They looked like… Like four-legged headless chickens covered in small, hard scales. Not the slightest hint of a face, or even eyes. This headlessness made them scary — mysterious, even. Once they were killed and their lifeless carcasses thrown in a pile, I noticed curved needle-like fangs protruding from their slightly-open maws. They had some form of mouthparts, but they were on their abdomens, which explained why they aimed for the legs instead of going for the throat. They clung onto a leg with all four limbs, squeezing it with all their strength and clenching their muscles, turning into a disgusting, armored tumor on a human’s leg. They were impossible to remove without tearing your own flesh. While it hung on, the plux would stick its fangs into the victim’s flesh and start feasting on it.
I learned a lot from observing them. We would have to be extremely careful with those things — my glass blade probably couldn’t cut through their hides. If I pierced their scales with a precise stab, the plux would most likely twitch in pain, breaking the fragile blade. A heavy spiked club would be a much more reliable option.
Once we finished the second round of cleaning, we got our hard-earned rewards — a liter of water and two nutrition cubes each. After that, Morris personally handed each of us a t-shirt, shorts, a baseball cap, a handkerchief, and a crude belt bag with three large pockets. Two full sets of goblin equipment. Afterwards, he briefly mentioned that no one would mourn the loss of a parasite like Johnny the Lion. Said his death made the air in the Outskirts cleaner, and hinted that the Solar Flame Brigade was delighted to associate with people as determined as us. He didn’t say anything specific, though, just vague hints that I was wise enough to pick up on. Then we went our separate ways.
We took the shortest path back to our home clux. Yorka hopped along happily, gently patting her belt bag and the almost-full water bottle attached to it every other step.
“We’re rich, goblin! Blow up and die, we’re rich! Our bags are filled with new clothes and food! We have water! We have sol! Blow up and die! Our dreams are coming true, goblin!”
“We’re not even close to Dreamland yet.” I shook my head, rubbing my elbow and pondering the sensations. “But there’s a big, high-quality, military-grade backpack at the door there to welcome me.”
I felt no pain — the painkillers had done their job. But there was a new sensation inside my elbow joint, like there was something crawling around inside, examining, touching the sore spots lightly. Was that how the medicine worked? My elbow didn’t look any different — it was still swollen, purple, and ugly. I decided to trust in the power of medicine and not take my arm out of the sling for now.
We reached our familiar hallways without any trouble, walked into CLUX-17, and sat down at the nearest empty table. After a minute, people at the neighboring tables started to quietly move away.
There were so many different sides to our reputation as bloody murderers.
I wasn’t surprised. Fear and an urge to flee a potential threat or unfolding conflict are just manifestations of survival instinct. I was happy for these people — they demonstrated an enviable lust for life.
Suddenly, Yorka got jumpy and tense again. Had she ever been calm and relaxed in her life? Her constant nervous tension was so powerful that, if it were electricity, you could attach a couple wires to her temples and power all the lights in two whole hallways. Although, I couldn’t say I knew a lot of emotionless women. They seemed to always find a reason to worry.
What was it now?
I followed Yorka’s gaze as she tried to kick me discreetly under the table.
Three men were approaching us. Three halflings, to be exact. They were wearing jeans, t-shirts, and even long jackets —
Each halfling had a belt with a bag attached. No colors or symbols hinted at a particular group. Was this an independent trio up against our duo?
I smiled reassuringly at Yorka and stared at the first of the three men. They were men, not boys — each well over forty. All three had intelligent eyes, and kept their hands in sight but still close to their belts. The second man stayed slightly behind, skillfully hiding something up the long sleeve of his jacket. He looked like a man who was always ready for trouble.
“Good afternoon, citizens.”
Now that was a polite way to start a conversation. Spoken like a true halfling. Or a civilized orc. Definitely not some filthy, savage, ignorant goblin.
“Good afternoon,” I replied. “How can we be of assistance?”
