Nathan was running late, and as usual it felt as if everything in the universe was actively working against him. It wasn’t his fault. Never his fault. Sleeping in was the result of a bad mattress and loud neighbors. Not because he stayed up all night in a drug-induced euphoria.
The elevator was broken, no surprise there, forcing him to take the stairs. Inside the entry to the stairwell, of course, was a trio of Glandoroids—slow dangerous creatures with slimy, undulating bodies. They looked to Nathan like great big piles of bloody snot given sentience, oozing, and shivering against one another.
They were big, too, taking up almost the entire entry and spilling into the stairwell. If Nathan tried to sidle past them, or jump over them, a single touch risked contracting a horrendous infection called Weeping Glandorosis, that would inevitably eat away at his body until whatever he once was became one of those cursed slimes. Treatment would be far costlier than the credits he had to his name.
He took the fire escape.
Whipping wind made the whiskers on his furry face twitch as he yanked open the window of his apartment on the 26th floor. He scowled at the view of the far-reaching city. Everything was bathed in the perpetual golden glow of a sunset. He spat out into the open air, watching it spiral slowly to the ground below before disappearing into the alleys below. He gripped the rickety ladder with shaking hands and began the slow descent down into the bowels between the buildings.
The city was a failed utopia, a testament to years of neglect and decay. The once-great metropolis had outgrown itself, the grand and gaudy architecture of its richer districts giving way to ugly, uniform skyscrapers stretching toward the sky as far as the eye could see. Nathan’s apartment tower, bricked in gold, was named Elysium Orchards #17, and it was a carbon copy of a hundred others.
The streets were cracked and crumbling, littered with debris and trash that piled higher and higher with each passing day. The air was thick with smells of the billion different aliens inhabiting the place. The creatures who called this city home walked, hovered, glided, crawled, and slithered through the streets with their heads downcast, their spirits broken by the endless cycle of decay and despair. Every one of them had come to this city on a promised paradise. And each one of them had been met with disappointment.
There was no hope here, no sense of pride or accomplishment. The resources were scarce, and it was all anyone could do to scrape by enough to survive. The few organized efforts to make sweeping changes to the situation were met with violent intervention by the Mediators, the emotionless automatons that made up the city’s police force.
This was a city with a populace that had given up, a place where people came to die a slow death rather than truly live. It was a tragedy, sure, a wasted opportunity for something that could have been great. And as the city continued to crumble and fall apart, it seemed that there was no way out, no hope of redemption.
There was one thing, though, that brought everyone out of feeling sorry for themselves. Something sanctioned by the system that imprisoned them in this rotted utopia.
The Games.
And Nathan was running late to the bidding building. If he didn’t make it on time, he would not be able to participate. If he couldn’t participate, he had no idea what he was going to do with himself for the next year.
Nathan descended the final fifteen feet to the ground and landed with a thud, sending trash flying around him. He glowered at his surroundings, nauseous from the constant golden light. The Golden bricks. The marble walkways hidden beneath inches of accumulated filth. He didn’t mind the filth, necessarily, but he did mind the opulent display doing nothing to actually improve his life.
His mood plummeted further when he realized he’d left his credits in his apartment on the 26th floor. In a fit of frustration, he climbed back up the wall of his apartment tower using his claws, eventually making it back onto the fire escape. He made is way up, cursing the universe and The Core, the mysterious entity that lorded over the city and its eclectic peoples.
Out of breath with credits in hand, he returned to the ground between buildings and rushed toward the bidding building. This could his year, would be his year, and he wasn't going to let anything stand in his way.
Except for, as it turned out, a massive stone arm crashing into his side and sending him flying into the gold-bricked wall of Elysium Orchards #21. Nathan tried to activate his steel-guard ability to dampen the blow, but was met with disappointment as he remembered for the thousandth time that the extraordinary powers he’d earned during his participation in the games four years ago were gone. Nathan crumpled to the ground, pain radiating from a broken rib. He gasped for air in a desperate attempt to catch his breath.
"Hello, Unthár," Nathan gasped, not needing to look up at the towering rock monstrosity standing over him. Unthár was no more bizarre a creature than the rest of the city’s inhabitants, with a mossy body made up of grey stones of various sizes held together by some unknown magic. It looked to Nathan like a particularly difficult poop, small pebbles all bunched together. Its featureless head was made of the same stone, and its voice seemed to emanate from deep within its mass. The low drone of its smooth voice would be almost soothing, if not for the throbbing pain in Nathan’s side.
"Nathan owes Unthár 198 credits," Unthár rumbled.
"And Nathan will pay Unthár what is owed,” Nathan replied through gritted teeth before sneering. “Nathan promises.”
"Unthár not like Nathan's tone," Unthár warned, pressing a heavy stone foot down on Nathan's chest. "Unthár happy to take Nathan's blood."
Panicked, Nathan begged for more time to pay the debt. "I'll pay you 300 credits at the end of the cycle! I'm sponsoring someone in the next games!" he said, trying to bargain with Unthár.
"Sponsor ticket costs 250 tickets,” Unthár said, their pebbled hand counting out sums on three thick fingers. “Why not pay Unthár 250 credits Nathan owe now?”
"Because I wanted to show my appreciation by paying you 300 credits," Nathan lied, struggling to catch his breath.
Unthár considered this for a moment before lifting their heavy stone foot off Nathan's chest. "Unthár accepts on condition. Want 350 credits, one cycle from now."
"350 credits, I can do that," Nathan lied quickly, not wanting to risk angering the creature further. He scrambled to his feet and took off toward the bidding building before Unthár could change his mind, determined to make it there before it was too late. He had 58 Elysium Gardens buildings to go, and another 100 through the Arcadia Springs district, but he was determined to make it.
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Triumphant brass horns blared loudly, shaking the very foundation of the buildings around Nathan and rattling his teeth. Nathan heard an announcement from The Core in his mind, along with everyone else in the city.
LET THE BIDDING COMMENCE.
He wasn't going to make it on time.
Ignoring the pain in his chest, he picked up his pace and dropped down onto all fours, using his animalistic instincts to guide him through the maze of garbage, broken furniture, and debris. He felt like one of his mindless little ancestors whenever he did this, scampering around like a fool, around, under, and over the piles of discarded junk.
Just before he was able to emerge from an alley into the main square holding the bidding building, a small blue woman appeared in his way. She was smaller than he was, with an oversized head and enormous black eyes. She wore a silvery keikogi with a small belt tied intricately at her waist.
Nathan recognized her as Xæç, another one of his many creditors.
"How delightful to see you, Nathan," she said slowly, her voice dripping with saccharine insincerity. "Does that little rat-brain of yours remember you owe me 900 credits?"
As she spoke, she summoned up a ball of swirling blue light in her hand. It was a clear threat of violence. Nathan had felt that blue light once before and he did not want to experience that burning agony again. Unlike Nathan, Xæç had performed well enough during her iteration of The Games to keep keep a few of her magical abilities.
Nathan bit back a retort building in his throat and swerved right into the alleyway of the buildings Arcadia Springs #68 and #69. Xæç cursed and followed after him. For once, luck was on Nathan’s side. He vaulted over another trio of Glandoroids undulating together—and taking up the entire width of the alleyway. He cleared them, barely, his tail almost whacking into one. Xæç’s delicate legs couldn't make the jump. She threw her glowing blue light into the mass of Glandoroids in a fit of frustration. A small chunk of the slime shivered and melted away, as if the lifeforce holding it together had winked out.
"900 credits!" she shouted after Nathan and backing away from the enraged Glandoroids. Nathan smirked. He had evaded her again.
Nathan arrived at the bidding building, panting and sweating from his rush to get there. It was the only real bit of architecture differing from the thousands of residential skyscrapers. Dozens of obsidian columns held up a roof of deep red brick. It was only a quarter the height of the other buildings, but four times as wide. At the entrance, two towering Mediators guarded the entrance. They were automatons of the same obsidian and red that made up the bidding building. Most of the time, they remained inert. Increasingly so, it seemed. Only a quarter-cycle ago Nathan had borne witness of a stranger beaten to death only ten meters from one of the automatons. It did not intervene. Nathan carefully sidled past the two Mediators and into the building.
The building itself doubled as a hub for the underground trains connecting the 500 residential districts in the city. If the trains were operational, of course. They were almost always down for maintenance, flooding, electrical issues, staffing issues. You could never count on anything in The Core working the way it was supposed to. The massive underground building was crowded with aliens of all shapes, sizes, and colors, many of whom were already leaving with their sponsor certificates in hand.
Nathan fought his way through the throngs of creatures and approached the counter He had to stand on the tips of his toes to get his eyes above the counter, where a furry alien sat working the register. Nathan couldn't remember the species' name.
"Sorry, mate," the alien said looking down on Nathan. "But we're all out of the lesser tickets."
Nathan's heart dropped to his stomach.
"Nothing left? Are you sure?" he asked, desperation growing in his voice.
"Not a single ticket," the alien replied. "Got a couple common and greater tickets left if you’re keen.”
"How much for a common ticket?" Nathan asked, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to afford it.
"5,000 credits," the alien replied.
Nathan fumbled in the pocket of his jacket and thumbed the five small coins representing 250 credits. He didn’t pull them out.
"Can I take out a loan?" he asked.
"Name and number?" the alien asked, opening a window on the register's interface to prompt Nathan to enter is citizenship ID. There was no way The Core's banking system would grant him a loan of that size. Nathan had several dozen creditors proving him a bad bet. The Core knew this. With any luck, this alien might not.
"How about an unofficial loan? If you could front the credits, I’ll pay you double by the end of The Game," Nathan said.
The alien laughed. "Only a fool would lend credits to a Mataran, friend. You could try offering a kidney or your firstborn child if you haven't already. Maybe one of your testacles."
The alien smiled mockingly and closed the window on the register's interface, effectively ending the conversation.
“Well, fuckity fuck you!” Nathan spat, his spittle landing and rolling down the side of the closed window.
Nathan was left with nothing but a heavy heart. Steeling himself, he repeated the mantra his grandfather had taught him all those years ago.
“You can’t control the dice,” he whispered. “But you can control how many times you roll them.”
Nathan ran after the aliens who had successfully bought up all the lesser tickets. He begged and pleaded with everyone that would listen to him. He only needed one person to say yes. A hulking Hondrix had bought up 1,000 lesser tickets. It refused to part with a single ticket.
“Greedy bastard,” Nathan muttered, tugging on the sleeve of another alien.
"800 credits," a Slizarg said.
"400," Nathan returned.
"750."
"Deal," Nathan said. "But I can only front 250. I can get the rest to you soon."
The Slizarg scoffed and slithered away.
A particularly foul-smelling Yoindak offered to part with its ticket for certain… physical favors, but even Nathan had some self-respect.
Nathan finally found a fellow Mataran named Danica who was willing to sell him a ticket. She had multi-colored brindle fur that Nathan couldn't take his eyes off of. She was beautiful, by Mataran standards, and Nathan knew she knew it.
"250 credits now, love," she said, eyeing him warily, "and at the end of the first cycle, 80% of your payout if your client’s still alive."
She promised to inflict vicious maiming if Nathan didn't hold up his end of the deal, and she would be able to track his progress through the ticket’s ID number. The price was steep and left little room for Nathan to pay off his other debts. But Nathan had no other choice, so he shook Danica's hand and exchanged his last remaining credits for a single ticket.
She denied Nathan's request for a romantic evening.
Nathan clutched at the lesser ticket in his hands with trepidation and excitement. This was his chance to finally escape from Elysium Gardens and get an apartment in a richer district. Maybe even buy back a few of his powers. His chances of actually winning anything were slim. His client could be a real dud, or the game rules could be particularly harsh. The survival rate for all clients in The Game’s first cycle was only about 30%, and for those sponsored with lesser tickets, it was even lower at 14%.
There were two ways to make credits off your client. The easiest was simple survival. The longer they survived, the higher the payout The Core distributed. You could also up the winnings based off the client’s performance in the games—completing quests, accomplishing great feats, etc.—but that was a far riskier endeavor.
Sponsors of lesser tickets were only granted 3 minutes with their client before they were sent into the game world. Three minutes to provide guidance and wisdom on how to survive and thrive in the games. Nathan spent the rest of the evening rehearsing his speech. After practicing, he scavenged through the garbage for dinner and found a few forgotten halves of some kind of faux-meat takeout. He carefully picked the bits of mold off the edges and gorged himself.
In one hour, his client would arrive. He scrutinized at the script on his ticket once again and wondered what a lesser human would end up looking like.