My Scumbag System - Chapter 236

Chapter 236: Reality Sickness and Other Fun Ways to Get Killed
The room’s energy shifted immediately. Like an electric current had suddenly run through the floorboards.

Juan stirred on the couch. Eyes fluttered open. Momentarily disoriented. Jacob scrambled for his datapad. Nearly dropped it in his excitement. Even Skylar removed one headphone. Cocked her head with mild interest.

“Since you’ll all be risking your necks in a real Gate in exactly two weeks,” Braxton continued. Crossed one leg over the other with casual indifference. “I figure you should probably know what the hell they actually are. Beyond the oversimplified ‘scary place where monsters come from’ garbage they feed to civilians.”

Everyone drifted closer. Unconsciously formed a semicircle around him. Drawn by the gravitational pull of experience.

I stayed where I was. Leaned against the kitchen counter. But found myself tilting forward slightly. Ears perked.

Gates were the centerpiece of this world’s economy. Politics. Power structure. Literal portals to power. Any information straight from an experienced Hunter was valuable. Potentially even life-saving.

Braxton took another swig of his coffee. His face crinkled with distaste like he’d just swallowed medicine. “Forget what the textbooks tell you,” he said. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “They’re written by academics who’ve never had their insides almost become their outsides.”

His voice dropped an octave. Took on a gravelly quality that resonated through the suddenly silent room.

“A Gate isn’t just a ‘trans-dimensional rupture’ or whatever scientific term they’re using these days. It’s a wound. A bleeding, festering, infected wound in the side of our reality. And you…” He pointed at us collectively. His finger moved from face to face. “You’re the surgeons who have to stitch it up before the infection spreads and kills the patient.”

The room had gone completely silent. The earlier lightheartedness evaporated like morning dew under a harsh sun. Even Hikari was still. Her usual boundless energy momentarily contained. Wide green eyes fixed on Miller with unusual focus.

The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. And Jacob’s rapid typing as he documented every word.

“The lifecycle of a Gate is simple,” Braxton continued. Shifted in his seat. Held up his hand to count off points on his fingers. His nails were short. Practical. Dirt or grease embedded beneath them. “First, formation. You feel it before you see it. Reality Sickness, we call it. The physical feeling of the world getting the spins right before it pukes monsters all over your lawn. Nausea. Vertigo. Sudden unexplained nosebleeds. The sense that gravity’s shifted two degrees to the left.”

He took another gulp of coffee. Grimaced through it like it was fuel rather than pleasure. “Your eardrums might pop. Your teeth might ache. Some people report hearing whispers in languages that don’t exist. The more sensitive you are to metaphysical energy, the worse the symptoms.”

Jacob pushed his glasses up nervously. The lenses caught the light. His fingers flew across his datapad screen. Created a soft tapping soundtrack to Miller’s lecture.

“Then comes stabilization,” Braxton continued. Raised a second finger. “For about an hour, the Gate’s unstable. Nothing can go in. Nothing can come out. This is when the perimeter gets set up. When Guild higher-ups decide who gets sent in based on the preliminary ranking. Politics starts immediately. Who goes in first gets first crack at the good stuff.”

A cynical smile twisted his lips. “Amazing how brave Guild leaders become when there’s a Fortune 500 sponsorship deal on the line.”

He raised a third finger. “Then comes the active phase. You’ve got a seven to ten day window. Depends on the Gate’s rank and density. It’s a ticking bomb. Counting down from the moment it stabilizes.”

His eyes hardened. Swept across our faces. “You don’t defuse it in time? BOOM.”

He slammed his fist into his palm with unexpected force. Soomin jumped. Several others flinched.

“Gate Break. Everything inside. Every monster. Every nightmare. Everything that’s been breeding and evolving in that pocket dimension gets a one-way ticket to our world.”

His eyes darkened. Focused on some distant memory that clearly still haunted him. The lines around his mouth deepened.

“I was in a C-Rank break in the outer districts about eight years back. Took three guilds two weeks to clean up the mess. Lost six good Hunters.”

His gaze refocused on us. Hard as stone. “Don’t be the idiots who let the timer run out. Nobody remembers the guild that let a Gate Break happen. They’re just dissolved and their assets seized.”

I could feel the weight of his words settling on the room like a physical pressure. This wasn’t academic theory or PR-friendly statistics. This was survival knowledge paid for in blood.

“You kill the Boss, the Gate starts dying,” Braxton continued. Raised a fourth finger. “You get a two-hour window. What we call the Decay Period. Grab the loot. Cores. Materials. Remnants. Whatever you can carry. After that deadline, it implodes. If you’re still inside when that happens, you become a permanent part of the dimensional static.”

He drained the last of his coffee in a single gulp. Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Not a good way to go. Trust me. I’ve seen what comes back when we have to recover remains.”

He lowered his cup to his lap. Surveyed our faces with the detached assessment of a veteran who’d seen too many young prospects come and go.

“Questions? Now’s the time. No such thing as a stupid question when the alternative is ending up as monster chow.”

Isabelle raised her hand. Prim and proper as always. Back straight as a ruler. “Professor, regarding Black Gates specifically. What is the protocol for encountering non-Euclidean geometries or temporal distortions? The standard VHC field guide is frustratingly vague on practical countermeasures.”

Braxton snorted. A harsh sound devoid of humor. “That’s because the protocol is ‘don’t fucking die.’ Black Gates don’t follow rules. That’s what makes them Black. Some mess with gravity. Some mess with time. Some turn your own thoughts into physical entities that try to kill you. Hell, I was in one where water flowed uphill and fire froze anything it touched.”

He shrugged. Scratched idly at the stubble on his jaw. “You adapt or you die. That’s the protocol. The vagueness in the manual is because nobody who could write a better one lived long enough to do it.”

Jacob’s hand trembled visibly as he raised it. Knuckles white around his datapad. “Is it true that some Black Gates have puzzles or riddles? And if you get the puzzle wrong, it collapses the dungeon instantly? I read a redacted report on the Net about a team that disappeared in Singapore because they couldn’t solve a mathematical equation that appeared on the walls in blood, and…”

“Jesus, kid,” Braxton interrupted. Pinched the bridge of his nose. “You need to stop reading conspiracy forums and start getting some actual sleep. Those eye bags look deep enough to store emergency rations.”

He paused. Considered. Then tilted his head in reluctant acknowledgment.

“But yeah. Some Gates have weird conditions or rules you have to figure out. I knew a guy who found one where you couldn’t speak above a whisper or these shadow things would come for you from the ceilings.”

He scratched his stubble thoughtfully. “He made it back. His team didn’t.”

The casual way Miller delivered this grim fate sent a visible shiver through the room. Soomin clutched her sketchbook tighter. Knuckles whitened. Emi placed a comforting hand on her arm.

Jaime practically bounced in place where he sat cross-legged on the floor. His muscular frame vibrated with barely contained excitement. His hand shot up so fast it nearly knocked Marco in the chin.

“Do S-Rank Gates have bigger monsters? Are they more glorious to fight?! Do they have multiple Boss chambers like in the Dungeon Delver games?!”

“Bigger? Sometimes.” Braxton’s laugh was short and harsh. Like the bark of a wounded dog. “Glorious?”

He shook his head slowly.

“There’s nothing glorious about fighting something that can erase you from existence with a thought or a glance. S-Ranks aren’t adventure playgrounds. They’re nightmares given form, kid. The kind of thing that makes you question whether humans should’ve ever evolved past living in caves and throwing spears at deer.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“You ever see what’s left of someone who gets hit with dimensional shearing? Pieces of them in different time states. Blood that won’t stop flowing because for that blood, the injury happened three seconds ago. Forever.”