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...