STATUS:
Number: Eleven.
Rank: Nullform (volitional).
Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).
Balance: 0
Debt status: in debt.
Total debt owed: 16 sol.
Current time: 03:30.
MY DEBT HAD INCREASED since yesterday. The limb lease wasn’t going anywhere — I still had to pay four sol a day. And yesterday I had decided to skip showers to save a little more.
“Why did we get up so early? This is like, so early it’s still nighttime!” Yorka shivered from the cold and leaned her head back, yawning fiercely.
“We made a few enemies, remember?” I reminded her. “And we have harder orc jobs today, so we should get them done as soon as we can, before anyone decides to get in our way.”
“And they will, that’s for sure.”
“I know. But right now they’re fast asleep, dreaming of punishing us. Did you get your job for today?”
“Yeah.”
“Read it, then tell me. I’ll take a look at mine.”
Oh dammit…
Job: Collect gray slime.
Description: Collect and deliver eighty standard containers of gray slime to the receiver unit.
Job location: Zone 3, Block 6.
Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.
Compensation: 15 sol.
Shit… I still had flashbacks to that terrible job I hadn’t even finished. Was the system testing me?
“I got gray slime. Eighty buckets. Zone three, Block six. What about you?”
“Collecting gray slime. Eighty buckets. Zone three, Block six.”
We stared at each other, puzzled. Yorka was the first to break the silence:
“That’s not a coincidence.”
“You’re right.” I agreed. “More like a party bonus — all party members get sent to the same location to support each other. Makes sense. Very gamelike…”
“Our whole life’s a game.” Yorka stretched and felt her face tentatively.
Her bruise was turning yellow, which I immediately let her know about, not hiding my glee. She frowned at me and asked:
“What’s our plan?”
“We have to work hard before breakfast!” I raised a fist. “Let’s show that slime the power of our party!”
“Screw you.”
“Come on! Faster! Harder! To battle, Yorka the Yellow Goblin!”
“I’m an orc! And why did you call me yellow?”
“Well, your bruise faded to a nice yellow, so…”
“Go die, Elb. Just die…”
I TOTALED OUR ASSIGNMENTS in my head. A hundred and sixty buckets between the two of us. I quickly decided on our course of action. We were going to work efficiently, saving our strength, one bucket at a time. We would carry them together and take turns putting them on the conveyor belt. First Yorka, then me, then Yorka, then me, and so on.
This system meant we managed to finish both our jobs before eight in the morning, after almost five hours of working with a few short breaks. We weren’t even that tired. My knees were shaking a little, and the pain in my back had returned. My new equipment meant I was steadier on my feet, and didn’t fall once. I had wrapped my hand in a strip torn from my handkerchief. The oval hallway of Block 3 was completely empty — we were the only ones who had showed up here so early in the morning. The first other workers didn’t start arriving until eight, when we were almost done.
Our party had definitely proven its viability and usefulness.
Current time: 09:25.
“Are we done?”
“We are!” Yorka smiled broadly. “Awesome! We finished our jobs! You held up really well, even though your muscles haven’t fully recovered yet.”
“It’s good to have the right equipment.” I smiled back, looking down at myself.
I wore a baseball cap, a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals. My left arm rested in a sling made from more strips of the handkerchief. The strip that had protected my palm from the bucket handle was now wrapped around my left wrist — I was saving it for later. The empty bottle from the Solar Flame Brigade we had secretly kept was tucked under my arm. I looked really tough.
“You really got into the role of a peppy goblin, Elb. I mean, a peppy orc!”
“Why lose heart? What do we get by feeling down? Nothing! Let’s go have breakfast! Let’s increase our debt!”
“Yeah, and get shots…”
“Right! Our debt just keeps snowballing!”
“How’s your elbow?”
“Oh, you know,” I pointed my chin at the bandaged arm. “It could be worse. We’ll deal with it later. Let’s go eat. Let’s feast like true savage orcs!”
“Ugh… Not really a feast. Just a tiny cube and a mouthful of water to wash it down with.”
“No arguments! Historical accuracy is everything!”
“Orcs aren’t historical. Or… Are they? Did they really exist?”
“No idea! But we exist, and we’re orcs! Let’s go eat!”
WE DEVOURED OUR BREAKFAST in an instant. Each of us drank half a liter of water, pouring what was left into our communal bottle. Then we lay down like the lazy goblins we were, our paws on our full bellies. We felt great. There was still a whole day ahead, and we had already done our most important task.
STATUS:
Number: Eleven.
Rank: Nullform (volitional).
Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).
Balance: 0
Debt status: in debt.
Total debt owed: 5 sol.
Current time: 10:36.
After making sure we had plenty of time, I started to think about a nap, maybe an hour and a half or so. We had to restore our energy before we went to intersection 17. Suddenly, as if someone was guiding my hand, I clicked on Jobs before I left the interface menu. I glanced at the text in front of me and sat up straight.
“Woah!”
“What’s up?” Yorka asked lazily.
“Check your Jobs menu. Just look at it.”
“It’s blank. We finished our jobs.”
“Just look!”
“All right…” she said and, in a few seconds reported back just as lazily: “Well, I checked it. Now what?”
“Is it blank for you?”
“Yeah.”
“I have an active job,” I said very thoughtfully, studying every word with my full attention.
“You’re kidding me!”
“I swear by my left tusk!”
“Oh, come on! Are you serious?”
“Totally. Now, keep your voice down.” I said. “I’ll read it to you. It’s a job for both of us, for our party! Guess that’s the plus side of joining forces!”
“Why did we get it? I’ve never heard of that before.”
“There are a lot of things we’ve never heard of. That’s why we have to keep doing stuff, and asking stuff! I’m gonna read it.”
“I’m listening.”
Job: Wipe down tables and benches. (Party)
Description: Procure sponges from the Cleanomat Mark 22A (CLUX-17) and wipe down 100 tables and 200 benches.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Only wipe tables and benches with red lights.
Job location: CLUX-17.
Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.
Compensation: 20 sol.
I finished reading and looked around. There were lots of tables, and none of them had lights of any color. I looked at Yorka. Well, she was definitely lit up with joy, tapping her fist against the table.
“Hey, why so happy?”
“We’re really lucky!”
“You think so?”
“Hell yeah, I do! Just a hundred tables and two hundred benches! Easy-peasy, we’ll be done in a couple of hours! Ten sol apiece!”
“How is the reward shared? Automatically?”
“Nope! I know that much — the system will ask you how you want to split it between the party members once the job’s done.”
“Okay. And what about those red lights?”
“You’ll see. Let’s go!”
I stood up reluctantly, feeling every muscle in my body ache, as if my whole body was saying: ‘Slow down, goblin, just slow down! You finished the job? Great, now go sit on the warm, cozy bench and take a nap! Give me some time to recover. Don’t be a jerk, goblin! Come on!’
I ignored my body’s pleas, but mentally promised my protesting muscles that I’d only be putting a gentle, physically beneficial load on them. My body didn’t believe me, and responded with a pang of severe pain…
While I was talking to myself (the first red flag, perhaps?), Yorka led me to a box against the wall with a small tray on the side. ‘Cleanomat Mark 22A’ was written on the wall above it. As we approached, the box clicked twice and dropped two large green sponges onto the tray. Yorka grabbed one, and I grabbed the second. I felt that it was wet, but when I tried to squeeze it a little I was surprised to find that not a single drop came out. What a weird sponge…
“Hey! I got the job. The same one you got.”
That made sense. The system had to keep it fair. What if I’d lied and said we were being paid ten sol for the job instead of twenty? So this is what we’ve come to! The machine doesn’t trust people! It’s the machine that’s watching us, right?
“This part is simple!” Yorka chattered happily, dragging me back to the tables. “We go to the lit-up table or bench and wipe it down until the red light turns green. Then we go to the next one, rinse and repeat. Red. Green. Next one. Red. Green. Next one. Watch your sponge — once it turns red, shove it into Clark and get a fresh one.”
“Clark?”
“Yeah, the sponge dispenser. We call it Clark, I don’t know why. Got it?”
“Who turns the lights on?”
“Mother!”
I choked.
“I mean, the system!”
“That’s better. Let’s get to it.”
Without a sound, the nearest table lit up with an alarming red light from the ceiling. We approached and started scrubbing it with our sponges. I tried to follow Yorka’s movements — she was wielding her sponge with admirable dexterity. Ten seconds later the light over the table turned green, but it turned red over the bench. We switched to wiping the bench, and five seconds later it turned green. My sponge turned a darker green.
“So are we disinfecting them?” I asked the obvious question.
“Yeah. Mostly goblins and zombies hang out here, and they’re pretty messy. The brigades keep their spines clean and avoid this place. Oh, look, goblin snot on the table! Snotty goblins… Snoblins!”
“Cleanomat Mark 22A… Clark!” I chuckled. “Got it. Let’s hurry up and wipe down this filth, Yorka. Once we’re done we’ll head for intersection 17.”
She stopped wiping the table clean and looked at me with undisguised anxiety. She glanced around, looked in my eyes, leaned towards me, and whispered:
“Are you sure? We might run into… Those guys.”
“We can’t hide forever.” I replied, heading towards the next bench.
“But…”
“Trust me. Just do as I say, and we won’t have any problems.”
No response.
“You got that, goblin?”
“I’m an orc! I got it. Let’s finish the job and go to intersection 17.”
“Smart kid. Now let’s get those sol.”
We finished the job in two hours. We had to change sponges four times when they turned red. As soon as we wiped the hundredth table, I got a system prompt:
Split the compensation?
Yes / No (Party Leader).
I clicked “Yes”, looked at Yorka, who was blooming like a flower in the dirt, and checked my balance.
STATUS:
Number: Eleven.
Rank: Nullform (volitional).
Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).
Balance: 5 sol.
Debt status: No debt.
Oh yeah! Elb the Goblin is debt free until tomorrow! And even better — I have a positive balance of five sol! And it’s hardly even past noon. Lunch is soon, which is minus two sol, but it doesn’t matter! I’m in the black!
I came to a logical conclusion. “We’re the toughest goblins on the block!”
“Orcs!” Yorka corrected me as always, her face still shining. “We’re orcs!”
“Well… I can’t call us the toughest orcs around yet. So… Let’s have lunch, rest for a little and…”
“And head to intersection 17!” Yorka said boldly. “I’m not afraid! You’re one lucky bastard, double ones! That’s for sure.”
I disagreed. “It’s not luck. We’re not sitting idly on our asses — we act and the world responds. That’s just the way it works, my fellow goblin. Whoa! No way!”
“What?”
“Another system prompt. And it’s oddly long.”
More than six hours remaining until evening end-of-work alarm.
Accept additional party job? (extra reward (O)).
Yes / No.
“Accept it!” Yorka said immediately when I read it out loud to her.
“Are you sure?” I asked hesitantly. “We have no idea what it’s going to be. I could handle another round of hauling, but another hundred slime buckets is just too much for me today.”
“Let’s take the chance! Just think... An extra reward!” Yorka had a workaholic glint in her eye.
“All right…”
Yes.
Job: Wipe down tables and benches. (Party)
Description: Procure sponges from the Cleanomat Mark 22A (CLUX-17) and wipe down 100 tables and 200 benches.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Only wipe tables and benches with red lights.
Job location: CLUX-17.
Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.
Compensation: 20 sol.
Additional reward: Game challenge for any party member.
“Let’s go get sponges.” I sighed and stood up. “Are we getting lunch today?”
“Once the job is done!”
“All right… Ow, my poor old goblin back! I can already hear it cracking...”
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* * *
STATUS:
Number: Eleven.
Rank: Nullform (volitional).
Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).
Balance: 15 sol.
Debt status: No debt.
“Game Challenge!”
Fast chess.
Choose player number: 11 or 91.
“Who’s gonna play, you or me?”
“I’m not playing,” Yorka said sharply, coming to stand next to me. “Are you gonna try? The timer’s ticking. Five seconds left!”
“Of course I’m in!”
Fast chess.
One round.
Choose difficulty level:
Easy.
Normal.
Hard.
Master.
“Pick Easy.”
“Of course,” I nodded. “It would be foolish to challenge the master before you test the might of his apprentice.”
“Do your best!”
A chessboard with pieces appeared on the screen. I didn’t get to choose a color — I was assigned white and went first. I started with a classic move, pawn to e4. The system responded with an equally standard move — pawn to e5. Setting up for a King’s Gambit! Pawn to f4…
The game ended in seven minutes. I won. To say my opponent played poorly would be an understatement. If I hadn’t been so cautious, I could’ve won much faster.
Game Challenge Complete.
Outcome: Win.
Reward: 6 sol.
Winstreak: 1/3.
Reward Bonus (GC): 0%
GC Selection Chance Bonus: 0%
Extra Prize Chance: 0%
Balance: 21 sol.
Debt status: No debt.
“Winning chess gets you twice as much sol as winning Tic-tac-toe!” I said happily. Yorka patted me on the shoulder. “Wanna share the prize?”
“Nah, you’ve earned it. I’ll borrow some if I need it.”
“Sure!” I smiled, not asking what exactly she’d need to borrow money for. It was pretty obvious.
“Congratulations, Elb the Goblin. Now, don’t die of happiness!”
“You either, Yorka the Goblin. My victory is our victory. What now? We had lunch, we had a drink, we had a game. Are we going to take a nap, or go straight to intersection 17?”
“Let’s go now!”
“Wrong!” I chuckled and pointed at the nearest bench. “Here’s my first order as party leader: rest for the next two hours. Then we’ll go to intersection 17.”
“Why did you ask me, then?”
“To check how reasonable and cool-headed your judgment is.”
“And did you get your answer?”
“Yeah.”
“Happy now?”
“Well… Not exactly.”
“So be glad.”
I didn’t get her logic. Dropping the subject, I made sure we were in sight of the stationary ceiling dome and stretched out on the warm wall ledge with a blissful moan. Lying down felt so good...
“Don’t get too comfortable, happy goblin,” Yorka warned me from her spot nearby. “This is like the calm before the storm. You’ll come to understand it in a year or so.”
“I’m not getting too comfortable,” I replied, yawning. “And I’m not going to spend a year here.”
“What?”
“You heard me. This is the Outskirts — what is there to do here? We’re gonna earn some cash, fix our limbs, get some gear, and venture out into the big world.”
“Are you joking?”
“Nope. Take your time thinking on it. I won’t force you into anything, but I’d be glad to have you along. Now, get some sleep.”
“Easy for you to say!” Yorka protested. But she was fast asleep within a minute. I dozed off, too, fulfilling my promise to give my body some time to rest and recover.
My brain tried to fish something out from my emptied memory, but after a couple of failed attempts, it resentfully fell back into the black abyss. Sleep, Elb the Goblin. Sleep. Don’t waste your time banging your head against a wall. You won’t get your memory back this way. I had to try a different approach, and I knew for sure no one in the Outskirts would help me with it.
* * *
We were ambushed on our way to the main hallway leading to intersection 17. The safety of CLUX-17 was behind us. Yorka started, ready to run back home, and pulled at me. I tensed my muscles to keep her from making such an obvious move on impulse.
Run straight back to the clux with only three of the six here?
It was just Johnny and the two girls.
Where were the other three guys?
That was pretty obvious. They were waiting behind us.
“Surprise, bitches!” Yesterday’s messenger yelled mockingly.
She spoke without permission, and earned a resounding slap in the face from Johnny, who was trying his best to look really tough. He even tried to suck in his gut, but to no avail.
“We got you!” The man-faced bitch howled from where she lay on the floor.
Is she nuts? He’s gonna…
Johnny grunted and kicked her in the stomach, making her writhe even more.
“You scumbag!” Yorka spat with unexpected fury. “Fat, smelly scumbag! Scumbag!”
Well… I didn’t like the sight of this big guy kicking a groaning woman sprawled on the floor. No matter how vicious a bitch she was.
Yorka was unstoppable. She clenched her fist, hissing, baring her teeth, practically foaming at the mouth, pouring out all her long-standing hatred and resentment. I took a half step back, out of her line of sight, hooked my thumb into the waistband of my shorts and listened, a satisfied smile on my face. I wasn’t the only one — everyone around us was listening to Yorka. It was hard to ignore the heart-rending cry of a soul that had been tortured for so long.
“You scumbag! You dickhead! You fat, smelly piece of shit! Prick! I hope you die! Oh, you’re gonna die no matter what! Asshole!”
The pretty girl standing behind Johnny, the one who Yorka had accidentally knocked down, managed to keep a filthy semblance of an innocent expression on her face. Her eyes widened with surprise as she witnessed this outpouring of emotions from the one-handed goblin girl raging in the middle of the hallway. She looked like a respectable housewife standing on the porch of her own house, listening to drunkards making a racket on the other side of the fence. All she needed was curlers in her hair to complete the picture.
Johnny roared… Then fell silent when Yorka started assaulting his manhood with insults. My smile widened as I squinted at the ceiling, silently counting the seconds. I kept the gang in my sights, especially the big fat guy. He hadn’t said anything yet, but his face was slowly turning black with bad blood. His head looked like it was ready to explode at the slightest flick. Staring straight ahead, he swayed slightly, as if every word thrown at him by Yorka hit him like a small stone.
I waited patiently — not for Johnny to get even madder, but for Yorka to drain her mental abscesses, to release the inner darkness of her soul with this yelling. There’s nothing worse than someone keeping a burden of negative emotions to themselves. This suppressed negativity strangles you, and I wanted Yorka to be able to breathe deeply.
“You! Fucking! Asshole! Die, you cocksucker! Burn in hell!”
Johnny inhaled hoarsely and reached forward. His girlfriend clung to him, and let out a piercing shriek:
“Johnny, no! Don’t do it! Mother’s watching! She’s watching! Wait!”
She struggled to slow him down, let alone stop him. Johnny kept moving forward, one small half-foot step after another. That mountain of fat imbued with black malice was unstoppable. If he couldn’t get to me, he would just beat up his allies. The man-faced bitch had recovered from the kick to her stomach and would be the first to feel his anger.
“Show them who’s boss, Johnny! Smash ‘em! Smash! Crush them!” She bleated from the floor.
“Shut your mouth, bitch!” The other girl, who was clinging to Johnny’s arm, kicked her in the jaw. She tried to dodge, but couldn’t — her teeth rattled and she whimpered, covering her mouth with her hands. She must have bitten her tongue. That had to hurt.
A dome passed by above us. I grabbed Yorka, still yelling, by the shoulder and dragged her after me. She resisted. I growled angrily and pulled harder. I would need to do something about our party’s discipline. Turning back, I made my face look frightened — dropped my jaw, widened my eyes, and tensed my shoulders — as though I was expecting a hit, and shrank back in fear. My performance was noticed. Not by the fatso and his henchmen, but by their subconscious minds. A signal rang out in their heads, saying ‘These goblins are scared! They’re afraid of us! They’re running! After them!’
I turned sharply and dragged Yorka behind a corner. After a few quick steps, I glanced at the ceiling, dragged her closer, then pushed her forward:
“Stay low and run to the next corner. Wait for me there!”
A booming roar came from the hallway at our backs:
“I’m gonna kill you!”
“What about you?” She had only just come to her senses, still clenching her fist and breathing raggedly.
“Do it!” I barked, turning around. “Run! Don’t look back!”
Her retreating footsteps told me that she had followed my orders. I reached under the sling with my right hand and pulled something out, gripping it in my hand. I stepped forward and to the side, then slashed at Johnny’s thick throat as he ran past. I took a small step to the side so I could reach the girl who was pushing his back. She got her neck slashed next. I just had to reach out a little further this time. Without looking at the two of them, I hugged the wall. As soon as the last of the three turned the corner, I punched her in the face, forcing her head to tilt back, then slit her throat. I jumped back hastily, barely standing on my trembling legs, and leaned against the opposite wall. I waited until she staggered, still not realizing what had happened, then wiped the thing that had killed her on her back. I ran clumsily past Johnny and his girlfriend, who had slumped to the blood-soaked floor. Ten feet. I shoved the eye-catching object under my sling. Thirty feet. Sixty feet. I approached the corner, smiled at Yorka pressed against the wall, and shoved her shoulder playfully:
“Let’s go.”
“What?”
“Problem solved.”
“Solved? But… Where are they, Elb? What did you tell them? That was so stupid of me to yell all that bullshit… He’s gonna ruin our lives, that’s for sure! Listen… Let’s just run away. Right now. We can go to Murkwaters! I’ve heard Drainagetown is a fine place to lay low. Johnny won’t follow us there, he’s too fat and lazy. This place is his hunting ground. Elb, listen… Elb! Say something! I’m such an idiot, I screwed us! How bad is it? Where are they? Did you buy us some time? Let’s get to the clux as fast as we can. I’ll help you run! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it all just kind of came out!”
“Stop it,” I ordered.
“But… I really didn’t mean to… Just... When I saw his ugly face… When I remembered…”
“Shut up!”
“All right…”
“Take a good look at me. What do you see?” I stopped and turned around slowly. “What do you see?”
“An ugly goblin.” Yorka muttered, passing her hand over her face. “Phew. There’s a dome here. We’re lucky.”
“That’s all you see?”
“Yeah. What am I supposed to see?”
“Nothing.” I smiled. “Let’s go.”
It was a clean job. I wasn’t stained with treacherously bright blood. Sure, it gets dark, but not as quickly as I needed it to. It wouldn’t have passed for grease or dirt.
“What did you do?”
That was an understandable question. She had come to her senses and realized something was off. We were being chased, and then her leader had ordered her to hide behind a corner. A few minutes later I showed up, told her everything was fine and no one was chasing us.
“I dealt with them, once and for all.” I said shortly, and raised my left arm. “With this.”
“Sweet mother of God!” Yorka gasped, turning pale.
I watched how she reacted. Was she going to recoil? No. She did the opposite — grabbed my good hand and dragged me after her, trying to get us running.
“What’s wrong with you? Why did you do that?! I mean, they were bastards... Scumbags… They’ve ruined so many lives… But you just… Just…”
“Yep.”
“With this?”
“Yeah.”
“Who are you, goblin? What you’ve done is just… We have to run...”
“No way.” I stopped her. “No running. Let go of my hand, stand up straight, and smile.”
“What?”
“Smile!” I snarled. “We have act natural in front of everyone. Just walk, talk to me.”
“Did you really kill them? Or did you just hurt them? Make it clear we’re no one to mess with?”
“They’re gone, Yorka. The bastards are gone for good. The problem is almost solved.”
“What have we done… What have we done…”
We. That word was like music to my goblin ears! I suddenly realized we were going to be in this together for a long time. She was not the kind of person to stay out of trouble, to do anything to keep her hands clean. And, more importantly, she was trying to act, not panic. She didn’t always succeed, but that was nothing a little practice couldn’t fix.
“We need to lay low!”
So predictable…
I frowned and shook my head.
“No we don’t. Right now we’re going to walk calmly to intersection 17, stopping at a medblock on the way. As soon as we get a new job we’ll do it, no rush. Calm down, Yorka. No one saw anything!”
“But they all saw us arguing!”
“And they heard us, too.” I nodded. “But they didn’t see me kill those bastards. They know nothing, they can only speculate. And speculation doesn’t prove anything, you know.”
“I know that. But the ones coming after us don’t give a damn!”
“Who’s coming after us, exactly?” I was glad that Yorka had calmed down and we were able to blend in with the crowd of orcs and goblins. “Those three? I don’t think they realized what happened yet. They must be still waiting in ambush.”
“Oh, right! I forgot about those guys!”
Huh. So she hadn’t been talking about dead Johnny the Lion’s three henchman when she said ‘the ones coming after us’.
“How did you even pull that off?” Yorka looked at me. “Three of them?”
“It’s pretty easy if you know what you’re doing.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“No idea. But I really want to find out.” I paused for a moment. “It’s all just wrong.”
“Of course it’s wrong! Cutting them down without a second thought!”
“That’s not what I mean. Everything around me is wrong.” I tried to explain. “Things shouldn’t be like this. I know that.”
“What are you talking about? That brawl, you mean?”
“No. I mean, the Outskirts, zombies, goblins, orcs... it’s not right! Every morning, when I crawl out of my capsule and watch the goblins stand in line for food, I realize that something’s wrong. Completely wrong.”
“How would you know that?”
“I don’t know. I guess that’s not the right word. I mean, I feel it. I can sense it. There’s something seriously wrong with this place. And I have to get my memory back so I can figure out what’s wrong.”
“Get your memory back?” She scoffed. “Yeah, dream on! You’re a nullbie, I’m a nullbie. Memories aren’t for the likes of us.”
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody! That’s just the way it is! We’re volitional nullform. Nullform don’t deserve to have memories. Like cockroaches.”
“No way. That’s so wrong! Nobody has the right to take my memories. They’re my life. What am I without my memory? Nothing!”
“That’s none of our concern for now! Wait! Let’s turn here. There’s a medblock this way, plus the hallway is wide and busy.”
“Got it.”
“Those three… Are they following us?”
“No,” I said confidently. “They probably haven’t found the bodies yet. Johnny was an idiot. A huge, arrogant idiot. He sent his main strike team to set a trap for us, then blocked our path himself. He wanted to watch us run in fear from him, only to be caught by the ambush team and be at his mercy. He wanted to deal with us personally, without his boys. To prove to them — and everyone — that no one can mess with him, the huge, powerful Lion. That he’s strong, scary, and unforgiving. He was a fool to underestimate his enemy.”
“Those three are going to find us.”
“I’m ninety percent sure they won’t even come near us.” I grinned. “We’re dangerous. And grunts like them avoid danger. Why look for trouble when you can just keep sucking your sheep dry, staying clear of the wolves like us?”
“Who are you, goblin?”
I laughed. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”
“And that elven flower… That’s what you killed them with? Damn. Well, here’s the medblock. Don’t worry about me — a dome passes here every thirty seconds. Let me hold that deadly thing.”
“Here. I’ll be back soon,” I promised, and stood in front of the door. “Eleven!”
Eleven. (ORL).
Objective?
“Checkup.”
Balance: 21 sol.
Debt status: No debt.
The door opened with a soft sound, revealing a small room with a familiar chair. I went inside. The door closed and a short animated video of a man lying down on the chair played. I didn’t even have to undress. And no cute nurses to comfort this poor goblin. I sat down obediently.
Balance: 19 sol.
Hey! You didn’t do anything yet!
I didn’t say anything out loud, of course. I just stared at the ceiling and waited, counting the seconds. At first glance, nothing was happening — no manipulators, no lenses, no scanners, not even equipment sounds. Nothing.
Overall physical condition: normal.
Limb condition and status:
URL: normal.
ULL: normal.
LRL: normal.
LLL: normal.
Recommended treatment: Painkillers (1 sol) twice a day, medication (2 sol) twice a day.
Another animation played on top of the text — a green man getting up and merrily leaving the medblock. In the animation that followed, the green man remained in the chair as a speech bubble emerged from his mouth saying ‘Painkillers. Medication.’ A thirty-second countdown started.
Are you shitting me?
That’s your checkup? You just changed my ULL from green to yellow?
“Painkillers! Medication!”
Balance: 16 sol.
My newfound financial stability was beginning to fall apart.
Another three sol for painkillers and medicines.
Did they take us for complete idiots?
Where were the explanations, what kind of medicine I was being injected with? Where was the detailed diagnosis? The explanation, in simple terms for someone like me with no knowledge of medicine? Like, ‘Eleven, my friend, your left elbow’s condition is called this-itis, we’ll give you a shot of that-erol and you’ll be fine in some time.’ Where was all that?
Bloody hell!
I rushed out of the medblock, seething with anger. Yorka caught on to my mood immediately and said:
“Chill. We’re nullbies. I’ve heard the halflings get better treatment. Well, they get more details, at least. What did they do to you in there?”
“Gave me a shot of painkillers and some other medicine.”
“Well, that’s something. Here, take your thing back.”
“It’s an artifact!” I objected. “It’s called an elven flower.”
“You’re hopeless, goblin. How’s your hand?”
“It’s almost stopped hurting. But what’s the point?”
“They gave you medication?”
“Yeah. But what kind of medication?”
“Medical medicine, duh.”
“Who’s hopeless now?”
“You are! A goblin with an elven flower... All right, should we go to intersection 17?”
“Yeah. We’ll sit there for a while, catch our breath. Hey, Yorka.”
“What?”
“How can we become halflings? We did a ORL job today. Will the system offer us an upgrade to HFL?”
“Ha! You wish!”
“Hmm. Should’ve known.” I frowned in annoyance. “So we have to work really hard for a long time?”
“Yeah. You have to do ten ORL jobs in a row. That will prove to the system that you’re an orc that can work, and you’ll get the opportunity to become a halfling. But people usually don’t take the upgrade.”
“Why not?”
“Think about the jobs we’re given.”
“Collecting slime, turning handles… You mean the jobs the system gives us?”
“Yeah. See, these jobs are hard, but safe. Goblins and orcs are fine with that. Zombies, too.”
“Zombies, too…” I repeated. “Can you explain?”
The explanation was brief.
HFL was primarily used as encouragement for the most hardworking and diligent. The normal work load was enough for everyone who worked just to get by.
It was easy to get HFL for the first time — all you had to do was complete ten ORL jobs in a row and accept the system’s offer to increase your status.
Was it easy to get ten normal jobs done in a row? It was. Anyone could do it as long as no one was purposely trying to mess with them. It was best to have four working limbs for that, but not necessary. Your brain and wits mattered the most. If I had to collect gray slime alone again, I’d be there at three in the morning. No crowds, no griefers, I could take breaks, and I’d be done before the evening alarm.
That’s why so many workers got the system’s offer. The majority of them agreed, since it was pretty enticing: more work, but more sol, too. Not to mention a higher status, something we mortals were so addicted to! It was embarrassing to be a lowly zombie — or, god forbid, a worm — and everyone wanted to be a halfling.
However, after two or three days, most people who accepted the offer backed out. They returned to ORL, never to attempt the climb again.
Why?
The answer was simple — once you reached HFL, the system started to hand out dangerous tasks. Like, really dangerous. Even if you didn’t die, you could be seriously injured — wounded, burned, or poisoned. No joke. Halflings were assigned to jobs like fixing leaks — anything from boiling water, which at least cools down quickly, to technical liquids running through the pipes. There were some ugly stories of people being literally dissolved while fixing one of those leaks, although they were extremely rare.
But that was just the tip of the iceberg. It was halflings who were sent to clean the various nooks and crannies hidden behind the metal barriers. Pluxes were known to pounce on halflings from behind the descending section. How could they fend off an armored beast with just a plastic bucket and shovel? They couldn’t. That would be the end of their illustrious career.
They didn’t just clean, though. The system offered them a huge variety of jobs. They were rumored to be well paid, but there was no way to know for sure. But going by how they looked, HFL workers had enough to outfit themselves well and eat well, and they had all their limbs. And all of them were willing to risk their health — and their lives.
Are you ready to risk your life for ten extra sol? Are you prepared to swim in acid?
Yorka remembered, in nightmarish detail, the faces of those caught in an acid shower in one distant chamber. A whole unit of nine halflings was dispatched there, but only four of them came back — badly burned, disfigured, blinded, coughing up their lungs. The system managed to save three of them. The fourth halfling died with pride, his final act of service to their Mother. And he could have just lived the life of a less-proud orc or a carefree goblin.
That’s what happens here.
The only ones who really benefited from HFL (and the additional status changes the system was rumored to grant to distinguished workers) were the brigades. They had numbers. They had at least some protective equipment — hazmat suits, rubber boots, gas masks. But it wasn’t easy to join a brigade, and there was a persistent and sinister theory that new people got all the hard and dirty jobs. They didn’t want to risk their trusted members when there were plenty of yesterday’s goblins to throw into the fire. Or into the acid. Or to the pluxes. It was a sink-or-swim way of life.
“Never a dull moment around here, huh?” I chuckled after Yorka finished her wild, wandering explanation.
“We have to think it over very carefully before we choose to upgrade to HFL.”
“Oh, we’re upgrading,” I said quickly.
“Are you listening to me at all?”
“Yep. I’ve been listening to you since my first day here. You woke me up, remember?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, goblin!”
“Me neither. The moral of each of your stories is that life here is better when you have a higher status. You just told me that the brigades control other people’s lives, choosing who lives and who dies. And we’re not playing some video game where death means nothing. For us, it’s the ultimate end. We can feel pain and fear, we can lose arms and legs, or become a freak with melted skin and burnt out eyes.”
“Woah… Calm down, goblin, take a deep breath. You’re about to burst. First things first, we have to try and keep our ORL status for a day or two, without being made goblins again. Those three thugs might still kill us, or somebody else might. Life’s short but fun here in the Outskirts, my fellow goblin.”
“You have a point there.”
“Did you hide the artifact?”
“Yeah, don’t worry.” I smiled, patting my bandaged arm. “My sharp petal is safely hidden.”
“Let’s change the subject. Too many ears here.”
I nodded, slowed down, and pushed my way to a vacant spot on nearby wall ledge. We squeezed in and started waiting for the hirers and any news. I had come to this bustling location for a reason. We’d hear the latest news here first. And tonight’s news would be bloody and violent...
I patted the sling again, feeling the outline of my weapon.
If you could call it a weapon. I had found it in the sticky mud that covered the metal blocks we pulled out of the wall. It was a miracle I didn’t slice my palm open when I scooped up the slimy filth with my hand. It flashed in the mud — the elven flower…
It was a long, sharp sliver of glass the length of my palm, two fingers wide, and slightly wider at the base. Three black lines divided it into three uneven sections: blue, then red in the middle, and yellow along the sharp edge. A colorful flower with a long stem was painted on the yellow part, running the entire length of the shard. Three clearly-drawn leaves extended from the stem.
The flower… It was vibrant, amazing, clearly the work of a true artist. Was it even a painting? It looked to me like part of some ornate stained glass window.
Why did I call it elven? Because it was so unusual, so bright, definitely not part of this nullform world. Such beauty couldn’t have come out of these filthy Outskirts. It looked… magical. So why not call it elven?
The elven flower.
When I said it out loud, Yorka just snorted. Although it was clear she was mesmerized by the bright colors on the sharp glass.
When I looked over the shard, I found it to be fairly strong. The glass was thick and seemed tempered. It was unlikely that it would break easily — It must have taken a really hard hit to form the shard. Whatever had happened, I now had myself a sharp weapon that became even more useful when I wrapped a strip of my handkerchief around it to serve as a handle.
And today my beauty had tasted the blood of the beast.
What emotions was I feeling after my triple murder?
Not many. My mind was stable, but I was having troubling thoughts about flaws in my technique. I hit too hard. Strength doesn’t matter with a weapon this sharp. I took too small a step back, almost got splattered with blood. Practical thoughts that seemed almost familiar. But I couldn’t be sure, and I wasn’t going to guess.
I had another practical idea — I would bandage my right knee as tight as I could before doing anything like that again. Today it had almost snapped in two at the most crucial moment.
We sat on the warm bench for twenty minutes, occasionally exchanging glances, then slipping back into idle thoughts. Suddenly, we heard shouting from the hallway we had come from. A minute later, a breathless goblin missing his right arm ran out into the intersection, whirled in a strange semblance of a shamanic dance, and shouted again:
“Murder! Murder!”
More than fifty voices flooded him with questions. The questions were all slightly different, but in essence could be reduced to just a few:
“Who?”
“How?”
“Where?”
“Who did it?”
The one-armed goblin, still dancing, spun around especially fast and blurted out:
“Johnny the Lion! Thoma the Pretty! Zanha the Ugly! All of them murdered, just a few paths over from here. Throats slit. It was a bloodbath! One of Mother’s eyes is on it already. They gave out eight interment jobs, so it’s someone’s lucky day today! Of course it would take that many to drag Johnny’s body away...”
“They’ll come after us.” Yorka whispered. “Investigators. Detectives.”
What was she talking about? Although she had mentioned something about someone coming after us. But we had to leave that for later — we didn’t get the chance to talk. As soon as the mouthy goblin stopped shouting, everyone gathered at the intersection started turning their heads towards the two of us sitting humbly on the wall ledge. Towards numbers Eleven and Ninety-One.
News reached intersection 17 rapidly. People here had been hearing about the two goblins who taunted the rabid fat orc known as Johnny the Lion. They knew he had planned to punish the two who had mocked them — really punish them. And now Johnny the Lion, Thoma the Pretty, and Zanha the Ugly were dead, face-down in their own blood.
So many eyes focused on us that I couldn’t stand it anymore. I raised my head, smiled broadly and asked the people around me the simplest of questions:
“Can I help you, fellow goblins?”
Most of the curious eyes looked down when I spoke. I turned to the one-armed herald still standing in the middle of the hallway and said:
“Go on, spread the news. Where did it happen? How exactly were they killed? Give us more! We want all the bloody details!”
“Yes, Mr. Goblin, sir!” Mumbled the herald. “I mean… Mr. Eleven!”
“I am a goblin. Elb the Goblin. And this is my good friend, Yorka the goblin. Do you get it?”
“I do! Elb the goblin and Yorka the goblin!”
I had no idea why I was still calling myself a goblin, but it just seemed right. It wasn’t time to turn my back on the mud that gave birth to me yet. I was a child of the Outskirts, the birthplace of worms, zombies, goblins, and orcs.
“More details, minstrel. Come on!”
“Hmm…” The goblin’s long face made it clear he had run out of news. He had said everything he knew all at once. All he had left to say were the numbers of the ones who had threatened to kill, then killed Johnny. But how could he say them out loud when everybody knew what he was going to say? When the people he wanted to name were sitting right in front of him with an expression of creepy, bone-chilling friendliness…
“That’s all the news I have,” the herald said, studying the floor. “I’m sorry…”
He vanished, and the intersection returned to its normal buzz of activity.
It was a fortunate turn of events. We just had to sit and wait for the employers or the investigators Yorka had mentioned before.
There were some kind of law enforcement officers in this world, and it looked like we were going to meet them soon.