“THAT’S UNSETTLING,” I admitted, standing at the end of main hallway 30 and looking dumbfoundedly out at the... landscape that opened up in front of me. That’s right, a real industrial landscape. After all the narrow hallways and closed-in rooms, even though they were big, standing and looking out at this vast expanse made me feel a little dizzy.

The familiar cramped hallways were behind us.

In front of us stretched a practically endless space.

There wasn’t much light, but I could still make out some details.

It looked to me like an expansive canyon with straight, vertical walls. It had to be at least a mile wide, and at least a mile and a half long — so, fairly short as far as canyons went. Almost like the heel of a gigantic foot had come crashing down, leaving a dent in our world, and we were standing at the edge of it. A wall extended a hundred meters to the left, and there was a rift to the right, with lights blinking far off in the distance. A long, metal bridge began right under our feet, perched upon hundreds of ironwork supports that stretched down into the depths. This was the Cursed Bridge. There were no railings to speak of — it was just a flat metal strip crossing the rift, running straight into a solid cluster of lights on the other end. That must be Drainagetown. The bridge was twenty feet wide, and I immediately recognized the same traces of dismantled equipment and shiny patches of metal worn down by foot traffic that I had seen in hallway 30, ending at the entrance to hallway 29, where the hallway was conspicuously built-up. Some form of rail transportation had once run along this bridge — something electric, like a tram. Then it was removed, the rails taken down, seeming to send the message that the mile between Drainagetown and hallway 29 (which, as Bask explained, served as the border of the Outskirts) was an easy walk for hard-working goblins and zombies. No need for transportation. It was just as likely, however, that the tram or whatever it was just stopped working, and the system had no way of replacing its non-functional steel heart.

Plenty of new additions to my road atlas. A map of this world was gradually unfolding inside my head...

The Outskirts were behind us, the border — a section of which we would soon be patrolling — two hundred yards away. The area in front of us was like a buffer zone, made up of the Cursed Bridge, the Stench, and the Stagnant Cesspool. Drainagetown, the upper district of Murkwaters, was a mile ahead of us. Above us... Above us was the same old ceiling and a big observation dome, but it moved erratically, with strange jerking motions. Mismatched pipes ran all across the ceiling towards Drainagetown — or away from it, depending on how you looked at it. Below us was the Stagnant Cesspool. One step forward took me right to the edge of the canyon. I looked down at the bridge supports disappearing into an impenetrable off-white fog that started about fifteen yards down. It was impossible to tell how deep the canyon was, and neither Bask nor Yorka knew.

So this is the Stagnant Cesspool...

I stood on the edge and looked at the fog for a few minutes, scanning the intricate supports, keeping my ears open. My party members didn’t disturb me, just looked around and talked quietly. Well, Yorka looked around. Bask used his ears, turning his head like a radar detector.

And the Stench...

There was no mistaking it — you would have to be blind not to notice the thick brown mass sliding down the wall, flowing twenty yards down into a welded chute that ran parallel to the bridge, across to the other side of the canyon. The brown mass made my stomach clench in disgust. The famous Gutterfall. It started from a long gap — the entrance to the Stench. From where we stood, I could see a metal platform on the side of the gap closest to us. Steep metal stairs led to it, so steep they were almost vertical. I counted six flights. The lowest one, not quite as steep as the rest, ended at the entrance to hallway 30, about five yards from us. If the poor armless, legless souls crippled by the system were really kidnapped by bogmen to be fattened and slaughtered, then this would be the final path they took — unless there was some secret, less obvious route.

“Have you heard the stories about pork?” I asked, still scanning the area and absorbing as much information as I could.

Yorka shivered in response. “Ugh! Blow up and die!”

“Fucking cannibals,” said Bask. “It’s true.”

“About the pork?”

“Yeah.”

“And how they kidnap worms?”

“That’s true, too.”

“Can you trust whoever told you that?”

“I heard someone get kidnapped once,” Bask said quietly. “I couldn’t afford a capsule that night. It was right after I was blinded — I was only just getting used to it, starting to rely more on my hearing. Almost bankrupt, too. I had dozed off on a wall ledge, and then in the middle of the night I heard footsteps. Quiet, but fast. Then they stopped. There was a short, muffled grunt, then more footsteps. Then silence. The next morning, there was no trace of the worm with the beautiful voice who had earned a living singing for the zombies in the area. They paid him in whatever crumbs they had, and it was enough for him to stay alive. But after that, no one ever heard from him again.”

“Was that in the cluster?”

“A little outside cluster 17. Just a couple paths away.”

“And you can get there without the system noticing?”

“There’s a few dark paths, “Bask nodded, “I can tell you the numbers.”

“Not yet.” I shook my head. “So, the stories about sweet, fattened pork are true.”

“Too true.”

“One thing I don’t get — how do they pass human flesh off as plux meat? Something doesn’t add up. Pluxes have green blood.”

“Only the young ones,” Yorka and Bask answered in unison.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?” Yorka threw up her hands. “Their blood is green when they’re small. It gets redder the older they get. The big ones, like knee-high or bigger, have red blood. I should know — I saw a bunch of guys dragging two gray pluxes away. They were red inside where they cut’ em, and the blood running out was red, too.”

“They say that only pluxes who have never tasted our blood have green blood,” Bask added. “Just one taste, and their blood turns red. They also say that pluxes never become adults if they don’t feed on us. They can still eat other things besides us, though — stuff outside the walls.”

“Like slime and trash?” Yorka suggested.

“So, the blood of a plux who has tasted the blood of a goblin turns red,” I chuckled, shaking my head in disbelief. “Sounds like a stretch. But now I understand about the color, at least.”

“Can we get out of here already?” Yorka asked a little grumpily, making sure I saw the goosebumps on her arms.

“Yeah, tour’s over,” I nodded. “Let’s head back — it’s almost time for our patrol.”

Here, at the foot of the Cursed Bridge, the wind gusted furiously. It was strong, then calmed down, then suddenly swooped in, beating at our shoulders or backs, ricocheting off the walls. Hallway 30 was filled with this howling wind that accompanied us as we walked, nudging us from behind. If it’s this windy here, what’s it like on the Cursed Bridge? I didn’t see anything that looked like a handrail — the bridge was just a smooth steel strip, stretching out for at least a mile.

We made it to main hallway 29 without a hitch. It was just three hundred steps, and ours were particularly small. We ran into two other groups at intersections — one was the group we were replacing, and the other was heading for the Cursed Bridge. This second group looked deadly serious. There were five of them, all strong and with all their limbs, equipped with bags, clubs, long awls, shin guards and knee pads, and odd shielded sneakers. They were about to spend two hours at the windy site we had just recently come from, also on patrol. They looked at us with undisguised superiority. At first I thought they were impressive — sharp, cool, and collected — but soon lowered my opinion of them. They didn’t notice that Bask was blind. He moved in a characteristic way and his baseball cap didn’t cover his scarred face entirely, and these orcs should have noticed that, if they considered themselves any kind of fighters. And they certainly considered themselves as such. But they just showed off to Yorka, baring their teeth in predatory grins and flexing their biceps. Idiots.

I didn’t say anything like that out loud, though. We said goodbye and went our separate ways. The patrol getting off work was heading towards cluster 17, and I was almost certain they’d stop into the Jolly Plux for a drink or two. Maybe even gnaw on a few bones — they had earned them, after all. We walked slowly along the wall of main hallway 29. The five orcs marched towards the Cursed Bridge, strutting proudly, elbows splayed and chests puffed out, telling the world they were big shots. I was finally convinced that they were just big, dumb guys who hadn’t been tested by true hardship yet.

“They have the same clubs as me,” Yorka said, “But the hooks aren’t broken off.”

I silently spread my arms, and indicated the hallway in front of me. What could I say? Everyone had to decide for themselves what was more important: a club that you were guaranteed not to lose, firmly hooked onto your belt, or a club that you could whip out quickly and confidently every time.

“Oh, thanks for reminding me,” I said. “You have to keep practicing with your club. Every twentieth step.”

“Damn, why’d I bring it up?” Yorka complained. “Elb, come on... My arm feels like it’s gonna fall off.”

“Fine, every fiftieth, then,” I ceded. “But you better make ‘em count.”

“You bet!”

“You mentioned something about a long, exciting story,” I looked at Bask.

He smiled at that, then cleared his throat, trying to hide his emotions. But it was obvious he was delighted that I had remembered about the stories, and that the leader hadn’t forgotten about the blind zombie.

“Which one do you want to hear? The one about the zombies and the end of the world? Or the princess?”

“The end of the world.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you right now, it starts out pretty strange.”

“Now I’m even more interested.”

He cleared his throat again. “So. An armless zombie walks into a bar, dragging three singing worms and a dead, naked halfling all tied to a rope behind him...”

TWO HOURS FLEW BY practically unnoticed as Bask told his truly bizarre tale. As it came to its conclusion, I came back to the real world and looked at my clock.

Current time: 21:57.

“Only a halfling would do something so mean and dirty!” Yorka said.

“Amen,” I agreed, and looked at Bask in surprise. “Bask, you have real talent for storytelling. But I still don’t understand where the dead naked halfling got the bottle of nuclear orcs. The story was a good one, though.”

“Amen!” Yorka repeated after me, hooking her club back on her belt in relief. “Damn, my poor little arm... It’s killing me! Blow up and die!”

“You’ll get used to the club,” I promised, and looked back again. What could I say — I liked to be aware of my surroundings. Just liked to see what was around me.

I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary — we were practically alone. Hallway 29 was full of nothing but the howling wind. Not a person in sight, other than us. No other patrols, either. The last four goblins had left an hour ago, and no one had replaced them. We didn’t see another patrol on the other end of our area at all. The wind blew some trash along the floor, and a lightbulb flickered in the distance.

Was it strange?

Not at all.

I had noticed a while ago that the evening end-of-work alarm served as another important signal to the populace. ‘It’s eight in the evening! Get out of the hallways, hurry to the clusters! Out of the darkness, into the light. And don’t roam the pathways until morning!’ It wasn’t an official order — not even a recommendation — but most people took it to mean the day was over and it was time to hunker down. Night was instinctively seen as dangerous here, just like it was at the dawn of human evolution when our ancestors hid around fires in caves, listening to the sounds coming from the dark jungle. Our ancestors knew terrible predators hunted at night, and it was the same situation here. Only worse.

Carrot, tangerine... That plux commander had me thinking.

A fucking carrot, a tactical leader. I used to think plux were just armored rats that lived outside the walls. But now I had a lot more respect for them. With the new information I had, it was easy to imagine a small pack of hungry pluxes coming out to hunt at night, moving along the dark paths. It was too dangerous during the day — there were too many people around. But at night, the hallways were almost empty, and it wouldn’t be too hard to stalk a lonely goblin wandering off by themselves, with no help nearby...

Pluxes are intelligent. Fear them, goblin! I tried to hammer this rule into my subcortex, repeating it silently to myself every fiftieth step, and out loud every hundredth step. It didn’t take long for Bask to figure out my pattern, and he interrupted his storytelling to recite it along with me: “Pluxes are intelligent. Fear them, goblin!”

Current time: 22:00.

I looked around the hallway, peered into the distance, and looked at Bask, whose ears were perked up. Nope. No one, nothing. No signs of the next patrol hurrying towards us a little late. No one to take over for us.

Current time: 22:01.

“Hmm…”

“Lazy goblins!” Yorka cursed. She stretched out a hand to straighten Bask’s shirt collar. “What are we gonna do, Elb?”

“The most important thing is that our job gets marked as complete,” I said calmly. “They won’t keep us here — Oh, there we go.”

The system marked our job as done. We each earned fifteen sol, and all it took was two hours of leisurely walking — which I considered a helpful light workout for all of us.

Balance: 30 sol.

It felt great to get all the money and not have anything taken out. The system was paying for our food and medicine today. Even the optional shots would be free. Bask was the only one who had to pay for his — apparently he needed heavier, more expensive drugs. I had to remember to transfer him twelve sol. The system would take fourteen total from me, and Bask would end up with ten. That percentage the system took really bit into the transfers... But I was happy with how much we had earned for such a short combat job.

Receive party combat jobs (compulsory)?

Yes / No.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

The system was sneaky, springing this prompt on us so unexpectedly. It had only just dropped a fat stack of cash into our shaking hands, and now this question — ‘Want this to happen all the time?’

Who could say no?

I could. I decisively selected ‘No’, keeping in mind what Mads had told me, that the system would send me the prompt again and again like a little robotic bird mechanically pecking at my brain. The system needed fighters — dedicated fighters. I had seen proof of that myself when no one showed up to take over for us. There weren’t even enough fighters to send out consistent patrols. The Outskirts were just too big, with its hundreds of hallways and rooms.

It wasn’t easy for me to say no. Fighter status came with a lot of cushy benefits. I was tempted to agree, but I had to think of my party. I was confident in my own abilities, but Yorka and Bask needed to be baptized in blood at least one more time. I had to see how they behaved in battle, then look at their faces, look into their eyes, and come to a decision.

“Well, goblins and zombies?” I said cheerfully, rubbing my belly. “Ready to head back to the cluster? A food cube and a little water to help us sleep, and then up and ready to go at five in the morning.”

“Five in the morning?” Yorka looked shocked. “We’re not even gonna get back to the cluster before midnight, Elb! Plus we still have to eat, shower... That leaves us like no time to sleep!”

“Five in the morning,” I said again, firmly. “We’ll get our jobs done early, then get a few hours of sleep after breakfast. Bask, your injuries are bad, worse than any of ours. You can — ”

“No!” Bask cut me off. “I’ll be up at five along with you.”

“Understood, fighter.” I was satisfied with his response. “Let’s go.”

“I have a suggestion!” Yorka jumped in.

“Let’s hear it.”

“There’s a residential area with spines right next to the Jolly Plux. We might find three empty capsules there. We’d pass right by there anyway.”

“And we can enjoy the scent of grilled meat on the way,” I chuckled. “It’s worth a shot. Let’s do it. Bask, lead the way.”

“Sure. Just to check — we’re in section 40 of main hallway 29? Five steps from the turn onto path 40 along the left wall?”

“That’s right,” I replied, not trying to hide the notes of respect in my voice.

Bask’s head really did work like a computer, always ticking and clicking. Even while he talked or argued, even with his glue-drenched stomach wound, or his long, funny story about the end of the world, he was always counting his steps, always keeping track of where he was in this maze of hallways.

“That way,” he waved a hand, “then we turn onto path 33. If we make it in the next ten minutes, we’ll run into a dome and won’t have to go dark.”

“Let’s pick up the pace, then,” I said, moving faster.

My overworked legs groaned in protest. Not my knees this time — my feet. My sneakers with their thin rubber soles and the equally thin socks underneath were not the best choice for long, frequent marches. But it didn’t matter. The long day was almost over, and I was about to have a quick bite to eat, then relax and pass out in a capsule for a full five hours. We were about five yards from the turn when I stopped, rooted in place, reading the alarmingly bright lines that had lit up like a warning in front of my eyes:

Job: Combat.

Description: Eliminate three gray plunar xarls.

Job Location: Main hallway 30!

Deadline: ASAP.

Compensation: 30 sol.

Accept job

Yes / No.

“Damn!” I said, flicking my eyes a little lower.

Job: Defense.

Description: Rescue 457 or his body from four gray plunar xarls.

Job Location: Main hallway 30!

Deadline: ASAP.

Compensation: 30 sol.

Accept job

Yes / No.

“What is it, Elb? The system? What’s it say?”

“Tell me how you’re feeling, team.” I barked. “Quickly! Do you have enough strength in you for a fight? Three gray pluxes, maybe four. I’m pretty sure some of them are wounded. Bask?”

“I’m ready!” He brandished his awl.

“Yorka?”

“Damn...”

“Come on! I need an answer!”

“Let’s go!”

“Follow me!” I turned around and started running, putting merciless strain on my tired, injured legs.

Without turning back, I threw my explanations and instructions over my shoulder, accepting the jobs as I ran.

“Don’t worry, soldiers. We can do this. Yorka, you have the club. Do you remember how to use it?”

“Yeah. But there are three pluxes! Or four! Do we just have the one club?”

“We might have more,” I said. “We’ll find out soon. The pluxes are coming from the Cursed Bridge. A group of five orcs was headed there two hours back. Bask!”

“Yes?”

Even though he was blind, he didn’t lag even a step behind, easily keeping pace with us. I turned around briefly, glancing at his tense, concentrated expression half-hidden by the baseball cap.

“You take care of 457. The system said there were three pluxes, then the second job mentioned 457 and another plux. Okay?”

“The plux is on him. Got it.”

“I’m leaving that blood-sucking bastard to you. I’ll tell you exactly where it latched onto 457. Can you take it out?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s go!” I exhaled, and turned sharply into main hallway 30.

The wind hit my face and chest, and a long, frightened shriek tore across my ears. Sixty yards ahead, a bloody orc was barreling towards us. I recognized him from the group of tough guys. He was coming at us at full speed, carrying a nasty gray ‘gift’ for us attached to his leg.

I decided we would wait for him to reach us. I stopped suddenly, and Yorka crashed into my shoulder, Bask doing the same behind her. I braced myself, and we all stayed standing.

“Stop!” I ordered. “Yorka, take a step forward and stay on the right wall. I’ll stand to the left. Yorka! Let the runner pass you. Hit the first plux that follows with the club. Don’t miss! No! Get your left hand off the club! One hand!”

“But…”

“Did you hear me, goblin?”

“Yes. One hand!”

“Bask, get ready. I’ll knock him down. Listen carefully.”

“Got it.”

“Help me! Help me!”

The orc’s hoarse, wavering cry filled our ears with futile noise again.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

If I was still new, his howl would have filled me with unnecessary worry — maybe even panic. He deserved to have his throat cut, no questions asked. But that’s not what the system wanted...

A shadow flickered. It was fast! Another plux hung from the orc’s right shin. It seemed impossible, but the orc’s screaming somehow grew louder. I grimaced and gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to clap my hands over my ringing ears. Asshole. Take it in silence, or just die already! You’re annoying as fuck!

“There’s a plux on his right leg, too. Bask!”

“Understood!”

“Hit each one twice! Feel for it, then strike. Feel for it, then strike. Then again.”

“Got it!”

“Go!”

The fleeing orc wasn’t ready to die, and so he seemed to be breaking all sorts of speed records. All the easier to stop him. I stepped out of his path and kicked him in the knee. He collapsed, hitting the floor hard, but still didn’t stop yelling. The sound escalated into an ultrasonic screech that grated on my ears. Stepping forward, I delivered a swift, merciless kick to his face — straight to the mouth, splitting his lip and breaking his nose. His scream was cut off, replaced by a more muffled grunting. His hands, which were in bad shape — covered in blood and missing several fingers — came up to cover his face. I bent down and snatched the club from his belt, then strode down the hallway to join Yorka on our line of defense, leaving the orc, the two pluxes, and the blind zombie behind me.

Our enemy’s behind us. That’s bad. All our hopes rested with Bask now.

Our zombie didn’t disappoint. Using his foot to feel up the orc’s thigh, he turned slightly and sat on his upturned ass, pressing him against the floor. Then he leaned forward to feel for the armored tumor on the orc’s right shin before stabbing the plux twice with his awl. By the second strike, his free hand had already found the second plux. Two more stabs.

Reassured, I turned away and adjusted my grip on the club, then glanced down the hallway. I gave Yorka an order:

“The first one’s yours. Go!”

She breathed out, stepped forward, and swung her club.

The third plux was limping on its hind legs. There was something wrong with its spine — it had taken a solid blow already. It was slower, less agile. The perfect opponent for a beginning fighter.

Yorka didn’t miss. She brought the club down right in the middle of the gray, scaly back. The steel spikes pierced the scales, the flesh, and the bones, nailing the plux to the floor.

“Hold on!”

“I’m holding on!”

“One hand, goblin! One hand!”

“But — ”

“One hand!” I snapped.

“Okay!”

“Here!” I pressed an awl into her free hand. “Don’t let go of the club. Shift forward and stab that bastard in the spine! Five times! Go!”

I looked away, stepped forward, and swung my club. Not from above — I saw the surprisingly large plux raise its paws in preparation to pounce. I hit from the side. The four spikes slammed into it, followed by the weight of the club. It jumped, pushing off powerfully with all four limbs, almost tearing the club out of my hand. I leaned to the side, putting all my weight on the weapon, forcing my opponent into the wall. I pressed, leaned even harder, and looked around.

Yorka was viciously stabbing her plux over and over, even though it was clearly dead.

“Yorka!”

She didn’t react.

“That’s enough, goblin!”

She shuddered, looking right through me with wide eyes. I wondered if she realized her mouth was twisted into the mad grin of a berserker.

“Finish that one off too!” I pointed to the bigger plux scrabbling for purchase.

I could have taken the awl and finished it off myself, but she needed to learn. I held the plux and looked over at Bask. There wasn’t much to see. The orc was quietly twitching and whimpering on the floor, blood gushing from his legs, the two dead pluxes lying next to him. Bask pulled some tied-together rags out of his belt bag and felt the orc’s leg, looking for a spot to tie on a tourniquet. The orc was trying to crawl away, still in a blind panic — the characteristic smell of shit and piss only confirmed that. Bask smacked the tired, struggling orc with his hand a few times, hissing:

“Stop moving, you bastard! Stop crawling!”

His commands went mostly unheeded. There was no way he’d be able to get the tourniquet on, and the stupid, cowardly orc would bleed out. I filled my voice with steel and roared angrily:

“Stop moving, you fuck! Lie still! Legs out! If you twitch again, I’ll cut off your head, you cowardly little bitch! The system ordered us to save you or your corpse from the pluxes — it’s up to you which one! Now lie still!”

The orc sprawled out on the blood-soaked floor — red blood mixed with green. I glanced over at the big plux pinned to the wall. Yorka was still stabbing what was now dead meat. I took her by the shoulder and pulled her towards me, gasping slightly at the pain in my elbow. This girl was really coming along. Bask, too. Looking at the insane grin that still lit up her face, I gave her an order.

“Help Bask with that cowardly piece of shit.”

“O-okay,” she panted.

Holy shit... She looked like she had just had the best orgasm of her life, a blissful expression on her face as she absentmindedly wiped the green blood off her cheek with the back of her hand. Green blood and red blood. Another quick glance at the limp plux confirmed that this one bled red.

“Just don’t move, man,” came Yorka’s hoarse voice, trying to placate the wounded orc.

I looked towards the Cursed Bridge to make sure hallway 30 was empty, then dragged the plux closer to the wounded man and pulled out the club. I cast an angry sideways glance at the orc and said:

“Don’t coddle this piece of garbage. He’s a coward, a traitor! He left his own team behind and ran!”

“I...” The orc lifted his forehead from the pool of blood. “I... They all died! All of them! That’s why I ran!”

Oh, now he livens up. How quickly he had come to. His life wasn’t in danger any more, and he could staunchly defend his manly reputation.

“Shut up!” I said through gritted teeth. “Fucking liar! When I kicked you in the face and stopped your terrified howling, there were still screams coming from the Cursed Bridge! Someone was still alive out there, and judging by the sounds, they were fighting! What? Thought no one would find out, scum? You forgot how well the wind carries sound. You abandoned your friends! Abandoned those who entrusted their lives to you! Bastard. Believe me — if we were down some death path right now, somewhere out of the way, I’d cut your stinking head right off your shoulders! And drown it in the nearest toilet!”

Silence fell.

Yorka and Bask tightened the tourniquets in silence. The dead plux’s paw twitched. The orc buried his forehead into the floor again, covering his ears with his hands, and fell silent. I swung my arm and threw the club I had been using at the ground near his shoulder. The coward shuddered and shrank back. I’m gonna have to wash my hands really well after this.

Receive party combat jobs (compulsory)?

Yes / No.

I decided to answer later.

I sighed and picked up the awl Yorka had tossed aside. I noted she had hooked the club back into her belt — she was picking up the habit.

I checked my interface. My finance section showed that the system had already paid out.

Balance: 50 sol.

Ten sol for each job.

Did we get a reward for killing the pluxes, too?

“Goblins! Zombies! Did you get compensation for the pluxes we killed?” I looked towards main 29 and saw a dome right above the intersection.

“I got compensation for two!” Said Bask. “Fifteen sol each.”

“I got it for two, too! Fifteen and twenty!”

“Excellent,” I grinned, satisfied. “I want you both walking around in pants tomorrow. Yorka, you help Bask buy some.”

“Sure! Can I buy yellow pants?”

“No. Gray or black for work. But personal stuff, I don’t care — get nasty pink socks if you want.”

“Pink isn’t nasty...”

“We have another job.”

“Blow up and die!” Yorka jumped up, grabbed her club, and peered into the empty hallway. Bask froze, awl at the ready.

“Relax. It’s not a combat job, but it’s not a fun one either. We have to take this.” I jabbed the toe of my sneaker into the orc lying at my feet, “to the nearest medblock. It’s a party job, doesn’t pay that much, and optional. Nine sol total. Should we take it, or should we leave this piece of shit right here in this puddle?”

No one answered. I looked at the faces of my party members, intrigued. Yorka was the first to give in and, hiding her eyes, muttered:

“I mean, we should take him to the medblock, really.”

Bask lowered his face, coughing.

“We should help him.”

“I’d vote to leave this trash here,” I said sincerely. “I wouldn’t even bandage him up. But fine. We’ll help him. Hey! Can you hear me?”

The orc shook silently.

“Hey!”

“I hear you... I hear you...”

“Get up!”

“My legs…”

“Stand up, you little shit! Get up now, before I shove this club up your stinking ass! Get up!”

The groaning orc got heavily to his feet. We led him forward — he was trying not to look down at the terrifying wounds on his legs.

“Run!” I barked, pushing him forward. “We saw how well you run! Run! GO!”

And the swaying orc started running, sliding a hand across the wall, leaving a long red trail behind.

“But he’s injured,” Yorka said softly.

I turned to her.

“Did you see him running not five minutes ago? Like a champion sprinter! His wounds didn’t bother him then.”

“Well...”

“And the screams of his dying friends behind his back didn’t bother him — didn’t even slow him down! Two pluxes hanging off his legs, eating him alive — and he ran! So let him keep running now! Our job is to accompany him to the medblock, not carry him. Let’s grab the pluxes. I’ll take two. Yorka, take one, and Bask, take one. Follow the cowardly asshole! Step lively now!”

“What about — ” Bask inclined his head towards the Cursed Bridge.

Four orcs had met their end out there. The pluxes were probably feasting on them now.

“No...” I chuckled grimly. “We’re not going to the slaughter. Now move out!”

The orc was winded, stopping thirty yards from the nearest medblock. He had run at first, then walked, then hobbled... And now he stood still, swaying on his feet like a scarecrow. I had to help him after all, had to drag him to the medblock and shove him inside. The door slid closed behind the shit-stained coward.

Balance: 53 sol.

I looked at my party members and grunted knowingly. They were wide awake now, and the adrenaline hadn’t worn off. There was no way they’d be able to fall asleep for the next few hours — no one would, unless they were used to these situations.

“Bask!”

“Yes?”

“Take us down the shortest route to the Jolly Plux. We’re gonna eat like kings tonight!”

“Meat,” he said, swallowing hard.

“Meat...” Yorka ran a hand across her watering mouth.

“Meat.” I smiled, grabbing the dead plux by the paw...

* * *

We were met with silent respect at the Jolly Plux.

The bouncers at the entrance parted to let us inside. Two guys jumped up to take the pluxes from us, asked us a few questions, and ran off. An older man approached me, and I talked with him briefly, coming to an agreement. Yorka and Bask found an empty wall ledge, huddling over the cups of lemonade that had appeared in front of them the instant they sat down. I walked over to the ATM, where the same curly-haired blond from before still sat, and got seventeen sol sent to me. Minus the fee, it came to fifteen.

Balance: 68 sol.

Each of us would now get a serving of grilled meat. I didn’t forget to mention Mads sent me, and the brigade member who ran the place promised us the best. After exchanging a few more words with him, I pressed him a little, promising not to forget about this nice establishment the next time we got our hands on fresh meat. And I got what I wanted. A short nod, a knowing look at me and my party. We were covered in blood, and Yorka was still shaking. We had clearly come from a fight, and they could meet us halfway in this. The three of us sat down. I drained half a cup of lemonade in one swig, then exhaled noisily, closing my eyes...

This was good. Life was good.

A low tapping sounded — the first part of what I had asked for had arrived. I glanced at the table to see our smiling waitress putting down three small plastic cups, filled almost to the brim with a murky liquid.

Bask sniffed. “This is...”

“Whoa! For us?” Yorka gingerly pulled one of the cups towards her.

I grabbed one for me and said:

“Bask. Here’s yours.”

Once all our cups were raised, I looked at both of them.

“Before we drink, I have a prompt here in my interface that just won’t go away. A prompt to become permanent fighters. Do we accept it? I’ll warn you right now, it’ll change our lives dramatically. What do you say, Bask? Are you ready to accept?”

“I’m all for it.”

“Yorka?”

“Blow up and die! Let’s do it!”

“Okay,” I smiled.

Receive party combat jobs (compulsory)?

Yes / No.

Yes. The prompt disappeared. The system now had three more official fighters who couldn’t ignore its orders.

“Congrats on your new status, fighters! I’d say that deserves a celebratory shot. Now let’s drink!”

We clinked our cups and knocked back the liquor, which burned our throats pleasantly.

“That’s nice!” I said, as the scorching feeling slid down into my stomach.

Bliss spread across Bask’s face. Yorka shook slightly, washing the booze down with sweet juice.

“We won’t be getting up at five tomorrow morning,” I told them. “Given the current situation, we’ll get up an hour later. Six o’clock!”

“Seven, goblin! Give us ‘til seven,” Yorka whined.

“Six,” I snapped.

I made a mental note that I would have to keep a close eye on where my party was at all times from now on. We would have to keep our distance from dangerous places — I didn’t want a repeat of our little trip to the Cursed Bridge.

Tomorrow — actually, it was almost today — we would have to hit the trade points again. I wanted to get another club and a few spikes for it, do some price shopping on foot protection, take a look at the energy drinks and isotonics on offer, and...

“Hey, they’re bringing out meat,” Yorka whispered. “And it looks like they’re bringing it to us! To us! Blow up and die!”

Bask said nothing, but his flaring nostrils and twitching throat spoke for themselves.

They really were bringing it to us. Three plates heaped high with solid helpings of grilled meat, medium-rare, hit the table with a clatter. The incredible smell made me drool so much that I was sure I would either drown myself or swamp the whole table.

I grabbed my fork and gave my team an order:

“Dig in! What are you waiting for?”

And then I took my first bite of meat. I ate fiercely, shaking my head, tearing off a massive piece and chewing it with fervor, feeling the thick meat juices enveloping my tongue... Yorka, eyes closed in pleasure, let out a long groan, and Bask sniffed his meat enthusiastically as he chewed. This was certainly a meal we had earned.

I looked up at the waitress, gesturing at the glasses on the table. She nodded and hurried over with a bottle and a jug. I caught the manager’s eye and mimed that I would pay later. He replied in the same fashion, seeming to reassure me — ‘Don’t worry, goblin, we respect you, and our establishment extends you our trust.’

“Who knew!” Yorka burst out, looking me up and down. “Who knew things would turn out like this! Who did I wake up that day, Elb? Who are you?”

“I’m a goblin,” I chuckled, grabbing my second cup. “Just an ordinary goblin. Let’s drink. To us!”

“To us!”

“Blow up and die! To us!”

End of Book One