THE CONVERSATION ended up being both interesting and educational.

Deciding not to get bogged down in deep thoughts, I started with the most important question:

“What happens if I can’t keep my ORL status?”

“What happens? You start down the chute... It’s the first step towards bankruptcy.”

“Wait, hold on. What do you mean, ‘the chute’? Is that a figure of speech? Like I’ll get thrown in the trash if I don’t keep my status?”

“No! If you don’t stay at ORL, you’ll be sent down to GBL. Graded Basic Labor. Didn’t they tell you anything? Didn’t your waker explain this?”

“Who?”

“Your waker. Your personal alarm clock. The guy who woke you up, got you up, carried you to the hallway, and explained everything.”

“It wasn’t a guy. It was a girl.”

“Whatever. Did he, or she explain the workloads to you?”

“Nope. Just said to read the interface.”

“As if there’s anything to read there. What is it, five lines of text?”

“Yeah. My waker did a shitty job. So explain the loads to me.”

“ORL is your current work load. It pays more. This is your first day, which means that they gave you GBL but pay you like it’s ORL...”

I could feel the gears start to turn in my poor thirsty head. My thick blood was desperately trying to deliver glucose to my brain as it started to work.

ORL, GBL...

The guy with three fours on his chest noticed I was paying attention, and started talking faster and more animatedly. A few times, he even risked taking his hands off the bottle clamped between his legs. The more he talked, the more I learned.

This was a simple, cold, and dispassionately cruel place. Everything was extremely rational.

Everyone who came to the Zone, as they called these hallways — and everyone started their path here — started with ORL status. Optimized Regular Labor. Everyone here got an ORL job from the system every day, and the system credited their account with sol if they did the job.

Were ORL jobs easy? For some people. A lot depended on the limbs you ended up with. Some people were lucky enough to get sturdy legs and strong hands. If you didn’t... well, life’s a bitch.

What was a standard ORL job?

Using gray slime as an example, the ORL version of the job was to collect eighty standard containers. You’d get fifteen sol for that. The system cut me a one-time break: I had a GBL job that paid like an ORL job.

So my current job description looked like this:

Job: Collect gray slime. Easy (O).

Description: Collect and deliver forty standard containers of gray slime to the receiver unit.

Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.

Compensation: 15 sol.

But a standard ORL job would look like this:

Job: Collect gray slime.

Description: Collect and deliver eighty standard containers of gray slime to the receiver unit.

Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.

Compensation: 15 sol.

If I failed to complete even one ORL job, I would automatically get demoted, no second chances. And the system, as judge, jury, and executioner here, didn’t care why I wasn’t able to get the job done.

Didn’t do your job? Demoted! And down the chute I’d go. ORL becomes GBL — Graded Basic Labor. And what was it like having GBL status? It sucked. You did half as much work, but the payment matched that.

The job would look pretty much the same as what I had now, but with minor changes to the description and way less compensation.

Job: Collect gray slime. Easy (GBL).

Description: Collect and deliver forty standard containers of gray slime to the receiver unit.

Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.

Compensation: 8 sol.

Eight sol?

That was jack shit.

What was the bare minimum I was spending each day? Three sol for food, three for water, immunosuppressant shots, and vitamins. That was it. My whole daily wage. All eight sol. What about showers? Or... there were a lot of things I might need. A t-shirt would be nice. Could I buy a t-shirt here, or did they only give them to the women?

Were there other jobs? Ones that paid better?

Very rarely. Most of the system’s ORL and GBL jobs were collecting slime, collecting garbage, and cleaning walls. Did people close to bankruptcy get easier jobs but with the same compensation?

What was it like being bankrupt? Wouldn’t it make sense to just go bankrupt, since they get easier tasks? After today’s evening alarm I’d be in the red myself, anyways. A fantastic start to my new life. What a meteoric career.

Did it make sense to go bankrupt? God forbid! There was no fate worse than bankruptcy.

In local slang, if you were completely bankrupt it meant you had lost all your rented limbs. The system would take them from you if your total debt reached fifty sol. If that happened, they’d take an arm in the medblock. If you were right-handed, it’d be your left, And if you were left-handed, vice versa.

Once they cut your arm off, your debt went down by twenty-five sol. You heard that right. That was how much your arm was worth. As soon as your debt hit fifty again, they’d cut off a leg. Which one? System’s choice. Your debt would go down by thirty, and they’ll send you on your way. You’re fifty sol in debt again? Say goodbye to that second leg, and get another thirty wiped off your debt. Really? You hit fifty another time? Well, you only have yourself to blame. Get ready to part with your one remaining limb. In exchange, your debt gets canceled. You and the system are even.

That’s bankruptcy.

You lose everything, and they take your last limb to pay off your debt. You turn into a worm with a human face. All you can do is crawl and beg — for food, for water, for help using the toilet or taking a shower. Help me, help me, help me... But how many times are people going to help you? Maybe one person who hasn’t entirely lost their sense of compassion might answer your piteous prayers. Someone else might reluctantly give you a few sips of water. But sooner or later, you’d end up in a whorehouse or have to learn to use your head the way nature intended. There had been those who managed to survive by entertaining others with hallway performances.

“This is reality, dude. Get used to it. Think about it.” The system was cold and merciless, but its approach worked well. Just seeing the pathetic, whimpering worms that were once human would dissuade you from taking a day off. You would work as hard as you could to complete that damned daily job, no matter what, just to avoid sliding down the debt chute. You would spend your days and nights thinking about your budget, trying to set aside at least twenty sol as savings in case you got sick or something. Even if you didn’t buy food, water, or vitamins, you couldn’t get out of the immunosuppressant and limb payments. Five sol every day. If you needed medicine, the medblock was there to help you out. Two sol for diagnostics, one sol for medicine. Or sometimes two, depending on how sick you were. Two days of that and your savings would be gone. Not very many people around here managed to save more than twenty sol.

Was there a way out of bankruptcy?

There was.

Save up until you had fifty-three sol. Get to the medblock however a worm like you could. They’d examine you, and then stitch on one limb of your choice: an arm or a leg, then give you an immunosuppressant. Fifty-three sol.

Could you choose the quality of the new limb? Triple fours had no idea, but the limb would definitely be in good working shape. Since that was the most important thing.

Had anyone ever managed that?

He could remember a few cases. One girl earned enough to get her arms back by doing street performances, saving up sol one by one.

Another guy had his brother help him out. He worked his butt off and saved enough for his brother to get one arm back, then they worked together to earn back the rest of his limbs.

Wait. Brother? How did they know they were brothers? Everyone’s memory was blocked.

They didn’t need memories, it was obvious — they were twins. Identical down to the very last hair. There were only two potential scenarios: they were related, or they were clones. Either way, they were connected to each other. Right?

Yeah, that would connect them. Hang on, now... let’s imagine I’m fifty sol in debt. The system is sharpening the scalpel that’s gonna take off my arm. What if I just stay away? I’m not a total idiot! I could hide somewhere and just never go into those chair rooms. I could keep working instead. Who would ever voluntarily go to the medblock knowing they were about to lose a healthy arm? It’d be easier to just work harder, work off some of that debt.

It wouldn’t work.

Why not?

Simple, really, and kind of sad. As soon as your debt hit fifty sol, the Job section of your menu would vanish. The system would give someone else a special manhunt assignment: capture and deliver the sorry debtor to the nearest medblock. All they had to do was push you inside, then the doors would close... and you’d walk out missing an arm. Well, if you were lucky you’d walk out. You could end up crawling out.

A manhunt? What if you resist?

You could try. But they won’t assign just anyone to hunt you down, it’d be a party. HFL at least, meaning three or four experienced guys. They would take you down, knock the wind out of you, tie you up and throw you into the medblock. The system apparently paid well for catching and delivering debtors. Besides, no one would turn down that job, since they would get demoted from HFL and end up back as ORL. So you’d lose your arm no matter what. It was a lot easier to surrender yourself without resisting — and no one would make money on you.

Got it... That explanation definitely changed my perception of the word ‘bankrupt’. After all, earlier that day, after I realized I couldn’t complete my job and would end up in the red, I thought I’d go bankrupt by the evening alarm. Ugh. No way.

“Is there anything below GBL?”

“Just bankruptcy. Rock bottom, dude. Rock bottom.”

“Above ORL?”

“Of course! HFL! I told you that already.”

“What’s that?”

“High-Grade Full-Time Labor. It pays more, obviously. But the jobs are harder, too. How much do they pay, exactly? I don’t know. I’m just a simple orc. Although I end up a goblin a lot. How should I know what the halflings do up there? Anyway, we all serve the elves...”

Anyway, we all serve the elves...

“Stop!” I ordered, and metal clanged in my voice.

Triple fours cringed in fear. He scooted towards the edge of the bench.

“Don’t move!” I said, and he froze obediently. Lightening my tone, I smiled. “Sorry. That just caught me off guard. Did you just say goblin? Orc? Halflings? And something about elves?”

“Ah,” he said, calming down, and handing me his bottle. “Another sip? No bargaining. My treat.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m a softie,” he confessed self-consciously. “But you already figured that out, didn’t you? And you still didn’t take the rest of my water.”

“What if I was just waiting until after we were done talking? To keep you on my good side for now.”

“I didn’t think of that...”

“I’ll take a sip later if you offer,” I smiled, then asked again, “Orcs? Goblins? Even though I lost my memory... I feel like... Isn’t all that...”

“Fantasy stuff! Exactly! Everyone knows that. Or did you think there were real goblins living here?”

“Not exactly... but why did you call yourself an orc?”

“That’s how things work around here. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t know...”

“I’m telling you, you’ll get used to it. It makes things easier — just think about how hard it is to say all these acronyms... GBL, ORL, HFL... And then there’s also variations...”

“What? What kind of variations?”

“There’s a bunch. For now, though, all you need to know is that you’re an ORC. ORL, ORC, get it? I’m an orc, too. If you get demoted to GBL, you’re a goblin.”

“What if they cut my arm off to pay my debt?”

“You’ll still be a goblin. But if they take a leg, too, you become a zombie. A goblin missing two limbs is a zombie.”

“A zombie?” I repeated, staring at the man. Was he joking? He had spoken all this nonsense with a straight face.

“Exactly! Easy to remember. Not too long ago I heard the Maximus squad leader telling his assistant: ‘We need three more, they can even be zombies if they’re not too stupid.’ It was short, easy to understand. No need for long explanations: ‘We need three more people with GBL status but missing two limbs.’ See what I mean?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Much easier. And quicker.”

“Exactly!”

“Can you list them, starting from the bottom?”

“I’m already running late as it is...”

“It won’t take long.”

“Well, okay... Worms at the bottom. That’s clear, right?”

“Clear as a bell. No arms, no legs. Just list them in ascending order.”

“Well... Worms, zombies, goblins, orcs, halflings. But that’s just the short list — there are variations, too. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. It’s easy to remember. You already learned zombies and worms, right?”

“Hard to forget,” I said thoughtfully, organizing the list in my mind, looking at it from the side, and deciding it definitely made sense.

This class system really was convenient — it was accurate, memorable, with no numbers or dull, tedious abbreviations. But why did they use fantasy races?

Hmm... He was right. I’d have to get used to it.

“Is that all the races?”

“Far from it.” He waved a hand and stood up. “Sorry, man. I really have to go. I don’t want to be a goblin again. I’m happy being an orc.”

“You mentioned elves!”

“All I know about them is that saying. Everybody says it.”

“We all serve the elves?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“There’s one race you forgot to mention,” I said.

“Which one? Although I didn’t mention all that many. I’ve only heard about them, never actually seen them.”

“You’ve definitely seen this one. And heard a lot about it. Touched some of them, even.”

“Wow. You got me, dude... What race?”

“Humans! We’re humans, have you completely forgotten?”

“Humans? Ha! You got it wrong, dude!”

“What do you mean?”

“Here,” the man looked around the hallway and our surroundings, sweeping his hand in a broad gesture. “The only ones who live here are creatures like us. And who are we?”

“We’re human.”

“Nope! We’re nullform! You’re nullform. I’m nullform. Our races are nullform! Worms, zombies, goblins, orcs, halflings — these are all nullform races. But human isn’t a nullform race at all! So you’re wrong! Good luck, Eleven. Oh! I almost forgot. Do you want a sip?”

“I appreciate it,” I said.

I took a small sip this time, then carefully put the lid back on the bottle.

“Wait.” I stopped him before he could leave.

“More water?”

“No. You helped me, and I want to thank you.”

“No problem...”

“I owe you water, and I’ll definitely repay my debt. If you have any problems, let me know. I’ll do my best to help you. Got that?”

“Thank you!”

“No, thank you. Good luck... Orc.”

“You too, fellow orc! Take care you don’t turn into a goblin! And pray you never become a worm!”

“Never become a worm…” I muttered, looking at my swollen left elbow that still didn’t seem to be shrinking. Where the hell was I? What was this place? Worms, zombies, goblins, orcs, halflings. I had that part down, at least.

A worm was bankrupt. Wiped out but still alive.

A zombie was a goblin crippled by the system.

A goblin had GBL status and might be missing an arm.

An orc... Number of limbs didn’t seem to matter. An orc was just someone who tried to regularly or periodically complete ORL jobs.

A halfling was someone with HFL. High-Grade Full-Time Labor. Hardworking and, assumedly, thrifty folk.

Folk? Did I just say folk?

This system was getting to me...

And with all that considered, all the races triple fours had listed were nullform.

Which was also fitting in this situation. After all, that was our official status.

We all were nullform here.

Volitional nullform. And the human race wasn’t a nullform race.

We were not human. Based on what I knew of the local beliefs and the system, we all gave up our human status willingly.

This is some serious bullshit...

“How’s it going, zombie?” I impulsively asked a man who was using the wall to jump deftly along past me on one leg.

“You gotta be kidding me, asshole,” he grunted. “How do you think it’s going? I’m a zombie. Everything sucks!”

He hobbled off. I stayed on the bench, philosophically contemplating the opposite wall. I had plenty to think about — and not abstract ideas, but pressing matters.

Diagnostics. I needed to have my damn elbow looked at right away. But... it cost two sol. My balance was zero. I’d be in the red by evening, and it wasn’t like the system would agree to just put the checkup on my debt. Even worms needed fifty-three sol to pay for diagnostics, an arm, an immunosuppressant shot, and zombie status.

But there was no point speculating — maybe the system wouldn’t agree, but I still had to go try. Go back towards Zone 3, Block 6, where I had seen a door with a red cross on it. I’d knock there. Maybe some kind humanitarian workers in white clothes would open the door. Wait, humanitarian? There were no humans here. Even if someone did open the door, in the best case scenario it’d be a halfling...

The first fifty steps were hell. Every time my bare soles, exhausted by this unfamiliar labor, touched the mercilessly hard floor, pain shot through me. It streamed up into my knees like a fiery fountain, then trickled into my thigh muscles. By my fifth step, I had already come up with plenty of reasons why I should just stay where I was and not go anywhere. But I didn’t give up. I kept walking, taking steps without lifting my legs. Kind of like skiing. Shuffling my feet along the floor worked a lot better than walking.

I spotted the door with the cross.

I didn’t have to knock. As soon as I stood in front of it, I saw green text that, even though I had expected, still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

No funds to pay for medical services.

Required service cost (diagnostics) — 2 sol.

This was exactly what I needed, this required service. But I couldn’t afford it. Deciding not to stand in front of the closed door like a starving goblin beggar, I moved on, and soon found myself back at Block 6, where I turned into the looped hallway. I looked at the space next to the receiver unit, then silently turned around and headed straight for the exit. I heard Buxa’s spiteful voice behind me:

“Get out of here, dickhead! Watch out!”

I didn’t look back, but was sure Buxa was giving me the finger again. She let out a loud, unnatural cackle. Was she trying to sound like a crazy bitch? She didn’t quite have it down yet. But I was sure she’d figure it out after a while. Her boyfriend Tiger didn’t say anything, but I could almost picture his posture straightening proudly. And why wouldn’t it? This cowardly goblin turned tail and ran as soon as he saw Tiger’s strong body.

He was wrong. Both of them were so wrong. I had no plans to try and do my job — it was already almost six in the evening. Even with all the willpower and perseverance in the world, I wouldn’t be able to collect and carry almost forty buckets to the receiver unit. I came here to warm up my legs and to remind myself that tomorrow I might have to come back and somehow collect forty standard containers of slime. And I also incidentally discovered that Tiger and Buxa hung around there all the time, doing nothing. Just standing next to the receiver unit and scaring away workers with intimidating gestures that seemed to say: ‘I’m gonna kick your bucket over!’ The workers recoiled in fright, and the pair wore constant satisfied grins. But their intimidation had a lazy edge to it at this point — they’d had enough fun for the day, and now they were just killing time until dinner. I felt, somehow, that these type of people were familiar to me.

But the overall scene was an interesting one. Orcs and goblins, yes indeed. The orcs yell, and the goblins squeal...

I walked along by the wall, leaving the center of the hallway for those stronger and more agile than me, and listened to fragments of people’s conversations. And why shouldn’t I? If they wanted to keep something from being overheard, then they should have whispered about it over in a corner, not yelled back and forth in the middle of a crowd.

“I heard they’re gonna increase the workload...”

“No shit? For goblins, too?”

“For everyone! We’re nullform, what do they care? They’ll run us ragged, the bastards...”

“Bullshit!” Someone else added angrily. “They’ve never increased the workload before. Who makes this shit up?”

“But what if it’s true?”

“It’s bullshit! So what? All right, party, ready to hit the sack?”

“Do worms crawl? Let’s go. I’m on my last legs.”

The speakers moved on, and their voices faded into the general crowd noise. But they were replaced by others.

“Shit! I forgot to pay for my capsule. Got back, and someone else was already holed up in it. I’d been living there for almost a year...”

“Why didn’t you just pay the rent ten days forward? That’s what I always do.”

“For real? Throw away ten sol like that?”

“You’re not throwing them away. It’s your capsule.”

“Nothing here is yours, Carl. Not even your arms.”

“What’s up with you today? You’re in a bad mood.”

“Some slut attacked me... see the scratch?”

“Damn... She almost took your eye out. Fingernails?”

“Yeah, that bitch! All I did was accidentally touch her ass! It wasn’t much of one, anyway, bony as hell. And she squealed like a stuck pig! So I said, polite as can be, something like hey, lady, shut your trap. Your ass isn’t much to look at, and neither is your face. And then she jumped me! And not a single system eye around! So I got attacked for nothing... I need a drink, something strong. How about we go pay Rob-Rob a visit? Spend a few sol, what do you think?”

“I dunno... Two miles there, two miles back. Are you getting extra calories or something?”

“We’ll grab something to eat there... two more sol each...”

“That’s already four total!”

“So anyway, my capsule... Someone else lives there now, and they won’t move out.”

“Why are you so hung up on it? There’s a shit-ton of capsules! Pick any one and move in!”

“But I liked that one!”

“Well then you should have paid for at least a week in advance!”

“But it was my home...”

Now this was interesting... I sped up a little, trying not to lose sight of the workers talking about the capsule and this mysterious Rob-Rob who sold food and strong drinks. I assumed they were heading towards the capsules, and I could probably get some food there. I listened to everything they said, absorbing the information like a sponge.

“Get this: I bought a brand new shirt today, and I already got slime all over it. What gives?”

“I mean, you can just wash it. All our clothes are washable.”

“It wasn’t from a vending machine! It’s handmade! Really nice.”

“Why buy handmade? That’s expensive as shit.”

“There’s this chick I want to hook up with...”

“Then why the hell did you wear the shirt to work? You could’ve changed into it after!”

“What if she was there too? Collecting slime...”

“Did you see Tiger? With his girl.”

“They were fucking everyone up!”

“Where were they?”

“Zone 3, blocks 5 and 6. The whole day! Like they didn’t have anything else to do! That fucker grabbed two buckets and did both their jobs fast as can be. And then they just never left... Man, I wish someone would smash his skull. Hers, too.”

“Shh, quiet... 29 talked shit and paid for it. He was an honest orc. On his way to becoming a halfling, even. Now he’s a worm. Do you want to crawl through the mud too?”

“Me? I didn’t say a word...”

“Best to keep your mouth shut.”

“Will do.”

I stopped. The view in front of me was enough to make me forget about how tired I was. Wow! There are actual creature comforts here!

The hallway led me to a dead hedgehog. At least, that’s what I imagined as I looked at the map on the wall. The spiky black spot on a gray background looked exactly like a bloated, dead hedgehog. Who came up with the idea of building such a strangely-shaped place?

The map had a legend, and after a quick perusal, I learned that this area was where you could spend your free time or socialize. That was clear. The spines leading off of the main hall were dead-end hallways about twenty yards long. Each spine had a number and featured twenty standard individual living capsules. There were also two toilets, two shower rooms, and five rooms for food, water, and medicine in each spine. The hedgehog itself, with the odd name of CLUX-17, had two medblocks, vending machines with food and personal items, and a central common area for injections, eating, and drinking.

I spotted a cafe right near the entrance — about a hundred square tables set up in rows in the middle of a spacious hall. In the middle of CLUX-17...

The lighting was soft and pleasant. The floor and walls were clean, although they were that same ever-present metal. The main attraction was the security domes — one big, unmoving central one, and about ten small ones that moved around.

“They sure know how to impress.” I sighed and walked into CLU — Screw it! I’m just gonna call it the rec room. A huge rec room.

Why couldn’t the system have ‘birthed’ me here? This area didn’t even have a hint of the gloomy hallways I had come out of. Although... maybe they did it right. They send you headfirst into that grim atmosphere of doom, you get up to your ears in gray slime, and only then you get to this part and realize that life isn’t all that bad here!

I sat down at a table. The bench was attached to the floor and had a low, uncomfortable back. I looked around, noting what the others were doing. After a minute I got the idea. People were doing nothing, just waiting. But judging by the general air of excitement and shining eyes, it wouldn’t be long now. And I knew roughly what we were waiting for...

During all that sitting and waiting, I almost never took my eyes off the windows in the metal boxes against the wall. Vending machines. After all, it really was a residential area. You could really live here. If you had money.

The evening alarm sounded thirty minutes later, at exactly eight in the evening. The morning bell was at eight in the morning. This meant a work shift lasted twelve hours, and workers had twelve hours to get their job done. It sounded reasonable. Wake up at seven. Breakfast, shots, figure out what job you had that day... just like everyone else was doing. Just living and working.

I had to stand up again and walk to the soaring column covered in doors in the middle of the hall. I went through one of the doors, sat on a metal chair, and got a food cube and a liter of water. When I came out, I went back to the table, trying not to bump into anyone with my elbow, since it was hurting more and more. The painkiller they had given me in the morning must have been pretty strong if it worked for twelve whole hours. I wondered what an interesting night I had ahead of me... Could I ask the system for more painkillers? They wouldn’t let me into the medblock, but maybe they’d lend me a shot in the food block.

Let’s see...

I turned around and headed back. When the closest room freed up, I stood in front of the door.

“Eleven. GBL.”

Eleven. (GBL).

Objective?

That was rude. They didn’t even let me in. Of course they wouldn’t give me more food or water.

“A shot of painkillers.” I said to the closed door, as clearly as I could.

The door didn’t open. I got the hint.

“I really need it.”

Vacate the premises.

Fine, I get it...

They only give you painkillers in the morning.

I went away, and sat back down at another table. Someone else had already taken the one I was sitting at before.

GBL... The system was letting me know I’d been demoted to goblin. I was GBL. It had a nice ring to it, to be honest. My interface was still practically the same — I didn’t even notice the changes at first.

Number: Eleven.

Rank: Nullform (volitional).

Current status: GBL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).

Only one letter had changed, but it meant so much... Fortunately, my food and water ration were still the same, so I wasn’t worried. I could still remedy the situation.

At that same moment, at long last and with a hint of pride, I felt nature calling. My body was finally fully hydrated and finally ready to get rid of something.

But I decided to check my finances first.

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Debt details (5 most recent):

Shower: 1 sol.

Second meal: 1 sol.

Second water ration: 1 sol.

Third meal: 1 sol.

Third water ration: 1 sol.

Total debt owed: 10 sol.

Fantastic. Great! Just forty more sol of debt and they’d cut my arm off. I was definitely making progress here in my new life. Well, at least the toilets were free.

I went to use the nearest one. As I was leaving, I took a few steps in the other direction to take a look at the vending machines. Now this was what heaven looked like...

The numbered shelves behind the glass held more amazing things for sale than I could have imagined. The first machine, wide and tall, was full of packaged clothing. Colorful t-shirts, underwear, shorts, pants, gloves, work gloves, ties, handkerchiefs, socks, slippers, flip-flops, sneakers, boots, belts, protective goggles and masks, hats, bandannas... And I hadn’t even seen everything yet! They were ordered logically, with hats at the top and shoes at the bottom.

The next machine offered everyday items. Flasks, mugs, thermoses, safety razors, towels, plastic spoons, forks, plates...

The third one held food. I noticed wide-necked water bottles like the ones I’d seen before, nutritional cubes, what looked like colorful candies, and paper sacks with loose contents and delicious-sounding labels: mushroom soup, beef soup, strawberry jelly, apple jelly, chicken broth, black coffee, latte, double espresso, triple espresso, zumba-deluxe-drive sweet, zumba-deluxe-drive sour, strawberry milkshake, assorted chewing gums...

The fourth one... The fourth vending machine made me freeze in disbelief. I looked up at the emotionless sphere humming by along the rail above me. Hey, guys... Is this a video game or something? What the hell are you selling here?

The machine had a camouflage pattern on the outside and had equipment for sale. Protective equipment! Knee pads, elbow pads, high protective boots, strong protective gloves, plastic helmets with see-through visors, vests...

I was almost afraid to take another step and see what was next, but I did it.

And just as I expected...

Rubber batons, hunting knives, all different kinds of stun guns, smoke grenades... there was a lot to look at. You could scroll through a circular display stand by pressing a large black button. Some weirdo stood there pressing it over and over again, eyes fixed on these... weapons. There was really no other word for it.

Do they really consider these consumer products?

I managed to stay calm and limped on, walking past the next two machines without stopping. I had noticed the entrance to one of the spines up ahead, a residential hallway where, presumably, there would be individual living capsules. Available to all levels and races in this society, even me. Who was I? I was a goblin. But I still had the right to a capsule. I could have slept on one of the benches, of course — I had tried it already, and it wasn’t too bad. But a capsule was also an option. If they’d let me in with all this debt.

So what had I found out after all this? You could actually have a life here. Live well, even. I didn’t have to walk around shirtless and in boxer shorts all the time. But I couldn’t stay at GBL, no way. Goblins were always starving. They had a bad life. But if you did your ORL jobs, you really could live as a well-fed, satisfied orc — even save up a little money.

A surprise was waiting for me at the entrance to the nearest spine. I couldn’t get in.

It wasn’t the system that locked me out, but a big man with his arms crossed over his chest and a bored but uncompromising expression on his face. Shaved head, bulging muscles... The intimidating type. He was fairly well-dressed and equipped, by local standards at least, in a t-shirt, shorts, sneakers, and a belt with a short club on it. Everything he wore was black, and he stood lazily chewing something.

“Get lost.”

Short and to the point. I took a step back.

“Why? Or should I just get lost for no reason?”

My response earned me a closer look. The slight interest in his gaze vanished as soon as he noticed my swollen elbow. Still, he didn’t immediately tell me to get lost again, but deigned to explain himself.

“This spine is controlled by our brigade. We don’t let outsiders in. Anyways, there are no free spots here. So move along.”

“Controlled by your party?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said, or do I have to get rude with you?”

“Your party? I’m new. It’s my first day here.”

“Go ask someone else.”

“The sooner I find out, the sooner I’ll stop bugging you. Answer me. Is this spine controlled by a party?”

“A brigade, not a party. Parties are two to five people.”

“Okay... so there are more of you... and your party became a brigade?”

“After a party comes a squad, six to ten people. And then a brigade is ten to twenty people. This spine is home to the Celestial Alliance’s 7th Production Brigade.”

“Wow... Damn. Are you serious? Or am I supposed to laugh now?”

“Get lost!”

“Fine.”

“Here, take this.”

He threw something at me. I managed to catch it and took a look — I held an elongated candy wrapped in paper. I looked questioningly at the guard, who crossed arms back over his chest and grumbled:

“I was new once, too. And it didn’t go well for me. That’s some gum with caffeine and vitamin C.”

“Thanks!”

“You might find some empty capsules on the opposite side. This whole side is controlled by brigades.”

“Production brigades?” I asked instinctively, clenching my fist around the gum.

“All different ones. There are combat brigades, mixed brigades... But most are production brigades. I’ll tell you straight, though, asking to join one is pointless. No brigade’s gonna take just any random person they meet.”

“Thanks again.”

“Good luck.”

I decided not to bother checking if the guard’s words were true or not. I turned my back on him and slowly made my way to the opposite side of the huge, crowded room. My legs had been slowly warming up, and it was easier to walk now, but I knew they’d be complaining like hell in the morning...

Parties. Squads. Brigades.

They were even divided into types. Combat brigades, mixed brigades, production brigades... Did parties and squads have designations like that too? Things were a little more complicated than I had expected, but at least trying to figure it all out would be interesting.

I looked around at entrances to the spines to make sure there were no guards. A trash heap next to the wall caught my eye. Thinking of the hall like a city, I had just gone from the rich central area to the poor outskirts. The right place for me!

A capsule...

There was nothing surprising about the way they looked. Two levels of capsules with green outlines lined the walls of the spine. Stairs led to the second floor, and each capsule had a light and a line of text on the lid.

Occupied.

Vacant.

All the green lights were on the second floor. Should I go upstairs? Or look in the other spines? I thought for a second, shrugged, and started my awkward climb up the stairs to the closest vacant capsule.

Well?

Will they let me get some rest even though I’m in debt?

I placed my finger on a black square on the capsule. There was a whirring sound, and the lid of the capsule moved silently upward, revealing a six-foot-deep niche with a soft-looking bed inside. It was easy to get in — too easy. My arms and legs already knew where to go, what to grab onto, how to move my body. I even did it with just my one good arm, mentally stopping my left one from moving like it wanted to.

I lay down. It wasn’t as soft as it looked...

The capsule lid closed, and a dull yellow light came on above me. My right hand reached out instinctively to press it, and it turned off. I moved a little to the side and put my gum on a shelf I hadn’t noticed before. I must have spent the night in a capsule like this quite a few times before — the memories in my brain may have been blocked, but my muscle memory was intact.

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Debt details (5 most recent):

Second meal: 1 sol.

Second water ration: 1 sol.

Third meal: 1 sol.

Third water ration: 1 sol.

Individual habitation capsule: 1 sol.

Total debt owed: 11 sol.

The darkness worked like a sleeping pill, and my eyes drifted shut.

Sweet dreams, goblin. Tomorrow will be a wonderful new day...

STATUS:

Number: Eleven.

Rank: Nullform (volitional).

Current status: GBL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Total debt owed: 15 sol.

Game Challenge Complete.

Outcome: Win.

Reward: 3 sol.

Winstreak: 1/3.

Reward Bonus (GC): 0%

GC Selection Chance Bonus: 0%

Extra Prize Chance: 0%

Job: Handle 7. 100 full rotations.

Current time: 08:20.

I WAS IN SOME KIND OF MOOD. A fierce, amped, vicious, doomed, positive mood.

As this complicated mix of emotions ran through me, I stood at the cleared epicenter of an explosion. I realized that as soon as I went through the doorway and walked down the ramp. Everything around me literally screamed: ‘We got blown up!’ It looked like someone had done their best to clean things up, but in the most basic way possible.

I was in a small rectangular room, with the corners rounded off. I had noticed all the architecture here avoided right angles as much as possible. There were two doors on opposite walls, and a buzz of activity in the middle. It was like a highway, a hub used to get from one hallway to another. One wall was solid, silvery metal, but the other... it looked like there had once been a similar wall there, but a bomb had gone off behind it and tore it open, turning it inside out like an ugly flower. The repair crew had been working hard for a while after the explosion, cutting off the twisted, torn metal and getting the wall mostly back to its former state. But they didn’t completely plug up the hole — they left a long gash that let you see part of a complex mechanism behind it, a mechanism that had only been partially destroyed by the explosion. The parts that couldn’t be fixed were removed. Part of the casing was missing, and individual parts of the mechanism were joined with primitive tie-in connections. Apparently, they hadn’t been able to find spare parts, or just didn’t have the skill to fix it.

It seemed to me like they had thrown away all the electronics and mechanical drives, then used the undamaged remnants, gears, metal rods, and cheap labor to build some weird surrogate powered by slaves and extraterrestrial technology. Eight handles spaced unevenly two or three yards apart protruded from the wall. They were sturdy steel, polished to a shine by the workers’ hands. Something behind the undamaged sections of the wall rumbled periodically and a short, demanding signal would sound. Each time it went off, whoever was standing next to the corresponding handle would grab it and turn it one full rotation. From what I could see, it didn’t look like an easy process. Everyone looked far too tense. To make things worse, they all had two arms, and used both hands to turn the handles, putting the weight of their entire body into it.

My handle was second-to-last — the bold number above each one made it easy to tell them apart. I walked up to it, my steps far more confident than they had been yesterday, and glanced at my clock. I had checked the job description that showed up in my interface before I had even woken up that day. It was unusually wordy.

Job: Handle 7. 100 full rotations.

Important additional details: Arrive at the location no later than 8:30. Replace the previous worker after the double signal and double yellow flash. Begin work. Complete the required number of actions. End your shift.

Description: After the short signal and green flash, immediately turn handle 7 in a full clockwise turn until it clicks. Permitted delay: 3 seconds. Required number of actions: 100 full turns. 

Job location: Zone 4, Block 1.

Job length: complete full rotations of handle 7 until the required number is met. Do not skip any rotations.

Compensation: 8 sol.

Current time: 08:25.

An explanation for complete morons. Maybe there had been cases where someone didn’t understand a job correctly, or attempted to cheat the system. As I stood there watching, handle 7 was turned twice in a little over three minutes. The intervals varied in length by a few seconds each time. The third interval between rotations confirmed my guess — it was fifteen seconds longer. It made sense, since there was manpower involved in running this mutilated mechanism, and people didn’t have the same level of accuracy as a machine.

“Done,” a strong-looking woman exhaled wearily, releasing her hold on the handle and moving away from the wall. “Your turn. Get to it.”

I nodded at her. “Good morning.”

“For you, maybe. It’s evening for me.”

“Wait... you worked the night shift?”

“What do you think?” She snapped angrily. “Of course I did.”

“Right, yeah.”

I didn’t ask her anything else. She didn’t seem to be in the mood for pleasant conversation.

The signal went off...

Well, let’s see if this body can turn handle 7 a hundred times without falling more than three seconds behind... All right... Let’s go!

I grabbed on, putting my whole weight on the handle and managing to bring it up to shoulder level. Without losing momentum, I pushed it to the highest point, and practically hung on it as it swung down. I heard a click. One rotation. I checked my interface to make sure it counted — ninety-nine left. I exhaled in relief.

What can I say?This is hard!Really hard.If I had two working arms... I put my hand down and leaned against the wall while I waited. I had to conserve my strength. I remembered to look around and listen to everything, but nothing caught my eye. Then my neighbor on handle 8, a young, cheerful guy who wore number 529, started up a conversation. He had just begun his shift, like me.

“You an orc?” He asked.

“Goblin,” I answered, pointing to my left arm. “I didn’t do my job yesterday.”

“Shit happens,” he said, nodding in empathy.

I heard the signal. Turned the handle. His signal beeped, and he did the same. Then he turned to me again.

“I got demoted to goblin once, too. Started spending all the sol I had saved at Rob-Rob’s, then went on a bender in Drainagetown. They don’t like us there, though. I’d never even think of going there if I was sober. Got poisoned in one joint, barely survived. Then I found out I had been buying everyone food and drinks while I was blacked out, even gave away all my stuff. So when I came to... I was so sick I didn’t even want to live... They scammed me like a dumbass goblin. No offense. Smart guys don’t live as goblins.”

“None taken. You’re right.”

“Yeah. I spent the rest of my sol on medicine and spent a week in my capsule just laying there like a sweaty worm. For the first three days, the world just spun constantly. I really thought I was gonna die. Then there was the weakness. My friends carried me on their backs to go get food and water, I don’t even know what I would have done without them. I worked my ass off for a long, long time to get back to being an orc. It’s really the best. Orc life — now that’s living!”

“For sure. Orcs are honest. Hard workers.”

Our conversation was interrupted by another signal. I turned the handle, then turned to my neighbor again.

“Who doesn’t like us?” I asked with interest. “This is only my second day here.”

“Oh, that explains why you’re walking around in nothing but your underwear. First thing you should do is buy some sandals at least. It’s easy to hurt your feet here. Gotta have something on your feet. The sandals they sell have pretty thick soles, and they only cost two sol.”

“Thanks, I’ll get some. So who doesn’t like us?”

“Where?”

“In, uh... Drainagetown. That’s a city, right? So someone there doesn’t like orcs or goblins?”

“Right... I wouldn’t really call it a city. More of an upper district. Plenty of orcs and goblins live there — it’s not your race they don’t like, bro. It’s where you’re from. We’re from the outskirts, and they’re city guys. They like our money, but they don’t like us. Just want to bleed us dry then kick us out. They won’t even let us spend a night there without paying out the ass! The entrances to the capsules are all blocked off. Like some kind of defensive measures. Two sol to get in, another for the capsule itself. Three sol just for one night! So don’t even bother going there. Here’s good enough. And be careful with the booze! Don’t get too drunk at Rob-Rob’s, or someone will take a seat at your table, offer you a drink, and then you’re off on a real bad trip. The next morning you’ll wake up a goblin. A stupid, dirt-poor goblin. No offense, again.”

“Got it. A bad trip... Like what happened to you? A trip to Drainagetown?”

“Yeah. Hey, time to turn! Gotta get those numbers up!” We paused to do our job, then continued our talk.

Time flies when you have something to talk about. I felt like a worker in an old factory with bosses that didn’t care about anything. Chat with the other workers as much as you want. Nobody cares as long as the machinery is still running like it should.

“Drainagetown is just a huge, shitty industrial district. The primary filter is there.”

“Filter of what?”

“All the drains lead there, pass through their grates. Then it all keeps going.”

“Our drains? Like from the plumbing and whatever?”

“Ours, too, yeah. Through the pipes.”

“And whose else drains there?”

“You know, a bunch of them. Turn your handle.”

“Thanks. So, whose drains?”

“Who knows! Ask the elves!”

“Is that some kind of saying?”

“Yeah. Haven’t heard it yet?”

“Nope.”

“You’ll hear a lot about elves. Nobody’s ever seen one, but everybody talks about them.”

“Maybe they don’t really exist? Also, why elves? They couldn’t pick a better race?”

“Tell me, who are they?”

“Who?”

“They’re higher beings! Aren’t they?”

“Yeah, something like that, I guess.” I admitted, grabbing handle 7 again.

“I know it, too. Higher beings, immortal. Not like us, right? We’re mortals.”

“Got it. So Drainagetown is a district? Of a city?”

“Well, it’s the upper district of Murkwaters. But if it was up to me, I’d call their stinking fucking town the Universal Shit Collector! If you only knew how bad it stinks there! Especially in Drainagetown... you can’t walk around without a mask on. The whole city is stupid. Built vertically, like a goddamn skyscraper. The thick sludge runs downwards, but the lower it gets, the more liquid it becomes... And eventually it comes out as clean water. The halflings rule everything there, which isn’t surprising. They’re the hardest workers. And good at it. Hey, Eleven... let’s talk about something else. Like chicks.”

“You mean...”

“Yeah! What kind of girls do you like? I like redheads. They’re so clean. And a little mysterious, and, I mean... have you ever touched their skin? Even once? Were you, goblin, ever lucky enough to touch a natural redhead’s skin... It’s really something! And also...”

To my surprise and even fascination, he just kept going. Singing like a nightingale... And there was no stopping him! I wasn’t the only one listening, either. The guy at handle 6 overheard snatches of my neighbor’s ode to redheaded beauties, so he started coming over to listen. He’d go back to his handle, turn it, then come back and listen more. I could understand him. It wasn’t every day you met someone so passionately in love with natural redheads. And he knew so much about them... Things I had never even thought about. They were Nordic, apparently, and especially affectionate in stormy weather...

I didn’t even notice the time passing. I only managed to shake myself free of this hypnotic stupor when a sad-looking man with a dirty t-shirt over his sunken chest came up to me.

He drew his words out oddly as he spoke. “My... shift...”

I waited for the double yellow flash and signal, and headed out, relieved. I shook hands with the expert on redheads, nodded to the guy on handle 6, and said goodbye. They’d still be working for a while, since they had ORL status. They were orcs, not goblins.

How are my finances?And what’s up with my right arm?

My arm hurt. Lunch was soon. Incidentally, I had found out on my way to work that day... Doesn’t that sound funny!On my way to work... I found out that you wouldn’t miss lunch if you were busy. You’d get your three-meals-a-day-and-water until you became a worm or died. They would feed you as long as you had at least one limb — you’d owe them for it, but still.

I realized that if I took a nap after lunch, then I’d get hit with all the pain from my overworked back, abs, and right arm. My right shoulder hurt, too. Only my useless left hand got off lightly. Damn elbow...

I also found out that there was an ATM, as they called it, in each clux. I had seen one after breakfast and, after asking four other people unsuccessfully, got a brief explanation from the disgruntled fifth person who came by. All you had to do was touch the screen. If you had more than two sol on your balance, so at least three, the screen would light up. All it displayed was two boxes. You’d enter the number of the person you wanted to transfer sol to in the top one, then the amount in the bottom one. Then tap OK. That was it. The system would take the sol from you and add them to the ATM’s balance — not transfer them directly to the recipient. Why not? It wasn’t like that would be a problem for the almighty system. But no. The recipient would have to go to an ATM and pick it up themselves. The ATM would take two sol as a transfer fee in both directions if the transfer was less than a hundred sol. If it was higher, the ATM automatically took ten percent from the person transferring the money, and two sol from the recipient.

Now I just had to find someone who would send me money for something...

Less than a hundred sol... Do people here really have more than that?It sounds crazy... I’m nowhere near that...

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Total debt owed: 7 sol.

It was lunchtime. Two more sol gone on water and food. After that, I’d have plenty of time to figure out how to earn more money. I didn’t want to live as a poor goblin. I also needed to get a long rag or a bandage to make a sling for my lame left arm. The vending machines sold bandages, and they weren’t that expensive. Just two sol. Just like the diagnostics in the medblock. As soon as I had two sol, though, I wasn’t going to spend them on a bandage. I’d be better off going to an indifferent, but at least professional doctor. My elbow was a real problem — that was obvious. This was some serious damage that wouldn’t heal on its own, maybe bursitis or arthritis. I had no idea. But I needed to find out as soon as possible. Every time I looked at my swollen blue elbow, I had a mental image of the words ‘gas gangrene’. I even tried to sniff it to make sure it didn’t already smell like rotten meat. If there was even the slightest stench, I’d find someone with a machete and ask them to amputate my arm above the elbow.

As I was hobbling along the corridor to my clux, thinking about how much it sucked to be a poor, sick goblin, I was so lost in the haze of my thoughts that I almost missed the number on the lit-up wall screens. Fortunately, someone walking past caught my attention when he grumbled angrily:

“Fucking double ones, I hope he dies! Lucky bastard!”

I stared after him with a stunned gaze. I hadn’t expected to hear anyone say my number. And he had so much anger in his voice! I looked at the screen.

There it was. That was the number on my chest!

I quickly stepped up to the screen and looked around for griefers. My right thumb found the sensor almost on its own, and I was in! I’m in the game!

The system responded to my actions.

Galaxian.

One round.

Select difficulty:

Easy.

Normal.

Hard.

Okay...

“If only someone could tell me what this game is...” I said disappointedly, staring at the odd name. It meant nothing to me.

Galaxian?

Galaxy?Galactic?Something to do with space?Well, it’s definitely not tic-tac-toe...

The timer was counting down. It would have made sense to just pick Easy, but with all my debt, I figured I should at least try Normal.

So I tried.

The screen blinked and started to go dark, and a green animation appeared in my head. A smiling man extended his right hand, palm open, and moved it to the left and right. His left hand was clenched, his thumb rhythmically tapping his fist.

Blinking white dots appeared on the dark screen. Then something colorful popped up at the bottom of the screen. A second passed... And another... and a swarm of multi-colored flies appeared, accompanied by droning beeps and cadences.

What the hell is this? Several combat units split off from the swarm and rushed towards me. I watched, dumbstruck. The three flies moving towards me seemed to strain and relieve themselves, sending their ‘goodies’ in my direction.

Hold in!This is space!Those are starships!And they’re not shitting onto that thing at the bottom — my starship! They’re launching rockets!

I had to do something!

I moved my hand. The starship moved the same direction. I tapped my left thumb to shoot. A few blasts shot out. There was some convulsive chaos... And the space flies killed me.

“Shit!”

Game Challenge Complete.

Outcome: Loss.

I lost.

Why? I hadn’t been expecting a game that required quick reflexes. I was expecting something turn-based, with pauses. I take a turn, then the enemy takes a turn. I unhurriedly assess their ham-handed aggression, weigh the pros and cons, and make a counter-move.

But the system outplayed me with this ancient space shooter.

“Loser!” Came the confident verdict from a passing girl who was about twenty years old, but with fifty-year-old arms.

“A goblin, too!” I called out cheerfully.

“Deadbeat loser!”

“Exactly! GBL is where it’s at.”

“Clumsy smooth-brained goblin!”

“If the shoe fits!” I nodded, thumping my chest. “You’re damn right. It’s a fact!”

“Even a child could win at Galaxian!”

“Comparing me to a child? Are you serious? I’m a clumsy, smooth-brained, deadbeat loser goblin!”

“Not bad,” my heckler sniffed, deigning to stop and turn around. “You don’t lose your cool. Anybody else would have already freaked out and told me to fuck off.”

“Why?” I smiled. “It was my own fault I lost. I wasn’t expecting a game where I’d need fast reflexes.”

“You got a good attitude, goblin!”

“What other kinds of games are there?”

“There’s a zillion of them!” She shouted, moving away at a brisk pace. “The system always has tricks up its sleeve! But if you got Galaxian... Are you new here?”

“Yeah.”

“Tic-tac-toe, Galaxian, Pong, Tetris... You can expect stuff like that.”

“Always?”

“I can’t hear you...”

“Always?!”

“Until you get your first winstreak.”

“Uhh...”

“What?”

“Where can a poor goblin earn a few extra sol around here?”

The girl stopped and peered at me from afar, then shrugged doubtfully.

“You don’t have anything, right?”

“Not exactly,” I said, trying to sound offended, “I have some coffee gum with vitamin C!”

“That won’t help you much. I meant protective equipment. You won’t get a good job without it. Especially with your ugly elbow... But it’s worth a try. Go to intersection 17, next to Zone 3. That’s where guys like you hang out. Hang out and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“People looking to hire, of course. You’ll figure it out.” The girl walked over to me, rummaged in her belt bag, then held out her hand. “Take this.”

“Thanks. What is it?”

“Lemon gum,” she chuckled and ran off, shouting back to me. “For your collection, goblin!”

“Thanks!” I shouted back, causing a one-armed, one-legged old man sitting on a nearby wall ledge to grunt in annoyance.

A zombie!So that’s what they look like...

“Gimme your gum, goblin,” he hissed, not getting up.

“No way,” I shook my head. “Not today.”

“Got any food?”

“Nope.”

“A sip of water?”

“No.”

“Fucker.”

“Good day to you too,” I nodded. “Does this hallway lead to Zone 3?”

“Fuck you.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Go die.”

INTERSECTION 17 WAS EASY to spot from afar. It was larger than the others and full of wall ledges, almost all of which were occupied by workers looking to earn extra sol. They sat close to each other like birds on a perch. I wasn’t discouraged by the sight of this crowd — I just had to see how things would go. I asked a group of well-dressed men wearing shirts, shorts, and sandals where the closest food point was, and went to get a nutritional cube and water.

Those cubes were interesting. I had no idea whether they swelled to ten times their original size in your stomach or had some special chemicals in them, but everything was so perfectly calculated that after you ate breakfast, you only got hungry again right when it was time for lunch. And after lunch, you started thinking about food at dinnertime.

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Total debt owed: 9 sol.

This is bad, goblin, really bad.

Run, goblin, run.

Go find a job, goblin!

If I went without a shower, I’d be spending three sol on dinner, water, and a place to sleep. I could also sleep on a warm bench — Then my debt would only go up by two sol. But tomorrow I’d only be able to earn eight sol since my work load was lower. And the payment was lower, too.

Wait...

I did my job today.Yeah, it was GBL, but I did it.So will I get a normal job tomorrow?

I needed to find out as soon as I could, even if it annoyed other people. Even if they got angry or swore at me. I needed information. Intersection 17 was a great place to get it. I would go join some workers who looked poor. Maybe I’d be lucky enough to find someone like me — some talkative goblins.

After five or six tries, I got what I needed.

Before I got dinner, the system would ask me if I wanted to go back to ORL or stay at GBL for now.

That made sense, and seemed fair. If it gave you a normal job and you physically couldn’t do it, you’d be dead. With my bad elbow, I’d have to think long and hard about whether it was worth moving back up to ORL. I had worked for three hours, turned that handle a hundred times, and my whole body was hurting — I’d feel even worse in the morning. And that was only a goblin’s work load, so ORL would probably be two hundred rotations. It was tough to make the right decision, but I figured I’d be able to make up my mind by evening. A lot would depend on if I could earn any sol this afternoon. To be honest, there was no point in staying at GBL if I couldn’t earn some under-the-table money. That was just the path to bankruptcy and the life of a human worm. If I went without a real bed and a shower, the bare minimum to cover my needs was eight sol a day. I was earning eight sol, too. I couldn’t survive this way, and definitely wouldn’t be able to save any money.

“Being a goblin is damn hard.” I sighed and leaned back against the wall, gently cupping my aching elbow.

“Then what do you think it’s like being a zombie?” A sweaty-smelling man sitting next to me, missing his left arm and right leg, asked. He clung to a makeshift plastic crutch, and his voice was raspy. “Huh?”

“Even harder?”

“Wiseass. Shut up, already.”

I didn’t answer the zombie. What could I say? There was no point in trying to scare him, either. He was a zombie, undead — no self-preservation instinct.

The zombie fell silent too, and straightened up suddenly, sucking in his already-sunken stomach, smiling widely, and staring straight ahead, eyes frozen. What had happened to him? Did he sense blood? Oh. I see...

Six hallways of varying widths and crowdedness converged on intersection 17. The widest entrance had ‘CITY’ and a painted arrow inscribed on it. For the stupidest of us, I guess. Six people emerged from that hallway, strikingly different from the local rabble.

They were wearing clothes!

Normal human clothes. None of these stupid shorts, which were really a bastard combination of standard-issue shorts and homemade boxers. The only advantage of my clothes was that they were easy to wash, and only took a minute to dry.

But their clothes...

They were all wearing pants. Well-made khaki work pants with hip pockets. Their t-shirts and jackets were all different colors, but everyone’s t-shirts and jackets matched. Red on red, black on black, gray on gray. There was clearly a meaning behind the different colors. I decided to take a closer look in a minute, after I finished enviously looking over all their other equipment.

A hungry, naked goblin is staring at you, Bwana!Staring like he wants to steal your stuff!

They were all wearing sturdy shoes. Not sneakers or sandals, but boots with relatively high tops. They all had colorful bandannas on their heads and plastic helmets over those, like motorcycle helmets.

They also had backpacks the same drab khaki shade as their pants. Plus belt bags, vests, elbow pads, and knee pads. Some even wore tactical vests. And weapons... all six had some kind of weapon.

Now let’s take a closer look.Closer, but quick.

That hungry goblin is still staring at you, Bwana!Hit him so he learns not to stare!

Three of them wore red. Three well-muscled thugs, practically identical. They were dressed identically, too. Vests. Boots. Gloves that looked stiff and thick. Protective pads on their knees, elbows, and shins. On top of their vests, they wore what looked like football pads, massive and sturdy. The visors on their motorcycle helmets were open, and they each had a long club on their belt. Three long, thin steel spikes stuck out of each club. One of the men’s belt bags had a cable poking out of it. I saw each of their belts also held a long, thick awl with a plastic handle. Their jacket sleeves and shoulder pads were covered in carefully-painted yellow flames. They look good... This little goblin, fresh out of the swamp, is impressed, Bwana!Might the goblin touch this beauty with his dirty hands?

The men had the experienced, self-confident air of veterans who had been through a lot.

Two of them were women. Slender... No... not just slender. They were athletic and muscular, clearly tough. I could see it in their behavior, their stance, the way they looked around. This caught my eye — they acted differently from most women I’d seen. They stood out sharply from the brutal men full of grim adrenaline. Both women were wearing blue, but their equipment was much lighter. They had small shoulder pads instead of the bulky football pads the men wore. Plastic helmets covered their heads, and bright yellow scarves were wrapped around their necks. Metal gleamed on the knuckles of the gloves they wore. Some kind of weapons were strapped to their backs. Those look like... rifles? Or are they something else?

I stood straight, trying my hardest not to move.

This worthless goblin has no right to look at orc and halfling weapons, Bwana.The cowardly goblin won’t raise his eyes again...

But the goblins did raise their eyes, and didn’t even try to hide it. Everyone around me was looking at these new arrivals — well, everyone who wasn’t asleep. Although even those were starting to open their eyes and look over, inspecting these people who seemed to have come here from another world. A cleaner and more pleasant world.

“Now that’s what I call a higher stage of evolution,” I muttered mostly to myself. But the weak-looking man to my right overheard me.

“Huh?”

“Nothing...”

“If only I could get my hands on one of those chicks for four hours or so...” The zombie to my left croaked dreamily.

Four hours?Dude. Four minutes would be more than enough for you. His eyes gleamed hungrily, and he was practically drooling as his skinny hips writhed furiously on the bench.

Those weapons...

I could see them clearly — they were right in front of me. But I still couldn’t figure out what they were. There didn’t seem to be a barrel, but I could definitely see the rudimentary stock. The other end of the weapon... Damn... It looked like the girls were armed with plain old wooden boards. Like someone had cut wood into the shape of a rifle, then attached a shoulder strap. Like a toy weapon. There was no way I was going to wrap my head around them right then, so I took a look at the last member of their group. The rest of his squad stood flanking him while he surveyed the goblin and orc rabble gathered at intersection 17 with an air of false benevolence, hands clasped behind his back. Why false? It was obvious by the contemptful scowl twisting his face at the pitiful scene before his eyes. He was their leader, no doubt about it.

“We need twenty strong, brave orcs. Or goblins. But no zombies!” The squad leader said, not bothering to disguise the boredom in his voice.

I kept both eyes on him.

He wore a black t-shirt, khaki military-style pants, thick-soled boots, and a long, muted gray trench coat. That same bright yellow fire decorated his gray baseball hat. He had a belt on, but I couldn’t see if there were any weapons on it, and a backpack was half-hidden behind the hood of his coat. While I was looking him over, the boss in the coat kept talking. His powerful voice easily quieted all the murmurs that had risen up after his first statement.

“First things first: we won’t pay you a single sol! Just items!”

The murmurs instantly died down, replaced by a frustrated hum. Judging by the goblins’ grimaces, this was like being promised cake, but getting thrown a hunk of stale bread instead. I grimaced, too, just in case, but decided I would definitely join them if I could. Items as compensation?Why not.I’m not too proud for that.

“What items?” Someone called out.

The answer came instantly:

“Clothes. A few shoes. Don’t expect anything special.”

“Hey, boss... Clothes won’t buy us a new arm from Mother!”

‘Mother’?Was that what they called the system?Wow.Talk about schizo.But I guess after five years here... Or eighteen, or whatever... That’s probably one of the least weird things they believe in.

“Yeah!” Someone else backed him up.

“Pay us sol!”

“We don’t need clothes! We’ll take food, though!”

“Clothes. A couple shoes.” The leader repeated in his bored tone, pulling at the flaps of his coat. “Anyone? Come up here, one at a time.”

Even despite the dissatisfied grumbling, I was disappointed to see at least thirty people line up as soon as he said that. At this rate, there was probably no way I’d get extra work with my elbow like it was... I looked like a goblin, but I was really more of a one-armed zombie.

“What kind of work?” Someone in line asked. “And where?”

“Easy stuff. No brainpower required.” He was obviously mocking us.

“What’s the job? How much time? Is it far from here?”

“Hauling. Two hours or so. A mile and a half away.”

Half the people in line — maybe even more — immediately sat back down.

Hauling? I wrinkled my forehead. Hauling... For some reason, my cut-off memory conjured up an image of a riverbank, and a group of men in old-fashioned clothes.

I stood up, pinning my left elbow to my side to make it less visible, and stood behind a pair of angrily muttering men. Soon I was in the midst of a slowly, reluctantly forming column of future haulers. Once everyone had decided whether they wanted to work or not, the hirers did a quick headcount.

“Eighteen... Mostly weaklings...” One of the club-wielding thugs reported emotionlessly to his leader.

“Fine,” said the boss, nodding sharply. “Move.”

And we moved, shuffling in an uncoordinated march down the hallway. The workers who had decided not to go swore at us, spitting death threats, and calling us cheap whores who gave it up for nothing.

“So what do haulers do?” I asked a woman tall enough to be a basketball player. She had incredibly long legs, but was taking short enough steps that I could easily keep up with her. She was wearing a tank top, shorts, sneakers, a green bandanna, and battered elbow pads. And this barefoot goblin in ill-fitting shorts trudged along next to her...

She looked me over with an experienced glance and twisted her lips cynically:

“You’ll find out soon enough. It’s gonna be hard for you. Just give up now.”

“Nah,” I smiled. “I gotta try it first. Then I’ll decide. Who knows... What if I like it?”

“Dumbass.”

“Maybe I am,” I sighed, adjusting my shorts. “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, we have a mile and a half ahead of us. What do you say we pass the time with a little conversation?”

“Fuck off.”

“Understood.” I slowed down a little, letting the person behind me catch up. “Hey, how about that weather in the hallways recently, huh? It’s so windy...”

“Shut up and die.”

“Got it.” I sighed, looked at another unhappy soul, and said, “It’s surprising, really. Aren’t you afraid you might get punched in the face for saying that? Hm?”

“What?”

“What would you do without teeth? It’s not like you can just grow new ones, you future lisping fuckwit...”

“Grow new... the elves know, I guess! Why can’t you just walk quietly? And no need to hit me... I’m a goblin, life has already hit me enough. I’m ready to die. But somehow I’m still alive...”

“That’s not an answer.”

“An answer to what?”

“You’re getting off topic, damn goblin,” I frowned in annoyance, but deep inside I was glad I had managed to pull him into a conversation — even though it took threats rather than politeness. “Aren’t you afraid you might get punched in the face?”

“What makes you think that? I am afraid. I need my teeth. And it would hurt. Everyone’s afraid — except maybe worms and the lowest zombies. They have nothing to lose. They’ve seen so much and been through hell...”

“But every other person just tells me to go die.”

“Maybe they’re wishing you well?” My conversation partner smiled timidly. His wasted figure gave me some comfort that I wasn’t the weakest one in our herd. There were people worse off than me.

And that’s really what we were — a herd. A sorry sight, for sure. Almost twenty weaklings trudging along the well-lit hallway with their heads bowed, shuffling, staggering, letting out the occasional moan. We looked like a herd of cows that had been rejected as defective and sent to the dog food factory.

“Well, then, die!” I muttered, smiling. “By which I mean, I wish you the best. How do you like that?”

“I don’t know. Really,” the man sighed. “That’s what everyone says around here, on the outskirts. Die! It’s like ‘get lost and leave me alone.’ I didn’t come up with it. When I first woke up here with someone else’s arms and legs, I asked a bunch of questions to everyone I saw, too. And the only answers I got were ‘Shut up!’, ‘Get lost!’, ‘Die!’, and all that. So I got used to it. That’s just how we live here, Eleven.”

“I have to disagree, seven-oh-nine,” I shook my head, remembering those guarded entrances to certain spines, where sharp-dressed people confident about their future lived. “Not everyone lives in shit here.”

“Some have managed to make it to the top. But not very many. Take me — I’m always going back and forth between ORL and GBL. Some days I’m successful, some days I’m not. Whenever I sleep I have nightmares of being grabbed and dragged to the medblock to have my arm cut off. So, Eleven. Get lost, shut up, and die!” The man’s outburst ended, and he seemed to deflate, immediately falling behind and moving to another part of the herd.

I wasn’t mad. I looked around thoughtfully, trying to find someone potentially interesting to talk to. Why waste time? We still had a mile to go. A familiar silhouette suddenly caught my eye — it was my neglectful waker, walking along about thirty steps ahead of me. Number Ninety-One. The one-armed girl.

I caught up with her and smiled widely:

“Hey, if it isn’t that lazy waker who’s terrible at their job. What did you spend those two sol on, Ninety-and-then-some?”

“Fuck off,” she grunted, not taking her eyes off the floor. “Die, nullbie. I told you stuff. Dragged you to the hallway for inspection. What else do you want?”

“You could have told me more.”

“When they woke me up, they didn’t tell me anything at all! Just grabbed me by the back of the neck, dragged me out to the hallway, and slapped me in the face until I stood up. Then they threw me onto a bench. I came to right there in the street. So you’re a damned lucky bastard in comparison! No need to thank me!”

“Dragged you out to the hallway...” I repeated. “Why do that at all? I got my job first thing in the morning, without even going anywhere.”

“Don’t have to every day. In fact, you don’t need to at all if you know a dome has seen you recently. And if you got your job done. If you’re not sure if the system has seen you in the last forty-eight hours, then you have to show up for inspection. Especially if you woke up and didn’t see a job in your interface for that day. That means you’re off the system’s list.”

“Hmm... But people show up for inspection every day. I saw them myself.”

“Yeah, they do it automatically. Because they’re afraid. I try to make sure a dome sees me more often, just in case. The last thing I need is to lose my job.”

“Okay, I get it...”

“Then get lost! I owe you nothing.”

“Are your words worth so much to you?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“Of course I do! Didn’t you have questions when you got here? Where are we? What is this place? Who are we?”

“We’re nullform. Get it? You’re a fucking nullbie with the arms of an old fart — practically only one arm. You’ll live happily ever after on the outskirts. First you’ll be an orc, then a goblin, then a zombie. Then you’ll live as a worm, but not for long. And then finally you’ll die. Where are we?! Only the elves know! Shut up and walk, orc!”

“I’m already a goblin,” I boasted gleefully.

“Moving boldly down the food chain.” She snorted involuntarily, turning towards me for the first time.

Wow... what a bruise. The entire right side of her swollen face was black with pooled blood. Her lips were cracked from a massive blow, too.

“Who did that to you, Ninety-One?”

“None of your business, goblin. Fuck off!”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck off!” Hearing notes of building hysteria in her voice, I obediently stopped asking.

Ninety-One shrunk away from me and sped up, heading towards the front of our disorderly squad. I looked after her, thoughtfully stroking my hurting left elbow, and kept walking without trying to start any more conversations. I had some new information, and needed time to think it over.

Hallways. Outskirts. That was what they called the maze of hallways and rooms. Inhabited by worms, zombies, orcs, and goblins. Maybe even a few from the higher ranks. But I hadn’t learned to pick them out yet, and it’s not like they’d be showing off their social status. That would just attract unwanted envy, with all the fierce racial and class hatred going on here. It made sense for goblins to try and look like orcs, for fear of becoming zombies. But the richer ones didn’t flaunt their wealth.

Why was I thinking about all this? Because it told me that at least some traditional laws applied here.

Three of the hirers were walking in front of me. The man in the coat, one of the football thugs, and one of the women with a board strapped to her back. Two others brought up the rear.

Once again, why was I thinking about this? Why was I bothering with all these stray thoughts? Just be like all the goblins and zombies around you! Drool and stare at that woman’s juicy ass in front of you, and just keep walking.Don’t even dream of anything else.

That’s what it was...

Not the woman’s ass or the pathetic dreams of a goblin, no. But even this was connected to my simple conclusion that some of humankind’s ancient laws applied as much as they ever did in this odd place.

The people up front clearly had a lot more information. But would I get the chances to approach them for some small talk? No way. The word ‘hello’ wouldn’t even be out of my mouth before they’d start barking at me, putting me in my place. I’d have to retreat, humiliated, bowing and smiling ingratiatingly: ‘Forgive this stupid, arrogant goblin, Bwana!’

Why? Because a poor goblin was all I was. The key word here was ‘goblin’, though, not ‘poor’. I was garbage to them. No one would willingly talk to someone like me.

The promise of clothes as payment had me excited. I really needed to update my wardrobe as soon as I could.

Well?How much longer until we get to wherever we’re going to do this so-called hard work?

This goblin can’t wait to start working for Bwana!

WE REACHED OUR DESTINATION without incident. We would be working in a big, oval-shaped room. Glad to be stopping, I clapped my hands to my ancient legs. They had carried me here without turning to jelly, and I still had plenty of strength left. That was great news.

Another pair of thugs stood chatting, but immediately stopped when they noticed the man in the coat. I watched them with interest. They exchanged a few words, and the main in the coat looked expectantly up towards the ceiling.

Bzzz...

A small dome rushed blindingly fast along a ceiling rail. Nothing like the slow, measured way they moved in our goblin outskirts. This one was a sprinter in comparison.

“Solar Flame Production Brigade! Clean mechanisms 7 and 8, Block 1, Zone 12!”

The sphere stopped abruptly, then continued on its way. Two loud clangs sounded inside the wall, like heavy-duty locks opening.

Then something unexpected started to happen. Four thugs rushed towards the parts of the walls that had started rising upwards and stood still in front of them, resting their hands on their clubs. The women stood a few steps behind them, in a good position to... shoot? I wasn’t sure why else they would stand the way they were standing. I wasn’t sure how I knew it was a shooting position, but I knew. Their ‘boards’ were still strapped to their backs. There was a low hum, and a dark gap appeared under the wall. Then a second... and a third... and dirty water poured out onto the floor, sweeping over the men’s boots. So there was a practical reason for those kind of shoes. But I was barefoot... and even from where I stood, I could see solid particles in the water. I hope I don’t cut my feet.If that disgusting mess got into a wound... I don’t even want to think about what might happen.

The rising sections of the wall rose up about three feet and stopped. A second passed, then another, then another. The thugs relaxed, straightened up, and took their hands off the clubs.

Like a bolt from the blue, something lunged out of the darkness. A swift, blurry shadow covered a distance of six feet in a flash, aiming claws at one thug’s leg. The man reacted with surprising speed, hitting the shadow with one short, powerful blow that pinned it to the floor. The goblins and zombies stepped back, crying out. Behind me I heard someone trying to leave, but a harsh shout stopped him. The creature’s clawed, scaly paws scrabbled for a hold on the flooded floor. Its body was crushed under the club, so I couldn’t get a clear look at it. Nothing else emerged from the black holes in the walls. The second soldier took his awl from his belt, approached the pinned creature, and plunged the blade into its body. The paws scratched at the floor one last time, then trembled... and finally fell still.

“What is that thing?” I asked. No one answered me. They wrenched the club out of the floor and kicked the creature’s corpse off the nails. It fell into a plastic container, which they then sent towards the women with another kick. A trophy?

But what was that creature? It definitely wasn’t a rat. I’d never seen something so aggressive. Its silence was more terrifying than the roar of any beast I’d ever heard. Its body was covered with small, greenish scales, which explained the spiked clubs and awls. A knife would be useless against natural armor like that.

“What is that thing?” I repeated my question, turning my head. And realized why no one had answered... The whole herd stood huddled about ten steps behind me. They slowly, carefully began to move forward again, whispering animatedly. I perked up my ears and caught a frequently repeated word. ‘Plux’.

Plux...

This word meant nothing to me... I looked at the dirty plastic box and the dark green trail it had left. Dirt and... blood? Green blood?

Plux. Scaly. Silent. Fast. Agile. Green-blooded.

That was plenty of reliable information. Use your head, goblin!Remember!

I tried my hardest. I even wrinkled my forehead. But what was the point? I didn’t have a single memory of pluxes, whatever they were. When I thought about scales, I remembered snakes. When I thought of creatures living in walls, I remembered rats. But pluxes...

“Closer!” The man in the coat shouted, interrupting my musings.

There was not much space behind the raised doors, but I could see the filthy edges of some mysterious mechanisms. Those must be what need to be cleaned. Each had a metal ring sticking out of it, and a rope had been attached to each.

Then came a second order.

“Put the loops over your shoulders and chest! Get to it!”

I sighed in relief. Shoulders and chest! I wouldn’t have to use my lame left arm or tired right arm.

We were rudely and unceremoniously split up, like horses being put in teams by experienced drivers that can tell how strong they are at first glance. I was placed somewhere in the middle — another stroke of luck. Being in front was no good, because everyone would be looking at you. And being last was bad, too, because you’d get too much attention. But this skinny goblin slipped unnoticed into the very middle, barely hiding his satisfied grin. And he remembered to listen closely to his orders from the Solar Flame Brigade. Fantastic...

“Don’t pull randomly! Only on the count of three! And don’t turn around — that won’t move this metal bastard any faster! Keep your eyes forward and pull in sync. The faster you drag it here,” the man pointed at his feet with a stately gesture, “The faster you’ll get your reward and get to leave! Don’t panic if it doesn’t move right away. Just focus on getting it started, and then it’ll get easier. When you hear the command, lean into the shoulder strap with all your strength, plant your feet against the floor, and pull! Just don’t stop! If one person stops, it’ll make the whole thing stop! So don’t complicate your own life, goblins!”

The man in the coat had to raise his voice quite a lot for us to hear this explanation, since he was now standing about thirty steps away from us. Was that a lot or a little? It didn’t seem all too far, but I had no idea how heavy the mechanism behind our skinny backs was.

“Goblins! Don’t look at your neighbors, either! Don’t get worked up — it’s not a contest! If you throw your backs out, we won’t pay your medical bills.”

“You wouldn’t even give us a sip of water, stingy son of a bitch,” came a barely-audible, familiar voice behind me.

I couldn’t help looking back. Ninety-One stood strapped in behind me.

“Are they really that stingy?” I asked just as quietly as she had spoken.

“Just wait ‘til you see what they give us for this, nullbie. You’ll get it if you’re not stupid. Now turn around — your ugly face makes me want to puke.”

“Fine.” I nodded and turned my back to her.

I didn’t even think of being offended. Ninety-One was in a bad mood, and would have snapped at anyone who spoke to her. To be fair, if I had such a bruise like that covering my face, I definitely wouldn’t be glowing with happiness either.

“Get ready! On the count of three! Okay... One... Stop! Are you idiots? Hey! Goblin! Yeah, you! I said on the count of three! Again! One... Two... Three!”

We pulled. The strap squeezed my shoulder and ribs in a vice grip, and the breath hissed out of my chest. We barely even moved a quarter step forward. Suddenly, these thirty steps seemed like an unconquerable marathon.

“Three!”

A strained creak behind us was proof that we had moved it. About a third of a step.

“Three!”

We pulled.

“Three...”

He had to shout ‘three’ at least five times before we heard “Pull!” And we pulled. With back-breaking effort, wheezing, stifled moans, and sizzling oaths. We dragged it about five steps, then stalled when several of the weakest of us stopped. I noted gladly to myself that I wasn’t the weakest. I made it about half a step more. The team of barge haulers next to us decided to keep moving, and stopped a couple steps ahead. Damn strongmen...

“Two minutes of rest!”

The two minutes passed far too quickly. And again:

“Three!... Three!... Three!... Pull!”

It took us half an hour to take thirty steps. A minute for each step. By the end, we were resting for three or four minutes at a time, but the last few yards were brutal. I was shaking and covered in sweat. At that moment, trembling, with no strength to even take the fucking strap off my shoulders, I bitterly realized how badly I had been tricked, and why all the smart people had stayed at intersection 17.

I had used up tons of energy and overworked my body, but tomorrow’s job was still ahead of me. Sweat with a sickly chemical smell was literally pouring from me. It didn’t take a genius to realize my body had lost a lot of fluids. I would be thirsty soon, and when my body gave me the signal, I would need to drink water, and badly. But I’d only get water in the evening, and even then just one liter. I’d start smelling bad soon, too, so I would need a shower. Maybe the system wouldn’t react the same way as last time. It wasn’t like sweat was as bad as the gray slime, and it wasn’t really that noticeable if you didn’t sniff too closely. But I would still eventually have to take a shower. If that was allowed when you were in debt. Damn... Hopefully whatever they would give us here would make up for all this a little.

“Over here,” one of the women called out, unslinging a backpack from her shoulder.

Not good. The bag was much too small to hold an appropriate reward for eighteen sweaty goblins.

“One at a time,” the woman said, trying to hide her contempt the same way her boss did. A fish rots from the head.The boss spits in the goblins’ eyes, and his underlings do too.

I was in the middle of the line for rewards again. She threw a neatly-folded piece of fabric, the same quality as my shorts, into my hand. I took a step back and unfolded it to take a look. A t-shirt. A gray t-shirt. I would take a closer look later. I pushed back through the line to the woman, holding out my hand demandingly. She looked up briefly, her contempt undisguised, then turned away:

“Don’t push it, goblin. You got your reward, now fuck off.”

“Shoes,” I said. “I was promised shoes, too.”

“We said ‘or’. You got a t-shirt. Some people got sandals.”

“That’s not what you said,” I disagreed.

“Cortos!” The woman raised her voice. “This one’s complaining.”

One of the thugs stepped towards me menacingly, coming between me and the woman and looming over me like a boulder. But caught up in his power, the boulder didn’t realize that the worm crawling through the dirt wasn’t intimidated — it didn’t even look up. Without even looking at the thug, I kept talking to the woman right through him:

“You owe me a pair of shoes.”

As I said it, the thug pushed me solidly in the chest. I took several small steps back to avoid losing my balance. Then I looked at the thug for the first time, assessing him from head to toe, and asked with a grin:

“Did you push me to show this weak, sick goblin how strong you are? Is that right, you stupid fuck? Decided you wanted to show this weak, sick goblin how strong you are? Huh? You wanted to impress her with what a strong and mighty asshole you are?”

“You motherfucker...” His right shoulder moved back. Slowly — too slowly. When he swung, I easily moved aside, his fist shooting by.

“Stop!”

This sharp shout froze the thug in place. I turned to see the man in the coat striding towards us.

“What’s going on?” The question was sharp, commanding. The man was clearly used to asking questions and getting immediate answers.

“This goblin is being a wiseass,” said the woman.

“This goblin is being a smartass,” said the thug.

“Hey, that was almost in unison!” I smiled admiringly. “This goblin is overjoyed at his masters’ skill! The goblin is especially delighted by this stupid pipsqueak! A talking monkey!”

“You motherfucker...”

The thug’s right shoulder moved back...

This felt familiar...

“Stop! You!” he poked a finger at me. “What do you need?”

“Like you guys said earlier — clothes and shoes. We spent half an hour walking here, then half an hour of hellish work, and now another half an hour to get back. I was promised clothes and footwear. I got a t-shirt. Give me the rest of my reward. It’s only fair.”

The man in the coat stared daggers at me for about five seconds, not speaking. The thug who had moved behind his shoulder was tensed in readiness, showing his boss he could grind this goblin to dust at a moment’s notice. But his red cheeks showed me that the poor guy was embarrassed. He swung so beautifully, so powerfully, but didn’t hit the goblin...

“You insulted him.” The boss nodded slightly at the thug.

“He pushed me, and I almost fell over,” I easily countered. “He shouldn’t be so handsy. If I can’t hit back, I’ll use my words.”

“Give him shoes, too. For his bravery and stubbornness,” the man in the coat ordered briefly. “But only him! Everyone else gets either one or the other.”

I didn’t say thanks, just wordlessly accepted the gray rubber sandals. Then I dropped them onto the floor, shoved my feet into them, and walked away, putting the t-shirt on as I went. I listened carefully to see if any of the goblins who had put in real effort would try and ask for an extra reward, too. As I expected, no one said a word. They all got shoes or t-shirts, then immediately started trading among themselves.

I examined the mechanisms that had been pulled out of the wall — although there was nothing special about them. Gleaming metal cylinders on steel skids with a ring at the end. There were also two rings in the back, fixed to stretched cables leading into the wall. It seemed like the system itself could put the mechanisms back in the wall after the Solar Flame Production Brigade cleaned them.

The man in the coat’s next words confirmed my guess:

“The job is done! You’re all free to go. If anyone wants to work more today, be at intersection 17 in two hours. Same job. Same place.”

Goblins and orcs obediently headed for the exit with smiles on their sweaty faces. They were satisfied at all they had accomplished — not just getting their daily job done, but earning a little on the side, too. I doubted any of them were critically assessing the fruits of their labor. At least they could relax now, lie on a bench and consider themselves hard workers.

A strange muttering sound attracted my attention. “Can’t get it dirty...”

It was Ninety-One. She was crouched on the floor about ten steps from the steel mechanisms we pulled from inside the wall, gazing steadily at the gray t-shirt lying in front of her, muttering over and over:

“Can’t get it dirty... Gotta get it there, can’t get it dirty... Shit...”

I let her be, turning instead to the man in the coat surrounded by his underlings.

“Can I just wait here for two hours if I want to work more later?”

“Fucking goblin. Get lost before I break your arm!”

That’s what happens when you don’t know how to let go of negative emotions! What a tantrum... How didn’t he explode into pieces after a burst of emotions like that? What a sensitive little boy...

“Oh no, the bad goblin hurt your feelings. Why don’t you go cry in the corner?” I asked lazily.

“You’re dead, motherfucker, you’re fucked... I’ll make you a worm right now!”

“Hey!” One shout from the man in the coat immediately put the thug in his place.

The boss pointed a finger at the ceiling, asking in a dangerously smooth voice:

“Do I need to remind you of our motto?”

“No...” The guy cast an angry glance at me, then lowered his eyes.

“Say it.”

“I remember it, I do.”

“Let me hear it!” This command lashed the thug like a red-hot whip.

He started, stood straight, and barked:

“Eyes and ears are everywhere! Be afraid and stay aware!”

“And our second motto.”

“Work hard and work well!”

“Very good.” The man in the coat’s voice softened. “Last question. When did you gain the authority to speak for me, Cortos? You think you’re someone special?”

“No... no, Morris. Not at all!”

“He really didn’t mean anything by it.” This pleading voice was the woman who had called the thug over to deal with the impudent goblin.

Were they more than just co-workers? Did they whisper secrets to each other in the evenings, hold hands, maybe even get up close and personal in a capsule for some sweet, sweaty alone time? It was none of my business. Besides, I had already learned that everyone here was sterile. Male or female, didn’t matter — no one would be making babies. So they were free to have at it as much as they wanted. I noted her interest in the thug’s fate for one very simple reason: She would cover him first if anything happened. And that was no small thing. If there was another plux attack, I would squeal and jump into the thug’s arms, since he was guaranteed protection...

“Stay out of this!” The man in the coat cut in before she could continue. I caught another angry glance, from the woman this time.

“My stupid goblin face is at fault here too,” I repented, raising my right hand above my head. “But it’s all in the past now. So can I stay here and work later?”

“You’re too arrogant and talkative for a goblin.”

“But not when I’m working,” I answered calmly.

“I saw. You pulled well, although I certainly wouldn’t call you a big man.” Morris nodded. “You can stay, Eleven. Just don’t get in our way. We won’t take responsibility for you, but none of us will hurt you.” He pierced the thug with a glare that hit the woman as well. “Or give you any trouble. Our brigade needs people who work hard.”

“Thanks,” I smiled. “We’ll wait over by the wall.”

“We?”

“We,” I looked at Ninety-One, who was still mumbling. “She put in a lot of work too.”

“Fine.”

The conversation was over. Without looking at the thug or the woman, I turned and walked away with a deliberately brisk step. This goblin is full of energy, Bwana!He can’t wait to be useful! I sat down next to Ninety-One, who was still muttering:

“Can’t get it dirty... How do I keep it clean... I don’t even have anything to carry it in... Stupid...”

“Hey.”

“Huh?” she started, looked around, and realized that the goblin herd had long since left, heading back towards the outskirts they called home. “Oh...”

That innocent, girlish exclamation made me take a closer look at her. That bruise covered half her face, but the other half was quite pretty. Needed a good scrub, of course, but she was still beautiful. If you gave her five showers, brushed her knotted hair, and put her in some nice clothes, she wouldn’t even need makeup. But that’s not what I said to her.

“They said we can stay here and haul again in a few hours. Come on, go bow to our kind masters! Thank them for showing such mercy!”

“What? Why the hell are you making decisions for me? I was planning to work again, anyway...”

“This way we won’t have to waste our energy walking back and forth,” I explained.

She winced.

“But we might run into a wayward plux here! Just picture your guts spilled out on the floor! That’ll teach you!”

“Why my guts?” I asked. “I didn’t put in a good word for you for nothing. You’ll thank me by protecting me.”

“Very funny!” She muttered and, still not knowing what to do with the t-shirt, laid down and curled up around it. She didn’t say anything else.

I decided to leave her be. I sat down next to her and took off my hard-earned sandals and t-shirt, examining them carefully. I wanted to figure out what my waker had meant when she said I’d understand how stingy the brigade that hired us was.

I found my answer right away. There were markings on the shoes and shirt — incredible markings.

A vertical arrow with lush feathers and a graceful flat arrowhead, entwined in ivy. Next to that was a column inscribed with: ‘Humanitarian aid from above.’

How interesting.

An arrow entwined in ivy?Aid from above? I involuntarily glanced up at the ceiling. Who was up there? Or was the word ‘above’ just a figure of speech, hinting at divine intervention? Arrows and plants... a short chain of associations brought me to that mythical race everyone here was always mentioning: elves.

But the key word was ‘humanitarian.’ I knew a nice synonym for that word: free. Gifted. Given away. It didn’t take a genius to realize the Solar Flame Brigade most likely got these sandals and t-shirts for free. But we goblins had to practically break our backs just to get these clothes and shoes. We were free labor for the brigade.

I did my best impression of a vile goblin cackle. “Everyone’s cheating us...”

Ninety-One shot me a surprised glance from her black eye. But she didn’t say anything, just stayed where she was, curled up around the t-shirt. It was the time to break down her barrier.

“So who’s the shirt for? Tell me about her,” I said, looking around at the mechanisms in the room and the watchful guards pacing around them.

“Huh?” Ninety-One twitched, then sat up and stared at me. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Don’t play dumb, goblin, or I’ll kick your bad elbow!”

“More threats,” I sighed, scooting a little farther away from her. “Can’t we have a normal conversation?”

“We can.”

“What’s your name?”

“Did you forget how to read numbers?”

“That’s your name?”

“Yorka.”

“Huh?” I asked in surprise. “Yorka?”

“It’s a perfectly fine name.”

“Did you make it up?”

“What, do you think my parents did? What a stupid question.”

“Yorka... so who’s the bitch you’re bringing the shirt to?”

“How did you know?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess. You were practically praying over that t-shirt. Mumbling about delivering it safe and sound. And I doubt you’d be so worried about your own t-shirt, since you can just wash your clothes.”

“But how did you know it was a she, not a he?”

“You were way too worried about getting it dirty. You were afraid to touch it, even. If it was for a man, he’d probably check to make sure it was new and didn’t have holes in it, but he definitely wouldn’t be looking for tiny stains.”

“Because all men are dirty pigs?”

“Why do you say that? Take me, for instance. I’m a goblin, not a pig.”

“A goblin...” Yorka muttered and sat down. “My name is perfectly normal.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I gave myself the name El.”

“What a stupid name! El what? Are you Mexican or something?”

“That’s just what I came up with.”

“Elb. That suits you better,” Yorka shot back.

“Elb,” I tested it out. “Elb. Almost like elf.”

“No. Like Elb.”

“All right, I’m Elb.” I agreed. “So? Who is she? And what do you owe her?”

“What do you care, Elb the goblin? Hm... That sounds even stupider. You’re definitely Elb! Elb the goblin!”

I interrupted her sudden glee. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. How about you stop changing the subject? Who did this to you?”

“What do you care?” She repeated tensely. “Hm? What’re you gonna do? Help me? Yeah, right! Or will the story help you pass the time before the second round of hauling? Find another way! Oh, and about how I woke you up — I’m sorry. I’m bleeding money, trying to catch up. But I can’t. I’m already at GBL. I’m already a goblin! I’m Yorka the fucking goblin, that’s who I am!” She snapped, her voice echoing around the room. “Elb and Yorka, a pair of happy little dirt-poor goblins!”

“Has a nice ring to it,” I shrugged. “Elb and Yorka, two happy little goblins in a happy little party. Elb’s the leader, of course.”

“What do you mean? What party? You need to chill, goblin.”

“We’ll get back to that later. But come on, tell me about your debt, the money you’re losing, that bruise, and who you owe this shirt to. No sarcasm this time. I ask, you give me a straight answer. I ask for more details, you tell me.”

“Fuck off,” she said, but there was no confidence in her voice.

“This is the last time I’m going to offer to help you,” I said evenly. “Think about it. And either start talking, or don’t.”

There was silence. I continued to look around casually.

There were three passages leading into the oval room. Two were across from each other, with the third between them. A large group was fast approaching from the far entrance. Morris, the man in the coat, looked exasperated, like he was tired of waiting for them. He waved them over so furiously that they started running.

“Where the hell have you been?” Morris shouted from afar. “You’re twenty minutes late!”

“We had a slight problem with water,” a middle-aged man started to make their excuses. He was wearing brown overalls with yellow straps, bulging with dirty rags that seemed to stick out of every pocket.

“I don’t give a shit! Get cracking!” Morris shouted again. “We’re behind schedule!”

“We’re on it.”

There were about fifteen people in the group. It was hard to tell exactly what race they were, but they didn’t seem like goblins. Orcs, at least. Maybe even halflings, going by their efficiency. Both men and women, ranging in age from fresh-faced to elderly. It was clear they were cleaners. They grabbed scrapers and rags, then began scrubbing the dirt from the closest mechanism. Morris paced impatiently around them.

I waited for a minute, then approached him and said confidently:

“We’re really good at scrubbing dirt. We can help for a small fee.”

“How about you go...” Morris started. The thug I had argued with earlier overheard, and excitedly came closer. “...Scrub.” The thug wilted as Morris finished his sentence. The impudent goblin had avoided another beating.

Morris hastily went over the terms of the deal.

“No sol! Only clothes. You’ll each get a handkerchief, a baseball cap, and... and one nutrition briquette. That’s all.”

“And a liter of drinking water,” I added, barely hiding my glee. “We still have to work later, remember? Which means we’ll be sweating.”

“And a liter of drinking water,” he waved a hand. “Now go, go!”

“We’re on it.”

I didn’t need to explain anything to Yorka. When she saw me pointing at her, she was smart enough to come closer, so she heard most of our conversation. The two of us grabbed rags and plastic scrapers and got to work, copying the more experienced workers.

“Thanks,” Yorka muttered quietly.

“What was that?” I got closer.

“I said thank you, Elb the fucking goblin!”

“You’re welcome, Yorka the goblin. Anytime.”

I remembered the mottoes the thug had recited, so I put my back into it and didn’t slack off. It was harder work than I expected. Yorka and I were cleaning the thickest layers of the substance, which was like a thick grease with debris mixed in. Pretty soon we got into a rhythm. Several sweeps of our scrapers, then scoop the debris off the floor into a bucket, kick it down further, and repeat. Several sweeps of our scrapers... An hour flew by without me even noticing. I only regained my sense of reality when the job was done. Yorka moved to the side and sank to a sitting position on the floor, exhaling loudly. Then she lay down and went quiet. I looked expectantly at the man in the coat, but he was talking to the leader of the cleaning team, and motioned me to go see the woman I had gotten my rewards from before. Without even looking at me, she handed me a two-liter bottle of water, then a stack of two gray baseball caps with handkerchiefs and nutrition briquettes inside. Right. Goblins didn’t need dishes. And getting food crumbs in your hat? Well, that’s just how it was for goblins. I was too tired to be resentful, though. I took our rewards over to Yorka, sat down next to her, and poked her until she took the water bottle I was offering. She drank lying down, chugging her half incredibly quickly. She picked up the nutrition briquette, but her hand froze before she put it in her mouth.

“Eat,” I said, understanding her hesitation. “We need energy. We’ll be hauling again soon.”

“A nutrition briquette, a baseball cap, a handkerchief, and a t-shirt... They’ll leave me alone for two days now.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled through my full mouth. “And then they’ll make you bring them at least that every time. The more you feed the beast, the hungrier it gets.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Tell me your story first.”

First reluctantly, but growing more and more animated, Yorka started talking. It was pretty straightforward stuff. Midway through, I was already yawning. By the end of her long, trivial story, my thoughts were wandering to anything but her words. Why? It was just so straightforward.

Essentially, she was late to work one day and was running along the hallway when she crashed into another girl standing in front of a screen, yelling and trying to survive in a game challenge. They both fell down. Yorka swore that a defeat message was already on the screen when they collided, which meant it wasn’t her fault, but the girl’s cronies still blamed her. They demanded she pay a thirty-sol fine or they would never let her live in peace. She said no, at first. But after they cornered her in a dark, narrow hallway one night, she decided it would be cheaper to pay it off. By then, the amount had already grown to fifty sol, for her disobedience and unwillingness. She started to pay it off, slowly but surely. And she almost managed it, but then they told her that there was still interest accumulating every day. Five sol per day, or items. She hadn’t brought them anything yesterday, and the girl’s boyfriend hit her in the face. She got the message, and that’s why she was putting in so much effort today, trying to bring them anything she could by evening.

Yorka, you stupid girl...

She may look smart, but she’s so dumb...

When she finished, I nodded automatically and stood up:

“Let’s get to work, goblin.”

“But...”

“We’ll solve your problems once the work is done.”

“You’re pretty bold for a goblin. Trying to intimidate a halfling soldier.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying?”

“Why?”

“Who did I try to intimidate?”

“Him!” Yorka pointed to the thug. “A halfling soldier. Well, almost — he’s more of a security guard. But still! Who would ever risk... listen, I already wish I hadn’t told you. I can deal with it on my own.”

I shook my head. “No you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re used to it now.”

“Used to what?”

“To these gifts they get every day. You get used to good things really quickly, Yorka. And when the good things stop coming, you get angry and do whatever you can to get them back. So you’ll never pay them off.”

“But then... What do we do?”

“First we’ll talk. Politely. And then we’ll see.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying? They’re always together. A whole party! Five orcs! You’re just a goblin!”

“We’ll figure it out after work,” I repeated, pointing at the fresh herd of future barge haulers coming in from the hallway. “Let’s get harnessed, Yorka the goblin!”

She sighed. Decisively, she picked up the new t-shirt, wrapped it in the handkerchief, put that into the baseball cap, then put the cap on her head. “I’m ready to work. But you’re still way too bold, Elb the Goblin...”

“YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE and a goblin!”

That’s better. The first time I told Yorka exactly what I wanted her to do when we talked with her tormentors, the only answer I got was ‘no’. She had closed in on herself like a baby bird that fell out of the nest, then stepped away from me, and we had walked back in dead silence.

I didn’t try to bargain or convince her. It was too soon for that. I would let her sink into her own fear, doubt, anger, and thoughts of the future, let her remember the humiliation she underwent, let her feel her bruised, swollen face. Based on where she had taken the hit, she hadn’t even tried to dodge — just accepted it. Smack. And the battered little pet runs off on more errands...

“You’re an asshole!” Yorka said again, not waiting for me to respond.

We still had about four hundred yards to go before we reached our Outskirts, which is what I had decided to call those hallways and cluxes. We could already see intersection 17 and the crowd of goblins waiting patiently. I was so used to thinking of them as goblins that they even seemed to look a little green.

I didn’t answer Yorka.

“A total asshole! Do you know what they’re gonna do to me? Do you? Look at my face!”

I still didn’t answer.

“Elb! Talk to me, goblin!”

I reluctantly opened my mouth:

“It’s up to you.”

“Let’s discuss it. Make some changes to your plan. Elb...”

I said nothing.

“Elb!”

I gazed thoughtfully at the intersection as we approached. The hallways were crowded past there, and it would be impossible for us to continue our conversation. We were still in what I referred to as ‘transit routes’ in my mental atlas. The locals had a simpler name for the hallways connecting the blocks and zones: roads or paths, depending on how wide and busy they were. It made sense.

In those terms, we had walked from hallway 17 to the hauling area mostly on a road, and a little ways on a path. It was easy to see the parallel, even though I still thought ‘transit route’ sounded better.

“Elb!” Yorka also realized we wouldn’t be able to keep talking once we hit the intersection. She sped up, turned around, and blocked my path. “Stop! Please!”

“It’s up to you,” I repeated. “Listen... you’d never be able to reason with them. No one can reason with those bastards.”

“I know! They’re disgusting. They get sick pleasure out of making people suffer.”

“No, that’s not why.”

“You should have heard the way they talked to me!”

“They like to feel powerful,” I admitted. “They like sensing your blind fear and knowing they can do anything with you and won’t suffer any consequences. You know, one of them might just push you up against the wall, rip off your shorts, and fuck you.”

“Hey!”

“What? Doesn’t stuff like that happen here all the time?”

“Not often... But...”

“None of them have fucked you yet for one very simple reason, Yorka.”

“Why?”

“These bastards are keenly aware of the line they can’t cross. They sense that they can’t demand that from you. Yet. But this line isn’t fixed. It’s always moving. Today they can’t, but it’ll just take a few more punches and their made-up interest increasing to an impractical number before they suggest you pay off part of your debt in a different way. They won’t even have to rape you — it’ll just be rough sex with a mentally broken victim.”

“Fuck off!”

“Fine.” I took a step forward, and my chest bumped into her outstretched palm.

“Wait!”

“I’m waiting.”

“You’re a fucking asshole! Goblin!”

“Are we standing and waiting, or walking?”

“Wait! Don’t move! Listen... how do you know all this?”

“I have no idea,” I smiled. “Memory’s blocked, remember?”

“So, why?”

“Why what?”

“You said I wouldn’t be able to reason with them. But not because they like making me suffer. Why, then?”

“You bring them profit,” I said to her, enunciating each word. “You’re a poor skinny sheep, and they shear you every day. Every day you make them richer. You’re their money maker. They can easily survive the loss of a screaming, terrified victim. They can always find a new whipping girl. But giving up a source of income like you... Believe me, Yorka, they have plenty of victims to torture.”

“I know.”

“But not very many who bring them goodies all the time. Every day! Think about it. They see you as a fantastic asset, so they’re not going to just let you go.”

“An asset... profit... Who are you?”

“I’m Elb the goblin. Well? Make your decision.”

“Maybe just a little differently... a little more gentle...”

“This is already too gentle. Listen... stop looking for loopholes. There are only two options. Only two! The first one is to leave everything as it is. Bring them a slightly dirty t-shirt and baseball cap. Don’t forget to get on your knees. And pull your shorts down a little. What if today is that special day?”

“Die!”

“The second option is you decide once and for all that you’re not a victim anymore. Then we go straight to them, and you tell them what I told you, loud and clear.”

“But why in the clux?”

“You’d rather go to their territory unprepared?” I smiled. “No way! It all needs to start in a public place. Somewhere with lots of inquisitive eyes. Where Mother can see... That’s what you call the system, right? Mother...”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Yorka nodded. Her answer was automatic, her mind obviously elsewhere. She was making the most important decision of her life — deciding how she would continue living. She only answered to buy herself time. “I call her that, too. Mother...”

“Hmm...”

“What? Think about it, Elb. She gave birth to you.”

“No. It stitched to me the first available limbs and threw me into a dead-end hallway in the Outskirts. Right into the dirt and shit.”

“Do you know why we call her Mother?”

“Why?”

“Because she feeds us, gives us water, looks after us. She’s the only reason there’s at least some form of order and rules around here instead of total chaos. She protects us.”

“Cuts off our arms,” I cut in.

“What kind of mother never punishes her child? But she’s always ready to forgive you if you get back on the right track. She always gives you a chance, even if you’re just a filthy worm. She’s our Mother. Maybe not the world’s best, but still our Mother.”

“I’m not convinced. So, Yorka the goblin... What’s your decision? Are we going to deal with this situation ourselves, or are you going to rely on Mother?”

“I should have smashed your head in, goblin! Back when you were lying at my feet, unconscious and covered in slime.”

“You missed your chance.” I smiled. I knew what her answer was going to be.

“We’ll do it in your way!” Her jaw tightened, and her brow furrowed. “Your way! Eat shit and die, Elb the goblin!”

“Same to you, Yorka the goblin.”

“Are you serious about the party?”

“Absolutely. Right now, even. One for all, and...” I looked at her expectantly.

She looked back, bewildered. “I have no idea what you want from me.”

“All for one,” I sighed. “You really are a goblin. Let’s go... We can grab whatever your Mother has for us to eat. Always the same thing, anyway.”

“She grants us food and water.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a religious fanatic.”

“Maybe I do believe. So what? If you went through what I went through, you might believe, too.”

“Cults always approach people at their lowest point,” I said. “When they’re alone and most vulnerable.”

“Shut up and die! It’s not like I think of her as a god!”

“That’s better.”

“How about we skip the water and briquettes? We already ate three times today. We could save two sol.”

“No way. We need energy. I don’t believe for a second that those hulks with clubs managed to build so much muscle eating nothing but three briquettes a day. They must feed them a ton. And train them. Then feed them again. That’s why they’re strong and fast.”

“All right then, we’ll eat. You ready?”

“Let’s go,” I nodded, and we moved towards intersection 17. “Hey, Yorka...”

“What?”

“How did you lose your arm?”

“Shut up.”

“Got it... Too soon to tell each other heartbreaking life stories yet?”

“Too soon. Die, goblin.”

“Okay. I can wait.”

* * *

The first part of my plan was simple, but genius: do nothing and just relax, stare at the high ceiling and think about mortality. Which is exactly what we did. We didn’t even talk. My stupid tiny goblin head had absorbed so much information that day that it needed a little break. The day wasn’t over, though, and the most interesting part was still to come.

Yorka was supposed to bring her tribute to hallway 9 — path 9, as the locals called it — at 20:17.

Exactly 20:17.

Why?

This wasn’t just some whim of theirs, no. 20:17 was the exact time when one of the system’s small domes traveled along path 9. After that, the next time it would show up in the side streets of the Outskirts was thirty-three minutes later. According to Yorka, that was ‘twilight’, when Mother couldn’t see us. When she said that in complete seriousness, I laughed so loud that about a hundred goblins and zombies turned to look.

Twilight, when Mother can’t see us...

Thirty-three minutes of being completely untouchable. What could you do to a young, frightened girl in thirty-three minutes? So many things. And you’d even have enough time to leave quietly and remain unnoticed by the system. The gang didn’t care if anyone else saw — and a gang was certainly what they were.

Go to path 9 and sort things out there? How stupid. Why? Let them come themselves.

That was the plan. We sat and waited.

What time is it?

Current time: 20:36.

“They’re not coming,” Yorka said for probably the eighth time.

“They’ll come,” I said calmly. “Let’s talk about something more important.”

“Oh? Is something more important than this?”

“Yes. Did you do your job today? The goblin job.”

“Yes.”

“Did the system send you a prompt?”

“It’s floating in front of my eyes. It’s bugging me. But it won’t go away until I answer it.”

“I have it, too,” I nodded, looking at Yorka through the green words.

A simple, concise prompt. Dry and emotionless.

Switch to Optimized Regular Labor? (ORL)

Switch to ORL / Stay at GBL.

“What did you say?”

“I wanted to ask you. Since we decided to form a party...”

“We’ll do that today,” I promised. “But let’s deal with our workloads first. Should we risk shedding our goblin skin to try being orcs? Again.”

“Let’s do it! Sol! Sol! Sol!”

“I like your battle cry, Yorka the goblin.” I stretched my lips in a knowing grin. “I really like it. Let’s switch to ORL.”

The interface reacted to my selection... with nothing. The prompt just disappeared.

Indignant, I navigated to the menu and checked my status.

Number: Eleven.

Rank: Nullform (volitional).

Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).

Fantastic. I raised an eyebrow at Yorka, who nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. We were orcs again. I theatrically ran a hand along my lower jaw, touching my teeth. Yorka broke down and laughed, realizing I was checking to see if my jaw was bigger and I had grown tusks. I had no idea what her memory conjured up, but the word ‘orc’ made me imagine hulking, muscular brutes with green skin, long black hair, and shiny white fangs. I wasn’t even close to that.

Any news about my job?

It hadn’t appeared yet. It would be assigned to me during the night.

“We’ll do our jobs together in the morning,” I said. “We’ll see what we get and then figure out which one to do first.”

I didn’t ask, I commanded. And Yorka nodded silently once again, acknowledging my leadership.

“There’s one other thing I wanted to ask,” I added, suddenly remembering. “It’s obvious that the system can punish us. Otherwise people wouldn’t look so scared when they look at the domes. As far as I can tell, they’re pretty severe punishments.”

“More than severe!” My new teammate shivered. “You can’t begin to imagine!”

“Why not? I have a wild imagination. I can imagine things that are scary even for me sometimes. But I’d like to know the details. What are the punishments?”

“Well... If you steal something and the system notices, you’ll have to return it, and you’ll be fined whatever sol you have.”

“Harsh. But what if I’m a worm? Let’s say I crawled up to somebody, real sneaky, and ate a nutrition briquette they left lying on a bench,” I improvised. “And I have nothing at all. What will they take from me? It’s not like they could take the food back out of my stomach...”

Details were important. I had to get every single detail about the system’s punishments.

“They won’t do anything to a worm,” Yorka shrugged. “Or to a zombie.”

“So, if I stole something, but I have nothing, the system would let me go.”

“As far as I know, yeah. But you have to understand that whoever you stole from will corner you down some dark path one day and... Offenses like that are not forgiven!”

“So, did you catch whoever offended you?”

Yorka scowled and turned away resentfully.

“That’s it,” I said. “There are plenty of punching bags. Some take stuff brazenly. Some prefer to steal. Everything makes sense. What about getting beat?”

“It’s pretty simple. If you beat someone up, they get sent to the medblock for examination. This is important.”

“Why?”

“If you damaged their arms or legs badly... Whether you broke a bone or cut them...”

“Then I didn’t hurt the goblin I beat up, but the system itself.” I understood, and looked down at my old arms. “The limbs don’t belong to us. We rent them from the system.”

“Exactly. The system will assess the damage and fine you for it. Anywhere from five sol to fifty. That’s if they end up having to amputate an arm or something.”

“And then they’ll give the victim a new arm?”

“Of course not. You paid your debt to the system.”

“That’s really bad...” I leaned back on the bench in surprise. “That’s some fucked-up shit... Do you realize what kind of power that gives brigades? They have money, so they’d have no problem sending a soldier with an axe to punish somebody. That’s a huge-ass loophole in the law! Imagine a bloodthirsty amputator coming at you with an axe and...”

“A what?”

“An amputator! Bloodthirsty! Never mind. Anyway, imagine him coming at you. He has two hundred sol to his name. He cuts off your arms and legs like they’re twigs. Right in front of the system’s eyes. Then pays two hundred sol and leaves. Is that how it works? The rich rule the world? Although I guess that’s true everywhere...”

“Are you crazy? You’ll die if your limbs get cut off! Even if you just lose one arm, it’d be a miracle if they manage to save you!” Yorka glanced at the stump of her right arm.

She had no right arm. I had no left arm. We completed one another... It was both funny and sad.

“Let’s imagine,” I nodded, slightly taking in the sails of my imagination. “One arm! He cuts off one arm, remembering to apply a tourniquet so you don’t bleed out. That seems pretty realistic.”

“That’s exactly how they do it,” Yorka said sadly.

“Do you mean...” I tensed up and looked at her stump again.

“No. It happened to me for a different reason. But it’s pretty common for some arrogant or reckless people to unexpectedly lose an arm or a leg. It’s best not to argue with the brigades. Ever. But you’re not exactly right, Elb. There is punishment. That’s why they cut off limbs in secret, when no one can see. If you give someone a serious beating, the system will punish you. You’ll be made a goblin, and they’ll cut off at least one limb — system’s choice. Maybe two. They’ll take all your money, and that’s not all. You’ll be banned from using ATMs for a year.”

“That’s much worse,” I admitted, mentally scrolling the list of punishments.

They take your money.

They take an arm. You’re practically a zombie. If the system takes two limbs, you’re an actual zombie.

Once you get made a goblin, get ready for GBL. Work for near nothing.

No access to ATMs was the most serious punishment. Nobody would be able to transfer you any money, and you wouldn’t be able to go to the medblock and ask for a new arm or leg.

Brutal. A brigade would have no problem feeding a soldier crippled by the system. They’d be well-nourished. But living a year without an arm... Or, god forbid, getting on bad terms with your brigade... You’d become a plain old, practically helpless zombie. I would never agree to do something like that.

“They might let you access the ATMs for good behavior and doing work,” Yorka added.

I laughed:

“So the rich still rule. And the punishment isn’t all that severe.”

“I’m not totally sure. But it’s always complicated,” Yorka shrugged. “They won’t let us cripple one another so easily. That’s why we call the system Mother.”

“Now the biggest question: Murder. What happens if you kill someone?”

“You’ll be turned into a worm,” she answered shortly. “And lose everything: your money, your work load, ATM access...”

“For how long?”

“It depends. I only know about the beginning. It depends on your level. Oh! And one more thing about worms — if you kill one, they’ll only cut off two of your limbs and you’ll lose ATM access for a year. If you kill a zombie or higher, they’ll make you a worm, and your time without ATM access varies. If you kill a zombie, six months without ATMs, a year if you kill an orc. Three years if you kill a halfling. I don’t know what happens next. That’s good though, isn’t it? Mother protects us.”

“Well...”

The increasing level of punishment made sense. The system’s choice was obvious. There was nothing positive about losing good laborers. But worms were disposable, what use were they? Zombies weren’t particularly productive either. But orcs and goblins... Maybe they couldn’t do a lot, but they still worked — cleaned, scrubbed, did the dirty work. Halflings were another caste, the backbone of the labor force, motivated workers. That’s why there was such a severe punishment for taking a halfling life. Well... Some things were clear now... And I understood just how important ATMs were here.

“Does the murderer’s rank matter?”

“What?”

“Like if I’m an orc and I kill an orc, I get it,” I explained. “But what if I’m a halfling and I kill a worm? Will they cut off my arms and take away my ATM access for a year too?”

“I heard about one time when a worm got killed by accident. And it really was an accident. The halfling involved just lost his money. But a worm is a worm, you know...”

“Right... Worms don’t thirst for life or justice. They’re just worms. Trample them whenever you feel like it.”

Yorka, who had only just straightened up, shrank back again. “She’s coming...”

I sighed.

“Hey, goblin! We had an agreement! Don’t be a coward!”

“I’m an orc!” Yorka snapped. “Shut up! And die! I’m scared...”

“That’s the whole point. Enjoy the fear,” I advised. “Feel yourself getting hotter, your heart beating, sweat beading...”

“Shut up!”

I tsked, and slipped my left hand under the table to check the elastic of my shorts. It was safe here — the large dome was practically above us. But still... I checked, just to be sure...

It was time to see who was approaching us, and what they wanted.

I looked, and grunted in understanding. Of course the bosses wouldn’t go searching for one stubborn goblin themselves. Nonsense! They’d send an errand boy. Or in our case, an errand girl. She was missing her left arm, limping, and looked angry.

I wondered how she would start the conversation — politely and casually?

The messenger stopped about seven steps from our table and pointed a finger at Yorka. Then she hissed what would have been an intimidating threat, if not for the note of uncertainty in her voice, as though it was her first time.

“You! With me, bitch!”

Well, at least she did it casually.

“Oh, that was cute,” I spluttered with laughter, shaking my head at this skinny scarecrow trying to look cool. She hadn’t lucked out in the looks department. I might have thought she was a man if not for the curves under her t-shirt and her long, matted hair.

The girl glanced at the ceiling before turning on me. “Shut up, freak! Shut up while you’re still in one piece! Not another word!” Another glance at the ceiling, she drew a finger across her throat. “Or you’ll be dead!”

“Fuck off, skank,” I said, keeping my tone disinterested. “You cheap lapdog. Go suffocate and die trying to get your tongue even further up your boss’s ass.”

“You...”

“I said, fuck off!” I half-stood and raised my voice. The girl wasn’t the only one who shuddered at the anger vibrating in my voice — Yorka flinched too, and a goblin at the table next to us fell off the bench.

There was silence... The girl froze with her mouth half-open. But then her self-preservation instinct kicked in. I could see in her eyes that the sight of this goblin with old arms didn’t pose a threat, but her subconscious was screaming ‘Shut up, shut up, you idiot! Don’t say anything! Turn around and leave!’ She wanted to leave, but orders were orders...

I had to help her. I sat back down and muttered without looking at her:

“Tell your boss that Ninety-One has more than paid off her debt! She owes you nothing anymore! Not a single sol! Tell that to all of your people, you hear me, girl? Ninety-One owes you nothing anymore! Now fuck off, you piece of shit!”

“How... How dare you...”

“Fuck off!”

That was enough. She lowered her eyes, turned around, and quickly walked away. To report.

“The show isn’t over yet.” I warned Yorka before she could open her mouth.

I was right. The girl took three steps and turned around. She looked at me, then at Yorka, then at the ceiling, then at Yorka again. Her words oozed malice as she promised:

“You’re dead, bitch! You’re dead! They’ll cut you into pieces! You’ll be nothing but a worm, bitch!”

Then she left for real. I gazed after her with as a broad a smile as I could muster, one that could be seen from everywhere, even from behind.

“We’re fucked. Now you’re fucked too.” Yorka said, with surprising calm.

She was burnt out emotionally. The worst part was over: she had been brave enough to say ‘enough!’, even if she did need my help doing it. That was the scariest part. Everything else, the potential beatings and injuries, were not nearly as scary.

“No way,” I said. “We’re not. We’re just gonna keep waiting.”

“Do you think they’ll show up?”

“How many people like you do they have? Goblins and orcs that bring them tribute, I mean.”

“Ten or so. They all gather in one place in the evenings. Usually path 9. It’s kind of silly... We stand in a line, give them what we got that day, get punched in the face, and promise to work harder tomorrow, wait for the merciful nod, and go our separate ways. All this without even looking at each other — because it’s shameful to look like a stinking cowardly goat that gives away everything they earn and can’t say ‘no’. How? How did they make me do that?! I didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“They sensed weakness in you,” I explained. “Found your weak point. A soft spot. And struck with a poisoned claw: threats, pressure, the right words that they knew would work flawlessly. At first you let them persuade you, then let them punch you. The next step would be opening your mouth or spreading your legs.”

“Fuck you! Die!”

“No joke, Yorka. That’s what would have happened. You’re a pretty girl. One day, one of them would demand...”

“Johnny,” Yorka interrupted, nodding slowly. “That’s right! He punched me. And he also hinted that if I didn’t bring them something fantastic tomorrow... I’d be in for a surprise that I might even enjoy...”

“That one, though,” I pointed towards where the evil messenger had gone. “She’s already been fucked. No other word for it. She was a victim, now she’s their slut. A spiteful henchman who only dreams of someone else getting shafted like she did. She just couldn’t wait to see you thrown down onto the dirty floor too. But the tables turned. You managed to show bravery and finally say ‘No! Enough!’“

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“Yeah. I didn’t stop you from digging our grave. They’re coming. What should I do?”

“Just sit there,” I said.

“But what if we can’t come to a peaceful agreement?”

“Oh, we won’t,” I told her, one eye on the delegation coming towards us.

“You said there was a chance we could negotiate! Peacefully!”

“Yes. I said that.”

“And?”

“I hadn’t seen Johnny then.” I sighed sadly, looking at the man in question, who could have passed for a real orc if he had green skin.

“Shit! What are you saying?! We have to negotiate! We have to!”

“Calm down. He’s not the kind of person you can negotiate with. You can see from a mile off that he’s stupid, greedy, and far too proud. See how he puffs up and growls? He’d sooner lose profits than his own made-up reputation.”

“But what if we can? Elb!”

“I’ll give him a chance,” I shrugged. “Let him start talking first. We’ll know for sure once he opens his mouth.”

“Fucking hell...”

He approached us with long strides. With each step he took, I got more and more information. Light skinned. Huge. Both fat and muscular. A large belly stuck out from under his shirt, and his hands were like hams. Skin-tight shorts stretched over his fat legs. His head was too small for the rest of him. Eyes with an angry glint in them peered out from under a small, protruding forehead. His black hair stuck out in all directions, forming something like an unruly lion’s mane. His vicious, teeth-bearing grin matched the image of a lion. Like he was playing to his audience, playing the part of a huge, fierce predator. A black-maned lion by the name of Johnny. In a t-shirt, yellowish pants, and red sandals. His belly crushed a long-suffering belt with a plastic club swinging from it.

Four people followed in their leader’s wake: a woman and three men, all five or ten years younger than him. They had expectant grins on their faces, just waiting for the fun to begin. The messenger followed a few steps behind them. Of course she did. She was... Nothing, just a slave. Or a toy to use if there was no one prettier around.

Even before he got close to us, Johnny opened his mouth and roared furiously:

“You little bitch! Slimy useless scum! GET OVER HERE!” He jabbed one sausage finger down at his feet. “Right here, you fucking slut! GET OVER HERE! Bitch, you should be begging me not to smash your good-for-nothing brains in! No! Don’t walk — crawl, bitch! Crawl!” He opened his mouth even wider, and the flow of obscenities continued so fiercely that my jaw dropped slightly in surprise, carefully listening to his dirty oaths.

I was right. There was no way this would come to a peaceful conclusion — that was obvious. People like Johnny only understood one language: the language of force. So I just kept listening. I almost missed the moment when Yorka, who had been frozen in place, suddenly started to stand up slowly, like someone bewitched. I had to kick her under the table. She started, shuddered, and blinked, looking at me in shock.

I had been a little wrong about Johnny. Yes, he was dumb, greedy, and proud, but he also had a some strange natural talent that made me feel sick to my stomach. The sort of alluring fervor you see in holy men. But Johnny’s medium was threats and swearing, and that disgusting mix drew people in like moths to the flame, obeying and flying towards the deadly light.

I wondered if he would ever realize that.

It took another thirty seconds before he realized Yorka didn’t care what he said. She wouldn’t move. At first, his attention had all been focused on her. But then he realized she couldn’t have resisted without someone’s help, and he slowly turned his head to look at me. He jabbed a finger my way, just like the messenger had, then swallowed and cracked his neck. A fresh burst of obscenities was about to start... But I didn’t let him speak. Staying where I was, I made a mocking face and pointed my finger back at him. Only he was pointing at my forehead, and I pointed lower, asking with the same mocking grin:

“Hey, fatass. Is it really so tiny? Skin-tight shorts... Aren’t you embarrassed, walking around like that, showing off your tiny little Johnny? Don’t your shorts chafe your balls? Although you’re so ugly that I’m sure no one cares about anything else. Hey, goblins! Look at this guy! He’s a real freak! That black hair... Does he think it’s cool? Fuck! How are you so ugly? And your legs... They must weigh a ton each! How many earthquakes will the jiggling set off if I kick your ass? I bet my legs it’s at least three!”

The space around us was rapidly emptying out. Zombies, orcs, and goblins all moved away, unable to take their eyes off me. It wasn’t every day some moron signed his own death warrant. But at least it looked cool! So cool and exciting that even Johnny the Lion froze like a statue, jaw hanging open. He was dumbstruck. After all, no one ever, ever dared to...

I had expected a reaction, but he was really just standing there gaping like an idiot...

I ended up having to bang my hand on the table. Johnny shuddered. His eyes focused again, and he snapped his mouth shut. Then he started to turn purple. His face was brick-red in less than a second. He finally understood what I was saying. If anyone was wondering how badly he wanted to wring my neck... Well, that frantic desire was written right across his face.

“I... You... I’ll...”

“You and I?” I asked. “Get lost, you cow! I don’t date people as ugly as you!”

A tiny bleat of laughter sounded from somewhere in the room. Short, but so important. Everyone finally realized that Johnny the Lion was being mocked. And he, scary and strong, was standing there helpless. A stationary observation dome hovered right above us. The system was on alert. Mother was looking after her children, ready to punish anyone who broke her rules.

If Johnny was smarter and sharper-tongued, he might have been able to strike back verbally. But he had never been faced with mockery like this before. It was a new situation for him. A humiliating one. He was flustered, and couldn’t seem to get his thoughts together.

“You... I’ll...”

“Shut up!” My voice rang with steel, and Johnny stopped in mid-sentence.

I stood up and leaned forward a little. Gesturing at Yorka with my chin, I did my best to hammer every word like a nail into his tiny head.

“She’s a good person. She decided to just walk away. She’s paid her debt, the problem is solved. She convinced me, even. So, listen to me, Johnny, you fat fuck. I’ll give you and your gang one chance, and I recommend you take it. We’re even. Nobody owes anyone anything.”

“I’ll kill you...” The fat lion hissed.

Sure, whatever...

“You want me to keep going, pork sausage?” I asked, letting the steel fade from my tone. “Or have you finally figured out you can’t fight me with words? Fuck off!”

“I’ll mutilate you... Make you a worm... I’ll come find you every day and — ”

“Look at this, goblins! A talking tub of lard!” I shouted. “Praise decay for bringing lard to life!”

“I’m gonna...”

“Let’s go.” The woman grabbed Johnny by the shoulder. She was stately and tall, with eye-catching curves, and well-dressed, too. That must be who Yorka brought tribute to. The one she bumped into during a game challenge. Or so they say. She was definitely brighter than Johnny. Our eyes met, and she looked away first. She pulled harder on Johnny’s shoulder as he continued to mumbling at me, saying: “Let’s go! Later, Johnny! Later!”

It worked. Johnny turned around, with all the elegance of a hippo that had shit its stockings, and walked away. He was still trying to turn back to me, but the woman had his arm in a vice grip and wouldn’t let him. The others followed her. Who was the real leader of their gang? No, not the leader... The gray eminence behind the throne with a knockout chest. I noticed her glancing backwards and shouted:

“Don’t try anything with us! Or I’ll use my elven flower. Anyone who comes near us will suffer, mark my words! Anyone! Nobody messes with the elven flower!”

Johnny twisted fiercely, trying to break free. His companions stopped him and dragged him away. The woman cast one more thoughtful look in my direction. I would have bet my arms that everyone who heard me was wondering one thing: What’s this elven flower that goblin was talking about?

“Now we’re definitely fucked,” Yorka said emphatically and laughed out loud, slamming the table with her palm. “But I don’t regret it! At least for now. But I don’t regret it at all! What was that you called him? What a riot!”

She was twisted over with laughter. I couldn’t resist smiling either, and hope that we could resolve the situation peacefully rose in me again. If that girl has any influence over their leader... Although after what I said... But still, they can always pretend that the ballsy goblin will die soon — Johnny will strangle him with his own hands. He’s just waiting for the right moment so the system doesn’t see him...

“What are we going to do now?” Yorka asked me once she stopped laughing. “Kill each other ourselves? I’ll do you first!”

“We go about our lives as usual, that’s all.” I had my answer ready.

“Are you kidding me? This is war! We can’t even leave the clux — they could catch us on any path!”

“No, they can’t,” I disagreed. “We’re not idiots. Breathe, Yorka! Calm down! Everything’s gonna be all right!”

“Yeah, great, that makes me feel so much better. And what the hell was that you said about an elven flower? What’s that?”

“Quiet!” I hissed.

“What flower?”

“You saw it.”

“Are you crazy? That’s just some useless trash you found in a trash heap!”

“But they don’t know that,” I answered.

“So what? Do you think they believed a single word?”

“I have no idea. My job was to keep talking. I kept talking. Now it’s up to them whether they believe me or not.”

“And the elven flower... You... You...”

“Are we forming a party?”

“Yeah,” Yorka sighed. “Nothing left to lose.”

“The pose is pretty weird,” I admitted, approaching Yorka and putting my hand on her shoulder. She did the same thing. I raised my other hand and we froze in that strange pose, staring at the dome. We waited for about two minutes. Maybe the system was checking to see how serious these two goblins were.

Create permanent party: Eleven, Ninety-One?

Yes / No.

Emotionless and dry as usual. It was even a little insulting. Where was the fanfare and fireworks?

I selected ‘Yes’, of course. Yorka did, too. The green prompt disappeared, and new text appeared.

Group leader:

Eleven / Ninety-One.

I selected “Eleven”. Once Yorka picked me too, that would seal the deal. The prompt blinked, then disappeared. No other message appeared, and I checked the menu. I immediately noticed something new:

Status.

Physical Condition.

Finances.

Jobs.

Group.

I selected ‘Group’ and found a submenu:

Group status.

Group members.

I selected the second option first.

Group members:

Eleven. (ORL). Group Leader. Status: normal.

Ninety-One. (ORL). Group Member. Status: normal.

Everything was clear, and not particularly interesting. I clicked my line — no reaction. Then I clicked Yorka’s line, and the system asked if I wanted to make her a leader. There were only two options: leader or member. Okay, got it, thanks. What about group status?

Unavailable.

“Why is group status unavailable?” I asked Yorka, unwillingly taking my hand off her warm shoulder.

I didn’t expect an answer, but got one anyway:

“There aren’t enough of us,” she replied. “It’ll be different once there’s at least three of us. I don’t know what, exactly, but I heard that option activates. I’m a loner, though, so I don’t know much about groups.”

“You were a loner,” I corrected her. “Not anymore. So, what do you think? Should we head to the capsules and get some sleep?”

“Do you really think I can fall asleep? Are you joking?”

“I can.”

“You’re a weird goblin!”

“An orc. Orc sounds so much more dignified! Hmm... What perks do we get for forming a group?”

“Right now we get nothing. There’s only two of us. Well, almost nothing. You can accept a game challenge for me if I don’t accept it in time or something. When the countdown ends, the system will send the group leader a prompt. If they say no, the GC gets send back to the number lottery.”

“That’s not bad... You can play for me if I don’t know the game.”

“It doesn’t work like that. Only the leader gets the prompt. If I don’t accept it, you get the prompt. If you don’t accept in time, it goes back into the lottery.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Well, that’s life. We’re not in paradise.”

“You’re mistaken.” I looked at her. “Very mistaken.”

“Look around, goblin! Just look! Does this look like paradise to you?”

“It does,” I nodded. “Paradise isn’t some garden of golden fruit trees with quiet music coming down from the sky. If there’s a place like that, they’d never let us in, anyway. We build our own paradise. But we’ve had enough for today. Tomorrow is a beautiful new day...”

“Tomorrow they’ll end us...”

“They’ll definitely try,” I agreed. “But they won’t end us. They might cripple us — me in particular. And if they manage to do something terrible to me, then they’ll beat you up or punish you some other way to teach you a lesson. Then they’ll send you back to work. That’s why I told you to stay silent. If anything happens you can always say I was forcing you to go along. But...”

“But what?”

“But I won’t let them do anything bad to us,” I smiled serenely and stood up. “Let’s head to the capsules, bruise-eyed beauty!”

“Blue-eyed?”

“Bruise-eyed...”

“Fuck you! Die!”

“We’ll all die eventually. But I’ll be last! Now go to sleep.”

STATUS:

Number: Eleven.

Rank: Nullform (volitional).

Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Total debt owed: 16 sol.

Current time: 03:30.

MY DEBT HAD INCREASED since yesterday. The limb lease wasn’t going anywhere — I still had to pay four sol a day. And yesterday I had decided to skip showers to save a little more.

“Why did we get up so early? This is like, so early it’s still nighttime!” Yorka shivered from the cold and leaned her head back, yawning fiercely.

“We made a few enemies, remember?” I reminded her. “And we have harder orc jobs today, so we should get them done as soon as we can, before anyone decides to get in our way.”

“And they will, that’s for sure.”

“I know. But right now they’re fast asleep, dreaming of punishing us. Did you get your job for today?”

“Yeah.”

“Read it, then tell me. I’ll take a look at mine.”

Oh dammit…

Job: Collect gray slime.

Description: Collect and deliver eighty standard containers of gray slime to the receiver unit.

Job location: Zone 3, Block 6.

Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.

Compensation: 15 sol.

Shit… I still had flashbacks to that terrible job I hadn’t even finished. Was the system testing me?

“I got gray slime. Eighty buckets. Zone three, Block six. What about you?”

“Collecting gray slime. Eighty buckets. Zone three, Block six.”

We stared at each other, puzzled. Yorka was the first to break the silence:

“That’s not a coincidence.”

“You’re right.” I agreed. “More like a party bonus — all party members get sent to the same location to support each other. Makes sense. Very gamelike…”

“Our whole life’s a game.” Yorka stretched and felt her face tentatively.

Her bruise was turning yellow, which I immediately let her know about, not hiding my glee. She frowned at me and asked:

“What’s our plan?”

“We have to work hard before breakfast!” I raised a fist. “Let’s show that slime the power of our party!”

“Screw you.”

“Come on! Faster! Harder! To battle, Yorka the Yellow Goblin!”

“I’m an orc! And why did you call me yellow?”

“Well, your bruise faded to a nice yellow, so…”

“Go die, Elb. Just die…”

I TOTALED OUR ASSIGNMENTS in my head. A hundred and sixty buckets between the two of us. I quickly decided on our course of action. We were going to work efficiently, saving our strength, one bucket at a time. We would carry them together and take turns putting them on the conveyor belt. First Yorka, then me, then Yorka, then me, and so on.

This system meant we managed to finish both our jobs before eight in the morning, after almost five hours of working with a few short breaks. We weren’t even that tired. My knees were shaking a little, and the pain in my back had returned. My new equipment meant I was steadier on my feet, and didn’t fall once. I had wrapped my hand in a strip torn from my handkerchief. The oval hallway of Block 3 was completely empty — we were the only ones who had showed up here so early in the morning. The first other workers didn’t start arriving until eight, when we were almost done.

Our party had definitely proven its viability and usefulness.

Current time: 09:25.

“Are we done?”

“We are!” Yorka smiled broadly. “Awesome! We finished our jobs! You held up really well, even though your muscles haven’t fully recovered yet.”

“It’s good to have the right equipment.” I smiled back, looking down at myself.

I wore a baseball cap, a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals. My left arm rested in a sling made from more strips of the handkerchief. The strip that had protected my palm from the bucket handle was now wrapped around my left wrist — I was saving it for later. The empty bottle from the Solar Flame Brigade we had secretly kept was tucked under my arm. I looked really tough.

“You really got into the role of a peppy goblin, Elb. I mean, a peppy orc!”

“Why lose heart? What do we get by feeling down? Nothing! Let’s go have breakfast! Let’s increase our debt!”

“Yeah, and get shots…”

“Right! Our debt just keeps snowballing!”

“How’s your elbow?”

“Oh, you know,” I pointed my chin at the bandaged arm. “It could be worse. We’ll deal with it later. Let’s go eat. Let’s feast like true savage orcs!”

“Ugh… Not really a feast. Just a tiny cube and a mouthful of water to wash it down with.”

“No arguments! Historical accuracy is everything!”

“Orcs aren’t historical. Or… Are they? Did they really exist?”

“No idea! But we exist, and we’re orcs! Let’s go eat!”

WE DEVOURED OUR BREAKFAST in an instant. Each of us drank half a liter of water, pouring what was left into our communal bottle. Then we lay down like the lazy goblins we were, our paws on our full bellies. We felt great. There was still a whole day ahead, and we had already done our most important task.

STATUS:

Number: Eleven.

Rank: Nullform (volitional).

Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).

Balance: 0

Debt status: in debt.

Total debt owed: 5 sol.

Current time: 10:36.

After making sure we had plenty of time, I started to think about a nap, maybe an hour and a half or so. We had to restore our energy before we went to intersection 17. Suddenly, as if someone was guiding my hand, I clicked on Jobs before I left the interface menu. I glanced at the text in front of me and sat up straight.

“Woah!”

“What’s up?” Yorka asked lazily.

“Check your Jobs menu. Just look at it.”

“It’s blank. We finished our jobs.”

“Just look!”

“All right…” she said and, in a few seconds reported back just as lazily: “Well, I checked it. Now what?”

“Is it blank for you?”

“Yeah.”

“I have an active job,” I said very thoughtfully, studying every word with my full attention.

“You’re kidding me!”

“I swear by my left tusk!”

“Oh, come on! Are you serious?”

“Totally. Now, keep your voice down.” I said. “I’ll read it to you. It’s a job for both of us, for our party! Guess that’s the plus side of joining forces!”

“Why did we get it? I’ve never heard of that before.”

“There are a lot of things we’ve never heard of. That’s why we have to keep doing stuff, and asking stuff! I’m gonna read it.”

“I’m listening.”

Job: Wipe down tables and benches. (Party)

Description: Procure sponges from the Cleanomat Mark 22A (CLUX-17) and wipe down 100 tables and 200 benches.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Only wipe tables and benches with red lights.

Job location: CLUX-17.

Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.

Compensation: 20 sol.

I finished reading and looked around. There were lots of tables, and none of them had lights of any color. I looked at Yorka. Well, she was definitely lit up with joy, tapping her fist against the table.

“Hey, why so happy?”

“We’re really lucky!”

“You think so?”

“Hell yeah, I do! Just a hundred tables and two hundred benches! Easy-peasy, we’ll be done in a couple of hours! Ten sol apiece!”

“How is the reward shared? Automatically?”

“Nope! I know that much — the system will ask you how you want to split it between the party members once the job’s done.”

“Okay. And what about those red lights?”

“You’ll see. Let’s go!”

I stood up reluctantly, feeling every muscle in my body ache, as if my whole body was saying: ‘Slow down, goblin, just slow down! You finished the job? Great, now go sit on the warm, cozy bench and take a nap! Give me some time to recover. Don’t be a jerk, goblin! Come on!’

I ignored my body’s pleas, but mentally promised my protesting muscles that I’d only be putting a gentle, physically beneficial load on them. My body didn’t believe me, and responded with a pang of severe pain…

While I was talking to myself (the first red flag, perhaps?), Yorka led me to a box against the wall with a small tray on the side. ‘Cleanomat Mark 22A’ was written on the wall above it. As we approached, the box clicked twice and dropped two large green sponges onto the tray. Yorka grabbed one, and I grabbed the second. I felt that it was wet, but when I tried to squeeze it a little I was surprised to find that not a single drop came out. What a weird sponge…

“Hey! I got the job. The same one you got.”

That made sense. The system had to keep it fair. What if I’d lied and said we were being paid ten sol for the job instead of twenty? So this is what we’ve come to! The machine doesn’t trust people! It’s the machine that’s watching us, right?

“This part is simple!” Yorka chattered happily, dragging me back to the tables. “We go to the lit-up table or bench and wipe it down until the red light turns green. Then we go to the next one, rinse and repeat. Red. Green. Next one. Red. Green. Next one. Watch your sponge — once it turns red, shove it into Clark and get a fresh one.”

“Clark?”

“Yeah, the sponge dispenser. We call it Clark, I don’t know why. Got it?”

“Who turns the lights on?”

“Mother!”

I choked.

“I mean, the system!”

“That’s better. Let’s get to it.”

Without a sound, the nearest table lit up with an alarming red light from the ceiling. We approached and started scrubbing it with our sponges. I tried to follow Yorka’s movements — she was wielding her sponge with admirable dexterity. Ten seconds later the light over the table turned green, but it turned red over the bench. We switched to wiping the bench, and five seconds later it turned green. My sponge turned a darker green.

“So are we disinfecting them?” I asked the obvious question.

“Yeah. Mostly goblins and zombies hang out here, and they’re pretty messy. The brigades keep their spines clean and avoid this place. Oh, look, goblin snot on the table! Snotty goblins… Snoblins!”

“Cleanomat Mark 22A… Clark!” I chuckled. “Got it. Let’s hurry up and wipe down this filth, Yorka. Once we’re done we’ll head for intersection 17.”

She stopped wiping the table clean and looked at me with undisguised anxiety. She glanced around, looked in my eyes, leaned towards me, and whispered:

“Are you sure? We might run into… Those guys.”

“We can’t hide forever.” I replied, heading towards the next bench.

“But…”

“Trust me. Just do as I say, and we won’t have any problems.”

No response.

“You got that, goblin?”

“I’m an orc! I got it. Let’s finish the job and go to intersection 17.”

“Smart kid. Now let’s get those sol.”

We finished the job in two hours. We had to change sponges four times when they turned red. As soon as we wiped the hundredth table, I got a system prompt:

Split the compensation?

Yes / No (Party Leader).

I clicked “Yes”, looked at Yorka, who was blooming like a flower in the dirt, and checked my balance.

STATUS:

Number: Eleven.

Rank: Nullform (volitional).

Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).

Balance: 5 sol.

Debt status: No debt.

Oh yeah! Elb the Goblin is debt free until tomorrow! And even better — I have a positive balance of five sol! And it’s hardly even past noon. Lunch is soon, which is minus two sol, but it doesn’t matter! I’m in the black!

I came to a logical conclusion. “We’re the toughest goblins on the block!”

“Orcs!” Yorka corrected me as always, her face still shining. “We’re orcs!”

“Well… I can’t call us the toughest orcs around yet. So… Let’s have lunch, rest for a little and…”

“And head to intersection 17!” Yorka said boldly. “I’m not afraid! You’re one lucky bastard, double ones! That’s for sure.”

I disagreed. “It’s not luck. We’re not sitting idly on our asses — we act and the world responds. That’s just the way it works, my fellow goblin. Whoa! No way!”

“What?”

“Another system prompt. And it’s oddly long.”

More than six hours remaining until evening end-of-work alarm.

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

Yes / No.

“Accept it!” Yorka said immediately when I read it out loud to her.

“Are you sure?” I asked hesitantly. “We have no idea what it’s going to be. I could handle another round of hauling, but another hundred slime buckets is just too much for me today.”

“Let’s take the chance! Just think... An extra reward!” Yorka had a workaholic glint in her eye.

“All right…”

Yes.

Job: Wipe down tables and benches. (Party)

Description: Procure sponges from the Cleanomat Mark 22A (CLUX-17) and wipe down 100 tables and 200 benches.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Only wipe tables and benches with red lights.

Job location: CLUX-17.

Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.

Compensation: 20 sol.

Additional reward: Game challenge for any party member.

“Let’s go get sponges.” I sighed and stood up. “Are we getting lunch today?”

“Once the job is done!”

“All right… Ow, my poor old goblin back! I can already hear it cracking...”

* * *

STATUS:

Number: Eleven.

Rank: Nullform (volitional).

Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).

Balance: 15 sol.

Debt status: No debt.

“Game Challenge!”

Fast chess.

Choose player number: 11 or 91.

“Who’s gonna play, you or me?”

“I’m not playing,” Yorka said sharply, coming to stand next to me. “Are you gonna try? The timer’s ticking. Five seconds left!”

“Of course I’m in!”

Fast chess.

One round.

Choose difficulty level:

Easy.

Normal.

Hard.

Master.

“Pick Easy.”

“Of course,” I nodded. “It would be foolish to challenge the master before you test the might of his apprentice.”

“Do your best!”

A chessboard with pieces appeared on the screen. I didn’t get to choose a color — I was assigned white and went first. I started with a classic move, pawn to e4. The system responded with an equally standard move — pawn to e5. Setting up for a King’s Gambit! Pawn to f4…

The game ended in seven minutes. I won. To say my opponent played poorly would be an understatement. If I hadn’t been so cautious, I could’ve won much faster.

Game Challenge Complete.

Outcome: Win.

Reward: 6 sol.

Winstreak: 1/3.

Reward Bonus (GC): 0%

GC Selection Chance Bonus: 0%

Extra Prize Chance: 0%

Balance: 21 sol.

Debt status: No debt.

“Winning chess gets you twice as much sol as winning Tic-tac-toe!” I said happily. Yorka patted me on the shoulder. “Wanna share the prize?”

“Nah, you’ve earned it. I’ll borrow some if I need it.”

“Sure!” I smiled, not asking what exactly she’d need to borrow money for. It was pretty obvious.

“Congratulations, Elb the Goblin. Now, don’t die of happiness!”

“You either, Yorka the Goblin. My victory is our victory. What now? We had lunch, we had a drink, we had a game. Are we going to take a nap, or go straight to intersection 17?”

“Let’s go now!”

“Wrong!” I chuckled and pointed at the nearest bench. “Here’s my first order as party leader: rest for the next two hours. Then we’ll go to intersection 17.”

“Why did you ask me, then?”

“To check how reasonable and cool-headed your judgment is.”

“And did you get your answer?”

“Yeah.”

“Happy now?”

“Well… Not exactly.”

“So be glad.”

I didn’t get her logic. Dropping the subject, I made sure we were in sight of the stationary ceiling dome and stretched out on the warm wall ledge with a blissful moan. Lying down felt so good...

“Don’t get too comfortable, happy goblin,” Yorka warned me from her spot nearby. “This is like the calm before the storm. You’ll come to understand it in a year or so.”

“I’m not getting too comfortable,” I replied, yawning. “And I’m not going to spend a year here.”

“What?”

“You heard me. This is the Outskirts — what is there to do here? We’re gonna earn some cash, fix our limbs, get some gear, and venture out into the big world.”

“Are you joking?”

“Nope. Take your time thinking on it. I won’t force you into anything, but I’d be glad to have you along. Now, get some sleep.”

“Easy for you to say!” Yorka protested. But she was fast asleep within a minute. I dozed off, too, fulfilling my promise to give my body some time to rest and recover.

My brain tried to fish something out from my emptied memory, but after a couple of failed attempts, it resentfully fell back into the black abyss. Sleep, Elb the Goblin. Sleep. Don’t waste your time banging your head against a wall. You won’t get your memory back this way. I had to try a different approach, and I knew for sure no one in the Outskirts would help me with it.

* * *

We were ambushed on our way to the main hallway leading to intersection 17. The safety of CLUX-17 was behind us. Yorka started, ready to run back home, and pulled at me. I tensed my muscles to keep her from making such an obvious move on impulse.

Run straight back to the clux with only three of the six here?

It was just Johnny and the two girls.

Where were the other three guys?

That was pretty obvious. They were waiting behind us.

“Surprise, bitches!” Yesterday’s messenger yelled mockingly.

She spoke without permission, and earned a resounding slap in the face from Johnny, who was trying his best to look really tough. He even tried to suck in his gut, but to no avail.

“We got you!” The man-faced bitch howled from where she lay on the floor.

Is she nuts? He’s gonna…

Johnny grunted and kicked her in the stomach, making her writhe even more.

“You scumbag!” Yorka spat with unexpected fury. “Fat, smelly scumbag! Scumbag!”

Well… I didn’t like the sight of this big guy kicking a groaning woman sprawled on the floor. No matter how vicious a bitch she was.

Yorka was unstoppable. She clenched her fist, hissing, baring her teeth, practically foaming at the mouth, pouring out all her long-standing hatred and resentment. I took a half step back, out of her line of sight, hooked my thumb into the waistband of my shorts and listened, a satisfied smile on my face. I wasn’t the only one — everyone around us was listening to Yorka. It was hard to ignore the heart-rending cry of a soul that had been tortured for so long.

“You scumbag! You dickhead! You fat, smelly piece of shit! Prick! I hope you die! Oh, you’re gonna die no matter what! Asshole!”

The pretty girl standing behind Johnny, the one who Yorka had accidentally knocked down, managed to keep a filthy semblance of an innocent expression on her face. Her eyes widened with surprise as she witnessed this outpouring of emotions from the one-handed goblin girl raging in the middle of the hallway. She looked like a respectable housewife standing on the porch of her own house, listening to drunkards making a racket on the other side of the fence. All she needed was curlers in her hair to complete the picture.

Johnny roared… Then fell silent when Yorka started assaulting his manhood with insults. My smile widened as I squinted at the ceiling, silently counting the seconds. I kept the gang in my sights, especially the big fat guy. He hadn’t said anything yet, but his face was slowly turning black with bad blood. His head looked like it was ready to explode at the slightest flick. Staring straight ahead, he swayed slightly, as if every word thrown at him by Yorka hit him like a small stone.

I waited patiently — not for Johnny to get even madder, but for Yorka to drain her mental abscesses, to release the inner darkness of her soul with this yelling. There’s nothing worse than someone keeping a burden of negative emotions to themselves. This suppressed negativity strangles you, and I wanted Yorka to be able to breathe deeply.

“You! Fucking! Asshole! Die, you cocksucker! Burn in hell!”

Johnny inhaled hoarsely and reached forward. His girlfriend clung to him, and let out a piercing shriek:

“Johnny, no! Don’t do it! Mother’s watching! She’s watching! Wait!”

She struggled to slow him down, let alone stop him. Johnny kept moving forward, one small half-foot step after another. That mountain of fat imbued with black malice was unstoppable. If he couldn’t get to me, he would just beat up his allies. The man-faced bitch had recovered from the kick to her stomach and would be the first to feel his anger.

“Show them who’s boss, Johnny! Smash ‘em! Smash! Crush them!” She bleated from the floor.

“Shut your mouth, bitch!” The other girl, who was clinging to Johnny’s arm, kicked her in the jaw. She tried to dodge, but couldn’t — her teeth rattled and she whimpered, covering her mouth with her hands. She must have bitten her tongue. That had to hurt.

A dome passed by above us. I grabbed Yorka, still yelling, by the shoulder and dragged her after me. She resisted. I growled angrily and pulled harder. I would need to do something about our party’s discipline. Turning back, I made my face look frightened — dropped my jaw, widened my eyes, and tensed my shoulders — as though I was expecting a hit, and shrank back in fear. My performance was noticed. Not by the fatso and his henchmen, but by their subconscious minds. A signal rang out in their heads, saying ‘These goblins are scared! They’re afraid of us! They’re running! After them!’

I turned sharply and dragged Yorka behind a corner. After a few quick steps, I glanced at the ceiling, dragged her closer, then pushed her forward:

“Stay low and run to the next corner. Wait for me there!”

A booming roar came from the hallway at our backs:

“I’m gonna kill you!”

“What about you?” She had only just come to her senses, still clenching her fist and breathing raggedly.

“Do it!” I barked, turning around. “Run! Don’t look back!”

Her retreating footsteps told me that she had followed my orders. I reached under the sling with my right hand and pulled something out, gripping it in my hand. I stepped forward and to the side, then slashed at Johnny’s thick throat as he ran past. I took a small step to the side so I could reach the girl who was pushing his back. She got her neck slashed next. I just had to reach out a little further this time. Without looking at the two of them, I hugged the wall. As soon as the last of the three turned the corner, I punched her in the face, forcing her head to tilt back, then slit her throat. I jumped back hastily, barely standing on my trembling legs, and leaned against the opposite wall. I waited until she staggered, still not realizing what had happened, then wiped the thing that had killed her on her back. I ran clumsily past Johnny and his girlfriend, who had slumped to the blood-soaked floor. Ten feet. I shoved the eye-catching object under my sling. Thirty feet. Sixty feet. I approached the corner, smiled at Yorka pressed against the wall, and shoved her shoulder playfully:

“Let’s go.”

“What?”

“Problem solved.”

“Solved? But… Where are they, Elb? What did you tell them? That was so stupid of me to yell all that bullshit… He’s gonna ruin our lives, that’s for sure! Listen… Let’s just run away. Right now. We can go to Murkwaters! I’ve heard Drainagetown is a fine place to lay low. Johnny won’t follow us there, he’s too fat and lazy. This place is his hunting ground. Elb, listen… Elb! Say something! I’m such an idiot, I screwed us! How bad is it? Where are they? Did you buy us some time? Let’s get to the clux as fast as we can. I’ll help you run! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it all just kind of came out!”

“Stop it,” I ordered.

“But… I really didn’t mean to… Just... When I saw his ugly face… When I remembered…”

“Shut up!”

“All right…”

“Take a good look at me. What do you see?” I stopped and turned around slowly. “What do you see?”

“An ugly goblin.” Yorka muttered, passing her hand over her face. “Phew. There’s a dome here. We’re lucky.”

“That’s all you see?”

“Yeah. What am I supposed to see?”

“Nothing.” I smiled. “Let’s go.”

It was a clean job. I wasn’t stained with treacherously bright blood. Sure, it gets dark, but not as quickly as I needed it to. It wouldn’t have passed for grease or dirt.

“What did you do?”

That was an understandable question. She had come to her senses and realized something was off. We were being chased, and then her leader had ordered her to hide behind a corner. A few minutes later I showed up, told her everything was fine and no one was chasing us.

“I dealt with them, once and for all.” I said shortly, and raised my left arm. “With this.”

“Sweet mother of God!” Yorka gasped, turning pale.

I watched how she reacted. Was she going to recoil? No. She did the opposite — grabbed my good hand and dragged me after her, trying to get us running.

“What’s wrong with you? Why did you do that?! I mean, they were bastards... Scumbags… They’ve ruined so many lives… But you just… Just…”

“Yep.”

“With this?”

“Yeah.”

“Who are you, goblin? What you’ve done is just… We have to run...”

“No way.” I stopped her. “No running. Let go of my hand, stand up straight, and smile.”

“What?”

“Smile!” I snarled. “We have act natural in front of everyone. Just walk, talk to me.”

“Did you really kill them? Or did you just hurt them? Make it clear we’re no one to mess with?”

“They’re gone, Yorka. The bastards are gone for good. The problem is almost solved.”

“What have we done… What have we done…”

We. That word was like music to my goblin ears! I suddenly realized we were going to be in this together for a long time. She was not the kind of person to stay out of trouble, to do anything to keep her hands clean. And, more importantly, she was trying to act, not panic. She didn’t always succeed, but that was nothing a little practice couldn’t fix.

“We need to lay low!”

So predictable…

I frowned and shook my head.

“No we don’t. Right now we’re going to walk calmly to intersection 17, stopping at a medblock on the way. As soon as we get a new job we’ll do it, no rush. Calm down, Yorka. No one saw anything!”

“But they all saw us arguing!”

“And they heard us, too.” I nodded. “But they didn’t see me kill those bastards. They know nothing, they can only speculate. And speculation doesn’t prove anything, you know.”

“I know that. But the ones coming after us don’t give a damn!”

“Who’s coming after us, exactly?” I was glad that Yorka had calmed down and we were able to blend in with the crowd of orcs and goblins. “Those three? I don’t think they realized what happened yet. They must be still waiting in ambush.”

“Oh, right! I forgot about those guys!”

Huh. So she hadn’t been talking about dead Johnny the Lion’s three henchman when she said ‘the ones coming after us’.

“How did you even pull that off?” Yorka looked at me. “Three of them?”

“It’s pretty easy if you know what you’re doing.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“No idea. But I really want to find out.” I paused for a moment. “It’s all just wrong.”

“Of course it’s wrong! Cutting them down without a second thought!”

“That’s not what I mean. Everything around me is wrong.” I tried to explain. “Things shouldn’t be like this. I know that.”

“What are you talking about? That brawl, you mean?”

“No. I mean, the Outskirts, zombies, goblins, orcs... it’s not right! Every morning, when I crawl out of my capsule and watch the goblins stand in line for food, I realize that something’s wrong. Completely wrong.”

“How would you know that?”

“I don’t know. I guess that’s not the right word. I mean, I feel it. I can sense it. There’s something seriously wrong with this place. And I have to get my memory back so I can figure out what’s wrong.”

“Get your memory back?” She scoffed. “Yeah, dream on! You’re a nullbie, I’m a nullbie. Memories aren’t for the likes of us.”

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody! That’s just the way it is! We’re volitional nullform. Nullform don’t deserve to have memories. Like cockroaches.”

“No way. That’s so wrong! Nobody has the right to take my memories. They’re my life. What am I without my memory? Nothing!”

“That’s none of our concern for now! Wait! Let’s turn here. There’s a medblock this way, plus the hallway is wide and busy.”

“Got it.”

“Those three… Are they following us?”

“No,” I said confidently. “They probably haven’t found the bodies yet. Johnny was an idiot. A huge, arrogant idiot. He sent his main strike team to set a trap for us, then blocked our path himself. He wanted to watch us run in fear from him, only to be caught by the ambush team and be at his mercy. He wanted to deal with us personally, without his boys. To prove to them — and everyone — that no one can mess with him, the huge, powerful Lion. That he’s strong, scary, and unforgiving. He was a fool to underestimate his enemy.”

“Those three are going to find us.”

“I’m ninety percent sure they won’t even come near us.” I grinned. “We’re dangerous. And grunts like them avoid danger. Why look for trouble when you can just keep sucking your sheep dry, staying clear of the wolves like us?”

“Who are you, goblin?”

I laughed. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”

“And that elven flower… That’s what you killed them with? Damn. Well, here’s the medblock. Don’t worry about me — a dome passes here every thirty seconds. Let me hold that deadly thing.”

“Here. I’ll be back soon,” I promised, and stood in front of the door. “Eleven!”

Eleven. (ORL).

Objective?

“Checkup.”

Balance: 21 sol.

Debt status: No debt.

The door opened with a soft sound, revealing a small room with a familiar chair. I went inside. The door closed and a short animated video of a man lying down on the chair played. I didn’t even have to undress. And no cute nurses to comfort this poor goblin. I sat down obediently.

Balance: 19 sol.

Hey! You didn’t do anything yet!

I didn’t say anything out loud, of course. I just stared at the ceiling and waited, counting the seconds. At first glance, nothing was happening — no manipulators, no lenses, no scanners, not even equipment sounds. Nothing.

Overall physical condition: normal.

Limb condition and status:

URL: normal.

ULL: normal.

LRL: normal.

LLL: normal.

Recommended treatment: Painkillers (1 sol) twice a day, medication (2 sol) twice a day.

Another animation played on top of the text — a green man getting up and merrily leaving the medblock. In the animation that followed, the green man remained in the chair as a speech bubble emerged from his mouth saying ‘Painkillers. Medication.’ A thirty-second countdown started.

Are you shitting me?

That’s your checkup? You just changed my ULL from green to yellow?

“Painkillers! Medication!”

Balance: 16 sol.

My newfound financial stability was beginning to fall apart.

Another three sol for painkillers and medicines.

Did they take us for complete idiots?

Where were the explanations, what kind of medicine I was being injected with? Where was the detailed diagnosis? The explanation, in simple terms for someone like me with no knowledge of medicine? Like, ‘Eleven, my friend, your left elbow’s condition is called this-itis, we’ll give you a shot of that-erol and you’ll be fine in some time.’ Where was all that?

Bloody hell!

I rushed out of the medblock, seething with anger. Yorka caught on to my mood immediately and said:

“Chill. We’re nullbies. I’ve heard the halflings get better treatment. Well, they get more details, at least. What did they do to you in there?”

“Gave me a shot of painkillers and some other medicine.”

“Well, that’s something. Here, take your thing back.”

“It’s an artifact!” I objected. “It’s called an elven flower.”

“You’re hopeless, goblin. How’s your hand?”

“It’s almost stopped hurting. But what’s the point?”

“They gave you medication?”

“Yeah. But what kind of medication?”

“Medical medicine, duh.”

“Who’s hopeless now?”

“You are! A goblin with an elven flower... All right, should we go to intersection 17?”

“Yeah. We’ll sit there for a while, catch our breath. Hey, Yorka.”

“What?”

“How can we become halflings? We did a ORL job today. Will the system offer us an upgrade to HFL?”

“Ha! You wish!”

“Hmm. Should’ve known.” I frowned in annoyance. “So we have to work really hard for a long time?”

“Yeah. You have to do ten ORL jobs in a row. That will prove to the system that you’re an orc that can work, and you’ll get the opportunity to become a halfling. But people usually don’t take the upgrade.”

“Why not?”

“Think about the jobs we’re given.”

“Collecting slime, turning handles… You mean the jobs the system gives us?”

“Yeah. See, these jobs are hard, but safe. Goblins and orcs are fine with that. Zombies, too.”

“Zombies, too…” I repeated. “Can you explain?”

The explanation was brief.

HFL was primarily used as encouragement for the most hardworking and diligent. The normal work load was enough for everyone who worked just to get by.

It was easy to get HFL for the first time — all you had to do was complete ten ORL jobs in a row and accept the system’s offer to increase your status.

Was it easy to get ten normal jobs done in a row? It was. Anyone could do it as long as no one was purposely trying to mess with them. It was best to have four working limbs for that, but not necessary. Your brain and wits mattered the most. If I had to collect gray slime alone again, I’d be there at three in the morning. No crowds, no griefers, I could take breaks, and I’d be done before the evening alarm.

That’s why so many workers got the system’s offer. The majority of them agreed, since it was pretty enticing: more work, but more sol, too. Not to mention a higher status, something we mortals were so addicted to! It was embarrassing to be a lowly zombie — or, god forbid, a worm — and everyone wanted to be a halfling.

However, after two or three days, most people who accepted the offer backed out. They returned to ORL, never to attempt the climb again.

Why?

The answer was simple — once you reached HFL, the system started to hand out dangerous tasks. Like, really dangerous. Even if you didn’t die, you could be seriously injured — wounded, burned, or poisoned. No joke. Halflings were assigned to jobs like fixing leaks — anything from boiling water, which at least cools down quickly, to technical liquids running through the pipes. There were some ugly stories of people being literally dissolved while fixing one of those leaks, although they were extremely rare.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. It was halflings who were sent to clean the various nooks and crannies hidden behind the metal barriers. Pluxes were known to pounce on halflings from behind the descending section. How could they fend off an armored beast with just a plastic bucket and shovel? They couldn’t. That would be the end of their illustrious career.

They didn’t just clean, though. The system offered them a huge variety of jobs. They were rumored to be well paid, but there was no way to know for sure. But going by how they looked, HFL workers had enough to outfit themselves well and eat well, and they had all their limbs. And all of them were willing to risk their health — and their lives.

Are you ready to risk your life for ten extra sol? Are you prepared to swim in acid?

Yorka remembered, in nightmarish detail, the faces of those caught in an acid shower in one distant chamber. A whole unit of nine halflings was dispatched there, but only four of them came back — badly burned, disfigured, blinded, coughing up their lungs. The system managed to save three of them. The fourth halfling died with pride, his final act of service to their Mother. And he could have just lived the life of a less-proud orc or a carefree goblin.

That’s what happens here.

The only ones who really benefited from HFL (and the additional status changes the system was rumored to grant to distinguished workers) were the brigades. They had numbers. They had at least some protective equipment — hazmat suits, rubber boots, gas masks. But it wasn’t easy to join a brigade, and there was a persistent and sinister theory that new people got all the hard and dirty jobs. They didn’t want to risk their trusted members when there were plenty of yesterday’s goblins to throw into the fire. Or into the acid. Or to the pluxes. It was a sink-or-swim way of life.

“Never a dull moment around here, huh?” I chuckled after Yorka finished her wild, wandering explanation.

“We have to think it over very carefully before we choose to upgrade to HFL.”

“Oh, we’re upgrading,” I said quickly.

“Are you listening to me at all?”

“Yep. I’ve been listening to you since my first day here. You woke me up, remember?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, goblin!”

“Me neither. The moral of each of your stories is that life here is better when you have a higher status. You just told me that the brigades control other people’s lives, choosing who lives and who dies. And we’re not playing some video game where death means nothing. For us, it’s the ultimate end. We can feel pain and fear, we can lose arms and legs, or become a freak with melted skin and burnt out eyes.”

“Woah… Calm down, goblin, take a deep breath. You’re about to burst. First things first, we have to try and keep our ORL status for a day or two, without being made goblins again. Those three thugs might still kill us, or somebody else might. Life’s short but fun here in the Outskirts, my fellow goblin.”

“You have a point there.”

“Did you hide the artifact?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” I smiled, patting my bandaged arm. “My sharp petal is safely hidden.”

“Let’s change the subject. Too many ears here.”

I nodded, slowed down, and pushed my way to a vacant spot on nearby wall ledge. We squeezed in and started waiting for the hirers and any news. I had come to this bustling location for a reason. We’d hear the latest news here first. And tonight’s news would be bloody and violent...

I patted the sling again, feeling the outline of my weapon.

If you could call it a weapon. I had found it in the sticky mud that covered the metal blocks we pulled out of the wall. It was a miracle I didn’t slice my palm open when I scooped up the slimy filth with my hand. It flashed in the mud — the elven flower…

It was a long, sharp sliver of glass the length of my palm, two fingers wide, and slightly wider at the base. Three black lines divided it into three uneven sections: blue, then red in the middle, and yellow along the sharp edge. A colorful flower with a long stem was painted on the yellow part, running the entire length of the shard. Three clearly-drawn leaves extended from the stem.

The flower… It was vibrant, amazing, clearly the work of a true artist. Was it even a painting? It looked to me like part of some ornate stained glass window.

Why did I call it elven? Because it was so unusual, so bright, definitely not part of this nullform world. Such beauty couldn’t have come out of these filthy Outskirts. It looked… magical. So why not call it elven?

The elven flower.

When I said it out loud, Yorka just snorted. Although it was clear she was mesmerized by the bright colors on the sharp glass.

When I looked over the shard, I found it to be fairly strong. The glass was thick and seemed tempered. It was unlikely that it would break easily — It must have taken a really hard hit to form the shard. Whatever had happened, I now had myself a sharp weapon that became even more useful when I wrapped a strip of my handkerchief around it to serve as a handle.

And today my beauty had tasted the blood of the beast.

What emotions was I feeling after my triple murder?

Not many. My mind was stable, but I was having troubling thoughts about flaws in my technique. I hit too hard. Strength doesn’t matter with a weapon this sharp. I took too small a step back, almost got splattered with blood. Practical thoughts that seemed almost familiar. But I couldn’t be sure, and I wasn’t going to guess.

I had another practical idea — I would bandage my right knee as tight as I could before doing anything like that again. Today it had almost snapped in two at the most crucial moment.

We sat on the warm bench for twenty minutes, occasionally exchanging glances, then slipping back into idle thoughts. Suddenly, we heard shouting from the hallway we had come from. A minute later, a breathless goblin missing his right arm ran out into the intersection, whirled in a strange semblance of a shamanic dance, and shouted again:

“Murder! Murder!”

More than fifty voices flooded him with questions. The questions were all slightly different, but in essence could be reduced to just a few:

“Who?”

“How?”

“Where?”

“Who did it?”

The one-armed goblin, still dancing, spun around especially fast and blurted out:

“Johnny the Lion! Thoma the Pretty! Zanha the Ugly! All of them murdered, just a few paths over from here. Throats slit. It was a bloodbath! One of Mother’s eyes is on it already. They gave out eight interment jobs, so it’s someone’s lucky day today! Of course it would take that many to drag Johnny’s body away...”

“They’ll come after us.” Yorka whispered. “Investigators. Detectives.”

What was she talking about? Although she had mentioned something about someone coming after us. But we had to leave that for later — we didn’t get the chance to talk. As soon as the mouthy goblin stopped shouting, everyone gathered at the intersection started turning their heads towards the two of us sitting humbly on the wall ledge. Towards numbers Eleven and Ninety-One.

News reached intersection 17 rapidly. People here had been hearing about the two goblins who taunted the rabid fat orc known as Johnny the Lion. They knew he had planned to punish the two who had mocked them — really punish them. And now Johnny the Lion, Thoma the Pretty, and Zanha the Ugly were dead, face-down in their own blood.

So many eyes focused on us that I couldn’t stand it anymore. I raised my head, smiled broadly and asked the people around me the simplest of questions:

“Can I help you, fellow goblins?”

Most of the curious eyes looked down when I spoke. I turned to the one-armed herald still standing in the middle of the hallway and said:

“Go on, spread the news. Where did it happen? How exactly were they killed? Give us more! We want all the bloody details!”

“Yes, Mr. Goblin, sir!” Mumbled the herald. “I mean… Mr. Eleven!”

“I am a goblin. Elb the Goblin. And this is my good friend, Yorka the goblin. Do you get it?”

“I do! Elb the goblin and Yorka the goblin!”

I had no idea why I was still calling myself a goblin, but it just seemed right. It wasn’t time to turn my back on the mud that gave birth to me yet. I was a child of the Outskirts, the birthplace of worms, zombies, goblins, and orcs.

“More details, minstrel. Come on!”

“Hmm…” The goblin’s long face made it clear he had run out of news. He had said everything he knew all at once. All he had left to say were the numbers of the ones who had threatened to kill, then killed Johnny. But how could he say them out loud when everybody knew what he was going to say? When the people he wanted to name were sitting right in front of him with an expression of creepy, bone-chilling friendliness…

“That’s all the news I have,” the herald said, studying the floor. “I’m sorry…”

He vanished, and the intersection returned to its normal buzz of activity.

It was a fortunate turn of events. We just had to sit and wait for the employers or the investigators Yorka had mentioned before.

There were some kind of law enforcement officers in this world, and it looked like we were going to meet them soon.

AT FIRST, WE HAD NO LUCK finding work. The Solar Flame Brigade offered us hauling again, which we weren’t interested in at all. When Yorka heard the caped halfling Morris calling out, she went towards him, pulling me along. I pulled her back. When she sat back down, I explained:

“We’re not going to work our fingers to the bone for a couple t-shirts and handkerchiefs. Never again!”

“Then why the hell are we here? We already proved that we’re hard-working goblins! Let’s show our faces again. They’ll give us a place! Maybe they’ll even feed us! Aren’t you hungry?”

“We’re not hauling again.” I snapped, staring at Yorka with false sternness. “Are you questioning the head goblin’s orders?”

“Pff! Blow up and die, goblin. Blow up and die!”

“You really have a way with words.” I smiled sincerely, got up, and headed towards Morris. “Let’s go.”

“Those are the same bodyguards, Elb. One of them is the guy you fought with.”

“I know. That’s why I waited — I wanted the latest bloody news to reach their ears. See the two with clubs staring at us? They already know who we are.”

“Well, all the more reason not to go over there! We’re goblin killers! We’re dangerous! They won’t even talk to us!”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I replied quietly. “Not a single peaceful goblin was killed today. They were disgusting, bloodsucking parasites. Nobody likes their kind. Plus, the brigade will be flattered that such tough and fearless people like us want to work for them. It’s in their best interest to have a fair, mutually beneficial relationship with us.”

“Why?”

“Because we know how to kill and aren’t afraid to.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Shh!” I ordered, and smiled at the big guy who had promised to make me a worm not so long ago. “Did you want something?”

“Yeah. You…”

“What about me?”

“What do you want?”

“I want to have a chat with your boss. Get lost!”

I had no plans to exchange pleasantries, never mind make peace with him.

“Morris!”

Morris turned around with such readiness that it was obvious he had noticed our approach from a distance, just assuming the expression of a slightly-overworked halfling. As soon as he noticed me (or, most likely, pretended to notice), his face lit up with extremely measured joy.

“Eleven! Ninety-One! Back for more work?”

“Depends on the job and the payment.” I came closer and extended a hand to him.

A second passed… Then another… And a third… And then my hand was finally gripped in a firm handshake. In front of everyone, one of the leaders of the Solar Flame shook hands with the goblin killer. Then he switched hands to shake Yorka’s left hand. It seemed like a standard formal greeting, but I knew it would send a wave of news across the Outskirts. That news would then transform into embellished rumors, and from there into hardly-credible gossip. But all these tales would contain the same grain of truth: Eleven and Ninety-One, Elb and Yorka, were close with the brigades, or maybe even working with one of them. And not just hauling for them.

What was in it for us?

Quite a lot. The local thugs would stop bullying us. Powerful people would try to learn more, probe into our affairs, even establish contact.

That would give us a ton of opportunities. I had no idea what kind, but that didn’t matter. The most important things was to get the wheels in motion and keep them going. Opportunities would arise in any case — we just had to make the right choices.

Morris didn’t let me down. He smiled broadly and reassured us:

“I wouldn’t make you haul, of course. I have something better for you. Interested?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. Yorka gladly nodded, too, even though she didn’t understand what was going on yet.

I knew she was surprised, even bewildered. We were involved in a triple murder, but no one was charging at us or twisting our arms... The bigshot halflings were even shaking hands with us! Us, the goblin killers! They should have pulled out torches and pitchforks and strung us up!

“Blow up and die…” whispered Yorka, clinging to my right arm. “Blow up and die, goblin! What the elf is going on?”

“Shh,” I whispered. “Just own it.”

“Easy for you to say!”

“You’ll get used to it,” I reassured her. “Let’s go.”

We set off again behind the lazily trudging goblins, who were in no hurry to start their hard, poorly-paid work.

WE WERE ASSIGNED to the easiest job imaginable — using stiff, long-handled brushes to scrub the traces of slime and mud left on the floor after the mechanisms were pulled from the walls. The mechanism were already out on a metal grate in the middle of the hall, and the halflings were bustling around them. We kept up with them, even though pushing the brush was fairly difficult with just one arm. It took us about an hour. Then we had an hour of rest before the second round of cleaning, which took us even less time.

While we were resting, we saw another plux attack. Three of them leaped out of the darkness at once. One was pretty big, about as long as my forearm, and the other two were smaller, but they all attacked equally fiercely. One took a serious hit from a club, but didn’t even try to fall back and hide — just kept attacking. I couldn’t help but wonder if they had any sense of self-preservation.

They looked like… Like four-legged headless chickens covered in small, hard scales. Not the slightest hint of a face, or even eyes. This headlessness made them scary — mysterious, even. Once they were killed and their lifeless carcasses thrown in a pile, I noticed curved needle-like fangs protruding from their slightly-open maws. They had some form of mouthparts, but they were on their abdomens, which explained why they aimed for the legs instead of going for the throat. They clung onto a leg with all four limbs, squeezing it with all their strength and clenching their muscles, turning into a disgusting, armored tumor on a human’s leg. They were impossible to remove without tearing your own flesh. While it hung on, the plux would stick its fangs into the victim’s flesh and start feasting on it.

I learned a lot from observing them. We would have to be extremely careful with those things — my glass blade probably couldn’t cut through their hides. If I pierced their scales with a precise stab, the plux would most likely twitch in pain, breaking the fragile blade. A heavy spiked club would be a much more reliable option.

Once we finished the second round of cleaning, we got our hard-earned rewards — a liter of water and two nutrition cubes each. After that, Morris personally handed each of us a t-shirt, shorts, a baseball cap, a handkerchief, and a crude belt bag with three large pockets. Two full sets of goblin equipment. Afterwards, he briefly mentioned that no one would mourn the loss of a parasite like Johnny the Lion. Said his death made the air in the Outskirts cleaner, and hinted that the Solar Flame Brigade was delighted to associate with people as determined as us. He didn’t say anything specific, though, just vague hints that I was wise enough to pick up on. Then we went our separate ways.

We took the shortest path back to our home clux. Yorka hopped along happily, gently patting her belt bag and the almost-full water bottle attached to it every other step.

“We’re rich, goblin! Blow up and die, we’re rich! Our bags are filled with new clothes and food! We have water! We have sol! Blow up and die! Our dreams are coming true, goblin!”

“We’re not even close to Dreamland yet.” I shook my head, rubbing my elbow and pondering the sensations. “But there’s a big, high-quality, military-grade backpack at the door there to welcome me.”

I felt no pain — the painkillers had done their job. But there was a new sensation inside my elbow joint, like there was something crawling around inside, examining, touching the sore spots lightly. Was that how the medicine worked? My elbow didn’t look any different — it was still swollen, purple, and ugly. I decided to trust in the power of medicine and not take my arm out of the sling for now.

We reached our familiar hallways without any trouble, walked into CLUX-17, and sat down at the nearest empty table. After a minute, people at the neighboring tables started to quietly move away.

There were so many different sides to our reputation as bloody murderers.

I wasn’t surprised. Fear and an urge to flee a potential threat or unfolding conflict are just manifestations of survival instinct. I was happy for these people — they demonstrated an enviable lust for life.

Suddenly, Yorka got jumpy and tense again. Had she ever been calm and relaxed in her life? Her constant nervous tension was so powerful that, if it were electricity, you could attach a couple wires to her temples and power all the lights in two whole hallways. Although, I couldn’t say I knew a lot of emotionless women. They seemed to always find a reason to worry.

What was it now?

I followed Yorka’s gaze as she tried to kick me discreetly under the table.

Three men were approaching us. Three halflings, to be exact. They were wearing jeans, t-shirts, and even long jackets — I have to get myself one of those, I thought. The hip-length jackets were made from some kind of rubberized fabric, and had lots of pockets and high collars that most certainly hid neatly-folded hoods. The sleeves reached mid-palm. The jackets didn’t seem to be lined, but given the ambient temperature around here, it was more than enough to stay comfortable. I really, really wanted one.

Each halfling had a belt with a bag attached. No colors or symbols hinted at a particular group. Was this an independent trio up against our duo?

I smiled reassuringly at Yorka and stared at the first of the three men. They were men, not boys — each well over forty. All three had intelligent eyes, and kept their hands in sight but still close to their belts. The second man stayed slightly behind, skillfully hiding something up the long sleeve of his jacket. He looked like a man who was always ready for trouble.

“Good afternoon, citizens.”

Now that was a polite way to start a conversation. Spoken like a true halfling. Or a civilized orc. Definitely not some filthy, savage, ignorant goblin.

“Good afternoon,” I replied. “How can we be of assistance?”

“We got a job from the system,” he said.

Then he paused.

I chose not to break the silence. The goblins around us tried to hide their tense curiosity, pretending to be fascinated by the freshly-cleaned tabletops. We cleaned them, and cleaned them well!

“In fact, it was a two-part job. The first part was to bring the corpses of the three murdered orcs to the nearest medblock, as fast as possible. We did it. Johnny made things a little… difficult, though.”

“He was a big one, for sure.” I nodded understandingly.

They would have had to bring the fresh bodies to the medblock fast. Their limbs were in good condition, so sure as shit they would be repurposed to serve another ‘newborn’. That guy would never know the fat paws he started his life with here once belonged to the deceased Johnny.

I wondered what would happen if I cut off someone’s arm — someone athletic, in good shape — took it to the medblock, and asked the system to replace my bad left arm. Would I instantly get torn to pieces? Or would the system just confiscate the nice arm?

But I was getting lost in thought. The halflings were waiting for my response, but I just smiled and said nothing. Yorka ran a grubby finger over the tabletop. Hey, goblin! I thought. Show some respect! We just cleaned that table!

“Then came the second part. Mother asked us to find the murderers of these three wayward children of hers.”

What? What did he just say?

‘Murderers of her wayward children’? Damn!

“Our Mother is kind and merciful, she loves each of us. And she bestows on each of us a unique fate and unique trials. Hail to our Mother!”

“Hail to our Mother!” The halfling behind him repeated, then looked at me.

I looked at Yorka — she had opened her mouth to repeat that stupid phrase. I looked back at the trio and said with a smile:

“Don’t wait on me, guys. I won’t be a part of that bullshit — Buddha forbids it. But it’s certainly a personal choice. Anyway, how can I help you gentlemen?”

The trio leader processed my answer, wincing and chewing at his lip in displeasure. In a strange gesture he carefully wiped the corners of his mouth with his index fingers and said:

“Mother wants us to find the murderers. And we’re more than happy to oblige.”

Happy to claim the reward, more like. Eager servant, my ass.

The system was looking for the murderers. It didn’t see the crime happen, so it hired a gang of wannabe detectives! That was bullshit.

“A few trustworthy zombies and goblins named you as the suspected murderers.”

“Named us?!” I raised my voice so it could be heard at the closest dozen or so tables. “Some goblins pointed at me and Yorka? Who?”

“That doesn’t matter…”

“Yes, it does! Who pointed at us? You know, I can point at people, too! You, for example!” I pointed a literal finger at him. “I think you’re the murderer! I’m a trustworthy goblin! I mean, a trustworthy orc. It doesn’t matter! So who’s spreading lies about us? Give us names! I mean, numbers!”

“I will not.”

His voice was cold and confident, radiating fearlessness and self-confidence. However, he subtly stepped back a little and turned his hips, ready to take a wide step to the side at any moment, avoiding a potential hit and giving way to the fighter standing behind him. And he was certainly a fighter. The one in charge of tactics, who had come up with a brilliant plan to help the leader avoid an attack.

I leaned forward to rest my right elbow on the table, and shifted slightly to the side so I could see the second man. I looked him over carefully and said:

“You’re too tense, man. It’s obvious you have something dangerous up your sleeve. You have to act natural. Don’t hide behind your boss’s back so much. He’s a big man. One day, he’ll be too slow to get out of the way and end up getting stabbed. And don’t stand in such a wide stance. You should be up on your dominant foot, barely touching the floor — but you know that. Anyway, you’d be better off keeping him behind you, let him talk from there.”

A long silence fell.

“Point taken.” He nodded shortly, eyes flashing with anxiety. He slowly moved out from behind his boss and stiffened. “Who are you?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Five-Fifty-Three.”

“I’m double ones, but they call me Elb.”

“I’m Wedge.”

“Listen, Wedge. Tell your boss to take his search for the murderers elsewhere. There are no murderers here.” I looked at the leader of the trio. “Just two work-weary goblins who want to sit and chat before we take showers and hit the sack. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” the bodyguard replied.

“Yes.” The leader agreed, regret in his voice. The only thing he understood was that there was no point in pressing us — we weren’t going to crack. And if we didn’t confess, there was no way they could complete their job.

What other options did he have?

Look for witnesses? There were no witnesses. Find fake witnesses? They would have had to be near the scene of the crime at the right time. I had no idea if the system had a lie detector it could use on the witnesses.

There must have been nuances I didn’t know about. Detective work couldn’t be that simple. But they definitely needed concrete evidence, since this justice system punished the guilty with dismemberment.

“There are no murderers here!” I repeated loudly, with a smile. “But I’m sure whoever killed Johnny and whatstheirnames did us all a big favor.”

“Mother condemns murder!” The lead detective said curtly. There was outright disapproval and disgust in his voice.

Of course this neat, tidy halfling thought I was disgusting — me, a filthy, vicious goblin.

“I’m asking you, Eleven, and you, Ninety-One. Did you commit the aforementioned triple murder? Mother is watching!”

This was no murder investigation — it was an inquisition! What did he expect me to do? Fall tearfully to my knees and confess everything? And that last part about Mother watching... I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a hot poker.

“You got your answer. There are no murderers here. Leave in peace, halfling!” I repeated, more harshly this time.

“Justice will prevail. Even in this world.” He said triumphantly as he left.

I wasn’t going to make it easy for him:

“Hey! Head Clown! Where did you get that jacket? What’d it cost?”

I didn’t get an answer, just a quick, sharp glance from the bodyguard. I met his eyes just as sharply, and the trio walked away. They hadn’t made it ten steps when their leader (I was already sick of him) turned around and proclaimed confidently:

“You can’t hide the truth forever!”

At that, Yorka stood up and burst out:

“Get lost! We told you, there are no murderers here! What part of that don’t you understand? Or maybe you’re the murderers, trying to shift the blame onto us?”

She was furious, finally laying bare her long-suppressed emotions. None of the three halflings dared to argue with her flame-spitting tongue. They had enough of a brain between them to understand it was useless, so they left in silence. Yorka plopped back down on the bench and snorted angrily. I should have given her a pat on the shoulder, but I was too busy watching my old friends — Tiger and Buxa — pass by. My eyes followed them automatically. They caught me staring, slowed down for a second, then hurried to hide in one of the spines. Looked like they had heard the news, too.

I turned to Yorka and suggested:

“Let’s hit the capsules a little early tonight.”

“Good idea!” She agreed. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“We have to be up at one in the morning.”

“Are you kidding? No? You’re serious? One in the morning? Hmm…”

I waited patiently, watching her thinking over the events of the day and slowly but steadily coming to a conclusion. It took her three minutes, after which she said firmly:

“We get up at one o’clock. That gives us a huge advantage — no griefers, no crowded hallways or job sites. We get our jobs done, and maybe even get a party job.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Whatever way you look at it, getting up early is the best way. We’ll get a few hours of sleep after lunch if we’re really exhausted.”

“Ten-four, goblin. Hey, Elb…”

“What?”

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

“This place…” I looked around the hall filled with zombies, goblins, orcs and a few small groups of halflings. “This is the Outskirts. What is there for us here? Tomorrow will be our last day in this place.”

“Are you serious?”

“Well, it’s my last day here, that’s for sure — barring something unpredictable. You can decide for yourself. Anyway, what do you have to lose by leaving?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Fine! I won’t ask you where we’re going — I don’t like bad news before bedtime. Don’t forget to take your painkillers and medicine. I’m gonna get some water and go to bed.”

“Wait for me. We’ll find two empty capsules close to each other.”

“We just have to make sure we wake up by one.”

“I’ll wake you up,” I promised with the malicious grin of a true goblin. “Abandon all hope of getting a good night’s sleep.”

“No rest for a goblin…”

“No rest, indeed.”

* * *

Balance: 11 sol.

I had skipped dinner and water in the evening to save a few sol, and I didn’t have to get my shots for a while still. But the system took rent for my slightly defective set of limbs, and I had spent three sol on personal hygiene.

Current time: 01:05.

Yorka crouched by her empty capsule, yawning and taking small sips from the bottle. I didn’t bother her — I wasn’t thirsty. I was busy working out my left arm, bending the elbow back and forth, slowly and carefully, inch by inch. I smiled contentedly. It was much easier to bend now, and I didn’t get the sensation of glass being ground up inside. The painkiller they had given me before I went to bed had also kicked in. It was surprisingly strong, but even despite that, I could tell my elbow was getting much better.

All of my limbs were starting to look much better. They weren’t any younger, but some of the age spots had disappeared, the limbs themselves were a little thicker, no longer skeletal. The fingernails were a healthy pink. The toenails were still far from it, but at least they weren’t black. It was easier to move my toes, my grip was stronger, and my knees no longer popped and cracked every time I moved. The left side of my lower back ached in the evenings, but that was something I could live with.

I couldn’t help but admit that the medicines and vitamins the system gave out worked perfectly.

If only I could bend my left arm. Then I’d be able to live and work hassle-free.

Automatically, I ran a hand over my smooth cheek. Yesterday I had decided my face was too stubbly, so I shaved it all off. I didn’t have to, though — there were plenty of bearded goblins and orcs, not to mention zombies and worms, whose faces were usually almost hidden under hair — but I decided to shave. A shaving pill cost two sol. Yes, a shaving pill. A gray pill the size of a huge coin, sold in vending machines. You had to take it into the shower and soak it in water, which would turn it into grayish-blue jelly. Then you slather the jelly wherever you wanted to shave. One pill wasn’t enough to shave your head, but it was more than enough for your face, armpits, and wherever else there was unwanted hair. After a minute, you’d just wash the jelly off along with the hair. That was it.

At the moment, I was a freshly-shaven orc who didn’t reek of sweat. Talk about personal growth!

I asked about haircuts, and was surprised at the answer. The system wouldn’t do it — you had to do it yourself or find a goblin with a pair of scissors to cut your hair as best he could. If you didn’t want to risk that, you could always buy two shaving pills and smear them on your foolish head.

I made sure that Yorka was fully awake and asked:

“What does the system want the half-asleep goblin to do today? What act of service does it require?”

“Damn, it’s surprisingly clean work.”

“Oh, let me guess — deliver twenty blocks from the port to receptacles A, B, С and D?”

“Yeah. You got the same job? I guess that makes sense, since we’re a party. Are you ready to start your day?”

“More or less.”

“Let’s move out, then. We’ll have breakfast on the way. How far do we have to go?”

“Pretty far, more than two miles. We go to intersection 17, then take path 12 to path 29, and that’ll bring us there. Almost an hour of walking.”

“We can do it in thirty minutes,” I disagreed. “Let’s move out.”

We headed down the quiet, deserted hallways. It was creepy, to be honest. I’d only been here a few days, but I was already used to the crowds, the yelling, the noisy eating, the laughing and crying... All the sounds that filled the Outskirts from morning to night. And now it was disturbingly quiet…

As we walked, I taught Yorka how to turn corners the right way. Most people walked right up to the corner and took a sharp turn to save time and energy. I made her stay far from the wall, turning smoothly. It took three or four steps more, but it might save her from being stabbed — this way made it easier to spot an ambush and react in time. My companion, as I had started to call her, was sleepy and annoyed — she hissed and snarled at me, but improved her technique more and more with each corner.

“There’s no one here.” Yorka said in surprise as we approached intersection 17. “Why is everyone asleep? Doing your job this early is way easier! You can sleep or walk or do whatever once you’re done!”

“Why did you sleep at night before you met me?” I answered her with a question.

“Well, nighttime is for sleeping…”

“There’s your answer.”

“Are you saying we’re the only ones doing this?”

“Of course we’re not. Trust me, there’s a lot of clever types who work at night, quietly and discreetly. They just don’t bother to tell anyone else to do it, or convince them of the benefits. Why bother? They came up with the idea themselves, or they stole it from someone else, and just don’t want to share.”

“I see. We’re not trying to convince anyone else, either. You don’t want to share, right?”

I shook my head. “There’s another reason. No good deed goes unpunished.”

“What do you mean?”

“It starts with telling some goblin about all the benefits of working at night, because you want to help him. He listens to you, probably yawns, and waves it off as nonsense. Then the funny part starts — you get going, and start trying to convince him you’re right instead of telling him to go fuck himself. Finally, you convince him. So he asks you to wake him up at night, bring him to the job site, and then he makes you help with the work. You do it, but he’s still not sure and wants to try again to be certain. The next day the whole thing repeats itself. You’re covered in dirt and sweat, barely able to finish your job and help the other guy, too. Only then does he reluctantly admit that there is something to it. He agrees to accept your offer if you wake him up every morning and help him with his job. But if you say you won’t wake him up and help him, suddenly you’re a lying son of a bitch!”

“You’re one pessimistic bastard!”

“I’m not pessimistic, I’m just being realistic. That’s why smart goblins like ourselves keep a low profile and do their job quietly. Since, after all, we walk alone at night with no witnesses. Who knows, maybe someone you shared your vision with will realize your sandals would fit him perfectly, and he jumps you around some dark corner?”

“Yeah, that’s how it goes in the Outskirts.”

Soon we were deep into unknown territory. Unknown to me, that is. I slowed down and kept Yorka from going too fast. Haste makes waste, goblin.

“I’ve been here before!” She tried to reassure me. “Many times. I’ll lead the way.”

I nodded in agreement, but still didn’t speed up. I had to look around.

This place was… different. The same hallways, paths and walkways, but at the same time everything was slightly different. It looked older. The metal walls were tarnished, the ceilings weren’t as high as in the hallways where we lived — almost three feet lower. The solid metal floor had grates spaced evenly throughout, and air streams surged up from underneath them. Each of the streams was surprisingly different. One was humming and warm, with the faint scent of dust and iron. Walking over it was pleasant, and I even took a moment to warm up. The second one blasted out a jet of ice-cold air that made us shiver. The next stream was weak, and carried the scent of something edible, but we couldn’t tell what it was. These hallways had more turns than ours, and there were strange bulges on the walls and ceiling. I couldn’t figure out what they were for. The heated wall ledges, so well-loved by us goblins and so good for warming tired bones, were nowhere to be seen.

“What’s taking you so long, goblin?” Yorka was losing her patience.

“This is a new environment for me,” I replied readily. “I have to learn every detail.”

“Well, take your time and learn, then, I guess.” Yorka pouted. She couldn’t wait to get to work.

“Feel free to ask me questions,” I said. “It’ll help pass the time.”

“Okay! So what exactly are you trying to learn about?”

“The surroundings, how this place is designed, every tiny detail. Traces of what used to be here but was torn down. And things that are new, that weren’t here when it was built.”

“Well, I see the same old hallways. There’s nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“See that?” I pointed at the rail passing over our heads, where the watcher domes would travel.

“Yeah. Mother’s Path.”

I winced and groaned. “Stop that!”

“Okay.”

“Just compare the rail to the walls and the floor! See? It was put up much later. There were no rails or domes here originally. But over there,” I pointed, “and there — we’ve passed ten spots like that already — there are stains and sealed holes on the wall right under the ceiling. There used to be some kind of equipment mounted there, and I’m almost sure that it was surveillance cameras.”

“So what? The system used to watch us on camera, then they mounted the rails and got the domes running. What does it matter? It’s still the same thing, just an upgrade! Progress!”

“You may be right,” I agreed. “But every tiny detail could prove useful. Look, over there, at the entrance to the next hall or whatever it is. Do you see that?”

“You mean those three marks on the doorway?”

“Yeah. That’s from a door, there used to be a door here. Going by the size and the number of fixtures, it was a pretty heavy one, too. There are sealed-up holes in the top and the bottom of the jamb. There was definitely a door here, Yorka. Look at the wall next to it — you can see where the door used to bang against the wall, that dent from the lock. A heavy, manually operated lever lock.”

“So? Oh…” She fell to thinking.

There were no doors in the hallways, job sites, and quarters back near our clux or in any part of the Outskirts I’d been to. No signs of former doors, either. The medblocks and food rooms had automatic doors, but they slid into the walls or the ceiling. The door at the entrance to this hall, however, had a manual lock, judging by the faint marks on the wall nearby. Whoever lived here long ago could open and close it, lock and unlock it freely.

Was that a minor detail?

No. It was crucial — I just had no way to use this information yet. The only thing I knew for sure was that it was a long, long time ago, and was there for a long time until someone changed everything, depriving the goblins of their right to open and close doors.

Something moved far ahead of us. It was a blurred movement, fast and quiet, right at a corner about a hundred yards from us. I halted and held out a hand behind me. Yorka, bumped into it and looked at me in surprise. She quickly figured out what was going on and had the sense not to talk, just mouthing, “What?”

I raised my hand, put a finger to my lips, and motioned for to her to copy me. I took off my sandals and tucked them into my belt bag, then moved closer to the wall and walked forward, treading softly on the cold and warm tiles of the steel floor, wincing each time my feet touched the metal grates. Each time I felt a pang of superstitious fear, imagining slender claws or fangs piercing my bare feet from below the grating, and the satisfied, guttural growl of a monster slurping and feasting on my blood. It was silly — and it wasn’t like the thin rubber of my sandals would’ve made a difference. But the way the grates seemed to breathe still unnerved me. I walked hesitantly, legs shaking, ready to spring away from the imaginary danger.

Was it really imaginary, though? I had already learned that the Outskirts were fraught with real dangers. I wasn’t about to dismiss my own groundless fears, but I also wasn’t going to let them distract me. I kept moving forward, leading Yorka along, eyes ahead but still watching my back every now and then.

When I reached the turn where I had seen movement, I paused for a moment, listening. Disappointment hit me — there were too many background noises, what with all the machines clanking, air streams hissing, and liquids gurgling… It was almost impossible to pick up the subtle sound of footsteps or breathing.

I peered around the corner. There was no one there.

The brightly lit hallway widened a little, stretching ahead of us. There were more grates on the floor, and on the walls, too. I noticed a few on the ceiling, and thought of Yorka’s bone-chilling stories about the unlucky bastards who got showered in acid, boiling water, or other harmful liquids. Those ceiling grates looked like something really bad could come pouring onto our heads from them. It didn’t even have to be liquid — a whistling jet of high-pressure steam from a leaky pipe would be enough to instantly turn us into boiled corpses.

I thought of the rubberized coats and jackets I’d seen the halflings wearing. They had hoods. If you got hit by a steam jet from above with one of those on, you’d still have a chance to jump back before you got burned. Life in the Outskirts wasn’t a video game, but your gear was still a major part of surviving here. I considered going back on my decision and staying for a while, if just to get Yorka and myself properly outfitted in the shortest amount of time.

As we made our cautious way around the next corner, I stopped abruptly. Yorka looked over my shoulder after almost bumping into me. I froze, staring with increasing surprise at the man walking determinedly down the hallway. Was he an orc or a goblin? He looked like something in between. He wore shorts, sneakers, a baseball cap, and a t-shirt that was too big for his skinny body — he was whip-thin and looked no older than twenty. But he moved freely, softly, silently and very… unusually.

He kept to the left wall and took five confident steps along it, brushing it with his fingers the whole time. Then he froze for a brief moment before taking ten more steps, moving rapidly away from us. He stopped again, tilting his head in an odd fashion, like he was listening for something. He kept moving, but when he got to one of the grates, he squatted and held his hand over the upcoming stream, leaning forward and… sniffing the air? Once he confirmed whatever he was trying to figure out, he got up, stood still for a minute, then continued on, reaching the turnoff to a narrow path in seven steps. His hand found the corner and he turned down the path after a brief glance back in our direction. I thought he would notice us and raise his head, revealing the face hidden by the brim of his hat. It would have been impossible for him not to notice us — we were only thirty steps away.

Surprisingly, he stared right at us with absolutely no emotion, then disappeared down the side passage. Only then did my brain processed what my eyes had seen — two nasty scars across his right cheekbone, all the way up to the brim of his hat. Scars that ran right through his…

Holy shit!

“Damn…” I whispered.

“Did you see that, Elb? His face…”

“He’s blind,” I replied quietly. “I mean, wow! That’s amazing.”

“You think it’s amazing, goblin? Blow up and die! The guy’s blind! He has to feel his way around! I wonder where he’s going.”

“To work, of course.” I said, moving forward again. “Where else would he be going?”

“But he’s blind!”

“What else is he supposed to do? That’s right, he’s blind. Those scars look like claw marks. Something nasty happened to him. What options does he have? Starve to death? Sell himself to afford food? Beg at intersections for slimy, half-eaten food cubes? Or, even worse, for someone’s thick, beef-flavored spit? Or a little delicious snot?”

“Yuck! Shut up, Elb, that’s gross!”

“Not so loud.”

“What are you even saying?”

“Just telling it like it is. He didn’t have much choice — either beg and slowly wither away, or adapt and stay independent.” I continued in a softer tone. “Don’t freak out, goblin! What I’m trying to say is he’s doing great. I mean, did you see how he moves around and finds his way?”

“Speaking of which… How does he even find his way without a stick? Isn’t he supposed to have, like, a white cane to tap the floor and the walls with?”

“He chose a different strategy. He has all his limbs. He moves without hesitating, and doesn’t make any mistakes, so he must know the route by heart. Hmm…”

“What?”

“I don’t think he’s completely blind.”

“What? Those scars went right through his eyes!”

“His eye.” I amended. “We couldn’t see the second one. I bet it’s still there, just badly damaged. But I’m sure it works at least a little.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The system messages,” I explained. After a moment, Yorka slowly nodded as understanding hit her. I added: “Unless they get sent straight to our brains.”

“I get it. The messages… He must be able to see them to get his daily jobs.”

The messages popped up in front of our eyes… At least as far as I could tell.

“It used to be a topic of some pretty heated arguments. Lots of yelling and fighting,” Yorka added, breathing on the back of my shoulder while I looked carefully around the next corner. “Screaming, bloody noses, faces hitting the tables! Goddamn goblins. They argued ‘til they were hoarse about whether your brain or your eyes get the messages. But that’s all settled now, and they don’t argue anymore. What do you think?”

“I think we should find a totally blind person. Like, someone without eyes at all. And ask him about the system interface. Then we’ll know.”

“Ugh…” Yorka shivered. “Mother save us! Anything but the eyes! I’d rather lose both my legs than my eyes! You’re right, though. There was this goblin who lost both his eyes, and he stopped getting system messages. He was a solid goblin, even made it to orc sometimes. But when he lost his eyes, he became a zombie almost immediately, and then eventually a worm. When he got his last limb cut off, he went crazy. He’d just lying on a bench all day long, laughing his head off. Then his laughs turned into weird gurgling sounds, and then he died. I didn’t see it — I did my best to stay away from that path so I didn’t have to see that blind, cackling stump of a man…”

“Interesting.” I stopped. “That’s really important information. Thank you.”

“Did you miss the part about the mad worm and how badly he suffered?”

“The past is gone for good.” I looked at my partner. “We can’t help him. The smart thing to do now is to forget about it. Look to the future, goblin, don’t look back! Figuratively, of course. You should look back when you’re in these dark hallways.”

“I get it. I’m not that dumb! Screw you and your figures of speech. Why’s that information so important, anyway?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “At least not yet. Shh! Get down!”

I pulled at her arm and crouched down, staring forward attentively.

We had reached a tiny intersection. It was like a roundabout, with a grated floor and three passages branching off of it. One was the one we had followed to get here, the second went up at a slight angle, with rivulets of water running down it into the central grating, and the third one looked just like the one we had used. The blind goblin took the third passage — so far, our routes lined up. However, it wasn’t the blind goblin that made me stop and crouch down. I was looking at the medium-sized wall grate. I thought I had caught a slight flicker of movement behind the bars, several shapes moving in the direction of the third passage, like something behind the wall was chasing the blind guy. Warm, damp air came out of the floor grate, forming a pale fog over the floor that hid us from sight. I looked at the wall grate above the haze for thirty seconds… A minute… Nothing. Not the slightest hint of movement in the darkness beyond the grate.

Almost silently, I whispered:

“Did you see something moving over there?”

“No,” Yorka shook her head. “What was it?”

“I don’t know…”

“Maybe it was just your imagination? The fog kind of swirls around here… And goes that way…”

“Maybe.”

The fog really was swirling all over the place in curly, quivering clouds, slowly being sucked into the wall grate. The whole intersection seemed like a living, breathing, moving creature. It would have been easy to start seeing things.

Fine…

“How much further?”

“Almost there!” Yorka answered, her cheerfulness back. “Let’s move! Thirty more steps, then we’ll turn to the left and we can get started on our night job.”

“Night shift,” I corrected her.

“What? What’s the difference?”

“That way it sounds way cooler.”

“Hell no, it doesn’t!”

“What do you know!”

“Pff! I’m not convinced, Elb the goblin. That still sounds pretty lame.”

Yorka’s estimate was right. In a few minutes we reached the biggest hall I’d ever seen. There were two rails on the ceiling with two domes that moved back and forth rapidly, occasionally disappearing into the hallways, then returning. I automatically noted that the system saw what happened in this hall all the time. It only took a few minutes to figure that out, since the domes moved impressively fast. The ceiling was low — that same old-fashioned design.

There was no one in the hall except us and the blind guy.

I didn’t know if he was completely blind. He was about forty steps away, but he didn’t hear us approaching — there were a lot of noises coming from all directions, masking the sound of our steps. The guy stood by a small platform in the middle of the hall, doing something with a piece of cloth. He had thrown the loose end around his neck and was tying knots, as far as I could tell. Yorka dragged me over to the same spot, so I assumed it was where we’d be starting our work.

Yorka muttered something under her breath, probably ‘blow up and die,’ knowing her, while I followed, looking around and studying every detail.

It was a huge hall with six routes in and out. The tunnel that brought us here was labeled 13. Three walls of the hall looked similar — tarnished metal, grates at regular intervals — but the fourth wall was… strange, even compared to all the other strange things I’d seen here. There were no grates, just rows of square holes covered with numbered metal hatches. Seven rows in total. Steep iron stairs led to the upper ones, and each row had a letter at either end. The highest one was A, then came B… Ah, shit, I thought. My poor knees… Our job had us working with the first letters of the alphabet.

“We’ll be sweating today,” Yorka sighed, then immediately reassured me. “Keep your chin up, goblin, we still have to wait for the hatch to open. It’s a hell of a job to lift them, though — they’re heavier than they look!”

That’s when the blind guy heard us. He stopped what he was doing, raised his head anxiously and moved a hand towards his belt bag. I took a step forward and said calmly:

“Hello there. Stay cool and keep working.”

He said nothing, just tilted his head to one side, pointing the brim of his hat toward us, contemplating. His lips were tight and his shoulders were tense. He didn’t let his guard down, not knowing whether to expect trouble or not.

I repeated:

“Stay cool. My partner and I aren’t going to bother you. If any griefers show up to mess with us, we’ll deal with them.”

“Hello. And thank you.” There was still some nervousness in his voice, but at least he moved his hand away from his bag. “Griefers don’t dare cause trouble around here.”

It wasn’t my words that reassured him. He was talking about the domes above us. At least one of them was watching all the time, and that’s what kept the griefers at bay. He was clearly thinking about the hallways. Finishing the job was just one part of the story — he also had to make it back to the safer tunnels.

“That’s great,” I said, and turned to the platform.

Hmm…

It was not so much a platform as a huge bulge made from large, curved metal plates. Three paces long, two paces wide, about six feet high. Sturdy, solid construction. The metal was welded tightly, but not well. It hadn’t been built too long ago — the metal looked bright and clean, much newer than the rest of the hall. A shelf, about a foot wide and six feet long, was attached to the steel hump. A half-inch of metal siding along the edge made it more of a tray than a shelf. Metal cubes lay on the tray.

These cubes were huge, with faces over a foot wide, and slightly rounded corners and edges. They looked like giant dice, except there were not markings on them other than a few scratches. I could tell right away that the cubes had been in use for many years. What were they used for? I had no idea, since there was nothing on them. Still, I was sure they were the blocks mentioned in today’s job description.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, looking somewhere between Yorka and the blind guy.

I waited for a response. One of three things would happen: both of them would answer, one of them would answer, or they would both ignore me. Sadly, it was the third option. Neither said anything — they were too busy. Yorka moved one of the blocks a little, wrapped her arm around it, and pulled it off the tray with significant effort. The blind guy was still fiddling with his cloth, which turned out to be three handkerchiefs tied together. He was making an intricate harness to help him carry the cubes. Working by feel, he wrapped a cube in a loop, pulled it, and lifted slightly… And the block hung in the harness, putting weight on his back and shoulders, but not his arms. He turned, striding silently and confidently towards the stairs. When he had almost reached the wall, he stretched out a hand, waving it in front of him until he grabbed the railing of the nearest staircase. He found the first step with his foot and began to climb.

Well, at least now I knew how he managed to survive and even keep his rented limbs, despite not being able to see. There was no secret to it — he was just smart, focused, and organized, and he thought ahead. These were priceless qualities.

“Grab a block, goblin!” Yorka panted as she carried her cube to the stairs. She grunted with the weight.

I began to dream even more fervently about a backpack. A backpack and one of those jackets!

I wondered why Yorka was grunting so loudly. Why were all her muscles engaged? Why was she leaning to one side?

I went to pick up a block...

And everything fell into place in an instant. The cubes were heavy. Like, really heavy. Each one had to weigh at least fifty pounds. I might have been able to carry one if I had two working arms — it wasn’t too far to the stairs, I could take breaks, and the hardest part was dragging them up the stairs. But carrying such an awkwardly-shaped object with just one arm… My ribs were going to learn the meaning of pain.

I didn’t complain. I watched the other two, copied their movements, and got the cube to the top level. I sat on the top step, panting, and started massaging my legs vigorously.

Muscles… stamina, strength… I recovered at a surprisingly fast pace. A lot was unfair in this place, but the food, water, and medicine certainly deserved some praise. The system was generous with the shots — my arms and legs were getting noticeably stronger, and all the hard work helped them along. The ‘vitamins’ must have had some kind of additive that sped up muscle growth. Once again, I wasn’t about to complain. I needed that strength, stamina, and speed. I would agree to a double dose of whatever it was, if it was safe to do so. I knew where to get it. All I needed was more sol to buy it — and I was going to earn those sol, starting today.

Job: Insert twenty blocks into the receptacles in rows A, B, С and D.

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

Job location: Zone 1, Block 2.

Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.

Compensation: 15 sol.

The funniest part of today’s job was that there were at least twenty holes in each of our four assigned rows. At least half of them were open at the moment, and they weren’t going to close until the blocks were inside.

“Get up, goblin. Get up,” I said to myself.

I got up and grabbed my cube, dragged it to the nearest square hole, lifted it, carefully put it inside, and pushed gently. Something clicked, the hatch closed slowly, and it clicked again. The block count in my task log went down one. Easy. Easily said, at least. I still had to get back down the stairs, walk back to the metal bulge, grab another heavy cube, drag it back here, climb up the stairs, and put it in a hole…

Five rounds later I sat down to rest just above Yorka, who was sprawled out on the staircase. She was a few blocks ahead of me. We watched in silence as the guy in the baseball cap worked diligently. He was a machine of a man, a methodical robot. Everything he did was aimed at maximizing his efficiency, and he didn’t make a single mistake. By my count, he had already moved ten blocks, which was twice as many as I had. Even though he was blind, he worked faster than we did, and still remembered to scan his surroundings, occasionally freezing and turning his lowered head this way or that. He knew where Yorka and I were at any given moment. He had a computer for a head, constantly processing a huge amount of information.

I leaned toward Yorka and said quietly:

“We need this guy.”

“Huh?” She stared at me with genuine surprise. “Are you kidding me? Come on, goblin! I mean, yeah, we need more party members — I’ve been wanting to suggest that. But…”

“Shh.”

“Can’t we recruit someone healthy for a change? You have one arm. So do I. Now you want this blind dude. Who’s next? Someone with no legs? Or maybe a worm?”

“You know what, that’s a good idea! An undead party!”

“Elb!”

“Just breathe.”

“Yeah, I get it,” She mumbled even more quietly. “I feel bad for him, too. So I think we should take him on. But promise me our next recruit will be in mint condition!”

“You don’t get it, goblin,” I laughed. “Do you really think I’m inviting him to join us out of pity?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. Just look at him. He can’t see, but he works better than us. He didn’t sink to the bottom. Right now I’m trying to choose my words carefully, so I can make an offer he won’t just reject without a second thought.”

“Hmm… I didn’t think of that…”

“Let’s get back to work. He’s carrying his twelfth block already. I’ve only done five.”

“Okay,” Yorka sighed, bouncing upright like a spring. “Let’s see if we can keep up with him!”

We tried. We pushed ourselves at the end, but we were still hopelessly behind the blind guy. When he finished, Yorka still had six blocks left, and I had ten. To my relief, he didn’t hurry off, but decided to rest for a while. He sat down next to the steel bulge, tucked his chin into his chest, and went still. I wasn’t sure if he was asleep or just relaxing. Probably relaxing — it would be foolish of him to trust strangers, even with the domes constantly watching overhead. I wouldn’t risk sleeping here, outside the cozy metal sleeping capsules!

We pressed on and finished the job, doing the last block together. I checked the interface and breathed a sigh of relief. The jobs submenu was blank, which made me feel both glad and a little sad.

Balance: 26 sol.

That’s more like it.

If I could double that, I wouldn’t have to be afraid of losing a limb. It would be enough to get a new one — although I might still die of blood loss or shock while being dragged to the medblock. Dragged by my loyal friends, of course.

The bottom line was this: it was possible to thrive in the Outskirts as long as you were in a party. Working together, extra jobs, camaraderie. I had no doubt that’s how it was meant to be. Goblins were encouraged to form parties, units, and brigades. It was beneficial for the system — a well-motivated group could work many times more efficiently on shorter notice. The carrot and the stick. Nobody cared for the loners here, as far as I could tell. They were destined to exist as orcs, saving sol for a rainy day, occasionally buying clothes or other goodies.

I stood at the top of the staircase, gripping the steel railing, trying to catch my breath and fighting the urge to sit on a step. My legs were shaking, my lower back was aching again, my shoulder and arm were cramping from working them too hard. My arm had suffered the most — the biceps started shaking badly when I tried to flex it.

“Let’s wait a little while,” I said to my partner, assessing the condition of my arm.

Its condition was unacceptable. It was my lone working and fighting limb — it had to be able to do things without failing me. So I sat down and took a sip of water. Yorka sat next to me in obvious relief. We were exhausted. The work wasn’t incredibly hard, though, and we would have been fine if we were well-fed, rested, and healthy.

Anyway, what kind of job was that? Carrying metal cubes to holes in the wall… It made no sense. In fact, it seemed like made-up busy work to keep the goblins occupied and justify their pathetic lives. But it wasn’t.

From the top of the staircase I had a great view of the hall below. After studying it for a while, I noticed traces left by whatever bulky equipment once stood on the floor. It had all been dismantled.

The reason was obvious — it fell into total disrepair and was shut down. This resulted in a gap in the technological process that had to be filled.

Filled how?

Filled by goblins, of course. The broken equipment was dismantled, the hulls were scrapped, the steep metal stairs were set into the wall, and the ugly bulge of the dispenser, fitted with a tray, was set up in the middle of the hall. Then the system started giving out the first jobs to ‘insert blocks in the receptacles’.

This approach spoke volumes. But my attention was drawn to the blind guy at the moment. I noticed that he definitely wasn’t asleep. He was resting, at most, but that was really just a side effect of his activity. He was occasionally moving, flexing his fingers, counting something, and I realized he was refreshing his mental coordinates. He was going over a map of the tunnels in his mind, counting turns. His palm moved forward, and he counted on the fingers of the other hand. One, two, three… On the fourth ‘turn’, he turned his palm to the left and kept counting. One, two, three, four, another turn, and more counting. Then he clenched his hand, marking his destination point. After a brief pause, he started over to keep it fresh in his memory. He couldn’t make a single mistake, because that would ruin his coordinate system — and he wouldn’t notice it at first, making more and more wrong turns as he went.

I stretched and flexed my arm several times. It was working fine again. My muscles were recovering. I examined my knees and nodded approvingly. I poked Yorka, who had managed to doze off during the twenty minutes we had been sitting there.

“Just a few more minutes,” she mumbled sleepily, shifting her shoulder against the wall.

I wasn’t surprised — it was the middle of the night, after all. I decided to sit a little while longer and check my interface.

Job: Wipe markings. (Party).

Description: Procure sponges from chemical vat 14B (CLUX-17) and wipe the wall and floor markings in adjacent hallways 1 — 8.

Job location: Hallways 1 — 8 adjacent to CLUX-17.

Deadline: Evening end-of-work alarm.

Compensation: 20 sol.

Curious...

Wipe down dirty markings?

We had eight hallways to deal with, and they were all really long. I’m not a good runner, but twenty sol is twenty sol…

I looked at the blind guy, who was still sitting there, leaning forward to stretch his back. He looked like he was almost done memorizing his map and was ready to go. He was certainly a very determined type. That just made me want him to join our party even more.

I glanced around the hall and reached to poke the sleeping Yorka, but I suddenly caught a flash of bright orange out of the corner of my eye. What was that? I have to find it!

I looked in the middle of the hall. Nothing there. I ran my eyes over the floor below me and around the central bulge. Still nothing. I looked over the four entrances I could see from my position. Hold on... I thought back to the moment when I had seen that bright thing, at the entrance we came in through. Thick clouds of fog were rolling in through it, crawling along the floor like beaten dogs, gradually fading and condensing into water droplets. It was there, in the fog and darkness, that I noticed that orange... blob? Silhouette?

Yes. It was an unusual yet oddly familiar silhouette. I felt a pang of recognition that made me stand up and stared into the fog-shrouded passage. It felt like looking into the maw of a beast that was breathing heavily, ready to pounce.

Then a wave of air blew through and lifted the steam clouds, revealing…

There! A few steps back from the entrance, shrouded in steam, I saw the familiar silhouettes. They were tiny. Another one, larger, was behind them, but I could see it was bright carrot-orange, with dark spots. The steam thickened again, covering the creatures lurking at the entrance like a blanket.

Pluxes.

There were three small, dark pluxes, and one bigger one with bright orange skin. I assumed it was covered in scales, just like the other ones.

Fuck… Fuuuckk…

I tried to remember everything I knew about pluxes, every term I could use to describe them.

Pluxes. Scaly. Silent. Fast. Agile. Green-blooded.

Orange pluxes? Lurking? Quiet? Stalking?

I thought about the blurred movement I’d seen behind the wall grate in the steam-filled intersection on our way here. Had I seen a glimpse of orange behind the bars, followed by the smaller, darker shadows?

Am I overreacting? Am I imagining things and stretching facts? Pull yourself together, goblin. This is really important!

I closed my eyes, remembering our journey through the older, unfamiliar hallways. We had turned a corner where we almost caught up with the blind guy. We reached the intersection with the grates in the floor and walls. Water was running down one of the tunnels. Something caught my attention, I turned abruptly toward the wall with the grate and…

I was right! I hadn’t been imagining things. I did see an orange plux! That fact had been clawing at my mind — while we were working, I kept thinking back to that moment, trying to figure out what exactly I saw. That’s why I didn’t miss the orange flash in the thick, pale fog, as brief as it was. The things were motionless, which made it hard to notice them.

The orange plux was in the back, behind the rest of its pack.

I wondered what that meant. If it was the pack leader, it should have been ahead of the rest, but it took cover behind them in the fog and darkness. Or maybe it wasn’t the leader. Maybe it was just smart enough to understand that its bright scales gave its position away. Or was the color just a random mutation that had nothing to do with anything?

Still, it stayed behind the rest of the pack, which was crowded together. It seemed like it knew it was too bright. The pack was on the hunt, and I knew who their intended prey was.

The blind guy, who was already starting to stand up.

I had seen these pluxes back at the intersection, following him. They were stalking him silently, waiting for the right time and place to attack. That’s how smart predators hunted, pursuing their unsuspecting prey for hours. It was pure chance I had noticed them when they were passing by.

They waited patiently. Their hiding spot was a perfect place for an ambush, shrouded by fog and darkness. They had definitely noticed that their prey wasn’t alone — this behavior was unusual. All the pluxes I had seen before attacked without hesitation. As soon as the metal barrier was lowered, the pluxes charged forward, only to be smashed by the spiked club.

Damn… I ran through my list of facts about pluxes again and again, adding new ones.

Pluxes. Scaly. Armored. Silent. Fast. Agile. Green-blooded.

I stood up, took off my sandals, and started down the stairs, not waking Yorka. She was unarmed. What could she do against armored beasts? They would tear her apart with their sharp teeth and strong claws. I decided to leave her at the top of the stairs.

What else did I know about them?

I would have to split the list, since apparently there was more than one type.

Grayish-green pluxes. Scaly. Silent. Fast. Agile. Green-blooded.

Orange pluxes. Scaly? Silent. Fast? Agile? Green-blooded? Sneaky. Patient. Smart.

There was too much I didn’t know.

I went down the stairs and walked over to the blind guy, who was carefully folding the handkerchief he had been sitting on. Despite everything, he still kept up healthy habits. That was very wise of him.

He heard me coming and tensed up. His hand darted to his belt bag and snatched out a long, sharp awl. I froze a few paces away, surprised at his sudden aggression. He knew we were in the same hall, working side by side. Then he lowered his face as though looking at my feet, and I understood. Yorka and I had both been wearing our sandals before, and they made a characteristic sound as we walked. But now I approached him quietly. It would have been easy for him to think that it wasn’t one of us approaching, or that one of us had decided to rob the blind man.

“Wow,” I said approvingly, and glanced toward the fog-shrouded passageway. “Your reflexes are fantastic.”

“What do you want? Are you one of the pair who were working here?”

“Yeah, I’m one of them. My partner, Yorka — she’s sleeping up top. I’m Elb. My official number is Eleven, or Double Ones.”

“I’ve heard rumors about you. You killed Johnny. You and your friend,” he said evenly, drawing back a little and placing his back against the metal bulge. “Is your friend really sleeping, or is she sneaking up on me from behind?”

“I’m not here to kill you. As for Johnny, well… Rumors are just rumors.”

He didn’t buy it. “What do you want?”

That was understandable. I could imagine how he had suffered at the hands of people who didn’t give a damn about his disabilities, those who just wanted someone to taunt. I was sure he was kicked, punched, and pushed around. It wouldn’t be all that bad if it didn’t happen on a daily basis...

“What do I want? Well, first, let me tell you a short and very moving story.”

“Forget it. I’m not interested.”

“Do you have a death wish?” I said, surprised.

“Is that a threat?”

“Not to boast, but if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already. You seem like a smart guy, a reasonable guy, so think for yourself. Would I sneak up on you in the middle of a brightly-lit hall with that dome watching us all the time? It would’ve been much easier to just cut you down in the hallway.”

After a short pause, he nodded.

“You’re right. Well, Elb, what is it you wanted to tell me? Why do you think I have a death wish?”

“We’re about twenty-five steps away from the entrance to the passageway we came through. We were following you.”

“I know. I heard you. You walked part of the way without your sandals. I panicked,” he said, and froze again, his head bowed, lips pressed together. He was expecting a trick, a sudden attack.

“That passage is all foggy. And I haven’t seen a single dome over there.”

“It passes there once every two hours. That hallway is a death path.”

“It’s a what?”

“A death path.”

“Why do you call it that?”

“That’s the name given to hallways where domes rarely show up. We call them death paths, death roads, twilight paths, dark paths. One-way roads. Roads of no return. Many names. Haven’t you heard any of them?”

“No. I’m new here.”

“What’s in that tunnel?”

“Pluxes,” I said casually. “Three small ones, a little bigger than rats. And one big one, bright orange, so bright it hurts. I saw this little foursome earlier, behind the grates at the last intersection. They were following you. This might sound ridiculous, but I think they’re stalking you, waiting patiently for the right time and place, looking for a way to get into the hallway.”

“Pluxes…” He repeated, raising the brim of his cap.

I saw his face and winced involuntarily. Unlucky bastard.

The double scar divided his face into two unequal parts, running right through his eyes. His left eye socket was black and empty. The right eye seemed to be still there, but it was blank and badly damaged, with a deeply scarred eyelid.

“Can you see anything?”

“Out of the corner of my eye. Just shapes, moving shadows, and light.”

“Do you see the system messages?”

“Yeah. I see them clearly.”

“So you’re almost blind, but you press on, you survive.”

“I do my best.”

“I respect that,” I said briefly.

He paused.

“Thank you. So the pluxes are in that passage…”

“You don’t seem surprised. Why did you believe me?”

“I’ve been hearing them for several days. But I blamed it on fatigue and stress. I’m really afraid of going into debt and losing an arm. I can’t complete every job. I jump from GBL to ORL and back. But now I know I wasn’t hallucinating. I’ve heard the faint clicking of their claws. And… I know it sounds stupid… but I’ve had a really bad feeling, like something evil and alien is behind me, about to strike. I’ve felt it for three days now.”

“You’re compensating…” I nodded slowly and looked at the dangerous passage. Fog blocked it completely, but I was sure the pluxes were still there, waiting patiently.

“What are you talking about?”

“Losing your sight means you partially compensate for it with your other senses. Hearing, touch, memory. You’ve become much more sensitive.”

“Sounds about right. If the pluxes are still there,” he waved his hand in the right direction, “then we have to cross the hall and go through passageway 17-4.”

“Okay. I see it.”

“We go down that passageway, then take the third left. Then…”

“So what you mean is you know the way?”

“I do. I can get you through the tunnels.”

“Fantastic. I’ll go wake my partner up, and then we’ll retreat quickly but calmly. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds great.”

“Do you trust me now?”

“I do. You killed Johnny and his bitches. Everybody hated them. They say Yorka suffered the most. He was always bragging that he was going to screw her soon. He talked about it all the time. But he was the one who got screwed. You did the right thing.”

“Rumors are rumors,” I repeated. “I still don’t understand why you trust me.”

“People have started to fear you — you’re tough, killer goblins. But I haven’t heard of you extorting sol or stuff from anyone. I’ve heard that you work hard. I hear many things, you know.”

“I see. Let’s get moving.”

I took a step, then looked back…

…JUST IN TIME TO SEE the four pluxes leaping out from the fog. The three smaller ones were out in front, closing in fast. The orange one stayed behind, but it was getting closer, too.

“It’s too late!” I said, pulling my glass blade out of my sling. “Turn around! Listen!”

“I hear them… Their claws!” His voice trembled with fear, but he didn’t run. He crouched slightly, holding his awl out in front of him.

He didn’t beg me to save or protect him. He just stood still and waited for the fight, biting his lip. He wasn’t going to give up his life without a struggle.

Suddenly, the short, pulsating wail of a siren filled the hall. Blinking red lights flashed on the watcher dome — the system had detected the pluxes and sounded the alarm. But this big fucking light show was pointless now.

The three running pluxes split up. Two bounded towards me, and one went for the blind guy. A moment before they separated, the orange plux behind them did something — I couldn’t tell what. Something on its body moved in the place where normal creatures would have a neck. The regular dark pluxes didn’t have anything there except flat, scaly skin. But the bright one had something… something like a growth.

“Plux coming at you!” I yelled. “Ten steps away! Nine!”

“Got it!”

“Elb!” Came a frightened yell from above.

“Stay there!” I barked and, clenching my teeth, jumped forward. I knew it would hurt. A lot.

I landed and took a huge step. A blurred shape leaped onto me and I felt a horrific pain in my left shin that made me want to arch my back, collapse, and writhe on the floor. I growled through clenched teeth. The other plux leaped, grabbing at my other leg. Suddenly, the dark veil of pain lifted from my eyes and my vision cleared. Dragging the attached pluxes along, trying not to look down, screaming in excruciating pain, I managed to take two steps and fall forward with my knife held out in front of me. The pain was tearing me into wriggling, screeching pieces. I wondered if I even still had legs. But I kept my eyes on my target.

I stabbed.

With a squelching sound, the glass shard embedded itself up to the handle in that spot I had noticed before. I hardly felt any resistance. The orange creature tumbled to the floor, legs splayed. I pulled out the glass blade, crouched and almost blindly stabbed at its leg. The blade scratched at the scaly hide, but couldn’t pierce it. Once more! I was about to pass out from the unbearable pain. I realized I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Stab it, goblin! Stab it! The blade slipped again, almost breaking.

A deafening yell rang out, and I saw Yorka standing above me, her face twisted with rage. She swung her arm and the heavy metal block she was holding hit the ugly, scaly tumor that was the plux’s body with all its weight.

Splat!

The creature unclenched its limbs and released my leg, opening its maw, stained with my blood, twisting in pain, and gnashing its teeth. It had been squashed, and was writhing in agony. However, the second plux was still tearing at my other leg. Then it suddenly lost its grip on my leg and fell to the floor, paralyzed. I threw the blade aside, tucked my legs under me, picked up the block with two hands — ignoring the protests from my bad elbow — and brought it down on the monster. Then I lifted the cube and smashed the plux again. Adrenaline was rushing through me, and I didn’t even notice the weight of the steel cube. I lifted it a third time and finished off the second plux. Then I glanced at the motionless orange plux, got up, and rushed to help the blind guy. He was curled up on the bloodied floor next to the feebly-twitching plux with an awl in its flank. Yorka ran up to it and pulled the awl out. I finished that one off with the cube, too, splattering thick green blood across the floor.

Then I groaned and fell to my knees.

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit!”

“Elb! Elb!”

“I’m fine, it’s okay...”

“You think this is okay?! Your legs are torn to shreds!”

“How’s the other guy? Go check on him!”

“No!” Yorka snapped. She took off her handkerchief and twisted it into a tourniquet, holding one end between her knees. “We’re a party. I’m helping you first!”

It was pointless to argue. I was slowly coming to my senses, watching helplessly as she applied the tourniquet below my knee, using her teeth and knees to tighten it. Then she did something clever with the awl to tighten it even more. She helped me take off my sling so I could help her bandage the other leg. I looked down at my wounds. Most of them were claw marks, and I shuddered to think of the potential for infection. Two of them were deep lacerations down to the bone, with perforated edges. That was where their jaws had torn into my flesh.

I struggled to my feet and inched towards the blind guy. My legs could barely hold me up. The bleeding had stopped, but I had to get to a medblock as soon as possible. I asked Yorka once again:

“Go check on the other guy!”

“Fine.”

I picked up the slippery blade, covered in greenish-yellow blood. Only then did I notice a slash on my palm — after that last attack, my hand had slipped off the handle and the blade cut deep into my skin. I shrugged it off. Just a scratch.

I staggered over to the limp body of the orange plux, bent over and picked it up by a leg. With a groan, I stood straight and went to grab the second one, automatically looking up at the ceiling. A dome hovered above me, silent and motionless. The system was watching closely. The second dome moved swiftly around the perimeter of the hall, but the red lights and the alarm had been turned off.

“Elb! He doesn’t look good! His stomach is punctured!”

I hissed angrily. “Shit!”

“His hands are slashed, too, but nothing serious. His stomach, though… We won’t be able to bandage it!”

“His t-shirt! Roll it up and put it on the wound! And help me get him on my back!”

“That’s bullshit, goblin! You can’t carry him!”

“Less talking, more doing, partner!”

“You’re an idiot, goblin! A stupid moron! Blow up and die!”

“And don’t forget to take the plux corpses. All of them!”

“Here!”

A huge weight bent my aching neck. The guy may have been skinny, but he was heavy. I heard my back crack loudly, and could only hope I wouldn’t collapse right away. Hold on, goblin, hold on, you son of a bitch! Move your ass!

I hobbled forward. Each step sent waves of pain through my knees, but I kept running as best I could.

“The pluxes. Don’t forget the pluxes!” I croaked.

Green lines appeared before my eyes. The system was trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t risk reading the message. If I got distracted and raised my eyes from the floor below my feet, I would collapse and never get up.

Go, goblin, go!

Everything after that was a blur.

Yorka screamed and shoved me around until I was pointing in the right direction, swearing, yelling, and crying. I heard the blind guy hanging onto my back mumbling. The walls and the floor were dancing around, moving towards and away from me. I staggered, I stumbled, I felt nauseous. There was something in my blood. Those things had injected it into me. I knew I was going to pass out.

The door opened and I saw a familiar steel chair. I turned around and dropped my burden onto it like a sack of mulch. Yorka helped him get settled in the chair, then grabbed my hand and pulled me out into the hallway, knocking a curious onlooker off his feet. She dragged me to the next medblock, turned me around, and pushed me solidly in the chest. I dropped into the chair.

I saw a blinding flash before darkness enveloped me and my mind went blank.

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.

“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.

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.

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…

“THAT’S UNSETTLING,” I admitted, standing at the end of main hallway 30 and looking dumbfoundedly out at the... landscape that opened up in front of me. That’s right, a real industrial landscape. After all the narrow hallways and closed-in rooms, even though they were big, standing and looking out at this vast expanse made me feel a little dizzy.

The familiar cramped hallways were behind us.

In front of us stretched a practically endless space.

There wasn’t much light, but I could still make out some details.

It looked to me like an expansive canyon with straight, vertical walls. It had to be at least a mile wide, and at least a mile and a half long — so, fairly short as far as canyons went. Almost like the heel of a gigantic foot had come crashing down, leaving a dent in our world, and we were standing at the edge of it. A wall extended a hundred meters to the left, and there was a rift to the right, with lights blinking far off in the distance. A long, metal bridge began right under our feet, perched upon hundreds of ironwork supports that stretched down into the depths. This was the Cursed Bridge. There were no railings to speak of — it was just a flat metal strip crossing the rift, running straight into a solid cluster of lights on the other end. That must be Drainagetown. The bridge was twenty feet wide, and I immediately recognized the same traces of dismantled equipment and shiny patches of metal worn down by foot traffic that I had seen in hallway 30, ending at the entrance to hallway 29, where the hallway was conspicuously built-up. Some form of rail transportation had once run along this bridge — something electric, like a tram. Then it was removed, the rails taken down, seeming to send the message that the mile between Drainagetown and hallway 29 (which, as Bask explained, served as the border of the Outskirts) was an easy walk for hard-working goblins and zombies. No need for transportation. It was just as likely, however, that the tram or whatever it was just stopped working, and the system had no way of replacing its non-functional steel heart.

Plenty of new additions to my road atlas. A map of this world was gradually unfolding inside my head...

The Outskirts were behind us, the border — a section of which we would soon be patrolling — two hundred yards away. The area in front of us was like a buffer zone, made up of the Cursed Bridge, the Stench, and the Stagnant Cesspool. Drainagetown, the upper district of Murkwaters, was a mile ahead of us. Above us... Above us was the same old ceiling and a big observation dome, but it moved erratically, with strange jerking motions. Mismatched pipes ran all across the ceiling towards Drainagetown — or away from it, depending on how you looked at it. Below us was the Stagnant Cesspool. One step forward took me right to the edge of the canyon. I looked down at the bridge supports disappearing into an impenetrable off-white fog that started about fifteen yards down. It was impossible to tell how deep the canyon was, and neither Bask nor Yorka knew.

So this is the Stagnant Cesspool...

I stood on the edge and looked at the fog for a few minutes, scanning the intricate supports, keeping my ears open. My party members didn’t disturb me, just looked around and talked quietly. Well, Yorka looked around. Bask used his ears, turning his head like a radar detector.

And the Stench...

There was no mistaking it — you would have to be blind not to notice the thick brown mass sliding down the wall, flowing twenty yards down into a welded chute that ran parallel to the bridge, across to the other side of the canyon. The brown mass made my stomach clench in disgust. The famous Gutterfall. It started from a long gap — the entrance to the Stench. From where we stood, I could see a metal platform on the side of the gap closest to us. Steep metal stairs led to it, so steep they were almost vertical. I counted six flights. The lowest one, not quite as steep as the rest, ended at the entrance to hallway 30, about five yards from us. If the poor armless, legless souls crippled by the system were really kidnapped by bogmen to be fattened and slaughtered, then this would be the final path they took — unless there was some secret, less obvious route.

“Have you heard the stories about pork?” I asked, still scanning the area and absorbing as much information as I could.

Yorka shivered in response. “Ugh! Blow up and die!”

“Fucking cannibals,” said Bask. “It’s true.”

“About the pork?”

“Yeah.”

“And how they kidnap worms?”

“That’s true, too.”

“Can you trust whoever told you that?”

“I heard someone get kidnapped once,” Bask said quietly. “I couldn’t afford a capsule that night. It was right after I was blinded — I was only just getting used to it, starting to rely more on my hearing. Almost bankrupt, too. I had dozed off on a wall ledge, and then in the middle of the night I heard footsteps. Quiet, but fast. Then they stopped. There was a short, muffled grunt, then more footsteps. Then silence. The next morning, there was no trace of the worm with the beautiful voice who had earned a living singing for the zombies in the area. They paid him in whatever crumbs they had, and it was enough for him to stay alive. But after that, no one ever heard from him again.”

“Was that in the cluster?”

“A little outside cluster 17. Just a couple paths away.”

“And you can get there without the system noticing?”

“There’s a few dark paths, “Bask nodded, “I can tell you the numbers.”

“Not yet.” I shook my head. “So, the stories about sweet, fattened pork are true.”

“Too true.”

“One thing I don’t get — how do they pass human flesh off as plux meat? Something doesn’t add up. Pluxes have green blood.”

“Only the young ones,” Yorka and Bask answered in unison.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?” Yorka threw up her hands. “Their blood is green when they’re small. It gets redder the older they get. The big ones, like knee-high or bigger, have red blood. I should know — I saw a bunch of guys dragging two gray pluxes away. They were red inside where they cut’ em, and the blood running out was red, too.”

“They say that only pluxes who have never tasted our blood have green blood,” Bask added. “Just one taste, and their blood turns red. They also say that pluxes never become adults if they don’t feed on us. They can still eat other things besides us, though — stuff outside the walls.”

“Like slime and trash?” Yorka suggested.

“So, the blood of a plux who has tasted the blood of a goblin turns red,” I chuckled, shaking my head in disbelief. “Sounds like a stretch. But now I understand about the color, at least.”

“Can we get out of here already?” Yorka asked a little grumpily, making sure I saw the goosebumps on her arms.

“Yeah, tour’s over,” I nodded. “Let’s head back — it’s almost time for our patrol.”

Here, at the foot of the Cursed Bridge, the wind gusted furiously. It was strong, then calmed down, then suddenly swooped in, beating at our shoulders or backs, ricocheting off the walls. Hallway 30 was filled with this howling wind that accompanied us as we walked, nudging us from behind. If it’s this windy here, what’s it like on the Cursed Bridge? I didn’t see anything that looked like a handrail — the bridge was just a smooth steel strip, stretching out for at least a mile.

We made it to main hallway 29 without a hitch. It was just three hundred steps, and ours were particularly small. We ran into two other groups at intersections — one was the group we were replacing, and the other was heading for the Cursed Bridge. This second group looked deadly serious. There were five of them, all strong and with all their limbs, equipped with bags, clubs, long awls, shin guards and knee pads, and odd shielded sneakers. They were about to spend two hours at the windy site we had just recently come from, also on patrol. They looked at us with undisguised superiority. At first I thought they were impressive — sharp, cool, and collected — but soon lowered my opinion of them. They didn’t notice that Bask was blind. He moved in a characteristic way and his baseball cap didn’t cover his scarred face entirely, and these orcs should have noticed that, if they considered themselves any kind of fighters. And they certainly considered themselves as such. But they just showed off to Yorka, baring their teeth in predatory grins and flexing their biceps. Idiots.

I didn’t say anything like that out loud, though. We said goodbye and went our separate ways. The patrol getting off work was heading towards cluster 17, and I was almost certain they’d stop into the Jolly Plux for a drink or two. Maybe even gnaw on a few bones — they had earned them, after all. We walked slowly along the wall of main hallway 29. The five orcs marched towards the Cursed Bridge, strutting proudly, elbows splayed and chests puffed out, telling the world they were big shots. I was finally convinced that they were just big, dumb guys who hadn’t been tested by true hardship yet.

“They have the same clubs as me,” Yorka said, “But the hooks aren’t broken off.”

I silently spread my arms, and indicated the hallway in front of me. What could I say? Everyone had to decide for themselves what was more important: a club that you were guaranteed not to lose, firmly hooked onto your belt, or a club that you could whip out quickly and confidently every time.

“Oh, thanks for reminding me,” I said. “You have to keep practicing with your club. Every twentieth step.”

“Damn, why’d I bring it up?” Yorka complained. “Elb, come on... My arm feels like it’s gonna fall off.”

“Fine, every fiftieth, then,” I ceded. “But you better make ‘em count.”

“You bet!”

“You mentioned something about a long, exciting story,” I looked at Bask.

He smiled at that, then cleared his throat, trying to hide his emotions. But it was obvious he was delighted that I had remembered about the stories, and that the leader hadn’t forgotten about the blind zombie.

“Which one do you want to hear? The one about the zombies and the end of the world? Or the princess?”

“The end of the world.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you right now, it starts out pretty strange.”

“Now I’m even more interested.”

He cleared his throat again. “So. An armless zombie walks into a bar, dragging three singing worms and a dead, naked halfling all tied to a rope behind him...”

TWO HOURS FLEW BY practically unnoticed as Bask told his truly bizarre tale. As it came to its conclusion, I came back to the real world and looked at my clock.

Current time: 21:57.

“Only a halfling would do something so mean and dirty!” Yorka said.

“Amen,” I agreed, and looked at Bask in surprise. “Bask, you have real talent for storytelling. But I still don’t understand where the dead naked halfling got the bottle of nuclear orcs. The story was a good one, though.”

“Amen!” Yorka repeated after me, hooking her club back on her belt in relief. “Damn, my poor little arm... It’s killing me! Blow up and die!”

“You’ll get used to the club,” I promised, and looked back again. What could I say — I liked to be aware of my surroundings. Just liked to see what was around me.

I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary — we were practically alone. Hallway 29 was full of nothing but the howling wind. Not a person in sight, other than us. No other patrols, either. The last four goblins had left an hour ago, and no one had replaced them. We didn’t see another patrol on the other end of our area at all. The wind blew some trash along the floor, and a lightbulb flickered in the distance.

Was it strange?

Not at all.

I had noticed a while ago that the evening end-of-work alarm served as another important signal to the populace. ‘It’s eight in the evening! Get out of the hallways, hurry to the clusters! Out of the darkness, into the light. And don’t roam the pathways until morning!’ It wasn’t an official order — not even a recommendation — but most people took it to mean the day was over and it was time to hunker down. Night was instinctively seen as dangerous here, just like it was at the dawn of human evolution when our ancestors hid around fires in caves, listening to the sounds coming from the dark jungle. Our ancestors knew terrible predators hunted at night, and it was the same situation here. Only worse.

Carrot, tangerine... That plux commander had me thinking.

A fucking carrot, a tactical leader. I used to think plux were just armored rats that lived outside the walls. But now I had a lot more respect for them. With the new information I had, it was easy to imagine a small pack of hungry pluxes coming out to hunt at night, moving along the dark paths. It was too dangerous during the day — there were too many people around. But at night, the hallways were almost empty, and it wouldn’t be too hard to stalk a lonely goblin wandering off by themselves, with no help nearby...

Pluxes are intelligent. Fear them, goblin! I tried to hammer this rule into my subcortex, repeating it silently to myself every fiftieth step, and out loud every hundredth step. It didn’t take long for Bask to figure out my pattern, and he interrupted his storytelling to recite it along with me: “Pluxes are intelligent. Fear them, goblin!”

Current time: 22:00.

I looked around the hallway, peered into the distance, and looked at Bask, whose ears were perked up. Nope. No one, nothing. No signs of the next patrol hurrying towards us a little late. No one to take over for us.

Current time: 22:01.

“Hmm…”

“Lazy goblins!” Yorka cursed. She stretched out a hand to straighten Bask’s shirt collar. “What are we gonna do, Elb?”

“The most important thing is that our job gets marked as complete,” I said calmly. “They won’t keep us here — Oh, there we go.”

The system marked our job as done. We each earned fifteen sol, and all it took was two hours of leisurely walking — which I considered a helpful light workout for all of us.

Balance: 30 sol.

It felt great to get all the money and not have anything taken out. The system was paying for our food and medicine today. Even the optional shots would be free. Bask was the only one who had to pay for his — apparently he needed heavier, more expensive drugs. I had to remember to transfer him twelve sol. The system would take fourteen total from me, and Bask would end up with ten. That percentage the system took really bit into the transfers... But I was happy with how much we had earned for such a short combat job.

Receive party combat jobs (compulsory)?

Yes / No.

The system was sneaky, springing this prompt on us so unexpectedly. It had only just dropped a fat stack of cash into our shaking hands, and now this question — ‘Want this to happen all the time?’

Who could say no?

I could. I decisively selected ‘No’, keeping in mind what Mads had told me, that the system would send me the prompt again and again like a little robotic bird mechanically pecking at my brain. The system needed fighters — dedicated fighters. I had seen proof of that myself when no one showed up to take over for us. There weren’t even enough fighters to send out consistent patrols. The Outskirts were just too big, with its hundreds of hallways and rooms.

It wasn’t easy for me to say no. Fighter status came with a lot of cushy benefits. I was tempted to agree, but I had to think of my party. I was confident in my own abilities, but Yorka and Bask needed to be baptized in blood at least one more time. I had to see how they behaved in battle, then look at their faces, look into their eyes, and come to a decision.

“Well, goblins and zombies?” I said cheerfully, rubbing my belly. “Ready to head back to the cluster? A food cube and a little water to help us sleep, and then up and ready to go at five in the morning.”

“Five in the morning?” Yorka looked shocked. “We’re not even gonna get back to the cluster before midnight, Elb! Plus we still have to eat, shower... That leaves us like no time to sleep!”

“Five in the morning,” I said again, firmly. “We’ll get our jobs done early, then get a few hours of sleep after breakfast. Bask, your injuries are bad, worse than any of ours. You can — ”

“No!” Bask cut me off. “I’ll be up at five along with you.”

“Understood, fighter.” I was satisfied with his response. “Let’s go.”

“I have a suggestion!” Yorka jumped in.

“Let’s hear it.”

“There’s a residential area with spines right next to the Jolly Plux. We might find three empty capsules there. We’d pass right by there anyway.”

“And we can enjoy the scent of grilled meat on the way,” I chuckled. “It’s worth a shot. Let’s do it. Bask, lead the way.”

“Sure. Just to check — we’re in section 40 of main hallway 29? Five steps from the turn onto path 40 along the left wall?”

“That’s right,” I replied, not trying to hide the notes of respect in my voice.

Bask’s head really did work like a computer, always ticking and clicking. Even while he talked or argued, even with his glue-drenched stomach wound, or his long, funny story about the end of the world, he was always counting his steps, always keeping track of where he was in this maze of hallways.

“That way,” he waved a hand, “then we turn onto path 33. If we make it in the next ten minutes, we’ll run into a dome and won’t have to go dark.”

“Let’s pick up the pace, then,” I said, moving faster.

My overworked legs groaned in protest. Not my knees this time — my feet. My sneakers with their thin rubber soles and the equally thin socks underneath were not the best choice for long, frequent marches. But it didn’t matter. The long day was almost over, and I was about to have a quick bite to eat, then relax and pass out in a capsule for a full five hours. We were about five yards from the turn when I stopped, rooted in place, reading the alarmingly bright lines that had lit up like a warning in front of my eyes:

Job: Combat.

Description: Eliminate three gray plunar xarls.

Job Location: Main hallway 30!

Deadline: ASAP.

Compensation: 30 sol.

Accept job

Yes / No.

“Damn!” I said, flicking my eyes a little lower.

Job: Defense.

Description: Rescue 457 or his body from four gray plunar xarls.

Job Location: Main hallway 30!

Deadline: ASAP.

Compensation: 30 sol.

Accept job

Yes / No.

“What is it, Elb? The system? What’s it say?”

“Tell me how you’re feeling, team.” I barked. “Quickly! Do you have enough strength in you for a fight? Three gray pluxes, maybe four. I’m pretty sure some of them are wounded. Bask?”

“I’m ready!” He brandished his awl.

“Yorka?”

“Damn...”

“Come on! I need an answer!”

“Let’s go!”

“Follow me!” I turned around and started running, putting merciless strain on my tired, injured legs.

Without turning back, I threw my explanations and instructions over my shoulder, accepting the jobs as I ran.

“Don’t worry, soldiers. We can do this. Yorka, you have the club. Do you remember how to use it?”

“Yeah. But there are three pluxes! Or four! Do we just have the one club?”

“We might have more,” I said. “We’ll find out soon. The pluxes are coming from the Cursed Bridge. A group of five orcs was headed there two hours back. Bask!”

“Yes?”

Even though he was blind, he didn’t lag even a step behind, easily keeping pace with us. I turned around briefly, glancing at his tense, concentrated expression half-hidden by the baseball cap.

“You take care of 457. The system said there were three pluxes, then the second job mentioned 457 and another plux. Okay?”

“The plux is on him. Got it.”

“I’m leaving that blood-sucking bastard to you. I’ll tell you exactly where it latched onto 457. Can you take it out?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s go!” I exhaled, and turned sharply into main hallway 30.

The wind hit my face and chest, and a long, frightened shriek tore across my ears. Sixty yards ahead, a bloody orc was barreling towards us. I recognized him from the group of tough guys. He was coming at us at full speed, carrying a nasty gray ‘gift’ for us attached to his leg.

I decided we would wait for him to reach us. I stopped suddenly, and Yorka crashed into my shoulder, Bask doing the same behind her. I braced myself, and we all stayed standing.

“Stop!” I ordered. “Yorka, take a step forward and stay on the right wall. I’ll stand to the left. Yorka! Let the runner pass you. Hit the first plux that follows with the club. Don’t miss! No! Get your left hand off the club! One hand!”

“But…”

“Did you hear me, goblin?”

“Yes. One hand!”

“Bask, get ready. I’ll knock him down. Listen carefully.”

“Got it.”

“Help me! Help me!”

The orc’s hoarse, wavering cry filled our ears with futile noise again.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

If I was still new, his howl would have filled me with unnecessary worry — maybe even panic. He deserved to have his throat cut, no questions asked. But that’s not what the system wanted...

A shadow flickered. It was fast! Another plux hung from the orc’s right shin. It seemed impossible, but the orc’s screaming somehow grew louder. I grimaced and gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to clap my hands over my ringing ears. Asshole. Take it in silence, or just die already! You’re annoying as fuck!

“There’s a plux on his right leg, too. Bask!”

“Understood!”

“Hit each one twice! Feel for it, then strike. Feel for it, then strike. Then again.”

“Got it!”

“Go!”

The fleeing orc wasn’t ready to die, and so he seemed to be breaking all sorts of speed records. All the easier to stop him. I stepped out of his path and kicked him in the knee. He collapsed, hitting the floor hard, but still didn’t stop yelling. The sound escalated into an ultrasonic screech that grated on my ears. Stepping forward, I delivered a swift, merciless kick to his face — straight to the mouth, splitting his lip and breaking his nose. His scream was cut off, replaced by a more muffled grunting. His hands, which were in bad shape — covered in blood and missing several fingers — came up to cover his face. I bent down and snatched the club from his belt, then strode down the hallway to join Yorka on our line of defense, leaving the orc, the two pluxes, and the blind zombie behind me.

Our enemy’s behind us. That’s bad. All our hopes rested with Bask now.

Our zombie didn’t disappoint. Using his foot to feel up the orc’s thigh, he turned slightly and sat on his upturned ass, pressing him against the floor. Then he leaned forward to feel for the armored tumor on the orc’s right shin before stabbing the plux twice with his awl. By the second strike, his free hand had already found the second plux. Two more stabs.

Reassured, I turned away and adjusted my grip on the club, then glanced down the hallway. I gave Yorka an order:

“The first one’s yours. Go!”

She breathed out, stepped forward, and swung her club.

The third plux was limping on its hind legs. There was something wrong with its spine — it had taken a solid blow already. It was slower, less agile. The perfect opponent for a beginning fighter.

Yorka didn’t miss. She brought the club down right in the middle of the gray, scaly back. The steel spikes pierced the scales, the flesh, and the bones, nailing the plux to the floor.

“Hold on!”

“I’m holding on!”

“One hand, goblin! One hand!”

“But — ”

“One hand!” I snapped.

“Okay!”

“Here!” I pressed an awl into her free hand. “Don’t let go of the club. Shift forward and stab that bastard in the spine! Five times! Go!”

I looked away, stepped forward, and swung my club. Not from above — I saw the surprisingly large plux raise its paws in preparation to pounce. I hit from the side. The four spikes slammed into it, followed by the weight of the club. It jumped, pushing off powerfully with all four limbs, almost tearing the club out of my hand. I leaned to the side, putting all my weight on the weapon, forcing my opponent into the wall. I pressed, leaned even harder, and looked around.

Yorka was viciously stabbing her plux over and over, even though it was clearly dead.

“Yorka!”

She didn’t react.

“That’s enough, goblin!”

She shuddered, looking right through me with wide eyes. I wondered if she realized her mouth was twisted into the mad grin of a berserker.

“Finish that one off too!” I pointed to the bigger plux scrabbling for purchase.

I could have taken the awl and finished it off myself, but she needed to learn. I held the plux and looked over at Bask. There wasn’t much to see. The orc was quietly twitching and whimpering on the floor, blood gushing from his legs, the two dead pluxes lying next to him. Bask pulled some tied-together rags out of his belt bag and felt the orc’s leg, looking for a spot to tie on a tourniquet. The orc was trying to crawl away, still in a blind panic — the characteristic smell of shit and piss only confirmed that. Bask smacked the tired, struggling orc with his hand a few times, hissing:

“Stop moving, you bastard! Stop crawling!”

His commands went mostly unheeded. There was no way he’d be able to get the tourniquet on, and the stupid, cowardly orc would bleed out. I filled my voice with steel and roared angrily:

“Stop moving, you fuck! Lie still! Legs out! If you twitch again, I’ll cut off your head, you cowardly little bitch! The system ordered us to save you or your corpse from the pluxes — it’s up to you which one! Now lie still!”

The orc sprawled out on the blood-soaked floor — red blood mixed with green. I glanced over at the big plux pinned to the wall. Yorka was still stabbing what was now dead meat. I took her by the shoulder and pulled her towards me, gasping slightly at the pain in my elbow. This girl was really coming along. Bask, too. Looking at the insane grin that still lit up her face, I gave her an order.

“Help Bask with that cowardly piece of shit.”

“O-okay,” she panted.

Holy shit... She looked like she had just had the best orgasm of her life, a blissful expression on her face as she absentmindedly wiped the green blood off her cheek with the back of her hand. Green blood and red blood. Another quick glance at the limp plux confirmed that this one bled red.

“Just don’t move, man,” came Yorka’s hoarse voice, trying to placate the wounded orc.

I looked towards the Cursed Bridge to make sure hallway 30 was empty, then dragged the plux closer to the wounded man and pulled out the club. I cast an angry sideways glance at the orc and said:

“Don’t coddle this piece of garbage. He’s a coward, a traitor! He left his own team behind and ran!”

“I...” The orc lifted his forehead from the pool of blood. “I... They all died! All of them! That’s why I ran!”

Oh, now he livens up. How quickly he had come to. His life wasn’t in danger any more, and he could staunchly defend his manly reputation.

“Shut up!” I said through gritted teeth. “Fucking liar! When I kicked you in the face and stopped your terrified howling, there were still screams coming from the Cursed Bridge! Someone was still alive out there, and judging by the sounds, they were fighting! What? Thought no one would find out, scum? You forgot how well the wind carries sound. You abandoned your friends! Abandoned those who entrusted their lives to you! Bastard. Believe me — if we were down some death path right now, somewhere out of the way, I’d cut your stinking head right off your shoulders! And drown it in the nearest toilet!”

Silence fell.

Yorka and Bask tightened the tourniquets in silence. The dead plux’s paw twitched. The orc buried his forehead into the floor again, covering his ears with his hands, and fell silent. I swung my arm and threw the club I had been using at the ground near his shoulder. The coward shuddered and shrank back. I’m gonna have to wash my hands really well after this.

Receive party combat jobs (compulsory)?

Yes / No.

I decided to answer later.

I sighed and picked up the awl Yorka had tossed aside. I noted she had hooked the club back into her belt — she was picking up the habit.

I checked my interface. My finance section showed that the system had already paid out.

Balance: 50 sol.

Ten sol for each job.

Did we get a reward for killing the pluxes, too?

“Goblins! Zombies! Did you get compensation for the pluxes we killed?” I looked towards main 29 and saw a dome right above the intersection.

“I got compensation for two!” Said Bask. “Fifteen sol each.”

“I got it for two, too! Fifteen and twenty!”

“Excellent,” I grinned, satisfied. “I want you both walking around in pants tomorrow. Yorka, you help Bask buy some.”

“Sure! Can I buy yellow pants?”

“No. Gray or black for work. But personal stuff, I don’t care — get nasty pink socks if you want.”

“Pink isn’t nasty...”

“We have another job.”

“Blow up and die!” Yorka jumped up, grabbed her club, and peered into the empty hallway. Bask froze, awl at the ready.

“Relax. It’s not a combat job, but it’s not a fun one either. We have to take this.” I jabbed the toe of my sneaker into the orc lying at my feet, “to the nearest medblock. It’s a party job, doesn’t pay that much, and optional. Nine sol total. Should we take it, or should we leave this piece of shit right here in this puddle?”

No one answered. I looked at the faces of my party members, intrigued. Yorka was the first to give in and, hiding her eyes, muttered:

“I mean, we should take him to the medblock, really.”

Bask lowered his face, coughing.

“We should help him.”

“I’d vote to leave this trash here,” I said sincerely. “I wouldn’t even bandage him up. But fine. We’ll help him. Hey! Can you hear me?”

The orc shook silently.

“Hey!”

“I hear you... I hear you...”

“Get up!”

“My legs…”

“Stand up, you little shit! Get up now, before I shove this club up your stinking ass! Get up!”

The groaning orc got heavily to his feet. We led him forward — he was trying not to look down at the terrifying wounds on his legs.

“Run!” I barked, pushing him forward. “We saw how well you run! Run! GO!”

And the swaying orc started running, sliding a hand across the wall, leaving a long red trail behind.

“But he’s injured,” Yorka said softly.

I turned to her.

“Did you see him running not five minutes ago? Like a champion sprinter! His wounds didn’t bother him then.”

“Well...”

“And the screams of his dying friends behind his back didn’t bother him — didn’t even slow him down! Two pluxes hanging off his legs, eating him alive — and he ran! So let him keep running now! Our job is to accompany him to the medblock, not carry him. Let’s grab the pluxes. I’ll take two. Yorka, take one, and Bask, take one. Follow the cowardly asshole! Step lively now!”

“What about — ” Bask inclined his head towards the Cursed Bridge.

Four orcs had met their end out there. The pluxes were probably feasting on them now.

“No...” I chuckled grimly. “We’re not going to the slaughter. Now move out!”

The orc was winded, stopping thirty yards from the nearest medblock. He had run at first, then walked, then hobbled... And now he stood still, swaying on his feet like a scarecrow. I had to help him after all, had to drag him to the medblock and shove him inside. The door slid closed behind the shit-stained coward.

Balance: 53 sol.

I looked at my party members and grunted knowingly. They were wide awake now, and the adrenaline hadn’t worn off. There was no way they’d be able to fall asleep for the next few hours — no one would, unless they were used to these situations.

“Bask!”

“Yes?”

“Take us down the shortest route to the Jolly Plux. We’re gonna eat like kings tonight!”

“Meat,” he said, swallowing hard.

“Meat...” Yorka ran a hand across her watering mouth.

“Meat.” I smiled, grabbing the dead plux by the paw...

* * *

We were met with silent respect at the Jolly Plux.

The bouncers at the entrance parted to let us inside. Two guys jumped up to take the pluxes from us, asked us a few questions, and ran off. An older man approached me, and I talked with him briefly, coming to an agreement. Yorka and Bask found an empty wall ledge, huddling over the cups of lemonade that had appeared in front of them the instant they sat down. I walked over to the ATM, where the same curly-haired blond from before still sat, and got seventeen sol sent to me. Minus the fee, it came to fifteen.

Balance: 68 sol.

Each of us would now get a serving of grilled meat. I didn’t forget to mention Mads sent me, and the brigade member who ran the place promised us the best. After exchanging a few more words with him, I pressed him a little, promising not to forget about this nice establishment the next time we got our hands on fresh meat. And I got what I wanted. A short nod, a knowing look at me and my party. We were covered in blood, and Yorka was still shaking. We had clearly come from a fight, and they could meet us halfway in this. The three of us sat down. I drained half a cup of lemonade in one swig, then exhaled noisily, closing my eyes...

This was good. Life was good.

A low tapping sounded — the first part of what I had asked for had arrived. I glanced at the table to see our smiling waitress putting down three small plastic cups, filled almost to the brim with a murky liquid.

Bask sniffed. “This is...”

“Whoa! For us?” Yorka gingerly pulled one of the cups towards her.

I grabbed one for me and said:

“Bask. Here’s yours.”

Once all our cups were raised, I looked at both of them.

“Before we drink, I have a prompt here in my interface that just won’t go away. A prompt to become permanent fighters. Do we accept it? I’ll warn you right now, it’ll change our lives dramatically. What do you say, Bask? Are you ready to accept?”

“I’m all for it.”

“Yorka?”

“Blow up and die! Let’s do it!”

“Okay,” I smiled.

Receive party combat jobs (compulsory)?

Yes / No.

Yes. The prompt disappeared. The system now had three more official fighters who couldn’t ignore its orders.

“Congrats on your new status, fighters! I’d say that deserves a celebratory shot. Now let’s drink!”

We clinked our cups and knocked back the liquor, which burned our throats pleasantly.

“That’s nice!” I said, as the scorching feeling slid down into my stomach.

Bliss spread across Bask’s face. Yorka shook slightly, washing the booze down with sweet juice.

“We won’t be getting up at five tomorrow morning,” I told them. “Given the current situation, we’ll get up an hour later. Six o’clock!”

“Seven, goblin! Give us ‘til seven,” Yorka whined.

“Six,” I snapped.

I made a mental note that I would have to keep a close eye on where my party was at all times from now on. We would have to keep our distance from dangerous places — I didn’t want a repeat of our little trip to the Cursed Bridge.

Tomorrow — actually, it was almost today — we would have to hit the trade points again. I wanted to get another club and a few spikes for it, do some price shopping on foot protection, take a look at the energy drinks and isotonics on offer, and...

“Hey, they’re bringing out meat,” Yorka whispered. “And it looks like they’re bringing it to us! To us! Blow up and die!”

Bask said nothing, but his flaring nostrils and twitching throat spoke for themselves.

They really were bringing it to us. Three plates heaped high with solid helpings of grilled meat, medium-rare, hit the table with a clatter. The incredible smell made me drool so much that I was sure I would either drown myself or swamp the whole table.

I grabbed my fork and gave my team an order:

“Dig in! What are you waiting for?”

And then I took my first bite of meat. I ate fiercely, shaking my head, tearing off a massive piece and chewing it with fervor, feeling the thick meat juices enveloping my tongue... Yorka, eyes closed in pleasure, let out a long groan, and Bask sniffed his meat enthusiastically as he chewed. This was certainly a meal we had earned.

I looked up at the waitress, gesturing at the glasses on the table. She nodded and hurried over with a bottle and a jug. I caught the manager’s eye and mimed that I would pay later. He replied in the same fashion, seeming to reassure me — ‘Don’t worry, goblin, we respect you, and our establishment extends you our trust.’

“Who knew!” Yorka burst out, looking me up and down. “Who knew things would turn out like this! Who did I wake up that day, Elb? Who are you?”

“I’m a goblin,” I chuckled, grabbing my second cup. “Just an ordinary goblin. Let’s drink. To us!”

“To us!”

“Blow up and die! To us!”

End of Book One

The next book of the series is available for preorder!

Nullform (Book #2)