The odds anyone has of being summoned to another world are so infinitesimally small that the vast majority of scholars don't believe there's any chance at all. The general consensus to meeting someone ranting about having come from another world was to smile, nod, and get them into counseling before they armed themselves and decided that violent pest control was the only way back.

Despite the exceptionally small odds of being isekai'd, many ecosystems containing rabbits, rats, and lawn ornaments are destroyed every year. Whole villages of garden gnomes have been devastated by these attacks, and many of them have gone the way of the lawn flamingo; this once common plastic bird is now an endangered species, and summoned heroes may be to blame.

Whether this is due to summoned heroes or not is hotly debated among communities that believe not only that this phenomenon exists, but that it happens more often than one thinks.

Those who research otherworldly summons know that they come in all flavors. A short list would be: assassinated and reincarnated as a baby in fantasy land, finding furniture that leads to other worlds, or, in a surprising number of instances, run over by Truck-kun.

A fourth, rarer kind of isekai tomfoolery involves middle-aged men running into knife attacks or being pushed in front of trains and waking up as loli girls with god-like powers. Unlike the other 3 types, this form of isekai is revered by government workers in both worlds as it does wonders in terms of offsetting the average population age.

But this isn’t one of those stories.

Truck-kun is a fan favorite of many otherworld summon ritualists. In many alternate realities, this is a feasible method. Trucks are a constant of many technologically advanced universes. Even in worlds where they don't exist, they're often referred to by otherworld dreamers as large monstrosities with voracious appetites, gargantuan strength, and tireless constitutions.

They also may or may not be compensating for things, depending on their size.

However, not all Truck-kun are created equal. While they are often nondescript box trucks, this isn't necessarily the standard everywhere. At times, those who are the targets of otherworldly summons are not in places where a full size truck can reach.

Such is the case for one Trevor Anderson, a Human person from the backwards planet of Earth. This 20-something-year-old man spends 8 hours a day making other people rich at his nearly minimum wage job stocking shelves and assisting customers. Trucks visited, but were not usually invited inside.

Retail was the name of the game and, despite some customers making it difficult to play, it was one Trevor was good at. It had taught him many useful life skills like time management, adaptable thinking, and de-escalation of hostile customers. It was a thankless job, but one he had grown accustomed to.

On the plus side, he was told that he was being considered for a promotion. Whether it was true or said to placate a great employee into staying longer was questionable, but the thought of it made Trevor happy.

Even outside of this building, Trevor would head straight home to his studio apartment where rent was slowly getting higher and higher. Despite the AC working only occasionally and the loud footsteps of a family of four from above him, it was in a great location directly behind his place of work.

He also had a fantastic view of any dogs in the dog park, but that was neither here nor there.

Trevor’s story started on a Wednesday. The sprinklers for the apartment complex were running, causing him to have to take the long way to work. This wasn’t a long detour, but one that did take him to the sidewalk. Trucks passed him on the road, but none of them swerved towards him or acted erratically. Here, he was safe.

Walking inside his place of work, Trevor dreaded many things but two of them were more prominent than others. The first was Martha, the elderly greeter who always seemed chipper despite how early she came in to work.

Martha was the workplace gossip and was always ready to make some snide comment about one thing or another. There was always something about gossip mongers, and Trevor always made sure to keep as much about his personal life as close to his chest as possible lest he become entangled in a labyrinth of ousted secrets and dry drama. As thrilling as it may have been, he didn’t want to hear about Becky’s baby daddy’s latest incarceration. Again.

The second was his boss, Doug. He was young and wanted to be liked as part of his first management job, but he often came off as a little bit absolutely too much. As Trevor walked past the front office, trying to do so quickly, he was caught as his boss came out to greet him.

“Hump Day, am I right?” Doug asked. He always asked on Wednesdays and it was always with the same level of enthusiasm, as if the joke never got old. Trevor merely mumbled some pleasantries and continued on his way. As little effort as it took, dealing with the gossip monger and his boss were over and he was clocked in before he knew it.

From there on, it was business as usual: stocking shelves, helping customers, and reaching for things that were way too high up for Old Man Willis to reach on his own. That was the work for The Ladder, which was a sacred tool that no customer was allowed to touch.

As it was Wednesday, a truck full of pallets and goods would be invited later. Already understaffed, that meant Trevor would have to work it with only a few others. While a pain, it did mean he was away from customers for a while. That alone made Trevor a small advocate for trucks in general, even if it meant there was a lot more work for him.

Derek Hill, however, was a big advocate for trucks. Big ones, little ones, ones meant for dumping, or ones meant for racing; he loved all kinds of trucks. The only thing stopping him was that, as a 7-year old, he had no money.

What he did have, aside from a healthy disrespect for the rules, was an RC truck and a father with a wandering eye and no clue how to discipline a child.

All it took was one incident in a grocery store involving a child, a ladder, and a toy monster truck that could be driven with a small controller and Trevor Anderson was sailing through the air after being startled by his foot crushing a child’s plaything.

It was RC Truck-kun's first, and last, job.

[[Welcome. You are being summoned to another world. Please do not panic.]]

The young man shook his head, trying to clear the haze clouding his mind, and glanced at the floating text box that seemed insistent on ensuring that he read it. No matter where he looked, it stayed in the center of his vision.

When he glanced left, it was there. He shifted his eyes right, and it remained. Behind it was a psychedelic green and purple wall that swished and swirled in ways the young man didn’t think he could fully process. It was beginning to induce a headache. Or maybe he had one all along, he wasn’t sure.

The text inside the box disappeared, but was slowly replaced. The young man watched as letters started appearing one at a time, as if someone was typing it out with a single finger.

[[You are beginning to hyperventilate. I specifically requested that you do not panic. Please, tell me your name.]]

“Yeah, my-my name,” he gasped aloud, as if suddenly realizing that he had a voice. That was affirming. He existed; whatever weird fever dream this was, he still existed. It was while floating in a strange hippie dreamscape, but he wasn’t one to be impolite when asked a question.

This seemed to give the text pause, as it took a moment to get going.

[[“Yeah My - my Name,” is this your name?]]

“No, that’s not right,” he said quickly, raising his hands and shaking them back and forth in front of the strange text box. “My name is Trevor Anderson.”

The box emptied, his name appeared first all at once followed by the rest of the text in that same staccato rhythm.

[[“Trevor Anderson” is your name?]]

“Yes, I am Trevor Anderson,” Trevor repeated, this time with more confidence.

He put his hands back down and looked around for anyone who could be controlling this strange text box. Wherever he looked, however, he saw nothing but words and migraines waiting to happen. He focused on the text; at least that hurt his brain less than looking at the walls. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’m sorry, but who are you supposed to be? Is this a dream or am I in a loony bin somewhere?” Trevor watched as the text box blanked out again, and this time it took a few moments to get going.

[[You are being summoned to another world. Please do not panic.]]

“Right, you did say that, yes, but isn’t being summoned to another world something that’s supposed to be panic inducing?” he countered. “I mean, it’s not exactly an everyday occurrence, is it?”

The floating text box disappeared. For a moment, Trevor was worried that he had scared it off. Or, worse, caused it to become cross with him. Not even two minutes into being summoned into another world and he had already pissed off written language! Trevor tried to close his eyes to avoid staring at the wall, but found that he could not. This revelation did not help him follow the text’s order to please not panic.

When the text reappeared with a fully formed message, Trevor breathed a sigh of relief.

[[What species would you like to be?]]

“Well, I’m human, so…” the young man responded before he could really think it over. “Wait, is there-“

[[Chosen species is Human. Trevor Anderson will be introduced to another world as a Human.]]

Trevor blinked as this text box appeared with an almost complete message and the word "Human" had to be typed in, as if someone was filling out a template. But then the full meaning of the text struck him.

“You could ask if my name was actually my name but you can’t ask if I was sure I meant human?” Trevor asked incredulously. Normally, when asked a question he gave it more thought than this. He decided that the headache must have been throwing him off his groove, and pledged to do better. “I mean, what were my options? I’m not sure if I would change, but options are nice.”

The text box disappeared again, though this time Trevor wasn't as disturbed by it. The wall was still hard to look at, but he was getting used to it. At least, that’s what he told himself. In all honesty, his thoughts were lingering on missing his chance to be something other than human in this new world he was apparently being summoned into.

A thought was forming in his mind, but he had no time to act on it as the words returned with another fully formed message. One that didn't answer his question, he noted.

[[Your summoner has used a summoning ritual that provides you with one (1) free Power. What Power would you like to request?]]

“What do you mean by Power?” he asked. The text box blinked away, and he received a short, delayed answer.

[[Like a super power.]]

Trevor said nothing this time. So far speaking on impulse had done nothing but removed choices that he should have mulled over instead. Keeping his mouth shut, he thought about the options. His eyes focused on the words again as his mind raced.

Rereading the text, Trevor noted that he wasn’t given any options. Frowning, he reached up and stroked his chin. Despite the inability to blink, the fact that he had hands and a chin in which to stroke helped ground him in this wacky situation.

Depending on what he said, the options could have been limitless. Probably dictated by the world he would land in, but limitless all the same. Should he ask for something like super strength? Or super speed? Or were those too basic? There were so many cool powers out there. Heat vision, teleportation, and more, probably.

“I’m sorry, but could you list some options for me?” Trevor asked aloud after only a few minutes of contemplation. Decisive action was not always his strong suit, but asking to be good at making decisions likely wasn’t a good use of one free power. Or was it? Trevor couldn’t decide.

That thought prowled the outskirts of his mind but still hadn’t formed yet, proving elusive.

The text box disappeared, and was replaced with one that said “Flight.” Before Trevor could think about it, another box appeared, this one saying “Camouflage.” Another one, and then another. More boxes started popping up faster than Trevor could read them.

[[Flight]]

[[Camouflage]]

[[Green Thumb]]

[[Aura Sense]]

[[Summon Ice Cream]]

[[Grow/Shrink]]

[[Voice Mimicry]]

[[Duplicate Cheese]]

[[Become Stone]]

[[Dragons Know Your Location At All Times]]

[[Dragon Slayer]]

[[Empathic Healing]]

[[Toe Stubbing Curse Magic]]

[[Clairvoyance]]

[[Water Manipulation]]

The sickening wall was starting to be blocked by the sheer amount of words taking up his vision. At this point, he couldn’t tell what was more overwhelming, the psychedelic green and purple or the cascading text boxes that made him feel like he had just won a game of Solitaire on his grandmother’s decrepit computer.

“I’m sorry, but can you give me some space, please?” Trevor asked, reaching out as if to push the text boxes away. It didn’t work, of course, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

The boxes blinked away, only to be replaced by a single empty box not dissimilar to the ones that came before. It eventually filled with words.

[[Space has been requested. A Power from the Space Power Tree will be selected at random. You have been granted the Power of Inventory.]]

Trevor’s eyes went wide as he realized his error. “Wait, for real?” he groaned. “Inventory space? Now everyone’s going to ask me to help them move!”

The box blinked away, ignoring his lamentations.

The sinking feeling that there would likely be no take backs for this one hit him all at once in the gut. Or perhaps that was just motion sickness from the ever changing wall on the outskirts of his vision. Either way, he was not feeling good about either himself or his choices. Thinking about it, he realized that his initial lamentations probably missed the mark as well.

[[Your summoner has requested that you choose to add at least two (2) stat points to your Strength stat. This will leave you with three (3) stat points to place in your other stats.]]

“What are the other stats? Can I see them?” Trevor asked, silently terrified that he was going to be placed in another nightmare of cascading text boxes. However, only one appeared.

[[Trevor Anderson

Human

Level 1

Unspent Points: 5

Strength: 1

Dexterity: 1

Stamina: 1

Magic: 1

Mana: 1

Speed: 1

Specialty Stats

Capacity: 1

Power: Inventory

Skills: Quick Growth (Human), Dimensional Storage (Inventory)]]

Trevor stared at the stat sheet in confusion. Had all of his stats already been one? Or was one some kind of average? What was the difference between one and three? And what were the intentions of the summoner asking him to increase his strength score specifically? What did they expect of him?

The thought that he was being summoned to another world finally formed in Trevor’s mind.

Under normal circumstances, this meant that he had been chosen to become a hero of the people. To stand up in the face of demonic kings or invading armies from another dimension. He almost began hyperventilating again when he remembered the text.

Please do not panic, Trevor thought to himself. To his surprise, it worked. Repeating this mantra a few more times, he worked up the nerve to continue speaking.

“I agree to spending two points on increasing my Strength stat,” Trevor said with a calm voice that certainly did not match his mood. “Can I, I don’t know, save the others for later?”

The text box returned, followed by the letters. It did seem to be picking up in speed now, as well.

[[Two points have been added to Strength, and that stat is maxed out for level one. Three points have been banked for later use when you decide it's time.]]

“Okay, thank you,” Trevor said as he read over his stat sheet again.

[[You are welcome.]]

Flexing his muscles, they didn’t seem any different. He didn’t seem any more powerful nor did he feel any bigger. In fact, Trevor hadn’t changed at all. For the first time, he noticed that he was still wearing his work clothes: a pair of black slacks and a red polo shirt that screamed dear lord, I am not equipped to battle a Demon King.

At least he still had his steel-toed boots, but that was a small consolation.

Instead of attempting to hyperventilate again, Trevor distracted himself with his stat screen. If 3 was the max for Strength, then it would stand to reason that the other stats would also max out at three until he leveled up. If he had to go out to kill enemies and gain experience, then 3 Strength was probably going to serve him well no matter how lame his Power was.

At the bottom of the screen, his Power and Skills mocked him. Inventory and Dimensional Storage. While no doubt useful, they weren’t exactly what he first thought of when it came to heroic abilities. At least Quick Growth sounded promising. If others were summoned with him, as was so common in various media and stories, then he would be a laughing stock and designated as the team pack mule.

“Well, at least I’ll be of use,” Trevor muttered in a half-hearted attempt to console himself. It didn't work. “A chance to be a big hero if the stories are to be believed, and I waste my chance on asking for some space.” He shook his head, and his stat screen disappeared. Mentally, Trevor tried to reactivate it but to no avail. Instead, one last text box reappeared in his vision, this one already full of words.

[[Summoning is now complete. Please prepare to meet your summoner. Enjoy your stay in another world. Remember: Please do not panic.]]

“Wait, already?” Trevor asked before he was unceremoniously squeezed from the psychedelic green and purple room and landed on the cold brick floor of what was, to him, an entirely new and novel world.