I let out a whistle, lost in the din of jubilant post-fight noise. I watched as a hatch built into the side of the cage opened and Bigwig helped his partner out. Volunteers cheered and toasted the violent delights of Rook’s victory.

Dram. I felt myself irresistibly drawn to the victorious fighter. Rook. She was such a badass. But did I want to BE LIKE her, or BE WITH her? I honestly couldn’t parse it, only that I felt attracted like a nail to a high-powered magnet. At least being an involuntary eunuch simplified things.

I wanted to go up and congratulate her on her win, but my legs wouldn’t move. Rook was surrounded by her entourage and Volunteers celebrating the match. No way she would give me the time. Doubtful she remembered I existed.

Anyway, I came here for a reason. I needed to focus.

Camel, can I ask you something about storage?

“Sure. Fire away,” he said, turning his glass upside down and trying to drain the last few drops.

I keep running out of Storage, which is not good. I know I can upgrade my Storage with Crystals, and I can purchase items or armor that can increase my Storage for certain categories. But what about Crypt? What do you recommend? I want to solve that problem before I tackle increasing my other Storage needs.

Camel thought long and hard about this. I began to think he hadn’t heard me and cleared my throat. He shook himself from his daze and began speaking.

“You have a few options. You can open an account at the Repository. They have a number of different services, all for a fee. Probably run 100 Crypt per Cycle per service for a low roller like you. Also, you can purchase some type of wallet accessory, although those are not always available in the shop rotation, and the storage space can be malenky. Or you could just stash the pretty polly under your mattress like me.”

Mattress?

“Just a joke. You can keep veshches in your domy if you want, but some punks could try and crast it. And it can be a pain to have to trek back and forth just to get your stuff or add more Crypt to your pocket. There is another option…”

I wondered what sort of things Camel stored in those containers back in his capsule. Based on his lifestyle, he didn’t seem like the type to have accumulated great wealth. Then again, one should be careful to judge from outside appearances.

What is the other option?

Camel tapped the side of his neck. I saw nothing there but splotchy skin and stubble.

“Get an implant. Oh yeah, get a malenky bod mod surgery and install a chip. The job will run you 1,000 Crypt, plus the cost of the chip, but those things can store a lot of Crypt and you never need to run to the bank.”

Get surgery to install a sort of computer chip into my neck? Like a memory card?

Just then, an unfamiliar voice cut in over the cacophony of the Schwarzmarkt.

“Long time no talk, Camel. Who’s your friend with the goofy shirt?”

Another Volunteer I vaguely recalled seeing at the Round Table addressed Camel, who straightened up from leaning on the high top with a snort. The other man was tall and shirtless (save for some bondage straps), with dense tribal tattoos decorating his arms and pecs. He had flowing black hair, and wore platinum-colored spiked knuckles over his prominent fists. An amulet adorned with an evil eye hung from his muscular neck.

“This? This is… they don’t got an eemya yet. New krovvy. Just showing them the ropes.”

You’re with the Round Table?

The man grunted, irritated that I had spoken to him without an explicit invitation to do so.

“That’s right. They call me Apache.”

Apache?

“Repeating a thing don’t improve it. So Camel, you lose any money just now or did you do the smart thing and bet on our girl?”

Camel flashed a gap-toothed smile and gave a wobbly thumbs-up.

“I always put my pretty potty on you bolshy pooshkas!”

Excuse me, Apache. If you don’t mind me asking, what was that fight all about?

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Ambitious climber. Pixie. She wanted a seat at the Round Table. Thing is, you got to prove yourself. Final step in the audition process is beating a current Round Table member. Guess she wasn’t ready.”

That girl got brutally killed as part of an audition process?

Apache looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Which, well…

“I’m sure it hurt like hell. And her ego will be bruised for a while. But other than that, Pixie’ll respawn at the Restoration Point a bit poorer. No hard feelings.”

No hard feelings? Rook just stabbed her in the head and strangled her!

“Just the way the game is played. A little PvP never hurt anybody. Pixie could have challenged someone else from the Table. Probably wouldn’t have made a difference. Wouldn’t have minded an opportunity to put her in her place myself.”

Another shrug from the tall man. He turned his attention back to Camel.

“Anyhow, the only reason I came over, Camel, is I wanted to see if you were in the market for a new rifle. Or did you just come to watch the fight? I came across an extraordinary piece but, you know, I’m more of a melee guy.”

Camel perked up a bit at this.

“Show me what you got.”

Apache materialized a long, ornate sniper rifle that had a brass or even golden appearance. Gilded. Ribbed. It was difficult to tell exactly under the black lights of this back room. It was beautiful. It radiated power. I wanted to reach out and touch it.

“Vajra Rifle. Legendary. Powerful lightning damage. Can punch a hole clean through a monster at range. I think it was once a club, but the original owner must have exported it into a ranged weapon. Back in the day, you were looking everywhere for a Legendary rifle, isn’t that right?”

Camel shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His enthusiasm faded, replaced with haggard nonchalance.

“It’s dobby. Messel. But I’m a simple moodge now. And I don’t got anything worth trading for a Legendary pooshka. Doubt I ever will again.”

Apache looked disappointed. He briefly turned to me.

“Not likely you’ve got something worth a Legendary trade? Not even sure you could handle this beauty in your current state.”

I thought for a moment, then materialized my Clurichaun data card. The red and green item shimmered in the ultraviolet light as it spun in place.

All I’ve got is this Rare skill card. That and some crafting materials.

Apache quickly dematerialized the rifle.

“Not a snowball’s chance, but let me take a look at that card.”

He hovered his fingers over the card rotating in the palm of my hand, reading the details. It felt a little invasive, especially with his spiked knuckles in close proximity.

“I’ve been looking for a skill like this. Something to give me an advantage. What would you trade for it? You obviously haven’t fused it onto a skill slot yet, so it must not fit your build.”

Uh… no. I just acquired it recently. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with it yet.

“What do you want for it? Money? Crystals? Items? Something else…? You’re in the black market, after all.”

Black market?

Camel lit up another cancer. He was bored by the conversation, but added his two cents for my benefit:

“There’s an auction flatblock on the top floor of the Supply Depot. Temporarily closed for a patch I think. But outside that, this is where Volunteers can barter or sell goods without Bolshy Bratty taking his cut.”

Apache could read my confusion and rolled his eyes impatiently.

“Shielded tax free zone, courtesy of our friends in Antisoc. Didn’t realize how much of a Metaverse virgin you were, Rookie,” he said with a sigh. “What is your build? What are you trying to accomplish?”

I don’t know. I’ve got a dagger. I’ve got a gun. I’ve got some Hellhound data card fragments. I desperately need some storage. What do I want to accomplish? I want to get out of this place. Fulfill my contract. Survive. Isn’t that what we all want?

The tall man ignored my comments.

“Open your inventory and share it with me,” he instructed.

How do I do that?

Apache sighed deeply. He cracked his knuckles in irritation.

“Just open your menu, your whole menu, and then drag the whole thing over to me. I’ll have temporary viewing access until you close it.”

I did. Soon, Apache was flicking and scrolling through my menu. I could see faint light reflected in his eyes. Just then, I felt very, very naked. Exposed. Like my torso had been split open and this stranger was peering into my guts.

“How’s this? I’ll give you your six missing Hellhound fragments, and I’ll toss in a Schema for that coco de mer nut you have.”

With ten fragments I could forge a complete card.

What does a Hellhound data card do?

“You can fuse it on a weapon or armor. Either add fire damage or add fire resistance. You can’t fuse onto your {basic} push dagger, of course. And your armor is shot to hell. Is it a deal?”

Camel straightened up again and held out his hands, cigarette dangling from his lips. He shook his head in protest.

“No, no, no. No deal. Hellhounds are hound-and-horny. They’re a dime a dozen out there. A few hound-and-horny fragments ain’t worth an intact Rare card. And my droogie can discover crafting recipes on their own.”

I listened carefully to Camel and nodded. I appreciated that he was looking out for me. I closed my menu, having had enough of Apache’s prying eyes. Through some effort, I could probably gather the remaining fragments I would need for a complete Hellhound data card. I could also discover through trial and error more crafting Schemas for the items I had on me. Maybe.

“Name your price then. What will you accept in exchange for that Clurichaun card? I’ve got plenty of things that might interest a rookie like you.”