STATUS:
Number: Eleven.
Rank: Nullform (volitional).
Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).
Balance: 26 + 40 + 15 + 15 + 4 = 100 sol.
Debt status: No debt.
Current time: 06:47.
Overall physical condition: normal.
Limb condition and status:
URL: normal.
ULL: normal.
LRL: normal.
LLL: normal.
Additional information: body is fighting off the residual effects of acute intoxication. Minor toxicosis.
Medical treatment — Free. (O).
Medication and painkiller injections — Free. (O).
Immunosuppressant injection — Free. (O).
Vitamin injection (increased dose) — Free. (O).
Stimulant injection — Free. (O).
Daily limb rental fee has been refunded (+4). (O).
HMM...
What was up with the bizarre math? Why such a round number?
“Fuck off, goblins! I hope you blow up and die! Get the hell out of here before I break your faces!”
Yorka was terrifying when she was angry. Absolutely formidable.
My legs re-wrapped, my palm bandaged, and feeling like a pincushion from all the needles they had jabbed in me, I lay on the blissfully warm wall ledge, feeling good. Nothing hurt, and my mind was clear. The system had done a fantastic job. I had woken up to a cursing Yorka pulling me out of the chair as well as she could and dragging me towards the exit. As I blinked the sleep from my eyes, I was able to help her out, and the two of us somehow made it to the nearest wall ledge. It was just past six in the morning.
Yorka was back soon, dragging the blind man across the floor. Sliding off the bench, I helped her lift him to the ledge. I pulled off my blood-soaked t-shirt, straightened the bandanna tied around my neck, covered the dead plux with the rags, and moved the whole pile a little closer to the wall. Then I stretched out next to the wounded guy. He lay motionless, baseball cap covering his scarred face.
Yorka sat on the edge of the ledge, wielding her awl threateningly to keep away any early birds curious about the bloodstains on the floor and the bandaged victims. But they soon found out it wasn’t worth incurring Yorka’s wrath. Anyone who tried to ask questions was quickly rebuffed with a few sharp, scathing words.
I studied the math in my field of vision with surprise. A minute later, I looked at the hissing snake that was Yorka, growling and barking, and asked:
“Where’s the closest ATM?”
“About a hundred yards from here,” she replied, caught slightly off guard. “Why?”
“Did you get your due?”
“And more! Fifteen for the plux I squashed.”
“A plux...” Sighed a pudgy orc from a distance, standing on tiptoe and looking at the beasts covered by the t-shirt and handkerchief.
“Shh,” I said, looking at the orc. “Go away.”
“Understood.” He was gone in a second.
“What else?”
“They refunded me four sol, so the system paid for my arms and legs today. The shots were all free, too. Plus I got the compensation for the job. Oh, I wonder if we got any extra jobs. Although, who am I kidding... Damn! Goblin! I thought we were gonna die!”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “So what’s your balance look like now?”
“I’m in the black! I’m rich, goblin! Thirty-four sol!”
“Awesome. Let’s go to the ATM while there’s no one around.”
“For what? Is it something serious?” Yorka stood up, worried. “How much do you need? Medical bills?”
“I need the ATM,” I grunted, carefully working my way down from the ledge and slowly putting weight on my poor legs. “I’m gonna give you money.”
“What? Why?”
“Help me,” I said, and Yorka offered me her shoulder to lean on. She led the way, and I explained as I walked behind her:
“It’s time for you to get your arm sewn back on. Hey — ” I stifled a moan as we came to an abrupt stop. “What are you doing?”
“My arm?” She stared straight ahead. “An operation... Oh, come on, Elb! I’m fine with just the one. I’m used to it.”
“It’s not up for discussion,” I said sharply, pushing her forward. “Keep walking.”
“Listen to me, Elb! They’re gonna cut me! And those knives... They’re sharp!”
“March!” I urged her on ruthlessly.
“Elb! Listen, goblin. Just listen to my reasons!”
“Throw your reasons to the pluxes! You’re just scared!”
“Yeah, I’m afraid. So what? It’s scary! Really scary!”
“Everyone’s scared of something,” I sighed philosophically. “Is this it?”
“Elb! Let’s just save up some more...”
“Why? A new arm costs fifty-three sol. We have that.”
“But…”
“I said move!”
“I have to keep the curious zombies away from you! I can’t get my arm sewn back on right now!”
“Move!”
I tuned out her protests once we reached the ATM. A green animation showed me how to work it, and I sent Yorka forty sol, then forced her to accept the money. But that wasn’t where my problems ended. Ignoring my wounded legs, I pushed her into the medblock, ripped the awl out of her hand, and with one last jab, pushed her through the opened door. As it slid shut, I growled angrily:
“Don’t come back without your second arm, goblin!” I shouted as the steel door separated me from Yorka, who sat huddled on the edge of the chair.
Scared, huh.
She hadn’t been scared of throwing herself at that vicious plux with a heavy steel block, but the medblock was enough to trigger a panic attack! It didn’t make sense.
Maybe she had just been hopped up on adrenaline then. It was even pumping now — I could imagine it literally flowing out from under the medblock door. It was kinda yellow...
I returned to our temporary camp on the ledge just in time. Two men were leaning over our man on the ledge. One was gripping his baseball cap in one hand, while the other hand crept slowly towards the belt bag lying nearby, inching it towards him. The second man cast glances at the rag-covered pluxes.
I heard a chuckle, then a gurgling phrase:
“Damn, he’s ugly. Like someone hit his face with a rake...”
I glanced at the ceiling. No domes in sight. I stepped closer and jabbed twice with the awl. Hard. Mercilessly. There were two cries of pain and a high-pitched, frightened whimper, but the marauders who had received deep wounds to their backsides recovered with impressive speed. Tucking the awl out of sight, I smiled wickedly at the pair and promised:
“I’ll find you, punks. I’ll be lying in wait down some death path... And first I’ll take your greedy hands, then your throats! Put that back where you found it, you animal!” I pointed at the one who was bold enough to keep holding onto the other man’s belt bag. “Give it back, you piece of shit!”
“Elb... It’s Elb.” The second one sobbed, holding his injured backside. “We didn’t know... Didn’t know he was one of yours... You get it, right, Elb? It’s eat or be eaten. Survival... We have no choice, we have to survive somehow...”
“Put it back,” I repeated.
The first marauder came to life. Sidestepping, with a disgusting, pitiful smile on his sweating face, he carefully reached for the ledge, and carefully laid the bag next to its owner.
“The cap on the floor,” I continued. “Pick it up. Shake it off. Put it back where it was.”
“Yes, Elb,” He whispered, bending down.
He shouldn’t have exposed his ass to me like that, the idiot. I took a half-step forward and sunk the awl handle-deep into his gluteus muscle — the only way to teach animals like this a lesson was through reinforcement. He howled in pain again, and jumped, twisting, until there was a five-yard distance between us. I looked each of them in the eye and smiled even wider:
“I’m still gonna kill you. I’ll find you and kill you. Now get out of here.”
They were gone in an instant.
I picked up the cap and placed it back on the blind man’s disfigured face. Suddenly he moved, whispering:
“I’m Bask.”
“Is that your name, man?”
“That’s my name, man.”
“I’m Elb.”
“Not a bad name...”
“Will you join our group? Me, Yorka, and you. Bask.”
“Sure.”
Then he once again fell silent under his baseball cap. I looked his stomach, although there wasn’t much to see. His abdomen was entirely covered in medical glue, with perforated bandages stuck on here and there — for ventilation, most likely. I had the same mess on my legs, the medical glue and long bandages.
I didn’t have anything to do or anywhere to be, so I checked the time.
Current time: 07:32.
I doubted Yorka would be back anytime soon. How long would it take the system to remove what was left of her old arm and sew a new one on?
I had no idea. I wished I could lay down and get some sleep, but I couldn’t, since the marauders were still around. I decided to study my interface instead. Some of the system messages had already disappeared, but they weren’t hard to remember.
Compensation for eliminating one lesser gray plunar xarl: 15 sol.
Compensation for eliminating one lesser gray plunar xarl: 15 sol.
Compensation for eliminating one lesser yellow plunar xarl: 40 sol.
So how was I supposed to know what a plunar xarl was?
I mean, I could tell the nickname ‘plux’ was a combination of the two words. But, elves take me, what did ‘plunar xarl’ mean?
The colors made sense too, although they seemed a little off. The gray pluxes were more greenish, and the yellow one was a bright carrot orange.
May those orange pluxes — I mean yellow plunar xarls — rot in hell. The system decided they were worth more than twice what the ordinary gray ones were. Coughed up forty whole sol for them. Even though those carrots didn’t bite anyone and were the slowest of the pluxes, I was in complete agreement with the system’s decision. They had to be worth a lot, because they had to be eliminated mercilessly.
The damned carrot-colored things were commanders. They gave orders to the gray pluxes, staying behind them and coordinating their actions. I had seen it myself. Now I understood why the pluxes displayed such incredible patience — their will was harshly suppressed by their leader. Suppressed with help from that strange pulsating bulge that my glass knife had pierced. As soon as the orange plux died, the gray soldiers immediately recoiled, entering an almost paralyzed state. This let us finish them off quickly.
I have to take a look at this monster. All these monsters. A really good look.
Plunar xarls... This insane name would be on my mind for a long time. I would deal with the carcasses later. The system still had some surprises left.
Balance: 58 sol.
Got it. The long math equation was gone, but I still remembered it. It looked like:
Balance: 26 + 40 + 15 + 15 + 4 = 100 sol.
I already had 26 sol, then got 70 total for the pluxes, and the system gave me 4 back as a repayment of my limb lease. Leaving me with 100 total. I took 40 of that and gave it to Yorka. The ATM fee set me back 2 sol, so she got 38. Combined with the sol she already had, she would have enough for a new arm plus any medicine she would need. She could even get a massage to help her relax.
The most important thing I learned was that the system wouldn’t charge you for your limbs if you killed pluxes. They wouldn’t charge you for medical care, vitamins, immunosuppressants, or other medicines, either. But only once. Tomorrow I would have to pay again if I wasn’t lucky enough to finish off at least one more plux. Or did I need to kill two? Damn... The system was so stingy with information! I really could have used an explanation.
I moved further down the blinking list. I had almost reached the end.
Receive group combat missions (extra)?
Yes / No.
That short phrase again.
It sounded dangerous. But the addition of ‘extra’ intrigued me, and I chose ‘Yes’, adding to the difficulties I was facing.
Menu section added: Bestiary.
Menu section activated: Bestiary.
Blinking in surprise, I opened the interface.
Status.
Physical Condition.
Finances.
Jobs.
Bestiary.
Select.
Gray plunar xarl.
Yellow plunar xarl.
That was it? We’d already run into both of those! It didn’t seem very fair. Or maybe there just weren’t any other monsters around here.
When I selected the first line, a wall of text appeared, plus a green picture. Why is everything always green?
No one answered me. A plux, limbs spread wide, spun slowly before my eyes.
Gray plunar xarl.
Rank: Soldier.
Predator. Moves quickly. Swims well. Can navigate in complete darkness with ease. Grows continuously until death.
Habitat: ubiquitous.
Most often attacks from the darkness. Usually grabs onto one of the victim’s limbs with all four paws, bites deeply with its fangs, after which its mouth begins to vibrate slowly, causing its needle-shaped teeth to move in the wound, expanding and worsening it. It feeds on blood and any scraps of flesh that fall into its mouth.
Its hard scales provide almost complete protection against cutting weapons. Heavy spiked weapons with a combined crushing and piercing effect on the target are recommended.
Additional information: when bitten, it injects poison into the victim’s blood, leading to lethargy, weakness, disorientation, and loss of consciousness. The injected dose of poison varies based on the size of the individual. Deaths from poisoning have been recorded.
The antidote A-SHL-2, available for purchase at trade points, is effective against gray plunar xarl venom.
Slang names include: plux, sucker, vampire.
Reproduction method: spawning.
“Damn,” I muttered. “Its mouth begins to vibrate slowly... So there was one biting each of my legs? And what’s all this about ranks? They’re animals...”
Yellow plunar xarl.
Rank: Tactical leader.
Predator. Moves quickly. Swims well. Can navigate in complete darkness with ease. Grows continuously until death.
Habitat: ubiquitous.
The tactical leader. Can lead groups of up to 5 gray pluxes, maintaining full control over them. Capable of selecting and tracking an optimal victim for the herd, ordering its fighters to attack at the perfect moment. Will flee immediately if all fighters are lost.
Attacks last, most often when the immobilized victim is already poisoned and in shock. Usually grabs onto one of the victim’s limbs with all four paws, bites deeply with its fangs, after which its mouth begins to vibrate slowly, causing its needle-shaped teeth to move in the wound, expanding and worsening it. It feeds on blood and any scraps of flesh that fall into its mouth.
Its hard scales provide almost complete protection against cutting weapons. Heavy spiked weapons with a combined crushing and piercing effect on the target are recommended.
The forequarters features a small leathery bulge with no protective scales.
Additional information: when bitten, it injects poison into the victim’s blood, leading to lethargy, weakness, disorientation, and loss of consciousness. The injected dose of poison varies based on the size of the individual. Deaths from poisoning have been recorded.
The antidote A-SHL-2, available for purchase at trade points, is effective against yellow plunar xarl venom.
Slang names include: plux, sucker, vampire, alpha, crazy carrot.
Reproduction method: spawning.
“Tactical leader, for sure,” I muttered, “No mistaking it. But this seems kinda small for a bestiary...”
“It’s not complete,” came a barely-audible voice. Bask was stirring again. “Information. The list of monsters... It’s behind a paywall, you can buy more...”
“Where?”
“Any info point. Only for halflings and higher ranks...”
“Damn!”
“Thank you, Elb.”
“For what?”
“You know what.”
“Forget it. No need to thank me. Just, if anything happens, I’ll expect you to pay me back in kind.”
“Absolutely. I’m gonna go back to sleep now...”
“Hold on! About our group. Are you sure?”
“I’m ready.”
Add Thirteen as a permanent group member?
Yes / No.
Of course.
“You’re part of the group now, goblin!” I said cheerfully to my prostrate companion.
He said nothing, but gave me a thumbs-up. He was pleased. Then he mumbled something else, but I couldn’t hear him, so I leaned in closer.
“What?”
“I’m not a goblin.”
“What are you, then?”
“A zombie. Bask the zombie.”
“Fantastic.” I rolled my eyes in delight. “Elb the goblin, Yorka the goblin, and Bask the zombie. What a team!”
No more words from Bask — just another thumbs-up. But a sudden realization hit me, and I hissed in frustration like a crushed snake, jumping into my interface. Please say I’m wrong, please say I’m wrong... Please...
No... I wasn’t wrong. Fuck! Feed me to the worms! I’m an idiot!
Job: Wipe markings. (Party).
Description: Procure sponges from chemical vat 14B (CLUX-17) and wipe the wall and floor markings in adjacent hallways 1 — 12.
Job location: Hallways 1 — 12 adjacent to CLUX-17.
Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.
Compensation: 30 sol.
Completely ignoring our physical condition, the system had gleefully scaled our job up for three people. I looked at my legs covered in glue and bandages, then frowned, bit my lip, and looked up. Fuck you, Mother of metal! We’ll still get it done!
Get it done…
What a goblin I was.
Dangling my wounded legs, I sat injured and sick, with my even more seriously wounded teammate lying next to me. I had sent Yorka to get that operation. Yeah, our chances of getting this work done sure looked great...
But it was too early to start panicking — it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet. There were still twelve hours until the evening alarm. So for the time being, I was going to do what was most important: take a nap, one eye open, and wait for Yorka to come back. I shifted into a more comfortable position and checked to make sure Bask was still breathing and his wounds hadn’t opened again. Then I closed my eyes, folded my hands over my stomach, and relaxed as much as I could, hoping my overstretched muscles would unknot themselves and slowly start to take in the water, nutrients, and vitamins they’d shot into me. As my mind sunk into slumber, visions of our recent battle flashed through my mind.
What had I done right?
What mistakes had I made?
How did the gray pluxes move?
Did they tuck their paws underneath their body before they jumped?
Somewhere between the tenth question and answer, my mind gave up and demanded calm. The last thought I had was that I hadn’t finished reading my system messages. But I would do it later. Right now I had to rest...
* * *
I had a great nap — a whole peaceful hour while the drugs did their work. And they were some strong drugs. I yawned and fumbled for the water bottle, greedily drinking half of what was left, then looked at Bask to make sure he had made it through the hour. I thought about waking him up and giving him some water, but decided it was better not to rush him — I seemed to remember something about not giving people water for the first few hours after abdominal injuries. He could decide for himself once he woke up. I’m sure the system would warn him if it was a bad idea to drink water.
I grabbed my last nutritional cube from my belt bag and devoured it greedily, washing it down with the rest of the water. My stomach was fueled, but my hunger still wasn’t satisfied — my eyes looked around for a food room of their own accord. I decided to wait for Yorka, then go get breakfast.
Or maybe I could get a little more sleep?
No. It was already nine. The day would fly by quicker than I could keep up with, and I had to get something useful done. First I would read the last system message.
Plunar xarls exterminated
Prize: Game challenge for any party member. (O)
Amazing. So generous. One-time? So the next pluxes we killed wouldn’t net us prizes? Would it stop being considered heroism and just be seen as routine work?
I looked around and saw that the closest wall screen was right above our chosen ledge. Essentially, it was hanging right above our beds. All I had to do was carefully turn myself around, carefully arrange my injured legs, and push the plux corpses in their blood-soaked rags behind my back. I wasn’t worried about getting dirty, since I already looked like I had just crawled out of hell. The ceiling dome had already stopped above us twice, gleaming disapprovingly through its shields. I was sure that as soon as we stood up from the ledge, we’d be instantly forced into the showers. Hygiene first!
I moved, rested my no-longer-complaining lower back against the pile of corpses, straightened my knees, then dropped my left hand to my knee, gently bending and straightening the elbow a few times first. It wasn’t quite as blue and swollen anymore. The medicine was working.
Well... I’m ready!
Although wouldn’t it be funny if I spent all that time preparing just to play something simple like tic-tac-toe?
I selected myself as the group member accepting the challenge. The screens in the hallway all flashed my number. Everyone around froze in anticipation — would Eleven be fast enough to accept the challenge? What game would it be? I had already noticed that these frequent game challenges were real entertainment for the zombies, goblins, and orcs living here. Maybe for any miraculously-surviving worms, these challenges were a rare source of joy. It’s always nice to look at a loud, fun image...
Nether Earth.
One round.
Select difficulty:
Easy.
Normal.
Hard.
This definitely wasn’t tic-tac-toe...
Difficulty?
I looked thoughtfully at the screen, took a few seconds to think, then shrugged and chose the highest difficulty level offered. Hard. The whole hallway let out a collective gasp, followed by openly vicious laughter and jeering comments about how I was about to get my ass kicked. There was a good chance they were right — I was taking a huge risk. Although... It was strange, but the name of the game seemed vaguely familiar, even fun. I made my choice based on this feeling, putting my trust in my guy recognition and intuition. Now I would find out how right — or wrong — I was.
The menu vanished. The screen got brighter. The game started. It took me a minute to get my bearings. I saw primitive graphics, heard jarring sounds that mimicked disturbing music. There was a rudimentary fortress on the screen with the letter ‘H’ on it, and a rectangle swayed in the air nearby... Some kind of levitating platform... Apparently, I could control it. I wiggled my fingers, trying to figure it out as quickly as possible, dragging the platform from side to side. When I brought it over the ‘H’, the menu changed, throwing me into some kind of factory that produced... combat robots... I could choose a chassis, weapons, electronics... And so many different weapons — phasers, missiles, cannons, nuclear weapons! I picked the cheapest equipment, built a robot, and looked further down the menu until I saw an option to give it orders. I could have it take over factories or enemy bases, wait for a direct order, or go on the assault...
It was a strategy game! And everything I was seeing told me it was real-time strategy.
I was almost certain I had seen this game before, and most likely had played it. My fingers moved faster and faster with every second, and I issued order after order. I sent my first cheap robot to capture. Made the second as strong as I could, gave it orders, then left the base. I was controlling the strange flying platform again. The robots I had made were off somewhere to the right — the map was a narrow strip dotted with strange buildings, with my base on the far left. Since the robots moved to the right, that must be where the enemy was... What would happen if I lowered the platform onto one of the robots? My hands itched to do it... Would I accidentally crush them? I’d have to risk it... The menu on the right changed and I saw lines I liked — I had direct control over the combat robot now. I was driving it. Now I finally understood how everything worked... Onward, you hunk of metal! We have the enemy in our sights!
Nether Earth didn’t take too long to play, and once I captured a few factories to produce resources, everything went smoothly. I was playing against similar robots, and the dull yellow landscape was soon lit up with the flash of laser beams and atomic bomb explosions. When a nuclear explosion destroyed the final enemy base, the system acknowledged my victory.
Game Challenge Complete.
Outcome: Win.
Reward: 20 sol.
Winstreak: 2/3.
Reward Bonus (GC): 0%
GC Selection Chance Bonus: 0%
Extra Prize Chance: 0%
“We fought well,” I said to myself, stretching and massaging my numb limbs.
The reward was a good one. Twenty sol would go a long way.
Balance: 78 sol.
“You played well.” A woman in a tight vest and tight shorts, with red sneakers on her bare feet, approached the wall ledge. A bag was slung across her chest, with a small bottle of greenish liquid hanging from it, and a short, spiked club rested on her hip. Short hair, brown eyes, left cheek streaked with scars. I only took a quick glance at her face. But her limbs… Her arms and legs drew my attention like a magnet. These were no ordinary limbs, but athletic wonders. Not an ounce of fat. They were solid, lean, with sculpted muscles, and swollen veins snaking under her skin. They were also all different colors — her left arm was bronze, with faded remnants of an old tattoo, and the right one was white. Her legs, at least, matched — both were pitch black.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Thanks,” I replied, looking at her baseball cap, where the number ‘299’ had been embroidered by hand, along with a familiar yellow flame.
My visitor was from the Solar Flame Brigade. If her appearance was anything to go by, she probably didn’t spend a lot of time cleaning slime off metal blocks. She was a fighter. I couldn’t imagine she always dressed the way she looked now — it reminded me of the way people dress on vacation.
“Are there dead pluxes under those rags?”
“There are.”
“Gray?”
“Three grays. One’s all yellow, and plunar. Why?”
“I’d like to take them off your hands,” she explained simply, not trying to hide her interest. “I had a day off today, so I slept in. When I crawled out of my capsule, the hallways were full of goblins and zombies screaming about some wounded soldiers in hallway 23 sitting next to a bloody mountain of plux corpses.”
“Mountain?” I chuckled, pressing my back into my makeshift chair of dead flesh. “Not quite a mountain. Not even a hill. A little pile, more like.”
“Will you give ‘em to me? I’ll pay, of course.”
“How much do dead pluxes go for these days?” I asked with undisguised interest.
“Depends what you’ll take. Sol? Items?”
“Let’s say sol.”
“Will you show me the pluxes?”
“Take a look.” I turned slightly to pull off the rags. I heard gasps and excited voices, and a few orcs came a little closer, casting greedy eyes at the plux corpses.
“Hmm... Not much...”
“Not much,” I admitted.
“Five for each gray one. Ten for the tangerine.”
“What? Tangerine? You mean the yellow one?”
“Yeah. It’s orange, like a tangerine.”
“It commands just about as well as a tangerine, too,” I nodded.
“What does that have to do with anything?” The woman looked confused. “A fruit commander?”
“I don’t really understand, either.” I confessed, moving so that the pile of dead pluxes was between us. “What about if I want items? Weapons?”
She shook her head. “No weapons. Are you kidding? If you want cheap weapons, you can just buy ‘em yourself at any vending machine. You can get something like a short awl for around five sol. And if you want something more hardcore, well, no one would give you anything good for this pathetic lot. I can give you two plain black t-shirts. They don’t sell black ones at the trade points around here.”
“Three black t-shirts, a little good advice, and your green drink there,” I offered.
“I don’t get it.”
“What’s there not to get?”
“I don’t get what you mean by advice.”
“You look like you’ve been here a while. I’m new, so I’d be glad for a few tips.”
“Two t-shirts.”
“Three. There are three of us. One for me, one for him,” I nodded at the still-sleeping Bask, “and one for a woman almost the same size as you. And advice — however much you want to give me.”
“It’s a deal. But why do you want the drink? It’s just an isotonic tablet dissolved in plain old water. You can buy ‘em for one sol at the trade point. You should just go there yourself. I always carry a couple pills in my bag and one already dissolved. They’re really convenient — you can suck in fluids on the go.”
“Ha, suck,” laughed a hulking, sleepy orc as he trudged by, clearly not grasping the situation, just hearing a cute female voice — although one that didn’t match its source’s appearance.
Neither of us said anything, but the orc didn’t give up. He paused to rub the sleep from his face, then giggled and continued to ruin his life:
“So you wanna suck, huh? I’ll give you something to...” His speech was cut short by gurgling sounds as his eyes bulged out. He grabbed onto the woman’s muscular arm, clawing at the fingers clasped around his throat. She smiled sweetly the whole time as she squeezed.
“Oh, you want to give me something to suck on?” Two-Ninety-Nine purred. “That’s so cute. Well, come on... Show it to me... Show me now...”
Another gurgle. The dying half-orc didn’t want to show anything to anyone anymore. He looked up at the ceiling, but there was no dome around — one came through every ten minutes, and had just recently passed by. Two-Ninety-Nine’s hand tightened on his throat, cutting off his choked bleating noises. What little air he was getting disappeared. The idiot orc was starting to die, judging by the way his legs gave out.
After another few seconds, Two-Ninety-Nine released the orc’s throat, and he crumpled at her feet, inhaled, and immediately broke out in a wild cough. But he wasn’t coughing for long before he received a crushing kick to the ribs, sending him flying several feet.
“Beat it!” Two-Ninety-Nine ordered.
The half-dead imbecile obeyed, and his barking cough subsided as he turned the corner. Two-Ninety-Nine turned back to me.
“Why don’t you just go get the isotonic pills yourself?”
“I’m resting my legs,” I sighed, casting a defiant sideways glance at my injured legs.
“I see... Fine, you can have it. Okay. I’m gonna go get the t-shirts.”
“You can take these,” I nodded at the pluxes, “with you.”
“What if I just don’t come back?” Two-Ninety-Nine narrowed her eyes.
“Then you don’t come back,” I shrugged.
“Fine.”
In the next instant, I witnessed just how fast and precise a trained fighter could be. In one quick, long movement, she ripped the bottle of isotonic solution from the bag, tossed it to me with a snap, then, still in motion, opened the bag to pull out a folded-up plastic bag. She did all this while moving towards me, coming almost nose-to-nose in the blink of an eye. Quick… Really quick. I nodded respectfully, deliberately and slowly uncorking the bottle.
“Nice catch,” she sounded surprised, and even a little annoyed. “You have good reflexes.”
“I got lucky,” I smiled, taking a small sip.
Sweet, salty, fruity... I wasn’t sure how, but that was the taste profile I was getting. Two-Ninety-Nine started stuffing the plux corpses into a bag, explaining:
“After working out, a long job, moving around, or a fight, that’s stuff’s the best. I always drink one before bed, too. Three or four a day, total.”
“You live well,” I sighed. “Thanks for the information.”
“That counts towards your advice.” She snorted, closing the bag. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”
I nodded silently, took another sip, and hooked the bottle to my bag.
Three or four isotonic drinks a day...
The tablets cost one sol. So that was four sol for them, plus she’d have to buy extra water, too. So she was spending around six sol a day just on isotonics. And I was pretty sure she was eating more than just three nutrition cubes a day — no way she could’ve gotten so muscular on those alone. No, she definitely lived well.
“Here.” A pile of neatly-folded black t-shirts fell in front of me.
“Thanks.”
“So what kind of advice do you want?”
“You’re a fighter, right?”
“Is it that obvious?” The woman eyed her arms with pride, flexing her muscles. ‘Yeah. I’m a fighter.”
“So how about some advice on fighting?”
“Hang on. Are these your first pluxes?”
“Yeah.”
“Did the system offer you extra combat jobs?”
“We already accepted.”
“That’s brave, since you’re just a party. No brigade protection.”
“Yeah.”
“Brave, suicidal goblins... Or are you orcs?”
“No, we’re goblins,” I answered. “Zombies, too. I don’t discriminate against the undead. What tips do you have?”
“I’ll tell you the most important thing: survival rules. You’re the group leader, right?”
“You guessed it.”
“You practically reek of it,” Two-Ninety-Nine grunted. “Listen carefully, leader. The system will give combat jobs to you and only you, as the leader of the group. Well, it’ll give you all the jobs. But I’m talking specifically about the combat ones right now.”
“Okay.”
“Since you’re the leader, you have to keep really close track of your location. Always think about which roads and paths you’re going to take to get somewhere, think about where you’re stopping to rest, where you’re spending the night.”
“Not sure I follow,” I said.
“Radii. Or, to make it simpler, locations and distances.” This explanation was even vaguer. “The closer you are to a problem, the more likely it is.”
“Still not getting it.”
“Hmm... Let me use your situation as an example. Where’d you run into the pluxes?”
Zone 1, Block 2. Where we picked up the blocks.”
“I know the place. It’s under constant surveillance, but there are a few shady, even dark paths nearby. Right?”
“Yeah. The pluxes came from one of the dark paths.”
That’s what I mean! Mother monitors things all the time, watches the hallways and chambers, right?”
‘Mother’... Another believer?
“Right,” I nodded.
“At that point you were just ordinary grunts. That was your status.”
‘Grunt status’? That sounded about right...
“Okay...”
“Right. So you were just working, planning the rest of the day, when bam — four pluxes come down a dark path. Mother’s eyes pick them up. What does she do next?”
“Calls for help.” That wasn’t hard to guess.
“Exactly! But she can’t ask you specifically, because you’re grunts. Not fighters. Not even cadets. So Mother starts looking for someone she can trust with an urgent combat job, and she starts right at the epicenter of the problem — these pluxes. She expands the search range. There’s no one within a hundred yards. Still no one within two hundred yards. Or three hundred. But in a four-hundred-yard radius, she finds some fighters, and gives their leader a job — get to Zone 1, Block 2 right away and eliminate four pluxes. She gives a brief description of what they’ll face — three rats and a tangerine.”
“Three rats and a tangerine...” I repeated.
“That’s...”
“I get it. Slang terms, keep it short.”
“Yeah. The system uses the proper terms, listing all the threats it spots — three small gray plunar xarls, one small yellow plunar xarl... Like that. We just shorten it.”
“Okay.”
“You mentioned something about cadets?”
“That’s what you are now. Any combat jobs you get have ‘extra’ status, which means you can choose not to complete them. But if you decline two in a row, you won’t get another for a really long time. Cadets can also decline emergency combat jobs with no penalty. They have the right to self-preservation. No one stays a cadet for long, though. Almost everyone becomes a fighter, as we call them. Once you do one extra combat job as a cadet, the system will start prompting you to level up to fighter. It’ll keep asking every time you win a fight. You see?”
“I see. Thanks.”
“Once you become a fighter, you have to keep a really, really close eye on your location! There are a lot of paths where it’s bad to linger — where you shouldn’t even bother walking unless you really need to. Places where it’s common for pluxes to show up. It’s not an uncommon situation: your group is exhausted, someone’s injured, maybe, you’re barely dragging your feet along — when bam! The system gives you an urgent combat job since your group is closest to the epicenter of the problem. Now do you get it?”
“Yes.” I nodded slowly. “I get it. That’s really important advice.”
“Exactly! Even if your group is on their last legs, you’ll have to do battle! You’ll probably just get slaughtered, but at least you’ll buy some time for the system to find other fighters who will eventually handle it. A lot of combat groups have died that way. It’s easier for cadets, who can just refuse if they sense a bad situation. Fighters can’t do that. Better for them to do battle, even if it’s not on even footing.”
“Why? Afraid to lose their status? Fuck that! Anything is better than losing your life.”
“Status? That’s not even it. Fuck status! Goblin... have you ever heard of a tribunal?”
“A military court. Strict and merciless.”
“Right. As soon as you sign up for fighter status, you get a lot — more sol, more rewards, lots of gifts, access to special vending machines and info points. Does that remind you of anything?”
“The... police? Is that the right word? No… Since you said tribunal... Is it the army? Special perks and benefits.”
“Exactly. Like the army. And if you fail to follow an order in any army anywhere in the world, you get sent to a tribunal, and you’re in for serious punishment.”
That made sense. It made perfect sense. The system didn’t force anyone to become a soldier. If you agree to the fact that you’re a fighter, a soldier, then you’ll have to be prepared for the fact that the system will be counting on you, expecting you to carry out combat orders quickly and precisely. If the system told you to attack a superior enemy force, you’d attack — there’d be no other option. In the army, the commander’s orders are the highest authority. Heaven help anyone who didn’t obey — anyone who committed sabotage or deserted, setting a bad example for the other soldiers. So that explained the immediate punitive measures.
It also had a moral aspect to it. You chose to move up to fighter status of your own free will, right? So you understand that refusing to push your exhausted group further through the rooms and hallways towards your target enemy meant the death of some peaceful grunt somewhere. Because you were the ones who were supposed to protect them. That would be a heavy burden on your conscience.
“I’m almost afraid to ask. What’s the punishment for refusing a combat job?”
“If you’re a cadet, there’s no punishment.”
“What if you’re a fighter?”
“You lose all your savings, lose access to capsules, even if you’ve paid for one in advance. You can’t use ATMs for six months, and you get made a zombie.”
“Hold on. You mean...”
“If you, as the leader, refuse to take on a combat job — for any reason — the same punishment awaits you and your entire group. You will lose everything you have, and they’ll take three limbs from each of you, leaving just one arm. You’ll practically be worms.”
“Holy shit,” I muttered thoughtfully.
“Yes.” Two-Ninety-Nine nodded. “One screws up, everyone suffers! Clear?”
“Painfully.”
“Keep that in mind.”
“Do a lot of people choose to be fighters?”
“Yeah. The benefits are incredible, goblin. You’ll have enough money for everything you could ever want and more. The most important thing is to use your head! That’s why I’m telling you — always know where you are, always choose your route carefully. You’re a leader. You’re a soldier. You should always know where your group is and what jobs might be coming from the system at any time. A lot depends on your surroundings, so you have to know any special features or potential dangers beforehand. Ask questions. Don’t be afraid to pay for verified information. That’s my advice to you.”
“I’m grateful for it. Thank you. So what places should I avoid?”
“Stay close to the clux. Don’t hang around in the older hallways. Be extremely careful on the Cursed Bridge and places like that.”
“The Cursed Bridge?”
“It’s just the first place that came to mind. We went over it yesterday. Have you ever been to Drainagetown?”
“Not yet.”
“The Cursed Bridge is the shortest route from here to Drainagetown. Going around takes five times longer. People who want to do some drinking and get cozy with acceptably good-looking boys or girls, not too crippled, for a reasonable price slip across the Cursed Bridge. Most of the time, they make it.”
“Is it long?”
“You’ll see. Just don’t hang around there too long. And whatever you do, don’t go down to the pillars underneath — that’s where the Stagnant Cesspool begins. Now that you should really be afraid of.”
“What — ”
“No more! Today’s my day off. I have a nice two-hour workout, a special lunch, and some very nice company in the evening to look forward to... Good luck!”
“The Stagnant Cesspool...” I sighed sadly, scooping up my t-shirts. “You drew me in then left me hanging... How about just one more piece of advice, fighter?”
“Equipment!” She called out, right before turning to leave. “Weapons! Those are two of the biggest deciding factors. But even those are less important than the leader’s brain — that’s number one.” Then she walked away for good.
I sighed.
“The leader’s brain,” I muttered, thoughtfully tapping a finger against my right temple. “The leader’s brain...”
“What’s wrong with the leader’s brain?” I heard a familiar voice.
“You’re alive!” I looked up, delighted, at the returning Yorka. “Jeez...”
“Yeah, really!” She tried to look angry, but couldn’t stop from grinning.
She had two arms again. She vigorously flexed the fingers of her new hand, bent and unbent her elbow, showed off the working shoulder joint. The new arm was wrinkled — it looked pretty terrible overall, if I was to be honest — but it was still an arm. A fully-functional second arm. Yorka was no longer disabled. Our party was coming together.
My shock hadn’t been because of the new limb’s wrinkled skin, though — it was the tattoos. Whoever owned this arm before had certainly loved tattoos. There was literally no empty space left on the skin, to the point where I couldn’t even tell what color the original skin was. None of the tattoos were concrete drawings — just cunningly twisted lines in black, red, and green.
“Want me to hit you?” Yorka asked gleefully, clenching her new fist.
“I’ll pass.” I shook my head. “Congratulations, partner.”
“Thanks! Thanks so much! Blow up and die! Thanks! I have two arms again, Elb! Thanks! It’s all thanks to you! You got me my arm back!”
“Come on, stop that.”
“Stand still!”
I stood still. And found myself on the receiving end of a hard, affectionate hug and a quick, wet peck on my right cheek.
“Does it work all right?”
“Works fine!”
“Nothing’s popping or cracking?”
“Nope!”
“Fantastic.”
“I’m a happy goblin!” She announced.
“And I’m a happy zombie,” whispered Bask through his baseball cap.
Glancing at him, I asked:
“Can they fix your eyes here?”
“Not in the Outskirts.” The cap on his face rose and fell in rhythm with his words. “I had ‘em examined. The system won’t fix eyes around here.”
“So what’s your next move?”
“I’m gonna ask around in Murkwaters.”
“Great! Just so happens we were planning a trip there very soon. Okay... Here, Yorka, this is an isotonic solution. Half for you, half for Bask. That’s his name, by the way. Bask the zombie.”
“Hey there!” Yorka leaned over the injured man.
“Oh. Just ask him if he’s allowed to drink first.” I said, sliding off the wall ledge.
“And if he’s not?”
“Then the whole bottle’s yours. Here, two t-shirts. One for you and one for Bask. And one for me... Hang out here for a while, I’ll be back soon.”
“Where’re you off to?”
“I have some shopping to do,” I replied, taking careful steps forward as I pulled one of the black t-shirts on over my own blood-spattered one, hoping to avoid attracting any shocked gazes. “I won’t be long.”
“Okay. We’ll be here.”
Arms and pluxes. Pluxes and arms.
I hadn’t gotten to ask all my questions. I had so many questions, and there was no one I could ask. Don’t let it get you down, Elb.
I looked at myself and was pleased with what I saw. I still had to rinse my face as soon as I could, but the t-shirt hugged my torso like a glove, emphasizing my pecs and flat, muscular stomach. My arms dangled too loosely in the sleeves, but there was nothing I could do about that.
Arms... And pluxes...
As far as arms were concerned, just now, when I saw Yorkа’s new arm covered in tattoos, it struck me: What did the system do with the arms it took as punishment or as payment for debts? No, that wasn’t the right question. It was obvious what it did with them — they were a resource, and resources have to be used. The severed arms were stored somewhere, and whenever the need arose, there they were, ready to go.
Yorka got one wrinkled arm. Just one. Right?
Right.
The system wasn’t stupid. We could assume it wouldn’t break a whole set of limbs down into separate parts. Yorka’s arm came from the ‘incomplete’ pile. That made sense. And whose limbs were cut off one by one and added to that pile? Criminals and people who defaulted on their debts. The arm she got came from one of them.
What was my point?
Her arm was painfully conspicuous. Incredibly conspicuous. Bright, with a unique pattern. What would happen if the tattooed arm’s former owner stumbled upon Yorka in a narrow hallway? It was an arm, after all. An arm! An entire limb! It wasn’t a t-shirt or an old pair of shorts that would be forgotten after a little while. Seeing your arm on another person... The former owner’s reaction would be hard to predict. Even if none of us actually had their original, home-grown limbs, we still grew accustomed to the ones we did have. Like me with my old man’s set.
And I had a complete set. The limbs all looked the same — but I was sure the system hadn’t tapped into its elite stores for new ones. It was most likely someone was made a worm, and their limbs were passed to me.
Or maybe someone died and was quickly taken to a medblock, where the already-unnecessary limbs were removed to be repurposed... Based on how old my limbs looked, this was a real possibility.
Wasn’t I technically a zombie? Balancing on the legs of a dead man, using the arms of a dead man... We were all zombies here, to one degree or another.
The last question I asked myself about arms and legs was: Where were my natural limbs? The ones I was born with. If I saw them roaming the Outskirts somewhere, would I recognize them? Would I realize those were my arms and legs on that random guy?
A strange delirium was writhing in my head... Maybe there was something fun mixed into that isotonic. And I had only taken a little sip...
The pluxes... I hadn’t had time to ask questions about the dead monsters. What the hell did the brigades need them for?
Fortunately, that was a practical question I could get answered any time. A one-armed goblin limped by me, scratching his belly under his shirt. He looked relaxed. Most likely he had just come from breakfast. He was walking in the same direction as I was — heading straight for the wall of vending machines.
Trade points... Info points... Every day more and more words took up residence in my head, gradually gaining meaning.
“Where can I find isotonics around here?” I sighed overly loudly, glancing along the row of vending machines, casting sidelong glances at the goblin buying water.
“You lookin’ for nuts? Salt tablets?” The goblin looked at me. “Over there, to the right, dude. You come into some cash or something? Nice shirt! Black, huh? What’s up with your face? And what’s that shit on your legs?”
I should have expected as much. Give a goblin the slightest chance, and he’ll babble on and on. I kept it polite, briefly describing my recent situation while I bought the ‘salt tablets’, as he called them. Officially, they were known as NTS-9.
Nuts...
I had a vivid mental image of a glowing poster on the screens, with a stern goblin in a torn t-shirt knitting his eyebrows, pointing at me: ‘Have you put nuts in your mouth today, goblin?’
Buy nuts! Put nuts in your mouth! Embrace the nuts!
They cost one sol each. I bought ten, then immediately handed one to the greedy, sniffling goblin, saved one for myself, and put the rest in my belt bag. The goblin accepted my gift gratefully, shoved it into the bottle he had just bought, and shook it violently. As he shook it, he looked at me expectantly — like he was waiting for me to start answering his questions. But he would have to be satisfied with his free isotonic. It was my turn to ask questions, but I would ask in the form of a good answer. Yawning lazily, I said:
“I wouldn’t say I got rich. Ran into some pluxes. They hit us hard, as you can see.”
“That’s for sure.”
“But we got ‘em in the end.”
“Yeah, I can see that, dude!”
“We sold the pluxes to a brigade — the Solar Flame. Heard of ‘em?”
“Who hasn’t, dude? They’re a production brigade! The strongest in the whole area. I’d give anything to even be a cleaner for them. But they don’t take just anyone. J-jerks...”
“I got this t-shirt from them,” I continued “And a few sol too, of course. But there was one question I forgot to ask them. Why the hell do they want plux corpses?”
“Are you for real, dude? At least tell me you got a good deal? Gray pluxes never go for less than five apiece. And that’s if they’re small. And still fresh...”
“That’s what I got for ‘em.”
“That’s great, dude!”
“But why do they want ‘em?”
“The Lamers have a whole processing facility nearby!”
“Who? Lamers?”
“Yeah, the Lamers! We call ‘em that, since Solar Flame is too long. It started out as Flamers — We’d be like, ‘The Flamers are looking for haulers at I-17 again! They’ll even take zombies!’ And then they just kinda turned into the Lamers.”
“From Flamers to Lamers,” I said. “Hmm. Think twice, name once.”
“For sure! Heh heh heh.”
“A processing facility?”
Yeah, that’s where they process the pluxes. They gut ‘em, rip off the skins, and dress ‘em. Then cook the meat! There’s an eatery next to where they work, and they’ll grill it, boil it, or stew it, whatever you want. Everyone says it’s great. But there’s no way to find out — what goblin has spare sol for grilled meat?”
“So you can eat pluxes...”
“Yeah, of course! Are you serious? Man, if I had a sharp knife, a little salt, and somewhere to cook... I’ll tell you, dude, I know a couple places with pipes as hot as can be! Throw a piece of meat on and it’ll cook up in no time! And that smell... Mmm...”
“Mmm...” I agreed, as the goblin threw his head back, reminiscing.
After a moment, he sighed sadly, tucked his bottle under his armpit, and jabbed at me with a dirty finger:
“Just remember that, you hear?”
“For sure. What do they do with the plux hides?”
“Come on, man! They’re a goldmine! Over in Drainagetown, plux-skin shoes sell like wildfire! You can make clothes from them too — they’re tough enough that some knives can’t get through. And people who live in the Stench just can’t live without plux-skin shoes, since they’re always wading through that shit full of sharp objects and caustic substances.”
“The Stench?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s that?”
“So you know about Drainagetown, since you didn’t ask.”
“It’s come up.”
“Well, okay. So if you head straight out of Drainagetown, the paths will take you to the Cursed Bridge. Heard of that?”
“Yeah. What about the Stench?”
“Can you spare another salt tablet for this poor one-armed goblin?”
“I can — if you give me more details. I took out the nut, rolling it between my fingers in front of him. “Well?”
“Once you get to the middle of the Cursed Bridge, look to your left. You’ll see a wall off in the distance with a long gap above it. The waterfall that trickles out is also called the Gutterfall.”
“What a creative name.”
“Hey, it’s accurate! Since it flows from the Stench, it’s basically just a gutter! Hand over the tablet!”
“Where does the waterfall flow to?”
“It’s not complicated. Most of the shit goes down the grate leading into the Drainagetown canals. And the rest of it overflows down into the Stagnant Cesspool.”
“So, along the paths to the Cursed Bridge, the Gutterfall to the left, over the Stagnant Cesspool, all the way to Drainagetown, which is the upper district of Murkwaters. Is that the fastest way to the town?”
“Yeah. It’s the most dangerous route, too. Better to haul ass the long way around, through the other clusters.”
“You mean the cluxes?”
“Yeah. We changed that too, to make it easier to remember. We’re from cluster 17... A total clusterfuck.” The goblin suddenly gritted his teeth, wiped his eyes with his palm, almost dropping his bottle. “It’s shit!”
“It’s shit,” I agreed, giving him the nut. “But life finds a way everywhere.”
“True. So long, dude!”
“So long.”
The goblin headed off, muttering something angry and almost inaudible under his breath. I caught a few snippets, something like ‘greedy Lamer bastards’, ‘damn clusters’, and a completely unexpected ‘fucking elves!’ The goblin shook his fist violently at the ceiling, and finally dropped his bottle. He picked it up, straightened, then seemed to wilt and continued on his way, fiercely slurping the isotonic...
I decided to crack a nut into my water bottle, help myself feel a little better...
Shower required immediately.
“Damn.”
It was pointless to argue. I groped for the narrow door that slid open twenty steps ahead of me on my left and dragged myself towards it, knowing the system was watching me intently from the ceiling. I had to get myself tidied up after all...
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I came out of the shower a new man. Ha... That wasn’t quite right. A new goblin. A clean, refreshed goblin in quick-drying clothes. I had managed to keep my belt bag dry.
Balance: 67 sol.
Sipping the sweet-salty-fruity isotonic, I strolled over to the two most interesting trade points and peered at the goods on offer. There was nothing particularly special, but a few things did catch my eye. Last time I had only taken a quick glance, so this time I studied them more closely, with the firm intention of making some purchases. For myself — and for my team, too.
Should I have them come with me and pick things out themselves?
I wasn’t that callous. No. I’d pick out weapons and equipment for them. And then I’d teach them to use it all correctly. That was the way I would do it, and no other amateurish strategies interested me.
I’d start with...
My habit of looking around was the only thing that saved my life. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a swift, silent shadow. I jerked my head backwards at the last second as a long awl, tightly clamped in a fist, passed less than half an inch from my temple. The bastard had planned to stick it in my eye...
“For Johnny!” The attempted assassin grunted triumphantly, then stopped short, frozen in an uncomfortable position. It finally hit him, even if a little too late.
I grabbed tightly onto the arm holding the weapon. I used my left hand, feeling the familiar pain awaken in my flexed elbow. I held on and stared into the tear-filled eyes of this rat-bastard trying to kill me.
“I loved him! And he loved that whore!” The man hysterically spewed his words in my face and tried to pull his hand away. I staggered after him. The sound of ringing glass echoed... He shuddered, letting out a short gasp, and his head fell to rest on my shoulder. Without letting go of the dead man who now embraced me, I looked up at the ceiling, then all around me. Everything seemed quiet. There were no domes around, and the closest orc was twenty steps away with his back turned to us. I lifted the corpse and dragged it to a bench, then laid it on its side, facing the wall. I stepped back, surveying this ‘still life’, then turned and walked away, sliding my left hand back into its sling as I walked, hiding the wrapped handle of my blade underneath it. The broken glass blade itself was still in the corpse’s heart, keeping the wound shut. His heart had stopped instantly. If any blood had spilled, it only would have been a few drops at the most — no conspicuous bloodstains.
I had recognized the man — he was a survivor from Johnny the Lion’s crew. Turns out one of them decided to get revenge after all, but for personal reasons. And if his dilated pupils were anything to go by, he was on some pretty hard drugs. Probably needed something to give him courage. Well, at least now I knew there were drugs here, although I would have preferred to get that information some other way.
Five minutes later, I was back by the same trade spots on the cluster’s other wall. I took a look around in case another avenging angel was waiting to swoop down on me. No one in sight. I started browsing and checking prices.
I was sorry to lose the glass blade. When I stabbed my attacker, I heard the characteristic crunch of breaking glass. My elven flower drank as much blood as it could, then remained in the heart of its last enemy. A poetic end for such a fine weapon.
A thought gave me pause, and I glanced around before approaching one of the vending machines. I scrolled through the items on display to make sure there were no black t-shirts on offer. The Lame Brigade fighter hadn’t lied to me. I did see some nice-looking underwear for one sol, and plain gray pants going for ten sol. It felt like a lot to spend, but I bought them. I wasn’t embarrassed or prudish — Hell, I’d even go naked if I had to, boldly and with a smile on my face. I could even take action naked, no matter the situation — But I needed people to take me seriously. And that was hard to do with my little short shorts peeking out from under my t-shirt.
I got the pants, then gray socks for one sol, and gray sneakers for ten. Things were priced strangely here. Blue, green, and red socks were two sol, and I saw that same one-sol markup on all the clothes and shoes for sale. Was it for the cost of the dye? I bought the cheapest items, although I would’ve sprung for black pants and sneakers if they had them.
I needed a backpack — that was a must. My only option was a small twenty-five liter backpack for fifteen sol. Gray, of course, with criminally narrow, impractical shoulder straps. But I still bought it.
I looked around again, and quickly got changed. The pants had a snug elastic waistband, which could conveniently fit a few sizes above or below my current size. I carefully put my old clothes into the backpack, then slung the straps over my arms. My left arm went right back into the sling — I had to keep babying it. I walked back and forth in front of the trade points, making sure the shoes were comfortable on my feet and the pants weren’t rubbing anywhere. These were important things to be aware of. I would have to break in the shoes before I went anywhere, too, since only an idiot would walk more than a mile in brand new shoes.
I thought about swapping out my conspicuous black t-shirt for a nondescript gray or slightly more expensive dark blue. After all, I had just stabbed someone here. But I decided against it. A piece of glass with a beautiful flower on it was embedded in the murdered man’s heart, and that piece of glass led directly to me. Plus, the dead man had been a member of the gang that followed Johnny the Lion and his faithful... whore? No, dude, you were wrong. The woman hadn’t been fat Johnny’s bed warmer. She was his gray eminence, skillfully manipulating her meat puppet. Vindictiveness and greed were her downfall.
How’s my money holding out? I still had enough.
My next purchase was an obvious one: a club.
A club was simple, yet dangerous in skilled hands. One of the oldest weapons known to man, right up there with a rock. Which one had been preferred by our ancestors — stick or stone — was a question that had yet to be answered, but I was leaning towards the first one. Or was the earliest weapon an unripe fruit picked from a branch and thrown at the head of a rampaging lion under the tree?
Were these memories? It felt like I was remembering... But they weren’t personal memories. Not the slightest personal touch to them — no emotions. My head was just storing academic information, but I didn’t know when or how I learned it. School? College? Some kind of academy?
The club cost me ten sol. I spent four more on two long, sharp metal spikes with square crosspieces. These fit perfectly into special holes at the end of the club. There were four holes in total, but even just two spikes would be enough — for pluxes or for goblins. Hell, a blow from this club on any unprotected body part would even hurt an orc.
I also bought three pairs of thick gray gloves for two sol a pair. I ended up paying five sol instead of six... Some mysterious discount, not listed or shown in any way. Five more sol went towards an awl.
Balance: 6 sol.
I decided that was enough shopping for the time being. I would get a lot for free today. The system was coddling its fighter, gently pinching my chubby goblin cheek — ‘Ooh, look at our brave little plunar xarl killer...’ But the day had only just started, and I didn’t want to drain my account entirely before noon.
I walked back through the middle of the cluster, persistently glancing around at the tables that were just starting to fill up. The goblins were crawling out for breakfast. The customary cycle followed by the lazy majority of the Outskirts. Yawning widely from crooked mouths, they traipsed sluggishly, groaning and sighing, coughing and wheezing... No one was in a hurry. Lazy, unmotivated. A lot of them even slept through the start-of-work alarm at eight in the morning, because why leave your capsule and put yourself in Mother’s sights when your job was already there in your interface? Why rush to stuff breakfast in your mouth and rush to start working, scratching your fresh injection sites, when it was still so early and you knew you only needed four or five hours to finish your job? Why, indeed. There was no need for that. Better to chew your nutrition cube slowly, sip on water just because, chat with your neighbors, watch the screens hopefully — who knows, there might be a game challenge! They happened a lot. Even if it wasn’t for you, you could still watch someone else play. Grit your teeth in envy if they win, laugh viciously if they lose... Even a poor goblin could enjoy life if they wanted — there was plenty to do all the way up until noon. And lunch... Well, lunch was a sacred thing! Afterwards, an hour-long nap. Then around three in the afternoon or so you could trudge over to your job site and do your job begrudgingly. Once it’s done, back you go, skipping gleefully back into the cluster! The evening would pass in a blur, with the screens hardly ever going dark — just game challenge after game challenge, long ones and short ones, always something to watch!
As soon as I turned into our camp-hospital hallway, I realized we had a problem.
In ten more steps I identified the threat, and snarled viciously — These assholes again!
Fortunately, they hadn’t managed to cause any actual harm — Yorka was scowling distrustfully at the two men, standing on the ledge in front of them. The other two from Johnny’s crew. You have to be kidding me! Was this shit ever going to end?
I looked closer, laughed silently, and quickened my pace. I liked what I saw. Yorka was staring daggers at them, hands up in front of her, almost poking each one in the face with an outstretched middle finger. I adjusted my course, shifting slightly to slowly approach them from behind. Yorka saw me first, and joy started to creep across her worried face. I pressed a finger to my lips. Quiet, goblin, quiet. She understood, closing her mouth and saying nothing. A few more steps and I was standing behind them, listening with interest — I was just in time to hear the next round of negotiations.
“Are you really that dumb? We told you — double ones is toast. He’s not coming back.”
“The bastard’s dead!” The second man, slightly shorter than the first but with broader shoulders, tried to sound menacing.
“And now you’re all alone! Did you grow a new arm? Great! Now you can work even harder! Bring us the same stuff for now, same place as before. And don’t drag your feet if you want to live, bitch!”
“Hey, say something, bitch!”
Didn’t they know any other insults? Johnny was a real bad seed — hadn’t he taught them how to swear properly?
“Maybe we should cut her. Hm? Lemme cut this bitch! She’s asking for it! I hate females! Stupid bitches! Stupid! Only good for one thing!” The short one shuddered, elbows spread wide and mouth open, breathing noisily. He looked like a hen giving birth, realizing that mating with an ostrich was a mistake.
Neither of them turned around. Not once! I stood breathing down the backs of their necks, and they didn’t react in the slightest. No internal tension, not the slightest hint of a sensation or cautionary instinct. They sent that drugged-up buffoon to take me down with an awl, and decided he would automatically succeed? What was wrong with these goblins?
I looked up at the ceiling. Mom was out, the kids could play.
Yorka let out a choked sob, then grunted and covered her face with her new hand.
“Hey, don’t cry, dummy!” The first thug said. “Don’t worry! Yeah, you screwed up, really caused trouble. But we can put it behind us. We’ll talk about it this evening in our hallway. Come to some kind of agreement. We’re all human, after all...”
“You’re less than human,” I disagreed, slamming my awl into his right shoulder muscle.
The second punk got the spiked club to the back of his thigh. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it was an incredibly painful spot. He collapsed to one knee. I managed to wrench the club free and throw it to Yorka, who caught it. Only then did the guy with the awl in his shoulder react.
“Ow! Motherfucker! Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“Shut up, worm” I said, putting pressure on the awl to cut off his complaining, but he started wheezing instead, shaking like a pinned fly. What a low pain tolerance. I had to repeat myself, growling:
“Hey! Shut up!”
The wheezing stopped, and the thug seemed to freeze obediently. But with his body and arms motionless, he started to crossed his legs slowly, cautiously, like a disobedient child whose pissed-off mother had grabbed by the ear. I pointed my chin at the second criminal mastermind and said:
“Look how well that goblin’s behaving. Good goblin! Be more like him!”
The ‘good goblin’ was cradling his punctured thigh, curled up under the wall ledge, pretending to be dead. Not making a sound, just lying there and... stinking up the place. Literally.
“Which one of you just shit your pants?” I asked roughly. “Who’s the little fuckwad?”
“I-I-I... A-a-almost...” The one with the awl in his shoulder bleated sadly.
“Fucking coward. Squeeze your cheeks closed, you dumb fuck! And listen! Both of you, listen! I’m tired of giving you warnings. It’s easier for me to just stab you rather than keep wasting my words! If I see you one more time... One more fucking time...” I drew the words out slowly “Do I need to say more?”
“No!” They said at the same time.
“Now fuck off!” I gave the awl a sharp jerk, expand the wound, then tore it out of the thug’s body and wiped it on the whining goblin’s t-shirt. “Now!”
They scrambled to get away, but couldn’t even do that right. The one with the wounded leg jumped to his feet, but clearly didn’t realize his injured muscles were already numb and unwilling to cooperate. He jumped up, and fell right back down. He tried again, reaching out to use his friend for support — but his friend was already gone, turning tail down the hallway, grasping his injured shoulder.
“Lex!” The thug’s plaintive cry almost moved me with its sincerity.
“Here’s a life lesson for you, asshole: that piece of shit is not your friend, and will leave you in the dirt as soon as things get rough. Remember this if you don’t want to end up as plux food.”
Once they had both vanished, the stench faded.
“I knew you weren’t dead!” Yorka grumbled, twirling the club. “Is this for me?”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“I would have bought it myself! Everyone equips themselves! That’s the rule.”
“Did you make that up?”
“No, I heard it. And learned it!” She crossed her arms proudly, almost stepping on Bask’s hand.
“Explain, partner,” I said, crawling onto the ledge and stretching my legs in relief. “While I check on my injuries.”
“What’s there to explain? I heard some people talking at the next table over — back in our clux. They said everyone in a group has to equip themselves. Pants, boots, or at least sneakers. And they have to get their own weapons. And if you have any respect for your group at all, you’ll get at least the cheapest awl, the one that costs five sol. Or a spike for your club, which is even cheaper. Like that one.” She pointed to the blood-soaked spikes sticking out of the club.
“Wipe it off,” I said, nodding at the dirty t-shirts lying near us.
“Oh, right!”
She started cleaning the weapon, and I added:
“Everyone equips themselves... That’s bullshit. Maybe that would work if this was a video game, but it’s not. We’re a group, we have to watch each other’s backs. Our lives depend on each other’s actions, skills, having the right equipment, and how good our equipment is. Would you really be okay with us going somewhere dangerous if you didn’t have a club?”
“No, but... That’s what they said...”
“Let them say and do whatever they want. We have our own group, and I’m the one who makes the basic rules here. Any additional rules we discuss as a group. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Bask, I can tell you’re listening. Do you understand?”
“I understand...”
“Any objections?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Great. Here’s a rule for you, then.”
“The first rule?”
“No. Just one of the important ones.”
“Okay.”
I glanced at my companions, then continued:
“Each member of the group is in charge of making sure their own clothes, equipment, weapons, and everything else are in good shape. Inspect them quickly in the morning, and during any breaks longer than ten minutes. Then check everything thoroughly in the evening before you go to sleep. If your shirt’s ripped, fix it! If your awl is bent or dull, straighten or sharpen it! If the sole of your shoe is coming off, glue it back together! Make sure every element is always in perfect shape!”
“Element...” Yorka repeated, shaking her head “Now that’s a word...”
“Yorka!”
“Yes, understood! I’ll remember - and I’ll forget my old, wrong idea. I’ll keep my stuff in good condition.”
“One more rule: If there’s something you want to buy for yourself, use your own money. Either buy two separate sets — one for work and one for yourself — or one set that’s the same as mine.”
“Your new stuff looks nice.”
“Thanks. I do have a few simple requirements: Everyone needs socks. Wearing shoes on bare feet is a terrible idea, unless you’re just walking around the cluster. You’ll need socks for any other outings... Why am I explaining it to you? It’s obvious, I’m sure you understand. So I’ll just list the basic stuff you need for now. Starting with a backpack. One like mine will be fine for the time being. Inside should be an extra pair of underwear, two pairs of socks,” I glanced at the attentive Yorka, and added, “And a small stash of any personal care products you might need. I want you to have all that ready by this evening.”
Even Bask stirred at this, waving a listless hand. Before he could say anything, I added:
“And as your leader, I’ll make sure you have enough money to afford it. Got that?”
“Got it.”
“Got it.”
“Next. All medical costs are on me. Medicine, anything for boosting energy or recovery. And any first aid costs, of course, if anything happens. Yorka has her arm back, next we’ll do Bask’s eyes. No protests — end of discussion! I’ll pay for equipment and weapons too. That’s my responsibility as leader, to make sure everyone on the team has the right gear for the job. And that’s what we are — a team! Once again, it’s not up for discussion. Just accept it. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Got it.”
“Now, about my expectations. What do I expect from you, as my team? Yorka?
“Um...”
“Bask?”
“To follow your orders? You’re our leader.”
“That’s right. I expect you to follow my orders precisely and immediately. And not because I’m a narcissistic tyrant obsessed with power. No. It’s that any delays or attempts to understand my orders before following them might get us all killed! You can discuss it later once we’re safe, sitting back in the cluster. If I say something, you do it! That’s the only way it’s gonna be. Got that? I want an answer. Quickly now!”
“Understood!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good. Now, the most important thing I need from each of you is your loyalty. There’s nothing more important to a group than that. And you should expect that same loyalty from me in return. We all need to be absolutely certain that we can trust each other completely — with secrets, with our lives, with anything. We just watched someone abandon their partner and run away. He deserves to get his heart cut out for that! No anesthesia, just dragged out through his ass! Loyalty is the most important thing. We’re a team. We’re a family! I’ll never abandon any of you. If I have to dive into a pit of acid for you, I will. I won’t even hesitate! And I expect the same from you! Got it?”
“Got it,” said Yorka fiercely, swiping at her eyes. “I get it... You dumb goblin... Watch those words of yours! You’re gonna melt our hearts if you’re not careful! Dumbass!”
“Understood.” Bask nodded slowly. “I... I won’t betray you. Ever!”
“Wonderful.” I smiled, then remembered Bask couldn’t see, and tried to add the emotion to my voice. “Well, that was a nice chat. And we’re all well-rested now. Here’s your first gifts. Don’t worry about saving them for later — use ‘em!”
I opened my belt bag, then my backpack, and handed each of them a pair of gloves and two nuts. While they were looking over — or in Bask’s case, feeling — the gifts, I remembered to add:
“Black is our work uniform color! I don’t care what you wear when you’re not working — pink leggings, if you want, whatever. But when we’re doing a job, you wear black! If you can’t find black, gray works too. But only those two colors, goblins! Black and gray! Now let’s get to business. Bask, hang out here on the ledge for a while. Abdominal injuries are no joke. In the evening we’ll take you to the shower, but just drink your nut and rest for now. Did they tell you anything in the medblock?”
“They said not to sit up for six hours,” he answered. “To stay on my back. No drinking for the first three hours, then just small sips after that. Then after six hours they said I should get extra booster shots, two sol.”
“Get ‘em,” I nodded. “I’ll send you the sol through the ATM. You’ll get it later.”
“I can pay!”
“Did you forget what I said already?”
“No, I remember...”
“Good. Keep an eye on the time, rest, go to the medblock. Me and Yorka will do the job. We’ll stop in every now and then to see how you’re doing, but don’t think you have to wait up for us — get some sleep, you need it. You’ll heal faster when you’re asleep.”
“You two are going to work while I just lie here?”
“Yeah. We’re a team. If one of us can’t work, the others do their job for them,” I answered calmly. “That’s how we do it, and that’s the way it should be. Yorka, my two-armed darling, are you ready?”
“You bet! Should I bring the club?”
“Absolutely. Hang it on your belt. And get ready — you have your own special job today.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you about the job after we do the job. Let’s go!”
“Hey! Elb... Tell me... Elb!”
“Let’s go get started on the markings, Yorka the goblin. We have a lot of work ahead of us...”
As I stumbled after Yorka towards chemical vat 14B, I stopped to transfer Bask his two sol.
No sooner had I finished than a vaguely familiar person appeared in my line of sight, scratching his belly. It only took me a second to recognize him — it was that deer with three fours on his hide. That orc who knew he was weak, and kept his water bottle tucked tightly between his sweaty thighs. We weren’t far from the trade point, so I spent two more sol on water without a second thought. I handed the bottle to the deer-orc, who blinked at me in surprise.
“I said I’d pay my debt.”
“Th-thank you... Wow...”
“Remember, if you run into any trouble, come find me. If some bastard tries to take your water, tell him Elb the goblin, double ones, gave it to you.”
“I will! Everyone knows who you are, Elb! Everyone heard about Johnny!”
I waved goodbye to him, and picked up my pace to hurry after Yorka, who was already fussing over another monolithic box on the wall. As I walked, I realized I had made a mistake — it didn’t make sense to transfer Bask those two sol, since the system would essentially just eat the whole amount when it took the fee.
Balance: 0.
Job: Wipe markings. (Party).
Description: Procure sponges from chemical vat 14B (CLUX-17) and wipe the wall and floor markings in adjacent hallways 1 — 12.
Job location: Hallways 1 — 12 adjacent to CLUX-17.
Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.
Compensation: 30 sol.