“Go that way! At the corner! Great job!”

It was ten minutes later, and Brock swore that Bindy had redirected him onto the same series of streets five times now, only each time the streets had gotten progressively shabbier, filled with graffiti and overflowing waste bins. He eyed an unattended hotdog cart set up next to a dingy alley. It grew eyes and eyed him back.

“Either buy a dog or scram, buddy. Sekkies pay extra.”

Brock stumbled back across the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding a group of chattering elves, goblins, and other humanoid figures he didn’t know the names of in mid-stride. They were dressed in baggy clothing, and each one sported multiple piercings and tattoos, along with outlandish hairstyles in a variety of colors and a collection of wicked scars. Some carried heavy-looking wooden sticks, similar to baseball bats, but with a spike on the end, while others had lengths of metal chain wrapped around their hands and bodies. The one he’d almost run into, a light-skinned elf with a rainbow mohawk, spun to face him, and Brock noticed a giant sword strapped to his back, its hilt poking up over the elf’s head.

“Whoa, hey, what’s your problem?”

Brock put his hands up.

“Uhhh, sorry, it’s just, I’m new here, and I think I’m lost and-”

“Check it out, check it out!” the elf crowed. The rest of the group piled in, surrounding Brock in a loose circle. “He says he’s lost!”

“No way!”

“This is our lucky day!”

“Can I do it? Please? Please?”

Brock hunched his shoulders, anticipating a beating. He was pretty sure the gang couldn’t kill him, but he didn’t want to endure any attempts at trying.

The rainbow-mohawk elf stepped closer.

“So, where do you need to go?” He motioned with one hand at the surrounding figures. “We just got back from a shearing party at Big Bob’s Behemoth Barn-”

Hands waved jingling chains and wooden stakes in the air triumphantly.

“Ten fleeces this time!”

“A new record!”

“Still number one, baby!”

“-and if we can add another twenty Assistance Credits to our accounts we’ll finally be able to take a trip to the Kaiju Nature Preserve!”

The elf’s eyes grew moist.

“I’ve always wanted to see a Gojira in its native habitat.”

“Gojira’s friggin rule, man,” a goblin in black leather, combat boots, and an impressive array of skull earrings said reverentially. “Everyone deserves a chance to see one at least once in their lifetime. My uncle sent me a recording of his trip,” he added proudly, “and it was epic. Especially when he almost got et.”

Brock slowly rose from his defensive crouch, leather trenchcoat flapping slightly at his legs.

It appeared his assumptions about the gang’s intentions were not quite accurate, as was his assumption that they were a gang.

“Uhhh, I need to find where I’m staying, but I’ve never been here before.”

“New digs in the big city, I dig it,” the elf said rhythmically. “What’s the loke?”

"Loke?"

"Location," the goblin barked. "The thing in your magiphone. Man, you must be a yokel."

Brock dutifully recited the series of words and numbers on his magiphone, and the elf frowned.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Ugh, that’s in the Sekkie District. That place sucks. Only Sekkies live there.”

The goblin stepped in closer, skull earrings rattling. His eyes narrowed.

“Hey, you got anything around your neck you might be hiding? Like a Limiter, maybe?”

Before he could react, the goblin tugged the high collar of Brock’s coat aside to reveal the gleam of metal around his neck. The goblin pulled his head back and spat on the ground, an expression of disgust on his face.

“Knew it. He’s a friggin Sekkie.”

Brock’s pulse jumped as the elf leaned in close, mouth set in a hard line. The earlier friendliness had evaporated like a bead of water on a hot skillet.

“Yo, a Sekkie killed my grandpa. Turned him into a pile of mincemeat and ate him. Maybe we should do the same to you. How many people you kill, Sekkie?”

“Uhhh, no one, I don’t think.” Brock gulped. “I hope.”

The elf and goblin both sneered, and the rest of the gang jeered loudly at him.

“Yeah, right. You Sekkies always kill people.”

The elf pulled out his own magiphone, which looked remarkably similar to Brock’s except for the small plush creature hanging from one corner. It was the most cutely ferocious thing Brock had ever seen, and he wondered if it was a ‘behemoth.’ The elf tapped on the tablet a couple times, then shoved the screen in front of Brock. It was the blank white of cumulus clouds.

“Show us your biosig.”

“...I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.”

The elf grinned menacingly.

“You really are new. Put your thumb on the tab, Sekkie.”

“...oh, the tablet? Uhhh, okay?”

Brock pressed his thumb to the blank surface, and the same complicated sigil he’d seen before appeared again, flaring out in sapphire light. The elf snatched his magiphone back and began running his finger over it in a scrolling motion. After a second, he glanced around at his friends, confused.

“What the hell? The Sekkie’s not on any notices. There’s nothing on him in the system at all.”

There was a murmuring of discontent from all sides.

“...maybe he did something to the records?” another goblin offered half-heartedly, but the elf shushed him.

“Get real, Grubnog. You know the system’s unhackable. Plus, he’s got a Limiter on, you think he put it there himself?” He looked back at Brock. “Okay, weird-ass Sekkie, we’ll show you where the Shit District is, but you’re on your own from there. Place gives me the creeps.”

“That won’t be enough for more than half an Assistance Credit,” an android in the rear muttered.

“Yeah, well, half a Credit’s worth more than no Credit at all, Chad, and it’s not like the kaijus are going anywhere anytime soon,” the mohawked leader snapped back. “We’ll get to see the Gojiras eventually.” He flipped his hand at Brock. “Let’s go, Sekkie.”

The group of bodies opened up as the elf strode out, Brock tagging nervously behind, then fell in around them in a loose cluster.

“So, what’re your powers, Sekkie?” the goblin with skull earrings asked casually, but Brock thought he saw a murderous glint in his eyes. “What skills you got?”

Crap. Am I supposed to answer that? Why didn’t KB, or Cap, or anyone tell me what to do? I don’t think these guys are going to react well to me telling them the Director thinks I can destroy the world.

As Brock was deciding how to respond, his magiphone lit up, still clutched tightly in his right hand.

“Mister Brock makes life better!” Bindy said enthusiastically. “He helps people! He has a good heart! You should turn right here!”

“Stupid Bindy,” the goblin snarled, interest fading. “Shut up.” The group ignored the offered directions and continued straight. “Wouldn’t have been that hard to say he’s a slicer.”

Brock stared at his magiphone. It seemed like Bindy had been trying to mislead the goblin as to Brock’s powers, but that couldn’t possibly be the case, right? He placed the magiphone back in his coat pocket.

“Uhhh, what’s a ‘slicer?’”

“Slice of lifer,” the goblin told him curtly. “Means you’ll get set up in some posh neighborhood making sure everyone’s day is entertaining and care-free, maybe some light drama if the local district association has a majority up for it.”

“Wish we had a slicer,” a hulking troll covered in facial tattoos and old scars said wistfully. “Living in one of those districts sounds like fun.”

“If it’s a choice between seeing Gojiras and watching someone take a pratfall outside a ramen shop, I’d rather save for Gojiras,” the leader cut in. “We can make our lives plenty entertaining and care-free on our own. Without Sekkies.”

They rounded another dismal corner and emerged onto a garishly-lit street. It looked like some sort of festival was underway - hundreds of people were milling about in strange clothing, firecrackers snapping underneath waving banners and giant puppets held aloft on sticks, everything flanked on both sides of the street by a variety of stalls and games. Raucous music rose from the assembly in a medley of sounds one step away from disharmony.

“There,” the mohawked leader said, pushing Brock towards the light and noise. “The Shit District. Now beat it.” As the elf turned back to his friends, Brock heard him muttering. “Told you this place was creepy. It’s not even a holiday today. You can’t tell me something like that popping up out of nowhere is normal. Bet they don’t even have a permit.”

“Let’s go renew some of those cleaning spells we passed,” the goblin with skull-earrings grumbled. “Should get us at least another quarter-cred.”

“Good call, Archibald. This place is a dump. Kind of embarrassing, really.”

They disappeared around the corner, chains jingling, and Brock reluctantly pulled the magiphone out of his pocket again.

“Hi Brock! Ooh a festival! How pretty! You should turn left here!”

Brock looked to his left, directly at an unbroken stretch of restaurant fronts, then sighed and put Bindy away. It looked like he was going to get to meet some more new people, whether he wanted to or not.