“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...”
“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...”
