“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.
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?”
