“Two t-shirts.”
“Three. There are three of us. One for me, one for him,” I nodded at the still-sleeping Bask, “and one for a woman almost the same size as you. And advice — however much you want to give me.”
“It’s a deal. But why do you want the drink? It’s just an isotonic tablet dissolved in plain old water. You can buy ‘em for one sol at the trade point. You should just go there yourself. I always carry a couple pills in my bag and one already dissolved. They’re really convenient — you can suck in fluids on the go.”
“Ha, suck,” laughed a hulking, sleepy orc as he trudged by, clearly not grasping the situation, just hearing a cute female voice — although one that didn’t match its source’s appearance.
Neither of us said anything, but the orc didn’t give up. He paused to rub the sleep from his face, then giggled and continued to ruin his life:
“So you wanna suck, huh? I’ll give you something to...” His speech was cut short by gurgling sounds as his eyes bulged out. He grabbed onto the woman’s muscular arm, clawing at the fingers clasped around his throat. She smiled sweetly the whole time as she squeezed.
“Oh, you want to give me something to suck on?” Two-Ninety-Nine purred. “That’s so cute. Well, come on... Show it to me... Show me now...”
Another gurgle. The dying half-orc didn’t want to show anything to anyone anymore. He looked up at the ceiling, but there was no dome around — one came through every ten minutes, and had just recently passed by. Two-Ninety-Nine’s hand tightened on his throat, cutting off his choked bleating noises. What little air he was getting disappeared. The idiot orc was starting to die, judging by the way his legs gave out.
After another few seconds, Two-Ninety-Nine released the orc’s throat, and he crumpled at her feet, inhaled, and immediately broke out in a wild cough. But he wasn’t coughing for long before he received a crushing kick to the ribs, sending him flying several feet.
“Beat it!” Two-Ninety-Nine ordered.
The half-dead imbecile obeyed, and his barking cough subsided as he turned the corner. Two-Ninety-Nine turned back to me.
“Why don’t you just go get the isotonic pills yourself?”
“I’m resting my legs,” I sighed, casting a defiant sideways glance at my injured legs.
“I see... Fine, you can have it. Okay. I’m gonna go get the t-shirts.”
“You can take these,” I nodded at the pluxes, “with you.”
“What if I just don’t come back?” Two-Ninety-Nine narrowed her eyes.
“Then you don’t come back,” I shrugged.
“Fine.”
In the next instant, I witnessed just how fast and precise a trained fighter could be. In one quick, long movement, she ripped the bottle of isotonic solution from the bag, tossed it to me with a snap, then, still in motion, opened the bag to pull out a folded-up plastic bag. She did all this while moving towards me, coming almost nose-to-nose in the blink of an eye.
“Nice catch,” she sounded surprised, and even a little annoyed. “You have good reflexes.”
“I got lucky,” I smiled, taking a small sip.
Sweet, salty, fruity... I wasn’t sure how, but that was the taste profile I was getting. Two-Ninety-Nine started stuffing the plux corpses into a bag, explaining:
“After working out, a long job, moving around, or a fight, that’s stuff’s the best. I always drink one before bed, too. Three or four a day, total.”
“You live well,” I sighed. “Thanks for the information.”
“That counts towards your advice.” She snorted, closing the bag. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”
I nodded silently, took another sip, and hooked the bottle to my bag.
Three or four isotonic drinks a day...
The tablets cost one sol. So that was four sol for them, plus she’d have to buy extra water, too. So she was spending around six sol a day just on isotonics. And I was pretty sure she was eating more than just three nutrition cubes a day — no way she could’ve gotten so muscular on those alone. No, she definitely lived well.
“Here.” A pile of neatly-folded black t-shirts fell in front of me.
“Thanks.”
“So what kind of advice do you want?”
“You’re a fighter, right?”
“Is it that obvious?” The woman eyed her arms with pride, flexing her muscles. ‘Yeah. I’m a fighter.”
“So how about some advice on fighting?”
“Hang on. Are these your first pluxes?”
“Yeah.”
“Did the system offer you extra combat jobs?”
“We already accepted.”
“That’s brave, since you’re just a party. No brigade protection.”
“Yeah.”
“Brave, suicidal goblins... Or are you orcs?”
“No, we’re goblins,” I answered. “Zombies, too. I don’t discriminate against the undead. What tips do you have?”
“I’ll tell you the most important thing: survival rules. You’re the group leader, right?”
“You guessed it.”
“You practically reek of it,” Two-Ninety-Nine grunted. “Listen carefully, leader. The system will give combat jobs to you and only you, as the leader of the group. Well, it’ll give you all the jobs. But I’m talking specifically about the combat ones right now.”
“Okay.”
