The history classroom is gone. Professor Rocamp and his terminally wrinkled shirts are gone. As far as I can tell, all of my classmates are gone and I’m alone in a massive, damp chamber. Standing still, I can hear faint dripping noises echoing through the cavern. In the dim light, I can make out some large clusters of rocks wrapped in green vines, puddles and not much more. I’m sure there are survivalists on TV who can listen to the sounds and tell you how big this cave is. I am not that survivalist. But I watch enough of those shows to know I should be actively concerned for my safety.

  This could be a dream. The presentation was going so badly, maybe I passed out from shame and I’m now lying on the floor, unconscious. The presentation was so horrendous that maybe that was part of the nightmare and I’m just continuing it with another disaster.

  Do gorgons have boobs? How can anybody be that high this early?

  If the presentation actually did go that awry, it’s not impossible we had an unpredicted earthquake and I fell through a truly shifting floor. For some reason, that option doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve been in earthquakes before without weird hallucinations.

  For the sake of my own safety, I force myself to assume the worst case scenario. The worst case is that this is real and I am somehow standing in a dimly lit cave with a half inch of water covering most of an uneven floor.

  I know survival shows.

  The rule of three.

  You can survive three minutes without air. I take a deep breath. Smells salty. I don’t feel dizzy, so probably non-toxic. Air. Check.

  You can survive three hours without protection from the environment. The temperature in here is moderately cool. I’m comfortable in my jeans, but I wish they weren’t wet from lying in a puddle. What was a nice Polo shirt for the presentation, is now dripping mud. My Air Run IIIs are now brown and gray, not white and orange. The other environmental issue I would need to worry about is things that might be hostile in this cave. What lives in caves? Bears? I need to be able to defend from bears. I peer around. My eyes are starting to adjust to the dim light, but I could use a flashlight.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket. Nothing. I click the power and nothing. No light, no sound, completely dead. Not surprising, considering how wet I am. I shove it back in my pocket. I guess that’s more out of habit than thinking I’m going to find a USB outlet in a rock or something.

  There are a few bumps rising up from the wet rock floor. I need a weapon, so I jog over to one and wipe the silt off.

  The rock I reveal stares back at me. This is a human skull. I drop it back and pull away. Not a great weapon, but it shows why I need a weapon. There’s something over there. I do a quick check for bears and then run to the next feature, a jagged angular pile of something.

  Ding.

  You have gained the Inspect (Emerging, Level 1) skill.

  My fingertips pass through the words. They’re in my vision and then gone, reminding me of something from a video game. I reach around my head. It feels like my head. I’m not wearing a VR visor or anything. It would be a relief to find I had somehow forgotten I was in a VR escape room. If this is a simulation, it’s way beyond anything I’ve heard of. Again, I have to assume this is real rather than not. I head to the pile.

  It’s the remains of a desk from the classroom. Part of it has merged into a boulder. I can see the writing armrest, with the boulder sitting at it. Beyond is a much larger mound. That is Rocamp’s big wooden desk. It’s shattered, and a leg sticks up at a weird angle like a broken flagpole, free from the rock. I kick the leg off. There’s a loud snap and the leg skids through a puddle. It has a sharp end where I broke it off the desk. That will do for now. I pick it up.

  I watch the piece of wood change and stretch, with that weird taffy effect the same way the classroom did. It lathes into a rounder, longer form. It seems sculpted rather than broken.

  Ding.

  Makeshift Spear.

  The words fade from my vision as soon as I read them. Triumphant, I thrust the weapon over my head. Now, if a bear attacks, I have a chance of poking it before it mauls me to death. I give a few test pokes with my new short spear. I roll it over in my hands. I feel like I discovered fire.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Of course, I have some questions. How did it change shape? Why does it fit my hand exactly the way it should? How do I make more tools happen? Why do I think I know how to stab with it? Did I somehow choose it to be a spear? What if I want a sword? I get the sensation I could throw it, but I’m afraid it would snap if I try. The point is carved into a precise leaf shape. It’s primitive, but way better than a desk leg.

  So far, I have air and protection. Next up, water. You can survive three days without water. I bend to touch my fingertips to the layer of water that seems to fill the cavern and a distant rumble. I sniff my fingers.

  Smells like water. Not salt water. Feels like water between my fingers. I gently touch it to my lips.

  Nothing. I lick my lips. Might be drinkable. I have three days to figure that out, so I don’t worry about sanitizing it at the moment. The air is damp, I’m not thirsty. There’s a new sound.

  I turn. There’s a whooshing; I’d say a roaring, but it’s not the bear I’m getting ready to defend against. This is more the sound of a truck going by a window.

  Or, more accurately, it’s the sound of that massive wave of water pushing through the cavern towards me.

  “Shit.”

  I consider my spear, as if throwing the spear at a ten-foot-high wall of water will do anything. I check out the water, realizing I’m at the bottom of a bowl-shaped cave.

  Luckily, no one is around to hear my high-pitched scream over the roar of the oncoming water as I turn and start running.

  The floor rises away from me if I go left or right. If I keep going straight, there is darkness and maybe bears. Those survival shows always warn you about bears and quicksand. Never seemed to be a real concern until now.

  I’m in an enclosed valley or bowl. I turn up an incline, so the running slows down and I immediately value my gym membership. The angle increases as I move away from the center of the cavern.

  The water spreads, filling where I was moments ago. My sneakers are covered. The ground here is loose rock and I keep sliding. The water rises over my ankles. I have to go faster. I use the spear as a walking stick, digging it in and pulling myself up.

  I’m now somewhere up the angled floor, the ceiling out of reach only a few meters above my head. The rushing sound stops. Water stops rising. This is some sort of cistern that fills at high tide somewhere. Now, it’s a sparkling underground lake, reflecting what appear to be stars but are actually glowing mossy patches on the ceiling.

  Ding.

  Your Perception skill is now (Emerging, Level 2).

  How do I get the Defending from Bears skill?

  Wait. I have something cooler. I have Summon Satyr. I can somehow call a half-goat literal party animal from Greek mythology. These guys were all about wine and song, complete with hooves and horns. I’ve been given some super power, which makes me think it must be important. Time to check it out.

  I reach out my hand. “Summon Satyr!” I command in the booming-est voice I can muster. “Satyr, I command you!” Nothing. “Satyr? Please? Come on. Satyr?”

  I gesture that I’m grabbing something from the floor, mimicking that guy in the old Jason And The Argonauts movie summoning skeletons. That might be the first thing I saw as a kid that made me need to study Greek myths. I clench my fist, Nothing. Are there ancient words I’m supposed to know or something?

  Stop. Breathe. Think. The message said I have the skill, I must innately know what to do. It didn’t come with instructions, which is a bit rude. I must somehow know this, consciously or not. Unless the messages are total BS. I have to try. What would I do to summon something? I close my eyes. Calm. Think. Think about making an actual creature. What else should I picture? Making a creature somehow? Think infusing life. Concentrate.

  I relax into it and start making a humming “Zzhhh” noise instinctually, a hissing through my teeth while growling very low. Something is telling me to do it. I let it happen. It’s supposed to. I open my eyes and point my finger. My fingertip is buzzing, charged. I point to the ground, and the air ripples, as if moving my hand through the surface of water.

  “Life to live, mine to give,” I say. I have to. I don’t know why and I’m not even sure that’s my voice when I say it. I clench my hand into a fist and declare, “Satyr.”

  The ground before me cracks. A mound pushes upwards, about to erupt.

  I take a gut punch out of nowhere, drop to all fours, wheezing, to read the horrifying new text line:

  Your vitality maximum has been lowered by 20%.

  Crap, when I summon, it harms me somehow.

  I look up. There’s a hoof, tapping. A goat hoof. Pale, gray fur up the leg to a white toga tied with a gold rope at the waist, a pan flute hanging on one side. I have summoned a Satyr! The embodiment of a party according to ancient Greeks, goat from the waist down, horned human from the waist up.

  That face is a school-aged girl, not a goat. She plants her very human hands on her hips. She’s staring down at me, an expression of mild disapproval, emphasized by that tapping goat hoof. She’s got tiny horns poking from under her silver hair.

  I get up. She’s small, I’m guessing about four feet tall. I wipe the dirt from my hands. I check her out, up and down. Her eyes have these incredibly strange horizontal lines for pupils that take me back to a petting zoo.

  “You’re a…”

  “Satyr,” she nods.

  I hold up my finger. “No, I meant, you’re a—”

  “Satyr,” she interrupts.

  “A girl,” I say. “You’re a girl. Satyrs are always boys.”

  She narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “You’re the one who chose this form. Where do you think little satyrs come from? Is this always the way you introduce yourself to people? No, ‘Hi, how are you’? Am I going to have to teach you everything? So be it.”

  She extends her hand. I reach out and take it. A half goat creature standing in front of me, I think to myself, dazed.

  “Hi. I’m Sadie.” She shakes my hand. Then she leans toward me and whispers, “This is the part where you tell me your name.”