When I return to the hotel, Phinny the bonobo is standing in the lobby by the magazine rack, his long arm slung over the hunched shoulders of a stranger decked in haphazard slabs of clunky armor and various trinkets - like a weird mix between a Warhammer orc and Jack Sparrow.

Leaning against the magazines is a serrated blade nearly half my height, the gilded hilt adorned with glistening gems. I must be getting into the gaming spirit because a little itch in the back of my mind says that would be a great weapon to loot. I’m not even the sword-wielding type. It just looks rare and expensive.

As I close in, I realize the stranger is another type of hominid. He’s short and squat, a blue bandana wrapped across his sloping forehead. I can’t examine him which means he’s a participant. Judging by the weapon and his alien heritage, he’s been fighting in this so-called “Initiation” for a while now.

And he’s sobbing. Just big, fat ugly tears soaking into his ratty beard.

Phinny moves his primate hand across the guy’s backplate and gives him a consolatory pat. “I know, pal. But you did your best.”

The hominid chokes back a soppy, wet snort. “Everyone’s gone.”

“I know, pal,” repeats Phinny.

“I couldn’t do it again. Not without them.”

“Well, you had a good last hurrah, wouldn’t you say? Oh, now, now, you’re getting snot on the floor.”

I stand awkwardly, torn between waiting for Phinny and sneaking into my room to wait this whole situation out. This is not the scene I had anticipated when I walked through that door. But I haven’t received any messages from the team yet, and though I don’t want to fess up to it, I’m beginning to worry.

I’ll admit, I’m also a bit intrigued by the armored stranger. So far, I’ve only seen human participants. Apparently, the veteran population - which solely consists of the people from the other two planets - resides and shops in the Adventurer’s District. Obviously, having not visited the area, I haven’t had a chance to see a long-time participant up close.

If this guy’s anything to go by, then I suppose they’re well-equipped and very, very sad. I wonder what level he is.

Before I have the chance to make up my mind, Phinny spots me. He gives me a wink, or at least I think it’s a wink. It’s a particularly odd expression on a bonobo. His entire brow bends as one eye squints like he’s got something stuck in it. Is that wrong to say? Species-ist? This is all too strange. I think so long as I don’t mix up the monkey-primate thing, I’m good.

“Hey, welcome back!” says the concierge. “Your big friend just headed out to the convention center. I take it you’ve been?”

“Yeah,” I reply, watching the weeping man. “You know, I can wait…”

“No, no, no, this is a great opportunity! Helen, meet Moto. Moto, meet Helen. He’s from Handor. He’s a real veteran of the Initiation. Been here… how long, Moto?”

“Too long,” the participant moans, shaking his head. “Too long.”

“Yeah, ‘bout thirty Pharos days, give or take. Not many of his kind left now. Not too many to begin with, given all the nukes.” He sighs as the participant is racked with another outburst of heaving sobs. “Moto was one of my first guests here at The Hotel Universal. Come a long way, wouldn’t you say? Thirty days. Lot of grind, this one.”

“Wow. Um, congratulations?” My head, still buzzing free on the tequila, is not in the right state for this. “Is Luci back?”

“Not that I’ve seen. The rail is darned chock-full of folks not knowin’ where they’re headed. She’s probably caught in traffic. I wouldn’t worry.”

I nod, not entirely sure what to do with myself. The veteran participant continues to weep. It’s getting weird.

“Ah, nah, see, you’re worrying,” says Phinny. “Take this guy. He-”

Moto arches his back and screams. In an instant, his body breaks into dust and floats away into nothing, his cry suddenly going silent.

Title(s) Earned:

Quiet Observer: Watch a participant's visa expire.

Reward: (1) Drink Voucher

“The fuck.”

“Hmm, indeed.” Phinny presses his big primate lips together in some kind of conciliatory hum. “Thirty days. Decided to live out his last one here, where it all began. Couldn’t stomach another fight in the field. But heck, what a fella.”

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“He disintegrated.”

“His visa ran up. They say it’s rather painless.”

“Um.” I stare at where Moto once stood, his scream echoing in my mind. “Sure.”

Phinny casually straightens a magazine on the rack, then launches himself across the lobby on all fours, knuckles against the floor, before leaping onto the counter. Pulling his legs against him, he settles his elbows on his knees. His brown eyes gleam.

“So. Spill it!”

“Spill what?”

“The Meet & Greet! Tell me about the Meet & Greet. Everyone says it’s a real doozy. Can’t imagine. One day you think you’re all alone in the universe, and then poof! Whole thing must really blow the mind.”

“It’s a lot,” I answer, hoping I don’t have to expound more. I’ve only sort of come to terms with the whole thing myself, I’m tipsy, and I just watched a human alien disintegrate before my eyes - a fate I could possibly share - so… yeah. Explaining my planet’s demise to a smarmy bonobo is not on my to-do list. “So, I’m going to go up to my hotel room. If Luci-”

“It’s just fascinating. Fascinating. I grew up on the Unity 1, but my people were originally from Logos. Originally as in waaaaaay back. Centuries. We learned about the planets in history class, of course. The idea that folks used to scuttle around these little scuzzy balls of mud, nothing but dirt and rock between them and cores of molten lava… And your gravity is just ‘cause of the dirtball’s size? It’s whacked out, I’ll tell ya.”

I sigh. “When you put it that way…”

“And not knowing the ball was screaming at you the whole time? To think, the Assimilation can pick up the distress signal from across the Milky Way, but you don’t have the tech to hear it yourself. It’s really something. You make all these tools to talk to each other and blow each other up, but nothing to listen inward.”

“Well, the people from your planet did the same thing.”

His brow lifts as his mouth stretches into the shape of an O. Being a newb in bonobo facial expressions, I have no idea what it means.

“Hey, I don’t mean to offend,” he says. “You’re right. We all do it. That’s the rub. It’s just a real trip, thinking of actually going through it first-hand. I was born and raised in a free-flying scrap of metal. Big toaster solar-sailing across the system. ‘Course it doesn’t look like it from the inside. We got all the nature you could want, just cooked up by hand. Or machines, as it were. I’ve only ever been in the Unity 1, but you can spot the rest of the fleet from the outer decks. Otherwise it’s all simulated sky.”

“Anywho,” he continues. “I’ve always been interested in history. Stories are what make us who we are, and that’s all history is. Stories. But they’re told from one person to another, filtered through agendas and dogma. I didn’t want to just hear about the Global Initiation. I wanted to be a part of it. Get all those stories right in my ear.”

“So, soon as they announced there was another iteration, I applied for the job. Not the hotel position, specifically. Just a position as an iteration assistant. And here I am! They even gave me a level. Level 50! Doesn’t mean anything when you can’t improve, but it’s fun to say anyhow.”

“Yeah, real fun.” My gaze lingers longingly on the stairwell that leads to the guest rooms. “So this is-”

“Only been here for ‘bout five weeks now, and it’s still a rush being here among all you brand new initiates. And the vets, of course. I thought I knew what stories I’d hear, but wow! The things I learn. In fact, Moto was just telling me about the last time he…”

I tune out the rest as I notice a light blinking in the corner of my eye. I bring up the notification.

Message received. Your inbox may be accessed via the Index.

Finally.

“...which is when his lover opened the chest. Only it was a-”

“Hey Phinny,” I interrupt. “Do you have an Index console here?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He swings a leg behind the desk, grabs the device with his foot, and plunks it onto the counter. “You also got ‘em in your room if you need privacy.”

“Thanks.”

When I turn on the screen, there’s a star hovering over the Inbox. It’s a message from Luci.

Hi! Sorry for late msg. System being weird. Me and Tio Elias are going to some administrative place to file for a city transfer for Liam. Chicago isn’t gone yet but he found out we can file early to get things going. Will go shopping if we see stuff on the way. Meet for dinner? Nurse says most places have synth food but cooked food is better. He said there’s a yummy Loxilil restaurant in the Novice District that’s like Indian but not. It’s called Bear Bear. 17:00 okay?

An alien restaurant, huh. Well she’s definitely more adventurous than I am. To be frank, I’ve had enough extra-terrestrial weirdness for the day, but I don’t want to kill her spirit. Surely it can’t be too bad, right?

I type out a response on the floating keyboard. It’s weird without any tactile feedback. It seems like if they could access our minds telepathically, they could have made messaging each other a whole lot easier. Is the design intentional or was user-friendliness just real low on the priority list?

Sounds good. See you there.

The moment I hit send, I realize I should have asked about Elias. Why does it always take hitting send to realize you should have done something different? I guess if he’s up for a wrestling match with some bureaucratic red tape, he must be doing at least somewhat alright.

I’m still having trouble processing it. Images of his severed leg keep flashing in my head. His expression. Luci’s tears. The blood. I’m pretty sure I did the right thing. But if I’d done the right thing from the beginning, maybe I wouldn’t have had to do it at all.

Luckily, it looks like I have another two hours to kill before I have to face him. I turn off the screen and scoot the console back toward Phinny.

“So where’s the best place to buy weapons?”