Monroe

Amber was sitting in a twelve-foot by six-foot cell, contemplating just how this had happened to her.

It had turned out that in the light of Bob's death, the solidarity the lab had shown against him crumbled.

Or at least it had once the criminal investigation started.

She sighed.

She'd made things worse by going to Bob's apartment.

She hadn't known that Bob had emailed his files to himself.

The original code, as written, complete with timestamps had proven to be a smoking gun pointing directly to academic fraud on her part.

That would have been bad enough, as it eliminated any possibility that she might ever teach at the university level.

But, the investigators had found a copious amount of blood, which due to his always volunteering for the blood drives, was easily determined to belong to Bob.

There was no way he could have survived having lost that much blood, not unless he was in the best trauma center in the country when it happened, and even then...

So, Bob was dead. And she had stolen his code, altered it, submitted it as her own, run it on the accelerator without finishing the simulations, and because of all this, she had been charged with several crimes.

The one that worried her the most was the Second Degree Felony Murder charge, which was apparently applicable because Robert's death had occurred during the commission of a crime. Beyond that charge, which was terrifying in and of itself, there were the charges the Lab was leveling in regards to the damage caused to the accelerator.

The entire lab had turned against her, and the university had been quick to decry her, while also removing the head of the lab, the head of HR, and the director from the department, although they provided all three of them with lateral transfers to other departments.

Her initial hearing was coming up in another few weeks, and Amber wasn't feeling very confident.

Especially after the latest meeting with her public defender.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

One week earlier

"So Ms. Crestwell," the public defender, a harried-looking woman in her late thirties, said, "in short, the State has no reason not proceed to trial, as they have a very solid case against you with no exculpatory evidence."

She slid into the cheap plastic and steel chair across the laminated table from Amber and started shuffling folders in her wheeled filing cabinet.

She pulled out a folder and started leafing through it, not looking up at Amber as she said, "Not only has the university terminated you for academic fraud, it has also filed charges against you for the destruction of property in excess of..."

She paused to whistle.

"Seven million dollars?" she asked.

"Good thing it was just that tiny section of the accelerator that was damaged," Amber said bitterly.

The public defender let out a short laugh and said, "Once you get to those kinds of numbers, seven, fifty, a hundred million, it doesn't really matter," she continued, "you've hit the point where you can never pay for the damages."

"Now," she continued, "between the evidence recovered from the deceased's apartment, the statement of the super indicating you went to the deceased's apartment after his death, and the university's actions," she shook her head.

She finally raised her eyes to look at Amber.

She gave Amber a tight smile and said with a trace of sympathy, "Look, this case is a gimmie for the prosecution. If the deceased had had a family or even friends inside the department, the prosecution would likely be pushing hard for a quick trial so they could grab a few headlines, shake a few hands, and call it day."

"But," she said, "the deceased is one of those people that apparently no one on God's green earth is going to miss, and the University would like to see this all go away as quietly as possible. Those two factors are the only bargaining chips we have in terms of making a deal, and honestly, they aren't very good ones."

She shuffled a few more documents, before pulling one out and briefly skimming it.

"The prosecution has offered the following - if you plead guilty, they're offering ten years, eligible for parole in six," she said leaning forward, "Now, we could try and plead that the death of the deceased doesn't rise to second-degree murder, in that you didn't expect the accelerator to explode, nor did you have any way of knowing that the deceased would be walking down that hallway."

"We might even succeed, depending on if we can convince a jury that you're an idiot who stole his work because you weren't capable of doing your own, as you don't understand the accelerator or how it works," she sighed and continued, "but if we choose to go to trial, they'll more than likely change the charge to Reckless Homicide and push for the full fifteen years, and I'm sad to say that the evidence more than suffices for that charge."

"So no matter what happens," Amber said stiffly, "regardless of the fact that it was an accident, I'm going to jail."

"Well, prison, but yes," the public defender said as she started gathering her documents back into the folder.

"I'll never even be able to teach high school if I'm a felon," Amber said angrily, "and you're telling me there is nothing that can be done?"

The public defender stuffed her folder back into her cabinet and looked Amber in the eyes as she said, "No, the truth is you committed a series of crimes that resulted in a man's death. Do you want my advice?" She asked.

Amber nodded.

"You're going to prison, and that's a fact. Take the deal, keep your head down, and get out in six years. You'll have to work a dead-end job for two years to meet your parole, which is," she scowled as she said, "a trap, designed to make people break parole so they can get you back in. Spend those two years learning to speak another language, Spanish or Chinese, and then leave the country. Go teach high school in a country where they're just grateful to have you."

"Leave the country?" Amber said in a dull voice tinged with horror.

"Look, Ms. Crestwell," she said as she stood up and pulled up the handle of her cabinet, "that's just my advice, based on what I know about how the world works once you're a felon. As always you can do as you like as long as you accept the consequences. Now your initial hearing for the charges is on Friday the twenty-second, eighteen days from now. I'll see you again that morning, and you can decide if you want to take the plea or not. Again, my recommendation is that you take it."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She was well and truly fucked.

Her parents weren't wealthy, both of them were teachers, her mother elementary, her father high school English. They had tried to take her case to a reputable criminal lawyer, but after looking it over, he'd refunded the initial fee and told them that if anyone tried to take the case, they were being robbed.

They'd done what they could, and they'd visited twice, but there wasn't anything they could do. She'd grown distant from them when she'd decided to take out large student loans and attended UCLA instead of Texas A&M and staying close to home.

She curled up on her bed, which was really just a steel plate braced and bolted to the wall, with a quarter-inch of cheap, vinyl-covered foam for a mattress.

Yes, it had been wrong to take Bob's research and try to pass it off as her own. But she certainly hadn't intended to damage the accelerator, let alone kill him!

And now she was going to prison. If she wanted to teach, she'd have to leave the country.

Not that it mattered, she only saw her parents once a year, and her friends had all been quick to distance themselves from her once her fraud was revealed, lest they be tarred with the same brush.

Her depression had been absolutely wrecking her over the past few weeks, and she started to cry as she imagined herself stuck in a cell for six years. And then when she got out, as a felon, no one would want to be around her once they found out. She sniffled.

She was working herself into a really good cry when she suddenly felt... something.

It felt like something was tugging at her mind like she'd forgotten something terribly important, and she needed to remember right now!

Amber looked around her dreary cell in confusion before immediately spotting a flat black and dark blue rectangle appear in a twisting manner that almost hurt to look at.

She stood up and looked at it.

Had she seen something like that, but much smaller in Bob's apartment?

She looked around, but the rest of her cell was unchanged.

Amber let out a hysterical laughing sob as she said, "I'm losing my mind."

Feeling drawn to the strange light, she took a few steps forward until she was directly in front of it, a few steps being all her cell had to offer.

And then she heard a voice in her mind say, 'Amber Crestwell, it's Robert Whitman. Step into the Portal.'

"The portal," she laughed crazily, "A magic portal sent from the man I accidentally killed."

The tugging feeling in her mind continued, and she almost giggled but succeeded only in blowing out bubbles of snot from her nose.

"Sure Bob," she said, "you can save me from prison," and she pressed her hands towards the wall behind her hallucination.

She stumbled further forward and fell into the portal as the resistance she expected to feel from the wall never appeared.

A millisecond later the portal twisted and disappeared.

Just like Amber Crestwell.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bob gasped for air as the pain stopped and he could suddenly breathe again. He opened his eyes to find Trebor sitting on the floor of the ritual room, idly stroking a purring Monroe.

"I can understand why you do this," Trebor said idly as he continued petting Monroe, "it generates a feeling of contentment, knowing that cats are fickle and that they have chosen you to pet them."

Bob didn't move, but simply said, "Mental construct?"

"Yes," Trebor replied, "You'll be interested to know that you did succeed in summoning Ms. Crestwell, willingly no less."

"That's... both odd and good," Bob said.

"As we speak," Trebor said, "Thidwell is chain-casting healing spells, while Kelli pours potions int-well really onto you at this point, as you don't really have a throat or a digestive tract at the moment."

Bob paled and asked, "What about Austan?"

"Oh, Austan is casting a regeneration ritual on you," Trebor replied, "which is likely what will save your life."

Trebor shook his head and said dryly, "Forcing that much mana through what was left of your matrix effectively caused you to explode."

"The System has never recorded an event like this before," he continued, "you should be proud to have added data to the System that will one day be included in a System update that propagates across all known realities."

"Am I going to live?" Bob asked quietly.

"While absolute certainty is difficult to find, I would give you a ninety-nine plus percent chance at this point," Trebor said with a smile, "and as an added bonus, the regeneration should kick in right about the time the System finishes updating the matrix schematic for an Earth spec human."

"Which is going to be right about... now." Trebor said.

Bob felt a sudden flash of pain and he groaned.

"Sorry about that," Trebor said, "I was temporarily disabled when your matrix was updated, which is interesting as I wasn't entirely sure I would still be attached to your matrix after it was repaired."

System Message - User Robert Whitman classified as Human, Male, Subspecies Earth, no System revision available. User matrix has been repaired to match the matrix schematic for the user's species.

User has reached level five. Error, user has already selected an attribute bonus. Scanning Attributes and Skills for potential Paths.

Please Verbally State or Mentally Project the name of the Path you would like to follow.

If you do not know what path you would like to follow, you may have a path automatically assigned to you based on your Attributes and Skills. If this is your desire, you may simply Verbally State or Mentally Project 'Best Path'.

You may pause this process by Verbally Stating or Mentally Projecting 'Pause Path Selection', and you may resume the process by Verbally Stating or Mentally Projecting 'Resume Path Selection'.

"Pause Path Selection," Bob said firmly as he looked at Trebor.

"Really?" Bob said sarcastically, "goodest path eh?" he asked, careful not to say the phrase, just in case.

"It is accurate Bob," Trebor said, "If you choose that option, the System reviews your Attributes and Skills, as well as what you've done to reach level five, and then chooses the path with the most bonuses, that allows you to continue doing what you've been doing."

"It's every munchkin's worst nightmare," Bob said slowly, "the guys who want to be blacksmith that transitions into a warrior gets screwed because the System just knows that they have the skills for, and practice, blacksmithing."

Trebor shrugged and said, "We do the best we can with what we have," he offered calmly.

Bob shook his head.

"So, the Arcane Depths is still the right choice?" Bob asked, "No last-minute changes or updates that might offer something better?"

"No," Trebor replied, "based on your criteria it is by far the best."

"It's my criteria that I'll always worry about," Bob muttered.

He took a deep breath.

"Resume Path Selection," Bob said, followed by, "Path of the Arcane Depths."

User has selected the Path of the Arcane Depths. User's Race does not match the parameters of this path.

Checking racial compatibility:

Magical School of Abjuration Affinity - Confirmed

Magical School of Conjuration Affinity - Confirmed

Magical School of Dimension Affinity - Confirmed

Magical School of Summoning Affinity - Confirmed

Symmetrical Biped - Confirmed

Intelligence > 50 - Confirmed

Wisdom > 100 - Confirmed

Checking Attributes and Skills:

Ritual Magic - Confirmed

Divine School of Elemental Fire with Affinity - Confirmed

Divine School of Elemental Air with Affinity - Confirmed

Divine School of Elemental Water with Affinity - Confirmed

Divine School of Elemental Earth with Affinity - Confirmed

Divine School of Plant with Affinity - Confirmed

Divine School of Animal with Affinity - Confirmed

User meets Racial, Attribute, and Skill requirements for The Path of the Arcane Depths. Applying Path now.

Bob smiled, then quickly froze.

System Error - User's Tier does not match recorded Tier for this Path. Modifying Thresholds. Successful Modification. System Error - User's level is > the first Tier Threshold. Modifying User level to the first Tier Threshold. Level granted Skill and Attributes allocation locked until User increases their level to the fourth threshold.

"Well," Trebor said lightly, "That was unexpected."