20k Rolin

Chapter 3: Oz the Eccentric (0x03OTE)

I’m not sure how I end up in front of a rundown, half-collapsed building that looks like it’s been abandoned since the Great Depression. My legs just kind of dragged me here, one step after the other, until I’m standing in front of this decrepit piece of shit that could’ve been a crack den in a past life. Hell, maybe it still is.

The Rolin system’s been quiet since that street brawl, which is weird because I half-expected it to keep barking orders at me. But no, it’s silent. Maybe it’s waiting for something, or someone. My nose drips again, and I swipe at it with a grimace. Another lovely feature of my fucked-up life—a nose that never quits.

I take a deep breath, or at least as deep as my aching ribs will allow, and push open the door. It creaks like it’s about to fall off its hinges, and the smell hits me first—a mix of musty air, something burnt, and a hint of… is that oil paint?

Inside, it’s dark, with only streaks of light cutting through the grimy windows. I can barely make out the shapes of old furniture covered in dust sheets and the walls, splattered with what looks like random streaks of color—abstract, chaotic, like a child threw a tantrum with a paintbrush.

And there, in the middle of it all, is a man. He’s hunched over a canvas, back turned to me, his hand moving in quick, erratic strokes. He’s muttering to himself, words that don’t make sense, but the tone is clear—frustration, obsession, maybe a bit of madness.

"Oi," I call out, not really sure what else to say. "You Oz?"

The man freezes, his hand stopping mid-stroke. Slowly, he turns around, and I get my first look at Oz.

He’s tall and lanky, with wild, unkempt hair that might’ve been brown once, but now it’s streaked with white. His face is gaunt, like he’s been skipping meals, and his eyes—God, his eyes are something else. Sharp, intense, but with a flicker of something behind them. Something that might’ve been genius in another life, or insanity in this one.

"You must be the new recruit," he says, his voice a gravelly drawl. He squints at me like he’s trying to figure out what kind of mess just walked into his studio.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," I stutter, feeling like I’ve just stepped into the twilight zone. "Jamie. Name’s Jamie."

He wipes his hands on a rag that’s seen better days and tosses it aside. "Jamie," he repeats, like he’s testing the word, rolling it around in his mouth. "What kind of name is Jamie for someone who’s about to shake up the goddamn world?"

"I didn’t exactly pick it," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "You’re Oz, right? The system… it brought me here."

Oz grins, and it’s not a comforting sight. "That’s right. Oz Thorne, at your service. I’m the one who’s going to turn you from a sniveling wreck into something… better."

He waves a hand at the room, and I notice for the first time the dozens of canvases leaning against the walls, all covered in that same abstract chaos. "This," he says, "this is where it starts. Art, Jamie. Art and destruction. That’s what we’re about."

"Art and destruction," I repeat, trying to make sense of it. My head’s still spinning from everything that’s happened, and now I’ve got this weirdo telling me he’s going to teach me… what, exactly?

Oz laughs, a sound that’s more bark than anything. "Oh, don’t worry. I know you’re lost. That’s normal. Everyone who comes to me is lost at first. But you—you’ve got potential. I see it in you."

"Potential for what?" I ask, crossing my arms. My hands are shaking again, and I hope he doesn’t notice.

He steps closer, his gaze boring into me like he’s trying to read my soul. "Potential to be something more. This system you’ve got—it’s a gift, Jamie. A gift most people would kill for. But it’s also a curse, and if you don’t learn to control it, it’ll eat you alive."

I swallow hard, trying to keep the fear from showing. "So you’re going to teach me? How to use it?"

Oz nods, then turns away, walking over to a pile of what looks like scrap metal and broken electronics in the corner. "Yes. But not in the way you think." He starts rummaging through the pile, muttering to himself again. "You see, the system, it’s got rules. Structure. But life—life isn’t like that. It’s messy, unpredictable. And if you want to survive, you’ve got to embrace the chaos."

He pulls out a twisted piece of metal, holding it up to the light. "Take this, for example. It’s just a piece of junk, right? But with the right pressure, the right angle…" He twists it in his hands, bending it into a crude shape that vaguely resembles a weapon. "…it becomes something else. Something useful."

I stare at him, trying to process what he’s saying. "You want me to… make weapons out of junk?"

He chuckles, tossing the metal aside. "That’s just a metaphor, Jamie. What I’m going to teach you is how to take the mess life throws at you and turn it into something you can use. Something powerful."

There’s a part of me that wants to walk out, to leave this madman and his ramblings behind. But there’s another part, a deeper part, that’s curious. That wants to know what he knows, to see if he really can help me.

"Alright," I say finally. "Where do we start?"

Oz’s grin widens, and it’s almost predatory. "We start with your mind, Jamie. The body will follow, but first, you need to learn to think differently. To see the world not as it is, but as it could be. And that’s going to require breaking down a few walls."

He gestures to the room around us. "This place, it’s like your mind right now. Cluttered, disorganized, full of potential, but trapped under layers of chaos. We’re going to clean it up, piece by piece."

"How do we do that?" I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.

"Through pain," he says simply. "Pain and perseverance. I’m going to push you, Jamie. Push you until you think you’re going to break. And when you do break, that’s when the real work begins."

I can’t help the shiver that runs down my spine. This is insane. I’m insane for agreeing to this. But what choice do I have? The system isn’t going away, and if Oz is right, if he really can help me control it, then maybe I’ve got a shot. A shot at more than just surviving.

"Okay," I say, steeling myself. "Let’s do it."

Oz claps his hands together, a loud, jarring sound that echoes through the room. "Good! Then we begin. But first…"

He digs into his pocket and pulls out a small, black device. It looks like a remote control, but with strange symbols etched into the surface. "This is a jammer. It’ll temporarily shut down the Rolin system while we train. You won’t be relying on it. Not yet. First, you learn to rely on yourself."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He presses the button, and the blue screen that’s been lurking in the corner of my vision flickers and disappears. It’s like a part of me just went silent, a part I didn’t even know I was starting to depend on.

"Now," Oz says, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "We train."

The next few hours are a blur. Oz puts me through the wringer, testing my limits, pushing me beyond them. It’s brutal, relentless, and by the end of it, I’m not sure if I’m going to survive the night. But something in me changes during that time. It’s like Oz is stripping away the layers of fear and doubt, exposing something raw and primal underneath.

"That’s enough for today," he says finally, wiping sweat from his brow. "You did well, Jamie. Better than I expected."

I collapse onto the floor, gasping for air. "What… What happens now?"

"Now," Oz replies, tossing me a bottle of water, "you go home. Rest. The system will reboot soon, and when it does, it’ll be ready for your next mission. And so will you."

I take a long drink, the cold water soothing my parched throat. "What if… What if I can’t do it? What if I fail?"

Oz crouches down in front of me, his eyes boring into mine. "You won’t. You’re stronger than you think, Jamie. You’ve got the potential to be great. But greatness doesn’t come easy. It comes at a price. And you’re going to pay it, one way or another."

He stands up, leaving me to ponder his words. "Come back tomorrow," he says over his shoulder as he heads for the door. "There’s still a lot to learn."

As he walks away, I’m left there on the cold floor, every muscle in my body screaming for relief, but my mind… my mind’s buzzing. Oz is a maniac, sure, but there’s something in what he said that sticks with me. The way he talks about potential, about turning chaos into power—it’s like he sees something in me that no one else ever has. Not even myself.

The room is quiet now, just the distant hum of the city outside and the fading echoes of Oz’s words in my head. I struggle to my feet, every movement a reminder of how far I’ve been pushed tonight. My body’s on the verge of collapse, but there’s a fire burning inside me that wasn’t there before.

I’ve spent my whole life being told what I can’t do, what I’ll never be. By my parents, by Emma, by everyone who looked at me and saw a failure waiting to happen. But now… now there’s this. This system, this chance, this crazy old man who seems to think I’m worth something.

I glance around the room one last time before heading for the door. It’s a mess, sure, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe I’m supposed to see the beauty in the chaos, to find strength in the broken pieces. Maybe Oz is right. Maybe I can turn this fucked-up situation into something… more.

As I step out into the night, the cold air hits me like a slap in the face, sharp and sobering. My nose starts running again, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand, more out of habit than anything else. It’s just another reminder of the mess I am, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s exactly what I need to be right now.

The walk back to my place is a blur, my mind too busy replaying everything that happened tonight, everything Oz said. By the time I reach my building, I’m exhausted, but there’s a new resolve in me, a determination I haven’t felt in years.

I reach for the door, but before I can open it, the Rolin system flickers back to life, the blue screen appearing in my vision like it never left.

*System rebooted. New mission available.*

My heart skips a beat. "Already?" I mutter, half to myself. "Can’t I get a fucking break?"

*Objective: Infiltrate warehouse. Target: High-value item. Reward: 500 Essence.*

"500 Essence?" I repeat, my breath catching in my throat. That’s more than the last mission by a long shot. But a warehouse? High-value item? This is way out of my league.

But then I think about Oz, about his words, about what I’m trying to do here. I’m not that same helpless guy anymore. I can do this. I have to do this. No turning back now.

I square my shoulders, taking a deep breath as I step into the building. The next mission’s already set. The stakes are higher. The risks are greater. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned tonight, it’s that the only way forward is through.

And maybe, just maybe, I’m ready for whatever comes next.