His Own Man: A Cyberpunk LitRPG (Slumrat Rising Book 6) by Warby Picus

Author:Warby Picus [Picus, Warby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Podium Publishing
Published: 2026-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

A Pint at the Crossroads

The world unfolded for Truth at the junction of St. Veertigrid’s Omni-Benevolent Hospital and Pisnngos #11347, a rest stop two hundred kilometers north of St. Veertigrid’s. As rest stops went, it was a decent one. The Pisnngos franchise prioritized cleanliness, good lighting, and a variety of easily consumable snacks and drinks for sale at just four times their usual prices.

For two wen, your screamingly bored child could hop on a pretend firebird and rock back and forth as a tinny WOOSH noise played. The ride lasted for exactly one minute. Truth knew that because he had been collapsed in a corner next to the machine for fifteen minutes now and had seen three kids use it.

The angel had done right by him. He was completely healed. Best shape of his life. All that poisonous energy had been smoothed out and poured into him, reinforcing every scrap of his being. Elevating his position in the hierarchy of the real and not-real.

On the other hand, he had been possessed by an angel, which leaves a mark on you. Usually by bursting you open like an organ-stuffed balloon. He hadn’t burst. Lucky him. He was just completely wiped.

Perks, I think I’m justified in saying that it has been an unfathomably long, unpleasant, terrifying day.

Oh? This wasn’t normal for you? It didn’t seem wildly out of the ordinary.

I think you may have a skewed notion of what is normal.

I have no “notion” of what is normal. Normal wasn’t a concept I could conceive of yesterday. Comfortable and not comfortable. Dangerous and not dangerous. Food and not food. But normal?

Truth had just enough energy to barely nod. Normal was a tricky word, prone to misuse. It shouldn’t be casually trusted. He stayed down until the fourth child tottered onto the plastic bird. The noises the device made were unendurable.

He sat on the artificial-cherry-flavor-red benches outside the stop. He vaguely knew this highway. It was the main road up north on the west side of the peninsula. The spot he was looking for was pretty far north and out to sea. He might be on the wrong side of the front lines by the time he got there. Or he could hop on a navy boat. Well. He’d figure it out. A troop transport pulled in. A long bus, crammed with soldiers all heading north. Good enough. He didn’t ask a lot of questions. His blessings were up and running again, so he just popped the locks on the luggage compartment, made himself a nest on top of the packs, and fell asleep.

This time, no one noticed his nous shaking.

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