the dot-matrix signage told me the next train to Walthamstow Central would be along in one minute, which long experience of using the tube network told me could mean anything from 'you missed it five minutes ago' to 'this train no longer exists.'

But, wonders of wonders, with a clatter of railing, it arrived on time and the train's doors opened with a polite little whoosh. The announcer's voice had a soothing, disembodied competence to which, funnily enough, I realise I'd quite missed. Sure, I'd seen wonders and magic since falling through my aunt's attic into Bayteran, but it turned out that there was no place like home.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Okay, Dorothy," I said under my breath. "Calm down."

I stepped on board, and immediately the carriage performed that ancient London ritual whereby several dozen people tried very hard to exist in a space meant for five while never, ever acknowledging the existence of anyone else. All around me, elbows were tucked in, eyes were down, and bags were clutched like life preservers.

Once upon a time, this would have been my office. Funnily enough, a busy Tube carriage was the perfect place for a clandestine meeting, contrary to what you've seen in the movies. Right here was far, far better than a park bench. In nearly any other walk of life, thirty witnesses would be a terrible place to share secret information. On the Underground, though, thirty commuters was basically a soundproofing system: Londoners practice a weaponised disinterest. I could have traded nuke codes while dressed in neon lycra, and the most I would have gotten was a tut for blocking the doorway.

Sitting here now, I had the strongest sense of déjà vu in remembering brush passes at Earl's Court that took less than a breath. We'd sit two seats apart, stare at opposite windows and talk in the reflections. If anyone noticed, they'd file it under romance or clumsiness and go back to their sudoku.

I looked about me, still seeing nothing especially concerning. A man in a waterproof was reading the news on his phone. A woman in a navy suit balanced a laptop on her knees and excelled quietly. The teenager opposite wore headphones the size of breakfast bowls and stared through me at a better world. A tourist couple argued in whispers about whether they'd missed their stop while standing directly under a map that surely confirmed they had.

Everyone looked at everything and anything except each other. Which is to say, they were existing in London; a city that projected the universe's finest invisibility cloak.

As the train leapt onwards, my minimap continued to burst to life, and the notifications came on like a meteor shower hosted by a peacock. As it had when I'd first stepped through the portal in London, my notifications were blooming in the corner of my vision, stardust confetti hurled by a hurricane, every shade of urgency wrestling for top billing. The problem now, though, was the speed I was moving. Everything was gone before I could open and read them like a deck of cards riffling past my mind.

As the journey continued, I noticed I was becoming increasingly less popular. Somewhere around Euston, the man in the waterproof looked my way, then stood and moved three seats away. Then the teenager finally focused on the shape opposite him and made a tactical decision to compress himself into a different space. In fact, despite how busy the train was becoming, a small bubble of space had opened up around me.

I guess, quite apart from my size and shape, minus seven Charisma will do that.

As the carriage around me had settled into an uneasy hush, I figured now was a good time to think about the +5 Progress Points burning a hole in my metaphorical pocket. Of course, every instinct I had said to put them into Endurance. But I suspected that was muscle memory from being in Bayteran, where my job was to pull eyes and attention while Lia and Scar went to work.

But it was different here, wasn't it? On Earth, I had no party to back me up. Also I was already, in what I suspected wasn't the appropriate technical jargon, seriously chonky. The Knockmen on the bikes had given me a significant shotgun test, and that had barely given raised my pulse. Did I really need more Resilience right now?

I pulled up my sheet.

[PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES]

Strength: 9

Agility: 8

Speed: 2

Endurance: 16

Intelligence: 6

Wisdom: 5

Charisma: -7

Luck: 3

UNASSIGNED PROGRESS POINTS: [5]

No. I didn't think more Resilience was the way forward right now. Rather, strength to ten had a nice round feel to it and might mitigate a little of my issues of not having someone with a big sharp sword around to take care of business. And, quite clearly, Speed was absolutely my ugly duckling attribute. That alien assassin had chased me down through the streets like I was jogging in wellies. Yeah, that couldn't stand. I moved that to five and then chucked the spare into Agility.

PROPOSED ALLOCATION:

Strength: 9 → 10 [+1]

Agility: 8 → 9 [+1]

Speed: 2 → 5 [+3]

CONFIRM SPEND? [Y/N]

The train leaned into a curve, and I tapped yes.

ALLOCATION CONFIRMED.

RECALIBRATING… CALIBRATION COMPLETE.

The changes immediately washed over me. The pole in my hand felt a fraction lighter, which made no sense, yet my fingers adjusted without asking. The sway of the carriage and the sway of me found a new agreement. My weight sat over my feet just slightly better. The tiny lag I had carried since I landed on Earth, that half heartbeat between thought and body, shaved itself down to something brisk. Speed at five would not beat a bullet, but it might beat a man reaching for one.

The train surged. My feet answered without thought, micro-steps, tiny cuts, a low dance with the floor. I could feel the extra in the tendons, a little thrum under the skin. Subtle, but there.

We shot into the next station, and I barely swayed. A man getting on glanced at the spare seat next to me, decided I was both too much and none of his business, and went and stood in the corner. I looked up at the map. Walthamstow Central was coming up.

I stood in my little bubble of 'step back' and moved to the door and waited.