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.
“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.
