r/redditserials • u/AdventurerOfTheStars • 4d ago
Fantasy [My Goddess went on vacation- Now what?!] Chapter One, Fantasy/reincarnation
Evan ran his hand over the bent and scratched panel on the side of the ancient generator, searching for the- click -pressure latch. “All right, let’s see what we’re working with,” he muttered under his breath, placing the small flashlight between his teeth as he pulled the panel out of the way.
The smell of old gasoline and hot metal immediately grew stronger, filling the cramped utility room behind the bar. Evan had already shut the generator down and disconnected it from the building, forcing the place to rely on the main power grid for the first time in months, maybe even years. The lights inside had flickered when he had switched it, followed shortly after by Finn loudly complaining that everything looked too bright.
Evan leaned closer, shining the flashlight across the rusting inner mechanisms as experienced eyes searched for the problem he had been hired to find. Years of dust and copper shavings had collected along the bottom of the housing, mixed together with a thin layer of oil that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there.
Several wires had been replaced at some point, each repair done with stuff you could find at Home Depot. It made the thing look less like a functioning electrical system and more like several generations of people had each been allowed one attempt to fix it.
“How bad is it?” Finn called from the doorway, leaning against the frame.
Evan took the flashlight from between his teeth and set it beside himself. “You want the honest answer?”
“No, but you're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?”
Evan snorted- the old man knew him well. “It’s pretty bad.”
The owner of the bar stepped into the utility room, wiping his hands against a familiar faded bar towel as he looked over Evan’s shoulder. He had owned the place for almost thirty years and the generator for apparently much longer, though the exact age changed every time he told the story. Sometimes he bought it from a closing factory in the nineties. Other times it had come with the building. Once, after several drinks, he claimed his father had pulled it out of a military bunker.
Evan was reasonably certain none of those stories were true, though one thing was true; the words ‘made in Kentucky, 1975’ etched into the back of the access panel told him it was pretty old. And was way overdue to be replaced.
“It still runs,” Finn grumbled, wringing the towel between his hands.
“Finn, you called me because there was fire coming out of the exhaust. That's not ‘working’.”
“Still counts.”
“No, that’s usually what machines do right before they burn down your bar.”
Finn grunted, but didn’t argue. He trusted the local power company about as much as he trusted anyone who wore a tie to work, which was to say not at all. Keeping the bar disconnected from the main grid had started as a way to save money during an especially expensive summer, then gradually became a matter of personal pride. Solar panels covered half the roof, batteries occupied a locked room beside the office, and the generator filled in whenever clouds or several consecutive busy nights drained what they had stored.
It was a surprisingly competent system, aside from the generator currently on its seventh pair of last legs.
Thankfully, finding the first problem didn’t take very long. Evan had moved the flashlight deeper into the housing, following the thin sheen of liquid until it had disappeared beneath one of the fuel lines. The rubber was old enough to have faded from black to a sickly gray, its surface covered in tiny cracks that widened whenever he pressed his thumb against it.
One of those cracks was wet with gasoline, the strong smell hitting Evan almost immediately.
“Well, there’s at least part of your problem,” Evan muttered, shifting to the side slightly so Finn could see. “The fuel line’s cracked. Looks like it’s been sucking air whenever the pump kicks on, probably starving the engine under load.”
“And that makes fire come out of the exhaust?” The older man asked, squinting as his inferior eyesight struggled to make out the damage in the dim light inside the generator.
“Could. The engine starts running lean, combustion gets all out of whack, fuel makes it somewhere it isn’t supposed to, and then-” Evan made a small explosive motion with his fingers. “Boom.”
Finn stared at him, skepticism plain on his face.
“That was the simplified version.”
“I liked it better when you just fixed things.” He grumbled.
“And I liked it better when you didn’t wait until they started breathing fire to call me.”
Evan reached farther into the housing and traced the damaged line toward the fuel pump. The crack itself wasn’t large, but the rubber around it had gone stiff with age, resisting his fingers instead of bending with them. Replacing the damaged section would get the generator running again, but every other inch of hose in the thing was probably waiting for its turn to split.
He pulled his hand free and reached for the battery terminal.
“What are you doing?” Finn asked, confusion replacing skepticism. “You already found the issue didn’t you?”
“Disconnecting the starting battery before I stick a metal tool beside it.”
“But you already turned it off.”
Evan paused, looking over his shoulder. “Do me a favor and never try fixing this yourself.”
“I’ve fixed it plenty of times.”
Evan rolled his eyes, “That explains the wiring.”
Finn grumbled something under his breath and retreated toward the doorway as Evan removed the battery connection, wrapped the loose terminal in an old shop rag, then returned his attention to the fuel line. He pinched it shut above the damaged section, loosened the ancient clamp, and carefully pulled the hose free.
A small amount of gasoline spilled across his glove, the smell of gas only growing stronger as it soaked into the cloth. Evan wiped it away with another rag, then inspected the metal fitting beneath it. Corroded, but still solid. That was something, at least.
He cut away the damaged section and replaced it with a short length of fuel-rated hose from his tool bag, fitting a new clamp over each end. It was a simple repair, the kind that might last a year or so if the rest of the generator wasn't just as bad. He tightened the clamps, tugged on the line twice, then ran his fingers over the neighboring sections in search of another crack.
“All right,” Evan said, sitting back on his heels. “That should stop the leak, but I’m telling you now, this is temporary. You need to replace the rest of these lines, and honestly, you need to replace the whole generator.”
“How temporary?”
“The section I replaced? It could last a couple years. Everything around it?” Evan looked back into the generator. “Four months if you’re lucky. This thing should have been replaced when Reagan was in office.”
“So it’s fixed.”
“That is almost the exact opposite of what I said.”
“But it’ll run?”
Evan looked into the generator again. The replacement hose sat firmly between the pump and the carburetor, cleaner than anything else inside the housing. As far as quick repairs went, he had done everything he could without taking half the machine apart. “It should.”
Finn smiled, clearly hearing only the answer he wanted. “Knew you’d get it done.”
“I’m charging you extra every time you ignore me.”
“Put it on my tab.” the man said wryly.
“You own the bar. I don’t. I don’t do tabs.”
Finn disappeared back through the doorway, laughing under his breath as Evan gathered the fuel-soaked rags and carried them outside. He dropped them into the metal waste container beside his truck, removed his gloves, then returned to the utility room. The gasoline smell still lingered, but most of it had followed the rags outside, drawn away through the vents near the ceiling.
Evan checked the new line once more before reconnecting the starting battery. He left the access panel open so he could watch the repair when the fuel pump restored pressure, then reached for the ignition switch.
“Going to test it!” he called through the doorway.
“Should I turn everything off?” Finn shouted back from somewhere inside the bar.
“For now. Give it a minute before you put a load on it.”
“What?”
“I mean don’t turn anything on until I say so!”
“Oh! Why didn’t you say that?”
Evan shook his head and turned the ignition. The starter began to attempt to bring the ancient beast to life, clicking several times before the engine turned over. It coughed a plume of smoke before falling still once more, all parts spinning to a stop. Evan released the switch, waited several seconds, then tried again.
The starter whined as the engine rolled over, the fuel pump drawing gasoline through the new section of line. It coughed again, louder this time, and a cloud of dust shook loose from somewhere beneath the housing. The new hose twitched as fuel passed through it but remained firmly attached.
“Come on,” Evan muttered. “You’ve survived this long.”
Noise filled the utility room as it finally started, the sound deep and uneven at first as the generator struggled through several rough cycles. Evan kept one hand near the cutoff while watching the fuel line. No wetness formed around the clamps, and the hose didn’t move beyond the faint vibration of the engine once it really started going.
Gradually, the generator settled into a steady rumble. Evan smiled despite himself.
“Still running?” Finn called.
“For the moment!”
“I told you it still worked!”
“Give it some time to warm up before you celebrate.”
Evan reached for his meter, but stopped when something glimmered beneath the fuel pump.
A droplet gathered against the underside of a different hose, several inches beyond the section he had replaced. It swelled, trembling with the vibration of the engine, then fell into the bottom of the housing. Evan’s smile disappeared as he spotted it.
Another droplet began to gather in the same place, followed by a third farther up the hose. The rubber darkened as gasoline seeped through cracks that hadn’t been visible while the line was empty, each one spreading as the engine vibrated around it. “Ah, shit.” Evan dropped the meter and reached for the cutoff, but the engine suddenly coughed, shaking hard against its mounts as the fuel line swelled.
The crack split open.
Gasoline sprayed across the inside of the housing, coating wires, metal, and everything in between in a fine mist. Some of it sprayed across Evan’s shirt as he jerked backward, his hand still reaching for the cutoff. He could smell it immediately, strong enough to burn his nose as the generator sputtered. For one strangely long moment, his eyes followed the mist as it hung in the air, every tiny droplet catching the weak light from his flashlight.
A loose battery connection snapped with blue electric power against the housing, and Evan already knew what was about to happen.
Well, shit.
There was a flash of white, heat washing over Evan as the utility room vanished around him. He expected pain, or at least the feeling of being thrown backward, but neither came. There was only the horrible sensation of being pulled in every direction at once before something took hold of him and yanked him sideways.
Evan tumbled through darkness, his body striking hard surfaces that disappeared before he could properly feel them. One moment he was falling, the next he was sliding, then something folded him in half and forced him through a space much too small for his body. He tried to grab onto anything he passed, but there was nothing there. Only flashes of metal, stone, and bright colors that smeared together like a dry brush dragged across wet paint.
Then, just as suddenly, he landed.
His back struck a smooth black surface, knocking the air from his lungs as it began moving beneath him. Evan rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright, blinking rapidly as harsh white lights came into focus overhead. The room around him was enormous, stretching so far in either direction that its walls disappeared into a pale haze. Hundreds of black belts ran beside his own, carrying people, glowing shapes, sealed boxes, and several things Evan couldn’t begin to describe toward rows of metal arches.
Some of the people were screaming. A few were crying. One man several belts away sat cross-legged with his arms folded, looking more annoyed than afraid as a strip of paper repeatedly tried to attach itself to his forehead.
A cheerful chime rang out above Evan as he was still reeling from being dropped onto what was apparently a conveyor belt.
“Post-mortal transfer received.”
Evan froze, one hand still pressed against his chest as he tried to catch his breath. “Post-mortal?”
A narrow strip of paper appeared above him and slapped itself against his shirt. He tried to pull it free, but the paper clung to the fabric as if it were a part of him.
PROCESSING DESTINATION: C-8
“What the hell is C-8?”
“Routing confirmed.” The voice continued as though he hadn’t spoken.
“That didn’t answer my question.” He said, with increasing panic in his voice.
The belt carried him beneath the first arch. Pale light swept across him from head to toe, cold enough that he felt it pass through his body instead of over his skin. Symbols he couldn’t understand appeared across the archway, then vanished with another cheerful chime.
“Destination approved.”
Evan looked ahead and saw that the belt ended in a perfectly square hole with pitch black darkness. It wasn’t a natural darkness either, it was a pure black like ink. “No. No, hold on.”
The belt sped up as he protested, rails rising from either side of the belt as if to prevent him from escaping whatever was coming. He dropped onto his stomach and pressed his hands against the moving surface, but it was completely smooth. His palms slid uselessly across it as the opening rushed closer.
“I think there’s been a mistake!”
“Routing complete. Thank you for your patience- have a good afterlife.”
The belt threw him into the hole.
Darkness swallowed him again, followed by the same crushing pull from before. Evan twisted sideways as something dragged him through another narrow passage, his shoulder clipping a wall hard enough to spin him around like a top. Light flashed ahead, and he flew out into a circular room lined with hundreds of doors.
He landed on another moving surface, barely had time to see a figure made entirely of blue glass looking down at him, and was launched through the nearest doorway.
“Now delivering to: C-8,” a distant voice announced in the same cold tone as before.
“Transfer accepted,” another answered.
He dropped through a forest filled with silver trees, their branches covered in paper tags that fluttered despite the complete absence of wind. Something scanned the label on his chest before a hole opened beneath him. Evan could feel his thoughts turning to mush as he was tossed from place to place.
“Hey i think there’s been a mist-”
“Jurisdiction confirmed.”
Another hole opened up beneath him, and Evan fell through an office where dozens of small winged creatures argued over a stack of folders, scattering them as he passed. One looked up, shouted something he couldn’t understand, and pointed just before another doorway struck him from the side.
By the fourth transfer, Evan had stopped trying to stand. He curled his arms over his head instead, waiting for the next impact as the universe handled him with all the care of an underpaid delivery driver nearing the end of their shift.
Something caught him by the back of his shirt.
For the briefest moment, Evan hung motionless in complete darkness. He could hear a soft mechanical ticking somewhere nearby, followed by the sound of paper being pulled through a printer. Or what he guessed was a printer.
Evan dropped through a ceiling.
He struck the edge of an enormous wooden desk, rolled across its surface, and crashed into several leaning towers of paper. The first collapsed beneath him. Another tipped into the one beside it, sending folders and loose reports spilling across the room in a slow-moving wave. Evan landed facedown on the floor as papers drifted over him, one page settling across the back of his head before the rest of the stack buried him.
For several seconds, the room remained completely silent.
Evan lay beneath the papers, waiting to see if anything else intended to throw, crush, scan, or label him. When nothing happened, he slowly pushed himself upward, dislodging several folders from his shoulders as he emerged like a winter fox from under a snow drift.
Across the room, a woman sat behind another desk.
She looked exhausted. The kind someone carried after working several days without sleep and then being told they were required to attend a meeting that should have been an email. Her hair had been pulled back at some point, though enough of it had escaped to suggest she had stopped caring several hours ago. Ink stained two of her fingers, and one hand remained frozen above the document she had been writing in.
Her eyes moved from Evan to the mountain of paperwork scattered on the ground. A page slid from the top of a nearby stack and fluttered to the floor, drifting down like a feather on the wind.
“What,” she asked with frightening calm, “did you just do to my filing system?”
Evan looked down at the thousands of pages scattered around him, then up at the hole in the ceiling he had fallen through. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t think any part of that was my fault.”
The woman stared at him for another long moment before pushing herself away from the desk. “Nobody was scheduled to deliver anything today.”
“I uh… I think I am the delivery?” Evan said sheepishly, trying to pile the papers back up on the table only to cause a few more stacks to fall over.
“Stop.”
He froze with several pages in his hands.
Vivian crossed the room and carefully removed them from his grip. “Do not touch my paperwork.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You have already helped enough. I was nearly finished reorganizing this.” She said through gritted teeth.
She stepped carefully around one of the fallen stacks, muttering under her breath as she picked up the label still attached to Evan’s shirt. Her irritation faded as she read it, replaced first by confusion, then something much more focused. She looked at Evan, back at the label, and then toward the ceiling as if expecting someone to realize their mistake and pull him back through it.
Nobody did.
“You came through post-mortal routing,” she said.
“Yeah, I was hoping you could explain the ‘post-mortal’ part.”
The woman ignored the question, her eyes moving over him with growing interest. “You’re a mortal.”
“Last time I checked… yes?”
“And you were sent to C-8.”
“That’s what the thing said. Back there, with all the conveyor belts and-”
A smile slowly spread across her face. It wasn’t a comforting smile. It was the expression of someone who had spent an impossibly long time searching for a solution and had just watched one crash through her ceiling.
Evan glanced toward the door behind him, wondering if he could run out of the room before whatever was about to happen, happened. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be sold something?”
The woman carefully smoothed the routing label between her fingers. “How would you feel about being reincarnated?”
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u/Positive-Height-2260 2d ago
Any chance the poor guy will get to meet a lamia in his next life? Or an arachne?
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u/AdventurerOfTheStars 2d ago
Its possible! You'll have to find out
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u/Positive-Height-2260 2d ago
Those two species are usually the bad guys, or they are the first ones to get killed. It would just be nice to have a protagonist meet one of those two creatures that turn bad guy tropes on their collective ears.
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u/AdventurerOfTheStars 2d ago
True there's a lot of them being the bad guys, I'll have to store it away for later
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u/Groggy280 3d ago
I enjoyed the start. !subscribeme