Chapter 6 - Payment
I had no way to track time. Clutching the glowing flare, terrified that it would sputter out at any moment, I inched and crawled my way back through the dark service tunnels. Despite the linear journey, retracing my steps in reverse made me second guess myself constantly.
Everything looked different in the green aura than in the white, directed beam of Camel’s flashlight. I was desperate for a familiar landmark.
Shouldn’t I have reached the entrypoint by now? Had I overshot the Palisades station? Had someone closed the service hatch overhead, dooming me to wander this concrete labyrinth until… until what?
Eventually I passed by the cracks in the tunnel floor where the strange ferns had sprouted and where I collected the fern flowers. I checked to see if they were still listed in my inventory. (They were). I was curious to see if any of the ferns had somehow regrown. (They had not).
At least I had the reassurance that I was heading in the right direction.
At last I heard a rumbling overhead. It was the train. I knew that I was close. A shaft of light breaking through the roof of the tunnel confirmed it. At that moment the phosphorescent glow faded, and I dropped the spent cylinder where I stood.
When I was confident that no trains were approaching, I hoisted myself up and out of the service tunnel, wincing in pain as I strained the ragged flesh of my left forearm. Out of common courtesy, I returned the metal grating to its original place, then climbed onto the platform.
Now how was I going to get back to The Commons?
Looking around, I found a transit map on the sparse tiled wall of the station and studied it. This was apparently the Diamond Line, which hugged a crystalline bay of sorts in a semicircle. Taking it further would lead me through several additional stations, and likely exhaust my remaining Crypt.
I had to ascend one level and cross a small pedestrian bridge to catch the train in the other direction, back through Royal Heights to The Commons. I did so, paying another 10 Crypt for the privilege. I slumped on a bench seat in the sleek, abandoned train, exhausted.
I now had just 70 Crypt left. I was hemorrhaging money faster than I was hemorrhaging blood.
I inspected my arm. The injury didn’t appear to have gotten any worse. I was thankful for the salve that the dread-headed woman, Rook, had applied. An unexpected kindness. I thought to explore my menus more but the train was rapidly approaching the station.
Now arriving at The Commons Station.
I detrained and made my way out of the MAR Station and back toward the center of The Commons, trying to recall where the Task Assignment Boards were located. I found them, and hung back while a few rough-looking Volunteers I didn’t recognize transacted some business. When they left, I stepped out of the shadows and approached, scanning my code under the red light.
The following text appeared:
[Task Complete: Remove Hellhounds from MAR Station Service Tunnels
Assigned to: Volunteer 01000010 01100101 01110100 01100001 00111001 and Volunteer 01001110 01101111 01100010 01101111 01100100 01111001.
Task Completion Award: 2,000 Crypt
Would you like to receive payment?]
I saw the other number, the one I recognized from Camel’s wrist, X-ed out. It made me doubt what Bigwig had said about finding Camel back in the Rathskeller. Was he really gone then?
[Would you like to receive payment?]
I would.
For a moment I felt a sharp thrill as electronic bits streamed into me, like coins pouring from a slot machine jackpot. Then, the boards were back to flight tracking mode, bounties shifting in real time across the screens.
I heard a ping and a message appeared from my personal menu.
[Alert! Account storage almost full.]
Huh. Account storage?
A short woman with a pink mohawk, spiked shoulder pads, and a heavy machine gun tapped her boot impatiently behind me, waiting for her turn to access the boards. I mumbled an apology and stepped away, opening my menu screen.
[STATISTICS
EQUIPMENT
INVENTORY
ECONOMY
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
MEMORY
STATUS
TASKS
UNASSIGNED VALUE: 0
(ADDITIONAL OPTIONS TO BE UNLOCKED AS APPLICABLE)]
Where would I find account storage? I didn’t recall seeing anything like that under statistics, equipment, or inventory. Reaching out, I selected the Economy, Memory, Status, and Tasks menus, watching the additional submenus unfold like matryoshkas.
[ECONOMY
* CRYPT
* CRYSTALS
MEMORY
* STORAGE
* HISTORY
STATUS
* Infernal Burn (neutralized)
TASKS
* Remove Hellhounds from MAR Station Service Tunnels (Complete / Paid Out)]
Infernal Burn? That was something I would need to look at more closely, but first I zeroed in on the Storage submenu.
[MEMORY
* STORAGE
* * 197.7 of 207.7 / 210]
I hovered my hand over the numbers nested underneath Storage, and more information appeared.
[197.7 of 207.7 / 210 metabytes
* ATTACK: 30 metabytes
* DEFENSE: 20 / 30 metabytes
* ABILITY: 20 metabytes
* MOVEMENT: 30 metabytes
* PROCESSING: 40 metabytes
* WEAPONS: 10 metabytes
* ARMOR: 10 metabytes
* INVENTORY: 7 metabytes
* ECONOMY: 30.7 metabytes]
I opened Defense, drilling down even further.
[DEFENSE
* ESSENCE - 10 / 20
* RESISTANCE - 10]
I remembered the attack from the hellhound that gave me the wound on my arm. I had seen the words ‘damage received, essence remaining: 10.’ It seemed that everything I had, whether that was value invested in statistical categories, weapons, items, even currency, had some sort of weight. Except for the free ‘basic footwear,’ which apparently was purely cosmetic and without function.
And I was just a few metabytes shy of maxing out the 210 metabyte limit in my storage. Had I not received the 10 points of damage in that fight, I would not have even been able to withdraw the full bounty payment.
There was so much I didn’t understand about this virtual world. The orientation had been a joke. Why couldn’t there have been a proper tutorial? This was the very definition of on-the-job training. My head was swimming.
I backed out of Memory and Storage, briefly wondering what the History submenu would show, and opened up my Economy menu just to make sure I really had received the full payment.
[ECONOMY
* CRYPT
* * 2,070
* CRYSTALS
* * 10]
Okay. Good. I liked seeing that amount. The sizable Crypt infusion energized me and I wanted to go on a shopping spree, eyeing the bright storefronts on the other side of the lot.
But then I remembered Camel. I had to at least see what had become of him. So, after getting lost twice, I asked directions from some passersby and found the Rathskeller again.
Descending into the buzzy den, I saw no familiar faces. No Camel. No Bigwig. No Rook. Not even the bartender from earlier. Instead, a thin shirtless man with ear gauges and a pierced lower lip served drinks to the thirsty crowd.
I sidled up to the bar, trying to get his attention. He ignored me. I tried to call him over, but between the pulsing volume of the environs and my unimpressive default voice, I had no success.
I climbed the stairs and looked around outside. Two armed men, presumably hunters like myself, leaned against the wall, conversing in hushed tones. One was smoking. The other had a lower jaw the color of polished steel.
I started to approach with a question on my lips and they stopped, turning to look me over with incredulity.
“Go frag yourself!”
So much for Volunteer solidarity.
I turned away, unsure of my next steps. But then I remembered what Bigwig had said, that Camel had an affinity for ‘nostalgia cigarettes.’ Where might someone acquire such a thing in this world? I retraced my steps through the throbbing, bustling night until I reached the building labeled the Supply Depot.
The building was tall, but it was unclear if it was a single story or multiple stories from the outside. The exterior was bright red with white symbols, with flashing protean neon signage wrapping around the top like a headband. Large windows revealed narrow rows packed with merchandise. A few people milled about inside.
I had no reference for what time of day it might be, or time of night, rather. If such things even existed in The Collective. I made my way inside.
Perusing the aisles, I realized that all of the merchandise I had seen from outside were nothing but holographic displays. The shelves were lined with 3D rotating images of all manner of goods, with associated price tags. I guess there was no shoplifting in a place like this.
I saw a shimmering pack of cigarettes with a silhouette of a camel twirling slowly among other brands in the section labeled nostalgia cigarettes, surrounded by a dazzling array of other nostalgia items. Fillinchen crisp bread. Mocca fix. These were unfamiliar to me.
An elderly woman of unplaceable ethnicity sat on a stool behind a checkout counter, twirling a plastic parasol.
“You know, it’s going to rain soon. You should really think about finding some shelter.”
It rains here?
“Oh ho ho, you must be new. Mark my words, it is going to rain. I’m never wrong about the weather.”
I see. Listen, could I ask you a question? An acquaintance of mine, goes by the name of Camel–
“I know him.”
Oh, great. I was hoping you would say that. I can’t find him. We were on a job together and… got separated. He usually hangs out at the Rathskeller but he isn’t there. I thought he must be a customer here. Any idea where else he might be?
The lady squinted, the crows feet on her face spreading. She pursed her lips, still twirling her parasol as she thought.
“Most likely he is in the Red Light. Do you know it?”
I’ve heard of it. Can you give me directions?
“It’s on the other side of The Commons, almost at the border. You’d better hurry. Before it rains.”