WE FINISHED OUR JOB in three hours of hard work.

We worked hard but smart. We took the most optimal route, deciding to start from the farthest hallways, splitting the work. I used two sponges to clean the markings, while Yorka ran back and forth, replacing the reddened sponges with fresh green ones.

The technology was amazing. We were tasked with wiping all the numbers and letters on the walls and floor with special sponges, but it was more than just cleaning the dirt off — although the dirt came off easily. When I ran the sponge over a green arrow pointing to CLUX-17, it suddenly looked brand new. Not only clean, but like it had just been painted on. The paint was whole and unchipped, the arrow shiny and visible from afar. The sponge served as both brush and paint, but could be used on markings of any color, without leaving stains on my hands or the unmarked surfaces. Truly amazing.

It was also a relatively easy job that didn’t use up all our energy.

Three hours later, our hard-earned money was added to our balance.

Balance: 10 sol.

I was more than relieved. We went back to our ledge, and I immediately sent Yorka out shopping, after a quick reminder to keep one eye open and one hand near the club at her waist.

It was time for Bask’s extra shot. I didn’t want to reopen his wounds, so I stopped a passing orc, flashed him my nicest smile, and asked him to do us a kindness. He couldn’t resist my charm, and helped me get Bask into the medblock then back to the ledge afterwards. Before he left, he squeezed my hand in a heartfelt handshake and asked for permission to use my name to keep griefers away from him. I granted him that, in exchange for another service. We brought Bask to a food unit for a cube and some water. I got my lunch afterwards, and it turned out I didn’t have to pay. I even got an extra free shot, too. The system was spoiling me. And we deserved it — it was our reward for not letting the system down, for completing its jobs and even exceeding its expectations. Our little orcish helper left us and swaggered off to get his own lunch.

Bask explained that the system had given him two shots and only had to pay for one of them — the special restorative one. The system was also permitting him to eat and drink normally, and he was advised to limit movement.

Fortunately for me, ‘limit’ wasn’t the same thing as ‘avoid’.

We had received an unexpected job, and we would need our whole party to get it done.

Yorka returned with a backpack just like mine, and assured me there were socks, underwear, and personal hygiene products inside. She also hinted that she didn’t need them very often, twice a year at the most.

That sounded strange, but it was good for our party. Maybe something in the shots messed with women’s’ cycles, since it usually happens much more often and is much harder on them. I had no idea how I knew, but I knew it could sometimes be a week of suffering and discontent.

I thanked Yorka for doing what I told her to perfectly, then had both of them get up and follow me along the main hallway, hugging the wall. For the first thirty paces, I tried to catch what words I could among the hubbub of goblin voices, but it turned out to be pointless. A goblin stood on one of the benches, shouting and waving his hands, spreading the latest news.

They had found the stiff on the bench.

No names or numbers were mentioned out loud, but, going by the description, it was clear that the lovesick boy’s body was discovered by his wounded pals, sporting fresh bandages and stains from medical glue. They also were lucky enough to get the interment job, which made sense, since they were closest to the scene.

The detective job, though, ended up being assigned to a group of three well-outfitted, gloomy-looking halflings. After a brief investigation, they decided that there had been a scuffle between three friends, during which all three sustained various injuries, with one injury proving fatal. Then the suspects dragged the body onto a bench and went off to get medical treatment. They returned later, pretended to discover their friend dead, and raised the alarm. That was their working theory.

The suspects started howling about their total innocence. The halflings had to put pressure on them and force them to cooperate. They started with a full search, which revealed key evidence in the pocket of one of the suspects. This evidence was shown to the gathered goblins, including the herald who was now shouting in the middle of the hallway.

What was that evidence, you may ask?

Those morons hadn’t even bothered to get rid of the bright, colorful glass knife handle, which had somehow ended up in the pocket of the idiot with the shoulder wound. The blade itself — a remarkable weapon, as the leader of the halfling trio said, clearly proud of himself — was found lodged in the chest of the poor, innocent victim.

They were found guilty of murder by glass knife and taken into custody immediately. One of them tried to escape, but was knocked down expertly and mercilessly, then tied up just as expertly. The halfling leader, looking at the murderers’ faces, announced that they were going to investigate links between this case and the recent triple murder committed with a sharp weapon that left glass shards in the victims’ wounds. The protesting murderers were dragged off to face Mother’s justice. And Mother’s judgment was harsh but fair.

There was more to the story.

The goblin herald lowered his voice, creating an air of mystery:

“As the detectives dragged them away, they yelled out the name of the real murderer! The one who framed them! And that name was…”

At that moment the herald noticed the three of us standing silently against the wall in our black t-shirts. He hesitated, his one eye boring into me. The surprised crowd began to whisper among themselves, orcs and goblins turning to seek out the reason for the sudden pause in the morbid tale. I smiled broadly at everyone, asked those standing in our way to move, and we continued on our way in deathly silence.

“What was that?” Yorka shook me by the shoulder. “Huh? Explain it to me. How did the glass blade handle find its way into his pocket?”

“He’s a goblin!” I shrugged.” They’re like magpies — attracted to shiny things.”

Bask walked along slowly but steadily, smiling to himself. I was smiling too, thinking about the bright glass blade with the elven flower on it. It was a fine artifact — it had managed to bite one last time, even after it had broken.

“I’m assuming they didn’t find any fingerprints on the handle?” Bask broke the silence.

“I have no idea,” I shrugged. “Our fingerprints certainly weren’t on there. We had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“Indeed.”

“Indeed,” I agreed, and we both burst into laughter.

“Morons!” Yorka growled. “Blow up and die!”

* * *

We got another bonus technical job in Zone 11, Block 9. It was easy and cheap, probably because it was already afternoon and the end-of-work alarm would be going off soon. But the work had to be done, so the system compromised. Fine by me.

Accept additional party job? (extra reward (O)).

Yes / No.

Job: Insert twenty blocks into the receptacles in row A. (Party).

Description: Fully insert twenty blocks into the open receptacles in the specified rows.

Job location: Zone 11, Block 9.

Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.

Compensation: 15 sol.

Additional reward: Game challenge for any party member.

The reward was disappointing — only five sol each. The workload and compensation of a lone worker, split evenly between three party members. We had to walk two miles of hallways, passages, and paths. The last one, according to Bask, was a death path — a dome passed over it once an hour, for just thirty seconds. For the other fifty-nine minutes and thirty seconds, you were free to do whatever you wanted — murder, rob, rape, anything. There was a safer route, but it was half a mile longer, so I decided we would take the shorter one.

Was five sol worth the risk? Yes, it was. It was, after all, currency I could spend on new clothes, another awl, or maybe some water and food cubes. Also, it wasn’t like we had anything else to do. We didn’t have any other jobs, so we just would have ended up lying around on the warm benches like a group of seals. I was also looking forward to the most important bonus: the game challenge. Last time I had won big. But even if they just gave us tic-tac-toe, money was still money.

We could do the job without Bask, but I didn’t want to leave him alone since he was blind and wounded — a nasty combo. Plus, the drugs he was given affected his brain, making him sluggish and addled. With all the fuss about the dead body… Bask had already been seen in our company. I could handle myself, but what if those intimidating halflings showed up and started putting pressure on him? They didn’t know he was clueless. I thought about shoving him in a sleeping capsule, but he seemed to read my mind and told me he felt fine and didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t have to worry — the system healed us well. So Bask came along with us.

We made it down the short death path without any problems. When we were five hundred yards from our destination, I ordered Yorka to stop practicing, and she was only too happy to obey. I could understand her — this basic club training wasn’t easy, and I was making her do it on the move to boot. The clubs here had a hook you could use to attach them to a belt, but it could easily get stuck when you tried to draw the club. I broke the hook of Yorka’s club in half, leaving a short peg that was big enough to keep the weapon on her belt but small enough not to get caught in it. Then I ordered Yorka to draw her club every tenth step and do a strong vertical strike. I hated long, predictable blows like that, but I remembered how the Lamer guards had smashed pluxes against the floor with ease. It was a perfect weapon against smaller opponents — it pierced the skin with its spikes, then crushed the spine with its own weight, pinning the dangerous creature to itself and holding it in place. That’s why I had Yorka swing it over and over again every tenth step, then, after fifteen minutes, every twentieth step. She also had to hold the club with just her right hand, not even touching it with her left hand.

Bask counted her steps in a clear, even voice. He also served as our living map of the Outskirts, telling us where to turn and what dark and dangerous paths we should avoid. I listened attentively, simultaneously correcting Yorka’s movements. We eventually made it to our assigned zone and block.

The job site wasn’t that impressive — it was much smaller than the hall with the high ceiling we had worked in before. This hall had a much smaller bulge in the center, with the same familiar containers. A single row of the square openings ran along the wall. One small omnipresent dome ran back and forth under the ceiling, highlighting the importance of this job. Four workers were resting in the corner, playing cards and talking animatedly. They seemed to have finished their shift.

We still had a job to do. Twenty containers between two of us? That was nothing. We finished quickly without wasting too much energy — I carried eight steel cubes and Yorka did twelve. Bask rested, covering his disfigured face with his cap again. Just as we were leaving the hall, he shared a particularly interesting piece of information: we were only about three hundred yards away from the Jolly Plux, the Lamers’ mess hall. Their plux processing place was there, too, but no outsiders were allowed in. To get to the Jolly Plux, you just had to take a short, dark passage out of the job site’s second entrance, then continue along a well-lit, safe path fitted with wall ledges, vending machines, and an ATM. Everything civilized and respectable goblins would need if they decided to go out for a stroll. Bask had just shared this information in an attempt to be useful to the party, but I decided to change our course and take a closer look at this citadel of what passed for capitalism here. It seemed to me the Lamers weren’t so lame after all. At least they were accomplishing something.

Balance: 15 sol.

* * *

We made it down the dark path quickly, arriving at an intersection of six hallways and paths. At the entrance to the hallway we would take to get in there were four hulking guards in familiar gear. Their appearance spoke volumes: ‘Don’t worry, respected visitors, we’ll make sure you stay safe. Come in and relax.’ Above the entrance, just over their heads was a painting of a lifelike plux with a sloppy red smile on its front end. It looked like it was splashed on with blood that artistically formed a happy face. Below the picture, multicolored letters spelled out ‘The Jolly Plux’. I stared with sincere interest, examining the sign, the guards, and their equipment.

Why didn’t the system remove the unauthorized sign and drawing? It could just assign a couple goblins to the job and send them here with green sponges… But to be honest, I didn’t care. I was curious how everything worked here.

As we approached, things started to get interesting. A moaning, one-armed goblin was being kicked out of the hallway. The bouncer responsible dusted off his hands, eyed me up and down, then went back in. The goblin, sprawled on the floor, whimpered sorrowfully:

“I just want some meeeaaat…”

A few more steps and we were inside. There were at least a hundred goblins, orcs, and halflings hanging out in the wide hallway, stretching down at least two hundred yards. The crowd wasn’t particularly rowdy — they sat on the warm ledges, chatted, played cards and dice. It was a familiar scene, especially the dome rolling down the rail on the ceiling, confirming that the bright hallway was a safe place to be.

One thing was completely new to me, though: everyone sitting on the ledges had plates, cups, and silverware. The smell in the place was overwhelming — the rich aroma of meat, roasted and boiled, nearly floored me. It seemed to seep straight into my brain through my nostrils, kick open the door to my soul, and explode like a firework of temptation. I was stunned, and found myself wanting to whine just like the goblin who had been kicked out:

“I just want some meeeaaat…”

Bask swallowed loudly. Yorka took a deep, shuddering breath. I wasn’t the only one who was floored. It would have been fantastic to take a seat on one of those ledges, but we couldn’t do it without good reason. A cheerful girl in a long blue apron moved around the hallway, approaching the customers, asking questions and offering things. There were five others in similar uniforms with fiery yellow insignia. Sitting on the ledges meant you were ready to spend serious cash on food — I was sure it wasn’t cheap. It would have been stupid to sit down without planning to buy anything, just to get in a fight with the waitstaff, then with the bouncers.

The place was impressive. It had class and style. It was a real establishment, with waitstaff and security and everything. What was it they called these places in fantasy games? Taverns? Pubs? Inns? Whatever it was, they had a more mundane-sounding name for it here — an eatery. The kind of name only a goblin could come up with.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The Jolly Plux eatery.

I could see an ATM set back in the hallway. A guy with no arms and one leg sat next to it, drawing stares with his golden curly hair, bright blue eyes, and blinding white teeth. People who had already ordered would go up to the ATM, exchanged a few words with the guy, and make a transaction. That was how they took payment.

But the smell… It was driving me crazy.

My memory had been wiped, since I was a volitional nullbie goblin, but I had just learned a fact about myself: I was definitely not a vegetarian. My jaw started hurting from how badly I wanted to bite into a huge, juicy, medium-rare steak. Bite so enthusiastically that the fatty meat juice would splash all over my hands and face. Bite in, tear off a huge chunk, and chew on it, pressing the magnificent meat against my taste buds, squeezing out every last drop of savory juice… I felt faint.

“I just want some meeeaaat…” Bask sighed, then flushed red and turned towards the exit.

“Hey, where are you going?” I asked, surprised.

“We have no cash, goblin,” Yorka whispered, her eyes on the ground. “Let’s leave quietly, without drawing attention to ourselves.”

“So what if we don’t have sol?” I grunted. “Do we have to pay just to look around?”

“Shh... Not so loud...”

“There’s an empty spot over there. And I see an old friend calling us over.”

“What? Don’t — What old friend?”

“The screen!” I smiled. “A game challenge. That’s sacred!”

A screen right above the ledge flashed our numbers and asked us to accept the challenge.

“Game Challenge!”

One Round.

Battleship.

Select number:…

“Who’s up for a game of Battleship?” I looked at my team.

Yorka made a face and shook her head.

“I’d play…” Bask said shyly.

“You’re up, then.” I ordered. “Sink ‘em, zombie!”

“Yeah, sink ‘em!” Yorka backed me up, gently pushing Bask’s shoulder.

They took a seat in front of the screen. A good number of the customers shifted positions to watch us play. I took a seat closer to the walkway, stretched out my legs, and gauged how I was feeling. My wounds hurt, but it was a good pain. I had just overworked my legs.

“Hello there.”

The waitress who approached us was batting her eyes and twirling her curly blonde hair around her finger. Her incredible smile almost blinded me. And was that really makeup on her face, or was I just seeing things from the shock? She was really well-dressed — white sandals, jeans, a t-shirt, a bandanna on her head, and a blue apron with the fiery insignia. A real uniform!

“Can I take your order now, or should I come back in a few?”

What a clever girl. She was giving us a chance to change our minds. If I had said “Come back later,” she would’ve left us alone for about ten minutes. That would have given us enough time to slowly and deliberately leave this expensive place that we had accidentally wandered into, at no cost to our dignity.

But I didn’t use the chance. I inclined my head towards my partners, who were in the heat of battle, and explained:

“We’re not going to order anything. We just got off work and stopped by to see how the rich people live. And then we got a game challenge. We’ll leave as soon as it ends.”

“Good luck!” She gave me another sweet smile that was just as bright as the one she had flashed before I revealed we didn’t plan to spend a single sol.

More credit to her. What a clever girl.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice. “Three large lemonades for them. On me.”

“Of course.” The waitress curtseyed and left.

Did she really just curtsey? What the — ? Am I still in the Outskirts?

“Thanks.” I didn’t argue, smiling gratefully as my old friend walked up to me. Short hair, brown eyes, left cheek covered in scars, the number 299 on her baseball cap. “How’s your day off? Dropped in for a steak?”

“Of course! Protein, fat, and something sweet for dessert! Gotta treat myself. How was your day?”

“All work and no play,” I replied. “We just got off work.”

“Whoa, you worked today, too? When I saw you here, I figured you were celebrating your victory. Huh. You’re hard workers. All right, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait a minute! I have a few more questions. General ones, you know.”

“Well, if it’ll only take a minute.” She flashed a blinding smile. “I’m waiting for someone… You know…”

“I’ll be quick,” I reassured her.

“Okay. Come on.”

“You’re as different from them as plux is from a worm,” she said as soon as we sat on a nearby wall ledge.

“You think so?”

“I can feel it. You radiate something… Unlike them.”

“For now,” I said with a smile.

“Are you sure you want to waste your time on that, Lionslayer?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard some amazing rumors about you today. Hey, do you want me to talk to some brigade members about you?”

“Like that Morris guy?”

“Oh, do you know each other?”

“We used to haul for him,” I said with a smirk. “Thanks, two ninety — Hmm. What should I call you?”

“Call me Mads.”

“Mads.” I nodded, faintly surprised. “Nice to meet you… again. I’m Elb. Warmest greetings and all that formal stuff. Can I ask my questions? The clock is ticking.”

“Go ahead.”

“Where do you work out? What do you eat and drink?”

“You looking to gain some mass?”

“That’s right.”

“They won’t let you in our brigade’s gym. It’s in one of our spines.”

“That’s a shame. What’s your diet like?”

“Nothing special. Six food cubes a day, isotonics, meat at least twice a week — boiled, mostly. And I buy special shots once a week.”

“What shots?”

“The system only offers them once you have the right status.”

“And what status would that be?”

“Halfling fighter at least. Fighter, not just cadet. See, the system takes good care of people who take on the most dangerous jobs.”

“Got it. So, what do the shots do? Help you put on mass?”

“No. Well, just a little bit. They’re not steroids, but they’re kind of similar. They increase your stamina, you recover faster after you work out. The system will explain more when it offers them. If you get the chance, it’s worth accepting them.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Anything else you want to know?”

“How much does meat cost here?”

“A grey plux steak will usually set you back twenty sol. It’s good, and also backed by our brigade.”

Damn, twenty sol... This place was for the rich, it seemed.

“You can also get a plate of bones with a few nice pieces of meat still on ‘em. More than enough to tickle your taste buds.”

“That sounds more reasonable. What do you mean, backed by your brigade?”

“We guarantee the meat here is fresh and high-quality. And a hundred percent plux meat.”

“Is there other meat?” I asked.

“Pork.” Mads answered briefly.

“Pork? Really? Here? How is that bad?”

“I mean, worm meat. They call it pork here.”

“Worm meat? I haven’t seen any bugs — Oh, wait! Shit! Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Don’t buy meat from strangers. Heck, don’t even accept meat from people you know — who knows where it’s from. Might be plux leg, might be a worm’s buttcheek.”

“Fucking hell...”

“Agreed. Life’s pretty shitty down here. And worms tend to disappear, even from cluxes. They leave no trace, you see. It’s impossible to figure out if they starved to death, got taken to a medblock for re-purposing, or were gagged and dragged down the death paths out of Mother’s sight. It’s easy to take these death paths without being noticed if you know them like the back of your hand.”

“What about other orcs and goblins around?”

“They do it at night. Get someone to scout ahead, problem solved.”

“Is this for real? Or just rumors?”

“Worms do disappear. Even zombies, sometimes. Twice, some fake brigade picked up half a dozen skinny zombies at an intersection, and they were never heard from again. Just don’t buy mystery meat, Elb. You’re better off saving up some money and coming here — for ten sol you can get three or four bones with meat on them. If you’re lucky enough to kill another plux, ask around and find out where you can cook it yourself. Easier to bring the carcass here, though — you’ll get the finest cut, roasted and served well as you please, just for bringing them fresh meat.”

“Got it. Thank you. Um…”

“Go on, ask.”

“Is the clock still ticking?”

“Well, tonight’s entertainment is running late.” Mads sighed. “So feel free to ask.”

“Where do they take the worms? Some dark corner when they can butcher them?”

“Way to spoil my appetite.” She winced. “Why butcher them right away? Think about it, Elb. Worms are all bones, right? They’re just barely surviving. What has to happen first?”

“Huh?”

“Think practically, Elb! No one wants to buy stringy meat. Even you wouldn’t eat it. Everyone wants tender meat, fatty meat. The kidnapped ‘cattle’ has to be fattened up.”

“Ugh…”

“Ugh, indeed. Still hungry for meat?”

“Yep.”

“Just this once.” Mads sighed again. “You’re a curious one. A funny guy. This round’s on me.”

I leaned forward to cover her hand with mine before she could raise it to signal the waitress. I smiled at her:

“Thanks, but no thanks. When we earn more sol, we’ll buy our meat ourselves. And I’ll be happy to share with you.”

Mads looked at me thoughtfully and slowly nodded, not trying to free her hand:

“I’ll take your word for it.”

I removed my hand and asked:

“So where do they fatten them up?”

“That’s where we have to rely on rumors. It’s just whispers among the goblins, but the butchers don’t have much choice. The Stench, the Stagnant Cesspool… Places where Mother isn’t watching. They’re like an eternal fucking twilight zone. Every path there is a death path, which is why most people avoid them.”

“But some people live there?”

“In the Stench? Yeah, some people do, if you can call slogging through shit life.”

“Are they goblins or orcs?”

“They have their own nicknames that speak for themselves. We call the people that live in the Stench shit-guzzlers. But if you meet one, you should know they call themselves the bogmen. Call one a shit-guzzler and you’ll find yourself in a fight. They’re skilled fighters and love a good brawl.”

“Okay, bogmen. Why bogmen? Well, I could guess, but…”

“Every veteran here knows why. The Stench was one of six sewer nodes around Drainagetown — they surround the upper district like the petals of a shitty flower. It’s a twisted mess, hundreds of intertwined pipes, all full of shit. Literally.”

“Whose shit?”

“Elven shit, of course!” Mads scoffed. “What a silly question. All the shit in the world goes to Drainagetown.”

“Really? All the shit goes there?” I narrowed my eyes.

“Smartass goblin! That’s just a saying. Well, who knows, maybe it really does. Anyway, all the drains go to Murkwaters and everything’s filtered. The Stench used to play a part in producing stinky filth, until there was a huge accident there about twenty years ago. It was real serious, lots of important equipment broke down. The situation was so bad that Mother decided it wasn’t worth the effort to repair it, and sent goblins and orcs to scrap the remains of the most important tech and abandon the destroyed node.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“I’ve been there once. Just by the entrance — I didn’t go inside. But I saw the giant pipes, smashed in and twisted, the collapsed and blown-out walls, the remains of broken equipment, pumps and stuff. Mother made the right decision — there was nothing that could be repaired. The pressure was split between the five remaining nodes, but shit still leaks into the ruins of the sixth node, making a kind of shallow swamp. It slowly flows into the gutter that leads to lower Drainagetown. That’s how the Stench came to be. I’m pretty sure that’s where they fatten the worms up before they butcher them. That one time, when I was standing at the entrance, covering my squad, I thought I heard weak, distant screams coming from the depths. Three years ago, a unit of fighters found a fat, badly-wounded worm swimming down the gutter and dragged him out. He died in their arms, leaking blood mixed with shit. He didn’t say a word, either — his tongue had been cut off. And his eyes. And his balls. Hey, there’s my evening’s entertainment! Give up your spot, goblin!”

“Thank you,” I said, sliding off the ledge.

“Stay away from those places. Stick to the Outskirts. It’s much safer here — trust me.”

“I trust you. What about the Stagnant Cesspool?”

“Don’t even mention the name. It’s a rotten place.”

“Got it. Thanks again, Mads.”

“No problem. We were all new once. Don’t forget to check your job list all the time — the system doesn’t automatically warn cadets about extra jobs.”

I ceded my spot to a broad-shouldered, beefy man a little older than me who was smiling at Mads, and went back to my team. I didn’t look back — what other people didn’t in their spare time was none of my business.

My party was in the heat of Battleship, sipping their lemonade and swearing at some sneaky submarine. The other patrons of the Jolly Plux were staring at the screen, enjoying their roasted meat.

Pork…

For fuck’s sake…

I had a good imagination, and only my self-control prevented it from running wild. But this time I let it run wild. And it painted a vivid, disgusting picture.

I saw, like I was there, a skinny stump of a worm cowering in a corner. Sinister shadows fell over him, and skilled hands gagged him and knocked him out with a punch to the head. They grabbed the motionless body and dragged it down a death path. Switching paths, staying out of the system’s sights, they carried him all the way to the Stench. Sloshing through the fetid muck, they dragged their victim further and further into the depths of the abandoned node. There, away from the eyes of the system and the goblin and orc workers, they tore off his clothes, pried open his mouth, and cut out his tongue, definitively transforming him from sentient being to cattle. They gouged out his eyes, one after another, then cut off his balls. Why? To lower his hormone levels and make him flaccid, docile, and fat?

Then the bloodied worm was thrown into a pen or a cage with a bowl of feed, and I doubted it was anything good. If the worm refused to eat it willingly, they’d force feed him. He would swallow the food, one way or another. Eventually, the time comes when the worm loses his will to live and his fear of dying — just stares blankly with his empty eye sockets into the endless darkness and eats whatever they give him.

Then the inevitable moment — it’s time to butcher the fattened pig. They poke his ribs and buttocks, now swollen with fat, nodding approvingly, then pinch the thighs and pull at the rolls of fat on his back. Then the butcher slowly takes out a sharp knife and slashes the indifferent worm’s throat. They don’t hit the heart because that makes it hard to drain the blood afterwards. It’s much easier to slash open the carotid artery. Or, even better, to stick a butcher’s hook into the doomed worm’s lower body and hang him upside down. That way they can collect the blood in a bucket. The best cuts are sold, and the pig keepers get the rest. The offal is thoroughly boiled, shit and all, and the resulting mash is used to feed the other worms that aren’t fat enough yet…

A dark feeling started to grow deep inside of me.

My conviction strengthened — this place was wrong, this world was all wrong. Things shouldn’t be like this. If only I knew why I felt that way.

I sipped my lemonade and growled approvingly. It was good. I doubted it was really made from actual fruit, but it was tasty, even sweet.

I had to check my interface…

Status.

Physical Condition.

Finances.

Jobs.

Well, would you look at that. I mentally thanked Mads.

Job: Patrol.

Important additional details: Reach the destination before 20:00. Be ready to replace the previous patrol after the double signal.

Description: Patrol main hallway 29, sectors 20 — 40. Destroy any plunar xarls on sight. If a system target is received, eliminate the indicated target.

Job location: Main hallway 29, sectors 20 — 40.

Deadline: 22:00. Cede area to next patrol after the double signal.

Compensation: 45 sol.

Current time: 18:38.

A timer was counting down under the job text. 04:13… 04:12…

I had less than five minutes to make a decision. The countdown was understandable — the system was trying to ensure main hall 29 was constantly patrolled in two-hour shifts.

The reward was fantastic. Fifteen sol each for two hours of easy work. The only things that bothered me were the clear danger of running into a pack of hungry pluxes and the mention of a system target. I wasn’t totally sure I should sign up for this one. However, there were no other options and I had less than three minutes left. I could make the decision on my own, but I had to consider my partners’ condition.

I finished my lemonade, put down the cup, and turned to my team. They were both smiling happily — Bask the Zombie had ended the game challenge with a decisive victory.

“We sank ‘em all, Elb!” Yorka raised her clenched fists. “Sent them to sleep with the pluxes!”

Bask breathed a sigh of relief, still smiling. “Sank ‘em.”

“Good job, soldiers!” I said appreciatively. “Now that’s what I call teamwork! Everyone helps out and together we reach our common goal. Now, the most important question of the evening: how do you guys feel? Before you answer, let me explain. The system wants us to patrol main hallway 29 for two hours. Just boring old walking back and forth. Are we up to the task? We’ll get fifteen sol apiece.”

“That’s a hefty sum!” Yorka sighed, flexing her left hand and touching the head of her club. “A hefty sum...”

“I’m in.” Bask said.

His reply was too quick. I knew he was feeling like a dead weight to the party, blind and wounded, and he was willing to do anything to prove his usefulness.

“Bask.” I leaned towards him. “I need you to tell me the truth, and only the truth. How do you feel?”

“The pain is gone. I can get my shots on the way to main 29. You can visit the medblock, too. We can grab dinner nearby so we don’t have to work hungry. I know a long story — two, even! One is about zombies and the apocalypse, and the other is about zombies and a hot princess. You won’t be bored, that’s for sure!”

“That’s great! Yorka?” I looked at her. “What about you?”

“I feel fantastic!”

“Good,” I nodded. “I’m gonna accept the job.”

My interface flashed, the green description got brighter, and the timer started blinking.

“Let’s move out, fighters.” I stood up first. “We have a shitload of marching ahead of us. How far is it, by the way?”

“The Cursed Bridge isn’t too far from here,” said Bask. “Less than half an hour of easy walking. Five minutes in the medblock and another five to get our food cubes. When do we have to be at the job site?”

“At eight.”

“We’ll make it in time.”

“Of course we will,” I said.

The system knew our location. It wouldn’t have offered us this job if we didn’t have enough time to get to the destination.

“Hold on a second… Why did you mention the Cursed Bridge?”

“Main 29 leads into Main 30, and two hundred yards later it hits the Cursed Bridge.”

“I see… Let’s hurry then, goblins and zombies. I want to take a peek at that bridge if we get there early.”

“Why?”

“We’ll have to cross that bridge sooner or later on our way to Drainagetown,” I replied. “I’ve heard so many wild stories about it, and I want to see it with my own eyes before setting foot on it.”

“They say you can see Drainagetown from the bridge,” Yorka added as she filed out of the Jolly Plux behind us. “And other beautiful sights.”

“Beautiful sights?”

“Yep!”

“Let’s go sightseeing, then.” I nodded. “Now tell me, goblins, did you enjoy smelling that meat?”

“We sure got a noseful, blow up and die!” Yorka sighed.

Bask just nodded sadly.

“Watching all those rich fuckers chow down just made me mad with envy!” Yorka pouted angrily.

Bask let out another sorrowful sigh, and gently patted his wounded, rumbling stomach under the black t-shirt.

I laughed and tried to cheer them up:

“That’ll just make the food cubes taste even better! Don’t you worry, we’ll get us some meat! Lots of fatty, delicious meat. Now let’s move out. We’re headed for the Cursed Bridge, goblins and zombies. To the Bridge!”

My team cheered, and we set off, following Bask’s lead. I hadn’t asked him how he lost his eyes — I hadn’t had a good opportunity. But we were going to have a plenty of time during our long, boring patrol. We could pass the time with a decent story. Maybe Yorka would tell us how she lost her arm, too.

I made a mental note to arrange a nice meat dinner for my team as soon as I could.

After all, I had promised them we’d be eating a lot of fatty, delicious meat. But definitely not pork…