As if it was a competition, the drunks all waddled out of the Joint Wick, each one swaying more than the last. Mamba was the first to leave. Despite constantly being in conversation with Martin, Yeung-Sung noticed that she began checking her phone more and more, and with it, her demeanour degraded. But he wasn’t expecting it at all when she got up from her barstool and said, “I gotta get back to my husband y’all. Lord knows what he’s been up to since I left.” Grinning, she waved and started for the door.

“You tell us anything he comes up with,” said Wilhelm as she opened the front door.

“Hah! No, not anything of value anyway,” she replied. Drawing up her coat, she left into the night. Leaving Yeung-Seung in awe.

What? I was certain they were a couple.

Sitting beside him in the booth with his head in his hands, Martin sighed. Yeung-Sung shuddered, rubbing deep circles into his eyelids and decided to ask the man himself what was going on. He tapped Martin on the shoulder.

“You and Mamba aren’t,”

Martin perked up and gave a distracted smile. “Just friends,” he said, stopping Yeung-Sung. “Good friends,” he admitted, “Unlikely friends. If you knew our factions, you would wonder why we aren’t enemies.” He looked fondly at the massive wooden door. “But we don’t let that interfere of our friendship.” He looked up, proud, and lowered his shoulders. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Hard to get upset over i-dee-ologies when we are both stuck in same place, same situation, really.”

Yeung-Sung considered the thought. “That’s a nice thought.”

They shared a moment of quiet, yet the bar was still abuzz with people slowly getting ready to leave. Then Von Martin winced. His eyes snapped open and he furrowed his brows, pointing a hairy knuckle around at everyone. “Don’t fucking tell her I said that.”

Yeung-Sung joined in on the laughter and teasing that followed. Not long after that Martin left, not having his best friend there to chat to. This set the momentum of the bar and changed the group dynamic. The regulars who were yet to leave huddled up around the counter, finishing a “last one” or “last two” drinks before their inevitable departure.

Apart from the main group, Aisling and Sykes took their time out front as they smoked. Yeung-Sung watched them through the front window, as fuzzy figures bending over in laughter, their wisps of smoke hugging the glass as they rose, drawing closer to each other until they wound together. Then, minutes later when he looked again, they were gone. Disappointed, Yeung-Sung wandered back to the main huddle just as Darnes was coming through the back area. He was talking quietly to himself, mulling something over. Seeing him, Anita hopped out of the way and skipped by, relieved to be given a break and headed towards the bathroom. Shirley joined her on the way.

“Well, you’ve met us all,” Wilhelm said, slamming his sixth -or is it his seventh- pint down onto the barside. “Whadd’ya think? Feeling better about the whole colony situation?”

Yeung-Sung stared down at his hand. His phone lay dormant there, awaiting his input. Realising that he was quickly falling into the habit that affected everyone else, he clamped his teeth, reddening. “I think so,”.

Wil wiped the side of his lip. “Well, before I go, I’d better tell you how to min-max,” he said.

“What?”

“He means optimise, make the most of your time,” Fenrick explained.

Wil pounced back onto a barstool and swung himself around with his knees up. Darnes looked darkly at him from the counter. Smirking, Wil said, “I’ll need another one, then.”

The barkeep stopped scratching his black-bearded chin to nod and began to pour from the same tap -the middle of three- that had been used all night. Wil patted the stool beside him, so Yeung-Sung hoisted himself up into it and rested his feet against the low railing. He shifted around until he felt nicely centred, then, like the others, began to listen.

“First,” Wil began, “always have something on the go.” He showed his phone. It had a thin, yellow cover, with the centre of the screen pocked by a million half-faded fingerprints. “You have to think of time as a resource in itself. Every moment you’re not ticking away to produce something, or adding value to it, is time wasted.”

With the screen facing away from him, he opened Airgead and manoeuvred through tabs effortlessly, ones that Yeung-Sung hadn’t seven seen yet. All he could focus on was the flick of Wilhelm’s wrist, a flash of fingers -and there it was.

He stopped on a screen filled with rows of lists. Each list was a box that held a command. They lit up in consecutive order, drawing attention to the currently active command and highlighting its progress bar.

“Think ahead to what you want to get done in advance. You have a queue system for a reason.” He turned his phone towards himself and tapped in some adjustments. “It’s a real basic function that is super under-utilised for some reason,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t see why.” Steph, Hans and Fen were all leaning in to get a closer look with their mouth holding oohs of wonder, so Wil showed the list around again. His queue was long enough that he had to swipe the screen vigorously to get to the end and fully show his process.

“Jaysus, that’s ridiculous,” Steph said, reeling in his spindly back.

“Impressive,” said Fenrick. He looked through it closer, nodding. “A group of searches and sell options that work off each other, tangentially to your crafting and grinding.”

Grinning, Wil bowed. “Thank you, my man.”

“Though it might be a little early for that.” Fenrick pointed at the first task. It was refreshing constantly without progressing. “Looks like nobody’s buying what you’re selling, friend.”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Wilhelm pulled the phone into his chest and snarled. Frowning deeply at Fen, he swiped down several times and tapped once.

He turned to Yeung-Sung. “Anyway, once you decide on a profession, I suggest you stick with it. This sort of game rewards you, granting you mastery over time. A long period of time, though.”

Surprised, Yeung-Sung asked, “Only one thing? But it seems like there’s so much I can do.”

“Ahh, but that’s exactly why its great to focus,” Fenrick pointed out. “There are so many different things to chose from, that everyone can be the in-demand expert of something.”

Wilhelm nodded. “It’s the only thing that allows us, ehh”

“-Vagabonds,” Fen interjected.

“Ooh, I like that.” Wilhelm licked his lips. “Yes, having an unmatched mastery in even the most irrelevant skill is how we manage to compete. Especially the bigger factions; they disperse their skills in an attempt to become self-sufficient. To not have to waste medals on outsider prices.” He began to count on his fingers.

“The main ones are, like, the Centurions, Finers, Debaters, Roleplayers.”

“The Duners,” Steph grunted.

“You forget the biggest one,” Fenrick added. He looked over his shoulder at the bathroom and whispered, “The Player’s Market.”

“Anita?” Yeung-Sung asked.

“Right,” said Wilhelm. “You can tell them from a mile away.” He leaned back against the counter and fingered the handle of his beer. “All of those groups pool their resources together to beat the Gauntlets first, thus dispersing the wealth it creates between their own members.”

Darnes put a finger to his lips, suddenly participating in the conversation. “She’ll be along any second now. Better wrap this faction talk up, you know how she is.”

Wilhelm rolled his eyes. “Ughh, fine, fine. The point is they will force their members to adapt, in order to acquire whatever resources they need. But they often change up their plans, and that means they rarely acquire a mastery anywhere near as high as a single person focusing on a single skill, day in day out.”

His elbow suddenly slipped, but he caught himself and shook his astonishment away. “Whoops. Anyway, what do you think they’ll do when the gauntlet suddenly becomes too difficult, and they need specific specialised equipment quickly, before the other factions overtake them?”

I understand. It’s a long-term plan but it makes sense. Yeung-Sung snapped his fingers. “They buy from us.” Then added, “The vagabonds.”

“Precisely.” Wil pulled his hands in for a wide clap.

Fenrick raised his glass, nodding for the others do the same. “To the vagabonds!” To that they all toasted, clinking their drinks together, dropping a pool of froth their feet.

“Cheers for that, lads,” Anita moaned as she came by,” Didn’t have enough to do tonight.”

Shirley came out shortly after and teetered around the edge of the group.

“Sorry,” said Yeung-Seung.

Anita pursed her lips at him. He noticed that even her bottom lip was striped a faint blue, in contrast with the top. “It’s alright, sugar. It’s not you I’m mad at anyway,”,” she answered sweetly, then leered across at the other men. Their eyes slanted away from her gaze.

From behind, Shirley patted Yeung-Sung on his shoulder. “Yeung-Sung,” he said, “It’s been nice to meet you. I hope you’ve enjoyed your time with us. Sorry about getting so tense earlier.”

Gulping down what was in his mouth, he replied, “I have. Don’t worry, I’ve had worse first impressions before.”

Shirley smiled farewell. To the rest, he shouted out, “I’m gonna go, guys. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” Taking wide, complacent steps he exited the pub. At the bar, the remaining regulars saluted with their glasses, Anita and Darnes included.

Then, crossing her arms, Anita asked Darnes sharply. “Where they shit-talking the Market, Darnes?” He gave her a sidelong look and pretended to be occupied with collecting dirty glasses. To that, she exhaled in a high-pitched huff. “That’s what I thought. Irredeemable men.”

“I think that’s my queue to go as well,” Wil chuckled, and with a last chug he hopped off his stool, landing aloof, and made his awkward way out.

Yeung-Sung watched Steph and Fenrick force down their own laughter. Darnes came beside them with a tray full of dirty glasses and nudged them into the realisation that Anita was about to round on them next. And then they too decided to head home.

They older Wick-goers shook Yeung-Sung’s hand before leaving, adding the country pleasantries of “pleasure” and “gentleman”. Yeung-Sung bowed his head and then they pushed on each other, like pinballs propelling themselves to the entrance. Once outside, they linked their arms over shoulder and began to chant into the night streets.

This isn’t so bad, Yeung-Sung thought as he sat still, the last patron.

“And what will you do?” Anita asked him. Her hands were over one another in a swaying, idle pose and she gazed at him without previous intensity. “You can’t stay here all night, and I don’t suppose Darnes is looking to hire additional staff.”

“You’d suppose correctly,” he muttered, deep in the habit of work.

“Oh! I can leave if you if you need to close up.”

Darnes shoved a clattering tray into Anita’s hands and brushed her off. She made a tight face, but he blocked her view of Yeung-Sung with his huge frame and she begrudgingly went into the back. Turning, the floorboards creaked, and he loomed over Yeung-Sung, saying, “What she really means is the colony. In Airgead. What will you do, now that you’ve seen how it works? Will you try to make it on your own? Join a politically, economically minded or fun-centred group? There are several paths open for you here, Yeung-Sung. And, despite how ambivalent the rest may seem about the class warfare inside, no one will judge you for following your desires.”

“I…” Yeung-Seung started but trailed off after no further words came to him.

Sitting with his weight half on the chair, half balancing on the railing, Yeung-Sung looked down between his legs at nothing except the endless scrawling grain of the floor.

They did it. Wilhelm, and the rest coerced me to try the game. And the night was a good one. Nobody is afraid here, there’s no desperate struggle for survival or panic. However, here is more than just a simple game. What goes on matters to the people and relationships are forged and crossed out -its not perfect, but maybe that’s what makes it real. It’s…honest.

But what about my place? My store? Oh God, what about Woo-Yi? How am I going to run the store without her? I have to make it up to her after -after what I did. I’m going to, going to -run the store.

Yeung-Sung straightened up. “I’m a greengrocer,” he told Darnes. He let the sound of the words pass his lips, to feel the warmth of them. To feel that they were real. That he had a place he wanted to be a home!

Darnes kept his frown. “That’s great, but what about Airgead? DO you have any ideas, any professions you’d like to try? I heard Wil’s advice before -and it’s good- but don’t force yourself to commit to something you have no interest in.”

“Well, I’m -I’m not sure.”

“You’d better figure it out soon, then, Yeung-Sung, before you run out of medals,” Darnes warned him. “I don’t give out free drinks. Or I can’t, rather.”

“What do you mean? I have a job here. I have my own store. Why do I need to worry about it?”

Darnes cast down his expression. “You still don’t understand. A job here doesn’t give you money. It provides you with bonuses, like extra production ticks, is all.”

“NO.” Yeung-Sung dropped off his seat, clawing at his forehead with one hand. Things are getting ridiculous again. “How can that be?” Yeung-Sung wracked his head for an explanation. “You sell drinks here, surely you’re getting something from that? You worry about what prices to set!”

“I need to cover the cost of labour,” Darnes explained, “as well as a tax that covers the use of all my equipment; ingredients; the premises.” He stretched his neck back and called out to Anita. “What is it you Marketers always say?”

“Profit is theft,” came the immediate reply.

Darnes nodded. “That.”