Momo could still feel the warmth of her dad's hand on her own as she ambled down California Street. She pressed her hand close to her heart, not wanting the feeling to fade, as a streetcar rumbled by. Tourists stuck their phones out on selfie sticks, the tracks whined with electricity, and children ran down the sidewalk.

  It all felt surreal. Even more surreal than when she had first arrived. Because everything was different now. Now she had an actual place here—a home.

  She wasn't just a guest from the heavens anymore.

  She was her father's daughter again.

  And that thought made everything else just seem a little more okay.

  But there was still, of course, the matter of Richard Smith.

  Momo looked up at the metallic sheen of the skyscraper before her. Her feet had brought her to the front of an otherwise generic-looking office building. Her eyes fixed on the placard just to the left: Building 11. How… specifically unspecific.

  This bland pillar of glass and steel was, for whatever reason, where Richard Smith had chosen to spend his last day on the mortal plane. Momo couldn't exactly blame him for dying somewhere so mundane, though. She had passed away with half a cheeseburger still sitting on her shirt, tomato leaking onto the mattress.

  At least he was probably dying in a penthouse, sipping a shrimp cocktail.

  She politely entered the lobby of the building, only to be met by the searing gaze of several men in black suits. She didn't need to speak to them to know this wasn't exactly a public area. So, instead of going through whatever humiliation ritual she would have surely endured, she backed out of the building, hopped into a nearby alleyway, and transformed herself into a fruit fly.

  Buzzing into the building, she followed the chain of his soul past the vaguely threatening bodyguards, and up the elevator. She pressed the full heft of her tiny insect body against the button for the top floor, and the gears began to churn.

  Five… six…

  Seven.

  Ding.

  The elevator doors slid open, and dim fluorescent lights flooded her beady eyes.

  She fluttered out, taking in the gorgeous scenery of what had to be an elite, members-only bar. The tables were all black. The servers were all women. The walls were all glass. And there was Richard, sitting in the center of the room, across from a woman Momo could only see from the back—long blonde hair, wearing a black pantsuit.

  She was clearly younger than him by many years.

  Ew. Is he one of those kinds of guys?

  They were the only two in the restaurant. Had he rented out the whole place?

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Momo knew she was technically a god, but a mortal man with this much money still scared her even more than Morgana did.

  Momo buzzed over to their table, feeling an overwhelming desire to rest her grubby little hands on the candle sitting between them.

  It seemed her transformation into a fruit fly had not been purely physical.

  She was experiencing an attraction to light that verged on suicidal. Not to mention that she wanted to bury herself in the ribeye steak they were eating, but she showed a commendable amount of self-restraint and settled for buzzing just above Richard's head.

  Of course, this was an equally foolish idea.

  "Damn insects. Does this place need a health inspection?"

  Richard swatted at her, his hand as large as a looming giant as it aimed towards her face. She ducked, her heart pounding, and quickly withdrew to a few feet away on the empty table next to them, where she could still hear their conversation.

  The girl opposite him cleared her throat.

  "You were saying, Richard?"

  "Right. Look, I'm sorry to tell you this, but Rosemary refuses to meet your demands. Even with all the evidence we have against him, he'd rather us release it to the public than actually recant his statements and hand you back the keys to the kingdom. He’s truly a Grade-A douche."

  Momo tilted her head. Did she hear that right?

  Did Richard just apologize to her?

  And wait—the girl sitting there wasn't Rosemary?

  Momo had assumed he'd been talking to an ex-wife on the phone when she had overheard him back at the University Club; assumed the two were discussing some sort of bitter divorce. But maybe she had read the situation wrong.

  The girl sighed.

  "It's okay, Richard. I can't thank you enough for even trying to fight for me."

  Richard gritted his teeth. "Don't thank me. You don't thank the guy who can't get shit done for you. It's just… men like Patrick Rosemary think they’re fucking untouchable. I’ve tried every scare tactic in the book. Even sent a private investigator to dig up grime on his piece of shit son in law. But he doesn’t care. He thinks he’s above it."

  "Seems like he is," the girl said.

  "But he isn't." Richard slammed his hand down on the table. "I believe what you told me. I've seen the bank accounts. That was your company, Laura. A company you built from the ground up, with no money. No handouts. Then he comes in, spits on your reputation, kicks you to the curb. He shouldn't be able to get away with that. The firm’s valued at how many billion at this point? Those billions should be yours. You invented that technology."

  Laura shook her head. "It's pointless. I don't think it's worth pursuing it any longer, even if it's true. He's threatened you too many times."

  Richard laughed. "As if I care about a little threat from a scared little boy in a suit. I don't. What is he gonna do?”

  “He’s already threatened to shoot you, Richard.”

  “Ha! And I’d love to see him try. Too bad that would require him to leave his billionaire compound and actually get outside for once.”

  Laura frowned, and shook her head.

  "You shouldn't laugh, Richard. I think he's serious."

  Richard waved her hand at him.

  Richard narrowed his eyes. "Do you see that?"

  "See what?"

  "This..." He waved his hand in front of him, as if he was trying to swat a ghost. "This weird fucking screen. It's blue and... It has a bunch of text on it. What the hell?"

  Momo's eyes bulged. Did he just get a system notification?

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Seriously?” Richard said. He looked the most caught off guard that Momo had ever seen him. His usual bravado had been replaced by a furrowed brow. “Did Rosemary actually grow the balls to poison me? Because I think I might be losing it.”

  Laura set down her wine glass.

  “Wait. Wait. I see it too.”

  At the very same moment, Momo heard a beep in her inner ear.

  Her own System had registered something.

  Greetings citizens of Earth.

  Do not panic. The screen in front of you is not a hologram, or a hallucination, or the product of a drug trip. You are not imagining it, and you are not dying. Well, some of you might be, but if this message really does find you on your deathbed, feel free to exit out. We’ll get to you in the next reincarnation cycle.

  But for the rest of you—

  Welcome to the System.

  Please start by picking a class.

  Want to know what happens next? Find out right now on Patreon (25 chapters ahead)!

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