“His t-shirt! Roll it up and put it on the wound! And help me get him on my back!”
“That’s bullshit, goblin! You can’t carry him!”
“Less talking, more doing, partner!”
“You’re an idiot, goblin! A stupid moron! Blow up and die!”
“And don’t forget to take the plux corpses. All of them!”
“Here!”
A huge weight bent my aching neck. The guy may have been skinny, but he was heavy. I heard my back crack loudly, and could only hope I wouldn’t collapse right away.
I hobbled forward. Each step sent waves of pain through my knees, but I kept running as best I could.
“The pluxes. Don’t forget the pluxes!” I croaked.
Green lines appeared before my eyes. The system was trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t risk reading the message. If I got distracted and raised my eyes from the floor below my feet, I would collapse and never get up.
Everything after that was a blur.
Yorka screamed and shoved me around until I was pointing in the right direction, swearing, yelling, and crying. I heard the blind guy hanging onto my back mumbling. The walls and the floor were dancing around, moving towards and away from me. I staggered, I stumbled, I felt nauseous. There was something in my blood. Those things had injected it into me. I knew I was going to pass out.
The door opened and I saw a familiar steel chair. I turned around and dropped my burden onto it like a sack of mulch. Yorka helped him get settled in the chair, then grabbed my hand and pulled me out into the hallway, knocking a curious onlooker off his feet. She dragged me to the next medblock, turned me around, and pushed me solidly in the chest. I dropped into the chair.
I saw a blinding flash before darkness enveloped me and my mind went blank.
Chapter 8
STATUS:
Number: Eleven.
Rank: Nullform (volitional).
Current status: ORL. (three standard meals per day and standard water ration).
Balance: 26 + 40 + 15 + 15 + 4 = 100 sol.
Debt status: No debt.
Current time: 06:47.
Overall physical condition: normal.
Limb condition and status:
URL: normal.
ULL: normal.
LRL: normal.
LLL: normal.
Additional information: body is fighting off the residual effects of acute intoxication. Minor toxicosis.
Medical treatment — Free. (O).
Medication and painkiller injections — Free. (O).
Immunosuppressant injection — Free. (O).
Vitamin injection (increased dose) — Free. (O).
Stimulant injection — Free. (O).
Daily limb rental fee has been refunded (+4). (O).
HMM...
What was up with the bizarre math? Why such a round number?
“Fuck off, goblins! I hope you blow up and die! Get the hell out of here before I break your faces!”
Yorka was terrifying when she was angry. Absolutely formidable.
My legs re-wrapped, my palm bandaged, and feeling like a pincushion from all the needles they had jabbed in me, I lay on the blissfully warm wall ledge, feeling good. Nothing hurt, and my mind was clear. The system had done a fantastic job. I had woken up to a cursing Yorka pulling me out of the chair as well as she could and dragging me towards the exit. As I blinked the sleep from my eyes, I was able to help her out, and the two of us somehow made it to the nearest wall ledge. It was just past six in the morning.
Yorka was back soon, dragging the blind man across the floor. Sliding off the bench, I helped her lift him to the ledge. I pulled off my blood-soaked t-shirt, straightened the bandanna tied around my neck, covered the dead plux with the rags, and moved the whole pile a little closer to the wall. Then I stretched out next to the wounded guy. He lay motionless, baseball cap covering his scarred face.
Yorka sat on the edge of the ledge, wielding her awl threateningly to keep away any early birds curious about the bloodstains on the floor and the bandaged victims. But they soon found out it wasn’t worth incurring Yorka’s wrath. Anyone who tried to ask questions was quickly rebuffed with a few sharp, scathing words.
I studied the math in my field of vision with surprise. A minute later, I looked at the hissing snake that was Yorka, growling and barking, and asked:
“Where’s the closest ATM?”
“About a hundred yards from here,” she replied, caught slightly off guard. “Why?”
“Did you get your due?”
“And more! Fifteen for the plux I squashed.”
