“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.
“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.
