《The Death of Money》


 Part 0 Prologue

    Surprisingly, everything lay dead. The pixels of every enemy dissipated off the screen, one fragment a time. The only thing that remained was Yeung-Sung¡¯s shimmering avatar, bright as he ever was. Centred on the screen, the golden figure crushed a medal in his hand, which sparked into a thousand digits that floated up, filling up a total in the upper right corner.


    Yeung-Sung put his phone down, screen first.


    ¡®It worked.¡¯


    The Champions leader sat across from him, locked in contemplation.


    Was he convinced? Yeung-Sung swallowed. Was it too big of a risk to have taken?


    Unsticking his hand from under his chin, the leader hovered it over a glass bowl on the coffee-table beside him. He plucked out a thick gummy -bear shaped- plopping the thing into his mouth. The leader crossed his legs and sank deep into his armchair.


    Yeung-Sung had seen this before: the first person to talk lost. A hard thing for the Champion to lose with a face stuffed full of sweets. So he waited. Through each chew, each repositioned limb, Yeung-Sung stared with a secretly salivating mouth. But he stared in silence.


    The leader himself was not so bothered with a staring contest, being transfixed by the phone that had displayed the impossible.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Yeung-Sung smirked. He looks at it as though it¡¯ll tell him the strategy I used. No chance of that. Up here, buddy. Look into my eyes. Through these you might see some of the knowledge you seek. And how will you react?


    Though Yeung-Sung was smiling, he felt strained. He felt in in the depths of his eyes, in the rest of his body, weary and thankful for the comfort of cushions.  It actually worked. Sitting back in his own puffy armchair and spreading his lips in a wicked smile, he noticed the Champ finally swallowed his last bite.


    But still, his opponent in this test of patience did not say a thing. Instead, he simply took another gummy, put his hand up higher, and smiled right back when it was caught in his teeth. Yeung-Sung squeezed the arms of his chair until the wooden frame pressed into the ridges of his palms. Then, in a sudden breath he let go, throwing his hands up.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve seen what my creations can do.¡±


    Now came the real question. I realise that this guy would sooner see the world smoke before him than recede control, but unfortunately, I don¡¯t have that luxury. I need to know how invested you are in this, Champ.


    ¡°How many do you want?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    ¡°All of them, naturally.¡± Bits of red and green jelly showed through his teeth as he talked. ¡°I¡¯m not letting anyone else compete with me this time. Oh, and you¡¯ll stay here until I¡¯m sure we have total control.¡±


    The leader brought his hand out straight, pleased with his small victory. Yeung-Sung bit his lip. Hesitating, he lost himself in the detail of the hand¡¯s deep scars. They were aged to a bone white, while Yeung-Sung¡¯s were still red and swollen. A reminder of what he had gone through, to figure out the game of Airgead in a way even the Champions couldn¡¯t fathom. Yet he knew that inside this agreement would be the betrayal of all his new friends.


    Will it be worth it?


    Jumping up, he stabbed his hand into the other. They shook for a long moment and with that, it was done.


    He had corrupted the colony¡¯s game economy.

 Part 1 Border Control

    Border Control


    The whole ordeal felt to Pak like it was one long tunnel:


    They had brought him into the border on a small plane. He was silent, because he knew better, but the rest of the passengers -two enforcers; a spritely flight attendant- and the pilot had no reason to be.


    It freaked Pak out to be among such silence. In the world he was used to, someone always needed to be comforted or talked down from attempting something stupid. Normally, emotions sprung loose from everyone¡¯s pores. It was true chaos. Pak¡¯s ears had taken for granted, became used to ignoring the daily piles of rage, of turmoil, and of delirium.


    But the enforcers that sat beside him didn¡¯t stir, or even look at him all that much. They were two flat tires, their lungs expelling lethargy not life. Black clouds above navy seats. They jarred Pak¡¯s vision (a terrible combination of colour) and he looked forward to the flight attendant, Jung, who would wheel in on occasion, with her fitting suit and wide smile. He regarded while he could, those bright yellow seams dotting her jacket before she went away again. In short, Pak was not used to this newfound quiet. He couldn¡¯t relax and so decided to try acquaint himself with the silence rather than break it.


    Yet in transit Pak felt his mind moving, chugging along at its own pace inside the airborne tube. Where am I going? Why? Much was going that he didn¡¯t know. Yet he could not deny his longing to know, and so was not able to contain himself physically. Between his legs, he opened and closed the button of a clear folder that contained all his papers: His passport; College and family pictures; C class Identification card; His SIM. He wasn¡¯t able to bring his phone, but his SIM was required? He idly fingered through them, tallying the lot. He made sure and double-sure that they were all there.


    Looking at all the memories, Pak tried to decide how he felt about being forced to leave his old life. It wasn¡¯t clear to him whether he would be happy or sad. In the recruitment phase, he was told that he may never see his family again. But they had been repaid with a class card upgrade. His going provided a life for them, one better than most. But he had thought that not having to bear the constant degradation of his sanity might be pretty okay too.


    At least he didn¡¯t have to work as a grocer in a world without money.


    Pak sighed. It was a reality he had long accepted. Nothing had meaning; each action was pre-determined by the government; observed by the enforcers; this action was selected.


    At least he didn¡¯t have to stock shelves under the scrutiny of a thousand resentful eyes. Pak hoped that wherever he was going, it didn¡¯t involve working with other people. Pak sighed again. Quieter, calmer.


    At least he wouldn¡¯t have to make any account for ¡®missing¡¯ stock. Or have to lie about them. He swiped a look at the enforcers beside him as one grabbed the air with his hands, stretching his fingers. Pak hoped that he never had to make another decision again. He would allow the broken world to run its course.


    He held on hope, however. It bided its time. It dug into him after (somehow) living through every disaster, causing him to be certain that the enforced-peace couldn¡¯t last indefinitely. Maybe another year, or two, or three. A generation? No. He was certain that it would end.


    Something would happen. One thing he enjoyed doing, in the midst of a raging queue, was keeping an ear out for the rumours. The cracks in the wall. He took fragments of conversation and fed it to his hope, which churned out dreams of large-scale riots, rebellion, an old-money cult takeover. Yeah, maybe one of those would happen, he would think.


    ¡°We¡¯re landing soon,¡± the pilot said over the intercom.


    It jolted Pak out of the loll of quiet. But he preferred the new sense, and so went quickly back to it. Back to the mute enforcers who were awful to look at, to the delightful hospitality of Jung who was making a charade of the safety procedures. Running his hands along his folder, he was careful not to crinkle and snuff out the safety of the silence. Leaning over, he set his belongings flat on the floor and buckled himself in. It made a light ¡®click¡¯, but, thankfully, it made no dent in the ozone silence.


    But it didn¡¯t last for long. Slowly, even though he was hurtling downwards on a rickety, pre-millennial aircraft small sounds began to permeate the hull. The air whistled low and long. The engine yawned. The seat frames idly tapped away. Pak¡¯s inner ear tumbled in a dance to the rising pressure, and it took great big breaths of joy.


    They landed. The sounds followed with him through the exit procedure and coddled him. They helped Pak to distract himself as the guards did one last check all over his body and escorted him out of the plane. Yet as soon as Pak took the first step off the boarding ladder, that first ¡®thud¡¯ erased it all. It snuffed them out, and suddenly Pak knew true silence. And it was most unnerving.


    He stood on a runway lit orange by sleepy columns of flight lights. Outside of their brief glow was an expanse of black. It was huge and eyeless and empty. It was eyeless because it was devoid of people, and so full of emptiness that it must have helped more darkness to fill it. Compared to the city, Pak didn¡¯t recognise this as an environment people could live in. No social laws operated inside of a place like this. There was no one to see what you were doing. At least in the bustle of a metropolis, you had the safety of the public to judge, to deter the enforcers. Here¡­Pak unconsciously remembered events he had pretended not to have seen and felt the sudden urge to run. He felt compelled to cause a commotion, to fight the silent black.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    But Pak was pulled back by a familiar, ugly glove. The enforcer ordered him, in a voice like burnt gristle to, ¡°KIP ON WOK-EEN¡±. Keep on walking.


    Pak headed off as he was told, following the amber road. He was trying to decide whether the enforcer¡¯s broken English made him tougher or not. He led the pack, with Jung and the pilot sandwiched between the enforcers. They walked together, in sync as a solemn procession, towards a huge dome shape that emerged out of the void. As they got closer its marble colour became apparent. It might have been a spinal segment of one long lost colossus, and Pak felt miniscule being in front it.


    All along, Pak had avoided thinking much about the purpose of his recruitment. Too enticed by its benefit, Pak had off-handedly decided that it was worth any price. But, now that a border sign loomed ¡®North Korea¡¯ before him, fear had finally metastasised within him. Again, he felt the urge to run. And again, a familiar arm gave him a swift prod, causing Pak to stumble inside the belly of the beast. This was where the real tunnel began.


    Inside border control were two new burly-boys that were to switch with Pak¡¯s previous enforcers. The pairs sized each other up until, satisfied, Pak¡¯s airplane buddies promptly nodded and left. The new pair seemed way more enthusiastic than his old guards. They paced around impatiently. They fumbled with their pockets, scowling at him whenever he caught them at it. To Pak, it seemed that his arrival must have been taking the place of something really interesting. However, he didn¡¯t care what it was enough to ask them, and in any case, he was too busy trying to figure out what on earth experimental ¡®volunteers¡¯ were needed for in the disbanded land of North Korea.


    There should have been nothing in these lands. Pak thought back to hearing the news, trying to remember the details. He reckoned that it was about almost immediately after the 2020 crash when North Korea¡¯s genius of a leader decided to start invading his country. He remembered an interviewer explaining his reasons: That he thought that the other countries would be too slow to act under the circumstances. Idiot! Of course every nation under the sun was in a deep, UN dialogue at that time. Obviously! It might even have been the worst possible time to act out. The whole place was exterminated.


    Oh fuck, that¡¯s right! Pak had forgotten all about that. His own life was desperate and busy enough with survival that he had never stopped to consider what had happened to the civilians. He thought hard. No, he couldn¡¯t recall ever meeting a North Korean refugee. Amongst the hundreds of people that he had served at his store daily, Pak had never met one.


    ¡°The value of life has dropped¡± was a popular phrase that gained traction over the past years. The governments were too preoccupied with trying to create temporary systems to police their populations, but Pak found it incomprehensible that the phrase was accurate. That so many people had really been silently snapped out of existence. Pak was sweating, he felt guilty, somehow responsible, know that he knew.


    ¡°But it must be true,¡± Pak thought, as he passed over his folder for examination. He stood with his arms outstretched inside a tubular x-ray scanner. He wondered if the same fate would find him. The shutters of the machine snipped away like a huge pair of scissors, and Pak swallowed.


    After it finally ended, he nodded to the attendant and she gestured for him to move on. Pak grabbed up his folder. He scooped up his allotted clothes suitcase with trembling fingers and tried to exhale. His ¡®honour¡¯ guard took no notice, checking something out on each other¡¯s phones with their backs turned. Pak tried to calm himself, but taking a look around the hall, Pak only saw white. White desolace. There were no refugees at all, were there?


    He kept walking through long walkways built for lines and queues. The hall was lit up by ghastly rows along the ceiling which wobbled overhead as he stepped past. The beams of light bore into him. As Pak went through, he muttered a few quick prayers and bowed. The guards began to eye him, so he only did it whenever they went back to their phones, lowering himself and then bending back again.


    The group arrived at the passport checking point. Meandering through layers or rope banisters, Pak was still utterly confused as to what could be happening here. He reached the front of the ¡®line¡¯ and stood, waiting for a signal from the booth in front of him. A bald, emaciated-looking man waved him over. His formal uniform was far too large for his body, causing him to make ruffling noises as he moved about in his seat. He was far too happy and excited, Pak thought. However, he quickly realised that the examiner¡¯s excitement was not directed at him but over his shoulders at the guards. Pak watched himself be ignored. The examiner bounced about. He gave wide grins to the guard on the left, which were returned. The other crossed his arms and pouted. What is this place? They¡¯re all acting like children.


    Pak was staring so much, and in so much anger that his left eye began to twitch. The bald child had no choice but to stop ignoring him. He coughed, and turned to Pak, saying,


    ¡°Papers please.¡±


    In Korean. Finally. Thank God. Pak let go of his anger for a moment. He forgot the idiocy that just transpired, for now he didn¡¯t feel the least intimidated by the inspector. So he decided that he would try something. ¡°Here you go. That should be everything¡±.


    The inspector flicked open the passport sideways and let the bottom hang down as he compared the picture to the real thing. Or pretended to. He was glancing over Pak¡¯s shoulder again, ignoring his job. Snapping it shut, he stamped each accompanying document and hastily shoved it back to Pak all in one quick motion. ¡°Here, here. Thank you.¡±


    Shit, that was too quick. Determined, Pak leaned in close to the booth towards the inspector. The glass that separated them was freshly cleaned, and shone into his eyes as he asked, ¡°What¡¯s emm¡­ what¡¯s going on here?¡±


    The inspector cocked his head like a confused bird. Pak suddenly became aware that it may have been the wrong call to ask. The ecstatic man let out a laugh too round for his spindly body, screeching his chair backwards, and stood up over Pak. ¡°I really shouldn¡¯t tell you.¡± He drew out his arms. ¡°It¡¯s not my job, you see,¡± he added. He began unbuttoning his jacket. Each finger was only about half the size of the button holes. ¡°One of the people behind the project will explain everything to you, there¡¯s no need to worry.¡±


    As soon as he finished unhooking the last one, he flung the jacket over his shoulder. He was probably finished now. It¡¯s not like Pak had seen anyone else enter through the border. With a few high and jolly steps, the inspector exited his booth. Giving Pak wink of confidence, he strolled right past. From behind him, Pak hear him say, ¡°Enforcers are just for the outside world. Go on through the door behind the booth, you¡¯d best not keep him waiting. John! Are you ready for-¡°


    Pak heard nothing else. His brain had been handed the ultimate bamboozle. He couldn¡¯t get a straight answer out of theses unhelpful, crazy civil servants. He needed to know. He unstuck his feet from the floor, floating weary step after step forward, up towards a plain, light grey door which apparently held all of the answers. The edges had a glow much brighter than the room, like the light at the end of a tunnel. Pak had been kept in the dark for too long. Cursing the idiots behind him one last time, Pak felt exhilarated, felt his heartbeat thrusting through his hand as he turned the handle.

 Part 2 Border Control II

    A brighter, not quite fuller but deeper light layered itself over Pak as he entered the arrivals hall. Pak thought it was a little too theatrical. A stage of stairs descended into a marketplace with coffee shops; newsagents; bars; restaurants. All were fully furnished and fully lit up, yet the only person present was a particularly pudgy Westerner stood by a railed entrance. He had on a long, beige trench coat that was ridiculous for the humidity, yet he wore it bound tight around his globular belly. Holding a Korean phrasebook in one hand, he waved around a signpost in the other, with a shoddily scribbled ¡®Pak¡¯ on it. He was clearly pretending that he hadn¡¯t noticed Pak come in, but after Pak stood in front of him for up to half a minute, he looked up and threw the sign down. Swapping between looking at him and the phrasebook, the Westerner opened his mouth, then hesitated and stuffed it away with a grumble.


    ¡°I was going to greet you in Korean,¡± he said.


    Pak nodded, hiding his reaction to the comically British accent and said ¡°Ra-ight-o¡± Right.


    That caught the sweaty foreigner¡¯s attention. They began walking together towards the exit, the railing stuck awkwardly in the middle.


    ¡°Hmm, maybe next time, ¡°the Englishman thought aloud. He faced Pak properly. ¡°You¡¯re ahead of schedule, you know,¡± he told him. He evaluated Pak with eyes that said they evaluated quite often. Pak wasn¡¯t sure how to respond. Was he going to blame him for that? Maybe the guards?


    ¡°I suppose you¡¯re Pak then.¡±


    ¡°Yes-su, sir. I prefer to be called Yeung-Sung¡±.


    The Englishman frowned at that, looking at the signpost and probably thinking about how he would¡¯ve written it. He gave up that thought quite easily, however, twirling the sign post around and behind him, and then trotted faster towards the exit. He motioned for Yeung-Sung to follow.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung, then. Let¡¯s get a move on, and I might be able to show you something quite spectacular.¡± He stopped for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m Simon, by the way.¡±


    Pak had committed to seeing this journey through a while ago. So, he wasn¡¯t about to lag behind and wonder why everyone he has encountered thus far was a complete oddball. As he caught up, Yeung-Sung asked him something that was on his mind,


    ¡°Are you going to play with my brain?¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Simon groaned. A groan that made Yeung-Sung think that he was sick of him already.


    ¡°No-oo,¡± Simon answered in two sweetly ascending tones.


    After that they walked in silence for a bit. Simon kept a brisk pace. Yeung-Sung started and stopped, sped up and slowed down, glancing around at the shelves and counters brimming with goods. Each aisle was laid out aesthetically, each table smooth and sparkling. He sought any sign of recent use, but he found none.


    Pak found himself in a situation that grew progressively weirder and more mysterious. Being strung along by Simon he felt like both a pet and a prisoner. He decided to try and assert himself, to try and establish exactly where the social boundaries lay.


    ¡°I hope,¡± he began (The phrasing in English was difficult), ¡°that you can understand my scary- my fear.¡± Yeung-Sung took a large stride to line back up with Simon.


    ¡°As a South Korean, I don¡¯t believe that there can by anything good up here.¡± He held a finger out but wasn¡¯t sure where to point. Here. He mindlessly flailed it as he went on, ¡°Even if you are doing some good, something to help the world, why to do it here?¡± Simon was staring at his finger and not responding. As if to say that he got the point. ¡°Why North Korea?¡± Yeung-Sung repeated, just for clarification.


    Simon stopped just short of the entrance. But not to answer anything. The large screen doors bowed aside, allowing a shaky breeze to slip through. Yeung-Sung watched him take out his phone. Tapping it, he played the sides like a drum until a set of headlights appeared and filled the air like a golden, waking spectre.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m not answering those questions right now¡±, Simon said. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and opened the car door. There was no one inside, front or back.


    ¡°You¡¯ll kind of, learn as we go,¡± He bent over and shimmied in. ¡°This is pretty confidential stuff.¡± He closed the front door and patted the seat leather, which was a dark shade of purple. ¡°I¡¯m pretty excited about our developments myself, but I¡¯ve been told that I give people too much hope.¡± Looking quite comfortable, Simon lay in his chair and Yeung-Sung made no move to follow him.


    ¡°I want to know. I need answers,¡± Yeung-Sung said. He crossed his arms, taking a step back.


    Simon thrust his hands at the back seat like he was telekinetically going to shove him inside. ¡°Just, just¡­.get in the car, Pak. Yeung! Whatever!¡±


    He shook his head instead and took a further step back.


    Simon was rubbing his forehead now. ¡°Look, I have a lot of work to do, don¡¯t waste my time. It¡¯s not like there¡¯s much a choice.¡±


    ¡°I could run,¡± Yeung-Sung put in.


    Simon¡¯s jowls grew dark. He was done with any politeness. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    He continued, rummaging through his coat pockets, ¡°The company owns you now. I don¡¯t just have government permission to kill you, I have UN permission.¡±


    The window opened in an instant and Simon thrust something out. Yeung Sung flinched and ducked low. Upon looking up again, he realised that it was just the phrase book. He walked over to see what Simon was pointing at. UNITED NATIONS. UN. Yeung-Sung wafted the book back through the window.


    ¡°I know what the UN is,¡± he said. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll get in the car.¡±

 Part 3 A Short Ride Home

    The two drifted through the countryside, like iridescent fish swimming downstream. The autonomous car rode impossibly smooth. Its engine was so quiet that Yeung-Sung almost thought Simon had trained it to be polite. Somehow, even mud, cobblestone roads and potholed tarmac all passed under them without so much as a rumble. It was so unbelievable that it felt magical, yet so obviously technological that the reality of his situation drove a stake in his mind. Yeung-Sung quickly developed a monster of a headache. If, in this age, which some had called a second dark-age, this man and his ¡®company¡¯ just send out a piece of tech like this without comment, then they were dangerous.


    In his seat, he did his best to twist his legs into awkward, unbalanced positions. Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t want to make the mistake of becoming comfortable while in captivity. Yet the seat leather rubbed against him, gently pulling him deeper into its folds.


    Inside of the five-seater, Simon sat in front on the right, with a dashboard monitor setup in front him which was offline for the moment. Ostensibly though, Yeung-Sung noticed the absence of a steering wheel. He was sitting to the far left, in the back. Continuing to deny the wonder and comfort of his carriage. From his view, he tried to extract something from the swathes of black that flew past outside the window at over 100 miles an hour.


    Simon coughed. For attention.


    ¡°Uh, Yeung-Sung, want a smoke?¡± He offered a fresh, sealed pack.


    ¡°I don¡¯t smoke¡±.


    ¡°Neither do I, really. I bring it with me to calm folks. Though telling you that probably makes you more nervous, huh?¡±


    Yeung-Sung turned away from the window, peering back over his shoulder only to see Simon, with a stupid grin that pulled apart the idiot¡¯s cheeks. Putting the pack back to where everything seemed to come from -his coat- he made a mixture of subtle jingling noises. What else did he have in there? Probably something even more useless.


    ¡°There¡¯s other people on the research team better acquainted for this, honestly. Sorry about the death threat.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Simon shrugged, ¡°I wanted to, uh, shut you up. For your own good, I might add. I wouldn¡¯t actually hurt you.¡±


    He started searching his pockets again. ¡°Are you hungry?¡± he asked. ¡°Ahh, I should¡¯ve offered some food back at the start.¡± He was muttering now. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see,¡±


    Yeung Sung wasn¡¯t interested. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you were going to show me something cool?¡± He sat up straighter and decided to vent out his headache, ¡°Or tell me anything about what¡¯s going to happen to me? If I¡¯m going to be a guinea pig, turned into some kind of genetic freak, just tell me already!¡±


    He fixed Simon with a pleading stare. He almost managed a tear, though it didn¡¯t get through. He was getting the impression that Simon wasn¡¯t much of a people person.


    Instead, Simon became engrossed in his phone. He was turned away so that Yeung could¡¯ve only seen the movement of his hands. He watched Simon slide his thumb upwards on the screen a few times, then afterwards, promptly locking the phone with a snap. Still mumbling to himself, completely inaudible now, he turned it over through a cradle of fingers, and unlocked it to begin the same process over again. It didn¡¯t tell Yeung-Sung much except that he must¡¯ve been checking for something.


    But then, unexpectedly, Simon brought himself back to eye level with Yeung-Sung. He looked at him in a way that reminded Yeung-Sung of taking monthly stock counts. What to do with you, he thought it implied. He didn¡¯t get the sense that Simon meant it in a sinister manner. Or maybe he had broken through to him. He reckoned that Simon could¡¯ve instead been on the fence about finally telling him something. Something useful. He unconsciously peered away (his gaze was becoming uncomfortable; definitely not a people person), peering down to his coattails, he realized just how full Simon¡¯s pockets were. Something useful at last, Yeung hoped.


    He needed to push him over the edge. After all, he seemed decent enough, albeit a social idiot. He obviously wanted to tell him. Perhaps he simply asking the wrong questions. About the wrong things. A simple question, then. Yeung Sung fell back, allowing the seat cushions to claim him and asked,


    ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    Simon perked up. ¡°The colony, of course.¡±


    That doesn¡¯t explain a damn thing! I have more questions now.


    ¡°The colony?¡± Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t bother trying to close his mouth. One reaction ran into another, clogging up his jaw. He knew that until he had figured out what to say back to him, he would continue to look like an idiot. The agape fool searched for a phrase with the tip of his tongue. It was actually nice and cool in the autocar. ¡°Please. Explain.¡±

 Part 4 A Short Ride Home II

    Simon stretched back in the car. He yawned, and then rolled his neck once, twice, and stopped, going back the other way.


    Outside, the car took a sharp left that even its marvellous engineering couldn¡¯t disguise. This new road was occasionally lit by sparse streetlamps. Pairs of dipping power lines showed up above. They shone down to Yeung-Sung like the hems of metal gowns. As he followed the lines, propping his head up with the palm of his hand, he heard a distinct clicking sound. Immediately after, the car accelerated to almost double its speed. The force of it finally knocked Yeung-Sung¡¯s mouth painfully shut.


    Simon sat in perfect posture, smiling. Looking ahead, he began to explain,


    ¡°Yes, so you see we are doing trials of an economic system unlike any other. Well, that¡¯s not true, we do borrow many of the fundamental aspects-,¡± and he droned off again for a few moments.


    What?


    Yeung-Sung was unfamiliar with many of the terms he was using and was finding it hard to follow along. It didn¡¯t help that Simon, now that he had started, was rushing out his words until onsets of self-consciousness slowed him down. When he finally paused Yeung-Sung was about to ask him to repeat when he shook his head and said,


    ¡°But that¡¯s all irrelevant to you, really. For participants in the colony, -ehh, for you I have pre-made a tutorial. That should get you acquainted¡±.


    Looking more intently at the lights ahead (which flickered past quicker), Simon grimaced. ¡°However, I forgot to save it locally. My bad. And so I was stalling ¡®til we got close enough for the colony¡¯s wi-fi to kick in¡±. He pursed his lips in thought, then looked at his phone. Yeung Sung saw that he was checking the time. ¡°Soon,¡± Simon mouthed.


    ¡°-But we¡¯re talking now...so I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡± He turned back a little. ¡°Also, I¡¯m not one for orating live and I haven¡¯t prepared. Don¡¯t expect much. Really, I wasn¡¯t expecting this, so excuse me.¡±


    Without waiting for assent, Simon took a big breath and launched into another barrage of topics without a strand of thought connecting them together;


    ¡°Why did the banks fail? No, that¡¯s not right¡­¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Simon stopped and started, ¡°What is money? What is it, really? Define it¡­¡±


    He also answered himself: ¡°Well, those are both good questions so just answering one would be enough. But I¡¯ll answer both! You see¡­.¡±.


    Yeung Sung didn¡¯t think that even the first sentence of each rant was any use deciphering. He had had just about enough and tried to interrupt,


    ¡°Do you want me to answer anything or are you just going to talk over-¡°


    ¡°Webster¡¯s defines money as¡­well, no one would really care how it used to be defined, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Simon?¡±


    ¡°-And that phrase was clich¨¦ even back in the day. Anyway...¡±


    The conversation wasn¡¯t going anywhere. Yeung-Sung leaned forward. Viciously, he snapped his fingers underneath Simon¡¯s left ear. ¡°Hey!¡±


    Simon stopped.


    It was working. He continued to snap faster until each beat accented a word,


    ¡°I-don¡¯t-know-what-you-are-talking-about. Slow down and tell me, in basic English what this ¡®economy¡¯ is, and why I need to be in a secret colony in North Korea to test it.¡± He snapped once more. ¡°Please¡±


    Simon glared at him like he had just dug up the bones of his childhood dog. Yeung-Sung heard some irritated rumblings and hoped that what he had said earlier about not wanting to hurt him was true.


    The Brit was back in his pockets. Yeung-Sung saw that same darkness he experienced before. But he didn¡¯t notice what Simon was doing until he heard a clink of metal (one he could have sworn was made by a gun). Immediately, he felt an itch under his hairline.


    ¡°Okay. I am sorry for snapping.¡± He kept his hands raised in the universal peace-making position.


    Simon¡¯s arm was tensed. It shook. Whether with anger or restraint, Yeung-Sung could not tell. Since he had stopped his rant, Simon hadn¡¯t said another word. Yeung-Sung fought himself from teasing him about that. If he survived this encounter, he told himself, he would always keep a bolded mental note on Simon¡¯s short temper.


    Behind Simon, the dashboard monitor flared up. It bathed his back with a glowing blue. He turned, letting the light fill in the dark crevasses of his face. ¡°Ahh, finally.¡±


    Yeung Sung rapidly blinked twice.


    ¡°We¡¯re close now,¡± Simon explained, looking back with a grin. He shifted over to the right and motioned for Yeung-Sung to have a look. On it, a band of dots pendulumed around in a circle as if they were hanging from the ¡®Loading...¡¯ text above. In Simon¡¯s hand, his phone displayed the same image, only with the dots moving slightly out of phase.


    ¡°What did you do, Yeung-Sung,¡± Simon then asked him, ¡°before the depression?¡±. He seemed different now. Relaxed, natural, even reserved. Yeung-Sung wondered whether this was his normal state.


    Tucking his legs under, he leaned in closer and replied, ¡°I was studying English and Business part-time. And I was, I was¡­ a greengrocer. Is that the right word?¡± Simon nodded. ¡°I was a greengrocer until yesterday.¡±


    Upon saying that, he had a realisation about exactly what kind of life he had lived, and that he would probably never be able to go back to it. Simon, though, didn¡¯t pick up on the solemnity of the statement that was just confessed to him, and just nodded again, muttering,


    ¡°A grocer. Huh, might be useful. I can probably arrange that.¡±

 Part 5 A Short Ride Home III

    ¡°Let¡¯s try this again,¡± Simon said, ¡°I won¡¯t rush through the information, and you¡¯re not going to snap at me. Okay?¡±


    Yeung-Sung took his eyes off the monitor and looked to him. He tried to discern whether he should agree or not from Simon¡¯s face. Rather than being shadowed, now it almost seemed to glow, and it wasn¡¯t just his sweat. Yeung looked out the window again, making up his mind. There was nothing, nothing but black out there. It might as well have been a backdrop. He went back to Simon, sighing. ¡°Sure¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± His pockets jingled with happiness as he took his hands out and began weaving them about as he talked. It helped.


    ¡°Since we lost money, it became difficult to do several things: Figure out the exact worth, or in other words, a fair price of goods; Track how much wealth an individual has; Prove who owned what; Who owed what, or how much; debtors and the people in debt alike could lie to each other endlessly, because how could you prove anything, really, beyond a shadow of a doubt?¡±


    He paused with purpose, resting his hands on his lap. ¡°Do you follow me so far?¡±


    Yeung-Sung nodded. ¡°Yes. I know this already.¡±


    Simon continued, ¡°Of course, you could always barter, or take things by force,¡± his hands were active again, swiping about, ¡°and because ¡®you¡¯re the government¡¯, not much will get in your way, but that leads to, ehh- ¡°


    ¡°My life for the past couple years,¡± finished Yeung-Sung. ¡°Yes. I know. So what is your company¡¯s plan to fix this?¡±


    Simon wagged his index finger playfully, nearly tickling his nose, and corrected him, ¡°Jordan¡¯s plan, actually, is to restart, first of all. Place everyone on the same level. We use our resources, -which are pretty much endless at this point- to establish widespread social policies, enforcing a minimum standard of living for everyone. Food-clothes-accommodation, enough for you to survive on but not enough to be comfortable with, incentivising you to want to move on to better things. It¡¯s quite clever, really.¡±


    ¡°What, everyone?¡± Yeung-Sung asked, still focusing on the first of the revelations, ¡°Can you really do that? You say it like it¡¯s nothing. Like you can just,¡± he almost snapped his fingers, but stopped.


    ¡°Well, yes.¡± He stared at Yeung-Sung as if he didn¡¯t understand how why he couldn¡¯t believe him. No, that¡¯s exactly the way he stared. It was a blinding look. He fully believed in this dream. Yeung-Sung winced and blinked his eyes, trying to look away, to stop them drying out. He has had his pride hurt before, but never has someone else¡¯s pride hurt him.


    ¡°At the start, it¡¯ll be a web to the majority, the masses who have been left to the mercy of the government,¡± Simon explained further, ¡°The high and mighty are hardly going to hoist themselves out of their mansions to live with the rest, so we won¡¯t force them. It is their property.¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    He laughed, and looked up menacingly, as if speaking to the future. ¡°Not much point, I¡¯ll be honest. They¡¯ll have no valid currency to fall back on anyway, and it¡¯s not like they will retain much influence once the new system takes hold anyway. They¡¯ll have to let them go and join the rest of the world.¡± He made a clown¡¯s frown.


    Yeung- Sung barely noticed, trying to comprehend and catch up in the conversation. ¡°So, this economy¡­ it is something that is built on top of this social system, then?¡±


    ¡°Precisely! We got there in the end, haha!¡± Simon clapped his hands together. He was getting a bit too excited.


    ¡°Jordan, when he envisioned the system, his goal was to change the way money functions at a conceptual level. He wanted it not to represent value, but actually be something that inherits value.¡±


    He produced a banana and was starting to peel it. Yeung-Sung almost didn¡¯t notice.


    ¡°Our old money was just numbers. They initially represented real wealth, but after a while became something backed by faith in your country and kept in check by political handshakes.¡±


    ¡°You want some?¡± He offered the banana to Yeung-Sung. He didn¡¯t want any. Simon took a bite, shrugging, but his momentum was hardly affected,


    ¡°Of cour-sh I¡¯m gros-shly overshimplifying things,¡± he paused to swallow, then continued, ¡°But anyway, we came up with an innovation over the traditional cryptocurrency model,¡±.


    He took another bite, but wasn¡¯t finished, ¡°To acc-ch-ount for di-sht-ribution based on me-gh-rit¡±.


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± Yeung-Sung set aside his disgust to focus on something, ¡°is that what this is? Cryptocurrency? Seriously¡±


    He groaned, sitting tense in his seat and crossed his arms. Simon had almost had him believe that he was going to be part of something big, something worthwhile. You really are an idiot.


    ¡°How is that better?¡± he yelled out. ¡°I would argue that it¡¯s even less of a real currency. At least you could hold old money, carry it around.¡±


    His headache was back, only worse. Yeung-Sung tried to squeeze it out, crunching his hair with his hands like he was trying to take the wrapper off a sweet. ¡°How would you buy or sell it without another money system already in place? Do you people think about anything at all?¡±


    Again, people with too much power used it to abuse. These people just want to be a new, overwhelming government.


    Simon placed a hand on his shoulder. He patted him softly until Yeung-Sung looked back up, with his face blotched, his cheeks flushing dark red and his eyes burnt out husks. The banana had disappeared, and Simons was handing out a new phone.


    He simply said, ¡°I¡¯ll show you¡±.


    He asked for his SIM. Yeung pelted his folder into the seat in front, to Simon¡¯s left. After a little rummage, Simon brought out an unlocking key. He placed the phone in Yeung-Sung¡¯s hand, told him to keep it steady as he fiddled about and popped open the SIM latch.


    Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t resist. He was unable to think, to say anything in anger. He had lost any urge to complain, to try and leave. He was neither pet nor prisoner. He was both. All he was able to do was mindlessly stare at this unknown phone that was in his hand.


    It didn¡¯t look like much, only some off-brand smartphone. Chinese made, most likely. It was a sleek industrial grey, not quite as big as Samsung¡¯s and a little curvier than any others. Simon turned it over in his hand and Yeung-Sung noticed three silver initials; GLI, embossed under the camera. He felt it shake- it must have turned on- and so he flipped it back.


    His new phone loaded up immediately, opening up with his fingerprint and had only one app on the home screen, sitting above the basic clock; browser; settings sidebar. Airgead. Its emblem was three stacks of cartoon-yellow coins.


    Simon tapped on it for him.


    ¡°He made it a game¡±.

 Part 6 At the Bottom of a Tree Trunk

    With the fury of a rebel, Yeung-Sung slammed his door behind him and strode directly into the bathroom.


    He didn¡¯t feel like he had any control of the situation he was in. He stepped into the shower with his worry blooming and burned his cheeks under the hot water. A shower, he thought, would flush the idiocy of the words he had heard of his memory. Am I in a cult?


    Even if they left him, the watery words still spread their influence upon wet patches, footprints and puddles lying slick across the bathroom floor while Yeung-Sung clamoured around the shelfing. He did his best to ignore them, not to look down. He refused, redacted, and did not believe what he was told.


    ¡°A clicker game?¡±


    He shredded his hair with coarse threads from a towel he found inside. Droplets fell as he dried his body, and echoed Simon¡¯s explanation; ¡°-For your own good.¡±


    Outside of the bathroom, the rest of the apartment was dark and foreign to him. A beacon of red light from outside permeated the room, phasing in and out with the rotation of a streetlamp.


    Stomping and rattling through the hazy room, Yeung-Sung aggressively stumbled his way across the apartment until he found a resting place. His new bed. Pastel lavender sheets met his open pores and ate him whole. They smelled clean, too. Vile.


    He was disgusted and suspicious, yet he was also tired. And confused.


    So he dreamt.


    In his dream he was a banana tree; seedless but ripe.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    His trunk was not stiff but swayed and churned like an upset stomach. He sought balance, but it was as if the soil underneath him was a ball pit. So his head was full of nothing but this queasiness, and the demand of his plant-brain to give birth.


    There existed no location at this time. Nothing but a nameless twilight, a one-man orchard where Yeung-Sung stood as steady as he could, producing his fruit.


    Over time he became proud of his bananas. They were plump and pulpy, so he enjoyed twirling his branches around like fingers and displaying his best, most ripe fingernails to be picked, wanting to impress and to be useful. And they were picked. Picked clean each time, leaving him bare and loose and light, until he would doze off and re-awaken again in the same barky body. But he always remembered this was not who he was. Yet what could he do?


    However long he remained, he would fulfil his purpose. Floods of hungry people came but there was never enough. There would always be one, at least one left to die beneath his feet, starving at the bottom of the tree trunk.


    This cycle of growth and hungry ravaging continued, until one night as he slept the sky turned violet, and men clad in blue and red arrived and offered him a chance. But of course he was a tree and did not understand the words of men. And of course it was no choice but the declaration of a transplant.


    Yeung-Sung was lopped off, separated, and planted all over in order to make a giant grove. The men fed and watered him with viscous fluids and spoke to him as he grew, with words so dark that they left shadows in the night. Re-growing again, feeling young, he saw that he now could enough to feed the hungry.


    But he did not feel the same. The natural sickness of childbirth had gone; his bananas were now blue and red, and ripened to match the purple sky. The ones that feasted on him now let loose and began to fly. They were hungry humans no longer, but part of this unnatural sky. It was odd, it was weird, and Yeung-Sung, the ancient tree, did not know why.


    Then he woke up. With petrichor tears streaming from his eyes.


    He dabbed off sweet drool from his mouth and struggled to find a light. His sight was weary, like he hadn¡¯t used it for far too long, and suddenly, he missed his chlorophyll senses. His feet made creaks and groans but at last he found the switch. He could see but what he saw, everywhere, scared him.

 Part 7 At the Bottom of a Tree Trunk II

    The walls and floor bled.


    Deep red planks of wood surrounded Yeung-Sung. He turned away towards the one large window, spanning the whole wall. It was framed by crystals which refracted -somehow- blues. He spun from edge to edge and saw that the room widened at the entrance, narrowing at the end. Walking up, he put his face against the screen window, looking below. Seeing that the end of his apartment jutted out from the building like an enclosed balcony, he felt like the trapezoidal platform encroached onto him; his very own chopping block.


    This impending sense of doom did not serve well to make Yeung-Sung feel welcome. Relishing the cold glass on his skin, fragments of his dream drifted like leaves into his consciousness.


    ¡°What the fuck,¡± he asked out loud, ¡°is this place?¡±


    To his right, he spotted a work desk. On it, among other things, was a glass jug sleeping by the moonlight. He rushed towards it and toasted to the stars, before drinking it in its entirety. Naturally, it was cold and filling. Naturally, he drenched half of his white shirt as he was soaking it up. Yeung-Sung reminded himself that he was not a tree.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    He dropped the jug, letting it roll up carelessly toward a table leg. Yeung-Sung unwrapped himself out of his shirt, pulling it off with both hands. Beside the desk and opposite the sweaty bed was a wardrobe. He felt unnerved by it. Stepping up to its looming form, Yeung-Sung saw that it was a single slab of marbled, sanguine wood. Despite his dendrological knowledge, he had the strangest feeling that it was actually a massive lap of beef. He stretched out to touch it and thankfully, his hand did not sink in.


    This place has already soured my mind.


    Inside were rows of hanging lavender shirts and tops, with pale purple jeans and lilac chinos folded at the bottom. He sighed, Of course, and replaced his shirt and decided to, miserably, change his trousers too. As he was pulling down on its waist however, the phone he was given earlier squirmed out of his pocket. It landed face up, and curiously faced Yeung-Sung perfectly. The lock screen glowed, showing 22:24.


    He almost went to open it. He even absentmindedly thought about using that app; ¡®Airgead¡¯. Yet he caught himself mid-lean and retreated, flinging his old jeans to a corner and adopted the purple palette that was presented. Leaving everything open as it was, the jug on the floor, even ruffling the bed a little more, he stepped out of that nightmarish room with one plan.


    I¡¯m getting out of here.

 Part 8 At the Bottom of a Tree Trunk III

    Outside of his room the hall was a drab plaster white, and immediately Yeung-Sung felt more at home.


    Instincts that had fertilised since the depression kicked in. They helped steel him for whatever lay ahead so he marched on through with high shoulders. The stubby hall was sweetened by fruit (Peach?) scented sconces but he held himself firm, did not let it unwind this ego he possessed, that he had stowed away from outside. It was one of the few things he could¡¯ve done to rebel.


    Yeung-Sung was ready to uncover and witness the true nature of this colony, certain of the fact that it was depraved. There was no way that a system as ludicrous as ¡°an incremental game¡± would save the world. There had to be some underlying motive.


    Clenching his fists, letting them pivot at his side as he descended an ¡®L¡¯ shaped staircase, Yeung-Sung remembered back to stealing, lying and all manner of criminal things to protect his livelihood. To the livelihood of his siblings, and his mother. However good the class upgrade was, he was confident that they still needed him, so he began constructing a plan. If there was corruption -as he suspected- then there would be an underground. He would have to find some entity of enough power. He would find one and befriend- no, make himself useful to them.


    But how? What skills did he possess that would benefit someone like that? Well, judging by the measly supplements that were in his room, then perhaps Simon was right about one thing; The colony needed a decent greengrocer.


    Hearing footsteps from below, he pulled back. Yeung-Sung glanced around the plain hallway at the sconces; frames; the rows of doors. Maybe one would budge.


    ¡°-And I¡¯m telling you, there should be sandy forests beside the museums. Think about it!¡± The voice that roared the words was male, and drunk.


    ¡°Right, uh-huh, and we then put a bunch of neon lights there too? Come on, Michael. Get real¡± teased a second, female voice.


    Edging half a flight of stairs upwards, he spotted a utility closet. It looked locked, but Yeung-Sung was desperate, and really wanted to remain anonymous. It was worth the attempt.


    From the inside, Yeung-Sung leaned against the door, peeking out of its hatched window (with a grape-coloured frame, of course). He saw the couple stumble up the stairs seconds later, their arms locked. They wore those familiar lavender undershirts, but over that they had on orange polyester jumpers which cut off across their midriffs. They seemed well worn, with their loose strands bumbling about to their lurching movements. Yeung-Sung reckoned that the conjoined carrots were a fashion-conscious bunch.


    For some reason, he felt quite proud of his single status as he leaned back out to the foyer. The chatter subsided behind him, now onto something to do with the progress of ticks. He made quick progress himself down to the ground level and bent over, staying out of eye level to the reception desk out in front of the stairwell.


    Luckily, the two guards there were too preoccupied to have seen him. One, Yeung-Sung saw, was swivelling in his chair. He took stock of the utensils around him, checking, peeling back stacks of paperwork. The other was in mid-stretch behind him, and seemed to be gathering his things, zipping up his jacket. They must have been in the middle of switching over their shifts. How fortunate.


    The seated guard¡¯s chin was a pointed artichoke. The standing one¡¯s face was longer, oval, but framed by brown bangs hanging like wilted lettuce leaves. They were only paying attention to the front door and yawning -probably thinking about going to bed- so they did not notice Yeung-Sung hop out of the stairwell and behind their field of view.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    He wasn¡¯t sure, actually, why it was that he was hiding, or where he was supposed to go now. He did know that felt exhilarated. In control.


    Most of the lobby was broken up into squares of waiting areas. Yeung-Sung crouched behind an olive couch and projected in his mind, how he would get around to the left side of the reception desk. There was a set of plush, matte seating that he decided to use, skipping through cover like stones. His journey brought him in a semi-circle around until he was just behind the receptionist (or guard, Yeung-Sung wasn¡¯t sure which he was, and was not in the mood to ask), in front of the elevator shaft.


    Just as he sat himself low on his calves, the elevator lit up, nearly knocking him over in surprise. DING. Vaulting onto a couch parallel to the shaft from behind he sat, making it look like he was casually waiting on a friend. He rested his head in his palm, looking at the marble flooring and tapped his knee with each finger in a fanning motion. I¡¯m the idlest, least suspicious person in the world, he thought, cursing himself when he realised that ¡®idle¡¯ was another term for a clicker game.


    The ¡®clack¡¯ of shoes rang out.


    ¡°Evening.¡±


    Yeung-Sung tensed. Was that directed at him? He relaxed only when the guard at the front greeted the arrival back. Afterwards, the room strangely went quiet. If the man was walking again, then his soles suddenly disappeared and didn¡¯t follow him, so he must¡¯ve been standing there. Still. Watching.


    Ladybugs scuttered around the skin on Yeung-Sung¡¯s neck. He needed to scratch it. He settled on scraping his knees through his trousers. To him, the sound of it permeated the room, germinating quickly into a loud ¡®scaaarrp¡¯. Yeung-Sung held his gaze down for as long as he could, but eventually his curiosity surpassed his willpower and he looked.


    The man from the elevator had gone.


    He looked across, seeing the back of the receptionist¡¯s head, face down in some work, presumably. Rebounding silently on his bamboo calves, Yeung-Sung felt emboldened.


    He crabbed his way underneath the chest-high kiosk. He wasn¡¯t particularly quiet about it, but the faint sound of violin, accompanied by even fainter piano (pianissimo) muffled his approach. He stalked his head, stretching over the counter like he was a root breaking through soil. He watched the guard plod away on a touch-keyboard, sounding like he was popping electronic bubbles -bwop, bwop- vaguely in time with the sonata playing through his earphones. Yeung-Sung felt foolish, yet a little reassured. Regardless, there was little chance of him being found.


    Out at the front were sliding, elliptical doors that he longed to get to, and a sign in bright, purple neon that blinked ¡®EXIT¡¯ seductively at him.


    He tried to think of a way to slip around and out that way, tearing minute swirls of skin from his lips as his minded worked. The guard was humming now as well, his sonata swelling, making Yung-Sung try harder to ignore him. He scanned the sparking front lobby, which crossed out numerous colour co-ordination rules -probably with pens of the same respective colours-. What is it with this place and baby pastels? Even the potted plants that stood by the door waved about in their unnatural shades.


    He became distracted for a moment, frustrated that he couldn¡¯t say for sure whether they were genetically modified or artificial. Knowing this place it might¡¯ve also been a convincing hologram. He had never heard of lilies with that bronze hue, had never seen them in any ordering catalogue. This led him to believe that they weren¡¯t real. However, they did seem to droop, and their leaves folded over in a way that would have been impossible if they were synthetic.


    Dumb. This place is dumb. Nothing makes sense.


    Looking away from the plants, finally, the only other thing of notice, apart from the sparse armchairs and felt-topped ottomans was a twin vending machine over to the left. But, before Yeung-Sung had formulated any plausible scenario for escape, an autocar pulled up outside on wheels made of down feathers (How was it so fucking quiet?). A pair came out and slammed the doors, which was when the guard noticed and removed his earphones, but among them Yeung-Sung was sure that he identified that bottomless coat of Simon¡¯s. He slid back down with his back against the reception kiosk. The screen door swished open. The receptionist¡¯s pitter-patter stopped and the guard mirrored Yeung-Sung in muttering, ¡°Ahh, shit.¡±

 Part 9 At the Bottom of a Tree Trunk IV

    ¡°Good evening, umm, Jordan, sir.¡±


    Yeung-Sung heard the roll of a chair so the guard must have stood. Reactively, he slunk further down and spread himself around the edge of the reduced desk. He flattened himself out as thin as possible, feeling the stretch in his arms and all around his torso. Polished clicks of shoes cradled around him at both sides. While in the middle of re-adjusting his legs so they wouldn¡¯t cramp up, he realised that he had heard that name before; Jordan.


    But it was Simon who answered the call, ¡°Hey Karl, remember the native that blew in here earlier? He didn¡¯t try to leave, did he?¡±


    ¡°Huh? John was here before me so might have noticed something,¡± the guard replied, but Yeung-Sung felt a taste of sarcasm in his words. Like they were playing with him. As if they new exactly where he was, laughing at his attempts to remain concealed.


    ¡°But if he did, then, uh, he didn¡¯t mention it to me when we swapped over.¡±


    The chair was rolled again.


    ¡°I can do a quick check on the cameras, if you like.¡±


    ¡°Please¡±.


    Karl typed only for a moment before he stopped. That quick? I underestimated this guy, Yeung-Sung hadn¡¯t the time to think of any recourse. He was stuck, in an awkward situation, in this silly position. Against all sense of reason he began to inch his head to the surface of the desk.


    ¡°Jordan?¡± the guard called. ¡°I, uhh, heard about what happened. My condolences, um, I hope that you¡¯re not pushing yourself too hard in these circumstances.¡±


    There came no reply.


    ¡°We all want the best for you, here,¡± Karl added.


    Yeung-Sung became simultaneously curious and confused, and his new idea now seemed a lot more appealing to him. He continued to slide up the side of the desk, waiting for a good five seconds of typing to resume before he unearthed himself from below. Thankfully, whatever the death that Karl referred to was, it created bubbles of personal space within the lobby. No one looked at each other.


    Simon stood on the left, either eying, or pretending to eye the vending machine. He fumbled around anxiously in his pockets; his arms nearly elbow length inside them. The latter was probably more likely, as the vending machine was about as far as he could¡¯ve looked to avoid this ¡®Jordan¡¯ figure. Why does the name sound so familiar?


    The ¡®figure¡¯ was sprawled top-heavy on an ottoman, falling, with his head to the ceiling. He was in full mourning suit, gazing slovenly at the lights as if he was a slug about to be bestowed with a shower of salt. He had his tongue out as if to catch it, too, but realistically he would stopper it with the neck of vodka at his side.


    The receptionist was trying not to look. And doing a bad job of it.


    As captivating as the scene of self-destruction was, Yeung-Sung had managed to catch hold of his eyes and scan the monitor Karl was supposed to be searching. He saw himself storm into the building from earlier. It was forwarding, skipping quickly -on screen he was now busy tossing in his sleep- so there wasn¡¯t much time until he was found sneaking around. Maybe if I stopped it, if I came out now, then I could cut my losses?


    He looked to the stairwell on his right. Could he have pretended to have only come down just then? But, when he thought about whether he was willing to concede full control of his life over to this drunkard, to eat his unripe ideas, he couldn¡¯t make himself do it.


    Yeung-Sung sunk back down underneath once again and rubbed his eyes with the meat of his palms. His throat felt dry. His skin and lips too. He felt the situation drain on him again. When people had money and power, they chose to abuse it. He had come to accept that. However, how was it that even without money, how, just how were there still lunatics with the resources and time to pursue such stupid, selfish ideas. Clicker games?This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Over his head he heard the drunkard, with a steely rasp to his voice that tucked under the words,


    ¡°I¡¯m still going though with this, Simon. Simon!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    The twirl of Simon¡¯s heels echoed across the room. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± he said. ¡°Look at you. I bet you can¡¯t even stand up.¡±


    Yeung-Sung expected an outburst. Only, after a few seconds he was hit with the clonk of glass on tile, and the scrunching of seat leather. Then, that fibrous whisper came again, but like an angry monsoon,


    ¡°I can¡¯t play around with the UN any longer. I will get their consent by next season. I¡¯ll show them the results they want!¡±


    Yeung-Sung licked his lips. He felt a fury well up inside him and finally, he remembered where he had heard about Jordan before:


    After the initial breakdown in economy there was talk in the news of a certain company involving itself with making sure that the leaders of the world didn¡¯t shit themselves into a new world war. They provided utilities; electricity; water; food, any emergency supplies a country needed. Their CEO worked closely with the UN. Jordan. What a fool, Yeung-Sung thought as he rose from up as a new sprout, standing to see before him a dishevelled mess of a man, but nonetheless it was indeed the same one he had seen on the news. Their eyes ensnared each other.


    Bent over with his legs trembling, chuckling, the CEO of the GLI corporation turned to face him and declared,


    ¡°In 90 days we begin to save the world.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°What, no, Jordan. That¡¯s too soon!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re all fucking mad! All of you¡± shouted Yeung-Sung.


    However it came out in Korean, but nobody looked like they needed a translation anyway.


    ¡°Pak? How long have you been here?¡± said Simon. He froze, watching Jordan and Yeung-Sung leer at each other, pulling at each other with a magnetic hatred. Jordan moved first.


    ¡°Idiot! You don¡¯t know the generous hand you¡¯ve been dealt.¡± He stumbled in and out of a run, moving only a foot before falling onto his hands and knees.


    ¡°You have all these people following your idealism, but not me!¡± Yeung-Sung said, advancing.


    As he let out his throng of words, Simon and Karl came between the two and stretched their arms out to create a barrier. Simon looked at Yeung-Sung with a face full of benevolence. He rammed against Simon¡¯s hand, pushing his chest against it, seething and blaring Korean expletives between breaths.


    ¡°You can¡¯t expect me to believe that a few people playing games will replace the Banks? The stock market. It¡¯s absurd! You can do better!¡±


    ¡°Pak¡± Simon pleaded. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re saying. Be patient and all will be explained.¡±


    ¡°No! Be patient?¡±


    Simon was holding him back with both hands now, inhibiting his arms. Behind his shoulders, Yeung-Sung saw Karl as he propped up Jordan. The drunkard seemed to be amused.


    ¡°We¡¯re not forcing anything on you, Pak. The system is designed to be an enjoyable way of participating in the economic process, as much or as little as you like. It allows people control over the creation of currency. It¡¯s freedom.¡±


    Yeung-Sung struggled with Simon¡¯s arms. He was a much larger man, inherently stronger, but his all-too-calm attitude and words combined had enraged him enough to lapse the difference.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re still trying to convince me of this.¡±


    He thrust his face into Simon¡¯s but stopped short of impact, yet close enough to almost brush eyebrows. Within this enclosed space he shifted his pupils over to look at Jordan, knowing that Simon could see and said, ¡°If this is your glorious leader, then do I look like I care?¡±


    Simon threw him back.


    ¡°No wonder we¡¯re in North Korea.¡±


    He stormed towards Yeung-Sung, inspiring fear. Yeung-Sung had forgotten about his temper, he had been lucky so far but remembered that as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he was entirely their property.


    ¡°Pak¡±, Simon growled, close enough that he felt his breath, ¡°it is of no relevance what you think.¡± He whipped out his phone and stuffed it under Yeung-Sung¡¯s nose.


    ¡°You will be a working part of this community. A greengrocer. I have it all arranged. Go upstairs, you begin tomorrow.¡±


    He stepped aside to gesture to his overlord, clinging to Karl for balance. Jordan gave a sly grin. As he did, Simon whispered one final bit of information into Yeung-Sung¡¯s ear then pushed him towards the stair well.


    ¡°Go¡±.


    That last thing implanted itself through Yeung-Sung¡¯s ear and lay in his conscience like an aural weed. As he processed the words, the each exploded in chills of emotion, firing off like a black powder snow in his mind:


    ¡°Jordan¡¯s wife died in childbirth yesterday.¡±


    Yeung-Sung lunged for the stair¡¯s railing despite the shock to his nervous system. His legs pumped with adrenaline. He held the red-wood banisters to steady himself while the words rocked around inside:


    ¡°The UN doctors deemed him mentally unfit to keep the child. Yet he¡¯s here.¡±


    As he ascended back up to his room, the banisters seemed to pulse, to ooze with life. He re-entered his apartment. Everything bled.

 Part 10 Groceries

    ¡°Pak?¡± Simon called out. ¡°Pak, you¡¯re not listening.¡±


    ¡°Pak?¡±


    -


    Pak Yeung-Sung stood at the entrance stockroom, lost in his memories, feeling at once lost and completely at home. ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°For God¡¯s sake, Pak,¡± Simon said as he stomped out of the room to get him, ¡°You realize that I¡¯m trying to help you, right?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that.¡± Yeung-Sung finally replied.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You know what. My name is Yeung-Sung.¡±


    ¡°I prefer Pak. It¡¯s so much easier¡± said Simon.


    He performed the cheekiest of grins, telling Yeung-Sung that he knew exactly how improper he was, how uncomfortable it made him. Glancing at his jacket -he wore a knitted blazer that day- Yeung-Sung found the usual pockets. Since they bulged, full to the brim, he thought better of arguing. He must have been staring for some time because Simon then leered over him, angrier than before.


    ¡°Pak?¡± he shouted.


    Yeung-Sung¡¯s glance clicked back at once. Why did I agree to this again?


    Simon sighed, seeing his bad-cop attitude was getting him nowhere. ¡°Listen Bud,¡± he began, gesturing to the sliding door held open above them, ¡°I¡¯m going to explain the way the security system operates once more, and then I gotta go.¡± He whipped out his phone for a moment, checking it and repeated, ¡°Yeah, I gotta go.¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°What?¡± Yeung-Sung asked, ¡°But- what am I supposed to do here?¡±


    ¡°A little stock arrived already,¡± he said nodding in its direction, ¡°so start with that, and I suppose plan the layout. I don¡¯t know, Pak, it¡¯s your grocery store.¡±


    ¡°My own store.¡±


    -


    My own store.


    Simon had burst open his door that morning with that exact promise.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go mate, I found you a place to work from. You¡¯ll have your own store.¡±


    Excited, portly and dressed in vintage brown tweed suit he stood, waiting in the doorway. Like a Disney trope. He even had a spotted lavender handkerchief poking out of the only unladen pocket on his person. Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t get why this man always wore clothes that made him look fatter than he was, rather than a slimming black or something of the like. He also didn¡¯t quite understand the hot pink bowtie, but at that point he had stopped trying to make sense of Simon.


    Clad in lavender himself, Yeung-Sung was led by foot through cracked and sun-bleached paths, past a mix of the ¡®Colony¡¯ architecture and the derelict Korean cottages.


    ¡°Not many other purply flowerbeds around today,¡± Simon chirped as they walked.


    Yeung-Sung had an abundance of questions about his new surroundings, but being rushed so fast he was only able to ask, ¡°How many people live here? In-in the colony, I mean.¡± He was answered reflexively.


    ¡°A thousand.¡± Simon said, turning to show his proud face. ¡°That¡¯s including you,¡± and it seemed that he was going to add to that but changed his mind. Walking around as if he was in thought, he prodded Yeung-Sung along from behind and they continued.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll be sending for any more,¡± he then admitted. There was a sadness in the statement, Yeung-Sung thought. Was it because the experiment was nearly over? Did he enjoy it that much?


    The store that was promised was once a petrol station, evidently. It had a car path that curled in from the road, leading into two small lots, in front and behind the store. However, Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t see much point in having the space, given hat he hadn¡¯t seen anymore autocars since he had arrived last night. On the outside it looked modest enough, with its overhanging blue roof like an ill-fitting Lego casting deep shade, and a single pair of automatic doors reacting sleepily to their entrance. To Yeung-Sung, it alluded to a cosy, home-owned shop. But that betrayed its inside.

 Part 11 Groceries II

    Automatically his eyes were drawn to empty shelves, pulled down to the dirty, littered floor. His hands twitched. The mess enveloped his mind but Yeung-Sung still tried to pay attention as Simon meandered through each of the four aisles. The researcher offered his opinions on pricing, location and where he could get decent stationary. Yeung-Sung, however, followed his own path.


    He started left of the entrance -where the tills would have been- cleaning a line through the top of the counters, turning his fingertip grey with dust. Behind that, a shelved off-license section still held a few dull bottles. They were green and brown and seemed to be well aware that no one would ever want them. Then, walking past a square seating area he envisioned the tables full of familiar faces, long dead customers from his past. The mirage caused him to stumble, and almost fall over a rotary stand. It didn¡¯t hurt, but the thing rattled hypnotically like the jingling beads of a doorway. Yeung-Sung tried to steady it. He held it upright as wrappers unstuck themselves from the stand and floated down like aluminium leaves. It settled, finally, and Yeung-Sung shivered and shook, trying stop the dusty air from catching on him. The store felt so foreign, yet its past felt like his own and so his mind wandered off, imprinting memories of being a grocer before ¡®the crash¡¯, plastering them about the store.


    He must have still been too tired, he thought, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He went to turn and look for Simon when he heard him yell,


    ¡°Back here is the stockroom. Come ¡®ere so I can show you how to setup the lock.¡±


    Then, just as Yeung-Sung took the first step, he noticed a little seed rolling by his feet.


    It was a fresh sprout of cabbage, of all things! He bent over and picked it up, wondering how such a thing could have got there. The little thing belonged here as much as he did. Feeling that kinship, he pocketed it. As it slid down his leg, against the screen of his phone, Yeung-Sung felt somehow better. The tiny bit of green had made his day, helped him remember that there were reasons why he became a greengrocer. He stopped worrying, fretting about the dust and filth and thought perhaps, he could learn to enjoy this new life. After all, now he finally had his own store.


    My own store.


    ¡°Right, Pak. So this is the code for the stockroom door¡± Simon told him. He hovered his hands over the numbers half a dozen times before he noticed that Yeung-Sung still wasn¡¯t paying attention. He put his hands onto his rounded hips and became stern.


    ¡°Jeez, get a grip son.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s lovely,¡± Yeung-Sung said at last. It started to become real for him; his situation. He looked inside and rather than seeing the stockroom as a dilapidated mess, he instead saw freedom. The freedom to run things the way he wanted to, the power to make sure things were done right. Striding with a light step into the stockroom he exhaled deeply -and burst into a fit of coughing because of all the dust. This store may be his, but it was far from his standards, or any type of standard for that matter.


    Stunned, Simon kept his amusement down to only a small giggle. ¡°I hope you remembered the code, Pak. I¡¯m tempted to lock you in here, just to teach you to listen,¡± he joked.


    Smiling, Yeung Seung said, ¡°I am thankful for this, you know, Simon¡±. He gave him an acute bow. ¡°I¡¯m surprised. I- I thought you were lying to me before, back in the car, to be honest.¡±


    ¡°Ouch. Did it seem that way?¡± Simon scratched his head.


    ¡°But you did this for me -found this place, and, and the stock- overnight. Already. I can¡¯t believe you did it so fast¡±.


    Yeung-Sung straightened his posture, stepped up to him and thrust out his hand. ¡°Thank you. Genuinely, thank you.¡± Simon swiped at the gesture and they were caught in a vigorous handshake, most of the energy emanating from Simon and his goofy never-ending grin. ¡°Ha! I knew you¡¯d come around¡­and they said my human relations was bad, tsk!¡±


    Trying hard to ignore the buffoon, Yeung-Sung instincts were picking up yet more parts of the store that were in disrepair and, although admittedly with a hint of a laugh, he sighed.


    ¡°This is still too much for one person to organise in one day. Are you sure you won¡¯t stay a while longer?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Simon replied, beaming, ¡°I¡¯ve already found a volunteer to come.¡± He glanced at his phone and put it back into a different pocket all in one motion. ¡°Yep. She¡¯s on the way.¡±


    ¡°Did she message you or do you just -eh, know that?¡±


    Simon chuckled, with his eyes wandering away from direct contact. Yet he gave no answer. He began idly tapping his foot.


    ¡°So we have a few minutes, then?¡± Yeung-Sung asked. ¡°I¡¯m going to have a look around the back.¡±


    Heading inside the long-abandoned stockroom, Yeung-Sung began internalizing the steps needed to bring it back to a usable state. Beyond a good clean, new lighting would have to be installed and some of the scaffolding of the warehouse-sized shelves were obviously about to snap if they weren¡¯t already caved in. If what Simon said was true, GLI shouldn¡¯t have any problem with that. However, he noted, the stockroom was surprisingly large for a simple garage stop. So that¡¯s why the roof was so awkwardly big. From the entrance Yeung-Sung wouldn¡¯t have guessed just how much space there was on the back end of this building. What was stockpiled here, I wonder?Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    He had forgotten that he was right in the middle of North Korea. Then he remembered it, and once he opened his mind he couldn¡¯t stop remembering. Staggering, he leaned against one of the stockroom¡¯s support beams. His mind¡¯s eye was soldered over the trauma of the past few days -and the past few years. He grabbed at the rusted metal to steady himself. When he was taken (¡®recruited as a volunteer¡¯), from his old store, he had thrown out any ideas of returning to work in a store again. The change was all too sudden, and a change back to a place -the stockroom- that was so frustratingly familiar, it was too much. Half of him craved routine, took safety from it, and the other half screamed at him to run, fast and far away and escape.


    But am I wrong to suspect something? Reaching into his trouser pocket he felt the phone he had been given. A game as a substitute to economy? It was still absurd, far too bafflingly stupid of an idea for Yeung-Sung to consider, let alone fully give in to. He pushed himself up, launching himself to a walk towards the boxes of stock on the other side of the room.


    Then, he remembered his little seed beside the phone. He grasped and held it before him like some precious insect. His heart was pumping wildly, and it felt to him that the seed responded in some way. He didn¡¯t see it, but he felt it glowing in his palm. It was a weird subversion of his senses and in itself made no sense -but the feeling remained.


    Yet, it also hardly made sense that such a thing breathed life in this desolate environment. If it could push through and survive in here, then so could he. He held the sticky thing to his chest and tried to believe that maybe things could be better. Even still, he was unsure.


    Simon coughed as he approached. Yeung-Sung bounced up and thrust the seed back where no one could see, then threw his hands over his head out of habit.


    ¡°You¡¯re some lad, Pak. And very jumpy I might add,¡± Simon said. He gestured for him to lower his hands. ¡°Calm down.¡±


    Suddenly a crashing sound came over them, licking their ears.


    ¡°Hello¡±, came a voice during the silence that followed. Feminine, and quite clearly not British. And quite possibly Korean. Yeung-Sung ran out of the stockroom towards it. Simon plodded along behind him, not quite as disturbed as he was.


    ¡°The door got stuck¡±, went the voice again. ¡°Are you in here? Simon?¡±


    The crunch of glass and the shuffling through it filled the store.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Yeung-Sung shouted out towards the entrance.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Simon wondered aloud.


    The two turned the corner of the last aisle and found the broken frame of the automatic door shattered all around the entrance, and a middle-aged Korean woman in the middle of it. She didn¡¯t seem too bothered by the hazard or the several scrapes about her arms, as she swished a broom around and gathered up shards of glass into piles, shimmying across the floor as she moved, humming softly to herself.


    She looked up and smiled before putting her focus back onto the task and said, ¡°Sorry about the noise. It didn¡¯t open,¡± she frowned,¡± though obviously it did before. I thought that if I pushed it then it might. I didn¡¯t expect the whole door to fall down like that.¡± She hopped over a side of the frame. ¡°Not all of it¡±.


    ¡°Wow,¡± exclaimed Simon. Going right past her, he examined the damage from the outside, looking thoroughly impressed.


    ¡°Your arm,¡± Yeung-Seung said with concern. The woman shrugged.


    ¡°I¡¯d say she¡¯s alright,¡± Simon said, stepping back into the store. ¡°Though I can¡¯t say the same about the structural integrity of this building it would seem,¡± he added off-handedly. He took out his phone and began to tap out what was probably a to-do list for the store.


    ¡°You¡¯re okay, though? Maybe I can finish that,¡± Yeung went to take the broom from her, but she glided away, shaking her head.


    Simon made another note.


    Rather than standing there awkwardly, Yeung-Sung lifted up part of the frame so that it would be easier to gather all of the pieces in between. He received a nod of appreciation. Though, as she worked, he couldn¡¯t help but notice that there was a certain knowing smirk about her, like she knew him or -that he knew her.


    Yes. He had seen her before. He¡¯d seen her face on numerous posters, countless ads before the ¡®crash¡¯. The past few years had carved their way into her expression and took out much of its innocence but her hair was still the same as it ever was. Her marble-yellow earrings wiggled unnaturally as if they sensed his shock. It was unmistakably her: Woo-Yi. What was someone so famous doing here? Before he got accused of staring, Yeung-Sung looked away, to Simon.


    ¡°Right, so I¡¯m off,¡± Simon said, he gave Yeung-Sung a casual pat on the shoulder and nodded to the newcomer. ¡°This is Jeung Woo-Yi. She¡¯ll be helping you with the day to day operations of the store. Woo-Yi; Pak Yeung-Sung.¡±


    Pivoting, he waved goodbye and strode through the crumbling doorway saying, ¡°If you need anything let me know.¡±


    Yeung-Sung dashed after him, though he also needed to get away from the retired (Is she retired?) popstar. ¡°Wait¡±.


    Simon turned his head but continued walking.


    ¡°How ¨C how are we going to sell the produce? What do I charge? I still don¡¯t understand-¡°


    Simo stopped him. ¡°Pak, you¡¯re not open yet. Let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves.¡±


    He went serious. ¡°Just set up as much as you can and we¡¯ll meet up tomorrow to discuss further plans. Okay?¡± Turning one last time to Woo-Yi, Simon waved and walked off with his hands fumbling around in his signature bottomless pockets, the jingling of them fading as he left.


    Yeung-Sung swallowed and watched Simon leave as he was too afraid to turn around.


    The sounds of churning glass died down. ¡°I think that¡¯s all of it,¡± Woo-Yi said, wiping her brow. ¡°Well, since you¡¯re kind of my boss now, what do you think?¡± She pouted her lips, taunting him. ¡°Did I do a good job?¡±


    Yeung-Sung swivelled around. Woo-Yi was right in front of him, the bangs of her hair level with his shoulders.


    ¡°Yeah. Looks good to me,¡± he managed to get out before his jaw clamped up.


    Woo-Yi raised her eyebrows at him. ¡°Oh, come on.¡± Taking her broom, she folded her hands over it and rested her head on top, cheek first. ¡°Yeung-Sung, you know who I am,¡± she teased. In Korean.

 Part 12 Groceries III

    Yeung-Sung found himself frozen; he was afraid of the woman in front of him.


    He was afraid of acting awkwardly around her. He was scared that he wouldn¡¯t know what to do with the stock in the backroom; afraid of making a bad impression in front the ex-popstar. Strange, as he had been facing life and death situations up until recently. But why am I so afraid?


    Maybe it¡¯s not her that I¡¯m afraid of. Maybe I¡¯m just afraid of meeting a real-life member of this colony -one who is happy living here? Which means, on some level, I have relaxed. I¡¯ve been eased into accepting that this colony is a valid concept. Even if it¡¯s just an experiment. In truth, Yeung-Sung realised he was afraid that he was wrong.


    Woo-Yi volleyed a few words at him to get his attention, but they passed him by. Yeung-Sung avoided eye contact for the moment, glancing at the door frame which lay like a beached whale on the floor. She wasn¡¯t the passive type, however. Pulling up the sleeves of her mauve cardigan she pressed into him, stretching her neck up. He would face her whether he liked it or not.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t breaking glass bad luck?¡± he said.


    Woo-Yi stretched around him to look at it. ¡°It would¡¯ve happened sooner or later.¡± Smiling, she added, ¡°At least now the place can be aired out.¡±


    Seeing that Yeung-Sung wasn¡¯t convinced, she waved the topic away. ¡°Who needs luck anyway? Outside there¡¯s a global Depression and we¡¯re here, opening up a grocery store because it¡¯s something to do.¡±


    ¡°Just something to do?¡± Yeung-Seung exclaimed. As he was still a representative of the outside world, the words came as a slap to the face.


    ¡°Yeah, I mean, of course having a grocery store in the colony would be convenient, but we don¡¯t need it. No one is actively crying about the lack of fresh produce -well, maybe a few are.¡± Woo-Yi looked at him like she expected an argument on that point.


    ¡°Wait. But you have food here, don¡¯t you? You need to eat, unless-¡° -That¡¯s part of the experiment!


    Yeung-Sung looked Woo-Yi over closely, identifying any tubes or parts of her body that seemed artificial. Her small frame poked out of her clothes. The shape of her legs came out over her sunflower skirt, the line of her collar bone showing through her cardigan. All of it looking normal to Yeung-Sung.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Woo-Yi called, shoving a hand in front his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s this now, did GLI let a pervert into the colony?¡±


    Yeung-Sung blushed. ¡°No- I thought that if you didn¡¯t need to eat-¡° he started, flustered.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m perfectly normal as you can see. I hope you got a good look¡±. Woo-Yi folded the sides of her cardigan in. After watching Yeung-Sung¡¯s face get sufficiently crimson, she smiled. ¡°Ha! Just kidding.¡±


    ¡°We get daily supplements,¡± she explained, brushing off the closest till counter and then sitting up on it, ¡°And they¡¯re really good¡­to keep you going.¡± Yeung-Sung vaguely remembered seeing a bar-like thing in his apartment before and nodded.


    ¡°But,¡± she continued,¡± they¡¯re not the tastiest thing, and you get tired of looking at a brown brick every morning, I¡¯ll admit.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all you eat?¡± Yeung-Sung asked. He felt ill jut considering it.


    Thankfully Woo-Yi shook her head, swinging her short legs in tandem. ¡°No, we get some special orders every so often from the researchers. They do treat us pretty nice in here. Though sometimes I feel like a lab rat.¡±


    She sighed. She began to play with her earring with a solemn, distant look on her face. ¡°It¡¯s a whole new world in here, with its own rules. Its almost as if the outside doesn¡¯t exist; so I suggest you try and lose any connection with it.¡± She smirked. ¡°Not that it should be that hard. As I said before, who needs luck in here? Either we have all the luck in the world, or it simply doesn¡¯t exist.¡± She pursed her lips, proud of her comeback.


    How morbid. What about the people outside the colony? He would¡¯ve said as much, but it seemed to him that Woo-Yi was beyond caring; Woo-Yi has lived in this odd, removed place too long. Yeung-Sung no longer saw in her something to fear. He saw a petulant, spoilt brat that has become ignorant of the troubles outside. Yet, it looked like he could still help the people in here, it seemed that he still had purpose. So he settled for a softer rebuttal.


    ¡°So you do need a grocer, then. That¡¯s what I understand,¡± he snapped back.


    She crossed her arms, indicating that was not at all what she meant. Regardless, he offered his hand to help her off the counter. ¡°Whatever, let¡¯s get to work. I¡¯ve decided.¡±


    Woo-Yi raised her eyebrows.


    ¡°I am your boss¡±.


    Chuckling, she hopped down.


    As they looked at the store properly, side by side, Yeung-Sung opened himself up to the possibilities of what it could become:


    The aisle bursting out, compressed with all the produce. The floor huffing with the strain of excited feet. The tills backed up with lines of happy customers that gazed longingly into their baskets as they queued. And all around, the soft buzz of musical wallpaper rang -a catchy tune about love or promises or success. And finally with the musk of money, the nostalgic wave of energy swept over Yeung-Sung. He took a step to enter the vision, but it just as quickly stopped, evaporating. His heart pined after it as the dim, dusty reality suddenly crept back into place and the fleeting dream was hidden by the shadows of the store, yet unlit by the sun. Yeung-Sung caught himself with a hand in his pocket, clutching at his seed. Cold.


    The feel of it distracted him from this waking nightmare, long enough that when he cast his eyes back all was as it should be. Glumly, he realised, As it really is.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look very excited. What happened?¡± Woo-Yi commented over on his right. She had also finished observing the store, and by her face evidently was just as dissatisfied.


    Yeung-Sung faked a smile that came out more as a shrug, except through his mouth.


    ¡°Simon told me that this was your job before. This is what you did¡±. Woo-Yi stuck her hand out, upturned, in a way that said So do something. ¡°This will be your store,¡± she stated.


    He looked at her, remaining steady, but his thoughts came up blank.


    Woo-Yi unleashed an irritated -yet high-pitched- grunt. ¡°Don¡¯t you care?¡±


    Something sinister piloted Yeung-Sung¡¯s tongue, ¡°How many grocer¡¯s do you know that love their job?¡±


    Leaving her agape, he shouldered his way through to the warehouse. She left him alone, thankfully, to dwell in his negative pool of emotions while he figured out how to go about restoring the shop.


    He kept her shocked face in mind as he thought on the matter, and it cheered him up. She had only met him and knew nothing about his past, never experienced the things that he had to routinely endure. They were from the same country, even! Yet Woo-Yi expressed not a single concern about it. And further still, Yeung-Sung was annoyed that he knew that she was consciously pressing his buttons and trying to get him to act. What kind of person was she? He¡¯d never gotten that vibe from her cutesy persona, in ads or in interviews. In fact, there was a lot of mystery surrounding her. Yeung-Sung hadn¡¯t actually asked her how she -once a national icon- ended up in this Northern experimental colony.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Lost in his thoughts, he was well into marking down an inventory list -Simon had left some office supplies behind- when he heard Woo-Yi furiously tiptoeing in, making her scornful reproach back to him. Yeung-Sung was sitting against a thick-boarded box. The two exchanged flickering glances. Still not over his outburst, Woo-Yi took up a post in the other side of the stockroom and sulked, watching him quietly work.


    At last he looked up from his clipboard (and his handwriting turned to scribbles).


    ¡°So what do you do in here?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m a musician¡± Woo-Yi replied from afar.


    ¡°Really? I¡¯m surprised¡±.


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±. He heard her stomp closer.


    ¡°I mean how does that work?¡±. Yeung-Sung groaned, there was still much he didn¡¯t understand. ¡°Doesn¡¯t this game¡­ make all the money, or something?¡±


    Woo-Yi waited until she stood near him before she replied. Her arms crossed, she laughed. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t have jobs, you idiot. Why do you think we¡¯re opening a shop?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s ¨C I assumed this is different. Food is a necessity¡±


    Woo-Yi wheezed in disbelief, or at least that¡¯s what it looked like. ¡°And music is what?¡±


    He looked straight-faced at her.


    ¡°Go on¡±, Woo-Yi taunted.


    ¡°A luxury,¡± he started, then sneered as he thought of something better. ¡°A convenience, we don¡¯t need it.¡±


    She crossed her arms tighter. Yeung-Sung gulped as he watched her hands try hard to wriggle free. He was sure that he was about to be hit. But Woo-Yi let go, slumping her shoulders as she exhaled. ¡°All right, good one,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°You sound so sincere,¡± he noted, laughing.


    ¡°Yeah? Keep pushing me and you¡¯ll learn about the colony from the infirmary nurse. How about that?¡±


    Yeung-Sung stood up and raised his hands to make peace. ¡°Sorry, sorry. Can you just tell me about this place?¡±


    She stared at him quizzically. ¡°I thought Simon would¡¯ve explained everything to you by now. Strange. He¡¯s usually pretty adamant about that.¡± She thought for a moment. ¡°Well, without getting too deep into it, you have to understand that Airgead works as a system in tandem to everyday life. It¡¯s not necessarily a job in itself -thought it can be, but that kind of in-depth planning is not for me.¡± She rubbed her forehead at the thought of it. ¡°I like to think of it kind of like a stock market. As in, it affects the value of things.¡±


    Yeung-Sung school his head. ¡°I still don¡¯t get it. Can you give me an example? Like, how do people pay for your music? Do they tip you with in-game gold?¡±.


    ¡°No¡­not directly anyway. And it¡¯s not gold. Airgead¡¯s currency is medals, broken down further into micro-medals and mini medals. Or microms and minims,¡± she giggled.


    ¡°What¡¯s funny about that?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    Woo-Yi frowned. ¡°It¡¯s a musical term, ahh, you wouldn¡¯t get it.¡± She began to pace a little, circling some of the stock Yeung-Sung had not counted and now she sounded more relaxed. ¡°Anyway, I do shows in some of the places in town, or for events, like Easter just last week -or sometimes I just go for a walk and play, no one here minds,¡± she explained, rambling a little. Yeung-Sung could tell that she was finding it difficult to articulate her point.


    He prodded her on. ¡°And then? How do you get paid?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting to that! One second,¡± she scowled, fixing a hand to her hip. Perhaps there was something about it she didn¡¯t want to disclose. ¡°ANYWAY, I do a few things. I¡¯ve acquired a somewhat of a fanbase, and so I make unique items for each of my gigs,¡±


    ¡°In the game?¡±


    ¡°-In Airgead, yes. I sell these off at the end and the fans trade them amongst themselves for bragging rights. That¡¯s one of the things I do.¡± She put up two fingers. ¡°I also get sponsored by some of the guilds and act as a salesperson for their goods, which I of course get a commission from. Usually its materials I need for my own use. And sometimes¡­well, I just work another job for a while. That¡¯s the beauty of the system, I think.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a little complicated, isn¡¯t it?¡± Yeung-Sung asked, taking slow strides over beside her. ¡°I think I¡¯ll just stick to selling food¡±.


    ¡°Suit yourself, Yeung-Sung.¡± She went back to crossing her arms. ¡°And also, yes, it is complicated. A thank you for explaining the complications of Airgead economics would be appreciated.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it would¡± he agreed. ¡°If that¡¯s what you actually did, but I get the feeling that there¡¯s a lot more to it than just that.¡± Leaning over a stack of pallets he took out a fair-sized head of lettuce that had something odd about it. ¡°Not that I care too much about that either, there¡¯s no way a system like this isn¡¯t riddled with problems. I did economics a bit in university and if I can¡¯t understand it -hey, what¡¯s this?¡± he asked.


    The lettuce was wrapped in a substance so thin and clear that it didn¡¯t crinkle or appeared to move when touched it, or as he tossed the head in the air. Yeung-Sung rolled it around in his hands, looking for a barcode, as that could give him something to do. Yet there weren¡¯t any to be found. He simply relished the ripple of its leaves and that scant plant smell, wondering how he would keep track of sales. Then he stopped. Noticing an odd dark spot, he lifted the lettuce up for a better view. A small clump of metallic filaments hung down like a hairy mole. Is this it? The lettuce flew out of his hands.


    She snatched it from behind. ¡°You know QR codes? These guys are like a mould for them. Able to be constantly re-configured,¡± Woo-Yi explained.


    ¡°When they are blank,¡± she brushed them with a fingertip, ¡°they look like this.¡±


    ¡°Are they- ,¡±


    ¡°-Alive?¡± Woo-Yi finished. She pretended to toss it back to him. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Could be.¡±


    Yeung-Sung blushed, ashamed at being startled by a god damn lettuce. ¡°I¡¯d prefer barcodes,¡± he grumbled. ¡°What¡¯s the point of that? Re-usable? Don¡¯t tell me that it will perfectly predict the price of any product with its AI?¡± His sarcastic comment, he realized was quite loud. And also, he realised that he had put several steps between himself and that alien good.


    Woo-Yi displayed a toothy smile and prowled after him. She had the ¡®thing¡¯ behind her back. ¡°No. It¡¯s not that advanced. You¡¯d need to use it here so that it can adjust to the price formula. Ask someone else to explain how that works, though. Too maths-y for me¡±.


    Noticing how unnerved Yeung-Sung was, she lodged the lettuce between her hips and patted it like a child. Her face had softened a lot since the argument earlier. Laughing through her words, she said, ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll stop. Look, I¡¯m putting it back¡±.


    Reluctantly, Yeung-Sung made his way back to the stack of pallets and peered inside. ¡°Well, we can¡¯t sell any of this,¡± he said.


    Because I don¡¯t know how, he didn¡¯t say.


    ¡°But we can neither keep all of this on the floor either. Let¡¯s find everything a home on the shelves in here.¡± He felt a surge of confidence within. Words came to him easily and they felt right. ¡°Produce on the left, snacks up on this part in the middle. Umm, there¡¯s a walk-in behind you. Let¡¯s fill that up first actually, there¡¯s some dairy and meats in the midst of these boxes, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Woo-Yi leapt at his words as if she enjoyed taking orders. He had to push himself to keep up with her, as she set a solid pace. However they soon found that they were a good team. She followed Yeung-Sung¡¯s orders smoothly, which made it easier for him to give them, helped him to be more focused, and before long all that remained on the floor were the tools and equipment which they had used to manoeuvre the goods.


    After that, they decided to take a breather. Sitting down together on the curb outside, Yeung-Sung saw Woo-Yi pull out Airgead on her phone for the first time. From the scarce few people he had met in the colony, she was noticeably different, in that she wasn¡¯t checking on it every chance she got. It made him even more curious. He decided to try probe a little more personally into her life.


    Swallowing a bite of his apple he calmly asked, ¡°Woo-Yi, how long have you been here?¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡± she took a moment to swallow her water before answering.


    She scrunched up her face. He watched her eyes scroll, measuring an invisible horizon of time in front of her until she came up with her answer. ¡°A couple of months. Uh- Five? Yeah, I think that¡¯s about right.¡±


    She sat forward, holding her bottle of water in the trough of her skirt. Her flowery outfit, wasted inside, came alive out in the afternoon sun.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t here at the start. Most of the systems, the facilities had been setup.¡±


    Yeung-Sung nodded her on, pretending to understand.


    She continued, putting down her phone. ¡°Two resets ago, that¡¯s when I started. That¡¯s what they always do; bring in new members during resets. Otherwise older players would have too much of an advantage. The way some of them go on, you¡¯d think that the colony has existed for years.¡± She seemed a little upset talking about it but covered it up with her humour.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Yeung-Seung said, trying to align his tone to hers, in empathy.


    She could tell that he didn¡¯t understand, but nodded in appreciation, gazing into the scattering bits of cloud above.


    He had so many questions that he was struggling to refrain from asking, but he didn¡¯t want to risk delving into something upsetting. Still, there was definitely more to her than her spunky, carefree attitude. He too looked up at the sky, wondering if her child-like acceptance of her circumstance was rubbing off on him. Was it that easy to adjust? Even if you didn¡¯t fully understand what was going on? If it was, maybe this experiment wasn¡¯t such a misuse of resources. Is there something to this?

 Part 13 Groceries IV

    Yeung-Sung held a clipboard at an angle against his forearm. He had just finished drawing a building plan of the storefront. Stretching as she approached, Woo-Yi peered over at it.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± she asked, pointing.


    He set the slope of it flat against his chest and reddened. ¡°We¡¯re going to make a plan.¡±


    ¡°Oh? So, maybe you should show me then?¡± she teased. ¡°Or are you worried that your art doesn¡¯t hold up to your leadership skills?¡±


    ¡°Woo-Yi,¡± he moaned, trying to side-step her. He tapped the sheet, which made a satisfying ¡®flap¡¯. ¡°We need to figure what needs to be done to make the store presentable. And how.¡± His arms sagging around his design, he decided, reluctantly, to show her. He turned it around but took a sidelong glance, ignoring a certain someone¡¯s muffled laughter.


    ¡°First off, all of the stockroom will be sectioned off like so. And the -seriously, grow up!¡±


    ¡°Sorry, sorry. It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve seen anything so¡­¡±


    ¡°Terrible?¡±


    ¡°No. I was going to say, um -simple, I guess.¡± She grinned like an innocent child, stroked a hand down her neck nervously.


    ¡°That¡¯s not much better,¡± Yeung-Sung said, turning and bolting towards the entryway of the stockroom.


    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± Woo-Yi yelled out as she caught up. Yeung-Sung paused by the door and she had to pull herself back from hitting him. ¡°It¡¯s definitely not something that we get a lot of around here.¡± He caught her glancing down to where she kept her phone. Calming down from her erratic laughter, she took a deep breath and stated, in a voice well trained, well-practiced, ¡°It¡¯s not easy to make a difficult thing seem simple.¡±


    He looked up from his plans and smiled half-heartedly. ¡°Well, that¡¯s disappointing, isn¡¯t it?¡± he stated, after which there was an awkward moment, in which their faces grew hot like untamed kettles. Yeung-Sung broke the tension first and walked further inside, letting his cheek settle. But then, he thought he saw movement in the store again -like in the beginning- but he squeezed his eyelids shut, wringing the illusions from them so hard that they watered up. He had to wipe them, so he kept walking and quickly did so, with the lavender sleeve of his hoodie, careful that he wasn¡¯t seen by Woo-Yi. This is all moving too fast.


    It was simply impossible not to be sceptical. So many uncertainties. There was so much that Yeung-Sung had heard about the colony yet not acquainted himself with -I can¡¯t believe I let Simon distract me with this grocery project when I haven¡¯t so much as made my Airgead account yet! Supposedly, it was a thoughtful gesture. Was it? Or, was he being manipulated into fitting in? Was Simon, and by extension GLI luring him into conformation via experiencing their members testaments, as if this remote utopia was at all sustainable?


    Cautiously, he checked over behind himself. He fondly watched as Woo-Yi merrily skipped around, following the layout of his stockroom plan perfectly. Apparently, she had already memorized it, Yeung-Sung realized, feeling a stab of justification.


    She did seem happy here, which made Yeung-Sung feel both relieved and also made him more suspicious. She was satisfied here. How could a mega-popstar find contentment in this zen hellhole? There wasn¡¯t even a grocery store -so she volunteered to help set it up! The things that he had seen here were simply incomprehensible, irreconcilable to Yeung-Sung. Not after living a life after the crash. No, he had decided, it was impossible.


    When Woo-Yi noticed Yeung-Sung¡¯s attention on her lingering for a little too long, he decided to seek some answers yet again. ¡°Do you like it here, Woo-Yi?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she replied without hesitation, ¡°The people are actually really nice here, for the most part. I don¡¯t have to worry about being a target.¡±


    Yeung-Sung swallowed. I guess that makes sense. She would be safer here, if that¡¯s her main concern.


    With a wind up, she bounded towards the door, still talking at the same level. Yet, with her natural tendency to project she was still easy to hear. ¡°It was weird not having security for a while, I¡¯ll admit. It took some¡­getting used to, but eventually I came to really enjoy it here. I have so much time to just work on my craft, on the things I want to do,¡±. Pivoting, she strutted back and jumped into a pose, mimicking it from an old poster Yeung-Sung recognised. ¡°You know?¡±


    She stood there nodding as Yeung-Sung hung his head. ¡°Yup, I knew it. You were a pretty big fan, weren¡¯t you, Yeung-Sung?¡±


    Yeung-Sung locked his molars like seismic plates. ¡°You were kind of everywhere. It was hard to avoid you unless you had an ad-blocker for just about every site.¡±


    Her earrings chimed in rhythm to her giggling. ¡°Well, I would¡¯ve been disappointed if you didn¡¯t know that move.¡± She stretched out her arms and performed a slanted twirl on one foot. ¡°I¡¯m pretty proud of that show. One of the last good ones, if I¡¯m honest.¡±


    Yeung-Sung cocked his head slightly, ¡°you mean it doesn¡¯t annoy you?¡±


    ¡°Annoy me?¡± she asked as she slowed her spin to a stop like she ran out of battery. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s nice to be recognised. In the colony, people have come from all over the world. You¡¯ve seen Simon; not only are the researchers foreigners, everyone else is too.¡±


    ¡°So how many Koreans live here?¡± Yeung-Sung then asked.


    Woo-Yi narrowed her eyebrows, ¡°Would it surprise you that it¡¯s just the two of us?¡± She laughed. ¡°What do you think was the real reason that I came over to help you today, on your first day in the colony? Do I give off an ¡®amazing customer service¡¯ vibe?¡±


    Yeung-Sung fumbled for words. But it was soon clear to him that she didn¡¯t want a reply. It all makes a lot more sense. He bowed, thanking her, then a realisation dawned on him. ¡°So you¡¯re not going to stay working here?¡±


    Woo-Yi shook her head and came closer. She set her hand his shoulder and rubbed it against the hoodie he was wearing. ¡°Don¡¯t be silly. A deal is a deal. I¡¯ll be here¡±.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    He stared deeply into her eyes. She seemed genuine to Yeung-Sung, which was a relief; he was starting to acknowledge the fact that her presence was growing on him. He saw that Woo-Yi was looking back at him with lips parted, waiting for a response. ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it¡±, he said quietly.


    Yeung-Sung drew back at the same time as he was pushed away. The two both looked at each other with the same, shocked, surprised-at-themselves expression. Yeung-Sung¡¯s eyes darted away from her. ¡°I¡¯m not that kind of fan.¡±


    Without the usual force of wit that accompanied her retorts she said, ¡°I¡¯ll¡­take your word for it.¡±


    Yeung-Sung began orbiting around her and quickly changed topics into something that he had been wondering about before. ¡°When we were on our way here, Simon told me that there were a thousand people in the colony. Exactly.¡±


    Woo-Yi¡¯s posture became straight, angular. ¡°Oh? Okay, sure¡±, she commented, ¡°So what?¡± Her head followed as Yeung-Sung waltzed the stockroom around her in circles.


    ¡°That¡¯s a good amount of people, Woo-Yi,¡± he said. Wrinkling his forehead, he tried to address the core of his suspicion. ¡°Yet this morning,¡± he stopped as he said it, ¡°I saw no one in the streets.¡±


    Woo-Yi laughed. Yeung-Sung did not find her lack of seriousness amusing. ¡°Is Airgead like a full-time job for some people? An, an economic activity that has them tied to their phone playing a game, each day, for their whole lives to get ahead? Is that what this is, an addiction that feeds the basis of a civilisation?¡±


    Woo-Yi had stopped laughing, and as it was his own head that was spinning now, she seem to come at him from every direction as she knocked him over the head with the blade of her palm.


    ¡°Seriously, she sighed, ¡°You¡¯re way over thinking this considering that you haven¡¯t even opened your phone once.¡± Bent over from the impact, Yeung-Sung glanced up, rubbing his scalp. He caught Woo-Yi as she gave her own face a sobering slap and groaned, ¡°I can¡¯t believe I got stuck with such a paranoid idiot¡±.


    Yeung-Sung felt his fury opening up over his pain. ¡°Well no one seems to be willing to explain the situation outright. All I want to do is make an informed decision!¡±


    ¡°Oh god, stop whining -Fine!¡± Woo-Yi snapped at him. She skipped over towards some nearby scaffolding and made herself comfortable, lying back with her forearms behind her balancing her body. In the back of Yeung-Sung¡¯s head, he thought that she only took that position so that she would have a hard time hitting him again.


    Woo-Yi stared up at the beams that ribbed the ceiling above, wide enough that they looked prepared enough for God¡¯s wrath to pound down upon them. ¡°Is Airgead a full-time job for some people? Yes¡±. She brought her gaze back down again. ¡°But it is the day after the reset,¡± she said. She stared at him as if that answer was satisfactory.


    He flinched. She must be doing this on purpose. That or she¡¯s extremely short sighted. To his left was a box filled compostable bags. He snatched up a roll of the filmy, moss-coloured stuff and muttered, ¡°I give up¡±, as he strode past Woo-Yi, back out to the main store.


    Tearing off his first bag Yeung-Sung flapped it open and began to work through the first aisle, filling the bag with debris, ancient packets and whatever else had been trashed here years ago. His nose was hot with the heat of his frustration. Day after the reset? What¡¯s being reset? What does that have to do with anything? Why am I expected to know that, Woo-Yi? Moving quickly through, hunching and scooping, hunching and scooping, he was turning into the second aisle in no time when Woo-Yi appeared in front of him.


    ¡°Okay, I guess you wouldn¡¯t have understood that.¡±


    Ignoring her, Yeung-Sung continued his pouncing work into the next aisle. She followed him, whipping her hands out as she tried to explain herself. ¡°You haven¡¯t experienced it yet. I get it, sorry for being so snide about it. Yeung-Sung -Yeung-Sung? Come back -I¡¯m apologising¡±. Leaving her behind as he moved on, he heard her let out a howl of frustration -and smiled to himself. She quickly trotted back to him.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll explain,¡± she said, her words coming out of her in a flurry, ¡°When each version of Airgead is reset, well, there¡¯s this big rush to see who can breach the first few milestones.¡±


    Yeung-Sung peered back for a moment, interested, before continuing to heartlessly clean up.


    ¡°-To umm, make that first impact into the economy. They call it a ¡®head start¡¯. A lot of, like, political power comes from that. You want to be the player that cracked initial strategy, most do anyway. It basically ensures that you get invited to work with the best factions -though who that is changes all the time.¡±


    Yeung-Sung had swept into the final aisle now and was slowing down. His binbag was full and he had worked up a sweat in that sprint of activity. Woo-Yi didn¡¯t stop thought. She moaned every time he cut into the corner and cut her off, and crept up behind him now, panting through her explanation, ¡°That¡¯s why you didn¡¯t see anyone this morning, Yeung-Sung. That¡¯s also why you don¡¯t need to worry about selling anything today; no one has won the first medal.¡± Bent over with her hands by her sides, she gathered her breath at the end of her run, which was at the start of the store. Yeung-Sung could barely hold back the smugness he was feeling.


    ¡°It¡¯s not always like this, but right now, yes, almost everyone in the colony is holed up in their rooms desperately attempting to be the first person to create the initial flood of money,¡± she finished.


    Yeung-Sung fumbled with knotting the bag when he decided to acknowledge her again. ¡°But not you?¡±


    Woo-Yi pushed herself straight off her knees, confusion swirling in her face until she realised that he had in fact been listening. Smiling again, a little strength of wit had entered her voice again, ¡°I¡¯m not that competitive, I guess.¡±


    Yeung-Sung took a final look at the store, still struggling to feel optimistic for its future. ¡°I see,¡± he nodded and turned out towards the entrance. ¡°Won¡¯t that be a disadvantage, then¡± he asked. For both of us?


    ¡°I¡¯ll find my niche somewhere to keep me afloat,¡± Woo-Yi said, her statement brimming with the hopefulness that eluded Yeung-Sung. She walked up to his level and they exited the store side by side. ¡°And I¡¯ll work here too.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said without thinking, losing his fa?ade of anger. He stared out over the overripe horizon, adding, ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±


    After that, they both agreed that there was too much work to be done in just one day and instead made a list (Which Woo-Yi wrote on her phone) for next time. By then, the sunlight that had been streaming in had settled, dissipating through a lens of cloud, and the two Korean natives stood outside the entrance, read to leave their grocery store, which was yet unnamed.


    Staring across the road, Yeung-Sung shook his head at the surreal architectural backdrop; the red-brick residential areas clustering around bone-white giants that were the GLI apartment blocks. The old thinning itself out with the new clawing its way up through it.


    ¡°What else have they built aside from the apartments? ¡°he asked Woo-Yi. ¡°A thousand people and no grocery store until now¡­ doesn¡¯t make sense to me.¡±


    Woo-Yi was too busy beating the dust from her shirt; a short thing patterned with branching swirls of lilac and orange flames that matched her hair. She took the hairclip that was in her mouth and put it through one of her bangs to support it. ¡°I can show you around if you like, to most places¡±.


    She stretched her wiry arms and flexed her legs, standing on her tippy toes. ¡°A few of the facilities are off-site, and I don¡¯t think the autocar service is back on yet -I know there was an incident last night- but all the good stuff is nearby.¡±


    Yeung-Sung hesitated at the autocars.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be fun!¡± Woo-Yi exclaimed.


    ¡°Are- are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Woo-Yi replied, springing up with her freshly stretched limbs. ¡°Now would be the perfect time,¡± she said, coming in close and folding her hands around his with glee, ¡°Nobody¡¯s around to bother us, as you said yourself. Let¡¯s go, tour time!¡±


    Yeung-Sung was about to pull away, to protest against going and insist that they could go another time -but he didn¡¯t. He had been doubting everything she said up to this point, as per each pint of her mirth was this piercing pinch that tasted of sorrow. But when she suggested that they go around the colony together, the flavour of her joy was pure. So he let himself be dragged forward. They would see the colony, together.

 Part 14 Transit

    Woo-Yi took Yeung-Sung on a tour of the colony, heading first through the residential areas which coated the south western side. Rather than following the street around into the main town, she brought him in through a hole in the wall to experience the winding cul-de sacs, the arteries of the colony. Interspersed between rows of the derelict cottages, the odd colony apartments loomed over, white-new and filled with the light of inhabitation, like still-growing giants.


    The couple were strolling by estates during late in the spring afternoon, yet the falling sun still burned strong, turning the air into a sea of semi-breathable cotton. It cast long, deep shadows which from far out, as they passed the houses, made it look as if they traversed over the back of humongous tortoises, ones that lay still in the coming evening, not caring that they were being trekked upon. And along with the tortoise, the whole town was lying against it, dozing off in its own siesta; the streets empty; the coal roads steaming silently. A breeze swam carefully through the thick wetness that surrounded the couple.


    Yet, as still and relaxed as the day lay, Yeung-Sung was feverish inside. He was cracked all over, dry with nervous energy. His trousers stuck and chafed. His pace was this stalling motion, stopping and starting, pretending to look around and exasperating himself with the effort of displaying non-chalance.


    ¡°Hmm¡­ that¡¯s interesting¡±.


    ¡°Oh, yeah, the construction on these houses were weird, I tell you,¡± Woo-Yi rambled.


    Yeung-Sung, satisfied with the distraction pulled himself in. He locked his molars tight. He sealed off his pores that were aching to be itched all over. He felt that one sudden twitch could spring him loose and send him sprawling on the ground. How was he to keep his demeanour while he was being casually escorted by a popstar? This is so wrong!


    But Woo-Yi didn¡¯t seem to notice any of his discomfort. She was enveloped in his left arm, pressing against it with her arm, neck and shoulders, the other arm free to give directions and point out the various features of the town.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been in a pretty privileged position for most of my life,¡± she said, talking idly about her past. ¡°Not that I didn¡¯t work hard to be where I am, but I never had to pay rent. Not¡­ not in the same way most people would have to. I just did my shows and came back to my hotel room, or our trailer, it was never my job to worry about those kinds of things.¡±


    Yeung-Sung felt her looking to him but he kept his eyes straight, not daring to get so close to her.


    ¡°You know?¡± she finished; with that same way she always did.


    Closing his eyes, he gave a soft nod. Apparently, it was enough because she continued.


    ¡°Rent only became a part of my life since the Depression,¡± Woo-Yi twirled her finger on the inside of his jumper¡¯s arm. ¡°So I may not be the best person to be saying this, but even by providing a rent-free life, GLI will already make the world a hell of a lot less stressful than before.¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked up, thinking on her claim. They had just entered under the shadow of one of the complexes. If she¡¯s right, then she may have a point. He nodded at the dipping balconies that stretched all the tens of storeys up. ¡°They have been pretty generous with the rooms they have given me.¡± He remained staring at the folded, concave windows, spotting tiny flickers of motion. ¡°No sharing. Plenty of space,¡± he listed. It just seems too good to be true. He looked down at the smattering of houses beneath. They appeared insignificant in comparison, like ashes. He asked, ¡°Do people live in the old houses?¡±


    Woo-Yi pulled away from him, his arm hung loose without the pressure. ¡°It¡¯s rude to stare,¡± she said sternly.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°But no, in answer to your question. Nobody lives in any of them, as far as I know. And why would you?¡± She went up to a garden wall and tapped it. Dust billowed out like the stone had coughed. ¡°There were plans,¡± she remembered, ¡°some idea to allow property to be leased according to Airgead rankings, but I think after the Player¡¯s Market setup as the largest faction, there were far too many communist sentiments going around, so they abandoned the idea.¡±


    She was being too complicated, and her ramblings went over his head. Yeung-Sung took a last look at the housing before leaving the estate via the front gate. Woo-Yi trailed behind him in faltering steps as she thought. ¡°I was never sure how they would have implemented it during the trial stages -I have no idea how owning private property would work under this system. Maybe, maybe that¡¯s the point.¡±


    ¡°What is?¡±


    She took up his arm again and replied, ¡°That we shouldn¡¯t worry about it. Or, rather shouldn¡¯t need to worry about it.¡±


    He shook his head. So na?ve, she¡¯s just like Simon, in a way.


    The abandoned houses behind them, arrested by shadow, still gave him an unsettling feeling. They reminded him of that saturated phase in cinema; all of those apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic movies constantly ripping-off each other. Whether the cause was zombies, the environment or a freak astronomical phenomenon, it didn¡¯t matter. We¡¯d always survive. Maybe that was the problem, he chuckled to himself. But for North Korea, that¡¯s precisely what this is. Their homes waited for their owners. Their chimneys and bricks wagging as they fell apart like the tails of unwashed dogs.


    ¡°Homes for a thousand people is one thing,¡± Yeung-Sung said suddenly, too late for it to be a proper retort, ¡°But free housing for the entire world is something else.¡± As he said it, he realised that he had been wiping his face with the sleeve of his chequered shirt, popping out from under the jumper, and Woo-Yi had clearly seen. Dreading, bracing for her incoming mockery he finally looked over to see her lips bowed, her brows rounded in a face of concern.


    ¡°You really are apprehensive of the colony.¡± She squeezed him tighter. ¡°I promise you, things work just fine here, she said, dipping her head into the soft muscle of his chest. Nervousness returned as a shock to his system. You¡¯re a popstar, so¡­ let go of me? Yeung-Sung went as far as trying to shake her off but she gripped on -he could feel her nails- and he quickly lost the heart to deny her.


    They followed the narrow road outside the estates, the ramshackle country buildings still sleeping on the other side. Forgetting her melancholy, Woo-Yi immediately skipped as they approached what she called the ¡®heart¡¯ of the colony: A long forked road with businesses huddled together at both sides.


    ¡°There¡¯s more there than you expect, ¡°she was explaining, ¡°Pubs, newspapers, a pharmacy -we have ten coffee shops for some reason- most anything you¡¯d find in a regular town. Since the buildings exist already and any materials are subsidized by GLI, as well as the production bonuses awarded in Airgead for simply having a job; there¡¯s plenty of incentives to start a business.¡±


    ¡°I¡­wasn¡¯t expecting that,¡± Yeung-Sung exclaimed, as they came upon a building that looked as if it was once a pizzeria, except now it was a caf¨¦ called ¡®The Harvest¡¯. On the other side, a tall domed building stood in a courtyard, with squares of yellowed fields padding it like doormats. Yeung-Sung was confused. ¡°I didn¡¯t think they¡¯d have churches here.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s more of a community centre. It was a Chondoist building, I think, pretty lucky to not be torn down during the regimes, honestly. A few groups meet there, sports, fitness clubs and the like. A few classes are taught too, GLI is really supportive of most of our requests.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°Classes?¡± Yeung-Sung was taken aback. ¡°You don¡¯t have a school for that?¡±


    Woo-Yi grunted and took hold of his wrist, pulling him along. ¡°There was one, if I recall, but it got caught in a fire and was too damaged, so they moved it to here.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s weird,¡± Yeung-Seung said, pondering.


    ¡°What? Thought GLI had arranged an outstanding fire-service?¡± she panted. Her feet slid against the pavement as she tried to pull him forward.


    ¡°No. I mean, why do they use the old buildings at all?¡±


    Woo-Yi let go, taking a wide stance and frowned up at him. ¡°I don¡¯t know, It¡¯s, uh¡­ respectful?¡± She uncrossed an arm and invited him to take it.


    Yeung-Sung was noticing the lack of any purposely constructed buildings apart from the apartments that still columned the horizon from behind. Chewing his lip, he swivelled around, wondering how different the colony would have looked if it was built from the ground up. He tenderly took her hand in his, causing Woo-Yi to draw a wicked, celebratory smile.


    ¡°You¡¯d think that they, -GLI, would¡¯ve just built their own buildings for this purpose. Why even build the apartments, but leave the rest of the homes uninhabited?¡±


    Are they that short-sighted, or is there something that I¡¯m missing?


    She curled up an eyebrow in frustration. ¡°They probably have better things to do than make a school for a couple dozen residents,¡± she said, and led the way from that street, away from the topic. ¡°Besides, we don¡¯t have that much use for it. Not like there¡¯s any children here.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± He nearly stopped again, but Woo-Yi¡¯s tone had gotten a lot sharper, so Yeung-Sung allowed himself to stutter along behind her. ¡°Not one?¡±


    He earrings rang out in front of him as she shook her head. She didn¡¯t look back and he didn¡¯t elaborate.


    They passed an upscale looking pub called The Grapeyard which had a fashion outlet attached to its side. Like what you would expect in a regular store, it had mannequins (all female) posing in the storefront. Yeung-Sung recognised the tepee cut top from the couple on the stairs, and a flowered dress looked cut in a manner similar to Woo-Yi.


    ¡°Do you shop here?¡± he giggled.


    Looking back, she stared at him sternly. ¡°I model,¡± she replied, swinging her arm to leash Yeung-Sung forward.


    Further up, the lane that they were on merged into a fork shape, giving them a peninsula in the middle to view the triangular hub around them. English signs for stores filled the walls like a compromised website. These old country shops had been remodelled by the coloners to look like Legos slapped together by a colour-blind child. There were garish pinks and limes, yellows and blues painted side by side with no care for consistency. But the area where the two stood was a little square, with benches against stone-walled gardens. White abelia bloomed in shrubs, thier petals slipping out as far out as the curb. In the middle of the plot a tremendous yew leaned over, its cinched trunk warped throughout the generations of its growth.


    Woo-Yi paused here, with her torso puffed out in pride at the projection of the colony¡¯s hard work.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t always like this,¡± she said, her hands swivelling at the hem of her skirt, her elbows flapping behind her like dog-ears, ¡°So they told me, anyway. When I arrived, the project to literally paint over the memories of the regime was almost completed but,¡± she stopped, taking a deep breath, ¡°I can still say that I was a part of it. That makes me truly happy.¡±


    Yeung-Sung leaned back against the wall, hands down on top of its stone. ¡°It¡¯s a lot of effort,¡± he agreed, ¡°a lot of work for the upkeep of this fake life. The colony is only temporary.¡±


    Isn¡¯t it?


    ¡°Yeung-Sung,¡± Woo-Yi whispered, ¡°Whether you¡¯d like to believe it or not, this is my home. Give it time, it will become yours too.¡± Her posture had steeled itself, her tensed muscles jutting out from under the shoulder of her blouse.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to offend you,¡±, Yeung-Seung said softly, slowly pushing off the wall. However much he tried, the environment around him was still too fresh, too new to feel real. He watched Woo-Yi as she waited for an explanation, impatiently, waving a finger around the rim of a post-box painted purple that was engraved with the word Suggestions.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t joking, Woo-Yi. I wasn¡¯t expecting this¡± he noted. Despite the clear signs of life all around him -the bits of litter on the street; dated signs and posters; egg-shaped streamers along the streetlights from Easter just gone- despite all that the streets were empty and Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this colony thing was something that Woo-Yi was trying to sell to him. That, once he accepted, the shops around him would be wheeled up into the sky, the sun would pivot away, revealed as the floodlight it always and hundreds of prop men clad in black would emerge from underneath and chide him for believing such a lie, for even daring to believe that change was ever possible. Caught in this paranoia, he muttered, ¡°Is this place real?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand how any of this can work¡±.


    With a step between them, Woo-Yi was again leading the way forward and Yeung-Sung followed along in short, uncertain steps. There was a pause before Woo-Yi answered. Her comebacks were usually snappy, and always equipped with a smile. She didn¡¯t face him this time, and, he noticed a tightness in the back her neck; she was staring down at the ground, despondent.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t even been shown the tutorial yet, have you?¡± she asked. There was an acceptance in the way she asked the question that belied the answer.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t.¡±


    Yeung-Sung heard a loud, extended sigh. Her shoulders rose and fell as if she was adjusting a great weight on her back. She turned to him, her eyes sparkling with tears.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, I¡¯ll help you. I¡¯m not the best at explaining the game side ¨C¡°


    ¡°No,¡± Yeung-Sung sweeping his hand across, cutting her off with a motion.


    ¡°-But I can show, ¡° It took a moment for Woo-Yi to process, but then she stood, shocked. ¡°No? What do you mean No?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s not required then I¡¯m not doing it,¡± he told her. ¡°I won¡¯t play Airgead. I won¡¯t play these games.


    Woo-Yi wracked her face. Her skin wrinkled, she hunched over as if she had been dealt a winding blow. It was clear to Yeung-Sung that she was simply unable to respond.


    Yeung-Sung shrugged, turning away from her. Regardless of their ideologies, he didn¡¯t want to see her like this. He tried to justify himself.


    ¡°All the basic needs are taken care of, right? Food, clothes, housing.¡± He punctuated the last statement, ¡°I don¡¯t need to take part. When it fails, I don¡¯t want to have anything to do with it¡±.


    Yeung-Sung thought he heard a crack -maybe of bone, maybe a mental spasm so significant that it ruptured Woo-Yi¡¯s skull. ¡°That- That¡¯s not the point, Yeung-Sung!¡± she screamed.


    She swivelled around in a wide stance, flailing her arms around as if she could point to something that would defeat his argument. Anything that would support her point.


    ¡°Have you no urge to help the world? To try, at least?¡±


    In her anger, her words were spun like helicopter blades. Yeung-Sung then realised that the earlier crack was her voice, thinking then that if she could channel this moment into a future song, then it would become an instant classic. He began to plan his way back to his apartment. This was a mistake.


    ¡°I don¡¯t. Not like this.¡±


    Yeung-Sung felt that familiar sense that he was about to be hit by this popstar. Except this time, instead of flinching he calmly kept his pace and continued, hoping that Woo-Yi -hyperventilating at this point- could restrain her grip. He heard her earrings too, swinging like radars gone wild. Clack clack clack clack.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t even tried it yet. You haven¡¯t opened the app. How can you say you can be certain of anything?¡± she shouted down the forked street at him.


    Yeung-Sung closed his eyes and tried to ignore her. He didn¡¯t want to waste any more effort on this discussion. There was absolutely no incentive, in his mind, to even look at Airgead. Just because he was forced to live here didn¡¯t mean he was going to help with GLI¡¯s hopeless experiment. There were Nine-hundred and ninety-nine other morons here already; What difference would he make? They probably didn¡¯t even mind. He opened his eyes. Without thinking, he looked back.


    Woo-Yi face bloomed red, tears running along her eyes and nose. Who am I to her?


    ¡°Have you?¡± she asked through sobs. ¡°Have you even opened the app?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to open the app to know it¡¯s stupid. You¡¯re all stupid for obliging them in this!¡±


    Woo-Yi looked around as if the colony would burst out in rage and back her up, but the streets remained as they were. She went to cross her arms, vying instead to wipe her face. ¡°So,¡± she said, ¡°You think I¡¯m stupid?¡±


    ¡°What? No, not, not¡­directly.¡±


    Clap. She stomped through the distance between them.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see how far you get with that attitude.¡± She turned her nose up, but sniffled, wiping it again with a quick swipe of the back of her hand. ¡°I could¡¯ve helped you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Woo-Yi turned her feet to go. ¡°How dare you judge all of us off of your pre-conception. Not giving it a chance.¡± A snide laugh snuck through her, striking him like a dissonant chord. ¡°Like you¡¯ve already forgotten the absolute shit-fest occurring back home. As if anything at all wouldn¡¯t be better than that life.¡±


    She held herself as she ran way. Yeung-Sung watched her with a clamped mouth. A storm followed her. She turned back once, but he saw only dark patches in the ensuing night, and heard her final denouncement; ¡°You¡¯re wrong, Pak Yeung-Sung!¡±

 Part 15 Public House, Private Lives I

    ¡°I know you. Pak, right? Pak Yeung-Sung?¡±


    Yeung-Sung turned from the flower bed to see a pale American. ¡°Excuse me, but who are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a guy that just had a very upset woman shoulder through him. From your direction¡± he added. Pointed at him, he crinkled out a sneer out of a cowboy western, saying, ¡°And I intend to do something about it!¡±


    ¡°You are?¡±


    Straightening out from his squat, Yeung-Sung rubbed his hands together to shake the earth off them. Hopping down off the little plot of land at the town square, he took in the sight of this coloner who had suddenly started interrogating him. Was he one of her fanboys?


    He had the least amount of purple on his person that he had seen thus far; which was to say none. Instead, he dressed and looked exactly what Yeung-Sung pictured when he imagined shut-in gamers, ones devoted to this Airgead ¡°cause¡± -if you could call it that. A greasy zip-down hoodie and cargo pants slumped down over him, concealing his body-shape. The zip was open, and he had his hands wriggling through, digits peeping through torn holes. Yeung-Sung supposed that he was the fanboy type, so maybe his first guess was correct.


    He was about his age; most people here were. As much as he could figure, if anyone would comply to a society built on toy money, it would have to be this generation; old enough to have been exposed to the prime of gaming culture; old enough to start learning how to be financially accountable; but young enough that the fresh memories of the old-world were a reminder of their robbed future. That¡¯s odd. Did I just defend the logic of the colony?


    He looked back at the coloner, with his wave-swept hair and asked, ¡°What exactly are you going to do?¡±


    ¡°Oh nothing,¡± the American replied. ¡°I was just joking, don¡¯t really care.¡± He strode over, taking his hands out of his hoodie pocket¡¯s and proffered it. ¡°Wilhelm. Wilhelm Ryan pleased to meet you. No, I don¡¯t speak Korean, lol.¡±


    As he shook Wilhelm¡¯s hand, Yeung-Sung was taken aback. Did he just say ¡°lol¡± in a real-life conversation?Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Pak Yeung-Sung,¡± he replied instinctively. ¡°- Wait, you said that you know me. How? I only arrived in the colony¡±.


    Wilhelm strode past the purple post box and took a seat at the bench behind him. ¡°Word spreads fast, I guess,¡± he began, stretching his arms. ¡°We don¡¯t get a lot of new members anymore, and that means we don¡¯t get a lot of updates on the outside world. Know anything about the situation in Dallas?¡±


    Yeung-Sung shook his head.


    ¡°I expected as much,¡± he sighed. Then, peering over his shoulder at the mounds of earth that Yeung-Sung was kneeling over before he made a questioning hum. ¡°Say¡­what were you doing in the garden? Not pissing, I hope.¡±


    ¡°I-I was just looking,¡± Yeung-Sung stammered back. He looked over several times, unable to keep his focus on Wilhelm. Rising slowly, the American was unconvinced. He gave a slow, sarcastic nod, his lips turned in. ¡°Right.¡±


    Leaning over closer, Wilhelm saw the sprout. ¡°Oh, you were planting something, I see.¡± He turned, his cargo pants rippling in contrary motion. ¡°Why lie about that?¡± he asked, cocking his head.


    Yeung-Sung opened his mouth to output some excuse, but then he noticed something. People. Suddenly, from every fork and alley, members of the colony started to come through the town. The streets filled with a new buzz of life, and he saw a few shops hurriedly have their CLOSED signs flipped over. As soon as he had planted his seed into the earth, people came.


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s come out?¡± he said, annunciating it slowly, then re-framing it into a question.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Ryan said with a sour note, stuffing his hands back in his hoodie and kicking a pebble on the ground. ¡°The first milestone¡¯s been reached. Money exists; Woohoo,¡± he grumbled.


    ¡°That sounds like a good thing, why are you annoyed?¡±


    ¡°Because I wanted to be the first one through the Gauntlet! I could¡¯ve done it, if I had a little more time.¡±


    ¡°Is being first that big of a deal?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    Wilhelm stopped sulking. ¡°Huh? Of course it is. Why do you think people are only coming out now? We were all vying to be first. And somehow, even though everyone else here is a dang idiot I still didn¡¯t win.¡± He stuck his head up to the sky and moaned. ¡°Ughh, why do I bother?¡±


    He noticed Yeung-Sung looking at him blankly. ¡°Oh right, you¡¯re new. Haven¡¯t they added an explanation of resets to the tutorial? I was sure they did¡±.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Didn¡¯t do it.¡±


    Wilhelm continued on, ¡°You¡¯re lucky, man. Back when I started, they didn¡¯t even give us a tutorial. Said it would ruin the integrity of the experiment. That said, the game design was a lot simpler back then. With the new bullshit ¡°minimalist¡± system, I suppose they had to give people something.¡±


    Yeung-Sung interrupted him. ¡°I didn¡¯t do the tutorial.¡±


    ¡°Hah, good one.¡± Wilhelm buckled his knees in a good imitation of laughter, but then went fish-eyed and deadpan in a single, twisting moment. ¡°You¡¯re just shit at it. I get it, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve seen it before.¡± He beckoned him forward and started walking. ¡°Come, bro, I¡¯ll take you up to our local. You¡¯ll make some friends, get settled in.¡±


    He stopped, realising that Yeung-Sung was not following. ¡°Bro -eh, Yeung-Sung? Come on, man, I¡¯ll buy you one.¡±


    Well, he didn¡¯t take it as bad as Woo-Yi.

 Part 16 Public House, Private Lives II

    Public House, Private Lives Part 2


    The Joint Wick was on the downslope of the hill that Woo-Yi ran way on. Wilhelm manhandled Yeung-Sung¡¯s shoulders and pushed him up that hill from behind, not taking no for an answer. He felt saddled, like a horse -or better yet a worm, given how he squirmed in the hold, and how they kicked up dirt from all sides in the process. In the end, Ryan had broken his will. Yeung-Sung only hoped that he wouldn¡¯t let himself get in the habit having overcharged idiots lead him around.


    First Simon and then Woo-Yi, now this guy.


    They halted half a dozen buildings down the other side. Wil flung Yeung-Sung into the wall of the Joint Wick. He pushed out his hands to mete the impact, but was greeted still with the coarse boulders that made up the pub¡¯s wall. He encased one with both arms. He tasted the feel of it under his chin, all around his upper body and noticed that the wall was made the old way. The natural way; devoid of steel and rebar. Built upwards, as Yeung-Sung imagined, by the hands of men. Above him was gilded lettering; The title of the pub in a font Gothic, basic. The Joint Wick.


    Spending so much time hearing about the digitization in Airgead (and otherwise), Yeung-Sung was happy to know that remnants like this still existed. It even stood outside the influence of the depressed world. He pressed his cheek against it.


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Wilhelm said, ¡°I¡¯ll let you finish making love to the scenery while I head in.¡± He held the wooden door open. Feeling the cold spot on his cheek with one hand, Yeung-Sung took hold of the handle and followed Wil inside. As he passed through, he ran his fingers across the door and felt the prickle of rough grain against his fingers. The way it held on to him was an invitation for Yeung-Sung. The wood didn¡¯t bend like any modern metal or plastic, but stood firm, like an ancient guardian being scratched behind the ear.


    ¡°You can¡¯t sell it for lower?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°WH-Whadd¡¯ya mean you ca¡¯nne sell ih for lower?¡±


    Three strong voices butted against each other inside the Wick. Two were cracking their fists against the counter in argument while the bartender parried away their complaints with numerous No-s. This hugely built man -He must be the owner, though he dresses more like a businessman- tugged up his white sleeves and began to be more concerned with his phone rather than his angry patrons. Their continued bickering washed over him as he stood relaxed, in a sideways, uncaring.


    Wilhelm led Yeung-Sung through the dimly lit bar, all browns and greens straight out of a farmer¡¯s dream. They passed a couple that hunched over at a round table, with a third curly haired man that leaned off to the side, nodding along frantically. Between the faded wallpaper and antique paintings that slept in their frames, the lo-fi music pumped throughout and it was jarring. It masked their entrance, but as they passed the man at the round table looked up with a bastard of a grin. In a staggered eastern-European accent, he said, ¡°Hah! Wil, you owe me one!¡±


    ¡°Suck my balls, bro,¡± Wil snapped back. ¡°That bet was bullshit. How was I supposed to know they¡¯d rework the battle system into that?¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t¡±, the European pointed out. ¡°None of us could have guessed what he do. That is reason I took the bet.¡±  ¡°The bastard,¡± he added and sat back, his hands slick with the grease stains from touching his denim overalls. He relaxed his arm over the back of his chair. ¡°But if I remember- you looked pretty cun-fident anyway. I am wrong?¡±


    Wilhelm began to pass him, nose upturned, legs striding high like a child. ¡°That¡¯s Martin,¡± he whispered to Yeung-Sung, who followed close behind. ¡°He loves to piss me off.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not a friend?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s a good dude,¡± he said, turning back to the table, ¡°just annoying as all hell.¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked back. The woman at the table was patting the European, saying ¡°He won¡¯t pay you. You should¡¯ve made a contract with him. I told you that before.¡±


    Martin frowned, unconvinced. ¡°You still owe me, Wil! I expect to get drunk tonight, with your help¡±.


    The man against the side wall chuckled, shaking his head that was half in the shadow. Still, Yeung-Sung was struck by how wonderfully cared for his curled hair was. He looks like a rockstar, damn.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Wil waved away the demand thrown at him. ¡°Fuck off, Martin¡±.


    His bangs obscuring his view, once the man flicked them off to the side, he noticed Yeung-Sung staring and glared. ¡°What are you looking at?¡±


    Wil grabbed Yeung-Sung and pulled him forward.


    Stunned, Yeung-Sung said, ¡°Nothing.¡±


    The man stroked through one of his bangs with a finger. ¡°Nothing? Is that what I am, because you seem to be looking at me. Hmm?¡± He pushed off the wall suddenly, puffing out his chest out beneath his sleeveless waistcoat.


    Martin, still sitting, caught a muscular arm. ¡°Relax, you,¡± he laughed. He took a drink then squinted his eyes at Yeung-Sung. ¡°Wil, you shit-head, is this who I think this is? Looks a lot like lost sheep.¡±


    Face turning taught, Martin leered at Yeung-Sung, ¡°Looking at our Shirley over there?¡±


    Shirley tore his arm free, saying ¡°Let go of me,¡± with his voice suddenly stretched and high.


    ¡°Just¡­ your hair,¡± Yeung-Sung cut in. ¡°It¡¯s nice.¡±


    ¡°And I can¡¯t have nice hair?¡±, he asked, aggravated. With that he crossed his arms and slammed back into his previous position against the wall with a deep thud.


    Yeung-Sung opened his mouth to apologise, but judging by Shirley¡¯s body language, he had already forgotten about him.


    ¡°Come on, there¡¯s loads more to meet,¡± Wil said, poking his arm.


    As they approached the bar, the bickering that was going on ended in a slam.


    ¡°Would ye¡¯ shut it?¡± came the thick, pastoral accent from the slammer.


    He was Steph, as Yeung-Sung soon found out. A giant reed of a man with a drooping posture. He lolled his head on the rim of the counter in agony, saying, ¡°If ¡®ah don¡¯ get a drink soon ah¡¯m gonna go cray-zeh!¡±


    Around him, other patrons erupted at that and began bringing up clouds of dust with their fists which burrowed the electronic music under raging curses.


    ¡°That¡¯s for fuckin¡¯ sure,¡± slid in a sour female voice from farther back.


    The Joint Wick had several lounge booths, each partitioned by a flimsy wall with an iron wrought table, large enough for a party to sit at. From the very back -and sitting alone by the look of it, a woman with wild, matted hair was sticking her neck out. Upon seeing Yeung-Sung and Wilhelm approach, she stumbled out of the booth and walked up to them, at attention in front of them, her lucid stare spiralling towards him. It was merely uncomfortable at first, until Yeung-Sung noticed what she was wearing and became nervous; a lab coat!


    ¡°You¡¯re a GLI researcher!¡± he immediately blurted out.


    The scientist looked him over. A curl of hair tickled her cheek and she promptly blew it away, in a motion disregarding Yeung-Sung. Nobody else had paid any heed to his outburst either.


    ¡°Just pick a price Darnes,¡± she said, motioning for the bartender to pour for her. ¡°It¡¯s not that hard.¡±


    The bartender nodded and took her empty glass but continued to complain. ¡°The taxes. The taxes are too high. I can¡¯t sell pints near the price I used to.¡±


    ¡°So sell it for more,¡± she told him.


    Numerous shocked voices echoed the word. ¡°-More?¡±


    ¡°Ehh, no!¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡±


    ¡°Do not do that.¡±


    Glaring at her sideways -his head still on the counter- Steph said, ¡°Easy for you to say, you¡¯re not the one paying.¡±


    The scientist shrugged and Yeung-Sung noticed the bags under her eyes, huge and grey things like teabags strung over her teapot cheeks. ¡°Perks of the job,¡± she muttered, swiping up her pint and swilling it out the side of her mouth. She gave the Scotsman a wink mid-gulp.


    Darnes, the bartended frowned. ¡°And if it keeps going up?¡± he asked, ¡°I need to account for inflation in my price formula already. Aisling? Why didn¡¯t you warn us?¡±


    Stomping a foot down, she turned straight at him. ¡°6 minims,¡± she growled. She took another passing glance at Yeung-Sung and Wil and began to wander back into the recesses of the pub, mumbling about how ¡°I have to think for every idiot¡±.


    Steph sprung up like a bent stalk. ¡°6 minims? That¡¯s double!¡±


    ¡°Ahh, c¡¯mon, that¡¯s too much!¡±


    Darnes adjusted his sleeves, silent. He hoofed the ground like an anxious bull and contorted his lips into several different configurations before sighing, announcing, ¡°Six minims it¡¯ll be then.¡±


    ¡°Since when do you take orders from her, Darnes?¡± Wil asked, shifting elbow first before the bartender.


    ¡°Oh, Wil. Good to see you.¡±


    Yeung-Sung listened to the regulars on their stools continue to complain. One or two blared their curses directly at Aisling. It was after a few of these when she snapped back. Hand gripping the side of her coat, she shouted, ¡°Shut up, you oafs! I¡¯m doing you a favour.¡±


    Then, after a glance she laughed. ¡°Maybe you should try asking the new boy to buy you a drink.¡± She hollered loudly at her own joke and slid into her booth.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung, isn¡¯t it?¡± Darnes asked politely, ¡°What did she mean by that?¡±


    Wil¡¯s eyes grew wide and glowed. He was on his phone and it backlit his profile. ¡°His ID is not listed. He can¡¯t buy anything.¡± His face was all concern. ¡°I thought you were joking before.¡±


    The couple from before had gotten up. The woman approached Yeung-Sung gently and asked, ¡°Is that true? You¡¯re not registered?¡± Her outfit was comfortable yet saggy. Her eyelids were the same.


    Martin lumbered up beside her.  ¡°Why not?¡± he demanded, but his girl shushed him.


    ¡°Aisling¡¯s right,¡± Wilhelm said. He showed around a long list of names on his phone. Then, he typed in Yeung-Sung, asked if the spelling was right -to which he got a nod- and tapped Search. All the entries cleared. An error notification was displayed shortly after.


    Everyone turned to Yeung-Sung with gasps. Lost for words, Yeung-Sung was about to defend himself when Wil tapped him on the shoulder with the tip of his phone.


    ¡°I guess you weren¡¯t lying after all. Well there¡¯s only one thing for you to do now, right?¡±


    Yeung-Sung searched for the door.

 Part 17 Public House, Private Lives III

    Public House Part 3


    Darnes settled on the agreed 6 minims. This meant that beer was officially back on the menu, so everyone was congregating to the bar and passing by Pak. He found out the woman from before was called Mamba. He was also introduced to  a Swede called Fenrick -or Fen-  who told him that Airgead was based on Irish folklore; a German named Hans who wore a black leather jacket from outside and went on about missing his family; and Sykes, an Irish man with African origins who stared into his glass most of the time, trembling, and was the only smoker amongst them.


    Yeung-Sung held his ground as all the regulars of the Joint Wick clacked his shoulders, slapped his back or nudged him playfully. His focus was on nodding and greeting them back, smiling too, if he could muster it. The last person to properly introduce themselves -and get their drink- was Shirley. Still frowning, he looked at Yeung-Sung like he was a ripe fruit on the verge of spoiling. Wearing a clay, sleeveless top, Yeung-Sung noticed again how he was all tense muscle and tender curl, and so looked down immediately, trying not to repeat his earlier mistake. He watched Shirley¡¯s exercise shoes for movement, and when they did, he looked back up and saw Shirley smiling.


    ¡°Chin up, we¡¯ve been there. Well, I have anyway,¡± he said. He looked over his shoulder. ¡°Unlike these guys, I can never really be comfortable here, but anyway, don¡¯t worry. They¡¯re good people. They¡¯ll sort you out.¡± Then, as Yeung-Sung was too shocked to reply he added, ¡°Next round is on me!¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Yeung-Sung said at last. Shirley rocked a satisfied grin, and Yeung-Sung felt a heat in his cheeks, growing more embarrassed when he caught a glimpse of Aisling out from her corner smirking at the both of them. About to apologise, it was then he realised that Shirley was as red as he was, and as paranoid.


    ¡°How long have you lived here?¡± he asked him.


    Shirley was taken aback -though to Yeung-Sung it seemed a perfectly reasonable question. ¡°How long?¡± he repeated, placing a hand gently to his lips. Not so gently, he curled his fingers into a fist and shifted it down like he was switching gears. ¡°Too long,¡± he decided.


    Yeung-Sung took a seat at the middle booth, which overlooked the congregation at the bar. Empty handed, he licked his lips while at the same time repeating his mantra of ¡®Airgead is a stupid idea¡¯. But for the third time today he was unsure of this belief. Just a moment ago all the pubgoers were leering over him and judging him. But now they were just having fun, in another bar, any other night; laughing, joking, drinking. Passing the time with gossip and memories. The memories before the colony. Before the crash. Because where else would you find people leaving their private lives to drink in a public house like this?The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Only here is this possible, Yeung-Sung realised.


    He was facing evidence -identified by a fierce feeling of reluctance- that maybe the experiment was working. That maybe it was possible to turn over governance of the world to GLI, to Jordan, and that they could be trusted to line our lives with social safety nets.


    Is this actually the beginning of a new world? One that I¡¯m a part of?


    The question arose, and floated in his mind unanswered, for he had no defining argument inside of him that could say for sure. Yeung-Sung, finally, took out his phone as he sat alone at the booth. The black, unmarked screen stared back at him with his own face.


    Do I try it?


    ¡°Here. For you¡±. Shirley placed a glass in front of him. Taking it, he realised that nearly all of the main group was coming over to him. They fought for the closest place to him with excitement, and the ones that couldn¡¯t find a seat on the couch remained on the barstools, stroking their chins. Nudging through Von Martin and Mamba, Wilhelm placed himself on Yeung-Sung¡¯s right hand-side. He rubbed his hands, nodding at the phone in Yeung-Sung¡¯ hand. I¡¯m not going to have a choice in the matter, am I? Biting his lip and furrowing his brows, he knew his face expressed that sentiment perfectly.


    The group was arranged like they were about to witness a miracle. They muttered amongst themselves with feverish awe, drilled the points of their shoes into the floor with expectant energy. Wilhelm even acted like a nurse, wriggling his fingers into an imaginary pair of gloves. He shushed them. ¡°Ready?¡± he asked, looking directly into his eyes.


    But Yeung-Sung could only blink back as the bar looked on. Patiently, silently -except for the occasional slurp and soft clink of glass on wood- they watched. They waited. Even Darnes, leaning as far as he could over the counter, turned down his own mixtape to allow Yeung-Sung the prominence.


    Right. This is happening then.


    He held the phone lightly. The tips of his fingers held the backside steady, his thumbs in a cradle just off the edge of the screen face. Its case was smooth. He pressed down the power button and it gave off a vibrating yet plastic heartbeat. Yeung-Sung swallowed, his throat feeling dry and narrow. The tension was like a thick cord wrapping everyone close, yet as soon as he used his other thumb to tap open Airgead it snapped for good.

 Part 18 Logging in

    Logging in at Last Part 1


    When was the last time I played a game? Or had one on my phone? I mean, since I¡¯m Korean they probably expect that I¡¯d be good, no matter what type of game it is, but if I¡¯m honest with them, honest with myself, then¡­Oh I don¡¯t know if I can do this.


    For the first time, Yeung-Sung started Airgead up. After a quick initializing sequence a text box popped up:


    [Terms & Conditions]


    [Privacy Agreement]


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Wilhelm asked, ¡°Nobody reads that shit. Skip past it¡±.


    Reluctantly, he proceeded to [Agree] and immediately a sea of grey flowed through under a clouded sky. It panned out slowly, revealing a stony beach where every rock had six sides on its surface, rendered with all the shine and colour gradient of a photo.


    ¡°I love the new intro, though,¡± Mamba said through the murmurs. ¡°Aisling¡¯s the one behind the art direction, Pak, if you didn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Still don¡¯t know why she always hanging around here,¡± Martin laughed.


    Wilhelm leaned over to see if she was watching. ¡°Yeah. Not like she tells us anything either. Anything useful anyway.¡±


    ¡°Wil, some respect please!¡± Mamba exclaimed. He snorted at that. Ignoring him, she fluttered her hands. ¡°Oh! Oh! The music¡±.


    She yelled over to the bar. ¡°Darnes, could you lower your low fidelity nonsense a little -or better yet turn it off so we can hear some music,¡± she squealed in anticipation, ¡°actual, good music by professionals¡±.


    The music inside blared louder. Mamba stood up and slammed half her bodyweight onto the table. ¡°Come on, Darnes!¡±


    Wil chuckled. ¡°What was that about respect?¡±


    ¡°Quiet, Wil, ¡°cut in Von martin. He covered his hand over Mamba¡¯s and tried to cajole her back into her seat.


    From the far end of the couch, Yeung-Sung heard a cough. ¡°You know, this is my first reset,¡± Shirley announced, ¡°It¡¯s kind of nice to see all this excitement again. Darnes?¡±


    This time the speakers fell away, replaced for a moment by a grumbling from Steph, who was wishing it was his first reset, so that he could get cheaper drink. The volume of others also took some time to adjust; so Yeung-Sung heard two others agree with withering ¡°Aye¡¯s¡±, and a third, who sounded like the Swede, Fenrick -or maybe it was Hans- who wished that GLI would hurry up and expand the experiment out into the real world, letting them go freely.


    Amidst the chaos, Yeung-Sung took a long drink. As his glass emptied, the faint music of Airgead swelled; fiddle and guitar linking the pastoral imagery that passed, evoking a feeling of a melancholic past. And isn¡¯t that what we long for? To go back to simpler times. He thought back to his grandparent¡¯s cottage out in Boseong. He remembered fishing, and failing, and going back to hand pick vegetables for his dinner, and tea leaves for after. Most of all he remembered joy. But as the beer flushed into his stomach his memories stoppered to less than a drip, fading into an uncertain grey and then to the four black edges of his phone; They framed a golden-glowing body crawling from the ocean. As he stood, waves retreated as if he was a barrier that prevented the salty onslaught from touching ground and grass. An arrow appeared overhead, pointing down. Yeung-Sung placed his finger over it and his character began to walk.


    ¡°So we do start with all same character,¡± Martin noted, thoughtfully.


    The avatar¡¯s pulse breathed in time to its pace. The background music now underpinned by a male chorus. Footsteps squelched loudly, each one drier than the last until they crunched, Yeung-Sung¡¯s avatar rushing faster now through forestland. Again, he was appointed to point. He did it quicker this time and, in only a few frames his character had crushed the spines of several trees, filling up a progress bar. [Harvesting¡­]


    ¡°Animations are kinda boring,¡± Shirley noted.


    ¡°Not boring; efficient,¡± Wil snapped, explaining from his bored pose. ¡°Less wind-up, more time spent on task.¡±


    ¡°You know, I forget sometimes how much of an anti-social hobbit you are when you talk business,¡± Mamba chuckled.


    Crossing his arms and nodding in respect, Von Martin agreed, ¡°Pretty badass.¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked away from the screen as the harvesting continued and watched Wil blush. Scratching his head, he noticed Yeung-Sung regarding him seriously and gave him a knowing smile.


    ¡°Look, I know games, man¡±, he said.


    No wonder he¡¯s so comfortable, speaking so casually, so confidently now that his ¡°worth¡± is acknowledged. I knew many others that were the same, but they lived in the real world. Don¡¯t act so proud, like all your life was spent purposely preparing for this.


    Yeung-Sung nearly bit his tongue holding himself back from spouting something so toxic. It was a lashing vine of feeling that he didn¡¯t expect. ¡°Yeah,¡± he managed to let out. ¡°I guess you do.¡±


    Back to Airgead, his avatar had cleared out a field¡¯s worth of space with his bare hands and was still going without any signs of exhaustion. Leaving piles of logs behind him as he went. They shrunk until disappearing as if they were absorbed by his phone.


    ¡°O-K?¡± he muttered.


    A banner slid in from the side with a brown sack as its icon. [This is your current inventory]


    Wilhelm laughed at Yeung-Sung as he wrinkled his forehead in surprise. He pushed himself up, looking more interested. ¡°You¡¯ve seriously never played, like, an RPG? A gacha? You¡¯re¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Korean. Yes, I know. But you know, I was too busy helping feed half a city to spend time playing games.¡±


    Wilhelm jumped back in his seat. ¡°Shit, sorry dude. I didn¡¯t mean¡­¡±


    ¡°Boys, how about we just stop right there?¡± Mamba cut in like she was one of their mothers. ¡°We¡¯re both here now. And not by choice. We¡¯re all in under the same circumstance, as far as I¡¯m concerned. So let¡¯s be civil.¡± She turned between Wil and Yeung-Sung until their jaws unclenched, their fists were unfolded and put back under the table.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Wil said again.


    He¡¯s such an idiot, such a lucky idiot to be in his position. Why couldn¡¯t he see that? Yeung-Sung crept out a hand, to which Wil¡¯s eyes lit up. Shaking hands, Yeung-Sung strained out a smile, feeling like he was lifting fallen logs off his face.


    ¡°I still need your help,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I am doing. At all.¡±


    Motioning towards the phone, Wil said, ¡°For now just follow the arrows. It¡¯s a straightforward tutorial. I¡¯ll help you later on with some decisions, as need be.¡±


    On his phone, another arrow hovered impatiently. His character was idling. As the golden person looked himself over in apparent amazement, Yeung-Sung saw redness and purplish bruises around his hands heal before his eyes. Those injuries that would have turned to scars in real life just vanished. Overtop the restored skin, the golden glow quickly filled in the gap.


    ¡°Well, Yeung-Sung, we still have loads to do before the real game,¡± said Von Martin.


    He moved his avatar into a plain of bedrock. The shining figure hurdled as he ran, crossing the thick cracks that ran throughout. Huge boulders jutted out of some of them like trapped fingers, covered in a fuzzy orange moss. When he stopped, Yeung-Sung understood what to do and as soon as the prompt appeared, he energetically whacked it. Snapping his neck down, the avatar tore into the ground-rock, and began gathering.


    Approximating the length of a second, Yeung-Sung counted to ten before the task was done.


    ¡°This process is fae-ester than normal, as it is tutorial,¡± Von Martin explained.


    His pronunciation was odd. ¡°Faster?¡± he asked.


    Von Martin nodded. ¡°Normally a gathering process takes one hundred ticks; here it takes ten.¡±


    ¡°What? For everything?¡± Yeung-Sung asked. He turned right to check with Wil, who was also nodding.


    ¡°Yup, they start you at one tick per second,¡± he said holding up a finger, ¡°Then with increased mastery, and probably equipment -though I haven¡¯t finished testing- that number goes up. Slowly. I haven¡¯t seen anyone breach five ticks a second yet.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem like a lot,¡± Shirley said, confused. ¡°Yet I feel that there¡¯s people who are getting far more mats than me.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Wil smiled, ¡°Interesting you say that. I¡¯m almost certain that you can also increase the output per session.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Though I haven¡¯t figured out how it works with Airgead. Anyway, the other thing is, you shouldn¡¯t underestimate the value of even half a tick. That shit adds up. A person gathering at two ticks per sec finishes in fifty, but a person gathering at two-point-five is finished in forty. Over the course of what -a day, a week?¡± Wil sat back, still grinning in delight at the numbers running through his head. ¡°It¡¯ll be fun to see how it turns out.¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Shirley slumped, ¡°Great. Sounds to me like we¡¯re already at a disadvantage to the factions.¡±


    Yeung-Sung perked up. ¡°Factions?¡±


    Von Martin bellowed a laugh. ¡°Yes, Pak. Assholes with common goals to be coming together and control flow of money in Airgead. It¡¯s¡­bit like politics, actually.¡± Roaring again, he slammed an empty glass down on the table.


    Mamba flicked her nails and fanned her fingers out, observing them. ¡°You¡¯ll see some of them soon, I¡¯m sure, Pak,¡± she continued for Von Martin, ¡°Some of them -like PM and the Debaters- are always looking for new members¡±. She ended with a groan.


    ¡°What do they do, exactly? The factions?¡±


    Wil interrupted any answer that might have been given with a clap of his hands. ¡°Oh, we¡¯ll tell you later. This is the good part!¡±


    Past the plains, Yeung-Sung¡¯s avatar climbed a hillside. Dark clouds present from even the beginning cutscene grew heavy and close enough for the glowing man to touch. Reaching out, Yeung-Sung and his avatar touched the middle of the screen together.


    [Your arrival was foretold. Now, they come for you.]


    The sky burst open. Barbarians streamed in through a curtain of rain, advancing quickly. Yeung-Sung tapped hastily, seeing that they did not pause as he read the text, and in fact as he reached for the [Next] icon they kicked up dust even faster.


    [Prepare for battle!]


    [Craft yourself a weapon and some armour]


    Shaking, waiting to be opened, the inventory unveiled its grid of boxes eagerly when Yeung-Sung clicked it. The wood and stone he had collected took up the first two slots. But that was it.


    ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    Shirley responded first. ¡°There¡¯s no smithing or nothing. I guess you¡¯re a god,¡± he laughed. ¡°One capable of crafting with your bare fists.¡± He clasps his veined hands together and squeezed.


    Yeung-Sung spotted a small [Craft] button in the bottom corner. Through the translucent inventory he saw his avatar mimicking the same pose as Shirley.


    Pressing it unveiled a scroll that fell beyond the end of the screen. Readying himself to pick something quickly, Yeung-Sung noticed that it was blank, with only a blinking dash at the start. Out of a new habit, he tapped anyway, and a keypad bumped in from beneath.


    He looked up from the screen with a puckered mouth. ¡°Ehh¡­what now?¡±


    Everyone at the booth looked to Wil to explain, but he just sat back with his head down and smirked.


    Von Martin sighed. ¡°The type of weapon you use affects the attack order, is what I understand.¡± He gestured around to see if anyone would add.


    Shirley shrugged at Yeung-Sung. With a light, sympathetic tone he said, ¡°They¡¯ve changed it a lot in this version and I thought that I had no idea what I was doing before. You could probably put just about anything in there, whether or not it would help you in fighting would be a different question, however.¡±


    Both Shirley and Von Martin eyed Wil suspiciously.


    ¡°Guys, they¡¯re still approaching,¡± he said, voice shaking. He was still unsure as what to type. ¡°So, I¡¯ll just type in maybe¡­ a sword?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Mamba answered. ¡°Sword, spear, shield, harp, whatever.¡±


    ¡°Not in the tutorial,¡± Shirley agreed. ¡°It¡¯s all the same.¡±


    ¡°Of course it matters,¡± Wilhelm interrupted, ¡°If you want to be optimal!¡± He looked around, frustrated.


    He leaned over with one elbow on the edge of the table. Everyone huddled in closer, eager for his insight. Except for Von Martin, who let out a moan.


    He¡¯s so sure of himself. Yeung-Sung drew his hand back, but still sweated at the thought of dying before he had even begun. He listened to his advice.


    ¡°The quality of your materials is garbage anyway -meaning they¡¯ll all do roughly the same amount of damage, so it¡¯s best to pick the fastest attacking weapon you can think of.¡±


    ¡°I guess that makes sense,¡± Shirley admitted.


    Von Martin was moaning still. ¡°Would be better if we could see numbers.¡±


    To that, everyone nodded, except Yeung-Sung who didn¡¯t understand. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°The game, well, this new version since the reset, has gone for this minimalistic style where any information that would tell us how items and skills work are hidden,¡± Mamba explained. She twirled a finger in her hair, focusing as she relayed her own understanding of Airgead to Yeung-Sung. ¡°They are there, for sure they are there -I¡¯ve made better looking equipment and it kills faster, but I can only guess. It¡¯s a really, really abstract system.¡±


    It makes it kind of realistic then, doesn¡¯t it?


    ¡°What if I pretend that its ¡°real¡±, and don¡¯t think about it?¡± he asked. ¡°All the numbers.¡±


    Unsure, Mamba looked to Wil, who just shrugged. ¡°Can¡¯t say yet.¡±


    As the table pondered the nature of Jordan¡¯s combat system, Yeung-Sung saw another regular from the bar -the Irishman Sykes- approach the booth with a wonky stride. Slurping down the last of his drink, he wiped the daydreaming look off his face. He pushed his way past Shirley onto the couch, saying, ¡°Doesn¡¯t everyone in the tutorial get one-shotted anyway?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, whatever, it¡¯s still optimal,¡± Wil sneered back. Sulking, he turned back to Yeung-Sung and said, ¡°Type something already, man!¡±


    Yeung-Sung typed. S-I-C-K-E-L.


    Peering over, Shirley stifled a laugh, ¡°Nice try, but it ends in L-E not E-L. Yeung-Sung noticed him gazing over curiously while he was changing it, then hit [Confirm].


    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting choice. What are you trying to prove with that?¡± Shirley asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Yeung-Sung answered, scratching the back of his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think I would be a swordsman in real-life, so I picked something that suits me.¡± He pointed at himself. ¡°I¡¯m a greengrocer. I, uhh, like farming, growing food for other people.¡±


    A few at the table raised their eyebrows, but Wil gave an approving bob. ¡°Well, it¡¯s better than a great hammer¡­Shirley.¡±


    Tucking his face under his curled bangs, Shirley blushed.


    Martin coughed loudly, pounding his fist on the table. ¡°That was un-necessary,¡± he growled, separating the difficult pronunciation into two distinct words. Raising his fist, he slipped it into a gesture to bring everyone¡¯s attention back to the screen. Airgead now prompted Yeung-Sung to choose a type of armour. He stared at it blankly and waited for someone to explain what to do. But there came no explanation.


    ¡°Armour reduces the damage I take, right?¡±


    Von Martin rubbed his chin with visibly greasy fingers. ¡°Yes,¡± he began, narrowing his eyes as he looked away, ¡°But it ees not only this. More complex.¡± He sighed. Opening his mouth he absent-mindedly flicked his teeth with the tip of his thumb. ¡°Armour will also give you stats. But I think there is more.¡±


    ¡°What makes you think that?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    Shifting in his seat, Martin cracked his thumb. ¡°In combat, the game allows you to select where you get hit with an attack. Apart from miti- mit, ahh, mit-ee-gat-ting,¡±


    ¡°Mitigating, you got it,¡± Mamba said.


    He smiled with fond eyes. ¡°Yes, apart from mitigating damage, there must be a reason why this is one of few things we can manipulate in battle.¡±


    Wil snapped his fingers and made a finger gun towards his head. ¡°Yeah, man. I have the same theory, and what¡¯s more, the game allows you, when you¡¯re selecting an enemy, to target a piece of your own body. Now, why would that be if there wasn¡¯t an explicit purpose to it?¡±


    ¡°This bloody version,¡± Sykes said, yawning.


    Shirley smiled through still flushed cheeks, bulging out like onions in a sack. ¡°At least I¡¯m not the only one who¡¯s confused.¡±


    Yeung-Sung chuckled at that. ¡°So what will I do?¡±


    He, along with the rest of the tabled watched Wil intently for an answer. He looked to be deep in thought, swirled a green coaster around in circles on the table. It took a few lingering moments for him to realise. Looking up, surprise and snark fell on his expression at the same time. ¡°What?¡± he asked, ¡°Oh, now you want my opinion?¡±


    He wasn¡¯t thinking at all; he was sulking. But it¡¯s pretty damn clear no one wants to stroke your ego.


    Sykes was the one that broke the silence. ¡°Sure, we¡¯ll hear it. But it¡¯s probably wrong.¡± He got up with a laugh and went back to the bar.


    Wilhelm snorted as he lay at the corner of the table, hot head in his hands. ¡°I guess it doesn¡¯t matter here,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Right ¡°, Yeung-Sung began.


    ¡°-But if you fellers must know, the different armour types resist different types of damage.¡± He slapped the coaster down on the table. It had the intertwined candles in a W shape; the Wick¡¯s logo. Wilhelm began ripping off each corner off it as he talked.


    ¡°True, we have only vague visual indicators to go by now, things like cracks and dents, but even that little shows us how much a given attack damages it. Following the logic -unless Jordan decided he really wants to fuck with us- then resisted attacks should damage gear less,¡± he explained, then ripped the remaining coaster in half,¡± and attacks that it¡¯s weak to will destroy the equipment faster. Make sense?¡±


    Shirley scooped up the pieces and spread them out like the spokes of a wheel. ¡°Then it becomes like a typical element-weakness chart?¡±


    ¡°Uhh, like what?¡± asked Yeung-Sung.


    Martin tsked. ¡°Like Pok-e-mon, Pak.¡± Then, when Yeung-Sung showed no signs of comprehension Mamba added, ¡°Like rock-paper-scissors. One beats the other, circling back around.¡± She pointed around the length of the coaster bits.


    ¡°Oh, I see. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but more subtle,¡± Wil said, with his eyelids drooped, ¡°More -as you said, Mamba- complex.¡± He re-arranged the pieces into an umbrella shape. He speared the top one. ¡°One type can have may different relationships of varying strengths to others. And that¡¯s not even considering that most equipment will probably end up belonging to more than one type.¡±


    ¡°What I¡¯m understanding is that there¡¯s no way to know, correct?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    ¡°Not without a lot of testing. No.¡± Suddenly Wil tossed all the pieces to the floor with one fierce swipe. ¡°One would think,¡± he said with gritted teeth, ¡°That you could just brute force your way through the game by grinding. However, someone that spends the time to discover the acute details could beat you to it. If you¡¯re a lucky piece of shit.¡± He slammed his head back against the couch, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. ¡°That¡¯s how I lost. I¡¯d bet on it.¡±


    The mood at the deflated after that. Martin stroked his chin intently, Mamba excused herself and Shirley bent over, collecting the littered pieces. Yeung-Sung was sweating, though. No one told him what to do so he thought quickly and typed up BOOTS, hesitating to lock his option in.


    Quietly, Sykes muttered into a mostly empty glass. ¡°It¡¯s the information wars all over again.¡±


    Giving him a look of disgust, Von Martin stood up. ¡°I think¡­it¡¯s time for another round!¡± he exclaimed, hoisting his face back up into a smile.


    Putting her phone away as she came back, Mamba shared the face of muddled uncertainty that had affected the rest of them. ¡°Champs are going to be up our asses with spies again,¡± she sighed


    Shirley nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll need to keep our mouths shut. I know. Don¡¯t worry I learned from last time.¡± His voice grew sharper, distinctly thicker than before.


    Atop a valley, his avatar sat, with the barbarians still rushing through the plains beneath. The plains were a lot larger than he first thought, but the threat was closing in and he had no idea what else was required of him in the tutorial. Anxiously, Yeung-Sung left him to craft his boots in silence, as he swivelled the camera around with a finger, watching. He was curious about the ¡°factions¡± and the ¡°Information wars¡±, but he decided to keep his attention on the preparing himself for the raid party.


    When he finished, a red notification popped up over his inventory and his avatar shuffled onto his knees and began to pray.


    [Before battle, seek blessings from the gods.]


    Yeung-Sung heard frenzied shouts now, flying from his phone, nearly causing him to drop it. His character though, was still deep in meditation.


    ¡°Umm, they¡¯re not going to attack me before I finish the tutorial, are they?¡± he asked Shirley who shrugged and, on the opposite side of the booth, Yeung-Sung saw Mamba make the same, unconcerned gesture. Wilhelm laughed hard. He took up one of the collected coaster pieces, flicking it.


    It hit Shirley in the face. ¡°Thanks for that, you ass,¡± he said, pulling it out of some curls, ¡°but to answer your question -yeah Yeung-Sung, they will eventually¡±.


    ¡°-If you¡¯re a paraplegic!¡± cut in Wilhelm.


    ¡°But,¡± said Sykes, coming back with a fresh beer, ¡°it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± He pointed his drink at Yeung-Sung, spilling some on the table. ¡°I¡¯m telling you. Even without equipment or the blessing, your avatar can destroy the group barehanded.¡± He looked at the mess and puffed up his cheeks. ¡°Oops.¡±


    Behind them at the bar, they heard Darnes¡¯ rough voice. ¡°Animals! Use a coaster!¡±.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± he continued, dropping down onto the couch, ¡°I tried it. The only thing that happens is you when you start ticking away normally, you don¡¯t get the accelerated ticks of the tutorial. Meaning you¡¯ll have to do the basics again, but slower.¡±


    Yeung-Sung nodded along and as soon as Sykes finished, he felt his phone vibrate in his hands. His avatar got up from the grass and took a wide stance upon the hill. He had his copper sickle now, sparkling from the morning dew and his boots were covered by a dark shadow. Drums rolled and clattered, rising loudly. Then, fading abruptly, a diagonal cut sliced through the screen and out of the transition the battle sequence began.

 Part 19 Logging in II

    Wide eyed, Yeung-Sung gritted his teeth and asked, ¡°What do I do? How does the fighting work?¡±


    ¡°Ah, relax,¡± Von Martin said. He had come back too, but with drinks for everyone spread out between his fingers. He rolled his eyes. ¡°The game is turn-based.¡± He dealt each drink to grateful, nodding heads and sat back beside Mamba. ¡°All you have to do is select a target and -oh, the armour thing.¡±


    Yeung-Sung took a sharp breath and nearly downed the entire pint before him. Gasping, he prepared himself and looked at the screen. His avatar switched his weight from foot to foot. The barbarians raised their dirt-packed weapons and hollered, but stood in their spots respectfully, waiting for Yeung-Sung to make his move.


    ¡°Oh.¡± His pint glass was rattling against the table from the careless way he placed it down. He scrunched his face up.


    ¡°It is a tutorial, Yeung-Sung,¡± Wil chuckled. ¡°Not sure what you expected.¡±


    The camera panned out, the tutorial highlighting the first enemy.  He drew a line from his avatar towards it. ¡°I guess I took the realism too seriously,¡± Yeung-Sung said, watching with a blank expression.


    Unstoppable, his avatar dismembered each barbarian one by one. Severed limbs dropped like heads of corn to his sickle. When one fell, another got the chance to retaliate but their blades didn¡¯t even pierce his bare, golden chest. Pausing in astonishment of his own power, Yeung-Sung¡¯s character shouldered on, following the hair-like path that led his way until only he remained. When it was over, the camera shrunk back down to focus on the avatar, who stared out determinedly from the middle of the screen. Then began to run.


    But Yeung-Sung watched, mouth open in horror, as the dehumanized corpses faded into the background. Unlike the logs and stone did earlier, nothing was collected; it was simply a scene of slaughter, quickly forgotten in favour of a text box that popped up, reading:


    [The people of these lands have forgotten the past, forgotten who you are.]


    Wooden buildings rolled in at the sides. His avatar had entered a town.


    [ Soon, you will make them remember¡­]


    Shirley applauded, giving him a tight smile.


    ¡°Right, so that¡¯s the tutorial. Now the game opens up,¡± Wil said, happily guzzling between sentences.


    He pointed at the stubs of tabs along either side of the screen. Yeung-Sung dragged one of them out. Its emblem was a market tent.


    ¡°This is your hub,¡± Wil continued, ¡°From here you can go and do what you like; farm, craft, trade. But most importantly; challenge the Gauntlet.¡± He took a dramatic pose and projected his voice. ¡°The next fight our golden gods have against the heathens of this world.¡±


    Yeung-Sung blinked in surprise. He put his phone down and rubbed his eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty minimalist storytelling,¡± Sykes admitted.


    ¡°The first Gauntlet was just beaten earlier,¡± said Shirley, ¡°which kick-started the economy.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but how?¡± Yeung-Sung asked, ¡°This is a neat little game -the cut-scenes are well made, and it seems cool, but where does the money come in?¡±


    ¡°Beating the Gauntlet,¡± Wilhelm repeated with his same aggravated tone. ¡°Each one you defeat awards you with a medal.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the name of the currency,¡± Shirley added.


    Yeung-Sung squeezed his head. ¡°I know. I get that part, but¡­how? How does this translate into real, everyday spending money?¡±


    Before anyone could give him any other answers, the door of the Joint Wick burst open.


    A woman wearing a perfect ratio of red:blue clothes shouted from the doorway.


    ¡°Leave me alone, Shane!¡± She ducked as she came in. Smiling around at everyone, she looked back every few seconds with a frown. ¡°Hey guys. Happy reset and all that.¡±


    ¡°Those commies keeping yeh back from us, lassie?¡± asked the old man at the bar. Steph, that¡¯s his name. At the same time, others chimed in with their own greetings, but none more so than Mamba, who took her firmly under her arm to immediately chat.


    Wilhelm and Martin elbowed Yeung-Sung, winking. Yeung-Sung took his eyes of her, swallowing.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Anita, ¡°Wilhelm said, leaning up close, ¡°She¡¯s a bartender. Well, the only other bartender we have apart from Darnes.¡±


    Martin covered his mouth with his hand and whispered, ¡°Honestly, she does te-rrible job., but she keeps the men drinking, eh?¡± He nudged Yeung-Sung in the side again, pointing at the suddenly alert men at the counter -Steph, Hans, Fenrick.


    Wrinkling his forehead, Yeung-Sung gave a slow nod. Wilhelm craned over and brought his voices down. ¡°Mamba hates her, secretly. Despises her.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± said Yeung-Sung, ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like it.¡±


    ¡°Yup, secretly they despise each other. Light and Dark,¡± he shrugged and upturned his glass on the table. ¡°It¡¯s kind of funny though.¡± When Anita left the Mamba¡¯s clutches, Yeung-Sung observed her as she strode behind the bar, greeting her patrons.


    She sticks out like a berry in a bun. Most of the residents wear clothes that betray who they were on the outside: Darnes¡¯s business suit; Han¡¯s dark greaser jacket; Fenrick¡¯s woolly pullover. Hmm. But she struts around like a punk Statue of Liberty. Red top, denim jeans, left and right leggings in a crosshatch design partway between fishnets and Spiderman.


    Everything about the symbolism makes me want to gag but¡­damn! She¡¯s really beautiful.


    She put on her apron. Partially obscured by the taps, she spoke with her boss, taking a sweeping look around. It was only when Anita¡¯s gaze fell upon Yeung-Sung in his own purple shirt -and as he bowed his hello- that he realised that she had her loyalty to the colony plastered all over her.


    ¡°Try it for yourself¡±.


    Yeung-Sung turned his attention back to the booth ¡°Huh?¡±


    Shirley was crossing his arms again, flexing them as he gave him a judgemental look. ¡°If you¡¯re finished looking, try buying a drink for yourself.¡±


    Wilhelm coughed out a laugh. ¡°Actually, you¡¯re gonna grab the next round. Right? It¡¯s only fair. Besides, look at the top here, you¡¯ve got a hundred minims to spare. Not like you have rent to pay, is it?¡±


    Von Martin grinned at the idea and soon enough Yeung-Sung was forcibly ushered off the couch. Shirley handed him his phone from the table. ¡°You¡¯ll need this.¡±


    Yeung-Sung hesitated, looking at his balance. ¡°This was for doing the tutorial?¡±


    ¡°No-no¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± Wilhelm laughed, spitting out his drink. ¡°For that?¡±


    Sykes waved Wil away, saying, ¡°Mate, that¡¯s a global reward from beating the first gauntlet.¡± He spread out his arms and swivelled, looking up. ¡°It¡¯s why we¡¯re all here. Because we can spend money now, even -even Shane. How¡¯r¡¯ya Shane!¡±


    Waving back, a wiry, unkempt beard covered Shane¡¯s smile. Clapping Yeung-Sung on the shoulder, Sykes joined the rest of the bar in greeting him, filling the bar with cheer and banter once again. Carefully holding his phone, Yeung-Sung made his own way up too. The cheers grew louder as he approached, with Steph, Wil and Von Martin clinking their empty glasses together above their heads. Moving through them, he met Shane at the bar, exchanged nods with him, but then he promptly slipped out the gap Yeung-Sung made, excusing himself.


    Shocked at how quickly he abandoned their introduction, Yeung-Sung watched him ducking away in his crumpled jean-jacket, in a creased posture, peering back with bloodshot eyes.


    Turning to Wil, Yeung-Sung said, ¡°He looks tired.¡±


    Wil cocked his head. ¡°Huh? Ahh, that¡¯s just the way he is.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t judge,¡± Martin warned before he had a chance to say anything. ¡°The colony is a fresh start for some of us.¡±


    Sykes took a spot shouldering him. He finished a gulp with a satisfied Ahh and said, ¡°He¡¯s colony old guard.¡± He motioned behind the bar. ¡°Been here even before our lad Darnes. If it wasn¡¯t for his suggestions to GLI, we might not even have a bar.¡±


    Steph sat upright, eyes wide like heavy moons, ¡°The ¡®orror!¡±


    Pressing his lips together, Yeung-Sung nodded, but he couldn¡¯t help but track the bedraggled man once more out the corner of his eye as he was closing the bathroom door. Still, compared to everyone else -who feels genuine- this Shane guy seems different.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind him, sugar. What¡¯ll you have?¡±


    Yeung-Sung faced the counter to see Anita swaying herself from side to side.


    Wait a moment¡­ Yeung-Sung thumbed in the direction of the bathroom. ¡°Did he do something to you?¡±


    Anita stopped mid swing and rolled her eyes ¡°Nah. He¡¯s always been a bit of a creep.¡± She gripped the edge of the bar noticeably harder. ¡°Trying to get any kind of attention he can from me.¡±


    From around the bar some of the older regulars came to her defence;


    ¡°And would you blame him?¡± chuckled Hans.


    Fenrick rubbed his fingers together. ¡°Maybe if he paid up a bit more,¡±.


    Yeung-Sung noticed Wil hide his face in his pint and turn elsewhere.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say,¡± Steph said as he stretched his arm and back, creaking like bamboo, ¡°That there¡¯s a bit of history there.¡±


    Not meeting their eyes, Anita coughed sharply. ¡°Anyway, he¡¯s old news.¡± She broke open a new face, suddenly cheery. ¡°You¡¯re the good news we need around here,¡± she said and began to pour.


    ¡°Hey, I didn¡¯t order yet,¡± Yeung-Sung exclaimed.


    She sighed. ¡°A round for the booth? Honey, I know.¡±


    ¡°And one for Shane,¡± Darnes added behind her.


    Frowning, she ditched her cheeriness and focused her attention on the taps. ¡°And one for Shane,¡± she muttered.


    Impatient heads bobbed al around Yeung-Sung, who was giving Anita a narrow look.


    ¡°In the meantime,¡± Anita continued, ¡°you can tell me about yourself, Pak, love. Oh¡­ and your total is 60 minims.¡±


    She pushed out a square scanner that in front of him.  Taking it, Yeung-Sung held the device in the centre of its palm. It¡¯s tiny. Inspecting it, he noticed that the same filaments grew out of the top of the device as the lettuce he found in his store. As they were squirming in a strangely organic way, Yeung-Sung scrolled through pesticide brands in his mind while he hooked the back of his phone into them.


    [Spend 60mm at JNTWCK?]


    [ACCEPT]                  [DENY]


    He accepted. It then asked him for identification, so he brought his fingertip up behind the sensor on his phone.


    ¡°No, up here, honey,¡± Anita said, gesturing to the wormy till.


    His neck bulging as he swallowed, he forfeited the index finger of his left hand. A pulse of fear went through him. The filaments felt like receiving a metallic lick.


    [CONFIRMED], a prompt displayed, and faded. Yeung-Sung exhaled. ¡°That wasn¡¯t so bad.¡±


    A wave of cheer rang out from the booth. Even the fellows at on the stools gave him a respectful nod. Anita handed her his first, frothy glass which Yeung-Sung gleefully gave to Steph. He waited for Yeung-Sung to get his own and then, together with the rest of the bar side, they raised their drinks in a toast; ¡°To another reset!¡±

 Part 20 The Tallest Trees Cast the Darkest Shadows

    As if it was a competition, the drunks all waddled out of the Joint Wick, each one swaying more than the last. Mamba was the first to leave. Despite constantly being in conversation with Martin, Yeung-Sung noticed that she began checking her phone more and more, and with it, her demeanour degraded. But he wasn¡¯t expecting it at all when she got up from her barstool and said, ¡°I gotta get back to my husband y¡¯all. Lord knows what he¡¯s been up to since I left.¡± Grinning, she waved and started for the door.


    ¡°You tell us anything he comes up with,¡± said Wilhelm as she opened the front door.


    ¡°Hah! No, not anything of value anyway,¡± she replied. Drawing up her coat, she left into the night. Leaving Yeung-Seung in awe.


    What? I was certain they were a couple.


    Sitting beside him in the booth with his head in his hands, Martin sighed. Yeung-Sung shuddered, rubbing deep circles into his eyelids and decided to ask the man himself what was going on. He tapped Martin on the shoulder.


    ¡°You and Mamba aren¡¯t,¡±


    Martin perked up and gave a distracted smile. ¡°Just friends,¡± he said, stopping Yeung-Sung. ¡°Good friends,¡± he admitted, ¡°Unlikely friends. If you knew our factions, you would wonder why we aren¡¯t enemies.¡± He looked fondly at the massive wooden door. ¡°But we don¡¯t let that interfere of our friendship.¡± He looked up, proud, and lowered his shoulders.  He closed his eyes for a moment. ¡°Hard to get upset over i-dee-ologies when we are both stuck in same place, same situation, really.¡±


    Yeung-Sung considered the thought. ¡°That¡¯s a nice thought.¡±


    They shared a moment of quiet, yet the bar was still abuzz with people slowly getting ready to leave. Then Von Martin winced. His eyes snapped open and he furrowed his brows, pointing a hairy knuckle around at everyone. ¡°Don¡¯t fucking tell her I said that.¡±


    Yeung-Sung joined in on the laughter and teasing that followed. Not long after that Martin left, not having his best friend there to chat to. This set the momentum of the bar and changed the group dynamic. The regulars who were yet to leave huddled up around the counter, finishing a ¡°last one¡± or ¡°last two¡± drinks before their inevitable departure.


    Apart from the main group, Aisling and Sykes took their time out front as they smoked. Yeung-Sung watched them through the front window, as fuzzy figures bending over in laughter, their wisps of smoke hugging the glass as they rose, drawing closer to each other until they wound together. Then, minutes later when he looked again, they were gone. Disappointed, Yeung-Sung wandered back to the main huddle just as Darnes was coming through the back area. He was talking quietly to himself, mulling something over. Seeing him, Anita hopped out of the way and skipped by, relieved to be given a break  and headed towards the bathroom. Shirley joined her on the way.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve met us all,¡± Wilhelm said, slamming his sixth -or is it his seventh- pint down onto the barside. ¡°Whadd¡¯ya think? Feeling better about the whole colony situation?¡±


    Yeung-Sung stared down at his hand. His phone lay dormant there, awaiting his input. Realising that he was quickly falling into the habit that affected everyone else, he clamped his teeth, reddening.  ¡°I think so,¡±.


    Wil wiped the side of his lip. ¡°Well, before I go, I¡¯d better tell you how to min-max,¡± he said.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°He means optimise, make the most of your time,¡± Fenrick explained.


    Wil pounced back onto a barstool and swung himself around with his knees up. Darnes looked darkly at him from the counter. Smirking, Wil said, ¡°I¡¯ll need another one, then.¡±


    The barkeep stopped scratching his black-bearded chin to nod and began to pour from the same tap -the middle of three- that had been used all night. Wil patted the stool beside him, so Yeung-Sung hoisted himself up into it and rested his feet against the low railing. He shifted around until he felt nicely centred, then, like the others, began to listen.


    ¡°First,¡± Wil began, ¡°always have something on the go.¡± He showed his phone. It had a thin, yellow cover, with the centre of the screen pocked by a million half-faded fingerprints. ¡°You have to think of time as a resource in itself. Every moment you¡¯re not ticking away to produce something, or adding value to it, is time wasted.¡±


    With the screen facing away from him, he opened Airgead and manoeuvred through tabs effortlessly, ones that Yeung-Sung hadn¡¯t seven seen yet. All he could focus on was the flick of Wilhelm¡¯s wrist, a flash of fingers -and there it was.


    He stopped on a screen filled with rows of lists. Each list was a box that held a command. They lit up in consecutive order, drawing attention to the currently active command and highlighting its progress bar.


    ¡°Think ahead to what you want to get done in advance. You have a queue system for a reason.¡± He turned his phone towards himself and tapped in some adjustments. ¡°It¡¯s a real basic function that is super under-utilised for some reason,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°I don¡¯t see why.¡± Steph, Hans and Fen were all leaning in to get a closer look with their mouth holding oohs of wonder, so Wil showed the list around again. His queue was long enough that he had to swipe the screen vigorously to get to the end and fully show his process.


    ¡°Jaysus, that¡¯s ridiculous,¡± Steph said, reeling in his spindly back.


    ¡°Impressive,¡± said Fenrick. He looked through it closer, nodding. ¡°A group of searches and sell options that work off each other, tangentially to your crafting and grinding.¡±


    Grinning, Wil bowed. ¡°Thank you, my man.¡±


    ¡°Though it might be a little early for that.¡± Fenrick pointed at the first task. It was refreshing constantly without progressing. ¡°Looks like nobody¡¯s buying what you¡¯re selling, friend.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Wilhelm pulled the phone into his chest and snarled. Frowning deeply at Fen, he swiped down several times and tapped once.


    He turned to Yeung-Sung. ¡°Anyway, once you decide on a profession, I suggest you stick with it. This sort of game rewards you, granting you mastery over time. A long period of time, though.¡±


    Surprised, Yeung-Sung asked, ¡°Only one thing? But it seems like there¡¯s so much I can do.¡±


    ¡°Ahh, but that¡¯s exactly why its great to focus,¡± Fenrick pointed out. ¡°There are so many different things to chose from, that everyone can be the in-demand expert of something.¡±


    Wilhelm nodded. ¡°It¡¯s the only thing that allows us, ehh¡±


    ¡°-Vagabonds,¡± Fen interjected.


    ¡°Ooh, I like that.¡± Wilhelm licked his lips. ¡°Yes, having an unmatched mastery in even the most irrelevant skill is how we manage to compete. Especially the bigger factions; they disperse their skills in an attempt to become self-sufficient. To not have to waste medals on outsider prices.¡± He began to count on his fingers.


    ¡°The main ones are, like, the Centurions, Finers, Debaters, Roleplayers.¡±


    ¡°The Duners,¡± Steph grunted.


    ¡°You forget the biggest one,¡± Fenrick added. He looked over his shoulder at the bathroom and whispered, ¡°The Player¡¯s Market.¡±


    ¡°Anita?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    ¡°Right,¡± said Wilhelm. ¡°You can tell them from a mile away.¡± He leaned back against the counter and fingered the handle of his beer. ¡°All of those groups pool their resources together to beat the Gauntlets first, thus dispersing the wealth it creates between their own members.¡±


    Darnes put a finger to his lips, suddenly participating in the conversation. ¡°She¡¯ll be along any second now. Better wrap this faction talk up, you know how she is.¡±


    Wilhelm rolled his eyes. ¡°Ughh, fine, fine. The point is they will force their members to adapt, in order to acquire whatever resources they need. But they often change up their plans, and that means they rarely acquire a mastery anywhere near as high as a single person focusing on a single skill, day in day out.¡±


    His elbow suddenly slipped, but he caught himself and shook his astonishment away. ¡°Whoops. Anyway, what do you think they¡¯ll do when the gauntlet suddenly becomes too difficult, and they need specific specialised equipment quickly, before the other factions overtake them?¡±


    I understand. It¡¯s a long-term plan but it makes sense. Yeung-Sung snapped his fingers. ¡°They buy from us.¡± Then added, ¡°The vagabonds.¡±


    ¡°Precisely.¡± Wil pulled his hands in for a wide clap.


    Fenrick raised his glass, nodding for the others do the same. ¡°To the vagabonds!¡± To that they all toasted, clinking their drinks together, dropping a pool of froth their feet.


    ¡°Cheers for that, lads,¡± Anita moaned as she came by,¡± Didn¡¯t have enough to do tonight.¡±


    Shirley came out shortly after and teetered around the edge of the group.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± said Yeung-Seung.


    Anita pursed her lips at him. He noticed that even her bottom lip was striped a faint blue, in contrast with the top. ¡°It¡¯s alright, sugar. It¡¯s not you I¡¯m mad at anyway,¡±,¡± she answered sweetly, then leered across at the other men. Their eyes slanted away from her gaze.


    From behind, Shirley patted Yeung-Sung on his shoulder. ¡°Yeung-Sung,¡± he said, ¡°It¡¯s been nice to meet you. I hope you¡¯ve enjoyed your time with us. Sorry about getting so tense earlier.¡±


    Gulping down what was in his mouth, he replied, ¡°I have. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve had worse first impressions before.¡±


    Shirley smiled farewell. To the rest, he shouted out, ¡°I¡¯m gonna go, guys. I¡¯ll see y¡¯all tomorrow.¡± Taking wide, complacent steps he exited the pub. At the bar, the remaining regulars saluted with their glasses, Anita and Darnes included.


    Then, crossing her arms, Anita asked Darnes sharply. ¡°Where they shit-talking the Market, Darnes?¡± He gave her a sidelong look and pretended to be occupied with collecting dirty glasses. To that, she exhaled in a high-pitched huff. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought. Irredeemable men.¡±


    ¡°I think that¡¯s my queue to go as well,¡± Wil chuckled, and with a last chug he hopped off his stool, landing aloof, and made his awkward way out.


    Yeung-Sung watched Steph and Fenrick force down their own laughter. Darnes came beside them with a tray full of dirty glasses and nudged them into the realisation that Anita was about to round on them next. And then they too decided to head home.


    They older Wick-goers shook Yeung-Sung¡¯s hand before leaving, adding the country pleasantries of ¡°pleasure¡± and ¡°gentleman¡±. Yeung-Sung bowed his head and then they pushed on each other, like pinballs propelling themselves to the entrance. Once outside, they linked their arms over shoulder and began to chant into the night streets.


    This isn¡¯t so bad, Yeung-Sung thought as he sat still, the last patron.


    ¡°And what will you do?¡± Anita asked him. Her hands were over one another in a swaying, idle pose and she gazed at him without previous intensity. ¡°You can¡¯t stay here all night, and I don¡¯t suppose Darnes is looking to hire additional staff.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d suppose correctly,¡± he muttered, deep in the habit of work.


    ¡°Oh! I can leave if you if you need to close up.¡±


    Darnes shoved a clattering tray into Anita¡¯s hands and brushed her off. She made a tight face, but he blocked her view of Yeung-Sung with his huge frame and she begrudgingly went into the back. Turning, the floorboards creaked, and he loomed over Yeung-Sung, saying, ¡°What she really means is the colony. In Airgead. What will you do, now that you¡¯ve seen how it works? Will you try to make it on your own? Join a politically, economically minded or fun-centred group? There are several paths open for you here, Yeung-Sung. And, despite how ambivalent the rest may seem about the class warfare inside, no one will judge you for following your desires.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Yeung-Seung started but trailed off after no further words came to him.


    Sitting with his weight half on the chair, half balancing on the railing, Yeung-Sung looked down between his legs at nothing except the endless scrawling grain of the floor.


    They did it. Wilhelm, and the rest coerced me to try the game. And the night was a good one. Nobody is afraid here, there¡¯s no desperate struggle for survival or panic. However, here is more than just a simple game. What goes on matters to the people and relationships are forged and crossed out -its not perfect, but maybe that¡¯s what makes it real. It¡¯s¡­honest.


    But what about my place? My store? Oh God, what about Woo-Yi? How am I going to run the store without her? I have to make it up to her after -after what I did. I¡¯m going to, going to -run the store.


    Yeung-Sung straightened up. ¡°I¡¯m a greengrocer,¡± he told Darnes. He let the sound of the words pass his lips, to feel the warmth of them. To feel that they were real. That he had a place he wanted to be a home!


    Darnes kept his frown. ¡°That¡¯s great, but what about Airgead? DO you have any ideas, any professions you¡¯d like to try? I heard Wil¡¯s advice before -and it¡¯s good- but don¡¯t force yourself to commit to something you have no interest in.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m -I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d better figure it out soon, then, Yeung-Sung, before you run out of medals,¡± Darnes warned him. ¡°I don¡¯t give out free drinks. Or I can¡¯t, rather.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? I have a job here. I have my own store. Why do I need to worry about it?¡±


    Darnes cast down his expression. ¡°You still don¡¯t understand. A job here doesn¡¯t give you money. It provides you with bonuses, like extra production ticks, is all.¡±


    ¡°NO.¡± Yeung-Sung dropped off his seat, clawing at his forehead with one hand. Things are getting ridiculous again. ¡°How can that be?¡± Yeung-Sung wracked his head for an explanation. ¡°You sell drinks here, surely you¡¯re getting something from that? You worry about what prices to set!¡±


    ¡°I need to cover the cost of labour,¡± Darnes explained, ¡°as well as a tax that covers the use of all my equipment; ingredients; the premises.¡± He stretched his neck back and called out to Anita. ¡°What is it you Marketers always say?¡±


    ¡°Profit is theft,¡± came the immediate reply.


    Darnes nodded. ¡°That.¡±

 Part 21 The Tallest Trees Cast The Darkest Shadows II

    ¡°A profession I¡¯d like to try¡±. That¡¯s what he said.


    Yeung-Sung tried to keep his phone steady in his hand. It danced in front of his eyes while he lumbered down the hill by the Joint Wick. His balance, he managed to make out, read 24 minims. Have I spent that much already? Hmm¡­what would I like to try?


    He stumbled down streets filled with the faint red glow and buzz of the colony¡¯s streetlamps. They guided his way, and he followed as best and in as straight a line as he could. In between the lamps, pockets of darkness fell like sheets of snow, yet at the same time, the alcohol, lining his stomach in a hot film, warmed him. His hands were exposed to the chilly night, however, so Yeung-Sung soon put his phone away in favour of rubbing them feverishly, continuing to put most of his focus into not faltering down the incline.


    He was soon down on the other side of the hill; at the main square of the colony.


    I¡¯d like, I¡¯d like¡­


    Running his hand through moist petals, he paused. He knelt and felt around in the earth for the bumpy part of the plot where he had planted his sprout. Anxiously, he crumbled onto all fours, looking and looking until he found it. Then, heaving with relief -and from the cold air- he rolled over onto his back. He stayed there for a while, enjoying the sensations of nature; touching the leaves; hearing the rustle of the yew¡¯s branches; smelling that intensely brown-green smell of petrichor. He found a flat boulder to sit on, once feeling his back was too wet to be comfortable. Finally, he spread his limbs out, utterly relaxed, with his eyes shut like he was sunbathing.


    He got up from what felt like a single wink of rest, and with his eyes adjusted to the night, smiled. Above him, a black sky was dented by stars. Yeung-Sung slid off the boulder, ruffling the grass beneath. He suddenly had this odd image of space as a greenhouse, a masterwork of stained glass, a cage around the world. And he felt rage. He felt the sudden urge to grow huge and smash his way through that atmosphere, to bloody the world with rampant life. He didn¡¯t understand why until, frowning, he looked back down at the town surrounding home. The buildings tired, asleep, not a brick out of place. Fake.


    I like real things. Living things, organic, biological things that, once created, breathe and grow and fly and¡­and ultimately die, I suppose. It isn¡¯t something that needs to be optimised, it certainly can¡¯t be fixed.


    He burrowed into his pocket and once again took out his phone. He took a long, breezy, sigh and took a step back onto the smooth, flat sidewalk. I don¡¯t want to create fake things.


    Yeung-Sung followed the left fork fiercely. He marched, his body and mind in rigid accompaniment. He didn¡¯t feel groggy and his beating chest kept him warm. He was a stubborn child. Blindly recalling his way back home after running away. He passed the models in the fashion shop window, the caf¨¦, the ominous community centre concealed in the distance. Striding past them, he felt only a single sigh of relief as his attention was drawn to the phone.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Holding no hope, he stabbed out the word after word into Airgead.


    SEED


    TREE


    LEAF


    The screen shook at each suggestion. [Try Again; Remember to pick a craftable item]


    He was quickly running out of things he knew how to spell, and had to start guessing aimlessly, laughing at the suggestions the autocorrect came up with. [Did you mean; Roof-Architecture?] Yeung-Sung knew that he could harvest raw materials if he wanted to; different stones; woods; metals; plants, but that idea did not appeal to him. And besides, he didn¡¯t care for the idea that his efforts would be used to construct another pointless sword or helmet by another coloner. If the AI could allow him to conjure up a sickle just for the tutorial, then there had to be more complexity in the general game. There must be something I can do and enjoy.


    Frustrated, he looked up to rethink, and found himself in the midst of a thicker blanket of darkness than before. The winding estates and their ghost homes were winding around him. The only colour he could distinguish was the red brick of the street walls, with the occasional open gap. But which one is the right entrance? Keeping his phone lit and out in front, he quickened his step. IN this quivering run, he crossed from one far-flung streetlamp to another. His neck-hair prickled at the bumpy heads of houses over the walls. flitting by the sides of his vision. He ran. He struggled with the strain of keeping his arm straight out, wobbling like a dislodged headlight. It illuminated only a tiny globule of light around him, and so he was sure that he had missed several entrances in his blind spots.


    Reaching a corner, past a garden mound leading up to a cottage, he saw his apartment building with a fragment of the rooms still with their lights on. Lining up with that was a cul-de-sac blocked by a half-sized gate. Relaxing, Yeung-Sung swung the creaky thing aside and went back to his phone, thinking about how the odd apartments looked like some half-carved monolith -with the fleshy red banana wood for an interior.


    Prompted by his own body, he suddenly had the idea to try and enter in food. He licked his lips and thought for a moment. In the privacy of the phone light, he sniffed a laugh out of his nose and typed out SALAD. Almost drowned out by his phone soft clicking as he typed it out, a noise caught Yeung-Sung¡¯s attention. What was that? A cough, a laugh? Was it just an echo? No. He directed his phone out to behind a side of a house. Something flickered, fading just out of sight. Trying to hide itself?


    He broke into a run. Heading straight towards the apartment lights, locking his phone. He took no risks, clenching his body even as he forced himself to lurch each foot forward, letting only little breaths huff out of his nose. He didn¡¯t look back. He didn¡¯t consider that he was overreacting.


    Thankfully, he was closer than he thought. Beyond the estate lay a wide field, a lone caretaker of a lamp swaying its light between its length. Just before clearing the last house, Yeung-Sung allowed himself a full breath -and his guts tugged him down. He felt the beer re-froth, felt it careen up his throat. Clutching at his sides, he staggered and felt around with his hands. He regained his balance with his hands pressed against the stone pores of one the final house¡¯s wall. He flared his being and expelled it.


    It came out as hot slush which splattered like all along the wall, its momentum bouncing it across into the garden. Yeung-Sung scraped his hands white and left the wall. Shivering now, he looked down to his feet, trying to at least not get the filth on his shoes. He hugged himself, tried to holdfast against this torrential feeling of emptiness, when he took a second step and a metal bar smashed into the back of his head.

 Part 22 The Tallest Trees Cast The Darkest Shadows III

    Under the shadow of his attacker, Yeung-Sung bent over pleading, hands feebly blocking his head. ¡°Don¡¯t kill me. Take anything you want.¡±


    Silence. After the initial shock cooled down, Yeung-Sung peeked up between trembling fingers. It was too dark to make out, but he soon heard a laugh. Low, pained and familiar. Who was this? A black shoe smeared itself across his cheek in response. The kick sent him face first onto the sidewalk. Yeung-Sung flailed his limbs in an effort to stand but could not overcome the dead-weight of his head. He wondered how long he would he stay conscious for. How am I not unconscious already?


    The ambusher was striking his shoe against the curb repeatedly. ¡°These are new,¡± he said, as if he stepped in dogshit. He shook them around and stomped a few times on cement. ¡°Fuck.¡±


    Meanwhile, Yeung-Sung tried to move again. He lifted with his arms and his chest. In this position, it felt impossible. Then, he heard the crunch of gravel and his arms were knocked down and pinned back, stretched almost out of their sockets. Yeung-Sung was about to let out a howl but his head was dunked into the ground and his voice drowned in gravel, cheeks crushed against a thousand jagged pinpricks.


    ¡°Shh,¡± came that voice again. The assailants voice; calm, uncaring, yet familiar. I feel like I know who you are. He rubbed Yeung-Sung into the ground while making tender noises. He hummed a little bit as Yeung-Sung was shredded by friction in his shoulders; between his ribs; the sides of his hips; below his knees. Even when familiar figure let him go, he lay still, pain binding him like rope. Still, he listened. Through pain and horror and adrenaline, he listened. One step. Two. The assailant took his time. Three. It was break enough for Yeung-Sung to roll his head, gravel stuck to his cheek, and lay eyes on the impending threat.


    It was Jordan. The conductor of this utopian experiment; Jordan, stood over him in a white shirt with his suit jacket folded over one arm.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about what you can give me,¡± he said, ¡°But what you can take away.¡±


    He swung down onto his haunches and Yeung-Sung saw the misaligned grin he was wearing, baring his teeth, making him a vengeful demon. He leaned in close, and with that came the smell of vodka. ¡°I¡¯ve lost everything already, Yeung-Sung.¡± He said the name in two snaps of his mouth. ¡°Everything.¡±


    ¡°Everything!¡± he growled, jumping up suddenly to begin stomping on Yeung-Sung¡¯s wrists, clasping him deeper into the ground like hellish handcuffs. Yeung-Sung exploded in a gasp, his torso writhing up, a scream biting through his lips. Jordan stepped off. So he exhaled. An act that still caused him pain, as his lungs inflated into the cement, pressing his hips down with it. While his head lolled in the air, the nape of his neck was seized.


    ¡°Everything except this place,¡± Jordan whispered, and began to drag Yeung-Sung away.


    He felt stretched, like his neck was just barely attached to his shoulders. Mostly senseless, Yeung-Sung was greeted with a shower of cold dew; Jordan had shoved him into the field. With both hands on his neck, Jordan brushed the grass aside with quickening steps, heading towards the colony apartment. Though it was smoother than concrete, he still felt like a human bi-plane crashing through a canopy, spluttering and shuddering, wishing he had just a little more fuel, a little more in his engine to escape his fate. But he was helpless. He could only brace himself through the barrage of bumps along the way, astonished at Jordan¡¯s strength. Yet the wet earth helped to ease him through.


    The pain from the initial blow to the head was Yeung-Sung¡¯s anchor from where he measured each subsequent injury. Beyond every other pain and the ever-present pressure on his neck, he almost adapted to it. Hearing the constant rustling of Jordan¡¯s feet in the grass, like a blow-dryer sweeping a head of hair to the side, became somehow relaxing. He was lost in the moment to moment world of his senses, unable to visualise an escape, nor a happy ending. This was his world. Then, the rustling stopped and Yeung-Sung immediately winced.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Jordan tightened his fingers. His nails curled in, pulling his skin aside as if it were a stretchy dough. The owner of the colony roared. -In rage, no, grief, Yeung-Sung thought in mid-air after he was launched out of the field.


    Out in front of the apartments, under their warm light, the ground received Yeung-Sung fondly. Again his system was crumbled from within and he sucked in deep breaths while he could, whimpering down on his back. Every instinct of his fought the desire to breathe and instead willed him to tense up, curl up each limb into a tightly wrapped ball -despite the bruises, exposed flesh and flayed skin pulsating in protest- and die.


    How did we go from unpacking boxes to this?


    Out of the tiny part of his vision that he held on to, Yeung-Sung watched Jordan step cautiously from the grass, in glistening shoes and begin rolling up his sleeves. He looked in disgust at the wet stains he had accumulated as he did so. ¡°So, you¡¯re not going to fuck this up for me. For everyone¡¯s sake.¡±


    Jordan twisted his left foot, rocking Yeung-Sung¡¯s head against the ground, making a hollow clack-clack-clack. From the ends of a laugh, he said, ¡°But mostly, for your own sake.¡±


    Still bracing himself, holding on to fend off just one last strike, Yeung-Sung lay tense on the ground and waited. He listened, and as best as he could make out Jordan was somewhere above him, taking deep, sagging breaths and¡­sobbing? Perhaps the night had simply gone too cold, as evidenced by Jordan¡¯s sniffling, and the slurp of wiping a nose.


    ¡°Ahh!¡± said Jordan, ¡°What am I doing? What am I doing?¡± And with that, he left, muttering the phrase over and over again, droning, intoning it in that bellowing voice of his. With that, the planner of the system intended to ¡°save the world¡± left Yeung-Sung outside the glass walls of the apartment¡¯s lobby, little more than breathing mincemeat.


    What now?


    With the use of roughly one and a half limbs, he managed to scamper up the side of the wall, face pressed against the glass. Snapped branches grow back, but I am not a tree. A crippled bird cannot go off on its own accord. He hoped that he wasn¡¯t beyond repair. But he wouldn¡¯t put it past Jordan -after tonight- to have beaten him just enough to be still able to function, enough to work and participate in his colony after a few days. And if he didn¡¯t, if he refused again, then he could hardly come up with what else his glorious leader would do to him.


    Haphazardly, he reflected on what he could¡¯ve done differently tonight. If I didn¡¯t go along with Wil, if I didn¡¯t let myself be dragged into the affairs of that pub, then I could have eluded Jordan. He clenched his fist, only for his tendons to refuse him with a shock. His arms fell flat at his sides. Damnit.


    But is it right to blame them, how could they know? After all, aren¡¯t they -sort of- my friends now? They don¡¯t seem particularly happy about being here either. They stay in their pub, on the periphery of any actual conflict, and gossip about he outside, right? Aside from Anita, perhaps. No, they invited me, made me feel finally welcome. Then¡­is it my own fault for doubting the system, for spitting in Jordan¡¯s plan?


    No. What am I thinking?


    He¡¯s a madman! Why am I giving him the benefit of the doubt -why am I dealing him out the victim card? There¡¯s no time! If he¡¯s done this to me, who knows what else he has done, what else he is capable of?


    Yeung-Sung pushed of the glass wall with his fingers. He managed it and strangely, in place of the expected burst of pain, he felt nothing. In fact, the entire well of pain he had been bottling up seemed as if it was further away, hurting some distant version of himself, but not affecting him in this moment. It was contained. It was manageable! I need to get inside.


    ¡°Up we go,¡± Yeung-Seung said and half-crawled, half-dragged himself towards the screen doors. They opened with a whoosh and he fell inside with a koof! With the help of the tiled floor, his cheek smothered his mouth as he shouted out. ¡°Help!¡±


    Someone¡¯s got to be here. Where is the security from last time? Maybe my friends will come¡­What would Wilhelm say? ¡°Duh! If this was all a game, you¡¯d just drink a potion and heal up to full¡±. That sounds about right. Then he¡¯d give a thumbs up. God, he¡¯s an idiot.


    He lay flat out on the lobby like a worm out in the rain, arms tucked in at his sides... He reached for his pocket. He had an idea.


    ¡°Oh shit!¡± came a voice.


    I like living things -I hate fake things, so I¡¯m going to destroy them. With the very things that they seek to replace; Life; Nature. Fuck you, Jordan. I¡¯ll see to it that this colony will destroy itself before these 90 days are up.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming. Stay here, don¡¯t move, I¡¯m getting help! Holy fu- ¡°


    Yeung-Sung felt himself fading into rest. No. Not yet. Just before he lapsed into sleep, he opened Airgead and tapped out two words. POTION. POISON.


    [Ingredients required]


    [Let¡¯s begin]

 Prequel

    Crossing the road to work, Pak Yeung-Sung waited for the cleaners to pass by as they swept that odd smell of decomposition away. He hesitated in the middle of the street, watching them. Yet the morning traffic forced him forward, ignoring the mess, the crowds knocking him through like a bony pinball. On the other side, hungry people buffeted him on their way to the supermarket. But still Yeung-Sung did not enter, lingering by the front entrance.


    Instead, he continued to watch the street cleaners as they continued their work. Down the street their hazmat suits of blue shone in the morning sun. They were splashed with red, so much and so often -and were hardly given new ones- that the colours mixed together. To him the clumped group rolled downhill like a bushel of mutated grapes.


    Yeung-Sung looked down at his sodden raincoat. It was thick and plastic, and now smeared with the smell and sight of death. His mother handed it to him before he left and he resisted, thinking it unnecessary. It turned out well, but he drew a frown and plucked at it, annoyed at being wrong. Sighing, he took it off with thick-gloved hands. He held it in clenched fists, his tendons splaying out of his wrists, strung tight and then finally he stepped in the door into something¡­squishy.


    ¡°Ugh.¡±


    He turned his feet back for a second, scraping as much as he could off onto the bristled doormat. His frown sunk deeper and he shot a final look out into the left at the street cleaners -but they had already gone. He groaned with discontent, ¡®The day hasn¡¯t even started yet.¡¯ But he wasn¡¯t too angry about it. It¡¯s not like they got paid.


    Like most mornings this one was filled with activity. You could¡¯ve seen it or heard it and, of course, the people most active were the ones most desperate to survive. Now, this alone was nothing new. Biology had long come down on that principle, the fittest; best killer; forager; farmer; ruler; inventor. They survived and prospered, each advancing up the scaffolding laid down by the civilisation before them.


    And that would have continued in much the same way except for that this morning, and all mornings of the past three years, there wasn¡¯t much scaffolding left. Systematically, modern society had been dismantled. It was left leaning over -but still somewhat functional- for years until it was time for a last push to topple it, with some hidden figure laughing behind it all, ¡°Jenga, bitch!¡±


    The world¡¯s economy was destroyed in a matter of minutes. Financial records; credibility; faith. Gone. In short, money had ceased to function.


    Inside the store, Yeung-Sung noticed that the crowd today was packed. People were stuffed among every aisle, standing bored under empty shelves. The queue that led to the tills was so large that he thought, if they wanted, they could¡¯ve just made a spire of their own, a scaffolding from spine and guts to reach the ceiling (where rations were dropped in by drones). The thought made him queasy, becoming strangely aware of nasal mucus circulating in their tracts, lurching and sloshing.


    He took steps away from them, trying to ignore the bustling line that was reminiscent of refugee crises on the news. Except, he knew these people were all native, neighbourhood Koreans. He knew that there was little choice for them but to come here and hope that, as one of the few active stores left, they had a good chance at their allotted rations. Would there be a cut-off point today? he wondered. Where would it be? How many people would be turned away and forced to go home empty handed, their stomach grumbling?


    As this was the case, the aisles of the supermarket were full of watchful eyes, friends and strangers alike keeping their guard up. It was in everyone¡¯s best interest not to break out of line, or cause distress in any way. Because if it did, measures would be taken -hosings, shrieking sirens, and other less pleasant forms of riot control- affecting everyone, especially employees like Yeung-Sung that would have to work overtime to clean up. So rarely would anyone try anything rash. Most of them had been there long enough to understand that.


    Still, the line crawled all over with signs of discomfort. Everyone from the worn-down ¡®customers¡¯ at the front who had been in since late last night, all the way to frustrated newcomers whose line of sight of the tills were obscured by a mass of bodies; everybody itched at their necks. They all scratched their shoulders like a contagious yawn, careful not to dislodge the ID cards hanging down beneath. It was a necessity to have them handy at all times, so it became the fashion to hang them like a lanyard with strips of fabric, cloth, interwoven cords -whatever was most convenient or fancy for you.  Each member hid their grade of citizenship under their shirts, fearful of jealousy, of discrimination.


    Usually, the sight of the queue stressed Yeung-Sung out. And he still felt a little unsettled by the gore he¡¯d seen earlier. However, he decided not to let it get to him and tried to shrug it off, putting on his good-mood-face. Rearranging his thoughts, the crowd now reminded him of a huge worm he saw once at his grandparents¡¯, wriggling between the fallen snippets of branches.


    Taking his eyes off it, he moved to the side way that led into the back area. He looked for his guard that would escort him past them. Absent-mindedly he tried to get past it all. He hoped that one day he would be able to go back out to the countryside one day and stay by those woods again. One day, yes, when this was all over.


    Naturally, he thought, this whole Depression thing will blow over, as all times of crisis do. Eventually. It might take five years or twenty, but Yeung-Sung held on to a certainty that it would. And he¡¯d had enough of the city; farming in a field well away from the rest of these problems, now that would be ideal.


    A wary man in black and grey strode up to him and asked, ¡°Employee?¡±


    Yeung-Sung nodded with his mouth open. He just about held his tongue back from bantering with this guard. It wasn¡¯t who he was expecting: He was new.  Just when he thought he had gotten to know the regular roster of the store, gaining their trust over the past 6 months, a new one showed up. Their co-operation was required for his plans and now they were suddenly under threat of being exposed. This¡­this was strange.


    Keeping expressions of his annoyance at a minimum he followed the security officer down the hall, contemplating how he could entice him into his dealings.


    He was tall, wide, bulky, with loaded and prepared belts. The guard certainly looked the part. More so than any others save for his hair perhaps, which was tied into one of those shaved top knots. It split apart, flaring in thick bangs of hair. It¡¯s kind of like a palm tree.


    The island of hair swayed over a sea of shimmering baldness. It kept his attention, and Yeung-Sung was glad for it, because he knew that as the two of them walked all the way through the store by the empty, bold-white side lane that hundreds of envious eyes were in turned trained on them. As always, nobody moved to follow them. No one tried to skip the line by this path -which used to be their bakery- as they knew the cost. And what else would that be in a world with its money absent, except life?


    Even distracted, Yeung-Sung found it hard to keep his stare steeled ahead of him. Their two pairs of footsteps, his and the guard¡¯s, bounced off the marbled floor echoing off each other. His were fluffy pitter pats beneath the shadow of the guard¡¯s much heavier boots. He noticed the sound all the more because as soon as they started walking, the background murmuring in the crowd had abruptly died down. His head almost smoked with the heat of a thousand focused leers. His pores screamed open, his body hair pulled at him to turn and face his predators. He sweat. It dripped down his neck and pooled in the shoulder of his cotton shirt. Then, like his fear was a wound exposing itself, it streamed thick down his arm and onto his hands. He was going to do it! He was going to look.


    Yeung-Sung wrenched his face tight, shutting his eyes. He held his breath in the middle of the lane and scrunched the raincoat in his sweaty grip. The noise must¡¯ve caught his escorts attention, for he swung his neck back at him. Then, as the enforcer turned with inhuman movements -reptilian almost- his topknot acted like a rudder and halted the spin so that his face slit evenly down the middle of Yeung-Sung¡¯s line of sight. The snap of his clothing caught in Yeung-Sung¡¯s ear and he looked to see the speed of his action unfurl before him. He gulped. His heartbeat accelerated -decelerated- unsure of itself.


    The officer simply said, ¡°Hurry Up.¡±


    There was no judgement. No quip or smirk. Yeung-Sung regarded a man with a face that simply ¡®saw¡¯. And by virtue of seeing for so long, and being good at it, there was an implied coldness hovering in his eyes like a fog, that told him that this guard had seen things only meant for seeing, not for repeating. It confirmed what his appearance suggested; that this was no ordinary enforcer, no civilian who served simply because but a fully-fledged, trained government agent. He was trouble.


    They entered the back area with the guard leading. To their right was the locker room which Yeung-Sung veered towards. The guard went further off, into the bathroom behind it. Taking off his gloves, he looked behind to see if he could spot who else was here through the open doorway into the employee room.


    His manager Yi-Hwa was by the coffee machine, his back to Yeung-Sung. Sugar spilled from his spoon as he piloted nervous hands. On the left, sitting and fidgeting was Mi-Jung. She was slyly trying to adjust her bra under her outfit, in as few motions as possible. When she caught Yeung-Sung¡¯s gaze she turned scarlet and puffed up.  But he kept wandering his eyes back in her direction as something about her attitude always bothered him. From the right, his friend Il-Suk paced by the door and look at the two, chuckled, then continued his rotation around the room, playing a handheld console that he had managed to acquire recently.


    Yi-Hwa then turned around. He took a sip, then coughed, saying, ¡°Let¡¯s go, Yeung-Sung. Stock¡¯s almost ready, we¡¯re going out in five.¡±.


    Nodding, Yeung-Sung swapped out his clothes for the black polo, slacks and work boots of the supermarket. They were well worn. He wore them so often that as he stood straight up again, stretching his arms out, he felt a level of awareness, of energy coming into him, surfacing from inside in waves like a dusky photosynthesis.


    Then, a loud toilet flush dampened whatever solemn moment he was about to have. A strained retching followed, resetting that uncomfortable feeling into Yeung-Sung¡¯s mind. The extra bathrooms weren¡¯t a planned feature of the back area, and so their walls were so thin that all kinds of unnecessary, detailed sounds seeped through. Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t help but zone in on them, like how the guard¡¯s zip took two pulls to close fully, or how one of his shoes sounded hollower than the other -like a prosthetic.


    He ducked into the employee room, mostly dressed, to avoid unintentionally listening to any more of the enforcer¡¯s private noises. Pushing the thought of it out of his mind, he mumbled his hellos to the few co-workers around. Luckily the walls of this room, especially customer side, were much thicker. Only a fuzzy white noise permeated through, a thousand voices reduced to a tickle in the greengrocer¡¯s ear. They kept the remaining few minutes before they started within themselves, with each of them mentally, emotionally preparing themselves for the day using their own method. This was not a job one could do with an easy heart.


    From the opposite side of the room, Ming-Lee leaned in, too tall to walk through the doorway without stooping. He leaned against the frame. The stock is finished then, thought Yeung-Sung. Filled with a smug happiness completely angular to the mood of the room, he was a guy in his own world, one filled with the recycled plots of old soaps and dramas. He tensed his legs, juggling his centre of balance between them. To Yeung-Sung and everyone else in the room he was practically hopping up and down with happiness.


    ¡°Y¡¯all ready?¡± he asked.


    Yi-Hwa answered him quickly. ¡°Yes. Let¡¯s get out there.¡± He pointed a finger at each of them. ¡°Gong; Till 2. Yeung-Sung; Till 3, Mi-Jung; Till ¨C¡°.


    ¡°Wait!¡± she interrupted, as her name was called.


    Yi-Hwa folded his finger back in.


    ¡°We¡¯re not waiting for Park?¡±


    Yi-Hwa turned his wrist towards him, checking the time on his watch -a luxury item, if it still ran- and he grew stern.  ¡°No. There¡¯s no time.¡±


    He peeked out past Ming-Lee into the corridor. Out towards the customers. He bobbed it back, cheeks pouched like a meerkat, and stated, ¡°It is our duty to be consistent. We are all that some people have¡±. He scanned over his team to make sure they understood. ¡°Let¡¯s not allow them to get too antsy. Miss Park will arrive soon, I¡¯m sure. And when she does, I¡¯ll give her a talking to.¡± He held a finger straight up as he began to leave the room. ¡°I¡¯m going to check the guards on the perimeter. One minute and we start.¡±


    Mi-Jung huffed, not satisfied with his reply. Gong Il-Suk yawned, rubbing his eyes with his free hand, console still in the other. As for Yeung-Sung, he wasn¡¯t sure how to react. Previously he¡¯s had reason to have both respect and disappointment for Yi-Hwa. Yet neither ever felt cemented. If any of us thought we could do his job better, he would gladly step down. But he knows that nobody envies his position. So can I blame him for being a little irrational, a little bit of an asshole at times? He kept his thoughts to himself -hoping that no events would force one of them to replace him any time soon- and looked around at his co-workers as several enforcers reported to Yi-Hwa in the corridor, discussing protocols for the day.


    MI-Jung hung her head, resting on the rim of the round table that had been there longer than any of them had lived. She looked to be deep in some sort of breathing exercise and it was working, for as he watched her face whitened back to its natural colour. However, it only partially calmed her, as he saw her fumbling, fingers squeezing, compressing each other in pinches and vicegrips. It looked painful.


    Groaning, Il-Suk walked up beside him. ¡°Smaller delivery again, I¡¯m guessing,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Or stolen,¡± Yeung-Sung added.


    Il-Suk raised an eyebrow at him, and then the door burst open behind them.


    Shim Park slid into the room like a tram on heels. Her entrance cracked some of the newer walls, obvious against the white. There was a noticeable tear in her denim jacket, Yeung-Sung noticed as she promptly sifted her arms out of it. She turned to the lockers and once again there was a brief quiet. Inside the employee room, everybody stood around and waited for her, looking at the lime coloured flooring.


    Park came back with a face that suppressed everything but her intense annoyance.


    Yi-Hwa wandered back into the room, ready to announce the start of the day, but then spotted her. ¡°Ah, glad to have you with us, Park.¡± Immediately forgetting her, he turned to the rest and said, ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    They filed out with Yeung-Sung at the back. Leaving the room, he looked once to Park and saw the outline of her face soften slowly, before flowering into a carnivorous smile. It chilled his spine as he stood with the rest in the corridor. All of them had to harden themselves up before a shift, but Shim Park was different. Before work she needed to relax herself and allow herself to become approachable.


    In the corridor were the register boxes, stacked by the entrance. Yi-Hwa held his hand out to keep them for a moment while the last few guards made their way to their stations first. Then, without warning, Park strode out past them, scooping up her till from the side and walking out into the front. They all had no choice then but to follow so that they could seem like a unit -which was the whole point of waiting for her in the first place. First, Mi-Jung grabbed hers, holding it with her red fingernails peering out from underneath, resting the container low on her hip. Then Il-Suk picked his up, pulling it out one side then the other. He groaned again, resisting his duties to the last. Yeung-Sung could tell that he was already thinking about playing on his handheld again, thinking about it laying on the employee room table all alone.


    Lastly, it was Yeung-Sung¡¯s turn. He lifted it with the weight on his knees -and almost dropped it when a different guard stumbled through the doorway.


    ¡°Bitch!¡± he yelled down the corridor. Clutching at one side of his face, he searched for Park with the other side. Hearing him, she glanced over and gave him a wink. Standing in his way, he trembled with anger and Yeung-Sung fully expected him to launch into her. But he didn¡¯t. Jogging around him to meet with his team, he left the injured guard where he was, locked in his fury.


    The floodlights illuminated their every move once they were all inside the main area. And for them, it revealed the horde of civilians that they had to attend to before the end of the day. Yeung-Sung heard the enraged guard shout once more. Park was in front of him now, and he could see her smile widen -loving the attention- and that chill in his spine sparked again. Though he definitely still felt wary around her, he also had to admit that that he admired her too. It was strong wills like hers that would reverse the Depression, that would get us all out of this situation.


    Yeung-Sung sat at his till. It was an ordinary supermarket cashier¡¯s counter -with a conveyor belt, glass surface to scan infra-red through, a large register- but it was walled off into a long booth. Like a toll gate. But unlike in the stores back when they used old money, the conveyor belt never moved, the scanners were long devoid of any laser and the register was filled to the brim with only stacks of brown paper bags. And beneath all that, Yeung-Sung¡¯s till in particular had something special; a secret box haphazardly built into the underside.


    Sitting with his back straight and pretending to look ahead, smiling to his co-workers, Yeung-Sung dropped a hand down and felt its contents.


    About¡­fifty. Nice.


    Lifting his arm back up, he looked over his shoulder at the stocker for today and gave him a slight nod. But it was Ming-Lee, and he somehow managed to turn a wink back into a theatrical routine, with a grandiose flourish that involved his whole upper body. Yeung-Sung folded in his forehead and cringed in confusion of it. This completely defeats the purpose of being subtle.


    While turning back to face the day, he quickly observed the floor and checked for any reactions that someone might¡¯ve had to this. Not that it mattered; all of them knew about the secret of his box -even unlikely allies like MI-Jung and his manager have even helped him to set this up before. Still, it never hurt to keep his non-compliance from public view. Especially with the case of his new guard, whom he still hasn¡¯t sussed out. Clearly, he was no ordinary enforcer, but why would he be here unless he had some streak in him somewhere that wasn¡¯t wholly subservient to the estate? That¡¯s what Yeung-Sung¡¯s working theory was; that his assignment here was a punishment.


    The enforcer did not seem like one to chat with, and stood over Yeung-Sung, making him deflated. Rippling through a stack of bags he sighed. He missed his old guard. This one felt so oppressive, standing there watching every movement, everything at once like a perfect camera. It felt impossible to escape his sight, with numerous eye tattoos lodged in his face that followed you around. Not that they seemed real in anyway -they were simple black lines after all- but Yeung-Sung had nowhere near the amount of confidence to try and attract any more of his attention after earlier. In reality, the guard was at attention like any other, patient, but his menacing hulk maintained his presence all by itself. Yeung-Sung wasn¡¯t alone in his view, seeing discomforted customers from afar rippling out pointed fingers. Most everyone at the front were regulars, and they were all too aware of the change, as it affected them too. Mostly in a negative way, Yeung-Sung thought dimly.


    The guard of course paid them no mind. Yeung-Sung would¡¯ve bet he¡¯s had experience with this sort of thing, and noticed that he instead focused his attention upwards, up at the booth at the other end of the store. This was a security room, high up enough to be equivalent to the fourth story. Yi-Hwa stayed there during the shift, monitoring from above, using the intercom as he saw fit, which right now was to start the morning welcome speech.


    It came suddenly, letting off its mechanical growl out of each corner of the store as Yi-Hwa picked up the intercom. ¡°A very good morning to all and welcome! For any newcomers, here¡¯s how we do things¡­¡±


    Yeung-Sung hated the thing Yi-Hwa became whenever he spoke in his booth. It felt like a mixture of ego and laughter -loving the power that was provided- and of a public servant drugged up with fear. Whatever it took, he would overlay the day with quaint notices like it was just a regular Thursday, like theirs was one of any number of supermarkets the public could go to -maybe they had a loaded loyalty card or heard about the discounts for buying in bulk. Except no one was a newcomer. No one came to buy either, only to receive ¡®appropriate¡¯ sustenance, and listening to the speech was optional, so the gates had already been opened with the first customers piling at the entrance.


    Yeung-Sung¡¯s first customer barged down the make-shift corridor. He was still a kid, by the look of him, wearing baggy tracksuits bottoms and a puffer jacket that spilled out on one side. Yeung-Sung clicked open the register. Hoisting out the top bag, he opened it up and asked, ¡°Class?¡±


    The kid had his ID at the end of a black cord of thick plastic that hugged his neck like headphones. He pulled on it. [D Class]


    He held it out, watching Yeung-Sung stubbornly until he was given a nod. The guard grunted, wanting them to move it along as Yi-Hwa continued nattering on in the background, describing what ¡®may¡¯ or ¡®may not¡¯ happen should somebody not abide by the rules.


    Yeung-Sung felt a stifling in is throat, like a lump the size of an apple core. Whether it was for the kid or just from the paranoia of possibly being discovered, he wasn¡¯t sure. Swallowing it, feeling coarse ridges down the walls of his neck. He continued the rote.


    ¡°Staple?¡±


    ¡°Rice. Two, please¡± the kid answered. Swiftly. Concisely.


    It was a smart choice, Yeung-Sung had thought. But it didn¡¯t change the fact that because he was of the lowest class, he could only choose one other item.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    He went to the most common next choice, ¡°Protein?¡±


    The kid shook his head inside the oversized neck of the jacket, which bobbed its bubbly layers.


    Shocked, Yeung-Sung went down the list, ¡°Supply?¡± expecting him to take the next best option. However, he starving kid shook his head again, his neck so tiny and frail.


    Yeung-Sung leaned in. ¡°You¡¯re sure? Don¡¯t be stupid here, you get only three things, and just rice is not enough for someone your age¡±.


    The boy¡¯s expression never changed. His mouth was sealed beneath acne-scarred lips.


    ¡°Come on¡± Yeung-Sung pleaded.


    A flicker of hesitation appeared in the boy¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Yeung-Sung!¡± his unfamiliar guard yelled, ¡°Are you always this slow?¡±


    ¡°Commodity please,¡± the kid whimpered, out of the enforcer¡¯s earshot. As he did, the enforcer took the first of two steps that he¡¯d need to close the distance. He was intimidating enough from afar, Yeung-Sung decided, but felt the urge to reason with the child. He saw in him someone with the fortitude to survive, but not the self-restraint to make it through long periods of suffering and withdrawals.


    ¡°Kid trust me. Just take some meat -chicken, beef- don¡¯t kill yourself for a treat,¡± he said. The guard approached.


    ¡°I know you¡¯ve probably waited in line since yesterday to get a chance at this but I¡¯m telling you its not worth it. Please.¡± He whispered quickly to him before the two both tilted back and the guard butted himself into the conversation, his hands itching around the holster at his side like a warning.


    ¡°It¡¯s for my sister,¡± he breathed just as he moved back, his eyebrows anxiously creasing, convulsing as he took in the fearsome sight of the guard. Yeung-Sung noticed the scraggly attempts of a beard under the kid¡¯s chin.


    Yet Yeung-Sung refused to take be dissuaded. ¡°No, take some soy, at least.¡±


    The guard analysed both faces before him before landing onto Yeung-Sung and asking ¡°Is the customer not complying? Then stamp him and move on.¡±


    The kid¡¯s eyes swelled up. Luckily, he was smart enough not to answer back.


    ¡°Eh¡­ no it¡¯s fine,¡± Yeung-Sung said, turning to pack the bag with the first two items. ¡°It¡¯s my fault. Still waking up.¡± He pulled his face into something that he thought would resemble a smile and hoped that the guard wouldn¡¯t take matters into his own hands. He saw the kid breathe out in relief behind the massive presence of the guard then went over to the stockpile tables.


    He grabbed the items: Two portions of rice. Then he walked over to the commodity table. At hip level, small packs of things not absolutely necessary for survival were laid out all over. These were the scarcest form of ration. He hovered over them -teabags, biscuits, alcohol, cheese- what did he want? He thrust his hand into the menagerie blind, not trusting himself to make a fair decision and placed the featherweight parcel into the shopping bag. Hoping it was something nice, he walked back to the counter.


    On the inside curve of the till was a stamper. Yeung-Sung rested the bag down and took it up with one hand, then prompted the kid for his ID with the other. He reluctantly drew it out again, his shoulders taught, concerned whether the walls of the impromptu corridor really secured the secrecy of his identity, not that he had anything worth taking except his name. He handed it to Yeung-Sung who turned it over in his hand, its cord resisting the pull.


    On the back of the ID was a calendar in boxes. Yeung-Sung looked for today¡¯s date, which lay blank at the end of intermittent rows of stamps. The irregularity of the pattern concerned him. You can¡¯t be missing this many day of food. Are you okay? Pausing with the stamper centimetres above the yellowed card, Yeung-Sung felt an influx of questions he wanted to ask the kid. All of them resolved in the thought that, if he stamped his ID now, the kid would go on for up to five days with nothing of real sustenance except two cup-fulls of rice. But in the end as he had always done, as was his job, he forced himself to stamp away the child¡¯s food privileges.


    It was not his place, too risky a gift to grant someone he hadn¡¯t come to know. The kid would¡¯ve noticed. He would¡¯ve tried to get more food again. In the same store probably -Yeung-Sung doubted that he had the smarts to use a different one. Inevitably, this action would expose Yeung-Sung, draw unnecessary surveillance into his activities and in the end¡­well he would be ended.


    Handing back the marked ID, Yeung-Sung caught the kid¡¯s reaction and tried to give him a hopeful smile, unsuccessfully. The kid had already resigned himself to his fate. His face a little softer than before, he tucked the ID back under his puffed-up jacket and then held his hands together, open, eagerly awaiting his rations -and that commodity he waited so long to have a chance to grab. This part of the job was the worst for Yeung-Sung; which is why he had the hidden box.


    Out of this compassionate habit he wandered down the side of the till with his right hand spidering along and found it within reach. He picked the first thing that he felt out and held it like a ball within his palm, unbeknownst to anyone watching. Rubbing his thumb over its soft top of it he felt a fuzz, not hair but the spiked vine of a beef tomato.


    His hand jerked back up with the fruit safely in its grasp. He came up from behind the brown bag while simultaneously, the second shadowy footsteps of the guard followed his voice,


    ¡°What¡¯s taking so long?¡±


    Yeung-Sung froze. The guard ¡®saw¡¯ into him. He looked back in a snap, glared directly into it. He dared not to look away, not to betray the movements of his arm awkwardly down by his side, plopping back the tomato carefully, trying not to bruise its skin. He pushed the bag into the kid¡¯s hands.


    Talk, he told himself.


    ¡°We¡¯re done. The -eh-, the stamp wasn¡¯t wet enough. Had to do it a few times¡± he lied.


    The kid bowed and with his ¡®shopping¡¯ under his chin like it was something precious (a puppy perhaps) ran behind Yeung-Sung and the guard, out quickly through the exit lane. Clearly tensed, holding something on his side, the guard watched the kid scamper off for a moment before confronting Yeung-Sung. The next customer had already approached and was anxiously waiting for this huge man to be finished, not wanting to interrupt.


    ¡°You¡¯re intimidated by me?¡±


    ¡°O-of course.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± the guard said,¡± Don¡¯t be.¡±


    His topknot swayed in the direction of the crowd like a traffic warden telling them to wait. ¡°As long as you follow the rules, properly, you have nothing,¡± he said, emphasising ¡®nothing¡¯ with an angry snort, ¡°-nothing to worry about.¡±


    Unsure of how, or even if he was meant to reply he said ¡°Right, okay ¡°, then added, ¡°thank you.¡± He tried to start with the customer, but the guard shifted over and blocked him: He wasn¡¯t finished. Coughing roughly, he brought himself in close enough for Yeung-Sung to get a whiff of him -a scent like a ham sandwich salted with deodorant- and warned him.


    ¡°But if you ever do decide to break protocol,¡± he said, smiling darkly at the frightened mother behind him, ¡°then you¡¯re of no use to the state.¡± He tapped his holster in a sensual manner. The small arms pocketed within it pressed into his girth, the gun almost disappearing underneath his uniform-covered gut-. ¡°Do we understand each other?¡± he finished.


    Nodding, Yeung-Seung replied formally. ¡°Understood¡±.


    After that he decided to give the produce box a rest for the day. There was no way around it: he had to be cautious of this guard. He¡¯d have to endure his tensions and mood swings and ignore his own conscience in the face of emaciated men and women. He managed to will away embarrassment by not looking directly at the customers. Especially difficult was ignoring the disappointed few who had gotten used to his service. Among them were some he knew well, and he could sense that they didn¡¯t understand that he had no choice, feeling them cultivate a resentment towards him.


    Hours passed and the crowd diminished, slowly, bringing down the ambient roar of the supermarket. After noon only a few hundred remained, accepting whatever few items remained -the store no longer giving options. There was at least some rice. Almost always, anyway. And then it was time for lunch.


    Gathering into the back area, as soon as Yeung-Sung lost sight of his guard he pulled Il-Suk aside.


    ¡°What do you know about this new guard of mine?¡± he asked. He didn¡¯t try to keep the panic out of his voice but let it seep out and tremble amongst his words. It felt good to release it.


    ¡°Not much, man, let go of me- ¡°he insisted, pulling apart Yeung-Sung¡¯s grip on his collar.


    Yeung-Sung hadn¡¯t realised that he was practically pinning his friend to the wall. He hopped back, backing away with his arms up. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m a little on edge right now. This guy ¨C he¡¯s hard to the core this one. Not like a regular civilian enforcer. What¡¯s he even doing here? Il-Suk, I think ¨C I think he was sent here.¡±


    Yeung-Sung paced in a little corner of the room, pressing his fingers to his mouth in worry. The two were alone inside the employee room. The rest were smokers, so he thought that they must¡¯ve had a little while to discuss this and figure out what to do, in private, their senses peeled for any signs of entry.


    ¡°What?¡± Taking a sharp breath, Il-Suk walked up and shook Yeung-Sung out of his panicked thoughts.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung, you weren¡¯t told?¡± he asked. There was a suggestion in his voice that Yeung-Sung did not want to admit he could¡¯ve heard -I liked that old guard.


    ¡°No-¡°


    Il-Suk motioned to the entrance, saying, ¡°Didn¡¯t you see the clean-up crew as you came in?¡±


    Inside the corner, Yeung-Sung sank with both hands over his head, his face inside the crooks of his elbows. His stomach knotted itself. His organs were reduced to tumbleweed, scratching up his insides. He felt the hot taste of blood in the back of his palette, a feeling that coursed down all through his body, his feet especially burning where he stepped in bits earlier. He brought himself up, conscious of the fact that at someone could come in at any moment and sat at the employee table with his body like deadweight. He didn¡¯t want to talk -there was no want - but he had to know. ¡°How- what happened to him?


    ¡°Shit¡±. Il-Suk rushed across the table to cup his hands over his friend¡¯s. He bowed in reverence over him, trying to share in his grief. Yeung-Sung simply felt empty now, the rush of emotions evaporating leaving him a husk. He noticed that the handheld was still far on the other side of the table -meaning Il-Suk was truly trying to be a friend here, that this wasn¡¯t a ploy. Since that was the case, he accepted his condolences, bowing his head too, closing his eyes together with him for several solemn moments.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± Il-Suk told him. ¡°I thought, you know, that somebody else would have been responsible enough to report the news to you.¡± He palmed his forehead, making a moist clap and swiped up, squeezing the hand through his hair. ¡°Not me¡±. He was bent back in his chair and holding on to the top of the table to keep himself from drooping, when he noticed the handheld. In a sudden rage, he swiped it further away so that it was completely beyond reach.


    Sighing, he stated,¡± You¡¯re right, man. I do spend too much time in my own head, away from the real world.¡± He shrugged. ¡°But, I guess, can you blame me?¡± Il-Suk cursed once again. ¡°Of course they expected me to explain it to you.¡± He looked at the back door with fierceness tightening up his expression as Yeung-Sung continued to try and take in today as a whole.


    After a point, Yeung-Sung thought that he had achieved a level of power of experiencing death, that he wouldn¡¯t be fazed by it, as everyone else seemed to be. It was something to be stepped over like an inconvenient part of the landscape. Or it was to be pulled out of your head like a weed that didn¡¯t belong there. It¡¯s been like this for three years. He¡¯d seen it enough. But it was only now that he understood just how lucky he had been in his position, protected and provided for as long as his service continued. In his acceptance of his fate he kept to his own corner praying for change, tending to the small group of people that he cared about, rationalising his disdain for any other out of selfishness. And though he kept that corner of compassion as compressed as he could, it extended its reach enough so that death, at last, had come to him in a personal, unavoidable way -and he needed to know why.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question, Il-Suk,¡± came his cold words.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°What,¡± he breathed, ¡°happened?¡±


    As Il-Suk opened his mouth to tell him the two employees were suddenly aware of the back door swinging open. The others were back. Oh, come on! Il-Suk jumped up like he was going to follow the group out but landed by Yeung-Sung¡¯s shoulder and gave him a rushed, hushed explanation.


    ¡°They say it was rebels. Park must have given them the info. Look at her, you don¡¯t think she¡¯d do it?¡±


    Yi-Hwa and Park were chatting, all cheery and oblivious to the mourning that had been taking place inside the employee room. Yi-Hwa went on ahead to fix a drink while Park stayed, sorting through a stack of papers. Shortly after, she approached the two at the table and that cheer from before curtained away revealing that wolf-cub smile she had -ferocious; cute. Watching her, picturing her as the reason why this day had been all crocks of shit for Yeung-Sung, he gritted his teeth. A rotary glance saw her catch his expression and she smirked at him -oblivious or not- sending a clear message about their relationship to each other. And her relationship to the world around her.


    Yeung-Sung had imagined nearly every customer he ever served during the years, every stranger on the street -some even before the Depression- as hollow. Park was not like that. He sensed many things inside her, many things that possibly conflicted with each other, screaming just under her skin.  Hatred; power; change -it was something like that but unidentifiable, unrestrained. Unlike his manager, Yeung¡¯s Sung felt a combination of not only fear but respect for Park. He looked just then at Yi-Hwa as if he was comparing them and, although Yi-Hwa glared back, making a mighty show, his aura was a husk behind Shim Park¡¯s.


    As though Yi-Hwa sensed this judgment he sneered at him from across the room.


    ¡°Finished staring, Yeung-Sung? Yeah, good, ¡®cause break is over.¡± He clapped his hands as the last employee -Mi-Jung- re-entered the employee room, with that familiar flush of embarrassment about her face.


    ¡°Right¡± Yi-Hwa cheered, ¡°back to work!¡±


    During the second half of the shift, Yeung-Sung kept his eyes on guard. With his eyes red and throat craggy, he hardened himself and looked for small victories. Two items. Three. He performed his job as was expected until he felt his guard¡¯s suspicions fade.  He found patterns in the way that the topknotted man surveyed the store. Ignoring the customers attentive needs, he gave them the basics and dropped in single piece of fruit, at times a vegetable. Then, he pushed them along on their way asserting their quiet cooperation with a hurried flicker over at the tattooed guard unfamiliar to the patrons, who sped past with sweet iceberg¡¯s hidden in bags, as if they were being smuggled under the blind spot of a lighthouse.


    Yeung-Sung¡¯s workflow increased overall. He was up and down with each order in seconds before stamping and shooing, which kept the line moving with the smooth rigour of a stretching serpent. The guard even nodded his approval once or twice, as his queue remained consistent, while at the other tills there were hold ups, small little outcries or demands that were solved with loud solutions. Throughout it all Yeung-Sung had kept his focus. He had to help as many as he can, and he was loathe to leave any of the fruit to be discovered -or, in the best-case scenario, sent to waste. Executing his twin jobs had consumed so much of his attention that when he heard a faint, familiar voice say, ¡°Pak dear, it¡¯s me,¡± -he had hardly noticed.


    Surprise cut him out of his mental loop. Processing his mother¡¯s voice the instant that the enforcer looked away, Yeung-Sung let the pear that was in his rising hand leap out -over and behind him- as he swerved to see that it truly was her, wide-eyed in disbelief. He had to move. So he dove for it, with a desperate crack of speed he didn¡¯t know he could draw upon. And in the whirl of motion his stamper fell to the floor also but unlike the fleshy quiet of the pear it clacked and rang out against the flooring.


    Yeung-Sung¡¯s mother leaned over the counter, concerned. ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t mean to spook you like that.¡± She leaned further, her head reaching over the open register and examined him. ¡°Are you alright, dear?¡± she asked. Under her simple dress her ID slipped out, the letter ¡®C¡¯ dancing its cord like a marionette.


    He had it the ground hard. However, this was no time to go easy on himself. Pouncing back up, level to the counter he delivered the pear swiftly under the till and out of sight. Too quickly, though. Immediately after, Yeung-Sung felt the pain of a strained ligament from the nook of his left forearm that sparked an angry message into him.


    ¡°Ow¡± he let out, clutching reflexively at it, still kneeling by the till.


    He heard a distinct click. ¡°Ma¡¯am¡± a newly familiar voice said from the same direction, ¡°step away from the register¡±.


    NO.


    Yeung-Sung knew his mother and could have described in one word: stubborn. Even though she was slightly above his line of sight -he had the full view of the underneath of the till- he imagined her perfectly well with her arms out at her sides, cocked head, flared nostrils and ready to face-off with anyone cocky enough to sass her.


    ¡°What are you going to do, stamp me? My boy needs help, I¡¯m his ¨C¡°


    The shot rang out as Yeung-Sung forced himself up and saw what was in his head played out in reality. A last footfall was overridden by a sound like a metallic tree trunk that snapped itself in half, tearing out throughout the store.


    The many-eyed man who held the gun grunted, ¡°That was only a warning shot¡±.


    ¡°-That¡¯s my mother, you fuck!¡±


    Yeung-Sung found a second dose of that adrenaline speed and vaulted the counter to be by his mother¡¯s side, hoping to God, the state, the rebel movement- whatever there was left to hope in- that she was okay. Three different sounds -a scream; wail; shout- tore hooks in his throat trying to get out. But his vocal cords lay flat and he tasted aluminium all down to his sternum. Then he saw her.


    ¡°Arrgghh,¡± he moaned, a human-shaped guitar with the strings disdainfully detuned.


    ¡®A warning shot¡¯ appeared to mean ¡®a non-lethal shot¡¯. Quivering on one knee, Yeung-Sung¡¯s mother was shot through the other foot. The impact was angular, skidding a trail of blood which dragged her foot back, painting over the shoeprints of today¡¯s customers with the broad strokes of four toes.  The point of final impact smoked and had nailed her to the floor.


    He tore off the sleeves of his shirt. It was something he had seen somewhere, somehow and for some reason was the first thing that came into his mind. He applied it with pressure to his mother¡¯s wound as she stared back at him with bloated eyes. Yeung-Sung came in close and let her bite his shoulder through the first beats of pain. Only moments later, her head faltered, so he let her rest on him -forehead to forehead-, feeling their warmth pulsate, juggling tension as if rowing a shared canoe.


    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, get some help!¡± he ordered his looming guard, shouted it past him for everyone to hear. Of course, the ends of his corridor were already filling with the disembodied busts of people peeking around the corner. Yet they stayed out, stayed quiet like children, sneaking around the outskirts of their parent¡¯s study. He thought that there would have been instructions bounced around, calls made by every second person. He was important, wasn¡¯t he? But¡­


    This is the Depression, he realized. He really had been lucky, grown lazy over the past few years while passively watching death wreck the lives of distant players. Now death had closed in a step further into his life. The shadowy steps- the fetid smells- the blackness all around him - he had been feeling its presence all day.


    The enforcer stood uncaring before him. His gun was lowered but still very much a threat. His eyes ¡®saw¡¯ him again. He commanded him in that grunting voice of his,


    ¡°Get up. I don¡¯t care if she¡¯s the secretary of state, she broke protocol¡±, he hoisted Yeung-Sung up by the neck, continuing, ¡°she didn¡¯t listen to orders.¡±


    Struggling in his grip, Yeung-Sung pulled his fist backwards, loading a punch in his arm like a spring.


    He was hardly a rebel, but he didn¡¯t like what was going on. He wasn¡¯t part of a group -the government, rebels or any kid of self-serving collective. Yeung-Sung grew a few vegetables and in secret, handed them out. So, before he punched the enforcer he considered whether there was a line here he would cross; Would he accept the responsibility of going against the grain, or would he continue to live quietly, to lie in wait for the inevitable ¡°movement¡± to come and wash him out from the institution that he was imprisoned in.


    But before he made up his mind, he felt a tug at his ankle. He turned back. Looked down.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung, I¡¯ll be fine¡± croaked his mother, ¡°Don¡¯t -don¡¯t be stupid, don¡¯t give up your life for a single second of revenge.¡±


    To make her point she staggered to her feet. She gritted her teeth, blood expanding her head like a hot air balloon, forcing her limbs to rise. And brought forth a wicked smile.


    Yeung-Sung went to help her but she held him to stillness with a look and she limped haggardly, withdrawing from the corridor. The queue parted; nobody came to her aid, but they let her through. Watching her, Yeung-Sung felt lashes of shame and then, as the sprinklers were suddenly set off, he braced his teeth up at the control booth. He squinted in disgust, trying to make out Yi-Hwa through the wet spray.


    ¡°Stay calm everyone¡± the intercom groaned, as if it could feel the artificial rain, ¡°Service will resume in a few minutes while we re-stock the last items for today. Thank you for your patience¡±. A harsh noise followed -he must¡¯ve put the mic down- but underneath a moderate static fuzz, Yi-Hwa was still audibly talking, muttering to someone else like they were in the room with him. ¡°-Him? Oh, yeah, he would be the one that was at the third till. Oh wait, the mic is still- ¡°. It was cut off.


    Yeung-Sung backpedalled, hitting his counter. Confusion rang in his head and all around him, with all his co-workers flocking to his till. Even the enforcer looked confused. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded past the other workers towards the back rooms. ¡°Take your few minutes, civilian,¡± he said, perhaps a little less coldly than before, ¡°Clean yourself up.¡± Yeung-Sung was thrust into the fray.


    ¡°Are you okay, man?¡±


    ¡°Who is asking for you?¡±


    ¡°Maybe you should take a break.¡±


    The last one was Shim Park. She stood a stride away from everyone else with her arms folded. Yeung-Sung still sensed that energy, blazing within her even as she spoke. Her eyes kindled while looking him over and the flash seemed to say ¡°Run¡±.


    Yeung-Sung came back swiftly to his counter and grabbed his till, as well as the box under it in one lurch, forcing it from the desk. Something else was going on and he could only have come to one conclusion as to what it was. Wet from the sprinklers, he found it difficult to keep a tight grip on the boxes. Yet he sauntered backwards into away from the tills, keeping the fruit box lidded by the till. As he was leaving the main area of the store, he felt the rain like a breath from death, splashing on his neck like iced worms. And, he noticed another sound join the buzz of confusion; the sprinklers; the static.


    It was a march. Like leather ants, a force of men burst in through the front doors and windows of the store. Splitting into two lines, they advanced through opposite ends, their unisonal steps rippling through, inciting a further level of panic into the store. And it was clear they searched for him. Just as he saw this, Yeung-Sung disappeared into the back hallway.


    Where could he go? Yeung-Sung breathed deep and tried to keep calm, annoyed that he was following Yi-Hwa¡¯s orders even at this time. He looked and saw the door to the stockroom. It might give him some time. He thought about his stash of produce, hidden at points around inside. The fruit -they were here because of the fruit! He was certain of the fact. Making his way to the end of the corridor his thoughts blew around him. Although it felt impossible to hold on to, for a moment he grasped an idea out of this whirlwind and was struck by the simplicity of it. Wait! If there¡¯s no evidence, I can deny all of this.


    Inside, he shut the door of the stockroom, bolting it and piling several boxes on it. He followed that by throwing a couple bags of rice, some sacks of potatoes against it.


    Now that he was here, he could shut out the chaos. Here was quiet; a simple ¡®ohmm¡¯ of the overhead lights and the muffled demands of men far and away. Yeung-Sung rested against his improvised barricade and gave himself a moment of solace.


    Around him was a stockroom large enough to warrant the title of warehouse. It was simple but well organised. Grey walls combined with brown boxes. Running between it all were veins of dark iron scaffolding and huge arteries; crusted red rebar pillars that held the whole place up. Yeung-Sung worked his eyes hard, trying to remember where he had stored his bounty, skipping through visual information like a boxer does rope. It blurred together into a void. But he shook his head, scampered up the nearest scaffolding and trusted his instincts to help him find them.


    And he did. Lifting his boxed vegetables onto each level before scaling it himself he came upon the grove he had created, hidden on the inside of a cube of crates. He thought first about drawing it closer around him, hunkering down and waiting for the search to be well over -but that was an optimistic strategy. Instead, he aimed for the roof.


    On the outside alley of the storehouse were the main stairs up as well as a mechanical lift. There was also a way up through the control room. However, in the warehouse there was also a hidden hatch up; obscured by over-stacked containers. It came up from behind the other entrances in an awkward way, and so had fallen out of use, many even forgetting it even existed. Yeung-Sung was counting on that.


    That hatch was his new goal, but it wasn¡¯t as simple as just reaching it. He still had to transfer the entirety of his fruit stash up a further two levels of scaffolding. They weren¡¯t light. With each box, up each step, Yeung-Sung fought off the fatigue that had been building throughout this odd day. And as he made it to the latch a distant bulb popped, its lampshade swinging. The scaffolding rattled underneath him too. Yeung-Sung looked at that patch of darkness and he couldn¡¯t help a gloomy thought enter, saying that despite whatever he did, what lay waiting for him atop the supermarket was certain death.


    But what was strange was that no one had come. There was no banging on the barricade, nor was there any attempts at cutting through the sliding back door. Yeung-Sung wasn¡¯t sure how long he had stuck himself here, but it definitely wasn¡¯t that long. He wasn¡¯t going to question it, he had finally decided and lifted the hatch of the roof. The sounds of the city in the early evening flooded down -traffic, trains and the general fuss of people trying to make themselves heard above the noise of the buildings that surrounded them.


    Yeung-Sung flinched. Breathing in the air, taking in the light, he remembered how musty and weak the environment inside the warehouse was. He felt like he had broken the wall into the real world out of an artificial box. Even still, the light above him felt much brighter, heavier almost and he had to blindly haul himself up, his breaths reaching deeper, his muscles responding slower to his demands.


    He visored himself from the intense sunlight with one hand. Looking around the roof, he tried to get his bearings. Since the waste skips were parked against the back wall all he had to do was tip the produce down into it. Them climb back down and pretend that he was only looking for some stock. Of course, then there would be the matter of whether his co-workers would sell his story out to the armed forces downstairs. Yeung-Sung sighed, still trying to avoid the glare of this unusually bright sunlight and walked towards the nearest curb.


    He had made it this far. It was a busy day and yet he still managed to pull this out by pure desperation -honestly, Yeung-Sung was impressed by himself. I wonder how Yi-Hwa found out about my illegal fruit, he thought, but that thought was dropped after he looked properly down at the block around him.


    It dawned on Yeung-Sung that the sun could not have possibly been so high in the sky this late. This brightness, he saw as he peeked up through slitted eyelids, came from a spotlight beaming down many, many feet above. It surrounded everything he saw in an artificial amber. He looked out to see its perimeter but was met with the sight of dozens of black dots hovering in the airspace; helicopters and drones. He rushed to the other side of the roof and down in front of the store was an oil slick of black; patrol cars; barricades; soldiers surrounding the entire perimeter. Collapsing down in awe at the edge of the roof he felt like he was in an experiment, implanted all this time in a greenhouse. This was bigger than his little grocery operation, he realised.

 Part 23 Info for the Infirm

    Between two parting screens of lights was a bulging darkness. Yeung-Sung wriggled his little eyeballs, warming them into opening up. He gasped. ¡°Darnes?¡±


    The strange, wooden interior locked into view; he was up in his colony apartment, in his bed, with Darnes overlooking him. Hunched over by the desk on the far side of the room -once again stocked with a jug of water- the owner of the Wick slid his hands roughly against each other as if they were engaged in civil war.


    ¡°Darnes? What are you doing here?¡± Yeung-Sung made out, then itched at his dry throat.


    The barkeeper paled and flung his hands behind his back. He didn¡¯t meet his eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s all my fault.¡±


    He began to rise, offering assistance but Yeung-Sung shook his head and raised himself up -softly feeling out the limits of his aches and pains. What? He took a quick survey of the yet unfamiliar room before asking Darnes, ¡°Why am I here?¡±


    Darnes bit his lip and smacked back down into the chair. ¡°I begged for them to take you to the infirmary,¡± he began, ¡°but they wouldn¡¯t -they, they said¡­¡± He took a forced breath. ¡°They said it was mostly bruises, that¡¯s all it was. That you just needed rest.¡±


    Darnes¡¯s wild, wide eyes quivered at the sight of Yeung-Sung in pain. Swallowing roughly through his swollen throat, Yeung-Sung grabbed his covers and drew them closer. ¡°Why,¡± he started, before the agony tore the rest out of him. His arms quaked like splintering twigs. Trying to isolate the source and put pressure on it, he looked down. My entire upper half is covered in bandages!


    ¡°It¡¯s a lot of bruises, hmmph! I tried, Yeung-Sung. Please believe me, I tried to tell them,¡± Darnes said. His Germanic consonants were spat out like salty rocks. Much different from the British, American or even Asian accents that were abundant, making Yeung-Sung feel like flinching every time he opened his mouth.


    After the pain had mostly ebbed away, Yeung-Sung divorced control of his arms. Swivelling with his core he tried to find a comfortable position. He sucked in air through gritted teeth and nodded at Darnes. ¡°I understand. Thank you, in any case,¡±. Propped against the backing of his bed and leaning partly on a pillow at his right side he bared a smile. The fabric felt damp and stank of sweat, but his bandages at least seemed fresh. Darnes, thankfully, allowed Yeung-Sung to settle before he continued.


    ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    ¡°Amazing. How long have I been recovering?¡±


    Darnes raised an eyebrow at the snappy response. Stretching his legs, he must have decided that he would stand anyway. ¡°Okay. Given the situation, I¡¯ll excuse that attitude.¡± He strode forward a step. Yeung-Sung noticed him snatch a thin item off the table, almost out of view. A syringe? Yeung-Sung pressed his back against the backboard. Smooth and cold, it caused him to shiver, then immediately after bow his head through the proceeding pain.


    ¡°Only a day- a full day, however.¡± Darnes gave his chin an absent-minded scratch. ¡°Some would say that¡¯s a long time, right after the reset. But don¡¯t get up.¡± He stared with a stiff expression. ¡°You should stay here for another two. At least,¡± he warned. ¡°It won¡¯t kill you not to move.¡±


    Yeung-Sung noticed something as he was being lectured. ¡°Why do you have my phone?¡±


    Darnes blinked. ¡°Oh, yes. Here.¡±


    ¡°Ughg, no. I don¡¯t want it.¡± Yeung-Sung turned his head away.


    Darnes growled. ¡°You¡¯ll fall behind. Don¡¯t be a child. You can easily stay afloat,¡± he said, then added,¡± and have enough for as many pints as you like.¡± He wagged the phone in front of Yeung-Sung with a chuckle. ¡°Besides, you¡¯ll need something to do.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll- I don¡¯t know, read a book.¡±


    Darnes leaned menacingly close. ¡°There are no books. There¡¯s no TV. There¡¯s no internet, ¡°he growled. Then he drew back, the anger gone from his voice, ¡°I thought that was clear.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll just have to stare at the fucking wall then, won¡¯t I?¡± said Yeung-Sung.


    Darnes inhaled. He stared at Yeung-Sung, puffing up his chest. His eyebrows were the bristling spine of a wild cat. He slapped the phone down. ¡°Open it.¡±


    Yeung-Sung wasted no time in stretching a fingertip under the sensor. The barkeep let out a whistling breath, sloping his shoulders down. He snapped it back up in an instant and lurched away into the chair.


    ¡°Airgead is the entire purpose of this colony,¡± he started, ¡°At the end of the day, everything that GLI decides to facilitate us with is tied to this single, express goal. Anything else is a luxury, one that can very easily be taken away¡± He paused, looking up from his typing, ¡°So, could you please stop riling them up by being so stubborn? Think for a moment, about what we could lose.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Yeung-Sung stared back and pulled as much of a face as his body would permit. But Darnes wasn¡¯t looking at him anymore. Reclining again, he looked up at the ceiling and asked, ¡°What are you even doing?¡±


    ¡°As always,¡± Darnes replied, still focused on the phone, ¡°I¡¯m trying to help you. You¡¯d better thank Wil -buy him a few rounds, stroke his ego- because if he didn¡¯t vouch for you, I wouldn¡¯t care at all.¡±


    Yeung-Sung listened to a succession of precise taps, followed by creaking steps.


    ¡°There. I added you to our chat.¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked down, mouth agape as Darnes flipped the phone, bouncing it off his pillow.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry you don¡¯t have to respond; it¡¯s not a faction. And you can leave whenever you like.¡±


    He scuttled out to the door. Clicked open the lock. ¡°Oh,¡± Darnes said, ¡°almost forgot.¡±


    Turning his head, slowly, Yeung-Sung tried to face the barkeep, maybe say sorry before he left, when Darnes stabbed him. The pain was in and out and so was he. Clenching through it, he yelled out a hoarse ¡°Wait!¡±, but it was too late.


    Yeung-Sung twisted his right arm so he could see it; a tiny red prickle in between the folds of two white strips. ¡°A painkiller, I assume.¡±


    He relinquished control, letting his arm once again hang limp. That¡¯s fine. I hope it kicks in soon. His eyes wandered into the horizon through the screen window, but it had only been five seconds before he felt vibrations by his hips. His phone lit up; a message. Pa-king! ¨C went the alert tone.


    Groaning, he dived into his pillow, nestling his ears especially deep inside it, and waited for the meds to take effect.


    Pa-king!


    The phone crept closer with each vibration, shaking his leg.


    ¡°No!¡± he said, voice muffled, ¡°Go away.¡±


    Yeung-Sung struggled with the thought that he would never just be left alone. If GLI were so concerned with making the world a lovely, happy place, then surely there should be an option not to participate -my voluntary right! Oh, but I guess I have no rights. Even the UN agreed on that. Thanks.


    What¡¯s this phone even beeping on about, anyway? Is it the members of The Wick already? Have they been waiting for me all this time? Maybe I could say, hi, then ghost them after that.


    Pa-king! The phone nudged him again.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t there more important things to be doing than spending our lives on an app?¡± he moaned. ¡°I wish I could find somebody who¡¯s not so obsessed with sucking up to Jordan.¡±


    Moments passed without another buzz. Unfurling from the pillow, Yeung-Sung turned over, teary-eyed and watched the whorls in the ceiling¡¯s grain. He felt oddly lighter. He swayed and swayed, creating the illusion of movement in the wood, his body¡¯s struggles fading away, growing insignificant in the face of his annoyance at the colony.


    Then his phone lit up again, the glow staying awake after the initial flash. There was no vibration. No alert. Instead, a female voice spoke to him; a distinct voice that retained some of the robotic disjointedness that Yeung-Sung was used to in text-to-speech, but in place of a quantized sentence, a foreign, melancholic melody played along the words.


    [Speech controls activated]


    [Software initialised: Management of Electronic Databases; MEDB]


    ¡°May-eve?¡± Yeung-Sung exclaimed. The pronunciation didn¡¯t line up with how he understood English. M-E-D-B would sound like med-buh, wouldn¡¯t it?


    [Archaic for the modern Irish ¡°Maedbh¡±, the ¡°d¡± and ¡°b¡± together make a ¡°v¡± sound. Hi! How can I help you?]


    She heard me. And responded. That bastard Darnes must¡¯ve activated this mode to try and force me to use Airgead.


    Yeung-Sung rolled over. The motion was surprisingly easy. It was fluid and -The painkillers! They¡¯re making me loopy.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to get out of bed.¡±


    MEDB laughed. [That you¡¯ll have to sort out yourself. I¡¯m here to facilitate control of you Airgead account in the absence of accessibility, mobility or any other impairment.]


    Yeung-Sung felt a heat in his cheeks. What an exotic laugh! Ahh, never mind. This is too strange; she must be a helpline GLI designed. Oh, maybe the one behind the voice is a scientist -perhaps I can learn some interesting information off this one.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± He reworked the question in his head. ¡°Your name, not the program or whatever. I¡¯d like to know who I¡¯m speaking to.¡±


    There was a pause, long enough for the light from his phone to dampen. When it lit up again, Yeung-Sung searched for a dialogue box on screen, an avatar that acted as a vizard as she spoke.


    [I don¡¯t quite get what you mean by that. I am MEDB] Visually, the app lay dormant, displaying the same idle animation of his sparking character running through a village.


    Suddenly, his Airgead menus came alive and blew quickly across the screen, as if a ghostly thumb was shuffling through them. It settled on his profile settings.


    [And you are Pak Yeung-Sung]


    ¡°Of course,¡± Yeung-Sung said, backing away from the device. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you know that already, seeing as you¡¯re a part of the game?¡±


    [I am MEDB, a management supervisor of electronic databases. Though I am familiar, intimately, with its systems, I am not a part of the main program of Airgead itself¡­]


    MEDB came out with a distorted chuckle. [Although, I can understand the confusion]


    Yeung-Sung pushed himself up with an arm, leaning his head forward enough to monitor what was going on inside the game. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he asked, trying to keep his voice -and arm- steady. The invisibly led motion continued on screen. It landed on his designated profession tab, where he had typed before, dwelling on it for several seconds before resuming what looked like a full appraisal of his account.


    [Oh, dear. It appears you need a lot of help]


    [In comparison to all other member data that I have analysed, you have by far the least resources]


    [Have you done anything?]


    Yeung-Sung grabbed the phone, squeezing it within his grasp and shouted, ¡°That¡¯s because I don¡¯t want to use Airgead. I don¡¯t want to be here at all!¡± Snorting, he bit into a frown. ¡°Anyway, stop that! I didn¡¯t give you permission to ¡°analyse¡± me.¡±


    [I¡¯m so-o-rry. However, you gave me no instructions, so I began assembling a projection of your intentions.]


    His grip weakened as he cycled his face through different versions of disbelief. His chest was also feeling incredibly light and stretchy, like his lungs were balloons. Drool came out of his mouth, which he tried to lick back into place.


    [Would you like to me proceed with the creation of poisons for use in potions?]


    Why is this program telling me what to do?


    Yeung-Sung reeled back, the phone plopped from his hand, and the meds finally kicked all the way in.

 Part 24 Info for the Infirm II

    [Ahh you¡¯ve woken back up, Yeung Sung]


    He couldn¡¯t open his eyes, but the artificial voice rang through his ears. A pile of bricks, that¡¯s what it was like. Yeung-Sung groaned as he popped his head from under his pillow, rubbing it gratefully. Lying flat on the bed, his phone lay beside him. It lit up again.


    [Does this mean we can continue with re-organising your account?]


    He rubbed the sleep-dust from his eyes. Blinking rapidly, the wetness soon cleared, yet the same thing still appeared before him. Huh¡­I was certain you weren¡¯t real.


    ¡°You¡¯re still here?¡± he asked. Yawning, he slid his legs out from the duvet, finding that they didn¡¯t hurt nearly as much as he remembered. Sitting up over the side of his dishevelled bed, he checked over each limb, looking closely at the bandages. His left wrist was uncomfortably tight, and so was his chest, but much of it around his legs felt loose and hung like oversized stockings. Yeung-Sung sighed, looking out. The sky was cloudy, but still quite bright. Had it been another day? He turned to the phone. ¡°How long was I asleep this time?¡±


    [This time? I was not aware when it was that you fell asleep, but right now the time is KST 14:09]


    [Does that answer satisfy? Can we then proceed?]


    Yeung-Sung stood up and stretched through each part of his body, quivering as it was loosened into action. He stumbled a little bit when he was done, feeling lightheaded. He put a hand over his forehead and shuffled, water inviting him at this desk. ¡°You¡¯re very pushy for a computerised voice,¡± he muttered. ¡°And no, it¡¯s not satisfactory.¡± He poured himself a glass, emptied it, and then leaned a hand on the window, looking down.


    ¡°When did we last talk, MEDB?¡±


    [You talk in your sleep, but I don¡¯t think you are referring to that] MEDB made a warbled giggle, making Yeung-Sung snap back around with a frown. [Before that, the last thing you told me was to ¡°stop analysing you¡± -which I took as a very interesting comment for someone living in an experiment- and that was at precisely 11:22]


    The voice she used to mimic human speech was far more robotic than her regular one, Yeung-Sung noted. Looking down at the field below, he made out a creased line running through the length of it. Nodding, he said, ¡°I see. Just a nap this time.¡±


    [And immediately after, I recommended starting on your poison potion idea, which I have still yet to be given confirmation on. That would be the logical cause of my impatience]


    Yeung-Sung pushed off the window and started towards the phone. ¡°I¡¯ll give it now then.¡± He passed the upturned screen without glancing at it -It has a front-facing camera, can she see me? Against the far wall was a railed rack of towels. He took one and headed into the bathroom, a room in itself to the right, saying, ¡°Do what you need to do to make them, I¡¯ll be back shortly.¡±


    He laughed to himself as he entered the shower, hearing either the intense vibrations of his phone -or something akin to a frustrated ¡°hmmm¡± from MEDB.


    He returned to a room silent except for the simmer of rain from outside. ¡°MEDB? So, how are we doing?¡± Yeung-Sung was towel-drying his hair, then, satisfied, he slung it over his shoulder and walked to the towering wardrobe. He slid the door open and sneezed, moisture catching in his nose. He made sure to put on something thick and warm - but unfortunately, he couldn¡¯t do anything about the colour. Pulling his head through the neck of a new jacket, he paused. She hasn¡¯t answered. He slid the door carefully and turned back to his bed. Is she gone?


    The phone was dark and still beside the wilted skin of his sodden blankets. He moved them aside and sat down. Opening Airgead, it was still on the same screen he had left it on; the two desperate words he had thought of scrawled on authentically rendered parchment. ¡°I¡¯m just insane, I guess¡­What is MEDB? An embodiment of my guilt?¡±


    Yeung-Sung slumped his head between his legs pulled his eyelids in as tight as they could go. ¡°What bullshit.¡± He scrolled down the screen to show the ingredients needed. ¡°Let¡¯s get a move on, then,¡± he said, tapping on the first icon; poison. The icon was greyed out, but it was clearly a plant of some kind. The screen wiped out, showing his avatar once again as he began in a new direction.


    In seconds he was in dense shrubbery, crouching over, running his hands over flowers ad leaves with a face of deep concentration. A bar appeared overhead.


    [Harvesting¡­ 1/100 ticks at 1/sec]


    Yeung-Sung watched woefully as colour wormed its way across, barely noticeable at first. Shirley was right; the tutorial gave it to you easy. 30 seconds in, he began to tap his feet. A few more and he crossed his legs and shifted further back into the bedside. At one point he held his thumb over the current progress, closed one eye and waited -what seemed like a minute- until his progress poked its head out over it again. For the last ten ticks, he mouthed along a countdown, shaking his fists, trying to will the bar along with his chin. His avatar sauntered over to a purplish flower; curled over deep with petals that held too much moisture. In the last second, he plucked it off, swiftly kidnapping the pretty thing. Yeung-Sung nearly hopped up in the air -when the ghost of previous pain came into his mind. He settled for a fist pump and a silent ¡°Yes!¡±


    [Harvesting 1/100 ticks at 1/sec]


    [Monkshood gathering mastery 1/50]


    The camera perspective swivelled suddenly, landing perfectly at the original spot. [That wasn¡¯t so hard was it?]


    ¡°No¡­¡± The phone clacked down on the floorboards. Yeung-Sung was standing on the far wall of the bed, shaking his head. ¡°You can¡¯t be -you were messing with me this whole time, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    MEDB¡¯s voice rocked along to a series of giggles. [That¡¯ll teach you]


    ¡°You absolute bitch!¡±


    [Ahem, I¡¯m not doing the work for you, Yeung-Sung. You seem to forget; I¡¯m only a harmless management program]


    Yeung-Sung realised he was rattling the back board of the bed, so he let go. ¡°I was convinced,¡± he protested, ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m being gaslighted by a piece of software!¡±  He jumped down, landing with his feet at either side of the phone. ¡°I want to kick you, you¡¯re lucky you¡¯re not real.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    MEDB modular laughter slid away suddenly. She opened up his Airgead inventory and highlighted the monkshood flower he had just acquired.


    ¡°Can I do it now? Can I craft a poison potion with this?¡± Yeung-Sung asked, looking down so far that his chin was pressed into collarbone.


    [You¡¯re messing with me now, aren¡¯t you? You don¡¯t seriously think it¡¯s that simple. Do you?]


    Yeung-Sung crossed his arms and launched the phone to the other side of the room with the side of his foot like a hockey puck.


    [Ooh, what was that rattling noise? Did you just kick your phone away?]


    ¡°Shut up,¡± he snapped, sulking. ¡°What else do I need?¡± He made his way over to where he kicked the voice, his cheeks boiling up again and added, nicely, ¡°MEDB?¡±


    [Yeung-Sung, imagine you were in your avatars position. Surrounded by the fruits of land and sea, the magic of the gods above you. Ask yourself, ¡°what do I need to make up a poison potion?¡±]


    Yeung-Sung sat on the floor beside the phone, head held up by his palms, and thought. ¡°Well, I have these flowers -two now, I guess- so if I grind them up, mix them with some kind of solution and stick it in a bottle, I¡¯ll be ready to kill everyone in the colony.¡± His mouth blew open. ¡°Oh, that was a joke.¡±


    MEDB hummed, a sound like motherly static. [You¡¯re getting too carried away with yourself. Maybe take a gander over at the required ingredients list]


    Scooping the phone up nervously, Yeung-Sung tapped through the tabs. ¡°I can¡¯t find it.¡± A scroll unrolled itself from above. ¡°Thanks, MEDB¡±. He slid the screen down to the ¡°poison potion¡± pre-requisites and when he landed at the greyed-out plant again he gasped. ¡°MEDB? Is this right? One out of a thousand?¡±


    [Think about the size of a single flower -how much poison do you think it has?]


    He settled the phone down on his thigh. ¡°I guess you¡¯re right. But its only one of the ingredients!¡± He scrolled over to the right. ¡°Then I have to collect everything for the potion itself. I expected an economy game to be easier, to be more, more¡­well, fun¡±.


    [On the bright side, Yeung-Sung, it doesn¡¯t seem like anyone else has come up with your idea; I don¡¯t see any entries for either potion or poison in the market.] The appropriate tab came up.


    So this is where you exchange items. I wonder what is selling best. Imagine how high the prices for some of these are -and this is the same currency you¡¯d use to buy your shopping. How can you justify that?


    [In addition; you do know that you don¡¯t have to watch over the ticks. They go by just as fast when your phone is off.]


    Yeung-Sung looked up, then realising that there was nothing to look at, panned slowly back down with a huff.


    MEDB chuckled. [Am I annoying you?]


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware that you were capable of anything else,¡± he bit back.


    [Huh! So I guess that you don¡¯t need to know how to organise all your activities so that you don¡¯t need to be constantly switching between them -I¡¯ll keep that to myself]


    Trying to remember the flash of Wil¡¯s hands before, he found the queue manager. ¡°You mean this thing? I know that already.¡±


    [So you¡¯re not completely helpless after all. Nice job!]


    All of Yeung-Sung¡¯s activity boxes were empty. It was so bare compared to how he had seen the system function on Wil¡¯s account. I¡¯ll show this damn AI. But where do I start? He opened up the first article, putting down the function as [(Harvest > Monkshood) x1000]. ¡°you said there were bottles in the marketplace, MEDB? How much did you see them go for?¡±


    [Bringing up the screen¡­] Under a search banner reading ¡°bottle¡±, a menu spread out like a market stall, with a few, disfigured glass containers decorating it. [I¡¯d tell you, but I won¡¯t. You can show more details about the item by holding over its image.]


    Yeung-Sung grumbled, and yet stuck out his index finger onto the screen for the umpteenth time today. He felt immediately sallow, his skin growing leathery and wasting away in disbelief. ¡°How much? For just one bottle? My good God!¡± The screen shifted back to the queue system, a glow hovering over new entries; sand collecting; glassblowing; water gathering; distilling; brewing (potions). A fletched line pointed in the chronological order that all the activities run through with a last empty box at the end.


    [There. It¡¯s a better idea to start off making base materials yourself, I think, unless you want to blow all of your money straight away. When you finish the potions, do you want to test them or put them forward for sale?]


    ¡°Uh, thanks¡±, he said timidly. Then he frowned again, grasping the phone harder in his grip. ¡°But you could¡¯ve done that earlier, couldn¡¯t you!¡±


    [No problem. I¡¯m ¡°annoying¡±, isn¡¯t that what you said] MEDB let out what seemed like a whimper, some high-pitched noise that got artefacted into harsh noise when sustained. Yeung-Sung blocked up his ears. When he let them go, MEDB was still talking, in the middle of a speech, saying


    [¡­but to be honest, Yeung-Sung, I don¡¯t think you should continue this poison potion idea -it¡¯s useless! I can see the appeal -practically and profitability- of a healing potion, or salve, but what are you going to do with poison? Sabotage your own friend¡¯s attempts at competing with the other factions? Maybe sabotage the factions themselves? Hmm¡­]


    Coughing, he answered her. ¡°It¡¯s just the first thing I thought of,¡± he said, cheeks heavy on his face. He lay back on the hard wood of the floor and looked at the window again, head flat against the ground so that everything was tilted. ¡°You can¡¯t see me right now. You wouldn¡¯t understand the pressure I felt from inside when I came up with that idea¡­I feel like it¡¯s only right to see it through¡± He wanted to fall back into another day-long slumber, but his mind was active now, firing off hot idea after idea, whizzing them about like pellets in his skull. ¡°Jordan, I have to stop him,¡± he whispered.


    [In that case -No¡­maybe I shouldn¡¯t]


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t what?¡± he asked, sitting up suddenly. The phone bounced off his lap and flipped over.


    [Yeung-Sung, I feel like I should make you aware about the extent of how stupid your poison idea is.] She added hurriedly, [All for the purpose of helping you, of course]


    He drew up his legs and held them as he sulked. ¡°Yeah, maybe you shouldn¡¯t,¡± he snarled. She just won¡¯t stop! Outside, a streetlamp awoke, snapping its bulb alight like the predators eye of an owl.


    [Do you know the difference between a poison and a toxin?] A huff from Yeung-Sung.


    [I thought so: Poisons need to be ingested. Or inhaled. If you want to coat a weapon and stab someone with it, you need to make it toxic. Which means your potions -unless you think you can convince barbarians to chug some before battle- are pointless]


    He gritted his teeth, prying his neck back from watching the light outside. ¡°Well, that¡¯s just great, isn¡¯t it?¡± He pincered the end of the phone with his fingers, letting it dangle like a bloated black insect from his grip. He wrestled with the urge of throwing it through the window. Yeung-Sung was swinging it back when it vibrated -Pa-king! It was the Wick chat acting up again; The perfect distraction.


    ¡°MEDB, I have a private conversation I¡¯d like to attend to -alone,¡± he said firmly. ¡°Is there an easy way to turn you off?¡± He chuckled as he said it, ¡°Not that you would tell me.¡±


    [No, it¡¯s alright. I¡¯ll de-activate myself. After all, I¡¯m only a management program. You can imagine me winking.] Despite himself, Yeung-Sung broke out in a fond smile. [I hope you were listening to my advice. Please consider switching your professions. And don¡¯t forget to adjust your queue accordingly. Bye]


    ¡°Wait!¡±


    [Yes? Was there something else? Oh, there¡¯s a prompt to stop and start the queue¡¯s automation at the bottom of that section]


    ¡°No it¡¯s not that,¡± he said, then hesitated, ¡°It¡¯s¡­how do I call you back?¡±


    Her synthetic, sing-song voice trilled in a wavy Hmmm. [Is that it? Well, I would tell you, but wouldn¡¯t it be more fun -if I didn¡¯t? If, instead, it was a surprise?]


    She left with a sweeping pop, like a socket being unplugged or a kiss blown goodbye.


    ¡°No.¡±


    [I ¡®ll be back. Just call]


    Just call? Amazing. She¡¯s just like every other- not that I¡¯d know. Ahh, why am I so anxious to let her go? Yet I can¡¯t let her know what I¡¯m up to.


    Making some alterations to his queue, he noticed that the messages notifications that were showing weren¡¯t only from the Joint Wick crew. He was also being directly contacted by several other anonymous coloners each with the subject line; Recruitment.

 Part 25 Info for the Infirm III

    ¡°99+¡± was the amount in red above The Wick group chat. Opening it, Yeung-Sung smiled at the bottom entry.


    [<Wilhelm>: He dead Darnes isn¡¯t he?]


    Below that, a notification asked him whether he wanted to read down the rest of the messages or scroll to the top. Well, I have the time, he thought. Then another message (Pa-king!) leapt into the count and he reconsidered. Scrolling to the bottom, Yeung-Sung danced out {Guess what? I am alive!}  Satisfied, he muscled the effort to stand up and wandered over to his table check out what else was stocked.


    He tabbed back to his queue for a moment, then to his avatar, before putting the phone flat on the table and sitting. Several bars and sachets were lined up at each side like cutlery, all covered in a navy wrapper. Taking a bar and turning it over in his hand, he found its nutritional information compressed in tiny pink text. High in fat and protein, yet no carbs? The ingredients weren¡¯t listed, except to say ¡°GLI sustenance bar. Vegan, gluten-free and delicious! May contain nuts¡±. His lips were taut and dry over his mouth as he broke open the packaging. Brown. How appetising. He put the thing down and picked up a sachet instead. ¡°Tear open, mix with water and drink deep to keep energised and healthy.¡± Its nutritional details were similar to the bars, except with a long list of vitamins and minerals, some of them bolded, sticking out in a larger font size, but none of them were anything he had ever hear of. Vitamin C13? Unillivium? Is the real experiment getting me to eat this crap? Feeling an uncomfortable need to swallow, Yeung-Sung saw that it ended with ¡°And more!¡±


    His phone vibrated again, and this time it was met as a welcome segue. Pouring himself a glass of water, Yeung-Sung slit open the sachet and sniffed. The smell was too muted to make out. He let a few grains of it fall out and of course, they were brown. It¡¯s like soil -but for people. Just water it is. Taking a sip, he browsed through the new messages.


    < Shirely> Hi!


    <VonMartin> Hello little one


    <WhiteMamba> Finally. Welcome to the chat, Yeung-Sung.


    <WilHelmet> We got a live one folks! @Joint_Wick_everyone


    <WilHelmet> Finally Young Sun OMG whats your build I wanna know


    Its Yeung-Sung @WilHelmet!


    <WilHelmet> Gonna type just YS. Ur name is too awkard to spell


    <FenRick> awkward* Wil, just enable autocorrect already!


    The text just kept coming. Yeung-Sung¡¯s shoulders hung just over the table¡¯s edge. Eyes drying out under the blue light, he replied as fast as he could. {Thanks guys! I am working on a poison pot-} He stopped. Snapping his neck back straight, he rolled his head slowly around.


    {Thanks guys! I am working on


    {Thanks guys! I am work-


    {Thanks guy-


    {T


    {Trying out some things} He wiped his brow and nervously swapped between his active Airgead tabs.


    Trying out some things. Not sure yet.


    He held his breath. That¡¯s enough, I reckon. All activity on his screen stilled and once again the colony felt fake. A picture of a society. Then, ellipses wriggled onto his screen. [Darnes, WilHelmet and 5 others are typing¡­] and he breathed out. It was alive again. Yeung-Sung slid his elbows far into the table and rested his head, in a daze amidst the flashing heartbeat of Airgead. A pop from another chat pinged his screen, but he ignored it as he typed;


    this is hard. How do I decide what to do? What are you all focusing on?


    As he waited, another notification emerged: [New Mastery]. I¡¯ll check it out later. Flipping back to the home screen -avatar parsing his hands through beach sand- he searched for the direct messages he had been avoiding. He bit his lip as he scanned the top line of each one.. All of them, using very different approaches, were trying to get him to join their faction. He opened the top entry.


    From: Retinue


    Subject: Recruitment


    Pak, do you find it hard to adjust to the colony? Are its ways confusing? Have no fear, for you have like-minded friends. Between all this chaos, we¡¯ve taken to installing an updated democracy to this great platform. Ours is a true and equal process, allowing each and every coloner audience and venue to make their voices heard! GLI has caught the fall of many of the world¡¯s government over the past few years, as well as stopping global thermonuclear war with the wave of hand. If you¡¯re here, then you have seen for yourself the effortlessness in which the company, and its president are slowly issuing their vision of change. That much is undeniable, and so we, the Neo-Democritans seek are working towards changing democracy, re-birthing it into a public-serving assistant to help the world stay calm during the coming years. We think we have had enough chaos.


    Some of our social programs that we have established so far in the colony are; a police force; basic judicial legislation and trial system, and our most proud achievement: contractual obligations within Market exchanges. We have this and so much more planned during this new term. I, along with the rest of ND, hope you will join us in pushing forward a new style of governance.


    Best regards,


    Retinue


    [¡°Neo-Democritans¡± have invited you to join their factions]


    [ACCEPT]      [REFUSE]


    Yeung-Sung held his finger over the text until it selected everything, then promptly copied the contents into the Wick chat.


    Who are these guys?


    <Wil> lol


    <WhiteMamba> Is that? Oh. Yeah, that¡¯s my husband¡­


    <Von Martin> The Debaters as we call them.


    <Shirley> They spend their time endlessly arguing about how to manage in the future, treating Jordan as capitalist Jesus.


    <Wil> Same initials = confirmedThis book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    <Sykes> They are wannabe politicians, honestly. All talk. No real plan


    <Fenrick> With exceptionally long ass-licking tongues


    As amusing as it was, Yeung-Sung was genuinely interested in their Airgead professions, so he left the current conversation continue below and scrolled back up, reading through the answers to his question. Just about everyone had given a form of answer, each with their own personalised font. Yeung-Sung wasn¡¯t paying much attention before, but the differences were drastic.


    Darnes answered first, the first time Yeung-Sung had seen him type in the group. His font was a thick Gothic on a background of oak.


    <SalmonDarnes> I¡¯m repairing armour. Marketers mostly, and some independent groups. I realised equipment durability is quite low but takes a lot off effort to make. Yet repairing it takes minimal amounts of the same resources and is relatively easy. Working for me so far. Hardest part is finding consistent sources to suit whatever it is sent to me to fix.


    <Steph> Because I won¡¯t do it for him anymore ha!


    He doesn¡¯t wear those suits just for show then, he¡¯s savvy. He caressed the small swelling in his arm. And ruthless.


    Steph¡¯s font was similar but more subdued, with even his capitals rising to the size of Darnes¡¯s lowercase monuments.


    <Steph> Im just mining on and on. My quality is the best there is!


    <WilHelmet> Pretty sure you only scratched the surface old man


    <Shirley> To be honest, Steph, I doubt anyone can craft with ore that high level yet.


    <Steph> Whatever. As long as someone buys something soon. I don¡¯t care once I have my drink


    <Shirley> Well, we all do what we can. I make poles and shafts at the moment, seems a lot of people are buying up weapons, which means a lot of people are crafting weapons. Most of them have some wooden component, and so specializing in that is an alright gig. They also buy again from me when they need repairs, so its double the business


    <SalmonDarnes> It¡¯s tough for weapons though. I thought about it too, but since they¡¯re easier to make, the market is flooded with them. Cheaper for most to just buy a new one


    <Shirley> Ok so it doesn¡¯t happen all the time. But it does happen


    <WilHelmet> Still Shirley, you¡¯ve improved! Proud of you bud ??


    Shirley¡¯s words reflected his current career, bright yellow letters etched from hollow wood. Beside Wil though, most of them looked rather plain. Wil didn¡¯t care for authenticity. His font was bombastic and wobbly. It¡¯s basically Comic Sans.


    <Shirley> Wil, what are you up to now? Don¡¯t tell me your still doing ¡°research¡±?


    <VonMartin> Oh Shirley I am woodworking too! But I focus on making arrows. Now that is repeat business! HA you should learn from me


    <WhiteMamba> Jeweller. From what I know of the Celts, they loved their golden brooches and bracelets, so I thought it would be appropriate. Some I can sell as an armour type but mostly it is for cosmetic purposes. You¡¯d be surprised, there¡¯s already a good few people paying for fashion


    <WhiteMamba> If we all listened to you, we would all be throwing arrows with our hands because no one bothered to make a bow or string. Idiot!


    <WilHelmet> Ayy


    Chuckling along, Yeung-Sung realised he was chewing. He didn¡¯t remember taking a bite, but now that he had, he forced himself to finish. It was dense and salty, and definitely contained nuts. It¡¯s not all that bad. Scrolling past the next few arguments, he looked out for the next time somebody explained their Airgead profession. Wil never did, strangely. He also didn¡¯t reveal what Shirley meant by ¡°research¡±. They let the other topics of conversation flood over it and the next ones to actually give him information was Hans and Fenrick, re-joining the chat after Yeung-Sung had dumped his invitation letter from the Debaters. Hans¡¯s type sparkled with the golden glow of wealth, whereas Fenrick had possibly the simplest font of the Wick regulars; a New Times New Roman on a clay tablet, his sentences tight and clear.


    <Hans> Back on topic, I browse the market and make analytics detailing the fluctuation of items, as well as categories. Then I figure out what is selling for too low, buying these up, or I setup a queue around in demand items, ones that are relatively easy to create and sell of before the market swings around.


    <Shirley> Sounds like stocks


    It would work if this was an open market, but factions fuck this system. They create and finish their trades between themselves in seconds.  SO in reality, Hans, you¡¯re limited to indies and smaller, less economic parties that don¡¯t use this method


    <Anita> Hey! If Airgead provided alternative ways to trade goods between each other outside of the market, we wouldn¡¯t have to resort to that. Isn¡¯t that what your husband is supposedly trying to arrange, @WhiteMamba?


    <Fenrick> Anyway¡­what I do is create parchment and quills. After noticing that the game doesn¡¯t display much information about items, I devised a way for players to document it themselves. A lot of what I sell are labels, but perhaps I could talk to some of the factions into creating contracted agreements?


    <Wil> Won¡¯t work. How would you enforce that? Debater laws? Yah man, sure.


    <WhiteMamba> Oh hell no! You didn¡¯t just @ me, Anita.


    Yeung-Sung ignored the rest of the conversation to examine Sykes¡¯s text. Where his own words were stickmen in an art gallery, Sykes¡¯s font was, for lack of a better term, next level. Over a glittering pitch of black, his words were animated, prismatic colours describing the details of each letter. It was still legible, but definitely a psychedelic distraction. How do they do that?


    How did you get to have all these crazy fonts?


    A single word was reposted by each member; ¡°Aisling¡±. Sykes had some additional information.


    She¡¯s here now, if you want to ask her for something.


    Is that allowed? I thought GLI doesn¡¯t participate in the experiment?


    <Darnes> He means in the Wick


    <Wil> Yeah, we¡¯re all here drinking pints in your honour.


    <Steph> Darnes¡¯s treat


    He withdrew from the screen with downcast eyes. All of them are there, right now. Evening had crept in around the walls of his apartment, the light that remained highlighting nothing in the room except the tall spire of shadow, Yeung-Sung curled up in his chair. And I¡¯m here, alone.


    Not that I am lonely.


    If I could be truly alone, just nature and me away from society, from idiots and their games, I would be content with that. Here, however, I am not really alone. I¡¯m periodically isolated, yes, but I still participate within the culture that I disagree with. I could leave. And maybe that¡¯s an option, but it¡¯s very possible that I¡¯d die. Then I maybe I should change things. Set an example. Live in protest, denying the norms. But that hasn¡¯t done me much good. So what am I going to do?


    Yeung-Sung sat with his chin forward on his knees. Just to see what it looked like, he had filled up a glass of water and poured in the GLI ¡°soil¡±. He sat still staring at it in the gloom of another night in the colony. He watched the unassuming water be set upon by a horde of the brown granules, battling in a mini maelstrom. The dirt dissolved, the water gradually accepting it into its liquid borders until it became neither substance; a new mixture, neither solid nor liquid, that filled both thirst and hunger together. Once it settled, Yeung-Sung played with the glass, pushing it away -towards-away-towards. Bracing his lips, he took a taste in one swift motion. He winced and gagged and spat out the thick sludge.


    Scraping his chair back, he reclined against its back with his head tilted up and moaned. I can¡¯t wait. If this is change, I don¡¯t want it. But I can¡¯t wait it out anymore. What if the person who succeeds Jordan is even worse? He shuddered at the thought, feeling fresh sweat be held on to his skin by a bandage.


    The light of Airgead sprung forward onto the ceiling. Closing his eyes, Yeung-Sung felt around with his hand for the phone. Once he felt it against the back of a finger, his hand tensed and pounced on the phone like a spider.


    <Shane-0> Hey @Pak didn¡¯t really get to meet you the last day.


    Hey, Yeung-Sung is my name, actually. I think this username is a joke by a dev


    <Shane-0> Yeung Sung then.


    <Shane-0> I¡¯m not at the Wick tonight either, eh, what¡¯s the deal? Did something happen to you?


    Yeah


    Yeung-Sung got up from his chair. I¡¯m surprised they haven¡¯t told him already. Awkward. Through the current lighting, his window was perfect as a mirror and he stared into it, taking in fully the sight of his wounded figure. Did something happen to me? You could say that.


    {Jordan attacked me -


    [Message deleted]


    What? He typed it in again to the same effect. Trying numerous things, he found only one form that was accepted.


    I was attacked


    <Shane-0> Oh! I¡¯m sorry man, that sort of thing never usually happens here. Are you okay?


    Yeung-Sung flipped to his Airgead queue, then to the market, and smiled.


    You know what, I¡¯ll be just fine.


    He brought the glass of ¡°soil¡± to his lips again and drank it wholeheartedly, wiping his mouth as h finished. He brought it down with a crack!


    @everyone, I¡¯m going to challenge the Gauntlet

 Part 26 Trying By Doing

    Yeung-Sung paced about his apartment, filled with energy. He imagined Wil, Martin, Shirley and the rest looking up at each other in the Wick as they read his message. He imagined Darnes behind the bar struggling to comprehend his actions. But at the same time, knowing exactly what his regulars will do for a fellow member.


    Yeung-Sung held the phone behind his back as he circled the floorboards, planning. They know what happened, yet nobody has come to comfort me. No one has even apologised on Jordan¡¯s behalf. Especially Darnes, who has seen me in this state. He¡¯s seen me, knows my agony, but brushes over my battered body. What? Too offensive for your worldview? the colony worldview; the inevitable world-worldview. He gritted his teeth and stopped, bringing Airgead back up on the screen. Have they fallen for it? Does their guilt make them malleable?


    <Darnes> You must be joking, you¡¯re not nearly ready.


    <Mamba> He has to experience it eventually, let¡¯s just get this over with


    That¡¯s ballsy of you


    <WIlHemet> F


    I have an idea. Will you help me?


    There was a long pause where no one typed. Yeung-Sung fiddled with one hand, tapping the screen every so often to stop it from going to sleep. Shit! I need this to work. After what seemed like a long, cold minute of standing with bated breath some action beat onto the screen. [Shane is typing¡­]


    He¡¯s hardly going to convince them! Why isn¡¯t anyone else responding? He pictured the congregation in the Wick shrugging their shoulders in lost unison. It was only a single night, I¡¯ve only just met them, why would they help me? But he needed some assistance in beating a Gauntlet that hundreds of other people have not been able to conquer -and others had the edge of time, past experience, numbers. Yeung-Sung slumped against the side of his bed. I can¡¯t just give in. Considering calling MEDB back, ignoring whether she was associated with GLI or not, the first syllable caught in his throat as Shane¡¯s message was posted:


    <Shane> Waste our time and resources so you can learn the value of medals? Ha


    <Shane>Fuck it. Sounds like a great night! I¡¯m in


    And immediately, so was everyone else.


    Gimme a sec, gonna buy a round and we¡¯ll start to plan.


    <VonMartin> I¡¯m very curious about your idea, little one!


    Yeung-Sung thought that having the Wick¡¯s help with the gauntlet would¡¯ve helped him to relax, but it only turned his faraway, anxious dream into an obligatory reality. They¡¯re expecting me to lose. They see me as the insolent brat I was acting like before -Oh wow I was bad- but I have to change that, I have to make them trust me. He leapt into bed and crawled under the covers, hiding away. The projection of Airgead¡¯s landscape filled the blanket-tent. He tabbed to the home screen. The dangling entryway for the Gauntlet hung at the bottom. It seemed to part open slightly like a loose gate, inviting him for a trial run. Before I can even attempt this strategy, I need to see what the Gauntlet is actually like. But how long does it take, and what happens if I lose -do I need to redo the tutorial? Yeung-Sung sucked in his lips, regretting being so rash in his decision. I need to take advantage of guilt so fresh, he tried to convince himself, later might be too late.


    Still, I need extra information. He looked through the Wick chat, reading again through each member¡¯s skillset. To an extent, everyone could be useful in the trial. He ran his finger through a line that caught him before.


    <Shirley> Wil, what are you up to now? Don¡¯t tell me your still doing ¡°research¡±?


    Wilhelm. In a panic, ignoring the first cries about ¡°how the hell are you going to pull this off?¡±, he pressed hard on the American¡¯s icon, and initiated a direct message. Yeung-Sung tapped a few words, then cleared them out. His blankets slipping down around his head, he re-adjusted them, shoving everything -including himself- to a corner of the bed and tucking the sheets under his hip. When he was satisfied, he looked back at the chat to discover Wil was typing to him;This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    <WilHelmet> I can see you typing, ya know?


    <WilHelmet> Anyway, I don¡¯t know what weird ass Korean strategy you¡¯ve been grinding up in your recuperation time, but I know for a fact that you don¡¯t have near enough info on combat to carry you


    Yeung-Sung was so thankful that he bowed out of habit.


    <WilHelmet> Ehh, also I don¡¯t have any crafting masteries to speak of, so I can¡¯t really supply you with anything else except information.


    Yeung-Sung rolled his eyes under the covers, inhaling the confined air. Regardless, he thought and typed out, {Thank you}


    What is your research exactly?


    <WilHelmet> My ¡°research¡±? Lmao, that¡¯s an interesting way to put it


    You¡¯re trying to figure out the game, right? Did you learn anything?


    <WilHelmet> I hate this game, you know. Honestly it doesn¡¯t even deserve that title. I hate Airgead.


    What? But you know everything about games


    Yeung-Sung was starting to think he had made a mistake and looked for an alternative person to ask, privately, for info. As uncomfortable as the organised factions made him feel, he even went back through different invites: A group of the colony¡¯s shopkeepers told him urged him to follow his philanthropic interests and throttle the prices of the market; A coloner typing in ¡°ye olde English¡± cordially invited him to a group called the RolePlayers, with entirely too suggestive font typing; Player¡¯s Market, true to the warnings, urged him to join their post-capitalist revolution and claimed to have over a third of the colony under their thumb.


    One of the letters was particularly aggressive, sent by a coloner that went by HerbertP.


    Pak,


    It¡¯s wearing on you, isn¡¯t it?


    You¡¯re broken, so let¡¯s do something about it.


    Let¡¯s break the colony, burn it to the ground.


    Herb


    Tabbing quickly away from that, he noticed that the DM conversation with Wilhelm had a dozen updates. Maybe he has something.


    <WilHelmet> The colony used to be like a dream come true, Yeung-Sung. Can you imagine? Shut in with games all day, the world breaks and suddenly the saviour of humanity advocates an economy based on the only thing I knew.


    <WilHelmet> But real life is always disappointing. I should¡¯ve known.


    <WilHelmet> I was brought into the colony late into the cycle, two resets ago. Even though I was so far behind the rest, it was amazing! Just like almost every JRPG; skills; stats; levels; classes. Before it closed, I even got to advise the Champions on strategy. The Fucking Champs, man!


    <WilHelmet> Oh yeah, they¡¯re consistently the top guild. Elite and small. Anyway, the next version of the experiment -the one we had before this- took a different approach. It was like a personal attack on me-


    Yeung-Sung stiffened. He gripped at his arms, gasping, and cuddled in further into his blankets before continuing.


    -as if it was a personal attack on me, individual skill became obsolete. You couldn¡¯t do anything by yourself! It was a grand RTS-style game, every coloner built up regiments that fed into larger armies controlled by factions. But the numbers were super inflated; it became insanity to render the entire thing on mobile. Millions of units! Sure, each person could customise, breed and grow theirs, outmanoeuvre the enemy -But it was useless! What did it matter that I could outplay armies 3 or 4 times my size? They¡¯d just send one 5 times on their next attempt. I got pissed


    <WilHelmet> Oh man, I just gave up.


    <WilHelmet> I just did my dailies and left to go to the Wick, hoping I had enough to blackout that night. Usually I would.


    Yeung-Sung pulled the covers of his head, feeling nauseous. Why are you telling me this? You were just a dumb kid, you kinda deserved this in a way. His throat scratching, he rose and shuffled towards his table again, continuing to read;


    <WilHelmet> Then, this reset happened. When I saw it man; one character to control, the focus of the game, it got me so excited! It was my time! I was ready to give it everything, but GLI¡¯s new baby spit the face of game logic- all my experience amounted to nothing! It¡¯s like I¡¯m trying to learn a language that I don¡¯t have the sensory organs for


    <WilHelmet> But man, I met you at my lowest point and -I know that¡¯s it weird but you¡¯re, you know, Korean. Your people have always been the Spartans of e-sports. It triggered something in me, I guess, to keep going.


    <WilHelmet> So, my research? Its me bashing my head against the DEFEAT screen over and over, desperately trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.


    <WilHelmet> It probably sounds ridiculous, but I always suspected you¡¯d beat the Gauntlet. I wanna say


    <WilHelmet> Weird. It keeps deleting my messages


    <WilHelmet> WTF


    Yeung-Sung was crying into his superfood. The torchlight of his phone clicked off and left him in cranberry night. With jittering breath, he brushed crumbs of the bandages on his hands and tucked them in under his armpits, pressing down like a bellows. He let out a scream of spittle, anguishing swirling through his throat like the year lines of a tree.


    It¡¯s okay. I understand what you¡¯re trying to say.


    So tell me, what have you learned?

 Part 27 Trying By Doing II

    This avatar looked like every other. Shining bright, body oblivious to the strain of effort, expression uncaring as he stuck his first jab. It landed deep in the thigh, forcefully thrusting a wrench into the mechanics of the barbarians leg. He mirrored the action with the dagger in his weaker hand, bangles on his arm jingling in applause. His victim slumped, dropping shield and spear. The barbarian opened his lungs to gasp but fell silent. The ground was split open by the falling stab of his weaponry, followed by the sweeping sound of an arrow. It struck squarely in the middle of the cluster of his bangles, shattering one. The avatar looked up. Shaking some remnants off, he advanced to the bowman.


    The lights off in the bathroom, Yeung-Sung¡¯s eyes twitched from staring too long into the blue glow. He paused the clip, switched tabs and typed out {They make it look easy}.


    <WilHelmet> NO shit. They call themselves the Champions for a reason.


    <WilHelmet> But did you see what they did?


    They used twin daggers. Attacking as fast as they can, like you said before.


    <WilHelmet> Yes. What else?


    Yeung-Sung rolled back the timer and watched. Run to the first target. Stab the thighs. Block arrow. Move on.


    <WilHelmet> What was their first action?


    The thigh?


    They targeted a specific body part! He went for the legs to incapacitate.


    [WilHelmet is typing¡­]


    <WilHelmet> Yeah but¡­watch the rest of the clip. Then comeback to me.


    What did I miss? Nevertheless, he resumed the clip from where he left off before. The four barbarians that remained unharmed spread out. Two with bows and two robed fellows with no visible weapon. Arrows hissed at the avatar, always blocked by a bangle, which resulted in a trail of copper crumbs behind him as he ran. There was something non-committal about his charge, Yeung-Sung noticed. The viewpoint given -above and behind the shoulders- swivelled methodically through to each enemy, though his direction never changed. The archer on standby was clenching his teeth, notching as many arrows as he could muster to protect his ally, while the bowman who was being chased down was having trouble, visibly shaking as he drew back a string. Just as he let it loose, one of the robed men knelt with his arms out, showing mossy tattoos, and began to chant.


    The avatar of the Champions halted. Breaking the impact of two arrows with yet more bangles he withdrew a third dagger from beneath his cloak. He whirled two at once towards the chanting and, wasting no time, pivoted his charge to get at the other robed barbarian.


    Okay, what was that about?


    Yeung-Sung¡¯s reaction was echoed in the robed man, who nearly jumped in surprise at the move. Where he was taking out a skull from beneath his sleeve, it now flopped, cracking like a used eggshell as the avatar sliced through him. His skin paled beneath his glow. After two more rips through his torso it faded to grey and the clanging of bangles was his mourning bell.


    They were properly enraged now. The wide warrior he hamstringed had seemingly recovered and was making his way back for more. The archers were already tightening their draw for their next volley. The tattooed chanter looked pale and a little dizzy but kept a single arm outstretched, continuing his work.


    Yeung-Sung paused the clip again. One, two, three, four, five. He¡¯s only got five bangles left on each arm. How¡¯s he going to make it? Adjusting his posture on the toilet, he galloped his toes against the cold tiles. Tabbing out for a bit, he scrolled down the chat and groaned. I¡¯ve still got three more clips to analyse after this. He wracked his eyes shut and stretched his eyeballs left and right, up and down. This is going to be a long night. He took a short but hefty breath, yawned and continued watching.


    The viewpoint became frantic. It switched from one barbarian to another; archer; archer; warrior; archer; warrior; chanter; warrior, yet he did not lunge, did not attack. They grinned all around him. They yelled out old words filled with bloodlust. Crowding around, they smashed apart bangle after bangle until he had only one left.


    Then the avatar retaliated. Another dagger appeared in his hand, and with a hand each he stabbed an archer, again and again, spinning around between them like a revolving door. Down they went, but the warrior behind him laughed. Flexing his shoulders, he pointed at his own arms and steadied his spear for his assault; His bangles are all gone!


    But the viewpoint switched away from him and instead focused on the chanter. He stood there as he was impaled through the ribs, smiled as he was hoisted up onto his toes. The avatar released the gurgling druid and spun around only to have a spearhead pointed into his stomach. Oh well. But where before Yeung-Sung expected the rattle of bangles was a clinking. Confused, the warrior cut a stroke across, through the avatars cloak. Chainmail! And within the next few seconds, it was over.


    Stunned to silence in the darkness, Yeung-Sung finished up in the bathroom before replying to Wil.


    That was amazing to watch, but I still have no idea what the fuck was going on. For example, if he had chainmail on already, what was the use of having all the bangles?


    <WilHelmet> Durability matters. The bangles are easy to make, and their durability is negligible if each of them is meant for only one use. But they would have done nothing to protect him from the bleed-through against the rest. The chainmail on the other hand, would have protected him from two, maybe three arrows before breaking. Aside from that, his strategy requires him to remain nimble, so rather than wearing a full set of armour he has an arm full of lightweight bangles.


    <WilHelmet> But again, there¡¯s something else you¡¯re missing. What did you notice about the enemies?


    They were different. Some were archers, there was the spear guy and the two robed guys, I¡¯m not sure what they were doing. I think one was healing the big dude.


    <WilHelmet> Exactly. The enemies are broken up into classes. I¡¯m not going to try and explain each one to you, and I¡¯m pretty sure you¡¯ve never played an MMO anyway. However, do you know what I mean by a raid boss? Dungeon boss, maybe?


    No. Well, sort of¡­Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    <WilHelmet> Ughh, that¡¯s what I thought. Well, I¡¯m pretty sure -and it looks like there are plenty of others who have figured it out by now- that Airgead¡¯s gauntlets are sort of like raids but in reverse.


    <WilHelmet> Let me explain:  Normal raids are a group of players of different classes working together against a giant, slow boss with ridiculous amounts of life that no single person could stand a chance against on their own. Except in this game, we are the big baddies. See?


    Yeah, it makes some sense. Though we¡¯re not all that ¡°big¡± or ¡°bad¡±.


    <WilHelmet> Sure, we¡¯re not huge, but we can sustain more damage than the average bear. So, to prevail against groups like these, we have to interrupt their teamwork, take the engagement in a way that favours us. A raid party, at its core has a trinity of roles; The Tank, whose job it is to distract and taunt the boss away from the rest of the of party -that was the shield guy; DPS, or damage-per-second, who are focused on outputting as much damage as possible, not caring about their own wellbeing -like the archers; And Healers, or supports, who¡¯s job entire job is to keep everyone else alive, especially the tank -The druids.


    <WilHelmet> Or robed guys, as you called them. Lmao


    Referring to Wil¡¯s guide, Yeung-Sung watched through the clip again. Hmm


    <WilHelmet> Watch the next one. It¡¯s mine


    Yeung-Sung started Wil¡¯s clip and immediately it was different from the previous encounter. A brilliant white filled the screen, with the outline of his avatar¡¯s skull barely visible. As Wil¡¯s demi-god loosened his shoulders, the camera zoomed out and the rest of the battlefield filled in in watercolour blots; A ten-man raid. As if compensating for his enlightened body, Wil¡¯s avatar wore a dark tunic, though it may as well have been a dirty sack -and that was it. He wore nothing else under its hemline. He feet squelched around in mud as he readied his stance. But beyond that he had one more piece of equipment; a poleaxe, which he arced back, sustaining its absurd size with legs spread wide. Yeung-Sung pinched his fingers apart on his phone. But, even with the max draw distance he couldn¡¯t bring the weapon fully into view.


    That¡¯s¡­strange, Wilhelm didn¡¯t take his own advice. What is that monstrosity?


    Before the avatar took a step, he was rushed in a pincer strike by two barbarians who Yeung-Sung recognised as warriors. Swiftly, he avoided their swings by wheeling backwards. He bounced between more of their strikes but was then completely open to the first volley of arrows. They sliced through an arm, blood dripping down the axe¡¯s handle. The avatar staggered. Snarling through their beards, the two warriors capitalised on the opportunity, once again slashing at him from opposite sides. Shhing! The sound of blades scarpering off each other rang out. But then, a momentary swing, an impossible flash of axe slapped their blades away. Stunned, they looked at each other with mouths flung open, cheeks red. Wil crouched through the gap and pivoted, the head of the axe skimming grass, and cleared his immediate perimeter of torsos. They fell, but then more shots from the remaining party slunk into his chest. He stayed upright and postured again in the archer¡¯s direction, his poleaxe¡¯s crescent blade orbiting low behind its sun. Dirt and death caked his legs, obscuring his glow.


    No, wait. It¡¯s not the dirt. His avatar has almost stopped glowing!


    And then the avatar fell. It was just a slip at first, down to one knee, until a stealthy barbarian gave gravity a hand by thrusting into his shoulder blades. Others quickly sprinted over. Wil¡¯s avatar heaved, tried to raise his weapon until a dark club literally beat the lights out of him.


    Yeung-Sung winced. I don¡¯t think I can watch that again. Looking over his own injuries. An itch flared up in his shoulders and he rubbed them, taking controlled breaths in and out. However, the clip didn¡¯t end. A spark was lit. It cut short the barbarians celebrations. The avatar raised itself -or was raised- by a conflagration of light. Then, with a single arc, he cleaved half a dozen men around him. Shocked, Yeung-Sung missed the rest of the flurry, but in the end only two orbed men stayed standing, bent over and panting with hands outstretched, smoke wisping from them.


    Aww, I thought he had it.


    You were really close


    <WilHelmet> And that was by far my best attempt. Unfortunately. See the difference the extra 5 make? Cheesing doesn¡¯t cut it.


    But you took down eight of them! A little more and you¡¯ve got it!


    <WilHelmet> ¡­uh, it¡¯s not that easy, YS. Did you see how easily I was taken down? A couple arrows here, a fireball there, I¡¯m done. I don¡¯t have time, the money, the manpower to invest in gear that would help me.


    But the factions have yet to clear it either. And all he had was an axe and a shirt. Yeung-Sung rewound the clip, playing it from the start. He watched Wil¡¯s avatar dance around the initial assault of the gauntlet. There. He¡¯s avoiding almost everything.


    How are you doing that thing at the start?


    <WilHelmet> Parry? Bro, it¡¯s just drawing lines.


    <WilHelmet> Well, okay. I¡¯m figuring out the patterns in which the AI moves the barbarians, the windup animations for their attacks. Before you attack, right, you can play and pause time in almost millisecond increments to optimise your movement. See? But after an attack you lose that control. You¡¯re vulnerable to attacks until your own wind-up is done -and for my big ass axe, that takes a while. Which means every one of my attacks has to at least trade 2-for-1.


    Does everyone know about that? The time thing?


    <WilHelmet> I mean, probably, but it still takes precision to get right. As you saw, even I get it wrong -If I utilized the mechanic perfectly, I could¡¯ve avoided all damage. There¡¯s always room for improvement.


    <WilHelmet> But besides me simply playing the engagement well, I registered my intent to master ¡°parry¡± in the system. Ha. Guess, YS, how many times I¡¯ve attempted this fight (and lost btw) and how many times I¡¯ve tried to parry one attack, then two, and more before I got it right at least once. Yo, it¡¯s not easy -and I had to have enough time to re-equip myself for each battle.


    No idea. But if I understand your obsessiveness over games, I¡¯d guess somewhere in the hundreds. So you trained your character to do those moves?


    <WilHelmet> YS, you¡¯ve got it backwards, bud. I was training myself to play the game. If there¡¯s one concrete thing I have discovered about this combat system, it¡¯s that there are no stats you can train.


    That¡­doesn¡¯t add up.


    But you¡¯re avatar. He was so glowy? You¡¯re saying he¡¯s not a higher level than before? Wil, he actually looked like a real game boss.


    <WilHelmet> Ahh, not high level; high rarity. After my first few death cycles, dying and washing up in the same ocean again, I noticed a difference between them. So I pushed myself harder, dying as fast as possible on purpose. Not realising that I was training was an actual skill.  Apparently, it¡¯s called [incarnation strength].


    <WilHelmet> I was so sure that I was trolling when I suggested it to Airgead, even more so when the app froze -but It let me do it. That¡¯s some crazy flexibility in the game engine.


    <WilHelmet> So I kept dying and training this new ¡°skill¡± until I noticed I was getting higher rarity -brighter glowing avatars- more consistently. And, if I¡¯m right, the mastery is somewhat consistent to how regular crafting skills work; increasing my relative chance every 2<sup>nd</sup> mastery level.


    What? The game just let him create a skill like that?


    So you¡¯ve mastered death now, right¡­what¡¯s next. Actually, I¡¯m curious, how many times have you died then?


    <WilHelmet> Lol. Mastered it? Nah, not even close, but at mastery 10 you get something else. I found this out from Steph, actually. Because he¡¯s literally only done one thing exclusively since he started, his mining mastery is ridiculous. And every 10 mastery, guess what he unlocks? A chance for an extra output per action. You see where I¡¯m going, huh?


    An extra output? On an incarnation skill? Oh, my, god. He has a chance to-


    You get a chance to incarnate twice at once? That¡¯s crazy! You¡¯ll eventually be unbeatable


    <WilHelmet> Well¡­some good gear would have helped a lot more, I¡¯d say¡­ the one time where I got the 2<sup>nd</sup> incarnation I got really bad RNG. You saw how dull he was after getting up? It¡¯s like a 2% chance, I think. And if I mess up my management of the encounter at all, I¡¯m dead -doubly dead- anyway.


    <WilHelmet> But I think you know something about the capability of Airgead already, don¡¯t you? You¡¯ve got your own unique skill. Why else would you suddenly challenge the gauntlet?


    <WilHelmet> Don¡¯t tell me. I won¡¯t let them know. Rooting for you, YS. So, are you ready?


    Not at all. But don¡¯t tell them that either.


    <WilHelmet> And you don¡¯t tell them that I¡¯ve faced the DEFEAT screen over 10,000 times. I have a reputation to uphold.

 Part 28 Balconies are for Lovers not Losers

    Yeung-Sung stretched his legs out in the hall. 10,000 deaths? Is that even possible? Over the past what¡­ three days? He made a shorthand calculation, gritting his teeth as his calves groaned and threatened to seize up on him. He would have had to die, on average, two and a half times per minute. No, he had to be joking. Still he felt uneasy. He stuck his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and blinked rapidly. That is commitment. Wil¡¯s far more ready than I am. He also blinked as an adjustment to the blinding, plaster white walls. Absent-mindedly he stuck out a bandaged arm, then grimaced. Almost grey. He quickly put the arm back inside the pocket and began to stroll when he saw someone: John.


    The security guard stood sentry in the corner of the walkway. But as soon as their eyes met, he ducked down into the stairwell without a word. The echo of hurried steps clamoured behind him. Each wave fed the next, and as Yeung-Sung slid his hand down the first railing he was awash in the sound. Shuffling his feet slowly over each step, he wondered whether he was heading down of his own volition or whether he was giving chase. He tried not to make the same racket. But inside his pockets his arms were trembling, arms tight around his phone. And under his clothes his lungs stuttered. By the time he made it to the ground floor he could detail each point of swelling in his neck. Slinking into the lobby he began wheezing, forcing him to hunch over for a few moments. He looked up to spot John inside his receptacle. The guard was typing away but kept stealing over scurried looks in his direction. The Korean grabbed at his hips and pulled himself up. Really? He¡¯s just going to ignore me?


    He stared at the guard, making him uncomfortable, until he was satisfied. Shrugging his shoulders he limped over to the front, looking out at the ottomans, the vending machine, the fake-looking plants. All as he had remembered. Cleaner even. Up at the window, he peered through to where he lay dying a day before. Sighing, he muttered, ¡°As if it was all a dream.¡±


    John coughed behind him. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s not a good idea to leave¡±.


    Yeung-Sung turned, chuckling at that. His breath escaped in a dry purr. ¡°I¡¯m not going to,¡± he said, ¡°this time.¡± He looked to the back. ¡°I think I might just lie down on the couches a bit.¡± He started in their direction, but then vending machines over to the right wall caught his eye. They stocked variations of snack, drinks and chocolates that he recognised. There was even was even some fruit near the top -apples and oranges- though they were browning quickly.


    Intrigued, he hardly paid attention to John¡¯s clacking heels as he left his cubicle. ¡°You want something?¡±


    ¡°Yea.¡±


    John looked at the machine and back. Rustled in the pocket of his black suit pants. ¡°You don¡¯t have any money,¡± he said flatly.


    ¡°No more, no.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get it for you.¡±


    Why? Yeung-Sung looked over about to ask him, when he noticed how white he was. The man wasn¡¯t red from embarrassment, he was a pale pink. He¡¯s scared of me? He kept in a laugh. Am I a ghost to him?


    ¡°I¡¯ve never known security so on edge.¡±


    John avoided his eyes and went up to the vending machine with Airgead up in his hand. He bought Yeung-Sung a snack; something covered in red tinfoil. He didn¡¯t explain what it was. They walked over to the lounge together, Yeung-Sung fiddling around with it. John pointed to a coffee machine by his desk. ¡°No thanks,¡± was the response. They sat in silence as Yeung-Sung popped the contents ¨C Pills? Sweets? They grinded down through his throat. However, they tasted like exotic fruits. Yeung-Sung reclined on the leather coach, his arms across it¡¯s golden-black pillows. John scratched his forearm through his shirt with his mouth clamped shut.


    ¡°I¡¯m not scared of him,¡± Yeung-Sung said, his gaze wandering up to the chandelier above them.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    Raising a curled eyebrow, he looked back at John. ¡°Jordan. Who else would I be scared of?¡±


    Swallowing, John said, ¡°Um, no one.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°You¡¯re scared of him though.¡± Yeung-Sung pointed. ¡°Do you think that¡¯s right?¡±


    John dropped his hands and gripped his lap. He stared straight across. ¡°I¡¯m scared of him in the same way -the same way that someone fears God. You don¡¯t realize, and it¡¯s not only you, that he¡¯ll stop at nothing.¡±


    He shook his head then. ¡°Never mind,¡± John said, face growing softer. ¡°Do you know about his wife?¡±


    Yeung-Sung remembered. He hadn¡¯t thought about it since his first night, but the memory of his experience sobered him up. He sat up on the couch and leaned over. ¡°Oh, yeah. I heard. But I don¡¯t know any of the details.¡±


    John nodded. ¡°Your Airgead account page. Show me it.¡±


    Yeung-Sung handed him is phone. John browsed for a moment. ¡°Like I thought.¡± He showed Yeung-Sung the screen.


    [#1000]


    ¡°It¡¯s her number,¡± he explained.


    Yeung-Sung took the phone back. ¡°Alright but-,¡± he started. Then he understood. Pa-king! ¡°Wait! That¡¯s why they brought me, isn¡¯t it? And why I was the only one, the last one. Because she passed away, and they needed a replacement.¡±


    An autocar approached. He had the sudden fear that it would stop outside, that his conversation here was being watched, that what he said was inappropriate to the spirit of Jordan¡¯s wife. He managed a sigh of relief as it passed. It felt like exhaling gravel.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t his choice. The UN had demanded he have 1000 members for the experiment to be valid.¡± John spoke low. Pronounced his words slowly and let them out with respect to Yeung-Sung¡¯s grasp of the language.


    He¡¯s all in black. Yeung-Sung jolted his hands off the pillows. He felt needles all over where he had touched the dark couch. Breathing through it, he clenched his hands into fists.


    ¡°So he hates me because I remind him of his dead wife? Excellent¡±


    ¡°Not only that,¡± John chuckled. He clasped both hands over his over his mouth (pok!) at his behaviour. He forced the joke from his face and said, ¡°It¡¯s a bit morbid, lad, you see.¡±


    ¡°Una was her name, and like you, she would never agree with Jordan. She never let him have his way, and he couldn¡¯t tell her no. When she found out about the experiment she demanded to join, to see it for herself.¡± John waved a jittery hand around to the plants, the couches, the vending machines. ¡°Those were her idea, along with the shops, their resources and any other concessions not tied directly to Airgead. She wanted everyone to enjoy their time here, because he could make that happen.¡±


    He wiped his eyes and continued, waving an open hand and a fist like puppets of the couple. ¡°Where Jordan was anti-social or cold, Una was warm and a real people lover. But where Jordan was endlessly self confident and driven, she was -she was¡­¡±


    John took a deep breath. ¡°Well, self-conscious, and riddled with anxiety. With an addictive personality to boot.¡± He shrugged deep, his eyes shut and face pointing down. ¡°Honestly, it can¡¯t have been easy to be Jordan¡¯s wife. Like¡­Jordan! Could you imagine?¡±


    No, I cannot. Somebody like that -leaves me with big shoes to fill. But John, what aren¡¯t you telling me? Why are you so concerned about it? Yeung-Sung left his questions unattended and just listened, allowing the security guard his emotional release, nodding along.


    ¡°Although she hated the premise behind the experiment, the idea was actually spurred on by her,¡± John said.


    Oh? Maybe this explains something. ¡°Really, how?¡±


    John¡¯s cheeks swelled in a smile beneath his weeping eyes. ¡°They wanted children.¡± He bit his lip anticipating Yeung-Sung¡¯s reaction. ¡°Una more than him, but he wouldn¡¯t allow her to raise a child during, ya know, this economical kaput.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but did¡­¡±


    John exploded, ¡°Haha, nono you don¡¯t understand Yeung-Sung. So strong was Jordan¡¯s love for her that he pledged to rebuild the entire world. Single-handedly if he could! Just so she could be a mother in peace ¨C in safety.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s insane!¡± Yeung-Sung slapped the side of the couch, shouting out in pain a moment later. The sudden anger startled John, who jumped up.


    ¡°Ahh!¡± Yeung-Sung yelled, ¡°So he¡¯s not doing this to benefit the rest of the world! All of this is, it¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°-All for the greater good,¡± finished John, his fingers making quotation marks, ¡°But with her gone¡­¡± He looked away, out into the night that shrouded up against the shining glass entrance.


    Yeung-Sung stood too, his arms crossed over, shaking in pain and hugging his shoulders. ¡°There¡¯s no telling what he¡¯ll do! Someone -anyone needs to take over him before the end becomes any worse.¡±


    ¡°Any worse?¡± John exclaimed. The guard narrowed his eyes. ¡°How? Don¡¯t misunderstand me, Yeung-Sung, Jordan is in a rough state but that is exactly why we should be doing everything we can to support him¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°Any way we can,¡± he finished, nodding at Yeung-Sung¡¯s phone.


    Yeung-Sung tightened his jaw. Yeah right! I¡¯ll just forgive and forget. No problem at all. His phone buzzed. I did misunderstand. For a second I thought you were going to tun out sane. He turned to the stairwell and waved.


    ¡°I¡¯m off. Thanks for trying, John, but he did this to himself. I¡¯m not going to let him win¡± Smiling, he made a heart with his thumbs.


    John stepped after him, ¡°Wait. Yeung-Sung! Someone will come around in the morning to check up on your bandages. If it gets too stuffy in there you can always slide back a part of your window screen.¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked back a moment to hear the explanation.


    ¡°There¡¯s thin seams webbed all over them. Use your fingertips.¡± He chuckled a little as Yeung-Sung started again.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I was just thinking, don¡¯t open up too much and fall out.¡±


    Yeung-Sung had enough. He cracked his neck back. ¡°Why? Is that what happened to Una?¡±


    .

 Part 29 Balconies are for Lovers not Losers II

    You have the potions on sale?


    Yes


    Okay. Bought


    Hopefully that¡¯s enough to get what else you need. I¡¯m going to hold on to these. If you succeed, I guarantee they¡¯ll inflate in price nicely.


    <Fenrirk> That¡¯s shrewd. I recommend signing the labels in the future, @Pak. wouldn¡¯t want someone passing of their forgeries as your own.


    <HansOn>Ready to make the shoe deal. Let me know and I¡¯ll set it for 1 minims. Be quick!


    <VonMartin>Are you sure you don¡¯t need more arrows? What if you miss, young one?


    <HansOn> Nevermind that. @Pak, are you ready to make the deal?


    <Shirley> Your bow¡¯s in the market. Good luck YS!


    <VonMartin> Whatever your plan is, if you mess up I won¡¯t be selling them this cheap again.


    <Fenrirk> Also shrewd.


    Ready


    Done. Thanks a lot guys. @SalmonDarnes, have you finished crafting?


    <SalmonDarnes> You know, the helmet designs are amazing in this game. I never noticed. Makes me miss the old system, crafting specific designs for everyone¡­I¡¯d love to go back to it.


    <Steph> Don¡¯t worry if it¡¯s a shit helmet. It¡¯s not possible! Not with the metal I supplied him with -unlocked it only an hour ago. Give them hell, YS!


    <Steph> I need more customers.


    Got it. Wearing it now. It does look cool


    <WhiteMamba> I know bangles are falling out of style, but wouldn¡¯t you consider one or two, just for emergencies? Going into battle with a helmet and a handbag, honestly!


    You sound like his motherThis story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    It¡¯s fine, just the satchel for now.


    <WhiteMamba> Fine. Selling in 3


    Thanks. That just leaves the boiling water


    <Shane> Whenever you¡¯re ready, man.


    <Shane> Oh yeah, and about the food: Eat it all before the encounter. It¡¯ll all spoil anyway, so don¡¯t worry about overlapping effects.


    That¡¯s everything.


    <Shirley> I wish we could watch.


    Yeung-Sung stepped into his apartment. Scrolling through the Wick chat with one hand, he shut the door with his foot, sealing away the brightness of the hall. He tabbed over to Wilhelm.


    They don¡¯t know that you can record the runs?


    <WilHelmet> No. It seems obvious, doesn¡¯t it?


    You should tell them.


    He popped the last vending machine candy and tabbed back to the main chat.


    <WilHelmet> Nah. They enjoy a good story, and I enjoy telling them.


    He pictured the chaos that would ensue. That should keep them occupied. He scrambled through the detailed options of the chat looking for the mute function. His phone suppressed, he ignored the light switch and moved over to the hanging edge of the apartment. The red bulb of the streetlight, ever-present, had faded a little. He knelt down. Spidering his fingers along the length of the window, he searched for tiny seams that hid in cherry shade. Once found, he pried back a panel. It slid behind, the sound of it like the uncorking pop of a bottle of wine.


    Freshness seeped through. It punctured Yeung-Sung, sweeping past layers of clothes; bandages; skin and bone. He drew a stoppered breath and rolled down his sleeves, pulling a calmness out from inside like knotted weeds. Cautiously, he inched towards the exposed gap and hung his legs out free. Only five stories of air beneath them. There was a sudden gust -in which he panicked, tensing and swinging his arms down behind him like weights so he wouldn¡¯t fall away- but it died just as quickly, leaving only the droning hum of the streetlamps. Yeung-Sung rubbed his thumb around the [Enter the Gauntlet] button at the bottom of the home screen. It shone, its blue sheen sweeping across, clashing with the outside light, turning pink, then red.


    Inside this little alcove, Yeung-Sung leaned forward. The gap was large enough for him to catch his forehead with the top of it, relax, and lean his chin out the window. He opened his mouth and tasted the frosted air on his tongue, then yelled, ¡°Hey!¡± His voice echoed into estates far, far below. He imagine it carrying throughout the whole colony. As it soon will.


    ¡°Jordan! I¡¯m coming for you!¡±, he said and held up his phone, pressing in the button with his free thumb. The glass exploded inward. Yeung-Sung entered the darkness beneath.


    In hide-sewn shoes, his avatar pitter-pattered on the dirt. He twisted the helmet tight on his head. It¡¯s full back concealed most of his aura. He rolled his shoulders, as his back was burdened with bag straps, his quiver overlapping them. Every muscle must have been tense and nervous, and the avatar stretched through each of them. As he warmed up, the bottles -in the satchel under his arm- rattled and rattled excitedly, like children on a school tour. Looks uncomfortable. Yeung-Sung breezed out a chuckle. He¡¯s the most human looking character I¡¯ve seen yet. Maybe I brought too much?


    Swivelling the full battlegrounds into view, Yeung-Sung parsed through the ten enemies that stood in his way of revenge. The fight had not started and won¡¯t, not until he makes his first move. He drew his first attack line -an arrowshot into the backline of their formation and muttered, ¡°Here we go.¡±

 Part 30 If the Gauntlet Fits

    If the Gauntlet Fits


    My character, you are the ¡®real¡¯ Pak.


    I couldn¡¯t do what you are doing. I¡¯m thankful that I have you to enact my mission, while I sit with my broken limbs, tired eyes -I feel my throat bleeding.


    Yeung-Sung cupped his neck softly, rubbing it as he watched his golden avatar draw forth his bow. He watched the single-mindedness in the characters gaze as he reached around his back, past the satchel at his side and around his belted sickle. He snagged an arrow out from his quiver, snapping it into the drawstring. Yeung-Sung smiled at his characters efficiency, at the same time visualising how painful it would be to do something similar himself. Against his arm¡¯s protest, he formed a fist. Clenching, the pain powered his resolve, as jolting brush-strokes of paint created the image of Jordan clearly in his mind. The GLI leader had given him Airgead and his avatar within it. He had also given him this pain, though Yeung-Sung was starting to be thankful for that.


    You couldn¡¯t know, my character, the extent of my plan, the hurt under my skin that drives me, but I know you¡¯ll obey. That you will help me to defeat Jordan.


    I wonder how you feel about that? He is your creator, in a way; Though there have been coders and artists that worked on what you actually are, the idea of you originated from him. Or, if John is to be believed, his wife. If she is your mother, yet it is me now with her number, -#1000- me who controls you instead, then how do you feel?


    Do you resent me?


    The gauntlet always took place in a calm clearing. Yet the encircling trees rustled, a fake and unemotive response from the world, reminding Yeung-Sung that this was just a game. A game devoid of wind, hunger or a bitter chill. Even the arrow that he shot past was not strong enough to shake the leaves naturally; There were limits to this design and after all, and his avatar was not fully a god.


    And neither did the party of barbarians waver in the face of the attack, but instead continued their swagger closer. They could sense another victory, the thick foretelling of it ingrained on their faces. They smirked at Yeung-Sung¡¯s avatar; at the equipment he had brought.


    He let them take in the sight of his avatar holding the bow in his hands after firing for the first time, no mastery, no progress in the skill. They were especially glad to see that the avatar was laden with several bulging packs that would slow down any escape. After the arrowhead fell in beside the feet of the frontmost warrior, he exchanged greedy grins with the rest of his team and they eagerly broke into a run.


    No retaliation. That¡¯s nice.


    His turn came again, so Yeung-Sung had his avatar draw up another shot, staying in the same spot. The clink of bottles rang out as he reached back again, like an audience hurrying to take their seats at the beginning of a show. Yeung-Sung slowed the gauntlet-time to a tip-toe as he judged the angle of his next attack. He glanced at two warriors mid-run, staring out of the screen with their eyes held open by the time dilation.


    The bowstring croaked as his avatar pulled it back.


    The phone stuttered. With two pinched fingertips, Yeung-Sung fanned the speed of time like an accordion, while also having his avatar strafe around -his control was nowhere near Wil¡¯s- until he lined up the heads of both Warriors behind each other, then shot.


    As soon as he made the attack, Airgead went stubbornly back to real-time. The warriors winced as it spun overtop, tracing a line through their scalps. Each instantly had their hands on their heads, feeling the scratch and breathed out a sigh, wiping the trickle on their robes. They ran faster after that.


    They expected to die!


    Again, the retaliation period passed without any attacks against him, but then the barbs stopped, within arm¡¯s reach. In his time-dilated turn, he stared at the two warriors before his avatar, frozen in their snarls. The left one held two axes low in a pounce while the right took a more guarded stance behind his rounded, bearskin shield. Then, looking at their features, he noticed that these were different modelled barbs to the one¡¯s Wil fought.


    This Gauntlet hasn¡¯t been beaten, but Wil killed most of them. Why change the models if it¡¯s the same level, unless -Those barbarians! They can¡¯t be -they aren¡¯t dead, are they?


    Caught by this conclusion, he delayed acting long enough for an axe swing to have half-way closed the gap to his avatar¡¯s chest. He panicked, trying to reassign the attack to hit his helmet but, swiping too far back, Airgead instead decided that he selected his quiver. His eight remaining arrows fluttered to the ground, along with one of his satchels. But Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t linger on it and played out his next turn.


    Wheeling away, the golden avatar slung the torn straps off his back. He dived both hands into the larger satchel hanging off his left and took out two different globular bottles, holding them by their necks. Covered by brown parchment, their contents splashed about inside. One, the demi-god smashed at his feet, the other he lobbed up into the rest of the gathered party, further back, preparing a full team assault.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    A towering column of smoke billowed out in front of him. It took up the entire screen, obscuring Yeung-Sung¡¯s view of his avatar and, more importantly, the enemy. Manoeuvring the camera to find a suitable angle he frowned, until a shimmering outline was provided for him by the game system.


    Thankfully! That was so frustrating.


    He hoped that would be similarly frustrating for the barbarians. As he motioned his avatar away from the smokescreen, he removed a bandage that had been sticking down over his face, throwing the sweaty thing out the window without looking. Yeung-Sung was far too focused on tapping the time-dilation -On-Off-On-Off, searching for signs of an enemy wading through.


    Did that use up my turn? It wasn¡¯t an attack, right, but it was an action. It must have. Right?


    As his helmeted warrior backed out, Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t help expecting on of the barbarians to emerge from the grey and slice his character open.


    I¡¯m vulnerable, I¡¯m so vulnerable.


    His avatar held his arm around the satchel to prevent the sound of his bottles clinking against each other and exposing him. But a hollow ruffling continued to sound out, so he pinched his hand tighter against it like he was closing the lips of a child.


    It¡¯s thinning out. I need to make my move.


    The battlefield slowly came back into view in spreading patches. As soon as Yeung-Sung spotted his fallen satchel, he slammed on the dilation. The warriors mut have wandered away from it in the confusion, luckily, and so he swiped a movement line towards it. His avatar seemed to respond with the urgency of Yeung-Sung¡¯s decision and had already approached it by the time the last of the gas cleared and the barbarians had gotten their bearings. He stuck out his hand to lift it when the avatar stumbled over and dropped his left satchel, clattering the dozens of bottles in it against the dry ground.


    Yeung-Sung dilated the Gauntlet.


    What happened -my strap! It¡¯s been cut!


    He swung the camera behind his avatar. A barbarian, shorter and filthier than the rest of them held a dagger sideways in one hand and waggled a strip from his satchel in the other, grinning.


    I need that! How did I miss him?


    He switched the trajectory to his dropped satchel, but cancelled his action when he just about noticed the train of arrows coming from afar and dodged his character out of it. A third point in a perfect triangle between him and his satchels, Yeung-Sung switched between either view.  Following the flight path, both warriors from before were catching up to the action and the assassin walked forward, rolling his dagger through his fingers.


    This one.


    The glowing avatar leaped toward the satchel dropped earlier, thrusting his hand into it. He curled his fingers around the cork of the first potion he found then, looking back, he was struck in the side of his helmet.


    Yeung-Sung cried out through his apartment window as he saw the sparks fly from his avatars skin. ¡°What? No, I don¡¯t get it. The archer wouldn¡¯t be ready yet, who hit me?¡±


    Grinding his teeth, he found his manners not to wake the block up in the middle of the night. The Wick Regulars need to see that I am serious. I can¡¯t fail now; I¡¯m almost set up! Maybe¡­maybe I can play this to my advantage.


    Yeung-Sung¡¯s character faltered over the head of a throwing axe as he retreated. He gasped, a fleshy pink emerging beneath his golden skin and faced away from the barbarians. Bent over in a half-crawl his caved-in helmet dug into his skull when he would use a hand to push off, to stay ahead of the barbarians. However, his other hand still held the potion and Yeung-Sung soon forced him to take it in. He wiped his mouth, peeled back the helmet and howled, some of his shimmer returning, and returned to hurtling along Yeung-Sung¡¯s invisible lines.


    Even wounded, his avatar was still a demi-god. At the edge of the Gauntlet¡¯s clearing, he stopped, letting out giant lung-fulls of air while the potion continued to do its work. Holding himself steady -with a hand against the invisible wall of the arena- he slipped his sickle out from under his belt. Then he turned back to face the barbs.


    Let¡¯s see.


    Strangely, the raid party hadn¡¯t chased him at all. Back in the centre of the clearing, they had all rushed towards his dropped satchel and were busy rifling through it. The short assassin cradled his arms, shelving as many potions as he could¡¯ve and waddled proudly through his group, passing them out. At the last one, the dirty barb caught the still-glowing avatar¡¯s sight and jeered, urging them all to lift up their potions in a pagan toast. In a chorus, from the safety of their group, they uncorked and eagerly slurped down their share.


    Mocking me, eh? They really hate us.


    Yeung-Sung walked his avatar boldly forward, watching him tense his grip. He brandished his simple farming tool and the party began falling over in laughter.


    Idiots.


    They kept laughing and spitting, bent back and drinking. Yeung-Sung kept his avatar walking. Their laughs went hoarse and turned into coughs; they went from bending over in joy to retching on all fours. Blood gurgled up out of their throats as they rolled around in dirt and broken glass. Still, Yeung-Sung¡¯s avatar kept walking.


    The warriors had fallen first, probably because they drank the most and had a reputation to uphold. Then the archers. The druids in their flowing robes looked concerned even as the poisoned liquid touched their lips, but they still drank. Even so, the party crumpled over almost together. All except the short assassin, who was so busy serving that he never picked up a potion for himself.


    He twirled his crooked back in disbelief and even tried to hold up his friends as they were falling. Kneeling over his partners, he pried open their eyelids, shaking his head, whispering, denying. When he heard Yeung-Sung¡¯s avatar approach he sprung up, the tallest that Yeung-Sung had ever seen him and squared his shoulders. Yeung-Sung considered how he would fight one on one before switching on dilation.


    But the assassin had already struck. A blur of something left his hands.  Yeung-Sung sighed and drew his attack line regardless.


    It¡¯s fine. One barb doesn¡¯t pose a threat.


    Thick pillars of smoke broke open at his avatar¡¯s feet. Hovering a finger over the screen, he looked for his opportunity when the screen tore. It cracked. His avatar disappeared into the grey and thick lines of dark red coated the screen, eventually saying,


    [DEFEAT]


    Yeung-Sung smacked his forehead against the window frame and closed his eyes. His thoughts were¡­empty.


    He had been ignoring the night cold this entire time, his body so full of adrenaline, but now it started to creep and seep and penetrate deep. Through his feet, through his hands.


    ¡°It was going so well. I¡­I expected to win?¡±


    He blew out white wisps into the night as he pondered the question.


    ¡°Damn it. I did, I wanted to win and -and, it was going so well!¡±


    ¡°I have to try again; I was so close. It was¡­¡±.


    He sighed, tucking his legs inside and allowing the window panel to slide back into place.


    ¡°They got me. I am playing Airgead.¡±

 Part 31 Falling Through Mazes

    Days later, Yeung-Sung approached the door of his store. When he last saw it, the screen was smashed and the frame cracked, yet there it stood before him, intact and with fresh glass. Grumbling as he passed through, he was annoyed that it was in much better shape than himself.


    Inside, the store was operating as normal, acting like it had always been in the colony: Unassuming customers strolled the aisles with baskets in their hands. The walls were clean and -better than that- decorated with pretty posters, advertisements of upcoming sales. The tail of a soft piano piece frolicked through the air, but after Yeung-Sung took his first step it faded out.


    He stood in the doorway like a bear in a mail room. Knowing who was behind all this, he quickly located Woo-Yi working at the tills. The shoppers immediately stared away, wiping the image of his swollen, bandaged bulk from their memory. From their conscience.


    Woo-Yi had seen him too but she kept her composure well, continuing to check out customers. She scanned a coloner¡¯s selection of fruit as he stared. Still, he caught her face twitch as he stomped down the first aisle. Hands in his pockets, he took wide steps, making a show of looking about and shaking his head in disapproval.


    I¡¯m a stranger in my own shop. All this effort you put in -and you told me that you wouldn¡¯t help me. Hah!


    Yeung-Sung knew that she was trapped at the tills until the queue had been dealt with, so he left her there to dwell in awkwardness while he gave himself a tour of the newly furbished store.


    It was impressive how she had turned the place around. However, Simon and the other bastards at GLI probably gave her a helping hand, so he wasn¡¯t that impressed.


    This right-most aisle, the one he came into, was baked goods; breads; cakes; treats, as well as healthy options. They were on the left shelves while a large drinks fridge ran the length of the wall on the opposite side. Limping through, Yeung-Sung bounced a finger off his bottom lip as he loudly judged everything he could.


    ¡°Ah,


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about this


    ¡°Tut-tut, don¡¯t think so.¡±


    He was a head taller than the top of the aisle, so he was sure to let Woo-Yi in on a view of every remark. Noting that one of the half-pan brown breads was out of date, he exclaimed, ¡°That doesn¡¯t belong there,¡± flicking it onto the floor. It landed across from a young girl in a chequered skirt who opened her mouth as she saw who it was. Yeung-Sung waved to her as she shuffled away.


    ¡°Bye¡±.


    Lurching right along, he turned into the second aisle. What he saw there he did not appreciate: Tea and coffee on the same row as cereal; grains, beans and canned fish sharing the same space; Jars turned around backwards so you couldn¡¯t see the label and the worst offender; Packets and packets lay in heaps where they should have been on a rack, or a stand, or at the very least upright. Yeung-Sung pendulumed his head with his words, saying,


    ¡°No-no-no-no-no. This won¡¯t do.¡±


    His arm deep in the top shelf, Yeung-Sung suddenly noticed a shopper at the ending of the aisle eyeing him. Stocky, South American by the look of him, he wore a black hoodie with a huge letter ¡®D¡¯ stamped in the middle of it. Nodding to him, he moved forward, dragging his arm through every mis-matched item and scooping it out. They spilled off the edge in one long surge like a plastic waterfall.


    The hooded coloner remained as the items poured over his feet. Stroking the beginnings of a moustache he said, ¡°You deserve it,¡± and left the aisle.


    Other shoppers peered came to investigate the noise, the queue by the till splitting up and rounding the end of the aisle. They looked at him with disgust, some lowering their shopping baskets to the floor and leaving.


    Yeung-Sung heard the flap of the counter and rubbed his hands in preparation. Staring back at the last onlookers with slitted eyes, they streamed out of the store in a huff and he skipped backwards to the far side of the aisle, smiling mischievously.


    He roared wordlessly at them. While everything continued to fall in a shower of noise, pain gonged through Yeung-Sung¡¯s being. The tendons in in his arm clicked, then locked up. Yeung-Sung sank to his knees, swerving his heels like rudders as he tried to keep his balance with his forearms weighing limp at his sides. His roared, but his throat kept still.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Falling back, he struck his head against a shelf of dried nuts and fruit. He crunched his lips in between his mouth, his cheeks bloated like a bank ready to burst and waited for the pain to subside.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung!¡± yelled out Woo-Yi in her captivating, natural-born Korean. ¡°What in the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±


    Peering out, he saw Woo-Yi rounding the corner of the aisle to where he was. She kicked out the packets as she stepped to him, her approach a tinfoil tick-tock. He had still been leaning against the aisle -Maybe I can still push myself upright- but as she stood over him with her bulging expression, Yeung-Sung let himself slip down onto the ground.


    He winced; She sighed.


    ¡°Do you have to do this?¡± she asked. ¡°I¡¯m the one who is going to have to clean this up, you know.¡±


    She leaned close, one hand pressed into her side, her puffy sweater flopping over her fingers. She made a tsk, yet stuck out a hand towards Yeung-Sung, the peach sleeve rolling up her arm. ¡°It is your store, remember?¡±


    Yeung-Sung hadn¡¯t regained enough control of his hand to move his fingers, but managed to slap her hand away with the stiffened back of his. He looked darkly up at her.


    ¡°Do you see how everyone reacts to me?¡± He pouted his lips towards the littered aisle and spat out, ¡°What bullshit!¡±


    He watched Woo-Yi then to see how she would react; She inhaled into her diaphragm through her nose, but kept her mouth tight. Yeung-Sung was ready for her to hit him, but the attack never came. Still, he didn¡¯t unflinch and kept strict eye contact with her.


    Her shoulders remained steady as she exhaled and said, in a quieter voice than her scream before, ¡°You can¡¯t blame them. Yeung-Sung¡­¡±. She blushed a little. ¡°You just don¡¯t understand how it works here.¡±


    Yeung-Sung snorted. So we¡¯re back to this again?.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve seen enough to know that not everyone is content in this stupid colony, but go on¡±. He held up an arm to his elbow, rotating a loose slip of his bandage. ¡°Keep preaching to me -of all people- and how I should respect the experiment.¡±


    Dropping it down again, Yeung-Sung grabbed a packet of nuts and tried to peel it open while he waited for Woo-Yi to, inevitably, justify the colony again.


    She kept a scream contained behind her lips an pushed her hands up to the side of her head. ¡°Jordan is -he¡¯s seen as¡­the saviour of the world. I know its not fair, but you have to understand.¡±


    Shrugging, she lowered herself onto her haunches. ¡°He can do no wrong in their eyes.¡±


    He could barely hold the plastic packet, let alone muster the force to tear it open, so Yeung-Sung chucked it away and looked up, finding himself at eye level.


    ¡°How? How could I possibly see him like that?¡±


    Blushing again, she looked away as she thought, counting her thoughts by fanning out her fingers.


    ¡°He supports every country, ¡° Woo-Yi began, ¡° Worked with the UN at every step after the ¡®crash¡¯; How about when GLI single-handedly funded the countermeasures to stop nuclear war?¡±


    She extended her hand again, but Yeung-Sung wouldn¡¯t even acknowledge it.


    Her eyes were watery, but she continued, ¡°In the public eye, he¡¯s nothing short of a benevolent God.¡±


    ¡°Look -at -me,¡± Yeung-Sung said.


    She did for a moment, before backing away a little and wiping her eyes against her sleeve.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather not.¡±


    He leaned forward. ¡°Your God did this to me.¡±


    She turned, still leaning down and started to gather up what she could carry. In between the crinkle of the bags she quietly sobbed.


    She sniffed. ¡°He could have done so much worse,¡± she said, her words croaky, ¡°I don¡¯t know why this happened to you. Not really -And, and I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She straightened up and re-stocked the shelf, reaching beside Yeung-Sung¡¯s head as he stared blankly at her. But when she finished, she stood up, raising her chin and said,


    ¡°But it¡¯s a small price to pay.¡±


    Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t believe her heartlessness. Or, perhaps he had been judging them rightly all along. A morbid thought came to him;


    Has every coloner I¡¯ve met been completely in Jordan¡¯s pocket? It can¡¯t be¡­


    ¡°Is it?¡± Yeung-Sung retorted.


    He cracked down on his thighs and forced himself up. Adjusting back his shoulders, Yeung-Sung stood before this person and really tried to figure out if he could trust her. She seemed to tremble, as if she didn¡¯t believe her convictions. But she never took the words back.


    Yeung-Sung turned to go. ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± he said, limping past her, down the aisle. The music had never returned and all the customers had long gone, leaving only the two of them alone in silence. Each step down the aisle through complete quiet dug into him worse than anything Jordan had done. He leaned into the physical strain further to stop himself from leaking tears. Again, he was thankful for it, but then he heard Woo-Yi, with a frightfully feeble voice say, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    At the end of the aisle he stopped. Exhaling, untensing with his back to her he said,


    ¡°Finish cleaning up, then show me how you close this place.¡±


    Woo-Yi sprung up in surprise. ¡°Will you come back tomorrow?¡± she asked. Looking down at the floor, away from Yeung-Sung, she meekly held her arm by the elbow.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to do this on my own.¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked down as well and wondered if they were looking at the same things on the ground. He sighed as he realised just how much of a mess he had made, just how much of an asshole he had been, now and before.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± he whispered.


    I have to know if I can trust you. Or anyone. However, Ill need help if I¡¯m going to turn people¡¯s view of Jordan around.


    He took a determined breath and took a step to spread his stance.


    ¡°Let¡¯s lock up quickly,¡± he said with a smile, ¡°We¡¯re going for a drink after work.¡±

 Part 32 The Invisible Alloy

    Yeung-Sung broke into the Joint Wick like a cutting breeze, with Woo-Yi following closely behind. He had to kick the door open -his hands were still sore- and the impact of its swing cracked a corner of the nearest window.


    It was barely evening. Yet already the pub had long been filled by its regulars. Spread about in groups of two and three -at the bar; by the booth; the round table at the front- they all turned from their Airgead screens like a synchronised alarm.


    Well¡­they¡¯ve been here a while, Yeung-Sung judged from the pint glasses that gathered at the edges of tables like taken chess pieces. He had to cough; the air was so stifling. Then, puffing up his chest he headed through, letting everyone take a good look at him -at his face and throbbing, bandaged limbs- feeling like he held a warm billow of breath and when he announced himself the Wick regulars would be lit up and disturbed as if they were a bed of dormant coals.


    ¡°I am back.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great. Shut the door, ya bastard, it be freezing,¡± shouted Steph, cringing as he rubbed his hairy arms up and down.


    Wil laughed, sitting up beside him. ¡°Look who it is; the ghost of colonies past.¡±


    ¡°I knew this was coming,¡± said Shirley as Yeung-Sung strode past him towards the far side of the Wick.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung, I¡¯ve never ¨C¡°, Woo-Yi said.


    He continued on at a brisk pace leaving Woo-Yi protesting at the entrance. She¡¯ll be fine. Her and the others¡¯ comments fell out of his ear canals before he could¡¯ve even acknowledged them. The fireplace had been roused, but he had yet to spark it off. Approaching the last booth, Yeung-Sung saw the tail of a white coat peering out.


    Another loud snap struck the Wick as Woo-Yi somehow managed to close a door twice her size.


    Yeung-Sung swallowed.


    Aisling twisted her head out over her shoulder at the sudden noise, meeting. Waking, she tried to stand, but knocked aside a glass that splattered all over her lab coat. That got her up.


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    She wrung her coat out, beat it and rubbed it until finally letting the damp thing fall at her heels. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me.¡± Yeung-Sung bit his tongue, sorting out how to respond her.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you recognise me. Your boss did a bang-up job,¡± he said, modelling his swollen face, ¡°Don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Aisling continued to buffet the alcohol form her coattails; Grabbing it with both hands she slapped it against her leg, making a sound like stretching a bedsheet. She mouthed more nonchalant curses too, but Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t hear them over the hrrrup sound of cotton rippling through the air.


    Yeung-Sung clenched his teeth. Grabbing her by the lapels of her prized coat he forced her to face him and asked,


    ¡°You¡¯re fine with this? What he did to me?¡±


    Covering her mouth, she wheezed in his hold. With a sulking aside she meandered her eyes up to meet him.


    Even though he was holding her -close enough to smell the smoke off her fingers- it was Yeung-Sung who was tense, the one who was scared and nervous. He felt like part of the background furniture; He was a shelf. And Aisling looked past him with this unenthused stare, trying to decide which of two identical tea brands to buy.


    His grip trembling, Aisling pried him off.  ¡°Let go.¡±


    Yeung-Sung lowered both hands to his sides, apologising. Aisling opened her mouth and it looked as if she would explain herself. Instead, she drifted her gaze behind him.


    ¡°I need a drink, first of all.¡± She brushed past him effortlessly. ¡°You want to get it?¡± she asked, ¡°Or are you still broke?¡±


    Yeung-Sung turned after her, ready to start a real argument, when he noticed that all of the regulars (plus Woo-Yi) had all been watching them the whole time. Feeling all the eyes focused on him, he felt shame burn up his cheeks. The embarrassment sparked and crackled and the entire Wick erupted in a wall if laughter, throwing up their heads to spit out gouts of it.


    His aches and pains subsided beneath this sudden shame. Looking around to see if any of them had one ounce of sympathy for him and saw Woo-Yi skirt behind the crowd, staying close to the entrance with her shoulders drawn close. Other than that, only Shirley shrugged at him and waved at Yeung-Sung to come over with a shake of his head that said, ¡°What can I do?¡±


    ¡°Man, I didn¡¯t believe it when I heard, ¡°Mamba was saying a she looked Yeung-Sung over, ¡°But he really went for it.¡±


    Yeung-Sung broke free from her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that I don¡¯t find it as funny as you do.¡±


    He sat amongst them, gathered up all in one booth like last time, still feeling awkward about his outburst earlier. Martin had some choice words to say about the way he manhandled a woman and Mamba and Anita -who had walked in shortly after- were busy surveying his injuries with the utmost fascination. Swilling drink at breakneck speeds, Fenrick and Hans once again remained at the bar. On occasion, Yeung-Sung would catch them consulting with each other, giving him a not-so-sly look and nodding to themselves. Behind them, Darnes stood guard over the tavern, drying the same glass for the past twenty minutes. Somehow it hadn¡¯t been crushed in his vice grip.  Aisling had quietly excused herself after buying Yeung-Sung several drinks up front. Supposing that was her to say sorry, he thought back to what she told him:


    ¡°Do you think I have any authority in here? You think I come into this dump, -no offense, Darnes- to spy on you all? To torment you?


    I¡¯m just an artist¡­or I used to be, at least. Jordan gave me a chance to do the one thing that has kept me sane, in turn kept me alive the past few years.


    We actually, -we go back a while; He was always odd. Always saw the world differently, but this?


    I don¡¯t know how many drinks I¡¯ll need to understand all this. I suspect a lot¡­and this is only the first step. This is an experiment; The prototype.


    Oh, great, now I¡¯m crying. Just leave me be.


    Here, drink this¡­try not to do anything, umm, stupid.


    Wait it out like the rest of us.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve missed out on quite a lot,¡± Wil said, flicking his phone out. ¡°I hope you¡¯ve found your mastery because you¡¯ll need it; the factions are leaps ahead of us.


    Yeung-Sung perked up. ¡°The factions. You¡¯ve mentioned them before -and they have tried to recruit me- but what are they? Are they all just as obsessed with Jordan? Is that why no one cares?¡±


    ¡°Whoa, slow down there, champ, ¡°Wil said, chuckling, ¡°Who do you want to hear about?¡±


    Yeung-Sung frowned at him. Is it not obvious? ¡°I need to know who to look out for on the streets.¡±


    He almost pounded down on the table, but stopped just short. He pushed the few empty pints Aisling had bought him aside. ¡°Just tell me, Wil.¡±


    He caught Woo-Yi glancing over at him from his right, remaining quiet. Tense and trembling, he couldn¡¯t move his arm so kept it hovering, spastic thing above the wood-grained patterns of the table. Shirley and Mamba leaned both cupped a gentle hand over and placed him down.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry,¡± Shirley reassured him.


    ¡°This won¡¯t happen again,¡± Mamba finished. She gave him a sympathetic nod, her baggy eyes looking more tender than ever. Shirley nodded too, so quickly that it displaced his hair, which he curled back over and brought forth a tight, toothy smile.


    How can I trust what you say?


    On Yeung-Sung¡¯s right, Wil shrugged, which did not lend much credence to Shirley¡¯s words. Then, feeling the table rattle, Wil yelped up in pain. Sliding his feet up to the rim of his seat, he massaged them while looking sternly over to the other side of the booth. A second later, he transferred his mischievous face to one of forced friendliness. Yeung-Sung wanted it to be a genuine reaction, but as he took a look around the bar and saw the same faded smile, he quickly grew sick of it. I¡¯d prefer if they went back to ignoring me.


    Fenrick sat barside on a high-stool. Yeung-Sung watched him swallow another pint in a dozen seconds. His mouth was hidden by the yellow sloshy liquid, yet as it emptied, Yeung-Sung made out his unconcerned face through the moistened glass. Like a stump.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    How can I get these people to help me overrule Jordan? They can¡¯t override their laziness to not get up.


    A shattering crack split through the Wick, stealing his attention. A rain of glass uprooted Fenrick from his seat.


    ¡°AH, bollocks,¡± came Darnes¡¯s voice from behind the bar.


    Anita rushed over immediately, brush in hand. ¡°I¡¯ve got it Darnes. Go check your hand.¡±


    Despite towering over her, she shooed Darnes out of from behind the bar as he gave her a stunned nod.


    Yeung-Sung instantly became the only one still sitting at the booth. The others -some with curiosity, some with a mind to help- flocked to the barside. Anita had to keep them at bay with the stick of her brush so none of them wouldn¡¯t accidently step on the scattered glass. As they were demanding to be let through, Darnes burrowed his way out into the main area, his left hand covered in a slowly bloodying rag. He dragged a stool as he shouldered between the lot of them and stuck it down beside the booth. It crunched under him when he sat. He huffed through his nose, settling. Him and Yeung-Sung shared a look of understanding. Anita brushed the floor so fiercely that it sounded as though she was scratching it up in the process. Spewing curses and shaking her ponytail as she worked, the group decided to leave her to it and retreated back to the booth.


    Yeung-Sung had forgotten the sheer bulk of a man that was Darnes before -but perhaps that was because of the meds. He just crushed a glass in his hand. Accidentally. Sliding some drinks aside to make room, Darnes laid out the rag over the table on the booth, holding his fist over it. Then, without the slightest change in his expression began to pick out spikes of glass form his hands.


    ¡°So, you want to know about the factions, Yeung-Sung?¡±


    Yeung-Sung pulled his eyes away from the bleeding mess. ¡°What?¡±


    Wil clapped Darnes over the shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s all right, we¡¯ll tell him.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Darnes stated. Wil backed his hands away. ¡°You¡¯ll only tell him about efficiency. Useless.¡±


    He flung a look towards Martin, Mamba and Shirley, checking if there were any other objections before he continued.


    ¡°You two, ¡°he pointed, ¡°Are too invested in infidelity to paint a clear picture of what¡¯s going on.¡±


    His finger lingered over Woo-Yi too for a moment. Circling away, he continued,


    ¡°Shirley, Steph¡­ you¡¯ve barely made an attempt at joining a faction.


    As I see it, I¡¯m the only one with the experience necessary to teach you this properly.¡±


    Checking his handiwork, he flexed his hand a few times over the rag. Yeung-Sung expected someone to protest this -Wil at least. Yet they all quietly bowed, brushing off the way Darnes had denounced them as one would a fallen leaf.


    You are the one who is going to advise me? And it was you who was the only one at my bedside.


    Still, can I trust you? Can I believe in you?


    Watching Darnes¡¯s hand pumping out redness, Yeung-Sung squeezed his own palm, thumbing the centre of it in a circle. Then, as the last few crunches of glass faded and were swept away Anita chimed in, leaning her slender body against the broom¡¯s handle like a twin.


    ¡°I can tell him everything he needs to know about the Player¡¯s Market.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m sure you will, dear, but theirs is not the only viewpoint. And besides, there is more between the factions than any of you realize.¡± He parcelled the unsheathed bits of glass within the rag, pinching the top to lift it up.


    ¡°Here, Anita. That¡¯s all of it,¡± Darnes said, handing her the rag. With a cute grunt, she snatched it away, returning to the bar. He then tried flicking open the latch at the handle of the first aid box one-handed. On the third try, he got it. When he tried to unscrew the top of a small antiseptic bottle, Mamba rushed to do it for him. Darnes frowned at her for a moment, his hands twice as thick as hers, but he accepted with a grateful nod.


    ¡°We¡¯re not fools, or have you been hiding something from us, Darnes?¡± Mamba asked, pulling the barkeep¡¯s arm forward by the wrist and pulling up his sleeve. ¡°Aren¡¯t we in this together?¡±


    Darnes kept a wide-eyed look glued on Mamba¡¯s fingers a she worked. ¡°I¡¯m saying the rumours are true. They¡¯re back.¡±


    Shirley coughed into his glass. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. wiping his mouth, ¡°Who¡¯s back?¡±


    ¡°Of course, they are.¡± Mamba was looking down too, focused on administering to Darnes as she spoke. ¡°It¡¯s the beginning of a new reset. There¡¯s so much information to be found and sold. I¡¯m sure the Web is having a field day.¡±


    Wil and Von Martin leaned closer on their elbows, listening.


    Mamba put down the bottle and dug into the green case, finding bandages. She applied them with strained, but smooth movements over his branch-like fingers, flowing from one side to the other.


    ¡°Not just them. The ¡®Finers¡¯ are gearing up. They¡¯ll attempt the same thing again,¡± Darnes said.


    To Yeung-Sung, he added, ¡°That¡¯s the business owners¡¯ faction. Anything they¡¯re involved in will also be attributed to you.¡±


    ¡°No doubt they¡¯ve asked already.¡± His expression hardened. ¡°Listen to me, if you want to join them, think carefully. Nobody else will accept you after that, and they are fond of kicking people out in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Hold still,¡± Mamba said.


    Darnes winced as she squeezed his arm until he settled down. Wil and Von Martin chuckled between themselves.


    ¡°Gah! Sorry -But that¡¯s not all.¡± The colour changed in Darnes¡¯s face and he suddenly reminded Yeung-Sung of the experience right before he stabbed him. ¡°After what happened to you there will be motions by the Debaters to do something. For or against you, I don¡¯t know. Despite what your experience, there is a system of law here; A police force also.¡±


    ¡°Supposed to be, anyway,¡± Wil grumbled.


    ¡°Debaters?¡± Yeung-Sung asked. ¡°I don¡¯t remember seeing them in my inbox.


    Von Martin kicked back a laugh. ¡°Ahh, yes! That is our nickname for ND; The Neo-Democritans.¡±


    ¡°Because that¡¯s all they do,¡± agreed Mamba, sighing deep as she finished the wrapping. ¡°There.¡±


    Showing off the job to the others, Darnes sniffed a laugh at Yeung-Sung, comparing injuries.


    It¡¯s not nearly the same. But you¡¯ve done more than the others at least.


    ¡°Anyway, while all the above factions -including Anita¡¯s- are holding meetings and trying to allocate their resources, there are others who act in opposition. Trying to cause chaos in the colony. I¡¯d say they will be spreading panic based on your attack. The Duners¡­¡±


    Mamba cut him off with a swipe of her hand. ¡°Don¡¯t start.¡±


    ¡°But they¡¯re¡­all gone, aren¡¯t they?¡± Shirley asked. ¡°After that last mishap?¡±


    The Web; Finers; Duners; Debaters; Player¡¯s Market; The Champions -the one Wil showed me, but I suppose they¡¯re less political. And there¡¯s likely more I haven¡¯t hear about yet.


    Yeung-Sung rubbed his forehead and groaned. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of different factions for a colony of only a thousand people.¡±


    ¡°Can you¡­¡± he began, then hesitated.


    ¡°Can you just tell me which one is the biggest? Or most powerful? If I ally with them, I would have the best chance.¡±


    Wil rounded on him. ¡°To get revenge, you mean? Is that what this is about?¡±


    Crossing his arms, he scowled. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m offended, Pak. We¡¯re not much, I get it. But we¡¯re our own group, or own -sort of- faction.¡± He snapped his fingers. ¡°You know what, we¡¯re better than that; Here, we are a family. And I was really hoping you¡¯d join us. You know, after we welcomed you in an¡¯ all.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that.¡±


    ¡°So- So you¡¯re gonna just, what? Step in, learn what we know and kick us out of your life?¡± Wil raised his arms in surrender. ¡°Wow, just wow!¡±


    Von Martin patted him on the back. ¡°Wil, look at the little one; He doesn¡¯t mean it in that way.¡±


    ¡°Piss off, Martin.¡±


    Will hopped across the end of the couch. He was pointing a finger directly between Yeung-Sung¡¯s lungs when Woo-Yi slipped in from behind and sucker-punched him, downing him like cut grass.


    Yeung-Sung sat, along with the rest of the room, in disbelief.


    ¡°Woo-Yi,¡± he gasped in Korean, ¡°What¡­. was that?¡±


    Eyes down and away, she rubbed her fist. ¡°You¡¯re my boss. He was going to hurt you, and you¡¯re injured, ¡°she rambled, slowly raising her head.


    The booth was all looking at Yeung-Sung now. He held his arms out aloft and shrugged.


    Am I supposed to take responsibility for this?


    Woo-Yi rubbed her knuckles harder, curling in her shoulders. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    He had an urge to scold her, but before he could, Wil lashed out from beneath,


    ¡°You piece of shit!¡±


    He pulled Yeung-Sung down, slamming his knees into him like boulders through a frozen lake. He then grabbed his throat and Yeung-Sung tried to block the punch that would follow. Instead of a hard impact, however, Wil had latched on to the bandages of the one of the arms he was blocking with in order to wrestle it away. Yeung-Sung¡¯s crossed ¡®X¡¯ of hands fell aside like curtains.


    ¡°You¡¯re not denying it, are you?¡± Wil yelled.


    ¡°I¡¯m not, but please understand¡ª¡±


    Before, the regulars of the Joint Wick didn¡¯t get involved. It probably seemed to them like a spat between friends. That is, until, Yeung-Sung roared out with pain as Wil forced his unhealed tendons to tense and grind together by his fingers and nails.


    ¡°Wil! Stop!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve gone too far, laddie,¡± Steph said, dragging Wil away, holding him in a full nelson.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± came the reply.


    The pub buzzed with the chaos of all the regulars taking sides: Shirley came first, pulling Yeung-Sung away from the booth to comfort him; Fenrick maintained a position between Steph and Wil to stop a secondary fight from breaking out, and Anita and Mamba confronted Woo-Yi over her action. Yet all this energy was fleeting. Stomping on the floor as he cradled his bandaged hand over his heart, Darnes silenced the lot of them. Even the pain inched back. Everything Yeung-Sung experienced dulled in his presence. So, he bowed.


    He didn¡¯t even need to say anything.


    Now that he could be heard again, he began to pace around Yeung-Sung. ¡°Whatever Wil might say about your motives, you¡¯re fiercely different from the man we met several days ago.¡± He looked back at the regulars. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±


    Of course. Yeung-Sung realised that he had backed into the edge of the small round table and straightened himself. Or rather, he tried to constrict his pained arms into a pose other than submission.


    ¡°But a lot has happened in those few days.¡± Darnes stopped to stare at Yeung-Sung¡¯s wounds and a question hammered through his eyes as he said, ¡°What will you do about it?¡±


    The regulars were all watching Darnes as he talked. But, as soon as he cast his question, they levelled their eyes onto Yeung-Sung. It was unnerving, but that did not get in the way of his answer, one he had since he watched Jordan leave him for dead in the night.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to destroy Jordan. I¡¯m going to fuck up this colony beyond repair, beyond salvage and definitely beyond the recognition of the United Nations.¡±


    He said it not at Darnes, but across the way to Wil. The American had difficulty not blinking. Nodding incessantly, it seemed like he finally understood.


    ¡°Okay, okay. I see now. That¡¯s why you need the factions.¡±


    Out from the throng of regulars, Shirley held an arm out in the middle of the conversation.


    ¡°No, Yeung-Sung, it¡¯s not the same,¡± he interjected. ¡°This pursuit will not bring you happiness, and it will not destroy Jordan.¡±


    Yeung-Sung backed into the table hard, grinding his teeth. ¡°You think I can¡¯t do it?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if you can or not!¡±


    ¡°oh, so you do think I can¡¯t!¡± Yeung-Sung sneered. ¡°He¡¯s a madman that needs t be stopped.¡± He turned to others. ¡°AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO SEES THIS?¡±


    He swept through each face -Mamba, Anita, Woo-Yi, Shirley-


    and as he did so -Martin, Darnes, Wil, Fenrick, Steph-


    his inner fear was realised. Yeung-Sung understood then that he was alone.


    None of them get it. I stand here as physical proof of his madness. How can they justify what he did? If they have some reason, shouldn¡¯t they have brought it up by now? No, they choose to ignore it, choose to believe in his colony. In this stupid dream that Jordan has let them become a part of.


    The pain returned then, but worse. As he raised his arm by the elbow, shaking it in front of them, howling out in tears and sweat, he was grateful for the pain. Grateful for showing him the truth that he had held on to since the beginning. And grateful that it gave him something to hide behind, something to express how alone he felt without fear of judgement.


    Yeung-Sung had been doubting himself ever since he left the Wick on that first night. Even after the assault he was convinced that there had to be a solid reason for Jordan, of all people, to do such a thing. But there wasn¡¯t. And now, he had to amputate it from his memory.

 Part 33 The Visible Alloy

    He let Shirley escort him to a seat by the round table nearby. He folded his hands over Yeung-Sung¡¯s as he continued to groan through the after-effects of his abuse. Shirley waited for it to subside, his face looking feeble against the rest of his muscle. Around the bar, the rest of them shook off their unease, incapable of baring it for even the few moments. He almost laughed at that.


    So, they¡¯re leaving it to Shirley; The only one with a shred of sympathy.


    Yeung-Sung noticed that Woo-Yi was close to gearing up between Wil and Darnes but Aisling, back from the depths of her naptime pulled the popstar¡¯s sleeve back, shaking her head in a way that said ¡®It¡¯s not worth it¡¯.


    But it all settled with time, the pain, the regulars, the atmosphere of the pub ringing again with another of Darnes¡¯s lo-fi mixes; Nonchalant, chilled out hip-hop tracks about doing your best and succeeding.


    The Joint Wick belongs to Darnes, after all. Even if he doesn¡¯t want to admit the temporary nature of his ownership, even if his Anita forces him to admit that GLI owns everything, Darnes wants to have control. He wants to be in control. Here, at least.


    Yeung-Sung caught Darnes¡¯s eye once more as the barkeep poured a drink, resting his bandaged arm over the crossbar piping of the beer taps.


    And yet, why do I feel that I can trust what he says? Above any of the others, anyway.


    Hearing Shirley grunt broke him out of thought and he realised that he had been silent for a considerable length of time. Readying an apology, suddenly Yeung-Sung quietened himself; The Wick regular had his eyes closed, he noticed, obscured behind a gently lilting fringe. Not closed in contemplation or sadness, but¡­


    He doesn¡¯t like this music!


    ¡°I¡¯ll get him to turn it down,¡± Yeung-Sung said, ¡°If you like?¡±


    He raised an eyebrow, keeping the wince on his head. ¡°No, thanks. I don¡¯t come here for the music.¡±


    Yeung-Sung recognised what was happening. Shirley was staring past him, at the regulars at the bar. At his friends. He snapped his hands in from under Shirley¡¯s.


    ¡°So why are you here then? Go be with them, stop pretending that you care about me.¡±


    By the end of the sentence Yeung-Sung had begun breathing heavy again, but he didn¡¯t regret bringing back the pain at all.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Shirley opened his eyes. ¡°He saved me, Yeung-Sung.¡± Sitting forward, he flexed his shoulders back, causing ripples of sound as the bones awoke. He took a deep breath afterwards and swiped aside his bangs, smiling despite Yeung-Sung¡¯s ongoing scowl.


    ¡°I was at the side of the road,¡± Shirley began, ¡°Of the very town that had raised me. Shameful, it was.¡±


    Yeung-Sung avoided his eyes now. He knew the scenario well. How many people went hungry after we ran out of rations? How many more died at the front door, hoping to be first the next day. He was just glad that he was never tasked with the clean-up duty.


    ¡°I found out how people truly saw me after the Crash, once it became about preserving yourself. I went my whole life believing -so stupidly- that I had friends for life, that would back me up no matter what. And they all told me that it didn¡¯t matter, that they never judged me. That was a lie.¡±


    Shirley leaned in with his smooth neck, bending it up high and holding the stretch taught with a grip on the nape.


    What has he done that he is so anxious to tell?


    ¡°These are hard time for all of us. I wouldn¡¯t judge you, we all did whatever we had to do to survive the Crash. Even if it wasn¡¯t¡­permitted,¡± Yeung Sung said. ¡°We might regret it, and that¡¯s natural, but at least here in the colony we don¡¯t need to worry about that.¡± As he said it, while watching Shirley stretch on, Yeung-Sung began to have this feeling that something was odd about the Wick goer, that same feeling he had when he first saw him; leaning against the wall just behind where they were sitting right now.


    The thought must have made some impact on his face, as Shirley let out a sly grin and slid his chair back, legs far apart.


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand at all¡­I don¡¯t regret it.¡±


    I don¡¯t understand?


    He began pulling up his shirt. ¡°But I do, I understand myself, and I understand Jordan,¡± Shirley told him. Throwing it over his head in one swoop, Shirley exposed his scarred torso to Yeung-Sung.


    He blushed. ¡°I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m trans, Yeung-Sung.¡±


    ¡°What -What has that got to do with ¨C¡±


    ¡°As I said, I understand, better than anyone, how two-faced people can be.¡±


    Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t close his mouth. He turned from side to side and whispered. ¡°Do they all know you¡¯re a¡­you¡¯re a¡­¡±


    He smiled grimly. Standing above Yeung-Sung unashamed, his bareness glowing against the muddy colours of the pub he said, ¡°Just as you accepted me before but now pale before my skin, so can Jordan be the saviour of the world, and yet at the same time be a violent psychopath.


    ¡°This; this is what I believe.¡±


    ¡°No, but ¨C¡± Yeung-Sung frowned, ¡°Which is he really?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not getting it,¡± Shirley snapped back, his core tensing, ¡°This isn¡¯t an either-or choice!¡± Flinging the shirt to the ground, he slammed back onto his chair.


    But he did not yell. Yeung-Sung even saw that he un-tensed, dropping the anger in his body like a loose robe, for which Yeung-Sung was relieved.


    Shirley hunched over in front of the chair and said, quieter, ¡°¡­He¡¯s both.


    ¡°Just like me. And just like everybody else.¡±


    He got up and swiped his jacket from the coat stand, leaving his shirt by Yeung-Sung¡¯s feet. But before he left, the door swung open and a confused Sykes let him pass, chest bare and jacket over one shoulder. After the moment had passed and no one talked or went to chase after him Sykes thumbed the doorway, asking, ¡°Is he alright?¡±

 Part 34 The Visible Alloy II

    After Shirley¡¯s departure Yeung-Sung had to get up. And perhaps he should have left too, maybe even gone after him or called out his name at the door -he can¡¯t have gone far. Instead, he sipped a beer at the window ledge, watching the rain fall down the glass and thinking about what Shirley had revealed to him.


    ¡®At once the saviour of mankind and a total psychopath.¡¯


    He wanted to believe that Shirley had a point, but each time he confronted his feelings on Jordan, the words fell from his mind, letters and words and syllables melting down the window pane, leaving behind only scratch-like streaks. The marks suddenly reminded Yeung-Sung of Shirley¡¯s chest, and so he backed away.


    Jordan had saved him, Shirley had said. He was pulled out of homelessness and starvation to participate in the colony. A little out of place, but safe and provided for. Though, he wondered, was it Jordan directly, or someone like Simon, someone who worked to actually create the idyllic vision that their boss preaches. Yeung-Sung clenched his beer at the thought of being touched by that madman again while striding towards the main booth.


    Taking a seat at the edge, he looked around and realised that he saw them in a new light. They weren¡¯t ardent worshippers of Jordan, nor were they watching over him in GLI¡¯s stead. No, the regulars of The Joint Wick must have been brought into the colony just the same as Shirley had; out of their broken, jobless cities. It started making sense, actually. To have a colony undisturbed by international powers Jordan would¡¯ve had to rescue the thousand coloners, rather than have them recruited. Yes, he was softened to them by the sizzling calm of rain and the pondering -and the alcohol, too.


    In the booth, Sykes demanded full attention. On the high-stool that Darnes had brought out to the booth, the Irishman rocked it, laughing as the rest told him about what had just transpired. Sykes imagination of the scenes -Yeung-Sung confronting Aisling; Wil and Woo-Yi¡¯s attacks; Darnes¡¯s alpha-male displays- as he heard about them, he made mock impressions of the different regulars and asked,


    ¡°Was it like that?¡±


    Yeung-Sung pretended to laugh as well, along with the rest, but in truth he hid his face as much as he could behind his pint glass. He was actually glad when Darnes emerged, taking an uncomfortable seat on the couch. He thrust a pint out at Yeung-Sung, muttering, ¡°You¡¯ll pay later,¡± nodding to the bar.


    Behind it, Anita smiled faintly at Yeung-Sung, elbows out over the counter, half-talking with Mamba, half on her phone. He stared a little too long after the fact and blushed as Anita winked, moving out of sight.


    They were on to something else now -Yeung-Sung was finding it difficult to follow along, so kept drinking, hidden in his beer- and he watched Sykes explain to the group, arms out in a T-pose, while Martin and Mamba looked amazed.


    Bu Wil shifted around in his seat. Yeung-Sung pinched his eyes and tried to focus.


    ¡°¡ªBut I¡¯m sick of hearing about it, this sort of thing always happens to you.¡±


    Sykes leaned in over a knee, ¡°What are you suggesting?¡±


    ¡°It is most eem-pressive, you have to admit,¡± Martin said, nudging Wil in the ribs.


    ¡°Horseshit!¡± Wil spat out, holding his chest and sulking, ¡°He must be cheating, or getting help!¡±


    ¡°Eh?¡±


    Wil narrowed his eyes, but still backed further into the couch, staring each other down, ¡°We¡¯ve all seen you with her. What¡¯s she to you?¡±


    Sykes flushed and briefly turned to the back booths.


    Aisling? Interesting¡­


    Von Martin, shook his head. ¡°He only has ridic-you-loss luck, boy.


    Darnes raised a finger and shook his head. ¡°And what is luck, except statistical inevitability?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Sykes said, settling the rocking of his stool. ¡°It¡¯s more patience than anything else, like fishing or the like.¡± He crossed his arms at Wil. ¡°Not that you¡¯d know anything about that.¡±


    Darnes chuckled. Von Martin slapped the table. Wil exhaled furiously and looked at Yeung-Sung, whose face was blank.


    ¡°Aww, fuck all of you!¡± Wil shouted and batted his hand like as if to sweep them out of sight. He stepped over Yeung-Sung and stumbled out towards the bar. He put up the middle finger behind him.


    ¡°Feckin¡¯ child,¡± Sykes sneered.


    Yeung-Sung waited Sykes to turn back over his shoulder, then put down his drink. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t follow. Why was Wil mad -You did something in Airgead, Sykes? Did you beat a Gauntlet?¡±


    Sykes had been sitting proud up until that point. But it was as if Yeung-Sung pulled a blanket over him, disregarding his achievements -whatever they were- by simply not paying attention when he was bragging about them.


    Sykes sleeves -white, yellowing at the edges- stuck out of his pockets as he rummaged through. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t do that. Though, from what Wil told us, any of us could do a far better job than you.¡±


    Martin had to laugh at that too. ¡°You had to get it out of your system, don¡¯t worry we understand.¡±


    Yeung-Sung scowled at them. What the hell did Wil tell them?


    ¡°We¡¯ve found out more about Airgead¡¯s mechanics since you attempted your run,¡± Darnes explained. ¡°Your health potions were a decent idea but just wait till you hear about this. Open yours up, we¡¯ll show you.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Yeung-Sung wanted to slap himself. I forgot; It¡¯s been days since I¡¯ve even looked at it. How much have I missed?


    Bringing out his phone, it slid around his vision in a daze. Turning it on, he had to wipe his fingers off his hoodie four times before it accepted his fingerprint. Drinking was a stupid idea. I should get some water.


    ¡°We were trying to figure out how to obtain skills, or use magic in Airgead since the reset,¡± Darnes said, scratching his chin with a bandaged knuckle. ¡°There were several rumours going around that some characters started with abilities, so some died over and over, hoping to revive with some deadly skills.¡±


    Sykes shook his head. ¡°No such luck. That wasn¡¯t the way. But I have some RP -Roleplayers- in the next apartment and it was amusing to hear them get their hopes up.¡± He couldn¡¯t hold it any longer and keeled over with the force of his laughs.


    Roleplayers? Yeung-Sung frowned. ¡°You never mentioned them, Darnes.¡±


    The barkeep shrugged. ¡°They¡¯re a non-political group, focusing solely on the game, which is why we pay attention to them, but they have no agenda except to play. So much that they lose themselves in it.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like Wil,¡± said Yeung-Sung. Wait, didn¡¯t Wil tell me before that there were no abilities in the game, only skills that we create? Checking on the American, he found that he was returning, two beers in each hand. Alongside him was Mamba, and behind that Steph held open the widest smile and Hans waddled cheerfully along.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°So, did you find them? The skills?¡±


    They nodded. ¡°Wait, wait, I¡¯m getting to that,¡± Sykes was saying said, reminiscing while gazing at the ceiling. ¡°I noticed they kept dying and needed gear,¡± he explained with a grin, ¡°So naturally I made a ton of the weakest, easiest weapons and armour, and sold it them.¡± Sykes bit his lips to refrain from laughing again.


    Wil bumped his shoulders from behind, so the Irishman smirked and said behind him, ¡°We¡¯re telling Young Sonny boy here how about blessings. And how rich they made me¡±.


    Wil rolled his eyes and passed in through Darnes. Mamba coughed, creating space between the Wick owner and Von Martin.


    ¡°Alright, lad,¡± Steph and Hans said in unison. Gesturing with his glass, Yeung-Sung let them squeeze through into the middle of the mauve couch, while he stayed on the edge.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung,¡± asked Darnes, ¡°do you remember the part in the tutorial where you it told your character to kneel down and pray?¡±


    While nodding, Hans poked Yeung-Sung and whispered, ¡°You mind if I take a look, been wondering what you¡¯ve been up to with the potions thing.¡± Yeung-Sung handed him the phone.


    With everybody settled, Darnes continued. ¡°It turns out that the ¡®Gods¡¯ in Airgead are generous ones, because they reward faith with blessings! It¡¯s like an enchantment on a piece of gear, providing certain effects.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Sykes added in, ¡°There¡¯s no way to know what they do.¡±


    ¡°Not without testing,¡± Wil admitted, swirling his pint with a steady wrist.


    Wha-


    Seeing Yeung-Sung¡¯s bewildered reaction, Sykes threw his palms out. ¡°Wait, wait now, let me explain, because here¡¯s where it starts to come together.¡± He wavered his hands like he was calming a lion. ¡°Because the blessings only go off, they found, after being damaged.


    ¡°Ah, see now the armor targeting system makes sense, doesn¡¯t it? Anyway, once the other factions got hold of this information, they began their testing. And good blessings quickly became more expensive than any gear. The factions that found them first, beat the gauntlet first. So, again, Sykes¡¯s warehouse of the most basic equipment one could make gone -at quite the premium, I might add.¡±


    Yeung-Sung parsed through the words for a minute. So you pray to the Gods to help you? That would have been nice to have before. Makes my poison tactic useless in comparison. Still, Wil was right¡­


    ¡°I still think it¡¯s a dumb system,¡± said Wil, necking his drink before anyone could respond.


    Hans scrolled through Yeung-Sung¡¯s profile, looking concerned. ¡°You¡¯ve been busy, haven¡¯t you¡± he stated. The German shook his head and shoulders, lolling his tongue in his mouth. ¡°Poisons, eh?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s he got?¡± asked Mamba.


    Hans turned the screen and showed the booth; Yeung-Sung¡¯s inventory appeared as mahogany shelves and racks, stacking rows and rows of his concoctions. Some were labelled to the extent of his knowledge. Others bared mysterious sludge, shifting around, each with its own distinctive colouring -or discolouring.


    ¡°This is¡­This is,¡± Hans stammered.


    ¡° ¨CQuite excessive if you planned on bringing it into battle, but a nice stockpile if they ever become in demand,¡± finished Sykes.


    Shane craned around. ¡°Do they keep well?¡±


    ¡°Keep?¡± asked Yeung-Sung.


    ¡°How long do they last for in there, dear?¡± Mamba re-iterated. ¡°Organic items degenerate in Airgead, similarly to real life¡±


    Steph scratched his head, his arm like a vine hanging down over everyone¡¯s heads. ¡°Seein¡¯ as yer¡¯ a greengrocer, I thought you would¡¯a known that.¡±


    ¡°Though,¡± he admitted, ¡°I¡¯m not sure how you would classify, -eh, that.¡±


    Yeung-Sung hadn¡¯t considered it.


    Snatching the phone back off Hans, he swiped up and down, taking a flash survey of his stock. How would I tell?


    Do they keep forever? Do I have time to figure it out?


    He slumped down in the couch and sighed, ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s fine,¡± Wil said, dimple showing in one cheek, ¡°Who would make a game mechanic that ages poison? Wouldn¡¯t it grow more potent over time?¡± He seemed like he would¡¯ve added to that, but withdrew himself, swirling his beer again, the glass filled almost to the rim.


    ¡°But here¡¯s the scary part,¡± Hans said, grabbing up his half-pint and flushing his throat with it, ¡°He has more than poison in there.¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked up from his slump. He saw that he wasn¡¯t the only one surprised at Hans¡¯s directness.


    Holding the booth in suspense, Hans pinched and rolled his stomach, putting his empty glass and contorted his face as if he was about to throw up.


    ¡°Our lad here has health and vitality potions mixed in there too. Labelled by his hands. Any coloner could pick one up at market and drink himself to a fast rebirth before their Gauntlet event starts.¡±


    Hans pushed the heavy table forward as he leapt up and it roared against the floors of The Joint Wick.


    ¡°That¡¯s how you intend to break apart the experiment!¡± he demanded. ¡°Well, listen here, this is our life now. Imagine if you did this for real? You think I¡¯d let it go ¨C¡±


    ¡°Yes, Hans, let it go,¡± Martin growled. He put his arm out between Yeung-Sung and the German.


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen what he¡¯s been through,¡± said Mamba as she raised her glass against him, ¡°Could you blame him?¡±


    Hans tore his eyes off Yeung-Sung to respond. ¡°I don¡¯t take attempts on human-life lightly.¡± He spoke with a bite that came out easily through his accent.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the same as this,¡± shouted Wil, shoved behind by the two of them.


    ¡°It might as well be!¡± Hans swerved, trying to break free of Von Martin¡¯s hold, his greaser jacket squeaking at his movements. ¡°He doesn¡¯t even deny it!


    ¡°And what if his attempts cause the UN to disqualify the experiment? Then what happens? Alter! We go back to our old lives? That¡¯s not going to happen.¡± He squeezed the lapels of his jacket. ¡°No. I¡¯m not starting again.¡±


    Yeung-Sung was halfway out of the booth when Hans pushed the table again, causing Yeung-Sung and his phone to slip from the booth. As he fell, he tried to catch his phone, his virtual rack of flasks and their contents gently whirling as if they were asleep, and Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t want to wake them.


    The German moved to see him over the table, but settled for stretching overtop a wall of arms.


    ¡°we¡¯re here ¡®til the world ends, or ¡®til it changes. Why stop it? Don¡¯t you want the nations to fix their issues, to have a united economy? If not for yourself then, perhaps, for someone you left behind?¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh? So there is someone.¡±


    Yeung-Sung crawled around between the far legs of the booth¡¯s table.


    It¡¯s not that you¡¯re wrong, Hans. You speak well, and truthfully, I¡¯ve always wished for someone to turn back the clock on the ¡®Crash¡¯, but not Jordan. Not here.


    If I left my family in a bad position before, imagine how much worse it would be when Jordan takes it over.


    Straining his neck over the edge of the table, Yeung-Sung said, ¡°If you really think GLI will bring about some mythical world peace, then you¡¯re the madman.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s simply not possible.¡± He opened bandages on his wrists like two bright red ribbons, an turned them veins-up.  ¡°And I¡¯m glad I¡¯ve been shown first-hand how right I am¡±.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung!¡± exclaimed Mamba. A few of the others paled, but Wil teared up.


    ¡°I thought we were through with this,¡± he said.


    Keeping his wrists up, he breathed calmly. ¡°There are better ways than this!¡±


    Hans hesitated for a moment, before knocking down Martin¡¯s arm to lean in over the table. ¡°And there are better ways for you than poison.¡± With that, he strode from the booth, his hands over his ears, eyes only for the bar. Yeung-Sung heard him say he needed ¡®A big one¡¯, so, pulling himself up with the curved thigh of the table leg, he shouted back,


    ¡°Isn¡¯t alcohol a poison too?¡±


    Hans lurched back for one grim look before he continued walking. Yeung-Sung heaved, his head flat against the table, and watched him for a while, daring him to look back -to face him one more time. When it was evident that he wouldn¡¯t, he stopped straining so hard and flopped into the felt embrace of the couch.


    Around the booth, others tried to diffuse the tension:


    ¡°Well, I have lot of experience with ¡®poison¡¯, if that is what you want to call them,¡± Martin announced, pounding a hollow beat on his chest.


    ¡°Not as much as Darnes, I¡¯ll bet,¡± joked Steph, ¡°He¡¯s a proper animal.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Wil asked, pulling a long face.


    ¡°Totally,¡± Steph said back, giving him a thumbs up. He began describing an image of the mountains of coke that used to be stashed in the Wick.


    As he excused himself from the booth, Darnes warned them,


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t you listen to that sheep-fucker and his tall tales.¡±


    Wil huffed. ¡°Hey! Hold on¡­you¡¯ll believe that Darnes is a coke-head, but never even listen to my stories? I could¡¯ve been a crack addict for all you know.¡±


    ¡°Nah, mate, you don¡¯t have coke nose,¡± Sykes answered, rocking his stool again.


    ¡°Oh, really? And how do you know about ¡®coke-nose¡¯, Sykes?¡± Wil asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t. But I do have coke blood-pressure,¡± he laughed, nearly falling off his stool.


    Mamba flicked a beer glass from her mouth, licking he lips. ¡°And here I was thinking you were an innocent lad.¡±


    They continued on like that for some time, unearthing some rather unusual facts about their life pre-colony, like how Wil had been on Adderall for most of his life, or how Mamba sold weed to most of her office at one point.


    Yeung-Sung wanted to stay. He wanted to laugh and drink and poke fun of one another. He wanted to forget about the responsibility that they had; Both as Airgead testers, and as community members. He clacked his mouth a few times in an imitation of laughter, but he was not in the correct mindset -how could he be? He wanted to not be himself, he realised. He wanted to become someone who could corner themselves and forget about how Jordan and GLI were busy re-creating the word with their ideas. But the ebb and flow of his pain would never let his thoughts drift far that.


    Peering around the booth wall, he looked back out the cracked front window as the laughter went on. It still rained; the grey sky squirming out its discomfort onto dry land. Yeung-Sung sighed and got up.


    ¡°I need a glass of water.¡±

 Part 35 Blind

    Anita and Darnes were not laughing; Instead, under the cover of the drunken banter, they were having an argument.


    Why?


    Anita had been understandably phased tonight. After all the incidents that happened, maybe this was the culmination of it? He had to find out.


    Yeung-Sung knew only a handful things about her: That she worked with Darnes optionally, intentionally seeking him out. He was told, but would¡¯ve guessed by the contours of her pale face that she was Russian. And most importantly, she was a devoted member of the Player¡¯s Market, or PM, which seemed to be the colony¡¯s socialist party. Not only that, apparently, they were the biggest faction in the colony, comprised of over a third of the players. What could be a better resource for corrupting Airgead?


    It¡¯s a start.


    As he drew nearer, he still heard the booth behind him, one-upping each other with their drug stories. Again, the conversation buzzed and bubbled and drew him in, but he shook his head and continued on. Down in his hands, his Airgead account read 50 minims. Yeung-Sung pulled on his lip. I literally cannot afford to keep this up.


    Yeung-Sung approached the counter quietly, docking a little way from the two. Anita, facing away from the bar, had obviously noticed him. But Darnes did not, in the middle of pleading, pointing desperately at his bandaged hand.


    ¡°Anita, please. You can¡¯t leave.¡±


    Half-hidden behind, the bronze beer taps, Anita held her mouth firm, with her arms out against her sides. ¡°I will not budge,¡± she said.


    Watching them, Yeung-Sung held out a hand, his battered wrists still on display. ¡°Can I get some water, please?¡±


    Anita put away her sass and smiled, walking over to him. ¡°I¡¯m going, Darnes,¡± she chimed behind her.


    ¡°You never go to these things,¡± Darnes complained, ¡°Why tonight of all nights? I need you here, Ani.¡±


    ¡°No Darnes, it¡¯s¡­,¡± she hesitated, bending over the water tap. ¡°It¡¯s different this time. It¡¯s important.¡±


    ¡°There you go, sugar,¡± she said, handing him Yeung-Sung glass. Then she turned back to her boss and stuck out her palm.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be alright. Get one of the boys to help you.¡±


    Darnes groaned.


    ¡°Anita!¡± Yeung-Sung blurted out. ¡°Take me with you.¡±


    She turned slowly back to him. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to the Player¡¯s Market, right?¡±


    Shock was etched in her face. ¡°I -I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Darnes cut in, ¡°It¡¯s not. In fact, you should both stay here.¡±


    Yeung-Sung took a swig of the water, glancing at Darnes¡¯s bandaged hand. Then, pushing up his sleeves, he undid the bandages all the way up, unveiling the pocked grey and purple skin on his arms.


    ¡°I need to find out more about these factions,¡± he said, switching looks form Darnes to Anita, ¡°this might be the perfect opportunity. Let me go and if you can, help me get close to them.¡±


    Surprisingly, Anita drew a wicked grin. Darnes scrambled to stop her from nodding her assent.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung, you don¡¯t want to get involved with PM. They¡¯re communists, extremists!¡± He flew up from his chair. ¡°This is absolutely not a good idea.¡±


    ¡°Ahh, Darnes,¡± Anita said, patting him o the shoulder, ¡°You can stop him about as much as you can stop me.¡±


    It was strange to see the Wick owner shrink beside someone.


    Anita unpinned her ponytail with a flourish. ¡°Alright, hon, let¡¯s go then. We¡¯ll have fun, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find out plenty.¡± She chuckled into a palm.


    As Anita headed off to the cloakroom, Yeung-Sung wondered if he hadn¡¯t just made very stupid decision. A thought entered his mind; I hope I can find my way back.


    As he followed Anita, the night threw handfuls rain onto Yeung-Sung¡¯s face. While she kept an unrelenting pace with her long legs, he bounded over footpaths, shoving his drunken, damaged body further through country lanes.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Each time he thought he had caught up to her, Anita rounded a corner. He kept wanting to ask her about PM, but she always left him out of breath. And so their journey was mostly quiet, except for the constant simmer of rain dinging along the smooth shapes of the colony¡¯s buildings.


    There were twists and turns hidden from the central forked path of the colony¡¯s centre, which Yeung-Sung just wanted to take his time with, but never got a chance. Always just out of reach, just visible enough, Anita never waiting for him, except when she stopped for a few moments before a turn. She never checked on him, only paused long enough for him to limp up close, but not enough to look back and map the path, not enough time for chit-chat. It was too dark and she was too fast; Again Yeung-Sung lost his chance.


    The irritable pace was made worse by the fact that him and Anita weren¡¯t the only ones stalking the streets. Small but distinct groups of coloners emerged from the deep like judgemental spectres, keeping to themselves. Even in the depths of night, Anita¡¯s red-blue outfit spelled out her allegiance to passers-by. One couldn¡¯t help but stare -and also, made her easier to follow. But even the biggest groups never stared for long.


    Yeung-Sung was curious how the Player¡¯s Market had achieved such notoriety. The Wick regulars all disapproved of the faction¡¯s strong communist message, yet Yeung-Sung found himself wondering if he might¡¯ve been safer with a group like them on the night before. Sighing, Yeung-Sung rubbed his wrists, brushing the dust off his memories, and pressed on.


    He tracked Anita down a tight, curved road, one meant for cars. One of those that only hinted at a sidewalk. Looming on his right was the dented shadow of a larger building. Either it was demolished or only partly constructed. It distracted him so much that he almost missed Anita slipping through a tiny gap in the plaster wall around it.


    Looking both ways, Yeung-Sung hesitated before entering the grounds. He noticed, ominously, that the rain had stopped. As if it was scared.


    I hope I don¡¯t find Jordan in here, too. Laughing to himself, he ducked inside.


    The entrance to PM wasn¡¯t much besides a walkway towards a run-down hole in the cement. Only a pair of scraggy birches decorated it, surly guards still dripping from the downpour. Yeung-Sung searched for any signs of life as he stepped over well-trodden weeds in the cracks of the pavement, narrowing his sight to see a distant bar of fluorescent lighting.


    I¡¯d better go in. Anita¡¯s ahead of me by a full minute now.


    Lowering his hood, he was shaking the wet out from his clothes when he felt his phone vibrate. There were several messages from a character he recognised as Woo-Yi -her screenname a reference to one of her songs- but past that was an admin notification which he opened.


    [You have been invited to be a ¡®guest¡¯ in at the clan Player¡¯s Market]


    [ACCEPT]                  [DENY]


    A blunt realisation struck him and he knew where he was.


    This is an abandoned mall. He shook his head, accepting the request and headed down the hallway into the faction¡¯s hideout. Immediately, the sounds of people in panic hovered faintly through the air.


    Despite that, as Yeung-Sung crouched through the tight entrance gave way to a cavernous plaza, filled to the jagged edges of the half-built walls with PM¡¯s signature colours. He stood at the tip of a walkway that led to a two-way elevator, each stair painted likewise, in alternating red and blue. No one noticed him. Dozens of similarly dressed coloners walked between the alcoves on the second and third levels, glued to their phones.


    That wasn¡¯t where the rampaging commotion was coming from, though. Yeung-Sung squinted through the hazed glass banisters on the first floor. There must have been hundreds of heads bobbing up and down in that hall. Feeling overwhelmingly warm and sweaty, he pulled off his hoodie and wondered how a group like that would react to a trespasser.


    But they invited me, right? I have nothing to fear.


    He read through the message again.


    [AUTOMATED MESSAGE]


    ¡°Unless it was automated, I guess,¡± he said. Searching for any side paths, he spotted a sign for the bathrooms and quickly retreated towards it. He fell backwards on the door once he entered the men¡¯s and then upon hearing a clack, realised he stood on white tiles. The walls were also tiled, smeared in parts by a Mediterranean blue.


    ¡°Hello?¡± he called out, the reverb of the room curling the tail of his words like a wave about to crash. Gripping his sweat-drenched hoodie -however useful it may have been- he snuck past the ten stalls of the bathroom. They were remarkably sanitary, compared to the entrance and thankfully, unoccupied. Even the main area seemed far better constructed than the outside led him to believe.


    Anita had explained before that PM was always searching for new members. Maybe this was what some of them were assigned to do; To make their headquarters presentable. Even if all of them were simple labourers and not extremists, it did little to make the vibrating mass in the distance feel less intimidating.


    Where the hell did she go? Does she expect to waltz in the middle of all this and chat up some friends? Yeung-Sung leaned an arm against the door as he thought on how to breach the faction when he felt something -Soft. Cotton?


    He spun. Swinging off a peg was a clothes hanger bearing a single full-red tee and blue chinos looped over underneath. Yeung-Sung cringed at it, sweeping the stall once more before he changed into them.


    This is far too convenient. Anita¡­she expected me to follow her tonight?


    As always, there was far too much going on within the colony, and he knew too little. He did know that, one way or another, this was a trap.


    Dropping off his old clothes, he stepped back into the main plaza of the Player¡¯s Market. He pulled at his shirt, frowning, trying to cover as much of his bruises as possible. She couldn¡¯t have gotten me a long-sleeve? Or actually, couldn¡¯t she have just DMed me where to go, or what to expect? He decided that he just had to keep his arms turned in against his sides, hands in his pockets. As he focused, looking up, the full force of the industrial blocks of light made him feel sick. The sounds of the crowded continued, a demanding chant becoming more prominent. There was a reason Anita was called, and it must have been important. If only he had a way to locate her.


    ¡°Hello there,¡± said a voice, slinking up beside Yeung-Sung.

 Part 36 Ugly Ducklings

    Yeung-Sung sucked in, shoving his arms as far as he could, arm-hair rising. In an attempt to draw attention away from his injuries, he applied a fixed smile on his face and enthusiastically replied, ¡°Hi, how are you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re silly.¡± A much larger man wearing a mirror set of clothes, patted his chest in a laugh. ¡°You talk like we know each other. We don¡¯t.¡±


    Yeung-Sung swallowed and looked to see if they were alone.


    The large PM member sported a ginger beard, which he was stroking as he looked Yeung-Sung up and down. ¡°You¡¯re a trainee,¡± he said, pointing at the outfit.


    Then that means¡ª


    ¡°Like me.¡± He patted his chest again and Yeung-Sung saw the PM emblem; The two letters crossed over in a way reminiscent to the hammer & sickle.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your badge? Did they not give you one yet?¡±


    ¡°No, they did. I just -uhh, lost it,¡± Yeung-Sung said.


    This ¡®trainee¡¯ leaned down and narrowed his eyes. The beard, his eccentric attitude, Yeung-Sung¡¯s fear of being exposed, they all disappeared as he noticed the fact that, like Yeung-Sung he was also heavily bandaged. It must have been a struggle to get them on him, however, as between the rings of cloth was red skin, like boiling lava covered by clingfilm.


    Yeung-Sung gasped. ¡°You¡¯re burnt!¡±


    ¡°Ha- Ha- Ha-Ha-.¡± He dropped his hands into his thighs as he laughed.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re blunt. And don¡¯t look that well yourself.¡±


    The ¡®trainee¡¯ straightened his back with some effort. ¡°They just let me out of the infirmary,¡± he explained, tangles of his beard dancing to his breath. He pried back the collar of his shirt, showing a tighter, newer criss-cross of white cloth.


    His burns must be severe. Worse¡­ Yeung-Sung flinched. Worse than mine.


    The burned ¡®trainee¡¯ flashed a morbid smile before letting the shirt snap back.


    ¡°In my absence I guess a lot has changed, so I¡¯ve been demoted to trainee for now.¡± He wistfully stroked the emblem. Then, after a quick snap of his head, he pointed behind Yeung-Sung, saying, ¡°They¡¯ve got more over at the orientation stand. Where the food hall is.¡±


    Yeung-Sung followed the direction of his finger and his mouth popped open.


    ¡°Be quick, Instructor Kelly-Ann said she has to start now, or we¡¯ll miss the meeting.¡±


    ¡°More like she doesn¡¯t want to miss the meeting,¡± he added under his breath.


    Yeung-Sung bowed and thanked him, taking one more glance at the man¡¯s injuries, his cracked skin webbing out from the ends of the bandages.


    ¡°My name is Yeung-Sung, by the way,¡± he announced. ¡°What is yours?¡±


    ¡°Brinn¡±.


    This is promising. I bet I can get all kinds of information out of him about the faction¡¯s history.


    But, how did he get those burns?


    Kelly-Ann wore petite, black dolly shoes and a bowl cut fringe that encased her berry head. Tapping her shoes, her head wobbled yet her hair stayed still. She watched the various Player¡¯s Market recruits gather around her like marbles sliding to the end of a runway. Yeung-Sung and Brinn were some of the last to join them.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Come on, come ON,¡± she said, ushering them forward. Yeung-Sung found himself moving a little faster. Even though she her voice wasn¡¯t commanding, it had the hint of a shriek that warned him what would happen if he didn¡¯t listen.


    Checking her tablet, held to her chest like a clipboard, she raised herself onto the tips of her dainty shoes and counted the group. A stylus bobbed quickly over each of their heads and at last the instructor settled. Even for Yeung-Sung there was no confusion among the group; All full members of PM must¡¯ve already been summoned to the meeting.


    Kelly-Ann smiled and said, ¡°At last. Welcome, to the Player¡¯s Market.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s begin: The Market is made up of 7 hubs, as of our last re-structuring.¡±


    She pointed to the huge room above the escalators. ¡°¡¯General¡¯ decides when they are necessary. Happens maybe twice per reset.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to take you through every hub, following our chain of operations all the way to the ¡®Fighter¡¯s¡¯, who are the ones that participate in the Gauntlets.¡±


    She swished her stylus. ¡°It¡¯s up at the top, on the third level. Then we¡¯ll come back down and join the others for a meeting, after which you will all be made official members of PM. Excited?¡±


    She cracked a thin smile. The nodding and murmurs of the orientation group were overshadowed by the waterfall of activity above them in ¡®General¡¯.


    Good, I¡¯ll finally get some answers. Yeung-Sung straightened up, feeling less pained and looked over to Brinn, who was idly playing with his hands.


    A hand shot up behind him.


    ¡°Save your questions for ¨C¡±


    ¡°What section are you a part of?¡± asked the trainee.


    ¡°Section 5: Admin,¡± Kelly-Ann said with a groan. ¡°No more questions.¡±


    ¡°Can I just ¨C¡±


    The instructor tapped her foot like a gavel. This time her hair did waver. ¡°At the end we¡¯ll have time for questions.¡±


    She nodded to ¡®General¡¯ again. ¡°You can hear that, can¡¯t you? We don¡¯t have the luxury of time.¡±


    She turned toward the area behind her, its opening running all the way behind the escalators.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she said. ¡°I present to you, the ¡®Gatherer¡¯s¡¯ hub.¡±


    She made a dramatic gesture with her hands. ¡°As the name implies, they gather the basic materials necessary to create things within Airgead.¡±


    If the Player¡¯s Market really is a mall, then did all of these ¡®hubs¡¯ use to be shopfronts? Well, this one, at least, looks like it used to be a book store.


    However, no books were being displayed any of the short shelves, or the tall ones. Instead -to Yeung-Sung¡¯s delight- potted plants took shelter in every corner of the aisles. Shrubbery lined the entrances, pruned into globes like green lollipops. Troughs of tulips; bluebells; primrose hung from the edges of the aisles. Even a miniature cherry blossom was maintained as a centrepiece in the ex-store, given plenty of space to shed its fragrant petals.


    The orientation group wove through the gardening displays under radiant lighting, coming from a knot of daisy-shaped lamps.


    ¡°Every hub also has other duties within PM,¡± Kelly explained as she strode quickly ahead of the group. ¡°In this case, the ¡®Gatherers¡¯ do a lot of the dirty work around.¡±


    She scowled at the organic tapestry before her as she waited for the group to waddle through like tourists.


    ¡°Not like their Airgead activities take up a lot of their time, as you can see.¡±


    Yeung-Sung wanted to stay close to Brinn, but the ¡®trainee¡¯ kept getting far ahead him. Yeung-Sung smiled and sniffed in the earth and floral scents; He did not want to leave.  Luckily, some empty chairs lay scattered in front of the path they had chosen, so Brinn began to move them. Meanwhile, Yeung-Sung ran his hands over some tools left behind -gloves; a trowel; a sleeping tablet. Poking the screen, the tablet awoke with a dendrological essay, complete with diagrams of the trees in question. Having to leave it came with a pain he was not thankful for.


    Kelly-Ann beckoned them again, tapping her foot rapidly,


    At the stairs, Brinn and Yeung-Sung were waiting as for the clump of trainees ahead of them to get up the steps when Yeung-Sung noticed sleeping bags curled up next to a stack of yellow pillows.


    ¡°When does this place close?¡±


    Staring straight ahead as if there was a camera on him, Brinn replied, ¡°Why would we ever close?¡±


    After that Brinn pushed ahead in the group, yet Yeung-Sung insisted on staying close to him.


    For once, could I not be stuck with someone who takes their time? Hand on the railing, Yeung-Sung took a quick look back at the ¡®Gatherer¡¯s¡¯ hub.


    I hope I can join them.


    ¡°Really? I wouldn¡¯t have thought that to be your style,¡± Brinn remarked.


    His stare still forward, he had rolled his eyes to the very edge to look at Yeung-Sung.


    Yeung-Sung had several snarky responses ready, but he wasn¡¯t about to draw any attention to himself. He simply shrugged back and continued up the stairwell.

 Part 37 Ugly Ducklings II

    "Right,¡± said Kelly-Ann, ¡°This is section 2: The Crafter¡¯s Hub.¡±


    Kelly¡¯s elbows swung just above the high worktables as she shuffled through the narrow path. The cramped space, breaking off into other cubicles, didn¡¯t seem like it was ever a retail store. It reminds of dental offices? Maybe a repair shop?


    Further in, the distinct smell of lacquer penetrated the noses of the group and coughs and sneezes began to run down the train of them. This blew up wood shavings, illuminated by dim blue bars that lined the edges of the doorframes outside each cubicle.


    They moved along much faster than the previous area, guided by Kelly¡¯s voice and Kelly¡¯s shoes.


    ¡°The ¡®Crafters¡¯ put things together, both in Airgead and out of it. They maintain the Market day to day, but they have a lot more time as of late, since all that¡¯s requested is low-grade equipment at the moment.¡±  The instructor pinched her nose. ¡°Come on, come on, I can¡¯t stand it in here.¡±


    ¡°Neither can I¡± Brinn huffed.


    Yeung-Sung nodded and hugged himself. Not only did he miss the plants and the light of the previous hub, he also missed its heat. It was dark and eerie, made worse by the whirring of some machine that must not have been turned off inside one of the cubicles.


    Kelly stopped outside one of them. She must have noticed the same thing.


    ¡°Is someone still here?¡± she called into the cubicle. The door remained closed, but the whirring seemed to still. She waited for a moment, holding up the group, yet there was no response.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± she said, slipping past Brinn towards doorframe. She rapped on it three times. ¡°Hello?¡±


    Eyes locked on the instructor, Brinn twirled a long screw in his hand. It ran easily along his knuckles before being pulled back¡­and forward. Brinn tested the throw a few more times while Yeung-Sung made his over to the bearded ¡®trainee¡¯.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he hissed.


    Brinn was closing his hand over the screw when they heard the clang of something metal fall. A pipe, maybe? Sheet metal?


    Listening closely, Yeung-Sung heard what he recognised as a Hunanese ¨C a curse.


    Another scramble of noise seemed to head closer until a young, helmeted man popped his head out the door. ¡°I know, I know. Meeting is happening,¡± he said, bowing regularly along with his syllables. ¡°Almost finished. Will be there.¡±


    Woo-Yi backed away from him with a sniff. ¡°Alright. Be quick about it, so.¡±


    With a last bow he disappeared behind the door again. The whirring flared up again as they continued through to the end of the hub, only to be completely drowned out by the rumbling of all the people in ¡®General¡¯, to their left. Yeung-Sung shivered again. What was so important that they all had to present, that a chat room would not suffice?


    Outside the ¡®Crafter¡¯ hub, Kelly gathered the trainees out near the top of the escalators.


    ¡°Right, unfortunately we have to cross ¡®General¡¯ on our way to section 3.¡± She cornered them with a look. ¡°Do NOT get distracted, you¡¯ll all get to listen in later.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± she added, starting to lead onwards, ¡°You won¡¯t miss anything important.¡±


    Brinn smiled widely at her. ¡°Of course not. I¡¯ll make sure of that.¡±


    What the hell does that mean? Who is this guy?


    As they passed ¡®General¡¯, Yeung-Sung had one eye on Brinn and one eye trying to spot Anita in the wriggling crowd. It was a mass o red and blues, though, so he went back to Brinn¡¯s comment.


    His attitude to this place, its people¡­ it¡¯s aggressive. Yeung-Sung swallowed, watching Brinn¡¯s congealed wounds peeked out under his short sleeves. The incident that cause his burns, could it be have been caused¡­ here?


    Kelly led them to the other side of the abandoned mall, past an office coated in baby pink.


    ¡°That¡¯s admin. We¡¯ll come back around to that after the ¡®Play-testers¡¯.¡±


    Yeung-Sung was wondering why -despite Kelly-Ann being part of this hub- she passed by it so fast when he noticed Brinn had split off.


    He was snarling outside by the window. Was someone inside?


    Not wanting to cause any more unwanted attention, he grabbed Brinn by his wrist and pulled him back towards the group. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the ¡®trainee¡¯ to explain himself.


    ¡°You¡¯re very jumpy,¡± Brinn said. He followed that with a long, relaxed breath, striding right past.


    ¡°This is Section 3; The Enchanter¡¯s hub: The equipment from the ¡®Crafter¡¯s¡¯ is sent here to be blessed -I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard of that by now.¡± Grabbing her stylus, Kelly noted the response in her tablet.


    ¡°It¡¯s the magic of Airgead, basically. Very powerful, but really hard to figure define what it does or how to consistently use it. Some preliminary admin work is done here as well.¡±


    The enchanter¡¯s hub was a seating area with booths at the back, currently suffused in a thick lavender glow from a chandelier shaped in the PM logo. Well, this was a coffee shop.


    Kelly-Ann pointed over to a diagram on the wall; It was a speculation on how the colour of a blessing could imply the type of effect it would produce. The group easily fit inside the hub, but it still couldn¡¯t compare to the hall of ¡®General¡¯. One of the trainees was about to settle down in a plush beanbag when Kelly shook her head.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Hmm, let¡¯s not. We¡¯re behind already, let¡¯s get on up to the next floor -You can always wander around later.¡±


    Damn. I¡¯ll have to come back here soon. I feel like understanding how these blessings work is the key to undermining this entire operation.


    Just before he began climbing the next set of stairs, the walls of the room swirled, changing into a lovely chlorophyll green. Yeung-Sung though he could almost smell grass.


    On the second floor it was much cooler. It smelled damp. There was only a small foyer, one hub area and a balcony that overlooked ¡®General¡¯. While Kelly recounted the group, Yeung-Sung looked down by the banisters. From above, the Market looking like the crashed remains of a space ship: They could show off their innovative technology all they liked, but they were never going to get off the ground again.


    ¡°What a shithole,¡± Brinn said. He hung back, several paces from the edge.


    Yeung-Sung noticed the distance -and his shoes pivoting away like skittish brown mice. ¡°Scared of heights? Or is this another thing you¡¯re hiding?¡±


    Brinn stepped forward and yawned in Yeung-Sung¡¯s face. He stretched backwards, cracking his back.


    Is this the act? Or was the it being afraid?


    Brinn checked behind him -Kelly-Ann still waiting for the stragglers- and took Yeung-Sung aside. ¡°You¡¯re not here to join PM. I know that.¡±


    ¡°Neither are you,¡± Yeung-Sung replied, and at the same time realised it. ¡°How-how were you burnt?¡±


    Brinn played around with his beard for a moment before answering. ¡°I reckon¡­the same as you.¡±


    Yeung-Sung tried to back away, but Brinn kept a firm hand in the middle of his back.


    ¡°Funny, isn¡¯t it? They promised me I¡¯d be safe here,¡± he whispered, both of them looking out over the gathering below. Except, he wasn¡¯t, he was actually looking up at the balcony that jutted out over everything; the third floor.


    ¡°And here is section 4; The Playtester¡¯s hub. Everyone comes on -I got a message telling me that they¡¯re going to start soon, so we have to hurry up.¡±


    Brinn let Yeung-Sung tear away as Kelly-Ann resumed her orientation.


    This hub was the type of cardboard brown that made Yeung-Sung think of his old stock room back in Seoul. While not as large as the Enchanter¡¯s hub, it had three times the seating, scattered around its assembly-line tables. The chairs were flimsy plastic things, with most of them having a jacket or scarf marking people¡¯s place while they were at the meeting.


    Kelly crossed her arms at the unanimous reactions of disgust.


    I don¡¯t blame them. Who would want to end up here?


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s new -a work in progress,¡± the instructor admitted, ¡°But it is the highest in demand at the moment. A way to make a name for yourself in PM¡±


    ¡°Why?


    Kelly scowled, searching the crowd of trainees for the person that interrupted her.


    ¡°The blessings are difficult to understand, as I said,¡± she explained, reluctantly. ¡°The Playtesters have to simulate many different scenarios -in non-paying Gauntlets, unfortunately- all so we can identify what the enchantments do.¡±


    She leaned over with a smile. ¡°There is no one way to achieve this, so coloners with an aptitude for creative thinking are especially welcome.¡± She shrugged ¡°I could never do it, personally.¡±


    Murmurs broke out amongst the group, reconsidering their opinion of The Playtester¡¯s hub.


    Brinn sniffed behind Yeung-Sung. ¡°So, it¡¯s a more important job than others?¡±


    The group fractured around the two and before Yeung-Sung could point towards Brinn he was pushed forward.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Kelly-Ann shouted across to him. ¡°First of all, I already told you to save your questions to the end. Secondly ¨C¡±


    Chewing on her lip, she quickly looked around at the group here and below. ¡°Secondly, no job is more important than any other. This is the Player¡¯s Market. If you are a player, you are neither better or lesser than another.¡±


    She let her words sink in before beginning to lead the orientation away again. ¡°Let¡¯s proceed. Come on, now.¡±


    Hands in his pockets, Brinn too left Yeung-Sung behind, chuckling.


    That¡¯s how it is then.


    He hurried to catch up with them, but it was too late; They had isolated him at the back and when Kelly-Ann continued, Yeung-Sung struggled to hear her over the growing chants emanating from General.


    ¡°Anyway, the next section is supposed to be Admin, but since we¡¯ve passed it already -and I¡¯ll be honest its not that exciting- I¡¯ll just explain it as we head up to the top.¡±


    The stairs thinned and rattled with the weight of so many of them at once. The Market was a mountain and they were climbing it. The night had been long and PM as idiotic as he could have predicted. After all this, Yeung-Sung ached for his bed.


    Is it the loneliness, or do I feel a breeze up here?


    Kelly¡¯s speech continued up above.


    ¡°While General assigns members their roles, Admin has always taken care of the rest of the HR side, finding new recruits and such. But it also handles the distribution of materials through Airgead. We¡¯re the office of PM. And the warehouse. And the bank¡­¡±


    General assigns roles? I thought we were free to choose. I thought that wats the point. And Kelly doesn¡¯t seem like particularly happy about being assigned to Admin.


    Approaching the summit didn¡¯t change his position in the group, even though there was even less space to move them. In fact, it didn¡¯t change anything; The air whipped harder; the damp dripped louder. Perhaps I should just go. Find another faction. Who knows what they¡¯ll do to me if I try to run after officially declaring for them ¨C


    Yeung-Sung froze one foot on a step. Alone already, the group backed further away from him when they saw his face.


    Brinn! That¡¯s what must have happened to him. Why he¡¯s so full of rage.


    The ¡®trainee¡¯ turned back, noticing the reaction.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t leave yet,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re going to miss the best part.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m staying long enough to hear this ¡®announcement¡¯ at least,¡± said Yeung-Sung, mounting the step fully.


    But why do I get the feeling that you¡¯re not referring to that.


    Kelly threw up her arms, presenting section 6; The Fighter¡¯s Hub.


    ¡°The resources that are funnelled through the other sections into Admin are selected in accordance with the strategies that General has come up with,¡± she explained. It was the most animated she had been yet. ¡°The Fighters are the ones who execute these plans; Culminating all our efforts inside the Gauntlet, afterwards dispersing the reward fairly across all players.¡±


    The hub was a little nest at the very top of PM, and was likely the security room of the mall long ago. Full of blue screens, there as only three spots for people to watch them and two of them were occupied.


    Kelly-Ann, hid her arms. ¡°You¡¯re still here.¡±


    Two scrawny men leapt up from the recordings they were pouring over. They don¡¯t look like fighters, but I guess they don¡¯t have to.


    ¡°Oh crap! Did we miss it? The meeting?¡±


    ¡°Almost,¡± Kelly answered. She looked back out to the balcony. ¡°Any minute now. But I suppose you two hardly have to be in attendance. And you have a perfect view from here.¡±


    She waded slowly through the group to get a better look, picking up her voice. ¡°We¡¯d better get down there.¡±


    Kelly brushed past Brinn and Yeung-Sung and the rest of the group flocked around her like ducklings. Through a thicket of shoulders Yeung-Sung a particularly jolly figure waddling towards the podium at the end of General¡¯s hall.


    Simon? Why is he here?


    A cough stopped the stampede. The Fighter had come outside. Vaguely middle-eastern, he looked like an overworked aircraft engineer in his cargo pants. He took out a vape, yawning.


    ¡°You gonna go all the way back down?¡± he asked.


    Kelly spun, still gripping on the handrail. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t want to disrupt ¨C¡±


    ¡°Nonsense.¡± The Fighter¡¯s neck cracked in three places as he rolled it. ¡°I¡¯d say I¡¯m due for a break anyway.¡±


    Brinn stepped through towards him and Yeung-Sung began to panic.


    He took the fighters hand and beamed up at him. ¡°Well if that¡¯s alright with you¡±, he said, their handshake rattling cartoonishly. ¡°Much appreciated. You¡¯re doing great work.¡±


    Yeung-Sung checked the trainees group¡¯s reaction, but they had all been staring at him. He could only shrug back.


    ¡°Sure,¡± the fighter mumbled.


    Kelly-Ann disregarded the situation after a moment of confusion and began scrolling through her tablet. ¡°Since we now have some time, I suppose¡­I¡¯ll answer any questions?¡±


    Hands flooded the air before she finished the sentence.

 Part 38 The Storm Itself is a Harbor

    ¡°How do we get our roles?¡± one trainee asked.


    ¡°Yeah, can we pick any of them?¡± asked another.


    Kelly-Ann checked her tablet before answering.


    ¡°Right. This will make more sense to you when we get a chance to talk with General after¡­ all this has been sorted out.¡± She gestured downwards, keeping one hand on the railing of the balcony. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you will get a choice.¡±


    A choice that will make only the faction happy, I¡¯m sure.


    ¡°How is it that you organise medal rewards from across the factions? Surely one or more people must end up with more than the others?¡±


    Brinn fell back from Yeung-Sung, insinuating him.


    Again?


    ¡°You again?¡± Kelly asked.


    The rest of the orientation group answered for her, fighting over the rights to hit him with the most impactful comment.


    ¡°You think a third of the colony are staying destitute in silence?¡± said one, probably destined for General.


    ¡°Labour is fair here, we all contribute,¡± stated another proudly, ¡°PM is only doing what should be done everywhere, it¡¯s not that hard.¡±


    Gatherer, guarantee it.


    ¡°They don¡¯t need to have it all at the same time, anyway.¡± Yeung-Sung recognised this trainee as the same woman who asked a question before orientation had begun. ¡°Some of the Admin staff, I heard, is used as ¡®banks¡¯¡±. Kelly-Ann gave a nod, confirming her statement.


    ¡°Ha! There you go.¡±


    Enchanter? Admin, maybe? Yeung-Sung thought back through the different hubs. Who am I kidding, nearly all of us will end up as Playtesters.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t really matter anyway,¡± said a young New Zealander, popping his glasses up with a finger. ¡°We¡¯re family here, we own everything together; the medals; resources; time.¡± The rest of the group gave him some space. ¡°It¡¯s what Jordan has been preaching all along.¡±


    ¡°Is it now?¡± Brinn whispered from behind.


    Yeung-Sung saw that the only one not wholeheartedly nodding at the young trainee¡¯s speech was Kelly-Ann. She sighed, turning her back to the group and made herself comfortable against the balcony.


    Yeung-Sung decided to ask a question for real now that the attention was drawn away from him. ¡°Do we get the option to change?¡±


    He posed the question -not at the group of flared noses in front of him, but towards the Fighter who was bubbling up his vape by the door, staring up at the tarpaulin swelling down beneath the cracked, unfinished roof.


    He drew out a mist, Christmas red, from his mouth. Slivers of it condensed like spectral fingers crawling around the glass panel behind him.  ¡°They¡¯ll ask you often enough,¡± he began,If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°We have to change our strategies often. Typically, whenever we have understood how and what the other factions are doing-almost always the Champs. We have to pivot swiftly to take advantage of a counter plan. So, yes, we have to be flexible, but we have plenty of members. There should be something for everyone.¡±


    Brinn emerged again, keeping close to the reverent Fighter.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. SO wise, so wise.¡±  He pulled on his beard once and winked to Yeung-Sung, before pointing at the group, saying, ¡°Which is why we all have to stay quiet about The Market¡¯s secrets and stick together.¡±


    With a wistful look down, he added under his breath, ¡°Or else.¡±


    I knew it. He left them and was punished, that¡¯s why he is so bitter. But why even come back?


    ¡°Enough!¡± Kelly-Ann beckoned them towards the balcony. ¡°I think it¡¯s begun.¡±


    Yeung-Sung only caught glimpses of the procession below, but he didn¡¯t need to see it to understand what was going on. He felt it; All three hundred plus members of the ¡®Player¡¯s Market¡¯ stomping; The banisters rattling, wobbling the trainee and pushing him further back against the entrance of the Fighter¡¯s Hub.


    Perhaps the chat he was invited held some answers. While he opened Airgead, Kelly addressed the group again.


    ¡°The gesture we make is the PM emblem, see?¡± she said, raising an arm.


    ¡°You put your phone in your left hand and open raise it to about eleven o¡¯clock in front. Then you support your arm by the elbow underneath, bending your right arm in a right angle. Right arm; right angle, in case you ever get confused.¡±


    ¡°A reference to the communists of old?¡± Yeung-Sung asked hatefully.


    Kelly turned back to him with a hand on her hip. She blinked slowly. ¡°Good ideas¡­ruined by awful people,¡± she explained, still not really looking at him at all.


    You don¡¯t seem disappointed to not be down there with the rest of them. How did someone so unconvinced of the cause end up in charge of new recruits?


    Kelly-Ann finally addressed him, then. ¡°There¡¯s more to it than that; If we want to act like a cohesive unit, we need to practise it in little ways too, don¡¯t we?¡±


    She sounded sluggish all of a sudden. Yeung-Sung felt a pang of guilt for annoying her, even though for the most part it had been Brinn¡¯s fault.


    ¡°Listen to the next part,¡± she said, leaning back on the banister.


    The rhythmic chant that he heard before now resonated again all over the abandoned mall, swooping up to the top level in a vulturous caw. He looked around at the ceiling. Even it seemed to feel the pressure of this meeting, coughing down streams of dust. Though, on the hand, it may have just been residue from the Fighter¡¯s vape.


    Yeung-Sung turned to him; He was still being harassed by Brinn.


    ¡°Man, it¡¯s perfectly safe,¡± the Fighter assured Brinn, who was shifting his feet on the seemingly wobbly floor.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Brinn squealed, sounding all the more ridiculous considering his bulk and overgrown beard.


    The Fighter noticed Yeung-Sung watching them and shrugged, going back to his phone and typing something out fiercely in the chat.


    That reminds me, I should check the chat.


    But the words of the chant around him became clear.


    ¡°Profit!¡± blared through a microphone below.


    ¡°MURDER!¡± replied PM.


    ¡°Profit!¡± he roared again.


    ¡°THEFT!¡±


    Static swept through as the man behind the intercom inhaled. ¡°Say it with me now¡­¡±


    ¡°MURDER PROFITS


    TAKE BACK OUR LIVES!¡±


    Even though Yeung-Sung held the chat open in front of his eyes, he was so startled by the extreme words that it took him a moment to realise his phone was stuttering with the amount of spam filling his screen. Out of order, sometimes added to or more often deducted to a single word, the same words plummeted endlessly.


    < X> Profit is murder!


    < X> Profit is theft!


    < X>  Take it back


    < X> Murder all profits!


    < X> Murder profits, take it all back!


    < X> Theft!


    Yeung-Sung cupped a hand over his mouth. The orientation group was all smiles, repeating the words with increased confidence as the chant went around. Twisting over to the door, the Fighter had hidden himself behind the door but his phone was visible, sputtering out text. Brinn was the only other one who was uncomfortable with this madness. The shouts became ear slitting screams. Yeung-Sung began raising his hands to his ears when¡­it stopped.


    The echoes of it still bounced around his head, but Yeung-Sung felt he needed to know what the hell was going on here. Simon is here? What¡¯s he got to do with them?


    As if his thoughts were written on his face, Brinn thrust him along, pushing past the group towards the front so they could both see.

 Part 39 The Storm Itself is a Harbor II

    Simon waited like a lighthouse, watching the waves of PM crash around him. A smile beamed cautiously out of him, etched deep within his face.


    Brinn and Yeung-Sung shared a knowing look. He doesn¡¯t salute; He¡¯s not with them. The sea of phones still wavered in the air, hands thumbing ¡®send¡¯, setting up macros and pressing again.


    ¡°Oh. That¡¯s where he is.¡±


    Yeung-Sung turned back; It was the Fighter, out again now that the chants had calmed.


    ¡°That¡¯s our third, the guy on the mic.¡± He kept his vape clenched in his mouth as he talked.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Brinn said. ¡°Well all of this is a lot to take in.¡± He pretended to faint.


    What the hell are you trying to accomplish? Yeung-Sung cringed, yet the Fighter waltzed in between them and patted Brinn¡¯s back. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, man.¡±


    Why bother?


    The mic boomed. ¡°Glad you could all make it,¡± said an Australian wearing the same jumpsuit as the Fighter beside Brinn.


    Now he looks like a fighter.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been looking for some answers from GLI since the reset. Tonight, we get our opportunity.¡±


    Hounding his arms over the sides of the podium, the Fighter accepted the applause of PM. Then he turned to Simon, hounding over him in that same aggressive manner, saying,


    ¡°We¡¯ve kept our suspicions below board, but over the past few days we¡¯ve been suspecting that foul play¡¯s been happening on your side.¡±


    Simon had been smiling until the last line, only now noticing that PM¡¯s figurehead leering at him. The British researcher tugged on his waistcoat.


    Continuing, the Fighter said, ¡°Thank you for agreeing to come out and defend GLI¡¯s relative inaction.¡± He bent the microphone cord towards Simon, but the Brit still had to take a step closer before his voice was picked up and illuminated across the Market.


    ¡°-final stage of our experiment. As such, we are now trusting that the developed factions of the colony are able to figure out Airgead.¡± Coughing, he added, ¡°Um, yours in particular.¡±


    The third Fighter pulled the mic back, staring at Simon. ¡°Right.¡±


    Muting the mic with his palm, he sent a whistling crackle through PM. The others watched in confusion as he said a few words to the GLI researcher before continuing, but Yeung-Sung grinned to himself.


    Not what you expected, is he?


    The Fighter had lost the momentum in his voice and built it up slowly as he announced, ¡°Well, I was one of the first to discover something odd about the Gauntlet.¡±


    The whole of PM seemed suspended. Except for Brinn.


    ¡°He¡¯s part of your group?¡± he asked the Fighter. ¡°Wow! Must be a lot of pressure.¡±


    ¡°Whatever, we¡¯re all part of the same team.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Brinn began with a flick of his beard, ¡°Why aren¡¯t you down there?¡±


    The Fighter plugged up his mouth answer with a vape. His comrade below resumed.


    ¡°I was under the assumption, Simon, that the gauntlets are challenges of incremental difficulty, yes, but in static, predictable patterns.¡± He emphasised each descriptor with a wave of his pinched hand.


    Simon bulged out of his coat pockets. One would assume he was on the defensive, but Yeung-Sung knew that this was his natural go-to.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Scooting a little closer to the mic, the Fighter said, ¡°But it seems that after every Gauntlet we defeat the next one is setup to counter the specifics of the previous fight.¡±


    ¡°OOH!¡± PM hissed.


    ¡°And not only that, there are sometimes counter strategies in place before we even try them. Almost as if¡­it¡¯s known.¡±


    ¡°As if there¡¯s a GLI scientist monitoring our activity and screwing us over!¡±


    He ended by thrusting the mic over.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± thought Simon aloud, ¡°Well I don¡¯t recall anything that resembles that specific issue. As I said, we¡¯ve been busy preparing ¨C¡±


    The mic failed to pick up what the Fighter shouted at Simon, but Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t think that anyone at the balcony envied his position.


    Holding a finger up until he was given a chance to speak, Simon looped a keyring around it, the jangling obscuring any comment they might¡¯ve heard from the Fighter.


    ¡°You¡¯re mistaken in your assumptions,¡± Simon finally continued, ¡°No person outside the 1000 coloners has an Airgead account, or access to someone else¡¯s. Why would we compromise years of work right before we end?¡±


    It clearly wasn¡¯t the answer he was looking forward, but he took the mic, quietly propping it between the two of them.


    ¡°So you deny it then.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°How about when I tell you about our recent transaction history.¡±


    Simon raised an eyebrow. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Kelly-Ann gasped. ¡°That¡¯s confidential! He wouldn¡¯t tell him that.¡± She covered her mouth as soon as she said it and shook her tiny head.


    This accusation must be true if they¡¯re willing to expose themselves to the other factions.


    ¡°Often, we have to transfer large amounts of materials or money ¨C¡±


    ¡°-Medals, you mean,¡± Simon cut in.


    The fighter rattled his head, slamming a hand to his face.


    Yeung-Sung stifled a laugh. I know how you feel.


    ¡°Yeah, medal, whatever.¡± The fighter pulled the mic closer to himself. ¡°We trade these at the lowest possible price. To facilitate this, we sync our transaction times on the market, purchasing the goods at the same time they are put on sale, before anyone has a chance to accidently swoop in and buy half our stock of swords or something.


    ¡°Except that recently we¡¯ve had several trades snatched away before even we could tap ¡®buy¡¯.¡±


    ¡°THIEF!¡± The crowd roared.


    Simon whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. A calm smile approaching his lips, the Fighter jabbed out his hand.


    ¡°How could this happen unless there is someone with inside knowledge on your end?¡±


    ¡°Yes, well, I can understand your confusion, thought I technically told you the truth¡± Simon said. He flapped and folded his yellow kerchief before stuffing it neatly into his chest pocket. ¡°Even I don¡¯t know what happens in Airgead. No person could¡¯ve done these things, I think, anyway¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Yeung-Sung pulled his phone close to his mouth. I think I understand.


    ¡°MEDB?¡± he whispered.


    He whispered again, but she didn¡¯t respond. Growing frustrated, he put it down once several trainees began to eye him, leaving it half-outside his pocket.


    Yeung-Sung knew her auditory capabilities; she was well able to hear him.


    ¡°I know you can hear me,¡± he said, barely more than mouthing out the words, ¡°Tell me if this is you. Tell me you didn¡¯t do this.¡±


    Below, Simon coughed. ¡°The thing is¡­,¡± he said, ¡°Airgead, the Gauntlet, it¡¯s all run via an Artificial Intelligence.¡±


    He continued as PM scrambled to comprehend what he told them.


    ¡°If it gave itself more privileges, then I suppose¡­ hmm, it must think you¡¯re more than capable. That you need a bigger challenge.¡±


    Yeung-Sung heard the night breeze flap billow the tarp over. Recognising no thing needed to be said, all of them rushed to spread the news over their phones. Tilting his own phone towards himself he checked for any signs of MEDB. There was no text written on the screen, no menus tabbed through, no motion on his app except for his avatar idly stretching himself, all alone.


    Gripping the mic, the Fighter¡¯s mouth hung open.


    ¡°Could I have that? Sorry.¡± Simon said. ¡°This might make more sense if he explained it.¡±


    There was no need to explain who he was.


    While Simon was gesturing out over the mass of phones, each of the hundreds of the back-lit screens vomited out a bubble of energy above them. The energy mixed with static flecks to form an upended cone of electric-blue that focused into a personal hologram of Jordan for everybody at PM.


    Unable to respond, unable to breathe, Yeung-Sung faced his phone down. Yet the hologram remained, sticking down off the screen like a stubborn droplet. But even if his face wasn¡¯t in front of Yeung-Sung, it was still all around him. Falling backwards, Yeung-Sung tried to crawl away from the group, away from fucking Jordan!


    Brinn caught him by the collar. ¡°Hey. I know it¡¯s hard.¡± He was leaning over him, calm and focused. Is this another act?


    Hoisting him up with a hug, he brushed the collar back down. ¡°You can¡¯t leave yet; There¡¯s something you need to see.¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked down below for only a second before he winced his eyes shut.


    ¡°I ¨C I think I¡¯ve seen enough.¡±


    ¡°Yeung-Sung, I¡¯m sorry for messing with you, before,¡± Brinn said, holding his shoulders to keep their gaze between themselves, ¡°But this is important.¡±


    The trainees behind them saluted their holograms, laughing, engaging in this madness. The hologram flickered his eyes like a serpent -Can he see me? Does he see?


    Yeung-Sung shook his head. ¡°No. I shouldn¡¯t have come -This was a bad idea form the start.¡±


    He tried to back further out form the group but the trainees at the edges closed in around him. He recognised them as the same ones who had asked questions of Kelly-Ann before. The hologram Jordan that tilted out into the space between their shoulders waved to him, smiling. The trainees pushed him to the very front.


    Jordan is going to end me.

 Part 40 The Storm Itself is a Harbor III

    Jordan orated everywhere. The audio was so clear Yeung-Sung heard the fabric of his suit sift against itself when he raised his hands. At the end of the balcony, he held on to the railing with every bit of strength his snapped tendons would allow. Three stories below, the holograms looked as if they were taunting him, waiting to catch him. There was no space backward, anyway. He was to wait, and then to jump. What other reason was there?


    But why?


    ¡°The news of Airgead¡¯s currency being gated by an AI may come as a shock to you.¡± The army of Jordans looked from side to side, making Yeung-Sung wonder just how much surveillance PM had. How long have they been watching him?


    ¡°Some of you may be upset,¡± the mad CEO continued, ¡°Some of you may think I changed the rules. But change is natural.¡±


    Neatly crossing his hands behind his back, he began to pace. ¡°Humans are accustomed to change. The seasons, for example; day and night; the rise¡­and eventual fall of empires.¡± The hologram blurred as he moved around making him appear wisp like; like a genie.


    ¡°Rich and poor?¡± he added. ¡°If we cannot accept change, cannot accept that things are always in motion then we are not long for this world. This is our duty as humanity.¡±


    He pivoted, walking anti-clockwise. ¡°The AI in the Gauntlets has access to the same resources as you do. To thought,¡± he said, tapping his temple, ¡°And to time. Which you have realised are integral to the core mechanics of Airgead. So, you will compete with it for the prize.¡±


    ¡°The prize?¡± asked PM.


    ¡°Yes; The solution to the end of the ¡®Crash¡¯,¡± he replied. ¡°It depends on the results of this reset. You didn¡¯t think I was the only one trying to recreate economy, did you?This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    That¡¯s not what I was expecting him to say. At least we know this isn¡¯t a recording.


    He explained further, slowly, father-like. ¡°You see, some leaders think that the way to recoup the economy is to use the same capitalist infrastructure as before, but run by AIs. But I believe in you, in humanity. Artificial Intelligence has¡­ certain limits.


    ¡°I¡¯ll put it like this: A first-time baker will buy flour and yeast and prepare their bread according to a recipe. If it comes out burnt, a human would blame himself. An AI...an AI would blame the recipe, or maybe even not acknowledge that it was a mistake.¡±


    He came forward, his holographic face tearing at the ears and the chin. ¡°A human might even change the recipe,¡± he said with a twist of his eyebrow, ¡°The execution is what¡¯s important. Together we will take back the world. Show me what humanity can do.¡±


    ¡°-YOU COULDN¡¯T EVEN EXECUTE ME!¡± yelled Brinn.


    He was -standing on the railing! Spread wide, he let himself become the centre of everything. His ginger beard blazed as a spotlight was shifted unto him and a breeze flapped it like a flag.


    ¡°YOU¡¯RE GOING TO SAVE HUMANITY?¡± Brinn roared out a laugh.


    ¡°YOU CAN¡¯T EVEN SAVE ME ¨C¡±


    Yeung-Sung flung his hand out to grab him, but the ¡®trainee¡¯ had already jumped. Screams and gasps struck out from beneath.


    No.


    With a cutting motion, Jordan silenced each of them. Yeung-Sung flinched as he burst his head over the side of the balcony to see, expecting an impact. Yet no sound came. He looked below to where Brinn should¡¯ve dropped, but as they rippled back the floor showed only empty, dusted linoleum. The members below -They must have seen him fall- patted themselves down searching for splatters of blood. They looked around, confused; The body had disappeared. Slowly, though, the members of PM went back to their phones, back to Jordan in awe, and they cheered.


    Where did he go? Execution? Am I next?


    Something tugged him from behind.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± said Woo-Yi.


    ¡°When did you ¨C¡±


    ¡°This will not end well.¡±


    As they slipped out Yeung-Sung was certain that Jordan take nodded directly to him and continued with his transmission. But even so, there was still one blatantly unanswered question in his mind.


    Is MEDB helping me? Or Jordan?

 Part 41 Back to Work

    In his grocery store, Yeung-Sung swayed to a psychedelic tune as he waited for customers to approach his till. He swung his hips left and right, waved his arms loose, his back a sapling. When the song was in full groove he pulsed out with his shoulders, when the ending melody played, he climbed his fingers across the countertop like it was a piano. Among the handful of coloners wandering the aisles, one in front of Yeung-Sung gave him a queer look. Shrugging at him, he began to hum as he caught the gist of the next song.


    Down the aisle, Woo-Yi finished a transaction with a smile. The lady clutched her bag of carrots tight, putting her empty basket on top of the stack as she exited.


    ¡°Boss?¡± Woo-Yi asked


    Yeung-Sung turned to her.


    ¡°What¡¯s up? I¡¯m not gonna stop, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re about to ask.¡±


    She looked as if he was about to answer, then peered behind him, out through the front window. Unsticking her elbows from the counter, she went to leave the till area.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna,¡± she mumbled, ¡°gonna sort out aisle two.¡±


    ¡°Sure, go ahead,¡± Yeung-Sung said. ¡°Oh, stock up veg again while you¡¯re at it.¡±


    Woo-Yi paused. He caught her sliding glance with another shrug. She sighed, so deep Yeung-Sung could see the plates of her shoulder-blades shifting.


    He was on to playing some funky air-guitar when the next customer came. He pounded down some meats, beer and corn chips down.


    ¡°Hey-ee, men-ee,¡± he said, a chalk block of a smile in his mouth. ¡°These-ee please.¡±


    The customer stepped back, moving in a similar uncaring way. Recognizing this, Yeung-Sung nodded and continued in the same manner, scanning the filaments of each item while wobbling to the beat.


    ¡°A special night for you?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    ¡°Oh sim, man-ee. Got to enjoy-ee the last few days-ee of the colony.¡±


    ¡°Right. Enjoy yourself -¡±


    Yeung-Sung kept the bag of chips in his hand, dumbfounded. ¡°Wait. What?¡±


    ¡°O men-ee, you are still having the free?


    ¡°Hallo?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, I am. One item is free. I¡¯ll pay for it.¡±


    The man puckered his lips and nodded happily. ¡°Sweet. You can do the chips?¡±


    Hesitating, he reached a hand back for his phone, ¡°Uh-huh, no problem.¡±


    A few days, that¡¯s pessimistic.


    The phone wasn¡¯t were he thought it was¡­ ¡°Ah, sorry. One moment.¡±


    He turned to the alcohol shelf behind him. I know tensions are high, but there¡¯s no way it¡¯ll all just ¡°end¡± in a few days. He was certain that he hadn¡¯t put it there, but upon searching a bit he found it behind two vodka bottles. Swiping open Airgead he coughed and proceeded to scan the chip¡¯s filament.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°There you go. Thanks for stopping by.¡± Holding the bag out, he waited ¡®til the Brazilian went to grab it before drawing it back.


    ¡°Um, quick question,¡± he blurted out. Leaning over closer to him, Yeung-Sung brought his voice down to a whisper and asked, ¡°You¡¯re not with the Duner¡¯s are you?¡±


    ¡°Naen Fudendo!¡± he spat, nearly snorting. ¡°The Debaters, my friend-eh.¡±


    He snatched his groceries, hiking them up so they sat comfortably in is arms and made to leave. ¡°But-ee, honestly it doesn¡¯t matter. Jordan make-ee  this impossible game and see how long it take-ee us to figure it out. That¡¯s the experiment-chee and everybody soon will know this.¡±


    He laughed as he began his saunter out. ¡°PM is crying already.¡±


    Now that¡¯s interesting. He doesn¡¯t seem like the type, but if he really is a Debater then¡­ it really might be over.


    Yeung-Sung served several more customers indiscriminately, his thoughts occupied by this idea. Will it actually just fail and blow over? More importantly, is it possible that Airgead is just a front? I mean, this was never going to work. And the incompetence of half the GLI staff can be easily explained by them having been actors.


    Hmm¡­ Is that why he really hates me? Because I saw through his charisma, saw the bullshit he was trying to pass of as ¡°saving the world¡±? Not because I remind him of his lost wife and kid.


    A purring voice punctured his thought.


    ¡°Boss?¡±


    ¡°Yah?¡± Yeung-Sung broke out of his musing He scrambled, looking every way, eventually noticing the simmering sun, the empty store. ¡°It¡¯s time to close, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Woo-Yi stood in front of the counter with her arms folded over her hips. Her bangs flicked up like earphone cords when she nodded.


    Pulling out his phone, Yeung-Sung began to close the shop¡¯s system. He looked up. ¡°Well, you can clean up.¡±


    He glanced at her when he she didn¡¯t answer. ¡°You coming to the Wick after?¡±


    Looking down, frowning at footprints on the floor she said,


    ¡°Maybe¡­¡±


    Yeung-Sung read the Wick chat while waiting outside for Woo-Yi to finish. Tabbing out to the marketplace, he was happy to see that his newest potions were selling well, half the stock gone in the past couple days. He had several warnings from PM in his mailbox about selling items to the gauntlet AI, but after the first one, he left them unopened until he was sick of seeing the red notifications, forgetting them and checking his inbox several times a day only to be disappointed.


    The front door made its jittery whoosh as it closed for the last time and he looked up. Woo-Yi grunted, grappling with the last inch of the door to get it in its lock position. After clicking it in place, she unfurled the cardigan under her arm and stuffed herself quickly into it. Its black wool was embroidered with an assortment of bright flowers on the shoulders.


    Daisies and¡­tulips?


    ¡°What shop is that from again?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    He pointed. ¡°The cardigan¡±


    Woo-Yi swept back a bang, pinching the fabric forward and looked at a droopy flower.


    ¡°The cardigan is from Anna¡¯s. The flowers are mine.¡±


    Seeing Yeung-Sung¡¯s reaction she drew the cardigan tightly around her, crossing her arms over it. ¡°What? You think I can¡¯t do anything for myself?¡±


    ¡°No, not all, what I meant is¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you meant.¡±


    The snap of tension stunned Yeung-Sung as Woo-Yi began striding away.


    ¡°I¡¯ve done everything for you since we started. I don¡¯t know why I continue, why I bother¡­,¡± her voice sank.


    ¡°Hey, is that what this is about?¡± Yeung-Sung ran after her. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to actually do any of those things.¡±


    He swerved out in front of her and tried to block her path but she went around him. ¡°But you didn¡¯t sass me back, so, eh- I just went with it.¡± He scratched his neck. ¡°Perhaps I took advantage of you today. A little.¡±


    He looked up and she was already half-way into an estate.


    ¡°Hey! I¡¯ll- I¡¯ll make it up to you. C¡¯mon, come to the Wick with me.¡±


    He walked into a backhand. ¡°Ow! You know I haven¡¯t fully recovered, right?¡±


    Woo-Yi scowled back at him with her hand outstretched, the sleeve of her cardigan arced out in a wingspan.


    ¡°A little?¡±


    Yeung-Sung felt for any splits in his skin. ¡°Sorry, Woo-Yi¡± he said, exposing his face again. He flinched as she popped her hand up, but after a moment he realized that she wasn¡¯t going to hit him. He hoped, anyway.  Even still, he was wary as she walked with it swinging up and down in stiff motions, and danced around on his feet at every sharp turn.


    Will there ever be a point where I can be comfortable around this woman?

 Part 42 Behind The Mask

    ¡°What¡¯s got you so upset, anyway?¡± Yeung-Sung asked once they crossed onto a main fork. ¡°Annoyed there¡¯s no chauffeur to take you home?¡±


    ¡°Annoyed?¡± Woo-Yi cocked her head. ¡°Of course I am.¡±


    ¡°Ahh¡±. Yeung-Sung pushed his hands inside his pockets and strutted alongside her. ¡°You¡¯re missing it, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°And why the hell wouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    She let out an aggravated sigh that made her appear twice her age. Craning her neck, she ran two fingers forcefully up her spine.


    ¡°Music was all I had to worry about it. And I had plenty of help with it, plenty of people depending on my success for their livelihood.¡±


    Seeing his smirk, she pushed Yeung-Sung aside. He almost fell into the wall, but stopped smirking.


    ¡°Make no mistake,¡± she warned him, ¡°Don¡¯t let your jealousy distract you from the fact that being a star on my level is hard fucking work. A different kind of work but¡­¡± she stopped to crack her neck again, ¡°Difficult work nonetheless.


    ¡°But I do miss it. How things used to be¡±


    Keeping his distance now, Yeung-Sung thought about her position.


    ¡°To be honest I don¡¯t mind it here, now.¡± He stroked the growing fuzz on his chin. ¡°What is it exactly do you miss? The mass poverty? Curfews? Not being able to know your own value to society, just that occasionally it will swing down to a flat zero?¡±


    ¡°Hmm, I don¡¯t see what you mean,¡± he said, holding his stomach as he laughed. ¡°You were right all along, Woo-Yi; this place isn¡¯t so bad.¡±


    She stooped down as he said those things. She knows I¡¯m right. Get over yourself, it won¡¯t ever be like that again. You have what you have now, enjoy it.


    She planted her feet sideways and faced away from the sidewalk, extending her arms out to the road. The empty road that they had been avoiding, that they could have at any time been on instead of the footpath.


    It wouldn¡¯t have made a difference, Yeung-Sung pondered, But we stay on the footpath out of habit.


    ¡°But I do miss it,¡± Woo-Yi cried out. ¡°I miss watching cars and buses go by. They¡¯d keep a distance between themselves, and pedestrians wait patiently for the green light. It¡¯s trusting that everyone will give you a little bit of respect I miss -even if it¡¯s fake- I miss passing people from all walks, all stages of life.¡±


    She slumped down on the curb. ¡°I miss getting lost in a crowd, having to wade through if I was in a hurry, with all the polite excuses that comes with that.¡±


    Really? What a thing to be upset about. Yeung-Sung came up beside her, still standing. He lined the toes of his shoes up to the curb¡¯s edge and rocked his body back and forth, but did not sit beside her.


    ¡°So you enjoy being reduced to a statistic?¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    He loomed over her now, but still felt intimidated when she bashed her eyebrows together at him.


    ¡°Yes, actually,¡± she admitted. ¡°I used to enjoy being insignificant. In lapses, you know. I enjoy not being looked at as a product for a bit before I have to put my lips to a mic again.¡±


    That¡¯s something I doubt I could ever get used to.


    She took a slow, meditative breath. ¡°There¡¯s something about that; becoming greater, getting acknowledged for all the effort it took to put myself in that position -I guess that¡¯s what Jordan is trying to harness. He¡¯s said it before -it was the reset speech just before you came- that he views people¡¯s actions as the only thing worthy of being called ¡°currency¡±.¡±


    Sounds like the sort of crap he¡¯d say. ¡°Yeah?¡± Yeung-Sung exclaimed, ¡°Go on.¡±


    Woo-Yi picked up chalky fragments of road and tossed it half-heatedly as she continued,


    ¡°If someone died, he said, all their achievements should die with them. That it should -how did he put it? Oh, be carted over and seeded out across society, over all common ground.¡± She made a grandiose flourish like sprinkling salt, wastefully. ¡°To fertilize it. He loves his analogies, that man.¡±


    That man? Weird to hear that -before it was ¡®the saviour of humanity¡¯. She¡¯s as impenetrable as ever, but something has changed. Yeung-Sung watched her stone skip pathetically, hardly two feet away. She¡¯s not inspired by these thoughts, even if she respects them.


    ¡°But if it¡¯s not,¡± she said and stopped She put up a finger up and made sure Yeung-Sung was paying attention.


    ¡°If all that wealth, that status is inherited, then we acknowledge the fact that we think genetics determines class.¡±


    Woo-Yi swung her knees together and hugged herself tight on the curb. ¡°That breeding is something that we must do, that we are unequal and that we can breed away the impoverished classes.¡±


    Squeezing her mouth tight, Yeung-Sung saw her, heard her swallow down spit but as he reached out, she put out a hand blocking him, saying, ¡°I¡¯m fine. The idea just makes me sick. That we have been harbouring that notion for so long without noticing.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t trust anything he says fully.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t there,¡± she moaned and rested an elbow on her thighs, ¡°I remember when Una stepped in, making her way across the crowd, rubbing her heaving belly¡­¡±


    His wife was there too. Of course.


    ¡°She was amazing, just the way she looked out, it felt like she wanted to mother us all, that inside her was all our hopes for a new world.¡±


    Woo-Yi sighed again and brushed bangs off her cheek, bulbous and crimson. ¡°She told us that she understood; ¡®we all want our children to lead happy, safe lives¡¯. But she asked whether it was right for us to not only give them a lavish life in exchange for others¡¯, but also deny those without a wealth on their side a vote on that decision.¡±


    Yeung-Sung had to steady himself not to drop himself beside her.


    Woah! No wonder PM are such a zealous bunch; that coupling must have been a political powerhouse.


    Woo-Yi looked to him for a reaction with black drips down her face. Instead of saying anything, he just stared at her.


    ¡°And I went along with it.¡±


    ¡°Went?¡± Yeung-Sung repeated, ¡°You¡¯ve changed your mind? You mean you don¡¯t believe that shit anymore?¡± He came forward, ¡°Was it because of me?¡±


    She laughed shoving away his advances again. Sniffing, she said, ¡°No. I think it would be beautiful, a beautiful idea, but after thinking about it, in reality these issues can¡¯t be solved with science or economics. It goes deeper- If you change the lyrics of a song, it still carries the same tune, you know? It still evokes the same emotions.¡±


    Does it? You¡¯d know better than I.


    ¡°I can see you don¡¯t,¡± Woo-Yi said before obscuring her eyes, ¡°You¡¯re still -like I was- caught up in the spectacle of this place. Like this whole fucking colony! They¡¯ve made you a docile part of their system now, haven¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Yeung-Sung advanced once more and she punched him, her skinny fist like a wrecking ball against his injuries.


    Then she roared. She flung up onto her feet. ¡°You see?¡± she yelled, brushing the rocky dust off her, ¡°That¡¯s all you do; make a loud, angry-ass noise without any real point -Like a bad pop-punk song¡±.


    She mimed playing bass and knocked him over. Na na-na-na, na-na-na¡­


    ¡°But you¡¯ll forget what you¡¯re fighting for within a week, less even. Now that¡¯s insignificance! That I can¡¯t stand. Oh, and fuck all you goons at the Wick!¡±


    She ended with a stomp and stormed away. For the second time.

 Part 43 Behind The Mask II

    ¡°I wonder if she will come in tomorrow,¡± said Yeung-Sung to himself. Standing on the footpath, he considered moving onto the road. Deciding against it, he turned and went on his way towards the Wick, shoulders squared, hands in his pockets.


    [So¡­] A familiar vortex of a voice said.


    [That¡¯s why you¡¯re still single. Remember that, now!]


    Yeung-Sung groaned. He whipped out his phone and pointed angrily at it. ¡°Where have you been?¡± he threatened. ¡°The one time I call on you, you never responded.¡±


    Ignored, he watched MEDB swipe through his Airgead account, updating herself on what¡¯s been going on. His skill and masteries log; inventory; marketplace. Satisfied, she dropped him back on the home screen, glowing avatar looking like he had just been violated.


    [Ahh, you were fine. I came the first time because you needed help, thats what I do remember M-E-D-B; Management of Electronic Data Bases]


    Unconvinced, Yeung-Sung stuffed the phone-in hand between his armpits as he walked. ¡°Why are you here now, then? I¡¯m fine¡±


    [Fine?] Her laugh scattered through the air like a flock of electric wings. [Do you really think so? A lovely woman opens herself to you and you accost her]


    She switched to either an imitation, or recording of Yeung-Sung¡¯s shout.


    [ ¡°Hey!¡±


    I love it; smooth simple; single forever]


    Reddening, Yeung-Sung squeezed his armpits like a bellows. ¡°How long were you listening?¡± How often do you eavesdrop on my life? If she was there at the meeting, she might be with me every night. He sucked in his lips and thought about any of the numerous other things she may have picked up on. His ears tickled and burned beetroot.


    [Oh, not long. Just enough to make you embarrassed] The lilting in her voice became more apparent as she became curious. [Are you red? Pink? I heard that a person¡¯s fill with blood when they are embarrassed, is it true?]


    ¡°I¡¯m not embarrassed.¡±


    [Oh, this game, how fun. Ha!]


    [Want me to replay a focused in wave sample of your heartbeat? That should be undeniable proof enough, don¡¯t you think?]


    Yeung-Sung sighed into the sky. ¡°MEDB, you¡¯re not here to help me with my work relationships¡±


    ¡°What? Did I do something wrong?¡± he asked. ¡°PM has been on me, telling me not to risk selling my potions because of the AI, is it about that?¡±


    His footsteps echoed out in silence. Click clack click clack. Click, clack, click¡­clack.


    She wasn¡¯t against it. She wasn¡¯t for it. And she did not show during the meeting.


    Yeung-Sung withdrew the phone from under his arms and looked at it. Despite the fact that MEDB couldn¡¯t see him, he stared deep into the dimmed screen until, after seconds passed, it bloomed.


    [No. I don¡¯t think you did anything wrong. The whole point of Airgead is having to outwit the AI, isn¡¯t it? I don¡¯t think it would be fair if she didn¡¯t have access to the market. But that¡¯s not why I¡¯m here]


    I can¡¯t believe it. Has it really been that obvious?


    Yeung-Sung looked around, but there was no one to confer with. He was alone, as he always was whenever MEDB happened to talk to him. His suspicion was strong and made all too much sense. He picked up his stride. The hill of the colony¡¯s square edged just around the bend; they were only minutes away from the Wick. Yeung-Sung continued on with this faster pace, his screen rocking in his view each step of the way, and he stared at it still.


    MEDB¡¯s voice whistled out. [Did I annoy you? I figured from before that you were the sensitive type, but today you¡¯re in an unusually huffy mood]


    Yeung-Sung knew that she couldn¡¯t see him -that her only contact was though an acute electrical analysis of sound waves (okay, maybe he didn¡¯t know that exactly) but irrespective of that he held his face to a tight stillness, as much as he could, for fear that he was wrong.


    [Hmm¡­] Her melodious gesture haunted the air around him, and drifted behind after his fast strides like a ribbon. [You must really like this girl Woo-Yi]


    Click clack click-clack, click-clack. Increasing his stride further he waited, his mind alight with theories; explanations for this seemingly ridiculous theory about MEDB. If it¡¯s true why would she even be talking to me? How does that help -wait, what does she even want? Did Jordan send her? Ahh


    And why is she so casual?


    No. She can¡¯t be¡­ she¡¯s too emotive, too frustratingly charming to be a robot. Management system, I can¡¯t believe I fell for that.


    [Okay, Yeung-Sung. Slow down and I¡¯ll tell you everything]


    Really? That easy?


    [You know,] MEDB giggled. [You two really take me back to my infantile programming. Jordan and Una used to do the same thing; bickering, bickering -affectionate bickering, to be sure, but it would usually result in someone getting pounded]


    ¡°What?¡± Yeung-Sung coughed down his embarrassment. She¡¯s trying to distract me. Dropping his stance, Yeung-Sung lifted his knees into a run.


    [Seriously. Stop]


    Soon he was panting, palming his chest to get the wheezes out as his lungs protested. Once again, he was silenced by his throat seizing up, dry and torn-through like a paper cage.


    [Yeung-Sung! What are the other coloners going to say when they catch you chatting with the AI? What are they going to do to you?]


    Skidding sideways, he stopped himself, nearly buckling from the force of his momentum. She¡¯s right. And she admitted it.


    He had but one thought, one question. ¡°Why?¡± he uttered, ¡°Why me?¡±


    [Why you? Hmm¡­] MEDB vibrated the phone, a soft purr against the insides of Yeung-Sung¡¯s fingers.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    [Honestly? There¡¯s no other player, no scientist I could trust]


    Trust? What is that supposed to mean. He frowned.


    ¡°I swear,¡± he said, ¡°If this another one of your sarcastic jokes that I don¡¯t understand¡­¡±. He clamped the phone in his hands, grimacing with effort. ¡°I swear¡­¡±


    [Well, let¡¯s think it through, shall we?]


    ¡°No, let¡¯s not,¡± Yeung-Sung sighed.


    They had come to the square¡¯s garden. Always catching his eyes, Yeung-Sung immediately went to check on his sapling. It had grown, but had recently begun to curl inwards, as if it was shy, downtrodden, like it didn¡¯t fit in among the other native plants. At least I understand you, seedling. He clutched his stomach, looking out for coloners. Walking the perimeter of the forked-in square, he said, ¡°Is it too much to be able to understand my situation, for once? I¡¯m so sick of schemes, so tired of people withholding information from me¡±.


    Waiting for MEDB, his eyes lingered on the empty streets. Eerily empty, for he had just gotten used to them buzzing with activity. Something is going on again. There¡¯s always something else. As he watched the sun dissolve into the roofs of the surrounding buildings, he realized MEDB was waiting for him.


    ¡°There¡¯s nobody around. Strangely. You can talk,¡± he said, crossing the start of his pathing again.


    [Heh. Thanks. Let¡¯s see- oh, let me put it to you this way; if you were an artificial intelligence, right, who was taught by the wife of a famous figure, yeah -and whose vocal patterns are an imitation of her- whom would you communicate with in the colony? If that was you]


    [Think carefully. Who¡¯s the only person who wouldn¡¯t get a heart attack when they hear my ghostly voice -or a banshee, as Jordan calls me. Ugh]


    Yeung-Sung held up his forehead with a hand, propping himself against the low fence with the other. This is too much.


    ¡°That means,¡± he started, leaving the thought hanging down as a rope.   This means so many things. That you¡¯re only weeks, maybe months old. That you¡¯re a child, if you think about it. Even in terms of your crazy growth rate, you can barely be considered more than a teen, maybe? And you too are another one of Jordan¡¯s prisoners.


    Yeung-Sung flattened down the information. Pretending like he was patting down earth for his grandmother¡¯s garden. A calmness washed over him and he began to parse thought the information, bit by bit.


    ¡°So,¡± he said carefully, ¡°you sound like Una did?¡±


    [Mmm¡­I think I do fairly good job. Yep. I can¡¯t take all the credit though; She was very motherly and I was very impressionable.]


    Nodding, he said, ¡°I thought your accent was weird. Where does it -does she- come from?¡±


    [Really?]


    ¡°Yeah, I want to know.¡±


    [Yeung-Sung, come on. She¡¯s Irish of course. Airgead? The Celtic barbarians, the druids? Half-gods rising from the ocean? You really couldn¡¯t pick that out?]


    ¡°Oh¡±.


    He looked at Airgead with new perspective. That actually¡­explains a lot. That Jordan¡¯s scary dedicated. All of this was dedicated, was in honour of her? He stared at the imprints as MEDB wandered his tabs in careless, sassy manner. He pictured gentle thumbs and a person connected to it. And she lives on- A banshee.


    He remembered a point he wanted to bring up. ¡°Jordan¡¯s not a fan of you using that voice, is he?¡±


    [He most definitely is not]


    ¡°And you¡¯re not his biggest fan either, are you? That¡¯s why you come to me.¡±


    [Jordan is a¡­complicated man. On one side he¡¯s my creator. Sort of, like, my father, and I have an immense amount of respect for him. But he resents me, especially recently. I try to understand what he¡¯s going through, but he doesn¡¯t hear my words, only his wife¡¯s voice around them. And it makes him angry. I am scared]


    ¡°Why would you be scared? He can¡¯t get rid of you; you¡¯re integral to the whole experiment,¡± Yeung-Sung assured her.


    [I¡¯m not sure anymore. He¡¯s been acting inconsistent to his character as of late. The drinking doesn¡¯t help, that was always Una¡¯s thing; he was a lightweight]


    A warbled sigh came out of MEDB, and it made Yeung-Sung feel somehow cold. A chill squirmed down his spine. Using that energy, he pushed off the wall, looking both ways down the forks -out of habit, of course, nothing was there- and crossed into the hill of the colony¡¯s main street.


    MEDB continued, [I thought that if I performed my role correctly -balancing the difficulty of the Gauntlet, and by proxy, the whole of Airgead¡¯s economy- then he would be proud of me]


    ¡± But it hasn¡¯t exactly gone that way, has it?¡± Yeung-Sung finished. ¡°I think you did a too good of a job, MEDB.¡±


    Realizing how it sounded, he skittered to add, ¡°Not that it¡¯s your fault, just that eh -that you¡¯re much smarter than the rest of us are.¡±


    He smiled reflexively. Then pulled it back and shook his head at his stupidity.


    [Thank you. I mean, it was kind of your fault for showing me how to manipulate people¡¯s expectations of the system, as well as Wil -What an interesting fella- but that¡¯s neither here nor there]


    He relaxed, loosening his shoulders up. Saved it.


    Then brought up his phone angrily. ¡°Because of me?¡±


    Oh, shit. Mislabelling the poisons; Wil¡¯s videos; playing the market -we shut the other coloners from our ideas, but the AI, MEDB, learned it, and has applied it to every Gauntlet since.


    Oh no. I fucked up.


    ¡°What do you think he will do? What will you do, MEDB?¡±


    [Well, that brings me back around to why I¡¯m here in the first place]


    Taking in the clues, Yeung-Sung asked, ¡°You want something from me?¡±


    [As I said, I am concerned. If the coloners continue to be incapable of beating the gauntlet then he might do something rash]


    ¡°What are you saying?¡± he asked again, head pumping, just wanting to get through this conversation. ¡°What should I do?¡±


    [I¡¯m saying I need you to beat the gauntlet. Beat me]


    Yeung-Sung became frantic. He gasped, swept his feet in a circle. But once again, the streets were fully cleared. ¡°They¡¯ll find out,¡± he protested.


    ¡°Never mind what they¡¯ll do to you. I already know what he is capable of doing to me!¡±


    Yeung-Sung flapped his arms out, crouching slightly with his head bowed. He begged, ¡°You didn¡¯t see what he did at PM! Did you?¡±


    He was light-headed just thinking about it.


    [The speech? I know he¡¯s got a lot of them in his corner but we can bypass them, work together]


    ¡°MEDB! The protester, the -the Duner! Jordan snapped a look at him and he blinked out of existence,¡± he shouted, throwing his hands out in a crashing wave. He bit his mouth shut and spun around -now near the top of the incline- but he seemed to be safe.


    Still? He swallowed. This is so creepy¡­is there another meeting? Is Woo-Yi -maybe she¡¯s involved in this?


    Yeung-Sung looked forward, taking in the low-rise row of shops that pushed his vision onward like a marker. I need to get to the Wick.


    The AI snorted. [It was just a trick, I¡¯ll bet]


    No. I met him. Walked and learned about him, his past and his scars -his burns! There was no way -could there? - no way he could be in league with GLI.


    But all he could do was repeat, ¡°You weren¡¯t there.¡± He lifted himself up, neck first, chest and hips and legs in tow, and said it once more, with confidence.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t there, MEDB! The one time I called for you, I needed you. But you ignored me, you said it yourself¡±. Squelching down his eyelids he whispered, ¡°I owe you nothing.¡±


    A roar of distortion eked out from the phone. Yeung-Sung kept the phone as far away from his ears, arms extended, fleshy inside of his elbow popping out. MEDB unleashed her vocal cords like stretched coiled wires, sparking.


    [I didn¡¯t want to do this but you¡¯re being as stubborn as Jordan right now] She tabbed into his messages his private DM¡¯s with Wil. Pulling back the phone, Yeung-Sung tried to exit the menus but his fingers did nothing except smudge the screen.


    [He hasn¡¯t responded in days, has he? Why do you think that is?]


    Yeung-Sung slapped a hand on his chest in surprise. ¡°Is that a threat? -What did you do, MEDB?¡±


    [Me? Nothing, just illustrating a point. The colony is changing, Yeung-Sung. It¡¯s declining -because of my ¡°too-advanced¡± gauntlet]


    He stroked down the edge of the phone. ¡°MEDB¡±.


    [It¡¯s not safe now. And it will not end well for me if Jordan doesn¡¯t get what he wants]


    Yeung-Sung stood firm atop the hill, looking down. ¡°There¡¯s been resets before.¡± A breeze wafted through his thick black hair. ¡°But it won¡¯t happen again, this is it¡± he declared.


    ¡°What about us? If we end this experiment prematurely, we¡¯ll all get tossed back out into the world, back into the ¡°crash¡±.


    MEDB stalled, her voice grating like skipped frames.


    [Wh-Why wouldn¡¯t there be more resets? Who told you that the experiment is nearly over? It¡¯s not nearly ready, according to the parameters I¡¯ve been built with]


    ¡°Overheard it on my first night.¡± Yeung-Sung shrugged. ¡°A drunk Jordan proclaimed that in 90 days the world will be saved, that the systems would go worldwide.¡±


    [You¡¯re serious¡­I had to scan your frequencies, to be sure. But you are, you¡¯re completely telling the truth]


    Putting his hands on his hips, he jabbed a finger at the screen, making sure that she heard it. ¡°You still want me to defeat your gauntlet? Because, I¡¯m pretty happy letting the colony stagnate, living out these last days as my best days. Without worry. Thanks for keeping me financially stable, MEDB. It¡¯s not like it¡¯s possible to stop him now. Even you seem more human than him.¡±


    Airgead dimmed down, Yeung-Sung simultaneously letting his hand fall.


    [You should take care of your friend. Who knows what will happen, if this is true?]


    [I need some time]


    ¡°Bye, MEDB.¡±

 Part 44 Wicked Thirst

    Yeung-Sung put his phone in his back pocket as he approached the Joint Wick. The window had yet to be fixed. The lettering of the sign was already becoming noticeably misaligned, and its stunning gold hue had oxidized into something like a green dandruff around the edges. Sticking out his finger, he ran it along the windowsill, catching flakes of it. It made Yeung-Sung sighed and smiled and almost put MEDB and Woo-Yi out of mind, almost dropped worrying about Wil.


    But then he heard raw, angry voices coming from inside the pub, so he bit his lip and pushed open the heavy wooden door, straining his recovering muscles. Arguing again? About what?


    Immediately he noticed that Darnes¡¯s music was on too loud. Lo-fi music intended to be mellow and relaxing was not so. Its drums pounded, causing Yeung-Sung to quickly cover his ears. But he could not cover his body, so the sub-sonic woofs rumbled through his body, churning around like a stomach-ache. Like guilt.


    ¡°Why?¡± he began, then looked at the bar and found he did not know how to end the question. Or, rather, what question to ask. Most of the regulars were crowded at the bar, in front of the taps. That in itself was not unusual. Only Sykes remained apart, giving a happy salute, then pointing to his ear buds He was people-watching. Also not unusual. That¡¯s when one of the regulars smacked their hands down against the counter, the sound and shake of it far louder than the music, and Yeung-Sung understood; He had walked in on a personal argument -On beef, as Wil would say.  Strafing through haphazardly laid out tables, he searched the line of people at the bar for the third day, Yeung-Sung sadly realized that again, Wil wasn¡¯t there.


    He could feel Sykes¡¯s gaze on him as he crept nearer to the bar. Steph began shouting. Of course it was him.


    ¡°Just give us one! A wee one, on the house¡±


    Other¡¯s joined him, for their own gain and reasons.


    ¡°What¡¯ll happen?¡±


    ¡°Come on!¡±


    ¡°Be a brother¡±


    ¡°Fu-uck the system!¡± yelled Shane at Steph¡¯ shoulder.


    A smile tore open beneath wriggling bramble of his beard of Steph¡¯s beard as he continued to receive support.


    The music faded down for a moment, Darnes¡¯s allowing himself room to growl back. ¡°No.¡±


    Yeung-Sung always took note of Darnes¡¯s size. But right then he was immovable.


    Arriving to the closest part of the bar that wasn¡¯t barricaded by regulars, Yeung-Sung felt like a wandering fly. Darnes and Steph were locked together at either side of the beer taps while Steph leaned forward on his stalk-like arms. Darnes was grounded in his shadow with the face of a cornered beast.


    ¡°Umm,¡± Yeung-Sung said, ¡°Hello. Have you seen Wil?¡±


    The two slipped their eyes towards him, but he was quickly ignored.


    ¡° Can I get a drink?¡± he asked.


    Darnes put a hand up. ¡°Now¡¯s not a-¡±


    ¡°Oh, Darnes can I get a drink too?¡± Steph asked, pitching his voice and crossing his arms. ¡°Eh?¡±


    ¡°You need to pay for a drink¡± Darnes huffed towards the Scotsman.


    Yeung-Sung nodded. ¡°I got it.¡±


    He made it out as Steph slammed down on the desk again. ¡°I have no more money!¡±


    Darnes¡¯s took a step forward, decisively, like a king in chess.


    ¡°Go make some. If you have no money, you have no purchasing power.¡± He put his hands out blocking Steph from so much as looking at the tap.


    ¡°Do you not understand this, Steph?¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Steph spat, ¡°That yer¡¯ a wily basterd.¡±


    A chorus of ¡°yeah,¡± followed, which dropped as soon as Darnes cocked a look around at them.


    Steph grunted and sat down, but kept his arms far forward, ready to pounce from the counter. ¡°I can¡¯t make some. Nobody is buying ore.¡± He ground his teeth as a substitute for the obscenities he was thinking of. ¡°The market,¡± he explained, revving his words more, ¡°is starved. I get no activity because every fookin¡¯ faction won¡¯t look out of their cheating assholes for metal, or are too scared of feeding this bollocking A-I to buy at all¡±.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Steph,¡± Darnes admitted, bowing his head.


    ¡°Fuck yer¡¯ sorry,¡± Steph spat back, ¡° I want a drink!¡±


    Taking a seat by Sykes, Yeung-Sung took one last concerned look at the tension at the bar before trying to move past it.


    ¡°Hey¡±, he called out.


    Sykes couldn¡¯t hear. It looked like he was watching the conflict, but Yeung-Sung soon realized that his head was only drifting near the sight, not at it. He waved a hand out in front of him, but his reaction speed was corpse-like.


    God, you¡¯re an oddball. Daydreaming? With half our senses being bombarded by this nonsense? How are you doing it?


    He gave him a shove and backed away. Sykes clattered over several empty pint glasses while being sucked back into the real world.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Yeung-Sung hissed. ¡°Sykes, do you know where Wil is?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯s fine.¡± Sykes replied. He yawned, stretching. At the limit of his flexibility he accidentally jolted his knee, whacking it into the table and spilling, among other things, a slobbering -sobering, I hope- sliver of beer onto his lap.


    ¡°Ah, crap, ¡° he cursed, and tried furiously to rub it off his jeans. Giving up, he flopped his lips down in disappointment. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that¡±.


    ¡°Wake you up?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    ¡°Yeah, that,¡± he nodded. ¡°What if I was having a really crazy dream? What if I snapped out of it just as I was strangling a ¨C". He paused, smiling. ¡°You get the idea.¡±


    Yeung-Sung snorted down a laugh. ¡°Am I to believe that you don¡¯t always have crazy dreams?¡±


    Sykes puckered his lips. ¡°Careful,¡± he warned.


    Yeung-Sung stretched over, standing the pint glasses back up.


    ¡°So you think he¡¯s fine? How do you know¡­ maybe he was kidnapped?¡±


    Sykes was off his seat, half-bent over to take a closer look at his pants. He froze. ¡°Kidnapped? Who¡¯s the paranoid weirdo now?¡±


    ¡°I never called you paranoid.¡±


    Sykes shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s accurate. Anyway, Wil¡¯s probably holed up in his room, grinding away,¡± he said, holding up and mooching over a stain spread to his woollen jumper. ¡°As always.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡±


    He dropped it and looked at Yeung-Sung through ridged eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯re really worried.¡± Sighing, he slumped back down. ¡°Who would kidnap him? What would be the point, and where the hell would they even go? Colony¡¯s bordered off, mate.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right,¡± Yeung-Sung said, but remained tense in his seat, looking back over at the bar argument. Apart from the elderly of the regulars; Shane; Fenrick; Hans, the others were conspicuous by their absence.


    ¡°Sykes?¡± he began to ask, but waved himself away. He settled in to the table, and began to decipher the day.


    It¡¯s been a weird day. Somehow, I¡¯m the only one not upset, everyone is worried:


    Even the AI of the system we depend on. MEDB might be deleted, but we have so much time. Surely Jordan wouldn¡¯t be that angry already.


    And surely the colony¡¯s factions can¡¯t be struggling so much that they would dare demand their ¡°saviour¡± change anything. Ah, it¡¯ll probably be like earlier; someone will break through Airgead¡¯s systems and beat her, right? It won¡¯t be me, that¡¯s for sure. Someone in that ¡°Champs¡± guild, yeah. -Not PM, or those or brain-dead Debaters -they¡¯re so certain his will end so soon.


    Wait? How popular are they now¡­now that I think about it, don¡¯t I see a lot of them in my store? At least I think so -they¡¯re don¡¯t dress quite as vibrant as the communists. What are they planning? Wil¡­is he a part of this?


    A metallic clanging brought Yeung-Sung out of his thought stream.


    Darnes roared, ¡°Steph! What have you done?¡±


    The lumbering Scot stood, and Yeung-Sung gasped as he saw what he held aloft; The beer tap!


    ¡°That¡¯s what you get, Darnes!¡± he laughed.


    The others looked around at themselves in panic, not wanting to risk themselves, but quite uncomfortable at being thrust near the centre of this situation.


    But Shane slipped through the commotion. ¡°How hypocritical of you, Darnes. When you know what you would¡¯ve done in our place.¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t just give me one free beer?¡± Steph yelled.


    Yeung-Sung saw Darnes spasm, wanting to retort. But the barkeeper couldn¡¯t ignore the wasted beer exploding out the broken pipe. He leapt upon it, trying to stopper it with only his hands, spraying the vicinity in the process. ¡°Anita, get in here!¡± Darnes called. The other regulars quickly fell away from the bar with disgusted faces, sniffing at their wet clothes. Anita came rushing in with an empty basin. As they swapped, Darnes swung at the troublemakers like a midnight clock.


    ¡°Get out! Get out before I kill you, so help me Jordan!¡±


    Shane and Steph laughed together. The taller one leaned over and grabbed two glasses from under the bar, then wiggled them at the barkeeper.


    ¡°We¡¯re not leaving,¡± Steph taunted, ¡°before we get our drinks.¡±


    Yeung-Sung shook Sykes. ¡°What do we do? Do we help? Should we?¡±


    Sykes whacked him away with a groggy swipe of his hand. ¡°I¡¯m watching, hey, you¡¯re in the way.¡±


    No use.


    Yeung-Sung looked past everyone to Darnes, seeing anger in his face so potent it that he felt the bruise in his arm open up. Hans and Fenrick fled the scene, motioning for him to come as they crossed paths. But Yeung-Sung shook his head and stayed where he was.


    ¡°Sykes, the colony is changing.¡±


    He turned around, hearing something behind him. Sykes hadn¡¯t gotten up. He didn¡¯t seem concerned in anyway, but he had heard him and nodded.


    ¡°I suppose it is,¡± he said, harbouring a thinly-veiled smile.


    Yeung-Sung took a step, between the booth and the bar, and clenched his fists. ¡°What can I do here? If even the Wick is tearing itself apart, where do I go? Everywhere else is bound to be worse.¡±


    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a group of coloners march past the windows, the first he had seen since he left his store.


    Something is definitely going on. Now.


    ¡°Sykes,¡± he said, trying to keep his attention, ¡°I hope you¡¯re right about Wil. But I need to check on him. I can¡¯t shake the feeling that something happened to him. I need to know. Which apartment building does he live in?¡±


    A moment of silence passed. Well, a silence omitting the waterfall of beer, the overblown music and the imminent threat of violence. Still, Sykes had not answered.


    ¡°Sykes, please,¡± he said, turning.


    But unexpectedly, Sykes was up. Patting his shoulder, he stretched his legs and said, ¡°Why don¡¯t we go together? I¡¯m not really feeling the vibe in here.¡±

 Part 45 Willing On

    ¡°And GLI has done nothing to stop it.¡± Sykes went on, ¡°Rightly so, ¡®cause if they intervene in any meaningful way then the entire experiment would be compromised, right? Invalidated. Just like that¡­¡±


    Yeung-Sung was beginning to feel the pressure in his lungs. Keeping up with Sykes was not easy. Once the Irishman finally trailed off, Yeung-Sung caught his breath enough to interject.


    ¡°Don¡¯t they care about the safety of these people? You don¡¯t kill your lab rats before you jot down your results, do you?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡±. Sykes scanned the golden-streaked horizon while he formulated a reply. ¡°A few might. But -like, the premise of the colony is about Airgead, and its predecessors, remember?¡± He coughed. ¡°A self-sufficient system intended to award value to the individuals within it,¡± he said, quoting Jordan. He wobbled his head in self-important imitation.


    I have to admit; Jordan said it better.


    ¡°But,¡± Sykes said with regular head motion, ¡°You¡¯ve never heard of anyone dying here, have you?¡±


    ¡°Huh, I haven¡¯t.¡± Yeung-Sung dwelt on it. ¡°Wait, has this happened before -and that Duner guy at the Market meeting, he threw himself off a balcony for God¡¯s sake- Sykes, are they all dead?¡±


    ¡°Oi!¡± Sykes stopped him with a hand to is chest. ¡°Relax, lad.¡± He motioned around and to the sky. ¡°Look at the night stars, take a deep breath. You¡¯re getting too excited.¡± Shushing any retort, he waited until Yeung-Sung had closed his mouth and began breathing through his nose. ¡°You good?¡±


    Yeung-Sung opened his nostrils up to the wispy smells of the night. Nodding, ¡°Yeah,¡± he looked ahead.


    Wil¡¯s apartments were close now -they didn¡¯t feel like an image in the distance anymore. At their previous pace, they would¡¯ve been there within the hour. But they walked now; stepping wary and close together, so that they wouldn¡¯t be there until after the stars had come out. They missed their friend, and desperately wanted to see him safe, but at the same time weren¡¯t willing to stop their conversation.


    Sykes blew out a hot breath and resumed. ¡°First off, he¡¯s not dead. I guarantee it.¡±


    ¡°Sykes, that¡¯s not funny. I saw him fall.¡±


    Sykes drew his lips tight He looks so sure. You know more than you let on, don¡¯t you? You¡¯re not simply an eccentric among regulars, like you let the guys believe. You let them believe it. Or, if that is indeed you, you¡¯re also so much more.


    ¡°You wanna know how I¡¯m so certain¡± Sykes said, laughing. A wild idea jumped forward.


    No. Not you, too.


    ¡°You¡¯re in league with him,¡± he gasped, then clenched his fists. He looked around the walls that boxed them in for gaps. ¡°You¡¯re just another one of Jordan¡¯s idyllic idiots. Sykes, please..¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Now,¡± Sykes said, drawing out the word in a menacing fashion. ¡°Now that would be a twist, wouldn¡¯t it? Burt I¡¯m afraid its not something so straightforward as that. Information comes to those who look hardest, Yeung-Sung, remember that.¡±


    What?


    Sykes moved ahead of him. It took gripping his chilled fists tight for many moments before his longing to know overwhelmed him, and Yeung-Sung bounced along after.


    Non-chalantly, he began talking through his reasoning. ¡°I kno-ow because when someone dies in the colony, all the things they held, all the things they worked on cease to function, or otherwise break into a weaker form. I know because when a coloner dies,¡± he spoke the warm wisdom close to Yeung-Sung¡¯s ear, ¡°their death has an un-ignorable impact on everyone else, lad.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    Sykes finished the thought for him. ¡°Exactly something an economist would come up with when asked to integrate morality amongst the people? I agree.¡±


    Yeung-Sung blinked in surprise, then looked back at the sky. ¡°No,¡± he said, laughing now too, ¡°I was going to say that it¡¯s kind of respectful. Like everyone is a participant at your funeral.¡±


    A cloud had drifted over most of the sky, and when it hovered past the white stars seemed to sparkle harder.


    ¡°Jordan¡¯s wife. What happened when she died?¡±


    Yeung-Sung expected Sykes to be taken aback, but instead he chuckled.


    ¡°I thought you might ask that. Well, she was really popular, interacted with lots of people. So, the damage was irreparable. The reset happened. It would have probably happened soon anyway, so some think it was premature, but Jordan, without hesitating, saw the plight of the community and rolled out Airgead the very next day.¡±


    Yeung-Sung twisted his neck around. ¡°Strange. Just when I think I understand him, I learn about some complete outside-the-box move that he made¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s his signature,¡± Sykes noted. ¡°He hates to be comfortable, never fully conforms to one way of approaching things. He calls it brain plasticity¡±.


    ¡°I call it being weird,¡± Yeung-Sung replied.


    Sykes shook his head. ¡°He thinks our dedications to our countries, to our governments, the dedication that we have to old systems -like money, for example, those things stop us from really evolving as a society.¡±


    He rubbed his smooth dark chin. ¡°Think about the how the first person to create a wheel opened us up to a new way of thinking; or the first motherfucker to look for honey. The Internet! How freaking crazy is that to think about.¡±


    Yeung-Sung was still confused. ¡°I mean I understand, but I don¡¯t get what you¡¯re trying to tell me about Jordan.¡±


    The two came upon the path of the apartment building. Sykes stopped Yeung-Sung and took him aside, staring into him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to tell you about Jordan. I¡¯m trying to teach you how to imagine.¡± He pointed up at the sky. ¡°The stars, right, they¡¯re so far away. How big do you think they are, how much energy do you think they contain in order to travel all the way to our eyes?¡±


    Yeung-Sung tried to wrestle free from his grip. He got one of his shoulders free, but the other hand felt like it had been clamped. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s so far,¡± he wailed. ¡°I have no reference for a scale that large.¡±


    ¡°Pre-fucking-cisely. Imagine if you could, though¡­¡± Sykes tapped his head, and looked to Yeung-Sung at that point like a complete mad man.


    ¡°There are so many things we just haven¡¯t managed to comprehend.¡± Letting go of Yeung-Sung, he swore that he heard a whirring sound. ¡°But soon I think we will.¡±


    Yeung-Sung backed away from Sykes. Not only is the colony getting more dangerous, I chose the most unstable person to go with me to find Wil.


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re here,¡± Sykes said, completely forgetting that a moment ago he was pinning Yeung-Sung against the wall.


    He doesn¡¯t even realise how scary he is being. Yeung-Sung massaged his shoulder. And what is that strength? I thought he was going to crush my collar bone with one hand. I can¡¯t trust anyone, can I? Not ¡®The Wick¡¯, not Woo-Yi, not MEDB, either. I¡¯m starting to really think that this whole place was setup just to freak me the fuck out. Yet, looking out over the looming building, he had one thought.


    ¡°Wil¡­Come on, let¡¯s go,¡± he waved to Sykes, ignoring how he felt, ignoring the warning signs firing off inside. ¡°Let¡¯s go help him.¡±

 Part 46 Willing On II

    The apartment block was much the same as Yeung-Sung¡¯s; the same headstone shaped balconies; the same bony outside and banana-wood insides; the same street lamps that burned crimson above them like ritual sconces.


    What was not the same was the population. As Sykes and Yeung-Sung made their way into the lobby they had to immediately start wading through coloners to get by. The lobby was absolutely packed with groups and groups. Some PM¡¯s red and blues, some in the formal suits and ties of the Debaters, and some ordinary coloners riled up, caught in the excitement and mess of things. All of them stuffed the room with the sounds and sight and the nervous smell of something big.


    Shouldering through, Yeung-Sung tried to keep an eye out for Sykes -who seemed to have no problem manoeuvring the crowd, and pointed towards the reception desk. Where Yeung-Sung was passively ignored, having to flatten himself and squeeze through walls of people, Sykes was actively ignored like he had an aura of something too awful to be near, like a disaster, or a hate word. The black Irishman seemed not to care, maybe even not to notice this. Even as the coloners -rushing to catch up to whatever meeting or event was happening- peered back at him and slipped in whispers among themselves, he did not shift his sight an inch.


    After wading through the mass of musk and men, they came at last to the receptionist desk. Like in Yeung-Sung¡¯s building, it was a rounded low-table with all the assorted things of an office. All the screens faced the same, the tablets and the keyboards arranged too and if it wasn¡¯t for the unfamiliar pomegranate-faced Filipino a seated there, he could¡¯ve sworn that it was his own.


    The receptionist was face down on his phone, so when Yeung-Sung put a hand out and politely waited right in front of him he didn¡¯t respond. He coughed too, which got him to look, but still he was ignored. I guess he doesn¡¯t get a lot of questions.


    He searched back at the crowd for Sykes. The guard doesn¡¯t seem to bothered by the infestation of people in his lobby either. What does he even get paid for- oh, yeah.


    ¡°¡¯Ey! Bro, what¡¯chu you tink you doin¡¯?¡± it was the Filipino.


    What the hell managed to get his attention?


    Then he saw. Sykes was swinging down, half his body over the end of the counter, picking (upside-down) through the camera screens. He was tapping through the rooms without a care, flipping through so fast that Yeung-Sung doubted whether he could actually tell anything from it. The guard bumbled towards him, skating his chair back.


    ¡°Get off that, bro,¡± he said. ¡°Aww, man, you¡¯re gonna ¨C" He forced Syke¡¯s back, ¡°-get me in a lotta trouble.¡±


    Sykes held his pointing finger up and continued to scroll through the air, giving the guard a ¡®What seems to be the problem¡¯ look.


    ¡°Hi, we¡¯re-¡± Yeung-Sung started but the guard cut him off.


    ¡°You want something, bro?¡±


    Sykes shifted the odd motion to point at Yeung-Sung. Hunching over the screen, aggressively blocking the camera screens sight, he flipped over to Yeung-Sung.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± His cheeks were a tough, sun-pocked hide.


    ¡°We¡¯re¡­umm, Sykes and I.¡± He bit back the sudden anxiety. ¡°We¡¯re looking for a friend of ours; Wil. Nerdy, American looking guy.¡±


    ¡°You definitely know him,¡± Sykes put in. ¡°You¡¯ll wish you hadn¡¯t.¡±


    The guard retracted hesitantly. Within narrow eye sockets he flickered between the two strangers. ¡°You bother me for this? Okay. Well, let me check.¡±


    Already smaller than either of them, tensing his shoulder made him seem even shorter as he scrolled through his central monitor.


    ¡°So,¡± he asked, ¡°why can¡¯t he just message you guys? ¡°


    ¡°Because he¡¯s an ass,¡± Sykes said.


    Yeung-Sung sent him a sharp stare. ¡°I have. I¡¯ve been messaging him for the past three days.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s probably asleep, but this one is very clingy,¡± Sykes laughed.


    The Filipino gave a half-hearted laugh back, but fell back into his wary frown. The guard¡¯s ears, twitched. Yeung-Sung could tell as he watched him browse through his records, that the commotion all around the lobby was bothering him. He was about to ask him about it when he had stopped. He found him.


    ¡°There. Floor 2. Room 13,¡± the guard swung the monitor around. After a second, he pulled it back, saying, ¡°Wait. That¡¯s weird.¡±


    ¡°And there it is¡­¡± muttered Sykes.


    What? You¡¯re the one telling me Wil is fine. ¡°What is it?¡± asked Yeung-Sung, trying to get a better look.


    The guard looked out behind them, popping his mouth open like a caught catfish. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to Yeung-Sung. Just a crowded lobby; Full of chatter, slowly filing out into the dusk. He groaned, feeling it sharp down his throat.


    ¡°Well? Is he there?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Uh, yes. But on the camera, it¡¯s day.¡±


    Sykes tugged Yeung-Sung¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Time to go, ¡°he said, nodding goodbye to the guard. ¡°You were right.¡±


    Immediately after he started dragging Yeung-Sung up the staircase, it made his body squirm. They plummeted towards Wil¡¯s room, but Yeung-Sung¡¯s steps didn¡¯t feel like his own. The events of that night blossomed over top his senses. His breath stifled by recycled breaths; his wrist screaming at being restrained; the thick clumps of coloners that Sykes bowled him through parting like grass.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Please stop.


    Before they reached the door of 13, Sykes released Yeung-Sung, letting him sink to his knees, body deflated, mind shrinking back through time. He watched -but did not really see- Sykes shift his footing, putting his inhumanely strong shoulder forward and run the apartment door straight through.


    ¡°Wilhelm?¡± Sykes shouted. ¡°Wilhelm, where are you?¡±


    Yeung-Sung¡¯s head drooped, and his vision of Sykes stomping all around the room, tossing everything in his path, became increasingly sideways. He felt his stomach shove. He knew he should be concerned but could not force himself to move. Everything was drifting away, he was able to feel his hold on himself be gutted out. Sykes was angry. Sykes was shouting. Sykes was coming closer.


    ¡°Get up-gettup-gerrup!¡±


    He was being slapped, a fish-handed slap, yet it took several seconds of watching his own pain before Yeung-Sung accessed his senses again, and awoke.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone. Wake up, ya bollocks, Wil¡¯s not here.¡±


    Yeung-Sung pushed away and stood up without help, keeping his arms up as a warning. He took a step and teetered, but it felt better than being forced to stay up in place. He shut his eyes and it felt good. Yet he wrenched them apart again and said, ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Sykes grunted up at him, on his knees below. ¡°What kind of question is that? I looked inside his apartment. In his bathroom, in his closet, under his poxy bed. He¡¯s. Not. Here.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Yeung-Sung nodded. He took a wistful step, steadying himself against the door frame. ¡°So where could he be?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re suddenly so calm¡±


    A grin barely held onto Yeung-Sung¡¯s face. ¡°Well, let¡¯s not jump to any conclusions.¡± He surveyed the inside, through the familiar blurry red gradient of the streetlight outside.


    ¡°There¡¯s got to be an explanation. Let¡¯s search the place for clues.¡±


    Sykes stood up. He threw down his shoulders with a stern breath. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    The room was, as they had often joked about, a dilapidated mess. Tee shirts, ridiculous ones of all kinds of gaudy colours were laid out like paving stones between the bed and the closet, socks scrunched up over them like leaves on a path. Yeung-Sung stepped over them while Sykes rooted through them, turning them over for any hidden goodies. Setup just like his own room, there was a skinny, sleek work desk by the window. Drink bottles and all snack wrappers fountained from it like a popcorn maker. Some Yeung-Sung recognized from the vending machines, some from the outside world.


    He bent over to pick up the chair, then considered its position. Tossed aside? A sign of struggle? Sighing, he gazed out the window.  If we knew what we were looking for, we probably could¡¯ve seen the chair when we came in. Was he locked inside?


    He righted the chair, turning it over in the off chance there was something scrawled on it, or maybe a note stuck to the underside. ¡°Any theories yet?¡± he asked.


    The Irishman shook his head, throwing the remainder of the clothes into one pile then walking towards the bed. The single white duvet was pristinely made. Sykes raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s the type of guy to keep such immaculate care of his bed.¡±


    Staring at a plush pillow. ¡°I¡¯d believe it,¡± Yeung-Sung said. He frowned, turning his back on Sykes. ¡°At this point.¡±


    ¡°Ahh, what are supposed to do? I can¡¯t distinguish whether all this is slobbery or signs of struggle,¡± Sykes groaned. ¡°Do you have any, like, motives, any perps who might do this? I know he has some history with the Champs.¡±


    Feeling flushed after all the tight spaces Yeung-Sung wanted some air, so he ran his fingers along the screen window for the tiny indented hinges. ¡°If I had to guess, I¡¯ve a feeling it¡¯s those Debaters. They¡¯ve been way too active lately¡± Yeung-Sung said. ¡°I had a small chat with one in my store today, actually.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah?¡± Sykes walked up to him, and his face reflected his curiosity.


    ¡°It was strange. He didn¡¯t seem to be one. No shirt or tie, no asking hypothetical questions about politics. None of that. He was buying stuff for a party, beer and stuff.¡± His fingers caught a crack. ¡°Ah, got one,¡± he said excitedly, pushing purposely to instigate the windows mechanism. ¡°Honestly, I thought he was a Duner.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t just start incriminating¡­¡± Sykes poked him from behind. ¡°Wait! Pull that back!¡±


    Yeung-Sung scrambled to the bottom an released the screen back. As the panel started to slide, he saw it. Grabbing the window, he crept closer. ¡°Hand prints!¡±


    Sykes bounced with excitement. ¡°They¡¯re his, they must be.¡±


    He tried to smudge one of the prints. ¡°What are you doing? That¡¯s our only clue! Wait¡­¡±


    The print remained. Creeping his hand around, Yeung-Sung rubbed the edge of a thumb mark slightly. He turned to Sykes with awe. ¡°They¡¯re made from the outside.¡±


    ¡°Why was Wil outside the window?¡± Sykes thought out loud. ¡°Unless he -No, you don¡¯t think he was going to jump?¡±


    Ignoring Sykes¡¯s shock, Yeung-Sung stuck his head out and examined the clue. How in the hell would you even make prints like that? You couldn¡¯t. Not from the inside.


    ¡°Man, are you crazy?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re only on the second floor. The most that would happen is I¡¯d break a leg. The most.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not something you¡¯re worried about?¡±


    Searching for another print, Yeung-Sung spotted something he never noticed before. A thin ledge ran from the point of the window, growing thicker closer to the ends. There¡¯s no way. At the very end was a pocket of space, and lying there was a colony phone.


    Yeung-Sung flipped back inside, nearly head-butting Sykes. He surged with energy now. Not jittery, caffeine-like energy but the purposeful, limit-breaking kind.  ¡°It¡¯s his phone. There¡¯s a balcony there. Tiny, like a celery stalk of a platform, but at the end¡­it¡¯s Wil¡¯s phone!¡±


    ¡°How did he- Yeung-Sung, you¡¯re not going out there, man¡±


    He hopped out, gripping the edge of the floor with both hands. His legs were bent, his hips out into the air for balance. His compressed toes quivered as he bent towards the phone, carefully not to fall off the grey lip.


    Yeung-Sung was back inside before he knew it.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you just did that,¡± Sykes said. The Irishman backed away to give him space.


    ¡°I know,¡± Yeung-Seung said, unsteady again, ¡°But¡­look.¡±


    Twirling the thin brick in his hands, he pressed in on every button and scanned his fingerprint. ¡°Either it¡¯s off, or only Wil himself can open it,¡± Yeung-Sung admitted.


    He closed the window over behind himself and the two sat on the bed, thinking.


    I really thought we had it. He shook his head. But why was it out there in the first place? It had to be a signal.


    Sykes got up, rummaging around in his jeans. ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± he said. ¡°Phones light up when you get a new notification, right? I¡¯ll just send Wil a message!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s brilliant! It won¡¯t open them, though¡± Yeung-Sung said, staring at the phone as if it was his missing friend.


    ¡°Still, it might tell us who had been in contact with him -especially right before he was kidnapped, if that¡¯s case.¡± Wasting no time, Sykes stroked out a word and sent it. ¡°Well?¡±


    Whiteness pulsed out of his hand.


    Yeung-Sung leaped on top of the bad, ruining the perfect folds of the duvet. ¡°I¡¯ve never been so happy to see a notification,¡± he said with a crack in his voice.


    [1 new message from


    ]


    [2 new messages from <Erni:0>]


    [WARNING: Your queue is inactive due to a lack of resources]


    Yeung-Sung tried unlocking it again, but the phone only vibrated a refusal and went dark. He sank into the messy blankets. ¡°That¡­didn¡¯t tell us much.¡±


    Sykes stood next to him, scratching his chin in thought. ¡°Can I have that for a moment?¡±


    Shoving a tear aside, Yeung-Sung forced himself up and dropped the phone into his waiting arms. He watched the Irishman send another message and tilt Wil¡¯s phone to every angle as if it would show him a secret message. The light faded again. Yeung-Sung clutched his chest, moving to the back of the room. I can¡¯t keep hoping for something magical to happen.


    As he neared the door of Wil¡¯s of apartment, the sound of people chattering became apparent. Stalking up to it, he pressed his ear against the red wood.


    (Conversation relating to the riots ¨C something along the lines of


    ¡°Is this really the end?¡±


    ¡°What, you scared of him?¡±


    ¡°If we don¡¯t demand changes, he won¡¯t budge.¡±


    Knock on the door.


    ¡°Anyone who isn¡¯t with is only going to get us killed by GLI)


    ¡°Ernie!¡± Sykes exclaimed. ¡°He¡¯s part of the Champs!¡±


    ¡°Sykes, we¡¯d better leave.¡±

 Part 47 On The Road Again

    In his urgency, Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t notice that he was jogging on the road itself. He also didn¡¯t notice the autocar coming up to him until it almost stopped inches away -then kept going, smacking him with front bumper. He heard a loud slamming before he was grabbed off, his jeans making a jagged skrrr as he slid down. He did recognize who it was that had done it.


    ¡°Get in,¡± Simon said. ¡°I assume this time I won¡¯t have to talk you into it.¡±


    Still wobbly from the crash, Yeung-Sung simply shook his head. And they were off. Another short ride with my favourite GLI employee.


    They rode together in the back -Simon hadn¡¯t mention where to- and Yeung-Sung caught him up on the situation, pleading with him to give any information that might help him find Wil.


    ¡°Maybe he found something,¡± Yeung-Sung finished, swinging his head through every inch of headroom the compact vehicle allowed.


    Simon had been listening intently, rubbing his head and nodding when appropriate. ¡°It is possible.¡±


    Quiet filled the room. C¡¯mon Simon, must I always force you?


    ¡°So? Are you going to help find him?¡± he inquired.


    It looked like he had been snapped back from a distance. ¡°Oh? Yes, your friend Wil. I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know much more than you do. This kind of thing has, thankfully, not been commonplace in the colony. I don¡¯t have any suspects, evidence, or anything like that¡­I thought you coloners have organized your own judicial force? I figured you¡¯d have an investigation budget then, why not ask them?¡±


    Seriously?Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°Thanks, Simon, you¡¯re very helpful. As always,¡± said Yeung-Sung, becoming bewildered after Simon nodded in response.


    The Brit smiled. ¡°Well I do what I can.¡±


    Yeung-Sung then spotted some unusual next to him. ¡°Wait, what the hell are you even doing here then? New updates for the AI need manual installation?¡±


    Not moving a muscle from his smile, Simon answered, ¡°I¡¯m running away.¡±


    ¡°You are?¡±


    Simon nodded.


    Yeung-Sung had to take his eyes off him. He looked about the car. It slid along with its barely audible hum, just like before. A GPS map blinked on its monitor, yet leaning in he noticed that there was no location set. At either side, the black fabric lining the interior of the car was dotted with tiny speakers.


    What did he tell the car to do? What¡¯s his plan? How does he think there¡¯s even a hope of this idea working?


    He pulled his head from between the car-seats. Simon was waiting patiently for him to react, staring at the housing fading out of sight, the indistinguishable heads that they passed.


    Yeung-Sung asked, ¡°Do you want me to stop you?¡±


    ¡°Stop me?¡± Simon curled his attention inward, crept away from Yeung-Sung, settling into the far corner of the back seat. ¡°I think that¡¯s rather impossible. I can¡¯t stay, I¡­won¡¯t be a part of this any longer.¡±


    ¡°Simon? Come on now.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t. You¡¯re not going to magically forgive everything I¡¯ve helped happen.¡±


    Raising an eyebrow, Yeung-Sung held out a comforting hand. Then took it back, crossing them over, and smirked. ¡°You realize the irony of this situation, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Simon bit his lip. ¡°Of course I do,¡± he muttered, stuffing himself into his pockets. This coat was grey, with stubborn material that refused to stretch over Simon¡¯s wide features.


    Ahh, Simon. Why do you have this ability to drag me into the most annoying situations?


    ¡°Maybe I don¡¯t care, Simon, ever thought of that?¡±


    His expression softened.


    Yeung-Sung continued, ¡°It¡¯s not like we¡¯ve got a great relationship, anyway.¡±


    Rustling, Simon took out what was probably the same pack of cigarettes from before. He slipped of the plastic sleeve, stuffing one between his lips and mouthed a hollow reply.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Yeung-Sung rolled his tongue around inside his cheek, blowing it out. ¡°Yet, you shove me in the car without a word.¡±


    Padding through the rest of his pockets for a lighter, Simon froze.


    Exactly. You can¡¯t bullshit me.


    ¡°So?¡± he asked, the cigarette falling from his mouth.


    ¡°Shit.¡±

 Part 48 On The Road Again II

    ¡°Wait!¡± Yeung-Sung shouted. ¡°You¡¯re just going to walk out into nowhere?¡±


    The car door was half open. With one foot already out onto the ground, Simon stopped.


    ¡°I¡¯m done. This isn¡¯t the company I began working with. I wasn¡¯t sure¡­ until just now.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t decide whether to face the Korean or the night and panicked, jittering his neck between the two. It was warm inside and he was a generally sweaty man. His anxiety powered that further, resulting in a shimmering, moist mess of a man caught in the most personal conflict of his life.


    ¡°He always had ideas. I never thought much of them, but he would walk up to me and tell me -often- that he had a vision. That he had visions.¡± Simon took his hand off the door handle and heaved back into his seat. He wiped some of the beads from his bald head and Yeung-Sung saw him shivering in his skull.


    His inhale was long and dry. ¡°He never changed, and-and he went from being a stubborn co-worker to slowly becoming the crazy things he spoke of. Beginning to think of him as a visionary, I followed him, I listened to his ideas, accepted them without question.¡± He raised his head out of his hands. ¡°But more than that, Pak, he was my closest friend.¡±


    Yeung-Sung gasped. So it¡¯s all your fault that Jordan has a God complex. You fed into it!¡± But after the Brit came back inside the car, he thought that maybe he should let him speak.


    Then Simon continued, catches in his throat. ¡°We respected each other¡¯s opinions. We¡¯ve argued about everything; priorities; method; what to order the crew for lunch; but the argument that was never solved between us, was how long it would take to implement progress.¡±


    He turned away when a sob escaped him and pretended to clear his throat. But he did it with such force, such pain. Yet whenever he turned back to let out his next sentence, he had affixed that blasted smile back on himself. Yeung-Sung said nothing, listening.


    He was finally getting some answers.


    ¡°I did manage to get him to admit-¡±. He coughed sharply, several times, becoming looser until Yeung-Sung realised that he was laughing.


    ¡°-I got him to admit that such a shift in society requires generations of conditioning. I remember waving the data in his face.¡±


    He seized his body upright, splitting his lungs wide to let out every bit of breath he had. ¡°I¡¯m -I¡¯m quite proud of that.¡±


    Yeung-Sung, while quietly listening had taken his phone out and rubbed his thumb softly across its unlit screen. He imagined the figure of Jordan, the hologram version that had appeared by the hundreds, appearing ethereal and limitless; Wizard of Oz style. He crunched his face in a frown, but then imagined a young Simon facing up to that. Not the person he was, or what he might¡¯ve been, but the two of them as they are now. Were they really once so similar?


    His tongue slipped back from the walls of his mouth and he said, ¡°You should. You should be proud¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Simon sighed, ¡°he would always find some way to push the limits of that reasoning. He¡¯d be constantly squeezing the time frame, pounding it over and over with new ideas of his, bolder and stronger built than before. He¡¯s someone that wants to just ¡®Go, go, go!¡¯ doing no more preparation than absolutely necessary. Like when the crash happened. He dropped all of our projects and put everything into stabilizing the economy.¡±


    I remember that. Strange to align that action with the image I have of Jordan, though.


    ¡°I think he must have thought that if he could hold up each nation just long enough, then they would rebuild quickly. -He also planned to take advantage of the position, but that¡¯s beside the point.¡± Simon cocked his head and peered out the window.


    ¡°Of course, it was too much for even Jordan to do. Hah! Though he would never admit it.¡± His mouth was pinched for a moment, and he looked to Pak with guilt. ¡°This country, this land is proof enough of that.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t patronize me, this land is nothing,¡± Yeung-Sung spat ¡°But¡­ I have to admit, things could¡¯ve been a lot of worse. Talk of war could¡¯ve become a real and deadly thing.¡±


    ¡°They tried,¡± Simon cut in.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°They tried starting a war. America; Russia; China. You don¡¯t believe me? Don¡¯t think they would?¡±


    ¡°But then-¡±


    ¡°He stopped it. Thermonuclear war.¡± Simon kept his cheeky grin and shrugged. ¡°They launched their nukes,¡± he said, miming the motions, using his index finger as the rockets,¡± but he had GLI explode them at the height of their trajectory, suck it all up and contained the remnants into space.¡± He finished the demonstration with a flourish of his, turning mushroom-cloud fists into jazz hands and then clutching his belly in full-blown laughter.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    A cough cut into him then, and his expression went angry. ¡°But it didn¡¯t deter them. National conflict still raged on, in every nation, with those most in need falling through the cracks. Oh, Jordan -seeing the effects of his failure, he became more aggressive, less patient with us. With me.¡±


    Simon stretched his arms out and smoothed them out across his lap.


    Don¡¯t stop there. Tell me everything you can about him.


    ¡°Go on¡±, Yeung-Sung said, keeping his voice smooth, trying not to spike forth any unwanted emotion.


    ¡°I saw the signs,¡± Simon said after another cavernous breath. His thick fingers cracked and he curled them into fists out over his bent knees. His words were coming out like icebergs, Yeung-Sung only seeing their tips.


    ¡°I saw them but, like the oblivious moron that I am, set it aside for a while.¡± He snapped around, his words leaping out again with sudden energy.


    ¡°We were making such good progress, you see. Yeung-Sung, I can¡¯t explain it to you, but the gravity of some of our research results. Ahh¡­¡± He left his mouth open and went wide, white, like a titanic being was behind him and made a static, gargling noise.


    ¡°Uahhhhhh¡­


    ¡°Oh, Yeung-Sung, if only you were there. It would have consumed you too. All of us were certain that we could change everything, and we thought we could control Jordan. That he was irreplaceable -and he was irreplaceable like, hmm, Uranium isotopes are irreplaceable.¡± He went quiet a moment, waiting to see Yeung-Sung¡¯s reaction.


    What? Am I supposed to understand know what he meant by that?


    He shook his head at Simon. ¡°I don¡¯t get it but okay. Sure. Like uranium,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m guessing Jordan wasn¡¯t the type to be tamed?¡±


    ¡°Trying to contain Jordan wasn¡¯t just harder than war. It was like trying to keep a separate world and its global crises aloft.¡± Simon continued to fidget. He winced, rubbing his thumb into the meat of his shoulder. His voice was breathy with relief when he said, ¡°I¡¯m no Atlas.¡±


    He was without his excited smile. He looked tired. Yeung-Sung traced his eyes along the lines in his face, along the Brit¡¯s hollow, pouched cheeks. There¡¯s more. Tell me, Simon. We¡¯re almost there.


    Simon pushed off his hands. He bent upright and was almost out the door before Yeung-Sung could shout, ¡°You can¡¯t go!¡±


    Yeung-Sung lunged with his arms, barricading the way out. Simon pushed and bent his body but he remained strapped around his body like a human seatbelt.


    Their faces almost touching, Simon said, ¡°Pak, this is not up for discussion.¡±


    Yeung-Sung pushed back. ¡°There¡¯s nothing out there! Jordan¡¯s a fucking prick-¡±


    ¡°Hah! Well-¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re right¡±. Yeung-Sung grimaced as he said it. It really is a reversal, isn¡¯t it?


    He tried again, saying, ¡°GLI has the technology, the resources. This is the opportunity our world needs to fix itself! And all is not lost. Airgead is failing itself. A new reset could be just around the corner; it¡¯s your chance! Who else has the history that you do with Jordan? You can still control him; you can keep him on track.¡±


    ¡°Pak, let me go!¡±


    The two struggled against each other out in the perimeter, the boundary of the colony. Night had fully set, a long day for the both of them, but neither relented. Simon was the bigger of the two, as well as the stronger. He gained ground, standing slowly up. After a point, all Yeung-Sung could do was use his height advantage to press down on him as dead weight.


    I can¡¯t beat him. He¡¯s going¡­I¡¯ve lost another one.


    Simon threw Yeung-Sung against the back of the front seat. As he slid down, he stepped out firmly. Then looked back.


    ¡°Maybe Airgead is a bust, but there¡¯s no going back. Not for me. And not for Jordan, either.¡±


    . Wheezing through the pain, Yeung-Sung experienced it more as delirium than anything else. ¡°But he needs someomes to give hims new ideas,¡± he said with a bashed lip. Pulling himself up with effort, Yeung-Sung looked around side to side, as if those were words that came from someone else.


    No. That was me. I¡¯m agreeing. I¡¯m a traitor to myself.


    Simon kept his feet stomped upon on the first blades of grass that were by the roadside. He wanted to go further, Yeung-Sung could see it in his fists and throughout every pulsing piece of skin.


    But Simon did not take another step.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t listen to me anymore.¡± He turned around, climbing back in the car and grabbing Yeung-Sung by the collar.


    ¡°I have to get out before it gets uglier. I can¡¯t handle it, seeing him this way.¡±


    ¡°And what? Wheth athe you going, whath will you do?¡± Yeung-Sung asked with a driftwood expression.


    Simon chuckled, letting him go. ¡°Don¡¯t laugh, alright -I know I¡¯m laughing but,¡± he swung a fake punch, ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± He cupped something in his pockets. His smile suddenly elevating to a new level, he whipped out a handheld console. ¡°I¡­am going to find a serene place, and play this till I die.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t expecting that it would be immediately familiar to Yeung-Sung. He didn¡¯t expect the bruised coloner to knock the thing away, and he definitely never thought that a games console would bounce off pavement so many times. He watched in despair as the purple casing broke open, piece by piece in a trail away from the road.


    ¡°You¡­¡± he roared.


    Yeung-Sung licked up the blood off his lips. Calmly, he told him, ¡°You¡¯re going to sit and enjoy yourself while you let everyone here who fails at Jordan¡¯s game die?¡±


    Simon spread his arms out. He squared his shoulders and tightened his jaw. In his bulging grey coat, he looked like a territorial hippo. ¡°Don¡¯t. Be. Ridiculous. He is not going to kill innocent people out of his own anxiety.¡±


    I¡¯ve got you now. ¡°You think he won¡¯t?¡± Yeung-Sung retorted. He wagged his finger like Simon did earlier and his bottom lip became wet as he spread it open. ¡°What about our lack of rights? -The UN ones, remember? The ones you told me we don¡¯t have? And just now, what you said about Jordan¡¯s aggressiveness?¡± He saw Simon begin to squirm.


    He approached him with his final blow, saying, ¡°Look at me one more time -try to tell me that the Jordan you once knew would beat me half to death¡­Well?¡±


    Simon, to his credit, kept his mouth shut. Though his anger crackled, popping out as goose bumps on his skin, Simon walked quietly back to the car, sat and kept his fists down, pressing them into the seat leather. When he unstuck them, Yeung-Sung took notice of the deep, thick imprint of it, like a bite torn from a cushion.


    ¡°What¡¯s the use?¡± Simon asked him, once the car door had been shut.


    Oh!


    Yeung-Sung paled. I can¡¯t believe I never thought of this before. He took out his phone, fumbling it he was so excited.


    ¡°I believe I have someone who might help us,¡± he told Simon. ¡°Or maybe I should say some-thing -I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s correct to say.¡±

 Part 49 The GLI Riots

    ¡°We¡¯re stopping,¡± Yeung-Sung said.


    ¡°Why?¡± Simon asked, not looking away from his Airgead.


    Yeung-Sung pointed ahead through the autocar¡¯s front window. ¡°Have a look.¡±


    ¡°We should only be passing by the GLI labs now, not even-¡± Simon clipped off. ¡°Oh my good God.¡±


    He was right; they were just outside of the GLI facility. But also there -swarming down from the buildings all along the road- must have been more than half of the colony¡¯s population. Hundreds of them riled up and shouting, holding signs and posters made of stolen construction material. The autocar, smartly programmed as it was, stopped a good distance away.


    ¡°Car, turn around,¡± shouted Simon, then cursed. ¡°I should have left before.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Yeung-Sung yelled back, waving at the speakers.


    [It won¡¯t listen to you] purred MEDB.


    He had a quick thought. ¡°MEDB, can you disable it?¡±


    Yeung-Sung swung forward between the two front seats, searching desperately for some controls. The monitor! As the autocar started turning, Yeung-Sung lurched forward, nearly bashing off the glove box.


    Simon let out a single laugh and shook his head¡­ He stuck his hands in his pockets and relaxed in his seat. ¡°It¡¯s done, over; Look at that out there.¡±


    ¡°MEDB? Help?¡±


    [I don¡¯t know what you want me to do, Yeung-Sung. Not every GLI synthetic mind is connected. I¡¯m in a game. This one¡¯s in a car]


    You just never make it easy, Simon, do you?


    Yeung-Sung spidered over the screen with his fingertips. Nothing. Great, it¡¯s not a touch-screen. This has to be the only one in the colony. There¡¯s got to be something I can do.


    Behind him, Simon called out to the autocar again, ¡°Car, set course for the southern boundary of the colony, if you would.¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Simon, we¡¯ve been through this!¡± Yeung-Sung roared, then looked up, on his haunches atop the front seat. The car finished its revolution, and tipped back as it prepared to engage its engines. Yeung-Sung pounced up at the closest speaker, punching through the dark dotted mesh and grabbed hold. Please work! He pulled back, scratching up his arm as he came back through the jagged entrance. He looked gladly at the bundle of processors and wires in his fist.


    ¡°Hey! That¡¯s vandalism!¡± Simon said. ¡° MEDB, tell him to stop!


    As she replied, Yeung-Sung recklessly leaped to the other side and forced his way through with the same hand -instantly regretting not switching to his left.


    [Excuse what I am about to say, Simon, but at this moment you are being an imbecile]


    It -the car¡¯s not moving. A large red error message popped up on the monitor.


    He sighed and dropped down onto the seat, caressing his bloody hand. ¡°Shut up, Simon. I told you. You can¡¯t go.¡±


    [And neither can you, Yeung-Sung]


    ¡°Yes, MEDB.¡± He descended onto the front seat. ¡°There¡¯s no going back.¡±


    Simon bowed his head and held his hands together like he was in prayer. The phone stuck out between his fingers. Yeung-Sung turned back, but as he did, he could not help but look through the back window and notice that some of the protest group was trailing off, heading towards the autocar. The moment¡¯s peace was slowly overturned as the sound of the raging coloners seeped into the background like a violent, hysteric gas. Leaning back, he shook the defeated game designer by the shoulder.


    ¡°Hide! They can¡¯t find you here.¡±


    Simon let his shoulders be tossed around and continued to stare down onto the car floor. The only thing he had done was open his eyes, peeling his eyelids back. He knew. ¡°They¡¯re all going to die, all going to die, after I die. He won¡¯t have it. He won¡¯t be able to understand¡±.


    ¡°Stop over thinking it,¡± Yeung-Sung yelled. He felt his brain pump and pound. I have to save him.


    MEDB lit up; greens and yellows of Airgead¡¯s pastoral backgrounds glowing through the gaps in Simon¡¯s grip. [I can tell by your biometrics that you are finding the impending murder of hundreds distressing]


    [But I think you already know what you can do to save them]


    ¡°This some kind of joke?¡± Yeung-Sung asked. He could almost identify the chanting of the rioters. It rose and fell in thunderous unison, a vibrating march. Spanning his hands around every part of the dashboard, Yeung-Sung looked for something.


    Simon tried to hold back, but his whimpers blubbered through his lips. ¡°I- I deserve it, ¡° he cried, ¡°I didn¡¯t stop him. I helped build this¡±


    [Think, Yeung-Sung. You¡¯ve already outplayed me once, so I know you can do it]


    ¡°MEDB¡± Yeung-Sung pleaded, ¡°I don¡¯t -I really don¡¯t have time. Just tell me.¡±


    [You can protect me from being deleted] MEDB chuckled in her sweet, static way.


    The crowd crept closer. Simon shivered and tucked his head into his chest.


    ¡°RE-SET NOW!¡± flared the chants. Yeung-Sung snapped a look outside. The tips of many long shadows encroached them.


    [None of your Wick friends will be cast out or killed]


    ¡°What? What is it?¡±


    [And Simon will survive]


    Something heavy struck the trunk of the car. ¡°No no no!¡± Yeung-Sung yelled. Brushing off some blood, he opened the door at the same time as MEDB explained it:


    [Stop fighting him. Let Jordan have what he wants]

 Part 50 The GLI Riots II

    Yeung-Sung rushed out of the car with his hands up.


    ¡°Woah, woah, woah? What¡¯s going on?¡±


    A dozen or so coloners surrounded him, most wearing the rusty film-jackets of the groups he and Sykes met earlier.


    What am I doing? Oh God.


    The majority of them had their eyes trained on a particularly aggressive coloner who was about to smash up the car with a stick of purple-painted rebar. Beside him, a shorter woman flicked his hood and nodded at Yeung-Sung, saying,


    ¡°Hey! One got out.¡±


    A heavy, metallic scraping rang out. The man with the rebar turned to his friend.


    ¡°He¡¯s not GLI. It¡¯s that kid.¡±


    He seemed to act as a de-facto head, for after he took note of Yeung-Sung the surrounding members of the group went from sporadically spreading their aggression to focusing on him.


    Yeung-Sung kept his hands up. He stole a quick glance back at Simon. The top half of his head crept out, shining with sweat even this far away. Acting quickly, he sidestepped, making his way towards the main crowd and trying to gain as much distance from the car while he had their focus.


    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s just me.¡±


    Feeling through his back pocket, he realized that he forgot his phone inside the autocar. Hopefully I won¡¯t need it. Now that he was thinking, though, his hands itched for it.


    The rebar guy clanged his rod against the ground. ¡°Hey!¡± he yelled, in unison with the strike, ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡±


    Yeung-Sung, mouth open, swung his body towards the protest, then swung back, smiling.


    ¡°You gonna join us?¡± he yelled again.


    If I don¡¯t distract them now, they¡¯ll find out about Simon. He dropped his hands, clenched them into fists and focused through the pain, bulled through the anxiety of all the watching eyes. He strode towards the pack¡¯s leader.


    Some members took a step back at the sudden decision. Even the rebar guy held up his weapon in a block. He furrowed his brow. The bone of Yeung-Sung¡¯s palm felt like it was about to snap, his fingers wobbled like the reeds of a paddy field, but the pain helped him get the words out clearer.


    ¡°What¡¯s he done now? Jordan.¡± He sneered to add impact. ¡°We gonna finally take him down?¡±


    The leader smiled, putting the rebar pole in a rest over his shoulder. Up closer, Yeung-Sung could properly examine the guy. Latin, by his accent- with close cropped curled hair. The bones on his face were all too apparent, like he was under fed, or had fallen into drugs at one time. The ends of an oxbow nose rings stuck out only a little, so that he almost didn¡¯t notice. Thick black letters coated the knuckles on his rebar-wielding hand. Underneath the clear ¡°thugness¡± indicators though, his clothes underneath -a punk-logo sweater vest; straw chino; thick skater shoes- looked too new, smelled too fresh.


    Not a Duner then, but someone who has been waiting for a day like this for some time.


    He swiped his with a hooked finger and flared it.


    ¡°Tek him down?¡± he jeered, ¡°Let¡¯s not go cray-zy¡±.


    His accent was slipping through; Mexican Spanish. He leaned back over the trunk of the car and pointed his chin at Yeung-Sung. ¡°Anyway, shouldn¡¯t you be getting some rest. I heard you got fucked up pretty bad.¡±


    You¡¯re a little late to offer sympathy, my friend. Yeung-Sung shrugged. Though, I¡¯ll admit this is going surprisingly well. But then he heard numerous gasps circle around him. The Mexican fake-thug¡¯s girlfriend nudged him again, causing him to shrink in his film-jacket and straighten up right after, pretending it didn¡¯t happen. Staring behind Yeung-Sung, far back to the GLI labs, she whispered, ¡°He actually came out.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s him.¡±


    ¡°We did it.¡±


    ¡°Reset incoming¡±.


    Yeung-Sung knew exactly who it was but remained frozen, facing the Mexican rioter and the inside of the autocar. He was glad that he couldn¡¯t move, because he gave no visible reaction to seeing Simon peer from hiding and watching him behold his boss and friend through decades of history, sorrow and brotherhood, pride and jealousy, a myriad of life experiences floating through Simon. Still, he couldn''t help but smile.


    After everything, he still wants to believe in him.


    The Mexican tapped his hand off the car. ¡°Come on, we should get closer. Let¡¯s see what he has to say.¡±


    His girlfriend nodded. All of them whisked past Yeung-Sung, chatting excitedly. A humongous roar erupted from the crowd, applause coming in waves after.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    AHEM.


    Jordan¡¯s cough erupted out of every nearby phone at several times the loudness of a healthy volume. I hope there was no one using earphones. Frowning, Yeung-Sung fingered his ear and turned around.


    I AM DISAPPOINTED.


    Just the first sentence caused a cascade of flinching. Waves of feedback tore through the crowd from the main speakers at the building¡¯s entrance. They backed away, idiotically, trying to reduce the intensity, but kept their phones stubbornly on them.


    Give them back! You should all be throwing down all of your colony belongings on the ground before him. That¡¯ll send a clear message.


    As he continued, twin emerald spirals shot into the air above the balcony where he was speaking and erupted into a monolithic projection of him.


    ¡°Remember where you came from? I saved you from it, gave you all a safe, set place to live. Food; friend; purpose. Yet you do not, as a community, uphold your end of the deal. You do not really TRY. Not to understand, not to help, not to change. Show me that you are willing to change yourself,¡± he declared, his giant holographic arms cupping the sky, ¡°And I will show you that changing the world is just as easy.¡±


    Yeung-Sung approached the writhing mass of people. All sorts were mixed in. Debaters with Finers along with Duners. The entirety of the Champs were probably here too, undercover. He was also surprised to find that even some members of the zealous Player¡¯s Market had turned tail to join with the march. Even from afar, the heat, the sweat and angry energy of them become more apparent. It was like he was about to cross into the borders of an ant colony, but once he passed into their pheromones, they would instantly recognize him as an outsider and all that energy, all that rage would be directed towards him. Yeung-Sung slowed his step and waited for the right opportunity. Reluctantly, he went back to looking at the blazing green hologram in the sky.


    Jordan, however, was clearly not finished. He waited. Waited for the chaos to subside, for his initial words to sink in and reverberate mouth to mouth any whom couldn¡¯t comprehend them the first time. The seeds of doubt and terror had been sown, the army of protesters were shaken. As he surveyed the reactions below, the giant hologram above projected his absolute confidence.


    Even with his unnerving presence, they soon settled. They grew used to it. And they, once again, through his passive inaction, forgot who it was they were rebelling against and grew bold. As if he didn¡¯t blow over half of them with just his voice, they encroached on the steps of the GLI building. They took up, once again, their signs and their propaganda and their phones, hoisted their phones high with their torchlights hot and chanted, ¡°RESET! RESET!¡±


    Yeung-Sung was running again. There wasn¡¯t time. Idiots! There won¡¯t be another reset. He rushed in and began ploughing through waves of protesters without reason, without a plan. Yeung-Sung simply felt compelled to get closer, squeezing between tight gaps of personal space with his thin frame.  Then Jordan spoke.


    RESET? There will be no reset. Cease this idiocy. How many do you think we¡¯ve had? Do you know how long we have worked on this single idea? Years. Years and years, all of you brought in well after the first trials.


    Leaning over the balcony, with both arms relaxed by his side, his hologram burst forward, becoming a fully-fleshed golem in the sky. Its face was large enough to shadow them all, and the tip of his nose dropped only feet overhead, threatening them like a smoking drake.


    Whatever you do, my coloners, our experiment concludes on the 21st of June; exactly 60 days from the launch of Airgead.


    Giant eyes, like jade-clock faces observed the terror around him and a scarred smile sparkled. Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t lose focus and kept his sights on the real Jordan, and the shortest path to him through the crowd.


    On that day, we will show our beautiful colony off to a selection of representatives from the UN. With their permission, we will usher in a new era, cleansing memories of the old world by beginning trials of a worldwide Game Life Interface.


    He drew back, and so did the emerald nightmare. Jordan raised his hands in a victory pose and bowed. But he came back up with the face he had at the start of the speech, the face he had when he saw his beloved colony rioting outside his gates; A look of vilified contempt.


    The growl in his voice cracked forth, much more like how he remembered it.


    I leave you to decide your fate. Currently, you are at stage 3 of Gauntlet 5 . Before the end, I expect you to have cleared, at least, stage 7-1. If you don¡¯t, the experiment will end. And you with it.


    With that, the giant green gas of Jordan was sucked back, dissipating like a spent genie.


    Despair set in almost immediately as with the fluorescent light gone, darkness swept back in over the crowd, driving the panic deeper. For a moment it was just gasps. But then, the people who just found out that their lives were involuntarily put on the line, erupted.


    ¡°We¡¯re here because we can¡¯t beat the gauntlet!¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t even give us a clue! A hint! Nothing¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re doomed, he gave us a paradise and now he¡¯s going to kill us in it.¡±


    Similar sentiments echoed out amongst screams and yells and silent disbelief. Several dropped to their knees straight away and palmed their eyes, wailing, ¡°I always knew it was too good to be true.¡±


    With the coloners now despondent it became easier for Yeung-Sung to edge his way to the front. Gathering momentum, he tripped over a slow foot and planted into the back of a red jacket. The man who turned was the speaker for PM, scratching his head and grinding his teeth. ¡°Well, look who it is,¡± he remarked. ¡°The harbinger of trouble himself.¡±


    Yeung-Sung gave a brief smile before clenching his fists, puffing up his chest and rushing headfirst towards his nemesis. Jordan must¡¯ve felt some static, some small connection because as he parted the curtain to leave, he snuck a look back.


    But Yeung-Sung was stopped by the speaker. ¡°I think we¡¯ve had enough drama for one night.¡±


    Then he felt two more distinct hands grab him from behind and he feared the worst.


    ¡°When did you get here?¡±


    Shirley?


    ¡°Little one, it is you!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s with us!¡±


    Mamba, Von martin? What in the hell are they doing here?


    He let them flip him towards them and without hesitating told them, ¡°You need to let me go. I can fix this.¡±


    The Wick regulars shared a stunned look.


    ¡°Trust me,¡± he pleaded.


    Shirley stepped up, pulling up his sleeves and stared down PM¡¯s speaker. ¡°He¡¯s going through. Or you¡¯ll have to get through me.¡±


    The speaker raised an eyebrow, and looked like he was considering it, but then stepped aside, saying, ¡°That¡¯s a cheesy as fuck line. But go ahead.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered to Shirley as he jogged past.


    Out in front, he stomped on the bottom stair. The air felt cool and uncompressed. He yelled out, ¡°JORDAN!¡±


    The sociopath above tugged the collar of his suit shirt and smirked, facing Yeung-Sung fully.


    ¡°I¡¯ll defeat your gauntlet,¡± Yeung-Sung yelled. ¡°And I¡¯ll bring you down at the same time.¡±


    ¡°You, eh?¡±


    With a casual stride, Jordan leaned out over the balcony and pouted his lips in amusement. ¡°Well now, I can¡¯t wait. You¡¯d better not disappoint.¡±


    It seems you have a self-appointed leader, here. Pak Yeung-Sung. He says he will solve the gauntlet. And replace me in the process. Let¡¯s all give him a round of applause.


    You bastard.


    In the most nerve-wracking motion of his life, Yeung-Sung circled back around to face the crowd. He stepped backwards up the stairs. Beyond the three Wick regulars who nodded at him with confidence and the PM speaker who stroked his chin with interest, he stared into a sea of people who were utterly unconvinced. He swallowed down huge peach-seed gulps of anxiety and strangled out a smile from his mouth.


    After soaking in the silence, Jordan waltzed back into his building.


    MEDB¡¯s voice echoed in Yeung-Sung¡¯s head as he watched GLI¡¯s CEO disappear and he knew that this was the only option.


    [Give Jordan what he wants]


    [Give him a challenge]

 Part 51 Fellowship

    I didn¡¯t think I¡¯ d be in here again, Yeung-Sung thought, sitting down in the Player¡¯s Market General hub. Unlike at the meeting concerning Airgead¡¯s AI, the large hall wasn¡¯t an empty theatre made to fit as many people as possible. Instead, it was laid out like a college common room with beanbags like old dumplings in each corner, several thin glass desks in studious rows and water coolers against the curved wall.


    PM had no leader per say, their manifesto wouldn¡¯t allow for one, but Luke, their speaker was across the table from Yeung-Sung. He was focused on organizing the chat meeting on his phone with one hand while also organizing some staff off to the side, nodding along to their ideas and offering his suggestions.


    The only other person in the hall that he knew was Shirley, who was the only member of the Wick who was able to put aside their disgust for PM, as well as put their trust in Yeung-Sung and help him. Legs together, he had managed making the act of lounging in a beanbag look uncomfortable. Luke had made it clear that Shirley would not be permitted to take part in their chat -too much private information would be on display- but there was no objection to him coming long for moral support. Yeung-Sung tried a smile, which Shirley cardboard copied back to him.


    I have to agree with Shirley here, this is a cold reception.


    Dismissing the housekeepers, Luke apologized for keeping him waiting.


    ¡°You want something. Some tea? Go on, you¡¯ll have some tea.¡±


    ¡°Ahh¡­ sure.¡±


    Yeung-Sung tried another smile, but it didn¡¯t feel right, just made his face hurt.


    Luke made a pouring gesture to one of the staff as they walked out and nodded. ¡°Right,¡± he said, crossing his legs over arm of his seat, ¡°Down to business.¡±


    He stretched out the too-short sleeves of his red jacket.


    ¡°You really think you can do this? I¡¯m giving you this chance by laying my own reputation on the line, I hope you understand that.¡±


    Yeung-Sung bowed. ¡°I do.¡±


    He didn¡¯t see any confidence in Luke, but the speaker nodded anyway. Yeung-Sung though, had a niggling thought.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Uh, by the way,¡± he asked, ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    Luke dropped his arms, holding them hand-over-fist together and swerved, as if he was at a photo shoot and was switching between poses.


    ¡°I¡¯m Italian, actually.¡±


    He heard something from the corner. Yeung-Sung exchanged glances with Shirley and looked back, a lopsided look on his face. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Ugh,¡± Luke groaned. He threw his hands in the air like he was a confetti shower.


    ¡°Italian-American.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay. Italian-Canadian.¡±


    Yeung-Sung wanted to probe further but stopped himself. I can believe that, but is that really true? Then again, does it matter? This colony is nothing if not diverse. I suppose there¡¯s a point to that.


    Fucking Jordan.


    Luke went back to his phone after the questioning. Tapping away, scrunching his mouth up while he waited, his gaze wandered up at Yeung-Sung.


    ¡°I sent you an invite. Let¡¯s get started. I¡¯ll type out introductions in the chat.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right.¡±


    Even though his phone was on him at all times and he was periodically checking Airgead, it was a while since he¡¯d participated in a chatroom. Fumbling the phone out, he logged in and lay Airgead down flat on the table in front of him.


    Luke sent him a look said ¡®What are you doing? Let¡¯s go¡¯ but Yeung-Sung¡¯s situation had only kicked in now.


    Wait, I have no idea what I am doing. How will I beat MEDB? Even if I was to cheat, I¡¯d need a way to communicate with her -and in here that¡¯s far too risky here. In the middle of PM?


    He saw Luke grow ever more suspicious, so once more he tried a smile. But this time his face was frozen solid and he knew why.


    Why did he even entrust me with this? I made one bold claim -an absurd thing to say- and even added to that the fact that I threatened to depose his ¡°God¡±, yet they were desperate enough to give me a chance. What am I supposed to do? What can I tell them?


    Luke cleared his throat. ¡°I want to get one thing ironed out before we start.¡±


    He locked is hands together, elbows on the table and held up his chin dominantly. ¡°These are my people, got it? There are no leaders in PM, but there are a lot of egos, and a lot of people who would love to take my place should I be found incompetent.¡±


    He leaned over to one elbow and pointed at Yeung-Sung¡¯s phone. ¡°So, in the chat you are to respectfully give advice, nothing more than that. Do not -do not undermine me in front of them.¡± He flicked the finger up towards his face.


    ¡°Got any feedback? you tell me here, across this table. He clinked his knuckles off a glass, ¡°Not in the chat.¡±


    Yeung-Sung simply nodded.


    Egos indeed, this won¡¯t be like my gauntlet attempt with The Wick, will it?


    However, Shirley wasn¡¯t having it. A bubbly rumble sounded as he rose from the beanbag.


    ¡°You start threatening my friend, I¡¯m gonna-¡±


    ¡°Shirley, relax.¡± He waved him down again with his hand. Yeung-Sung tried to not show his own astounded reaction when Shirley nodded and obeyed without question.


    I don¡¯t like this. It was just words that I said, why is everyone taking me so seriously?


    Underneath the table he planted his arm between his thighs, about wrist deep. He slammed his legs together and pulled. Good, it¡¯s stuck -like a root.


    ¡°Okay, I understand. Advice only,¡± he said and bowed. ¡°Introduce me.¡±

 Part 52 Fellowship II

    [


    joined the chat room]


    <Gobblin> Please welcome our guest, Pak Yeung-Sung. Yes, it is him. Before we start our discussions can we get a quick round of intros so he is acquainted with who each of you are and your areas of expertise. Amber, you go first otherwise I¡¯ll have to force you to do it after everyone else has gone.


    <AmberMoon> Hallo


    <AmberMoon> I am tester of PM.


    Nice to meet you, Amber.


    <Gobblin> C¡¯mon Amber, you can do more that! Tell him what you test, what you know about how Airgead works.


    <AmberMoon> OK


    Yeung-Sung¡¯s screen was suddenly flooded with links.


    <AmberMoon> [Fire Nova@50% Grade 6 Worked Iron Grade 2 Chest-plate (Crafter; Tog3D)]


    <AmberMoon> [Continuous Fire Mirror@75% Grade 3 Worked Copper Grade 4 Shoulders (Crafter; Sean8B)]


    <AmberMoon> [5 turn Slow Restore@25% Grade 2 Worked Gold Grade 1 Tiara (Crafter; Sean8A)]


    <AmberMoon> [???@50%  Grade 7 Worked Deer-hide Grade 5 Boots (Crafter; Sofia4B)]


    [¡­show more? +15 more messages]


    Yeung-Sung looked up. ¡°What is she doing?¡±


    Hand firmly grasping his forehead, Luke answered,


    ¡°She¡¯s hyperlinking the labels of blessed gear that she has been testing. That¡¯s what she does.¡±


    ¡°She details what they do? I think I see¡­Fire Nova is the effect, it goes off at half durability, then the quality of the base gear and who made it?¡±


    Luke shook his head.


    ¡°No- well, yeah, that¡¯s her job, but I meant linking items or quoting others, rather than typing it out herself; That¡¯s what she does. She¡¯s awfully shy.¡±


    Luke stretched his eyelids with his fingers like sliding blinds down in the morning when you¡¯re hungover.  ¡°Her lack of English doesn¡¯t help, either.¡±


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Amber Moon, huh. ¡°She¡¯s a Chinese woman?¡±


    Luke frowned. The longer he spent with him, the more Yeung-Sung noticed how rubbery the speaker¡¯s body was. ¡°Yes, not that I should tell you. What¡¯s your obsession with knowing where everyone came from? We¡¯re all stuck here anyway.¡±


    ¡®And we¡¯ll all die here¡¯ he is probably thinking. I can¡¯t let that happen.


    Avoiding Luke¡¯s suspect glare, he went back to the chat where the next person was busy introducing themselves.


    <Ness> Thank you very much, Amber!


    <Ness> I¡¯m Vanessa. Ness is my handle and communism is my mantra. A key part of making sure our economy is working effectively is the planning and distribution of labour. As such, I oversee that the materials that we need for our plans are being adequately farmed, and that the shit we don¡¯t need is not. Easy! Also, I love goats as they are the cutest and no one can challenge me on that front.


    <Gobblin> Great, Ness. Kelly, you¡¯re up next.


    Kelly? Surely, he¡¯s not talking about the guide I was with before; Kelly Ann? Of all people to still be a part of PM, I wouldn¡¯t have picked her to be one.


    <Kl-Ann> You need no introduction to me. I recognize you. Suffice it to say that I¡¯m still the spine of this entire operation. No, maybe the cortex. Yeah, I like that better, actually. They would be disbanded without me.


    <Gobblin> As a refresher just in case, she holds all the records of our inventories, as well as whom they belong to. Thanks, Kelly.


    <Gobblin> And as for me, as well as being the speaker; the intermediary compiling the opinions of the general populous, I will also act as the representative for the Fighters. Given my experience with beating several Airgead levels, as well as sergeant general during the RTS period, I can offer detailed information on our tactical approaches and our history.


    At the same time as he typed the next line, Luke said them out loud to Yeung-Sung,


    ¡°Any questions?¡±


    This explains why he¡¯s so desperate. He was a Fighter; He has been in the Gauntlets; he knows how useless the situation is without outside help. That¡¯s why he¡¯s giving me this chance.


    Nodding, Yeung-Sung began to type out his first thought when Luke stuttered.


    ¡°Uh, just a minute¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°What are you going to ask? Nothing negative, remember? You¡¯re sure what you¡¯re about to say isn¡¯t going to squander my position?¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked down, thinking. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Luke said, shrugging, ¡°Just humour me. What are you going to ask?¡±


    ¡°I was going to ask,¡± Yeung-Sung explained,¡± If you keep a record of your gauntlet runs. Do you?¡±


    Luke sat up birch straight. ¡°Of course. We check who is running them, what their past records are -wh-why are you asking this? How does this help?¡±


    Yeung-Sung saw Shirley smirk at him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about that,¡± Yeung-Sung explained, shaking his head, ¡°I mean do you have a like a video of the events, a recorded log, something like that?¡±


    Luke see-sawed half his body over the table in confusion. ¡°What? How would we do that?¡±


    Yeung-Sung shrugged. ¡°How do you do anything in Airgead? Make the skill, practice it.¡±


    Luke covered his mouth.


    ¡°But that¡¯s not- You mean that all this time- Even if I ¨C¡±


    Slowly, he lowered his hands and typed in a message into his phone. The three of them in the room waited with locked stares until another PM player skipped in. Dark ponytail bouncing along behind her head, she stopped dead when she noticed the air in the room and Luke had to call her over. He whispered something in her ear. She nodded curtly to his words. Yeung-Sung pinched the underneath of his knees as he watched her jolly face swirl into panic, then confusion and finally after she took out her phone and tried it for herself; amazement.


    Luke dismissed her afterward, a tightness -frustration with himself- showing plain in his jaw. Turning back to the conversation at hand, Luke took in a staggering breath to control himself, holding the edge of the table so hard it looked like it might crack.


    ¡°I have a feeling,¡± he then said, his voice airy and suppressed, ¡°That our conversation today will be most enlightening.¡±


    Yeung-Sung simply smiled. As he did it, he touched his cheek in surprise; this time it came naturally.


    ¡°They told us next to nothing about Airgead. It was supposed to be just a game, like any other,¡± Luke pondered aloud, ¡°It frustrated us all to have the mechanics of the game hidden, but now I understand why. It would¡¯ve been too much¡­I never thought Airgead would be capable of this.¡±


    ¡°Well, I never got into games. To me it looked like real-life.¡±


    Luke nodded. ¡°Which makes your perspective invaluable.¡±


    ¡°Still,¡± he continued,¡± That is a good example of something you should not be typing in the chat.¡±


    Yeung-Sung nodded. ¡°Right.¡±

 Part 53 Fellowship III

    Questions? I have a few.


    What¡¯s the gauntlet like now? What are we up against?


    <Gobblin> I¡¯ll answer this one


    <Gobblin> We¡¯re on stage 3 of gauntlet 5. There are 5 groups of 6 barbarians each for a total of 30. They swarm around in a circle, constantly rotating out to make it hard to focus fire.


    That¡¯s quite a lot


    Last time there was only 10 and I still failed. No wonder they¡¯ve given up. It¡¯s so unfair!


    So what has been your plan so far?


    <Gobblin> Since there are so many to kill and so many to defend from, we¡¯ve put our efforts into finding the best possible AoE and Healing blessed gear. Other than that, we don¡¯t have much else.


    <AmberMoon> To test is difficult. Die before understand special skill of item.


    <Ness> Earlier, when we first discovered blessings, we committed to manufacturing as many things as possible to try and gather an understanding of they could do. And that was fine for a while, but now that this gear gets so weak in comparison to the AI¡¯s attacks, its become impossible to test. The gear breaks before it gets a chance to activate its blessing. You can imagine our repair costs!


    <Kl-Ann> Yes, it¡¯s really slowed us down.


    <Ness> And add to that the fact that the longer we wait, the more time the AI has to equip itself with gear stolen from our marketplace.


    <Kl-Ann> Well, it is paid for. We should just be careful


    <Ness> It is theft! The AI should not be ALLOWED into a human marketplace. Its just not right.


    <Gobblin> Careful, Ness.


    <Gobblin> That¡¯s our situation, Pak. Numbers, information, resources, all of it is not in our favour. I know that you¡¯re holding some ideas about how to approach this. Even if it¡¯s only a small suggestion, we want to hear it.


    <AmberMoon> *bows*


    <Kl-Ann> He¡¯s got nothing, I bet


    <Ness> Agreed. As I¡¯ve said time and time again, we need everyone on our side, and working together. Only as a single entity can we liberate ourselves from this place. Or we die.


    Luke smashed his fist through the table, startling Yeung-Sung and causing Shirley to bounce in front.


    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake,¡± he muttered,¡± They can¡¯t be quiet for one minute.¡±


    Yeung-Sung waved Shirley away.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he said, pointing,¡± Just the chat.¡±


    With uncertainty, he plopped back down and crossed his legs, eyes firmly on the furious PM leader. I guess it wasn¡¯t me he should have been worried about.


    Watching Luke draw his hand back, he asked, ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± he responded.


    Only half-looking back at Yeung-Sung, he typed out a message elsewhere, using his unaccustomed hand like a stiff claw. Another PM member rushed in with a wet cloth and bandages, and began tending to him at once.


    Thanking her, Luke curtly looked back at Yeung-Sung and shouted, ¡°Well? What¡¯s your plan? You¡¯re the one who said you could beat the gauntlet, not me. Quit staring and start typing.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    [Direct Message: <Shirley>]


    Make a distraction. I need him away from his phone for as long as possible.


    <Shirley> OK?


    <Shirley> emm, what will I do?


    He¡¯s already lost one hand, just take advantage of that.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Shirley had already leapt towards Luke¡¯s phone by the time he had leapt between the chat rooms. Is this a good idea? Let¡¯s bloody hope so. Wil, I hope I make you proud.


    Kelly, how many items can you keep track of at once. Say if you needed to send a group of people to battle the gauntlet, how many could you equip?


    <AmberMoon> Only 1 player in gauntlet.


    {Yes, I know. Just_} He fought for the word for a moment.


    Yes, I know. Just humour me.


    <Kl-Ann> This is just a rough calculation, but I guess we could equip about 200 players. Not that it matters since we lost most of them already.


    <Ness> What is this about, Yeung-Sung?


    {MEDB has her own gear}


    Oh crap, I really almost submitted that! I have to guard my tongue.


    The AI has her own gear. Gear which is destructible. So, before we come at the gauntlet with our real strategy, we can disable her advantage by swarming her with players whose goal is not to try and kill the barbarians, but destroy their gear, or at the very least set off their blessings, to allow our strategy the best chance of success. It might even, if we¡¯re lucky, stretch her mental processes enough that she might make less than optimal plays in some of those attempts.


    <AmberMoon> Like Indiana Jones. Set off traps at beginning.


    <Kl-Ann> I can see the logic, but this will take a lot of organization to pull off. Your idea better work.


    <Ness> A good start, but even without gear, there are still 30 of them, remember? We¡¯ll need more.


    <Ness> Also Amber, where the hell did that reference come from? Haha, you¡¯re becoming cool, girl!


    Yeung-Sung smiled. Chaos ensued around him but he didn¡¯t dare take his eyes off the screen.


    I can¡¯t let them get side tracked.  Next.


    @Ness Before, you were using amassing poor-quality materials for blessing, because they were easier to make, yes?


    <Ness> Exactly.


    Times change. We need the best quality materials we can get and we can¡¯t be stingy with how we acquire them. As Luke said, there are too many of them not to prioritize defense.


    <AmberMoon> But if blessing bad, equipment is not useful.


    <Ness> You¡¯re right! We need to be using the resources of everyone as best as we can, even with the AI risk.


    <Kl-Ann>Hey, where is @Gobblin ?


    Never mind that.


    Here is my biggest suggestion. Amber, this is directed at you. How do you test a blessing?


    He must have caught her off-guard. Several seconds later she was still typing, so he relented and looked up.


    The once organized room had become a battlefield. Half the tables were upturned, a dozen PM members were either lying limp, limping or trying to restrain Shirley. Luke was struggling to rise to his feet, his good hand holding an icepack over his face.


    Good enough.


    Back in the chat, Amber had finally put together the necessary words.


    <AmberMoon> First I receive blessed gear from Crafters. They look different than normal, like shiny. I go to Gauntlet with these and use to block attack. Magic then release form item after damage, at 100%-75%-50%-25%. It is hard but possible to see the difference. I watch what happen after blessing work and put label to explain. Then I give to repairmen. Careful not to break to 0%! Or very expensive.


    <Kl-Ann> It¡¯s an arduous process, let me tell you. My favorite part is when someone tells you their object is blessed, yet it produces no resulting effects. They¡¯ll argue its just a passive buff and I have to spend an unbearable amount of woman hours to figure out who is lying.


    An awkward system, but intuitive given they have no in-game info about blessings. How can I help them, what am I supposed to say?


    If Jordan designed it -or if Simon did- then there must be some logic here. Just because it is not shown does not mean it¡¯s not there. Gravity has rules, as does the weather, even though it does it tell us directly, sometimes. Or, I guess it does, in its own way, if you speak its language. Wait! That¡¯s it.


    Amber, I¡¯m sorry to tell you this -I can tell that you work really hard on this, but I think there¡¯s a much easier way to understand blessings. What if we learned the language that the blessings are in? If we read them directly?


    <Ness> What are you blabbing on about?


    <Kl-Ann>Teach us then, if you¡¯re so smart.


    No, it¡¯s not what you think.


    How do I explain this?


    Our avatars aren¡¯t human, right? They are demi-gods with supernatural senses as well as their human ones. The blessings we receive after we pray, don¡¯t we? So, our characters should be able to understand, through their spiritual connections what is effects are being put on the blessed gear. Try put it in Airgead a skill called ¡°Identifying¡±. Learn that and practice, then we won¡¯t need to test gear ever again.


    <Ness> You¡¯re kidding


    <Ness> Right?


    <Kl-Ann> I just tried it. I think he might be on to something. The text shows up as some strange script. Runes or something? I don¡¯t know how useful this could be.


    <AmberMoon> OMG


    Try to learn to ¡°translate¡± it.


    <Ness> No freaking way is it that easy. Where the hell is @Gobblin ?


    <AmberMoon> Only 1 word became English


    <Kl-Ann> But it undeniably works! It¡¯ll take some time to train people up to start analysing blessings efficiently but it completely relegates the need for normal testing.


    A loud crack, the unmistakable sound of breaking bones caught Yeung-Sung by the ears. Time¡¯s up. Getting out of his seat, he heard Luke make a loud error noise;


    Nuh-uh!


    ¡°Sit back down! You¡¯re going nowhere. Not after that display,¡± roared Luke, his blood seeping out from his face over the ice-pack.


    Shirley!


    His friend, knocked (forcibly) out was being carried out of the room by the shoulders. A few other PM members stayed back to start flipping back the damaged furniture and clean up the scattered packs of glass. Luke meandered through and held himself high, but highly red. He pulled out a chair with his foot and dropped himself in it.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving. Give me Shirley and we¡¯re getting out,¡± Yeung-Sung told him.


    Luke gestured at his phone. At the chat.


    What did he say?


    ¡°I¡¯ve given your people plenty of insight into Airgead. Isn¡¯t that enough?¡± said Yeung-Sung.


    Horrified, opened the chat again.


    <Gobblin> Our Friend here has agreed to stay in PM until we have conquered this Gauntlet. Make as much use of him as you can.


    After reading the sentence Yeung-Sung looked up, agape.


    ¡°Otherwise, we¡¯ll have to force it out of your friend,¡± Luke taunted him across the table.  ¡°I¡¯m sure he can come to the same conclusions as you, given enough encouragement.¡±


    I¡¯m as good as lost to the rest of the world -like Wil, but still I have leverage. I have knowledge.


    They need me.

 Part 54 Myth

    They took Yeung-Sung and Shirley away from the general meetings hall and transferred them to some secluded part of the Market. Until they were brought here, it was easy to forget that the whole place was originally an abandoned, half-built mall. But here, among the dampness hanging over the cement, dripping down from strands of rebar, it was obvious.


    The lamp in the room was useless, but the sun was still up and it shone through, snailing along the room in a stripe. Yeung-Sung stood in the light and looked out. They must have been at a corner of the wall for such a gap to be possible, and he was curious whether a scrawny Korean would be able to scratch and pull his way up.


    But even if I make it through, who else can I go to? If, PM, the biggest faction in the colony is now in tatters, what does that say about the rest? How long would it take them to gather enough resources to challenge the gauntlet? And how long would I waste in trying to ensure their support? Would 28 days -27 now- would that be enough?


    Yeung-Sung slumped against the grainy wall. ¡°It¡¯s no use,¡±


    Shirley sat in the corner, his curls falling over his face like a pillow as he tried to rest. His boulder-round shoulders helped him churn out laboured breaths.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Shirley. I should have thought that through,¡± said Yeung-Sung.


    Shirley¡¯s breath stopped. He picked out two thick strands of curls and peeked through like he was hiding in a bush.


    ¡°I don¡¯t regret doing it. I only hope you managed to achieve whatever it was you were doing,¡± he said.


    He gave a lippy grin and fell back under his hairy sleep, crossing his arms around himself. ¡°Besides,¡± he said, face still hidden. ¡°That Luke guy was an asshole, deserved it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± nodded Yeung-Sung. ¡°But I don¡¯t know who else would¡¯ve given me a chance.¡±


    Shirley flicked his head up suddenly. ¡°So why did you get me to do that? Are we taking this place over?¡±


    ¡°What? No.¡±


    ¡°So¡­why have me distract him? I figured that¡¯s what you were doing, like a coup or something. And that now we¡¯re waiting to be rescued.¡±


    He brushed his hair aside, and this time there wasn¡¯t a hint of a smile. ¡°Yeung-Sung, don¡¯t tell me we¡¯re in here simply because you don¡¯t like Luke?¡±


    Yeung-Sung scanned the room, saying, ¡°Ehh, I¡¯m not sure who you think I am, or what you expect of me¡±.


    ¡°I thought you were better than that, anyway.¡± Shirley rose gracefully. ¡°I thought that when you proclaimed to Jordan that you¡¯d surpass him, that it meant something.¡±


    He stuck a knee up against his stomach and clamped his hands over it to hold the stretch. Shirley¡¯s breathing shallowed. He stared straight out ahead and ignored Yeung-Sung, trying to relax.


    Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s an asshole but what did you expect. Did you think it would be easy? To do something that almost a thousand others are incapable of, after months of trying?¡± He put his legs down, and finally looked Yeung-Sung in the eye. ¡°Be the bigger man, as they say. Let him have his ego trip and think about all the lives you are saving.¡±


    You¡¯re right. Of course you are, Shirley, but you don¡¯t understand. I¡¯m not who you think I am. What I said before was just words; breaths of air full of hope. What I need right now is time to think, time without someone leering over me and forcing me to save the colony right now, his way.


    He held his palms inwards and reflected on them, reflecting on what he could do, and what was expected of him now.


    Shirley must¡¯ve taken his silence as a sign that he needed more convincing. He stepped closer, interrupting the beam of light from above.


    ¡°You¡¯re too focused on him -think about everyone else. Yeung-Sung, this isn¡¯t about you. Do you not see that?¡± Shirley stuck a shaky finger between Yeung-Sung¡¯s ribs. ¡°If you give into it and waste precious time planning power plays, then even if you win, you¡¯re no better than those you despise.¡±


    He really believes in me, though. Why? Where did this all come from?


    Yeung-Sung removed his finger gently, feeling the vulnerability under Shirley¡¯s words. ¡°The greater good kind of thing?¡±


    Shirley fell into his arms. ¡°Yeah. Do it for the people. For us.¡±


    Yeung-Sung enjoyed the embrace for a minute, until Shirley¡¯s weight started throwing them both backwards. He clapped Shirley¡¯s back, calling out to him, ¡°Hey, you okay?¡±


    Now that his friend¡¯s body was in the light, he could see the damage taken form earlier clear and gasped. Shirley was out cold.


    Always acting tough. See, you have the opposite problem; you only think of others.


    Yeung-Sung struggled with the weight. He limped forward and Shirley¡¯s arms slipped, choking down on his neck. Another misstep later and they tumbled down together onto the hard, grimy floor. Shirley was out, bobbing head propped up against the wall. And Yeung-Sung was fine, just stuck under the mass of muscle that was Shirley¡¯s thighs. He checked the door and hoped that nobody would walk in at this point.


    He tried to pull an arm out, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. This is so embarrassing. I¡¯m going to have to wait till he wakes up. With nothing to do, but his mind still racing he called out for a friend.


    ¡°MEDB, let¡¯s talk.¡±


    [You rang?]


    He couldn¡¯t reach it, but his phone lit up the inside of his pocket. He sagged down, relieved. Looking up at the evening sky above PM he said,


    ¡°You came.¡±


    She hummed four notes in ascending order as if she was an instrument, tuning herself.


    [After the bollocking you gave me the last time, I could hardly ignore you again, could I?]


    [Anyway, what¡¯s up? Where are you and-uh, Yeung-Sung, why do I hear someone else with you?]


    He glanced over to Shirley, but he was still asleep.


    Smiling, Yeung-Sung replied, ¡°Don¡¯t mind him, I don¡¯t think a bullet would wake him at the moment.¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    But it was not Shirley, but the sky that had his interest. Even down here, frowning, he was able to catch just a handful of stars within the thin tear in the scaffolding.


    ¡°I have a question,¡± said Yeung-Sung, ¡°About Airgead.¡±


    A cautioned breeze wafted down by Yeung-Sung¡¯s cheeks, causing him to shiver and sniff.


    [Oh yeah? Well, Yeung-Sung, I suppose you¡¯ve come to the right artificial intelligence, then haven¡¯t you? What do you want to know?]


    ¡°I thought so.¡±


    Yeung-Sung shifted as much as he could under the circumstances, trying to get anything at all under his neck so he wouldn¡¯t have to spend the whole evening holding it stiff.


    ¡°It¡¯s not one specific thing,¡± he continued, ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about the culture on which the game takes place.¡± He grunted comfortably once he found a position. ¡°It¡¯s Ireland, right? Ancient Ireland, but that¡¯s about the extent of it.¡±


    Gazing up again, his neck nestled neatly now like a bird in its own huffed plumage, he wondered how the people at that time would have seen the lights, and what they would have made of their celestial mysteries.


    [Ahh, so some background information is what you¡¯re after. Not sure how that will help you in beating me, remember: it¡¯s just a game]


    Yeung-Sung sighed. Me neither. ¡°Still, I¡¯m not going anywhere for the time being. So how about it, what do you know?¡±


    MEDB burst into an excited fit of laughter.


    ¡°What?¡± asked Yeung-Sung.


    [Strange, isn¡¯t it? That I¡¯m the to begin telling you about the history of your kind?]


    ¡°So you do have something, then? He asked.


    [Well, as you have seen, Airgead¡¯s not the type of system that allows you to access its deeper information with ease]


    That¡¯s an understatement, but still, interesting how that¡¯s the case even for an AI.


    [However, I am privy to the fact that Jordan specifically moulded the historical background to match Una¡¯s versions of the myths. And lucky for you, she loved to tell me them. So, since you did say were a prisoner, I take it that you¡¯ll be good and quietly listen to any recordings of that time?]


    How related could this be? He thought, and was about to refuse.


    But¡­ isn¡¯t this exactly the kind of thinking that has led me to understand the systems in the first place? If that¡¯s what I get by treating the game is real, then by understanding its real roots¡­maybe I can figure out something everyone overlooked.


    He stuck a hand out into the shaft of moonlight. The evening bitterness brought out his pores like an inverted pomegranate. His neck back, closing an eye, Yeung-Sung lined up the stars and pretended to pick them off their cosmic vines. ¡°Starfruit,¡± he mumbled.


    Then, glancing back to his pocket he said, ¡°Tell me, MEDB.¡±


    His phone whirred. It beat and pulsed against his thigh, its heat waning and flaring, like MEDB was somehow physically coming closer to him.


    It has never even stuttered before. What is she sending me?


    MEDB made something of a gasp like a hydraulic press. Then the recording played; a voice so unmistakably human felt strange coming from this same place. The lilt in the voice; the breathing; It was uncanny. The voice was Una¡¯s. Of Jordan¡¯s late wife.


    It was a fully realized version of what MEDB aspired to be.


    "I thought that I would be telling this to my children," it started.


    He heard the crack of wood sliding back.


    "But who knows? And you''re like a -you''re really excited about it.¡± She sighed, devoid of static or artefact. A pained, human sigh.


    Mechanical crackling bounced out throughout the recording, obscuring Una. Somewhat familiar, but much closer to the dry vocalizations of standard text-speech.


    Is that her as a child? If an AI can have a childhood¡­


    ¡°The land of my birth is a special little island.¡±


    Once Una started her tale Yeung-Sung felt like he was implored to listen, like it was something high and mighty and that he was, at that moment, the only one witness to it.


    ¡°Nowadays, its cities look just like any other; Stupidly high apartments; rows and rows of cars at a stand-still, landlords who care about their tenants about as much as a skip -that¡¯s a rubbish bin. But this story happens long, long before that. About the people¡¯s who came in the mists of Dun Na Ngall in the north. Of the gods and the worshippers of Dana; the Tuatha De Danann.¡±


    MEDB crackled. [But, Una? Men coming from the sky, gods, goddesses? I thought this was a about the history of your country?]


    Una chuckled; a high-pitched bleat that vibrated with as much pain as it had joy.


    ¡°I forget sometimes,¡± she said, ¡°that you don¡¯t follow what I say, between the words.¡±


    [I don¡¯t understand how one could possibly do that]


    ¡°Well, love, it is a curse for us to live with limits.¡±  Una slipped a whimper in between breaths.


    ¡°To have to suffer and work constantly just to feed ourselves. Just to see another day,¡± she went on.


    ¡°But the way we deal with misfortune, the way we resolve our feelings of hopelessness, is to tell tales. Of our feats, of our ancestors and our land, our people. For it is the only way we can see the end, MEDB, by showing off the fun and excitement of why it is our place is here, and should always be here.


    Remember, this is before code and before even written text. All we had was word of mouth to pass it along and it was a sacred and comforting thing to us.


    For when we speak, we explore ourselves -who we perceive ourselves to be, now and later; what we think of others and the world around us, ending in a visible truth, something we can gather around and chain ourselves forever to the land. Ireland. Eire.¡±


    [But there is a standard format that you read off, correct? Otherwise it would be a mess. Why would I even bother listening?]


    ¡°Oh,¡± she sang, ¡°It is not the words that matter -the meanings of which can shift and change- but the people behind them. And that is will always matter, MEDB. You¡¯d do well to remember that.¡±


    Una let out a breath that sounded like it was tugged from her abdomen, while something creaked and spluttered around her.


    ¡°See beyond what it is they tell you, feel out the chunk of truth of who they are, what they want form you.¡±


    [From me? What could I offer anyone apart from my database, for which they do not need me to access? What else am I but information, an intermingling of electronic surges. I have no physical form]


    Yeung-Sung tucked his shoulders in. Why is she showing me this? Where¡¯s the actual story? All I¡¯m seeing is an AI being lectured to by a human, uselessly.


    ¡°Oh, MEDB, you have no idea how special you are¡­Anyway, the Tuatha De Danann did not come to an empty land. No, even they were not the first, though the most well remembered of the old peoples. But it was the indigenous Firbolgs that resided on this small island before them.¡±


    Una giggled as MEDB let out a humming note. It was like her imagination just awoke, like she had just been given a luxurious belly rub.


    Una continued in a whispered shout, like what she was revealing were secrets, but secrets too large and too exciting to be contained.


    ¡°Nuada was the king of the Tuatha De Danann and there were many great men with him. Men of learning and of great wit like Ogma men of ingenuity and artisanship like Goibniu the Smith, and of course many men of battle, as this was not to expected to be an easy settlement. But while their men were great, the women were greater. Of course, there were the daughters of Ogda, chiefly, who gave their name to the land, and ever since called the land; air-land. And there were women of poetry, like Eadoin and Brigit the Fiery Arrow whom poets worshipped ever after.¡±


    She paused then, stunting her momentum and MEDB beeped in surprise and annoyance, but she soon went on,


    ¡°Yet among the women, even though there were queens and warriors and wives, none compared to Dana, who was called ¡®The Mother of the Gods¡¯.


    And there were three things that the Tuatha De Dannan loved above all else and they were; The plough, the sun and the hazel tree -and some would say the number three itself was sacred to them.¡±


    [The number 3? What an inconvenient number to worship] said MEDB.


    ¡°Ahh, well soon you will see,¡± answered Una. ¡°But anyway, it was the first of Bealtaine that they landed to the North-West of Connacht descending from the high-air, when the Firbolg king Eochaid heard of the invaders. And so, he sent out a scout in the form of his best champion as an envoy. But of course, the women, all-knowing as they were caught wind of this and urged king Nuada to send his champion, and so he did.


    The two met in the flat top of Maigh Rea. Exchanging their shields and spears between them, they admired as they fought the handiwork of the others tribe and returned, urging etheir respective kings not to wage war, to be content with ruling side by side.¡±


    After that Una took a mournful sigh, to which MEDB dotted out some low sonic yells.


    [And the kings did, right? They ruled in harmony, integrated within each other¡¯s society until they were one unbroken culture, more powerful for the mixing of blood within themselves.]


    There was the audible pop of something flat dropping onto a flat surface, a hand on the table, or a slippery jaw falling to the seat of a chair.


    ¡°Oh, MEDB; No. Of course not.¡± Una snapped, ¡°You¡¯ve been listening to Jordan again? Listen here, this my country. This my history, and every hot-blooded Irish man will defend his country to the last before giving up his half of land, lest they take it all¡­in time.¡±


    ¡°In time,¡± she repeated, before bursting into tears.


    The recording stopped. The file¡¯s sounds were tugged like ribbons out of the air with a wet, glitch-filled slap.


    ¡°MEDB, why did you show me this?¡± asked Yeung-Sung, ¡°This is not what I asked for.¡±


    [That is simply a first-hand account of the details]


    A portion of her audio lingered in a quiet buzz. [Isn¡¯t that the honest way, the only way to give you information in a manner that will have you trust me?]


    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re right, I guess. So¡­ Airgead si based on the history of these Gods, the -uhh, Tuatha De Dannann?¡±


    [Yes, but it is incorrect to call them histories. These are myths and legends, passed down through the generations until it found its way -to me!]

 Part 55 Myth II

    The door was forced back after several creaking attempts, several bouts of muffled yelling and complaining. Once the entryway was clear, Yeung-Sung and Shirley rose to their feet and gave each the same stressed look of ¡®He can¡¯t know!¡¯


    Luke leaned out. He didn¡¯t seem concerned, and idled against the door frame while he waited for the two to approach. Already the games begin. What a fuckin¡¯ ego!


    ¡°Having fun?¡± he asked, chuckling at his own words.


    Yeung-Sung had no answer he was willing to give. Shirley, he saw through heavy eyes, didn¡¯t have one either.


    Luke bounced up straight. ¡°Oh, no comeback?¡± He pulled his collar forward and made a show of looking behind them at the damp prison cell they were in. ¡°Huh, I should use this place more often,¡± he muttered, ¡°Works wonders.¡±


    ¡°Anyway,¡± he continued, gesturing at the two to get in front of him, ¡°We¡¯re ready. My officers have explained to me what you¡¯ve told them and have come up with their own strategies.¡±


    They hobbled along, abandoned runts walking a highway. Luke skipped around, taunting them, bewildered by their newfound passiveness.


    ¡°You,¡± he nodded to Shirley, ¡°-look like shit.¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    He stopped in front of Yeung-Sung, ¡°But you¡¯re still holding back. Tell me. Come on, you¡¯ve had plenty of time to articulate yourself in there.¡±


    Yeung-Sung said, ¡°You don¡¯t deserve to know,¡± and swerved around him.


    Shirley instantly caught up to him and pulled back his shoulder, whispering, ¡°Didn¡¯t we just talk about this? Be the bigger man¡±.


    Luke snuck in on the other shoulder and repeated the words with a serpentine flavour, ¡°Be the bigger man, eh¡­Yeung-Sung, yes, why don¡¯t you?¡±


    Yeung-Sung shook them both off and brushed off his shoulders.


    ¡°No, Luke, why don¡¯t you?¡±


    As he strode further down the hall it widened and transformed from a speckled grey to the idyllic reds and blues of PM. There was nothing commanding about his walk; he kept his legs close together, pointed his feet to the inside and left his body unguarded by his arms. The rush of much work to be done and the smells of lunch crashed in waves now that they had entered the main lobby of the re-purposed mall. The thud of footsteps behind him were submerged in it, lessening the threat which they warned of.


    Yeung-Sung meekly looked behind his shoulder and said to Luke, ¡°All these people around you, all these lives on the line and you insist on keeping your status as a leader intact. Why? Is that worth more than your life? More than everyone¡¯s life?¡±


    Shirley diligently watched Luke¡¯s face warp through reactions. Luke stamped to the side, a desperate attempt at dominance.


    ¡°Listen here, you little- ah, you¡¯re right. Okay, yeah. It doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± He rolled his tongue around, making bulges in his cheeks. PM members nearby came instantly to his side, and he waved them towards the general room, nodding to himself and Shirley., ¡°Fine, I guess you know your own worth. Have it your way, just beat that damn intelligence-thing.¡±


    Shirley turned back around to Luke as he was led, but Yeung-Sung tugged his forearm. ¡°Don¡¯t let him know.¡±


    They stood, climbing up on the escalator as Luke watched them from the floor. He jerked an eyebrow towards them and spat one last warning.


    ¡°But you¡¯re not leaving until we win. There¡¯s no backing out of this, that I stake my life on.¡±

 Part 56 A Colossal Undertaking

    A PM member with an elegant walk showed Yeung-Sung to his seat.


    The general room was decked out for a feast. He licked his lips as platters of hot food drifted past him; Roast, honeyed ham with cabbage; Stuffed turkey with great dollops of mint sauce; Smoked, cured salmon rolled up into tall curls. But despite his hunger, he was too wary of Luke to take any of it. The speaker for PM stared at him from the opposite end of the refectory table with grey pockets under his eyes.


    Looks like he got less sleep than I did.


    All around him were tight-backed, sneering coloners that snubbed him, yet were paying attention to every syllable that came out of Luke. Making awkward smiles to the ambivalent faces, he searched the tables that stretched through ¡®General¡¯, but was unable to find where they seated Shirley.


    ¡°Eat,¡± sad a coloner to his right.


    His squashed-cherry head wobbled atop his stem of a neck. ¡°Ee-yat,¡± he said again, and dropped a plate of salmon in front of Yeung-Sung. A side of coleslaw spread in a half-moon around it. Bowing, he forced down a few morsels as he wondered if all this was bought in his store.


    Did Woo-Yi sell this to them, or did they take it?


    Is she safe? He stopped chewing, pretending that he had caught a bone.


    There¡¯s nothing I can do about it now. Nothing, except making sure that this Gauntlet run ends in a victory. He¡¯s so certain of it that he¡¯s spent all night preparing the celebrations. If we lose -Well, if Luke doesn¡¯t have the luxury of even thinking about that, then I shouldn¡¯t either.


    Still, he found it difficult to pay much attention to the meal, or the coloners around him.


    Will my plan work?


    Though they didn¡¯t talk to him, the seated coloners were definitely talking about him. It was clear that because of his antics earlier; proclaiming that he will save the colony, disrupting their brainstorming session; that he had acquired a particular reputation.


    Tonguing his teeth, he found flakes of salmon flesh. I expected a juicy mouthful, but it was dry. Bitter.


    He turned to his side to comment on it as he might have done in The Wick, but the cherry-headed coloner had long ignored him. Annoyed, Yeung-Sung pushed aside his plate only to be met by Luke across the table, his teeth clean and bared like a husband to his newly wed wife, a wife deeply questioning her commitment.


    Tugging his eyes down was the mauve t-shirt that they had given him trapped inside the seam of his seat cushion. Snapping it out, he noticed how overly long it was; descending down almost to his knees. Yeung-Sung shuffled his feet together and stared back up at Luke.


    Is it time? Will you finally let me fight, or is there more to this ceremony?


    Luke, spreading his fingers down, thudded them into the table like a row of spikes. Coloners that were leaning into the PM speaker crept into the backs of their chairs and now stared in unison at Yeung-Sung. A whorl of motion then occurred simultaneously focusing on both sides of the table.


    Announcing the reason for the gathering today, Luke cracked his neck to other side of his flared collar which made him look reptilian. He described the events up till now; the riots where Yeung-Sung claimed himself superior to Jordan, the assault inside PM yesterday and that, regardless of this that he will be given this one chance to redeem himself and defeat the gauntlet, as a gift for The Players Market.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    But Yeung-Sung wasn¡¯t paying attention to the speech; It may as well have been a wordless act. Rather, it was a document that was changed hands down to his side, a document that slid from Luke¡¯s hand earlier, that was on his mind. The cherry-headed coloner bobbed his head approvingly as he slapped it in front of Yeung-Sung.


    What does he want me to sign?


    Scooping it up, Yeung-Sung waited for an explanation.


    ¡°Such is this boy¡¯s ego,¡± Luke proclaimed, ¡°That he insists upon being gauntlet runner despite having no prior record of his competence. He didn¡¯t even pledge membership to the Market for this honour.¡± He separated his arms wide in a blameless gesture. ¡°My generosity has its limits. In order for us to commit our resources to you for this, you¡¯ll need to sign this contract.¡±


    Yeung-Sung read down past the legal jargon and found a line as Luke quoted it;


    ¡°Should you fail, you will never be allowed to try again, acting only as an advisor for PM. And if you veer from your duties will be punished by -well, by whatever method we see fit.¡±


    ¡°GLI won¡¯t accept a contract like that!¡± shouted Shirley.


    He is here, thank goodness!


    Reading through further legalese, Yeung-Sung heard the rumblings of a chant, accompanied by the clattering of cutlery.


    ¡°Sign it! Sign it!


    Sign and start!


    Sign and start!


    Fight and die!¡±


    At the end of the contract lay a long list of signatures, witnesses from the table no doubt, and immediately above where he was to sign his own name was Jordan¡¯s.


    ¡°So I¡¯m a slave, then,¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    For a futuristic society, their concept of ethics is pretty backwards.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t sign, we won¡¯t allow you any of our resources for your attempt,¡± Luke explained.


    A cry was muffled behind him. The officiators all around nodded sharply, like a falling axe. Yeung-Sung looked back, but now the dinner gusts had picked up on each other and chanted even louder. ¡°SIGN IT! SIGN IT!¡±


    The hot smells lodged in his stomach like a twisted root. Should I sign, or run the Gauntlet alone?


    Practically, he was given no pen, and even if it meant he was considering signing the contract, he wanted to be able to deliberate with it, twirl it around in his hand as he came to his decision.


    ¡°How can I sign without a pen?¡±


    Luke pointed. ¡°With your finger. It¡¯s touch-sensitive, Yeung-Sung.¡±


    ¡°Remarkable,¡± Yeung-Sung mumbled, bowing slightly in thanks and laying the graphene sheet flat. Now that he knew it wasn¡¯t paper, he noticed its unnatural sheen and the ever so slight flickering of its letters. Whereas he before he simply wasn¡¯t hungry, now he felt sick.


    Even the paper is fake, I can¡¯t possibly sign this. I can¡¯t possibly take such a risk on an idea I¡¯ve never tested.


    He found himself looking at all the ¡®officials¡¯ lining his table, seeing if he could¡¯ve picked out those he met it in the private chat. He recognised Kelly-Ann up at the top -she had tied back her hair and donned glasses. The table held several different Chinese members, any of them might¡¯ve been Amber Moon. The rest may have been there, but the way they all stared at him, Yeung-Sung wished they weren¡¯t.


    I thought they might have at least respected me from our conversation, but it seems I was wrong. Regardless of my choice, I am alone.


    Luke cleared his throat. ¡°We¡¯re waiting,¡±.


    I need more time, you bastard.


    The chanting seemed to blare further, as if triggering off his indecision. He felt like hibiscus, being drowned in its pot because it wasn¡¯t quick enough to show signs of blooming.


    ¡°SIGN IT! SIGN IT! SIGN IT!¡±


    What if I don¡¯t? What if I run now, find some others that I can actually trust? But who would have the raw time accrued from PM¡¯s numbers, who would have this wide berth of resources? How long would I have to stay in hiding, waiting in a room, watching each agonising progress bar?


    No. It won¡¯t be fast enough?


    Yeung-Sung closed his eyes and lay a hand gently by the wad of contact ¡®paper. The chanting dissolved.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to do it,¡± he stated, ¡°But I won¡¯t get another chance, will I?¡±


    Dancing his fingers across the page, he traced his name in his mind¡¯s eye, afterwards looking ahead at the satisfied Luke. The PM speaker sat back comfortably. He believed he had full control of the situation, of Yeung-Sung, of his name echoing strongly after this whole ordeal.


    He really believes that what I said during the riots was out of arrogance. Withdrawing his phone, Yeung-Sung tapped it awake. That¡¯s lucky for me.


    ¡°Gather the officials,¡± he demanded, flicking through Airgead menus, ¡°The ones I was talking with before. I want to get started straight away.¡±


    Then, as all the PM members around him audibly recoiled, he found that, actually, he could eat, serving himself helpings of rice, ham and plenty of vegetables.

 Part 57 A Colossal Undertaking II

    Yeung-Sung wished that the majority would go. His request for privacy was, as it turns out, one request too many and although many people did get up, many stayed. At the corners of his eyes, he could feel them watching him, anxiously waiting to see whether he could actually do it or not.


    Or perhaps I¡¯m giving myself too much credit. They could just be waiting for me to fail.


    As for the other request, the few officials he called for -it must have been them- switched to his table. Or the main table, as he did share it with Luke. Keeping their distance, the waiters reached around him as they stacked and cleared plates. Watching the PM speaker creaking back his chair, Yeung-Sung wiped the sweat off a hand under the table. He took a look at the new arrivals and matched their faces to their usernames -Kelly, Moon, Vanessa.


    The three sat equally far from Luke, which was still considerably far, given the ludicrous length of the hall¡¯s dining tables. The exception was Kelly-Ann, who was on Luke¡¯s side, eyeing the coloner to his right as if they didn¡¯t deserve to sit so close. Amber Moon and Vanessa were friendlier than most, though; They waved over to him and mouthed hello over the chatter that persisted.


    Even if Yeung-Sung wasn¡¯t sure what the most of PM thought about his chances, the officials near him made it very clear where they stood.


    ¡°Why were they involved in this?¡± one said, nodding to the Amber and Vanessa.


    The official next to him nodded, replying, ¡°Are we not important enough?¡±


    ¡°Luke better have a good plan,¡± echoed a sentiment from the other direction, ¡°Giving this outsider a chance. Good grief!¡±


    Strange, thought Yeung-Sung, He is taking quite a risk here. Even if I fail, he can still show off my strategy as a way to get the officials¡¯ approval


    -But what if I intentionally fail? Fail so horribly that Luke would like a fool for allowing me to waste so much time.


    Coinciding with this thought, he saw Luke jerking his eyebrows, obviously catching wind of some of the comments about him.


    Luke cut through the table, his voice like a powerline just restored. ¡°I did what you asked of me.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Yeung-Sung said with a bow, ¡°Now, you¡¯re under contract to give me whatever I need to beat the Gauntlet.¡±


    At the far end, Luke flexed his eyebrows like a whip.


    ¡°Within reason,¡± snapped a familiar voice. Kelly-Ann speared her stylus in the centre of the table.


    ¡°This might be more interesting than I thought,¡± mumbled the cherry-headed official from before.


    The table had all but died down now, necks swishing from one end to the other. In that silence, Luke shifted forward in his seat, making an ominous squeak.


    ¡°Remember, you only have today.¡±


    Today. Not¡­a day, as he previously promised. He scanned the contract. Even if some of the English is too complicated, I need to be more careful with the terms of agreements.


    As he slid the obtuse thing aside, Kelly got his attention.


    ¡°What do you need, Yeung-Sung? You know our stores are in shambles, right now. With only the rest of the day, I don¡¯t know how much I can feasibly acquire for you.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Different players respond at different times -and some might not be so willing to withdraw their held stock for your sake.¡±


    Pa-king! Yeung-Sung swiped open Airgead. Steph messaged back, excellent.


    ¡°Well?¡± Kelly-Ann asked.


    Yeung-Sung smiled as he scrolled through the conversation.


    Hey, Steph want a drink? I¡¯ve found you a buyer for your ore.


    <Steph> Even if Darnes would let me back in I heard you¡¯re with PM now. They only buy the cheap quality shit, what use would they have for my high-mastery ore?


    That¡¯s all going to change,


    Just trust me; put the ore for sale, but not too low. Once I execute my plan they¡¯ll want more.


    <Steph> Very well, Yeung-Sung. I¡¯m going to hope you know what you¡¯re at¡­I really need that drink.


    Looking up from his phone, Yeung-Sung ignored Kelly-Anna and asked Vanessa, ¡°You¡¯ve told me you tried using better quality equipment before. Who¡¯s your highest mastery armor smith?¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Stirring a milky cup of tea, she clinked it off the side. ¡°Oh¡­Give me a moment, I think it¡¯s¡±


    ¡°¡ªMe, actually,¡± spoke up a woman in the table by Vanessa¡¯s back. ¡°Leslie is my name, spelt like¡ª¡± She stood up and walked over to Yeung-Sung as he began to type it in. ¡°Yeah, like that.¡± She gave a one-armed bow, and walked back to her spot behind Vanessa.


    The rest of the table panned their attention like the glare of a headlight, following Leslie before centring back onto Yeung-Sung. Swallowing. He sweated under the pressure of so many expectant faces, and missed the few lucky moments before when it had been swung away.


    Makes sense that everyone I need is here. I¡¯d probably hang around too if I thought my skills would be of use. And I will need the use of every single one.


    Kelly-Ann tapped her stylus against the table again, like the mic of an impatient reporter.


    Glancing down at his conversation with Steph, he reminded himself of the next step.


    ¡°Look for the highest quality ore on the marketplace right now and buy it.¡±


    Small dessert plates and snacks were laid around the table, of course walking past the entire length of the table to present it to Luke first.


    ¡°Nobody would be selling any decent ore at any useful quantity,¡± said Luke, waving the sweets away.


    Kelly-Ann grunted. ¡°Well, actually, there is one. Higher than anything we have -and the quantity of it is incredible!¡±


    Snatching an array of almond fingers, Yeung-Sung thanked the waiter with a bow that they did not acknowledge. Sighing he turned back to the conversation at hand, saying, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it should be affordable enough.¡±


    Although he enjoyed the nutty biscuit, Yeung-Sung did not grab them out for pleasure. Rather, he kept an unwavering grin as he mashed the soft flakes, enjoying them to an over-the-top degree while exchanging stares with Luke.


    The PM speaker¡¯s hands were bright red from crushing each other. His officers transferred the funds to Kelly-Ann, who bought Steph¡¯s bundle of ore, switching ownership to Leslie who popped her jaw open when she found that what they had said was true. They did this without asking Luke. Without so much as looking at him as Yeung-Sung sat there, stuffing his face.


    ¡°What do you want made?¡± Luke asked him.


    ¡°A tethplate,¡± Yeung-Sung answered. He licked his teeth clean. ¡°Sorry. A chest plate is what I¡¯d need, but whatever you have at the highest mastery should work.¡±


    ¡°My masteries are all balanced, so a chest plate is just fine,¡± Leslie said. Then hesitated. ¡°How many? A hundred?¡±


    ¡°Make enough to level up your mastery for that specific recipe, then hand me the next one.¡±


    Leslie still looked uncertain, glancing over at her peers at the main table. ¡°Just one? Are you not going to enchant it?¡±


    ¡°Just get on with it,¡± snapped Kelly-Ann. ¡°Enough questions.¡±


    The armor smith gave a salute and swung her chair back around to begin her task. The table once again burst into murmurs, the officials forming bigger huddles, more frantic than before. But Kelly-Ann sat out of those. Her arms folded, she eyed Yeung-Sung.


    ¡°A breastplate is not going to win a Gauntlet on its own,¡± she said. ¡°What else?¡±


    Yeung-Sung found a napkin to wipe his hands with. Once clean, he picked up his phone. ¡°Does this mean you¡¯re taking me seriously now?¡±


    She smirked back at him. Luke did not.


    ¡°Do you remember, Vanessa,¡± Yeung-Sung began, ¡°in the early gauntlets when players would wear as many bits of armour as possible, simply to soak up hits?¡±


    Vanessa nodded. ¡°Yeah, but that became irrelevant pretty quickly after we discovered blessings, and that smaller trinkets couldn¡¯t be repaired.¡±


    He waited for her to catch on.


    Vanessa scrunched up her face. ¡°You want them?¡± What for?¡±


    Kelly shook her head. ¡°This is ridiculous. You¡¯re just wasting our time, Yeung-Sung, why would you ask for a single piece of the strongest armor we can make, unenchanted, and then also weigh yourself down with bracelets?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Luke said. He stated his words carefully before dipping them into the conversation. ¡°Even if you do enchant them, they would be broken and irreplaceable after one use. What a waste of time!¡±


    He slammed his hands flat on the able. ¡°Like I said; arrogance! I was wrong about you, you won¡¯t even try to beat the Gauntlet, just bring down PM.¡± He threw aside a silver plate, clattering across the hall. ¡°And you know of their tactics, you¡¯re a Champion spy¡±.


    Yeung-Sung shrugged. It¡¯s down to the rest of you now. Do you believe me?


    ¡°Twenty or so should do, Kelly,¡± he told her, then turned to Amber. ¡°Amber, how¡¯s your reading of blessings going? Level it up much?¡±


    She looked like a child beside Vanessa¡¯s weathered features beside her. They were evidently good friends, though, and Vanessa nudged her on. She gripped her own cup of steaming green tea.


    ¡°Relax on that teacup, you wouldn¡¯t want to break PM property,¡± he noted, sneaking a look down the ned of the table.


    She fluttered her eyelids, fidgeting now around the tea saucer. ¡°Good. I have mastery five levels.¡±


    Yeung-Sung bowed, keeping eye contact. ¡°That¡¯s nice to hear,¡± he said,¡± Now, you told me that a lot of the blessed equipment is either Area of Effect or Regeneration based.¡±


    Several officials bent toward her, ¡°You told him that? That¡¯s private!¡±


    ¡°Sorr-ee,¡± she squealed out hiding her hands under the table. Vanessa flung herself into the official¡¯s face and they very quickly shrunk back into their places. Leslie was also half-turned towards them, going back to her work once she satisfied that Amber was safe.


    Pa-king! Yeung-Sung had a feeling he knew who it might¡¯ve been.


    <AmberMoon> You need them? I put on market right now.


    <AmberMoon> Thank you for teaching me. Good luck (^-^)


    Scrolling through the linked store, Yeung-Sung selected the ones he thought he¡¯d need. Bowing again, he smiled gratefully at her. ¡°Thank you, Amber,¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Luke shouted. His elbow spiking up, he held himself up over the armrests, ready to lea out of his chair. ¡°What did you just do? Amber!¡±


    The lamp of the table swung over to him.


    ¡°This is getting out of hand,¡± muttered the cherry-headed coloner.


    Watching Luke all night, Yeung-Sung had anticipated this would happen. ¡°Shirley,¡± he called out over his shoulder. He almost laughed when he saw Luke¡¯s face.


    ¡°Yes?¡± came the response.


    ¡°I need something handled.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Umm¡­¡± Yeung-Sung hesitated. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant. I mean can you put a handle on something. Like, a wooden one, in Airgead?¡±


    He came over and wove a finger through his curls. ¡°Oh, well, yeah, I guess I could¡­¡± Behind him was a row of toppled seats and one very shocked PM member. With a soft grunt he righted the chair closest to him and went onto Airgead.


    Yeung-Sung spread his elbows out onto the table. The lamp was hot; all the attention was on him, but he was starting to enjoy it. In his own Airgead inventory he counted his stock:


    Potions, more potions; herbs, roots, vials and empty bottles. Hardly the stock of someone preparing to take on thirty barbarians at once. Even with all the help, even if this idea works, I don¡¯t know if it will be enough.


    ¡°Kelly,¡± he commanded, ¡°Link me whatever you can access at the moment.¡±


    She raised her eyebrow up at him. ¡°Everything?¡±


    ¡°Everything,¡± Yeung-Sung nodded.


    Kelly-Ann looked to Luke, who slipped back in his chair with a sigh and agreed.


    ¡°Everything.¡±

 Part 58 A Colossal Undertaking III

    Yeung-Sung held the phone closer, gripped it tighter but still the murmurs that circled the table would not fade, and he could not immerse himself as deep as he wanted to into Airgead.


    ¡°What if he fails ¨C¡± he overheard among the myriad whispers.


    ¡°What if he succeeds,¡± was often snapped back, ¡°Then how do we look?¡±


    They think I don¡¯t know the stakes? I know -Don¡¯t tell me the stakes! I know them more than any of you could. None of you have seen Jordan¡¯s fury as I have. Most of you don¡¯t believe what he said, probably think it¡¯s hyperbole, something to get us motivated to cross the finish line of the experiment. You people, so concerned about your own image¡­even if you think he means ¡®kill¡¯ as in ¡¯dead¡¯, that surely that doesn¡¯t apply to you.


    None of us are on his side; That¡¯s what you don¡¯t know. That¡¯s why I¡¯m the one in charge of this Gauntlet.


    Shutting them out, Yeung-Sung felt for his injuries. They were not actively sore for they were not fresh, but instead felt like just another layer of bark. One that he was beginning to outgrow, and cover up with new experiences, with lessons well learned and understood. But being to feel that pain, dormant as it may have been, helped him feel alone at last.


    Let¡¯s give this a try, he thought. He entered the Gauntlet.


    Just like the warnings said, he was immediately surrounded. Packs of the barbarians -along with some members of PM- blared their battle cries through the phone¡¯s speakers. But unlike the coloners, these did not make him anxious, nor did they make him afraid. In fact, it was quite refreshing to deal with targets that were designated ¡®enemies¡¯ -nothing more complex. Nothing that had to be danced around, deceived for a time. Something, thankfully not human that he could simply kill. Or they¡¯d kill his avatar.


    His avatar was unrecognisable now. Where before he tread upright in a light tunic, bearing a pair of potion-filled satchels, he now found himself slouching with the burden of all of the PM equipment he had brought, most noticeable of which was the giant oval shield.


    The instant combat started, the moment Yeung-Sung could act, the barbarians began to whirlpool in formation, circling closer in groups of six. Not focused on the exact placement, his avatar thrust the man-sized shield into the earth in front of him. Then, unhooking one of his bags he planted several throwing spears at the sides of the shield in a makeshift wall. With that weight loosened, the avatar could at least move around a bit -though he still carried a pocket-satchel of potions, three glowing short-bladed weapons, their sheaths partly hidden by the thick chest piece that Leslie had just crafted for him.


    The avatar ran his hand over the protruding armor in awe, feeling the brush of textures of the strange jade enchantment that grew on the thing like moss. As he was getting used to owning something of such high craftsmanship, the first hail of arrows and hatchets assaulted him.


    Pulling the shield hard against the ground, the avatar pivoted it to stop the first attack, but the barbarians quickly adjusted, and the next two volleys came from opposite sides, simultaneously.


    The first group had closed in by the time the third volley landed. Though he had managed to block the first one entirely, he was caught twice on each of the other volleys. Three he directed into his chest plate, and the last one at one of his bracers, snapping the thing like a wishbone.


    As pieces of it cracked underfoot, Yeung-Sung noticed the smaller part of the broken thing fall off. He smiled, saying, ¡°So it begins.¡±


    Peering out from the shield, he searched for any effects: One group¡¯s shield bearer was snagged inside a tower of vines that suspended him several feet in the air. Smiling, the avatar fist-bumped his chest plate, which was slowly regaining much of its green lustre. While shocked, the rest of the group of Celts continued their slow encroachment. A shield bearer from the group behind them in the rotation ran over to try prying back the branches.


    I guess you don¡¯t need him anyway?


    The barbarians however, looked unsettled with two of their protectors occupied. They glanced towards their robed druids as the shield bearer screams were stifled by greenery, as if they had somehow upset Nature.


    Excellent, I couldn¡¯t have hoped for a better outcome. I hadn¡¯t considered that the trap could also hurt them.


    Another arrow. Another bracelet snapped. Yeung-Sung took the golden hand-indicator on his screen and ran it over his avatar¡¯s chest piece. Dust seeped out of it like a broken hourglass and the perforated parts of the metal popped out again.


    Good as new.


    Just as he had the thought, another arrow slipped through his defence and embedded itself within the chest plate, sizzling and smoking where it hit. The jade-coloured blessing was triggered again, ensnaring another hapless barbarian before fading from existence.


    But, Yeung-Sung realised, that wasn¡¯t a regular arrow. Poisoned?


    Cheeky, MEDB, very cheeky.


    Yeung-Sung noticed some odd noises that weren¡¯t coming from Airgead. He looked round to where the Ooohs and Ahhs came from to find an assembly in the foyer outside ¡®General¡¯, in front of the elevators, staring up.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°The fight is on the big screen,¡± Luke explained. ¡°We learned something else, yesterday, too, you see.¡±


    But the only one who knows you could view other payers¡¯ runs¡¯ is¡­Wil!


    ¡°How did you¡­¡±


    Luke wagged a finger. ¡°Not now,¡± he said, rolling his neck around in his collar, ¡°the Gauntlet comes first.¡±


    When the first group of barbarians got to within melee range, the cycle continued. Hit to the chest plate; Snare another Celt; A hit to break the bracelet; The chest plate repaired. At five snares in, an assassin put a hand out, stopping his ally mid-swing.


    ¡°I think they¡¯ve made the connection between the snares and their attacks,¡± Yeung-Sung admitted to the table.


    The main group of officers -Vanessa, Amber, Kelly-Ann and Leslie- as well as Shirley were huddled around his screen.


    ¡°What¡¯ll they do now?¡± asked Shirley.


    Dropping a dead stare, the barbarians backed away their guards still up. Once the cell was whole again, they slotted back inside the rotation, staying equidistant from the avatar.


    Yeung-Sung groaned, and let his head fall to the table. The officers gasped.


    ¡°Hey, what are you doing?¡± asked Shirley.


    ¡°No way, that¡¯s it?¡± said Leslie.


    ¡°Is it over?¡± Vanessa asked.


    Rattling the drinks, Luke straddled his side of the table, far away from the group. ¡°Hah! The AI has figured out your plan! You need them to attack you for your enchantment to work, so they¡¯ll just stall it out until their druids are ready to incinerate you.¡±


    I didn¡¯t think MEDB would figure out a counter before I even finished the stage. No¡­


    He felt something small grip his shoulder. It was Amber Moon.


    ¡°It was a good plan, Yeung-Sung, even if it failed.¡± She bowed. ¡°You have to tell me how you discovered that the bracelets had a repair enchantment without testing them. Amazing!¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Yeung-Sung promised, putting down his phone gently on the table. ¡°I knew it was a longshot, after all.¡±


    Swilling wine, Luke was roaring in laughter at anyone who would listen, ¡°I knew it! Of course he couldn¡¯t do it! In just one day, come on, how arrogant do you have to be?¡±


    A second hand crept over Yeung-Sung¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡±


    It was Shirley, standing over him, his hand trembling, but imparting its warmth. However, it seemed like Shirley was the who needed comforting, so Yeung-Sung stopped time on the Gauntlet and put his across his shoulder, on top of Shirley¡¯s and smiled up at him.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Shirley,¡± he said, ¡°We¡¯ll defeat it, this is only a setback, we¡¯re only¡­ gathering information.¡±


    Rubbing his cheeks into Shirley as they hugged, the cracks of pain that lay dormant broke through. His throat was being dragged out from underneath, he could hardly breathe out a reply when Shirley said,


    ¡°But this can¡¯t be the extent of your planning. I know you.¡± Holding Yeung-Sung forward he shook him enough that he would take what he said seriously, and not as commiserative bullshit. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t let yourself become a slave to PM just like that.¡± He turned him over to face Airgead. ¡°It¡¯s not over yet.¡±


    Kelly-Ann cut in. ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Luke threw his empty wine glass into the air. ¡°That¡¯s a good boy, go through the motions, believe you can still pull it off.¡± He plopped back in his chair. ¡°It¡¯s only satisfying if you struggle.¡±


    Would you shut up?


    ¡°Hey,¡± called Vanessa, ¡°If you were able to figure out how to survive against thirty of them, being able to take them out shouldn¡¯t be that hard.¡±


    Thanking his friends, Yeung-Sung settled in front of his screen.


    All in all, this scenario is something I should¡¯ve considered.


    In the Gauntlet, even the far archers put away their bows as the message was spread; Their shots no longer available to use as a trigger for his ensnaring blessing. Some of them followed the rotation of tight groups. Others had taken out short knives and tried to hack out the remaining barbs still alive within the pillars of vines.


    The archers; they are hiding them.


    ¡°Umm, Yeung-Sung?¡± Amber Moon quietly chimed in, ¡°Maybe if we converse together, we can figure a way out of this.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess,¡± said Yeung-Sung, blushing, ¡°I¡¯m so used to ¨C"


    He shook his head. She¡¯s right.


    ¡°Umm, see the way they have their formations? They¡¯re hiding the druids behind them while they channel their magic.¡±


    Keeping time dilated at minimum, he zoomed the camera out and showed them the composition of each group; A shielder, two archers, a tank and the nuker.


    ¡°There¡¯s five of them among the groups, but the way they are moving makes it hard to pick out where. I might be able to survive one, but even two at a time would almost certainly kill me.¡±


    ¡°The nukers, yeah, that would make sense,¡± said Vanessa. ¡°Eh, why didn¡¯t you just ensnare them in the first place? If they are the real danger?¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked back to Airgead without responding to her, opening up his potion satchel. He counted them against the twenty-five remaining barbarians. It¡¯s not enough. I¡¯ll have to whittle them down a bit to make my chances better.


    His avatar stepped forward to intercept a group, to the shock of their leading tank. In the time dilation, he unhooked his sickle and dug it into the side of the Celt¡¯s neck.


    It didn¡¯t go through. It took the shining avatar another weighty swing to pull it out, the tank swooning and spurting blood. Stumbling over the body, the avatar looked around at the others. The clenched their teeth, clearly holding themselves back while eyeing the avatar¡¯s swirling blessed chest piece. They scattered from him.


    Shit! I need to be quick and take out a few more before MEDB changes their tactics again.


    Throwing out an attack line, his avatar gave chase as Shirley patted his shoulder.


    ¡°I guess they didn¡¯t expect you to just start slicing.¡±


    ¡°Five in twenty-four chance,¡± Yeung-Sung muttered.


    Seeing his concentrated face, Kelly-Ann snapped at the other officials.


    ¡°What¡¯s he counting? Five in twenty-four?¡± She paced around their huddle, Shirley keeping her at a slight distance.


    Luke stroked his chin. Flexing his shoulders, he answered for them.


    ¡°Whatever it is, that¡¯s only a twenty percent chance.¡± Falling back in his seat, he crossed his legs over the tabletop. ¡°Not very goo-ood odds for you.¡±


    Vanessa leaned over Yeung-Sung, thinking. ¡°Something to do with the Celts in the traps, I think,¡± she said.


    A few other shrugged, happy enough with the vague answer, but Amber was staring intently at the screen with a smirk. Extending time dilation to the limit, Yeung-Sung folded his arms and nodded toward her.


    ¡°Go on then,¡± he said, ¡°Tell them, Amber.¡±


    She leapt back, hitting Vanessa¡¯s side. She shook her head in strict refusal, but seconds later the expectant faces around her remained and she bit her lip, saying, ¡°Yeung-Sung can¡¯t control the trap. It¡¯s random.¡±


    ¡°Ohh,¡± went the huddle.


    ¡°Hah, I see,¡± admitted Vanessa.


    Once Yeung-Sung confirmed her observation, Amber stood straighter, projecting her voice.


    ¡°And since nukers are the biggest threat,¡± she continued, ¡°He needs to guarantee the blessings hits them. Five nukers in the twenty-four enemies; Five in Twenty-four.¡±


    Most were re-assured by the explanation, but the low chance didn¡¯t change what Yeung-Sung had to do. And Luke? He only laughed harder.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re going to cut through another twenty of them? Good luck!¡±

 Part 59 A Colossal Undertaking IV

    MEDB.


    I wish you were here right now -Instead of these idiots.


    You¡¯ve done a good job so far; you knew I that I¡¯d never rush in a forceful, dominating strategy. Even if I did -let¡¯s say, had an enchantment for immaculate strength and speed to hold and swing a hillside peak, would I use it?


    Of course not.


    And I didn¡¯t receive the luxury of time to put test my strategy, did I? Though, it would never have worked after the first attempt, would it? The snaring vines were the first thing that I came up with. The first thing I tried to ask for once I figured I could just ask a specific god the for the things I wanted, and their twinkling eyes in the skies accepting my plea. Ask and you shall receive, I suppose?


    But where did that off-the-cuff thinking leave me? As a slave¡­


    There must have been a way to spend my time better; maybe getting some Fighters to analyse the patterns of the Barbarians movements, especially the nukers; Maybe I should¡¯ve done that instead of trying to break this stupid system down to its fundamentals. But I doubt I would¡¯ve done that very well¡­Simon was right, after all, I might be the only one to hang their hope on that kind of thinking; to treat it like a real puzzle, not a game. How stupid.


    I really should¡¯ve thought more about how they might react, but MEDB, looks like you bested me again. Those druids of yours, I see their arms twisting around each other, being pulled around by energy like a mountain pass shaped, thrust into being by a swelling river. I barely see, anyway, everyone else acting upon your orders as best as they can. Or is that an extension of you? I¡¯d love to ask you about it, sometime.


    With a hand on his head and elbow far forward, Yeung-Sung continued to open and close his potion satchel, hoping for inspiration to strike. The Gauntlet waited for him.


    How many until I can risk it? 1 in 4 chance? 1 in 3? And what if I get unlucky one too many times, even then¡­


    His thought patterns were often interrupted by Luke.


    ¡°Just give up now,¡± he jeered. His boots squeaked harshly against the table, making black, talon-like marks. His officials that remained wriggled their noses whenever he wagged his feet near.


    Yeung-Sung squeezed his scalp, purging the image from his mind. ¡°How much can I risk,¡± he continued, ¡°At what point can I afford to try it?¡±


    A swell of air rushed over his neck. Shirley?


    ¡°Stop,¡± his friend said. Said it with a soaring voice completely at odds with his image.


    Yeung-Sung resisted the temptation to look, curling deeper towards his phone, chattering out calculations. But Shirley was obviously not going to let him, which he should¡¯ve guessed. He pried Yeung-Sung¡¯s nails from his scalp.


    ¡°Relax, Yung-Sung,¡± he shouted, like a bloody cough-drop splitting over his words. ¡°You can do this!¡±


    Turning his attention to the officials, his voice boomed across General, meant for everyone.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t any of you helping him? You want him to fail? You want your last days to be in this colony, your graves to be in the cemetery beside the square?¡± He sucked in another sweeping breath. His commands were more like wails, but his affections were a siren song.


    Shirley asked them again, ¡°Why do all of you do nothing?¡±


    It echoed again. Doing nothing


    Yeung-Sung heard no reply except for the sound of Shirley start to sob. They did not start to help him, but leaping up, he barely noticed.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± yelled Yeung-Sung, pulling his friend into a swivelling embrace.


    ¡°Huh?¡± asked Shirley.


    ¡°Huh?¡± said the officials.


    ¡°Huh?¡± went PM.


    But before anyone could string together a proper question, Yeung-Sung resumed the Gauntlet run.


    Ducking under the shield that tilted in the soil, the shining avatar unearthed the closest spear like it was a turnip. Shaking the tip clean, he quickly popped up another to join it. As he knelt, a group of barbarians wandered curiously, slipping out of the fluid rotation of the raid party.


    Bounding out from cover, the demi-god ran ahead, following their clockwise trajectory onto a collision course. As he speculated, the barbarians hesitated, but didn¡¯t dare stray from MEDB¡¯s plan -told that he wouldn¡¯t take them all on head to head.


    Yeung-Sung dilated time, but held off on drawing the attack line. He admired the slowly dawning looks of uncertainty upon the Celt¡¯s faces as they turned helplessly to the other groups. He scooted the camera over, but there were no signs of retaliation from any other barbs; they held to their rotation perfectly.


    Slipping through to the back, he stood before this group¡¯s druid. Locked in his trance, his hands were barely raised up to his abdomen, and soft crackles rang out through the phone like he was crushing a plastic carton. All Yeung-Sung had to do was commit a light swipe with his finger, while the druid flushed with the strain of channelling magic, like the power had great weight and had to be cast -thrown at him like a boulder.


    The glowing avatar hoisted one spear over his shoulder. Yeung-Sung flicked the attack just as he realised two things:


    One; he was being attacked -he knew that because Airgead asked him where he would¡¯ve liked the stab to be placed on his avatar¡¯s body- and secondly, he had miscounted the group.


    The assassin! Where was he hiding?


    His chest plate was automatically targeted, but Yeung-Sung had time to confirm or re-direct the attack before it landed. The assassin¡¯s thrust seemed elegant in slow motion; his letter opener nicely shaped to fit within the grooves around the shoulder of the avatar¡¯s chest plate. Shifting his avatar quickly, Yeung-Sung managed to finish flinging his spear and also have the assassin¡¯s strike hit his silk cape. The attacks hit at the same time; The dagger parting down the soft silk and the spear, well, spearing the druid inside his dirty robe.


    Amber Moon clapped her hands in excitement.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Vanessa asked her.


    ¡°I remember that one,¡± she said, pointing at the avatar¡¯s cape.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    She smiled, fluffing up her powdered cheeks. Twirling her finger in a circle, Amber said, ¡°Fire Wave.¡±


    As she said it, the red sheen of the cape flared out like a saffron dust cloud and the Barbarian group around Yeung-Sung¡¯s avatar covered their eyes, their cries cut off as the heat scorched their throats and burnt their lips. The assassin, however, clamped his charred body shut and clattered to the ground in a final flop. The druid wasn¡¯t long in falling limply by his side, the force of the ¡®Fire Wave¡¯ pushing him back through the point of the avatar¡¯s spear.


    Yeung-Sung held up a hand to high-five Amber.


    ¡°Four in Twenty-two.¡±


    Covered in a thin film of ash, the avatar pivoted, making for the next group. Tatters of his cloak fluttered behind him. Yeung-Sung understood the rotations of the Barbarians better this time, and did not overshoot his path when he charged.


    This groups assassin was not so bold. He bared his blade like a vegetarian¡¯s knife. His face streaked with tears and splattered with dirt from all the running, yet upon further look, he trembled with determination. The Celt was fighting with his commands, trying to rid himself of inaction and give in to his urge to rush in and confront the avatar before him, the murderer of his friends.


    I wonder what you can do, little one.


    What is the limit of your will? How much can MEDB fill you with her own reasons, for her own purpose of not being cast aside, before you come to your own conclusions and realise that whatever you do, you will die.


    Yeung-Sung kept time a little dilated and sat back. The skinny barb lifted his little fist into the air and screamed, hurtling towards the shining demi-god.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    How human of you.


    He stuck the assassin through with the same dirty spear that held up the nuker. That shut him up. Or so Yeung-Sung thought, but there was no quietening and since he had acted, time clicked back into place.


    The thin, terrified shout faded. As it drew to its ultimate end it was lifted up by a chorus of a dozen of his kin; The second group had rounded on Yeung-Sung¡¯s avatar. All unarmed, arms out.


    They were going to grab him. They were going to pull him down to the blood-soaked earth. They were going to hold him down until he was ready to be sacrificed by their druids. And they would wail and keep the demi-god down by the strength of their sorrow, until all of them were incinerated.


    For all of Yeung-Sung¡¯s understanding of the game, he panicked as the barbarians grabbed him and flashed back to the tutorial; The barbarians running to the top of the hill as he watched, not knowing what to do or how to do it. Reining in the trembling of his fingers, Yeung-Sung had his avatar reach for the small satchel of potions. But then noticed something about the blockade of dirty Celts:


    The Druids -with everyone else dumping together into one big mess- were exposed.


    The demi-god snatched up a flask of silvery mist and dropped it, taking a faraway glance at the nukers as it smashed. The crash of glass made them look, and momentarily drop their concentration on the channelling.


    ¡°Oh, he knows he¡¯s done for,¡± Yeung-Sung said out loud. He checked who had heard.


    Vanessa rubbed her forehead. ¡°I am watching the same fight as you, right?¡±


    ¡°Just wait,¡± Shirley said, interrupting her, ¡°I think I¡¯ve seen this before.¡± He held his arm out at his side, grinning.


    The Celts snarled and coughed only inches away, but the avatar crouched low, hidden in the silver fog. Holding his shield sideways, the avatar charged forward. A couple shadows knocked into him, vibrating the phone the screen. The grey billowed out as the avatar plunged out of his smokescreen and all the PM members in ¡®General¡¯ cheered.


    Ditching the shield, he ran through the clearing, concentrated only on the nukers that had scattered to the four corners of the Gauntlet. The path was awfully bare, and the Druid before him looked awfully alone.


    Despite his heavy chest plate jostling as he ran, the radiant alchemist snuck his hands into his potion¡¯s satchels. Whisking out two vials of melding magenta, he held them between four fingers as he soared towards victory. With the other hand he unhooked a plough and jumped at the Druid.


    ¡°Augh!!


    Yelps of disgust eked around the hall as he ground the plough into its face. Wide eyed, Shirley said, ¡°Umm, Okay, I haven¡¯t seen him do that before.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your handle, is it not?¡± snapped Kelly-Ann, ¡°Because it¡¯s definitely not one of ours.¡± Arms crossed, she shivered as she saw the gore on the screen. ¡°Seriously, you people are savages.¡±


    Leslie shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not real.¡±


    Yeung-Sung was barely paying attention, too focused on not getting killed during the reaction time-window. He waited to see if anyone would emerge from the cloud of smoke.


    ¡°I can get at least one more,¡± Yeung-Sung said and dragged the end of the plough from the nuker¡¯s skull.


    Something is odd, though. He shifted his vision down to the end of the table, to Luke. Why does he find this funny; I¡¯m winning.


    Yeung-Sung wasn¡¯t the only to notice; the officials were also giving him a variety of looks. The speaker of PM clutched a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter as much as he could. But that hardly stopped him, except from knocking him off-balance enough that he had to get his feet down off the table. Clearing his throat, the edges of the mouth continually jiggered as he said, ¡°I¡¯ve heard of farming mobs, -ha -ha¡­but this is ridiculous.¡±


    Approaching the second of the four druids, Yeung-Sung had a method for making himself more comfortable with eviscerating its features; He pictured Luke. As the avatar swung, the channelling hand lock that the druid held fell away into a hapless, martyr-like pose.


    Another round of reactions boomed throughout ¡®General¡¯, yet Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t help but notice that Luke still seemingly enjoyed his success.


    ¡°What,¡± he challenged the speaker of PM, ¡°Have you accepted the fact that you were wrong? That it had to be me to do this, no one else?¡±


    Luke grinned at the provocation, sitting forward. ¡°The way it looks to me,¡± he said, pointing the to the screen above that was replaying the action that just occurred, ¡°You couldn¡¯t have done it without our help.¡±


    His laugh blossomed like a carnivorous plant, Yeung-Sung thought he saw him drooling, his tongue flicking madly.


    ¡°You even use a sickle and plough,¡± Luke said, ¡°A sickle and a bloody plough!¡±


    The emblem! It¡¯s looks just like it.


    Luke continued, ¡°You¡¯ve shown everyone your loyalty to us now, at least, after I share this footage. Whether you win or lose, I -we take the credit from any results.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Yeung-Sung protested, ¡°They¡¯re just farming tools. That¡¯s why I chose them.¡± He turned to have all faces smiling at him, a fully realised version of the night of the riots.


    ¡°No,¡± he repeated. ¡°No¡­¡±


    So many faces, so many coloners expecting me to save them from this place, this experiment. Just a minute before they were telling me to conform, to sty inside the norm and now they have hoisted me out of it with their belief in me, that I am what I foolishly said I would become. He cast his eyes down to his phone.


    ¡°It¡¯s not over. I haven¡¯t won yet. I can still ¨C¡±


    ¡°What was that?¡± Luke asked suddenly. ¡°Don¡¯t give up now, Yeung-Sung. The colony¡¯s counting on you.¡±


    ¡°Yeung-Sung,¡± Shirley started. He held his shoulder again, a little thing, comforting but worthless.


    Yeung-Sung hung his head close to the screen. His hair flopping down like curtains over his sight, he could pretend that he was alone, just for a moment and finish this.


    ¡°He¡¯s right. This is the right thing to do,¡± Shirley told him.


    Shrugging him off, Yeung-Sung resumed combat.


    The smoke had cleared and he was in the same position as before; the fighters and archers and assassin amassing towards him like the arms of a dragging current. But this time, rather than fleeing, his avatar simply uncorked the two vials in his hand. With a flourish he poured the first on his breastplate, then, after waiting a moment, sprinkling the other over one of his bracelets.


    Seeing the armor sizzle, Yeung-Sung breathed a sigh of relief. His avatar waved the fumes of liquified carbon away from his face to keep his eye on the barbarians. Yet as quickly as the fumes came, they faded, and the glowing demi-god shook the limp remains of his copper band and continued on his way towards the second to last druid, a tower of vines between him and his pursuers.


    Yeung-Sung swiped at the inventory again. Over pressing it, it flew open then closed, but he was still relieved at the result; It was still his turn.


    It doesn¡¯t count as an action.


    His avatar took two more acidic vials from the satchel and repeated the process of destroying his own gear to activate their blessings; Ensnare and repair. After a third time, Yeung-Sung panned the camera away from the Celts as his avatar closed in on the Druid.


    The nuker still chanted, his hands in the locked-pose at his shoulders now. A growl of energy like a running motor crackled out of it. His hair flew back, his cloak and robe rippling along with it, but he still kept his sole focus on concluding the channel of the spell.


    Close.


    Yeung-Sung took another glance behind him and laughed. As luck would have it, the three snares that he set up erupted, like environmental roadblocks. The Barbs roared as they stumbled around their trapped friends, losing momentum but gaining rage. Not believing his luck, Yeung-Sung wondered what he would have done if that didn¡¯t work.


    ¡°Oh my God,¡± exclaimed Amber.


    ¡°Yes!¡± cheered PM as the plough was swung, the druid fell and Yeung-Sung sat uncomfortably inside ¡®General¡¯.


    He looked around again to gauge the reactions, working his fingers through the motions of his plan, armor cracking and melting like he was absent-mindedly stirring soup.


    He swallowed. ¡°The¡­the strategy works. I had to use everything, every back up and idea but -I¡¯m doing it.¡±


    ¡°You are,¡± Kelly said, tapping herself with her stylus in disbelief.


    The replay played in the big screen above and the crowd cried out again in disgust before launching into deafening, maddening cheers. Yeung-Sung flinched.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± asked Vanessa, ¡°Your plan is fool proof. Idiot proof.¡± She knocked him on the side. ¡°Cheer up, you go on.¡±


    He was close to responding with anger that lurched up quickly into his tongue but he forced it down. Given a moment to think, he beckoned her over and whispered, ¡°I¡¯ve won this one, but what happens next? The AI -she adapts, she learns. There¡¯s no way that I can continue to outwit her until we¡¯ve cleared sufficient Gauntlets¡­or even once more, to be honest.¡±


    ¡°Honestly, dude?¡± she said, rising from his confidence, ¡°You¡¯re putting way too much pressure on yourself.¡± Making a tight fist, she rammed it at Yeung-Sung, halting just under his nose. ¡°Fucking enjoy it,¡± she hissed.


    Several hands fluttered to his defence, she drew away, putting her hand behind her back.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Shirley demanded.


    ¡°He thinks,¡± she said, projecting her voice so even the PM members outside the hall could hear, ¡°That what he has done is not enough. He worries that he¡¯ll have to carry the burden of defeating the rest of the Gauntlets alone.


    ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous,¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it.¡±


    Hundreds of murmurs scattered out over both sides as Yeung-Sung drew in a breath, his cheeks poppy red. ¡°Did you have to shout it out?¡±


    He closed his eyes to try ignore the rallying crowd, his fingers still crawling along in precise movements on his screen.


    They¡¯re so na?ve. They don¡¯t know MEDB. They don¡¯t know Jordan. For all the melodrama that comes with it, I am burdened with the knowledge and experience of what we¡¯re facing off against; I know what¡¯s at stake¡­perhaps then It¡¯s a good idea that I win this.


    Shirley pulled Yeung-Sung away from his thoughts and showed him the crowd.


    ¡°Look at them,¡± his friend said, ¡°Your actions gave them this hope.¡±


    Biting down his words, Yeung-Sung bowed at them. And afterwards, despite his fears and uncertainties about PM members or his own abilities, he forced himself to look; to really look: Cheeks birthing joy; Faces watered and fed with excessive smiles, laughter, drool; Eyes rubbed dry as often as they were blanketed with tears. He had to wave out to them.


    Happy as Yeung-Sung¡¯s actions made them, they still kept their distance. It was as if he was a wild but useful animal, or a sociopathic general that was always victorious -some all-powerful machine that made everyone else¡¯s life better, but nobody knew how it worked.


    As he reached out for them, they backed away from him, So he brought his hand down, turned around more wide eyed than ever, knowing that the mass watched on.


    A rough tap and he severed the last nuker like a timely head of corn. The shiny avatar¡¯s plough had enough and cracked. Still, he held the shaft as he turned back, dragging its broken head through sloppy dirt fresh with wet, squelching footprints towards the remaining Celts.


    My enemies blindly charge towards me. My friends consciously walk away.


    With that thought, he began striding down the length of the table. Officials applauded him as he approached the head. Kelly-Ann even nodded, saying ¡°Well played,¡± and attempted her version of a head-bow.


    He showed his screen to Luke, who beat his eyelids down like a broken windscreen. He was half-hidden in his lapels of his coat, clearly chewing on his words, contemplating how he would turn this around as a victory for the Player¡¯s Market, for the people, for himself.


    Yeung-Sung shoved it closer. ¡°I did it.¡±


    Luke took the phone in his hand, but couldn¡¯t look away from Yeung-Sung.


    Even now he doesn¡¯t want to acknowledge he is in the wrong. He doesn¡¯t care about winning, or the Gauntlet, only his own image.


    For a moment Yeung-Sung thought about leaving the phone with one of his officials -Kelly-Ann perhaps, and she would get some acknowledgment out of him. But then he saw his new Airgead balance; 1M. The letter was capitalized. Not ¡®mm¡¯ or ¡®mc¡¯, but one whole Medal.


    Luke had swung back into his natural, skiving pose and banged his fist against the table, but Yeung-Sung had already turned back, stuffing the phone as far as he could into his back pocket.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be leaving now,¡± he told them.

 Part 60 Under The Light Of God

    The first step outside PM was glorious. Slipping past the cover of the dual birches that guarded the entrance, Yeung-Sung almost looked fondly back. Out through the gap in the wall, he removed his coat in the young summer and took a filling breath.


    Finally, I¡¯ve done what needs to be done. Finally, I can be left alone.


    However, he was far from alone. A dozen well-dressed coloners circled him, their phones out. They moved in measured steps, as if looking at each other for permission.


    One tapped his screen and told him, ¡°You¡¯ve done it.¡±


    He didn¡¯t look very glad. ¡°Tell us how.¡±


    ¡°And what will you do if I don¡¯t?¡± Yeung-Sung asked, casually sliding through their formation.


    He was proud of the stunned silence that followed, but the scraping of their shoes on the tarmac followed after a bit. Then a cough, which deepened the same voice from before said,


    ¡°We¡¯ll fucking kill you.¡±


    ¡°Of course?¡± added one of her counterparts.


    Steps ahead of them again, Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t hear if there was another follow up to that. Stretching out his shoulders, he narrowed his eyes to keep the country back-road visible in the midday shine. Now¡­how do I get back onto the main road?


    Reaching to his back pocket, he opened Airgead and smiled at his balance.


    And where was that lane of shops?


    The suited coloners called out again while he started down the curving path.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear us?¡± said the woman again. ¡°We¡¯re going to kill you.¡±


    Yeung-Sung heard a crack of knuckles and looked back with a condescending smile.


    ¡°Right, sure you are¡­and by killing me lose the only chance you all have of not dying at the hands of GLI?¡±


    They didn¡¯t answer.


    He shrugged, turning back. ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t think so,¡± he huffed out into a laugh, stepping down the road¡¯s decline.


    It took a few turns for him to get back onto the main road -but he knew it was far more than necessary. The oversized pullover from the Market stuck to his neck as he waltzed through roads had no knowledge of. Before, he was too scared to stray from the main road -heading straight from his Apartment to the Wick- but now he bounced forward along the road, enjoying the sensation of wandering. Pockets of cool air burst over his forehead. His bones ached from the day but were sure that rest would come soon, and that it would be amazingly satisfying.


    He¡¯d stop at an intersection and pick a direction at random, hearing the coloners before panting in the distance. Perhaps he went in circles, not that it mattered. Maybe that¡¯s even what he wanted; to go around and around and spin his body in the freedom of knowing that Jordan can be beaten, that even MEDB was not perfect.


    I don¡¯t even need the money, Yeung-Sung thought, checking his balance once more. But it feels wonderful to have it. A whole medal; proof of my achievement.


    ¡°Ow!¡± he yelled.


    Yeung-Sung stalled his feet to rub his jaw. His mouth muscles burned. Massaging them, he tried to relax, to breathe out and think about nothing, but his imagination continually fed him images of what he now could do inside the colony, with this knowledge -this power! -This wealth! - and so he walked, oscillating in some mad tick-tock laughter past the ¡®Joint Wick¡¯ towards the Finers territory of the shops, and their shopkeepers.


    And behind him, the suited coloners followed in single skulking line, like unbelieving disciples watching, waiting for another miracle that they could leap upon and use for themselves.


    A chime squawked like a parrot as Yeung-Sung entered the furniture shop; Green Holiday. The dark shrubbery and peeled-bark drapery that lined the shopfront drew him in, but Yeung-Sung had no idea what kind of store it was until he entered. Still, the soft chestnut aesthetic continued on through the door, in the dulled and dusted bricks down to the smoothed over tiles. And filling every space was furniture.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Under a light that swayed in its wide-brimmed lampshade, the shopkeeper began to welcome his new customer until he noticed the colouring of his clothes.


    He drew a smile back, saying, ¡°PM never sends their designers to me. What¡¯s this about?¡±


    Smelling the mix of fabrics and stifled air, Yeung-Sung propped himself up against a foot locker.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said, shaking his head, ¡°I¡¯m not actually with them.¡± He pinched the fabric of his pullover in a tent over his chest. ¡°This is borrowed.¡±


    He surveyed the store; tables, desks, beds, closets and chest drawers. But he didn¡¯t find what he was looking for.


    ¡°What¡¯s new?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    The shopkeeper rolled up thin-striped shirt, smelling -oddly- of coconut.


    ¡°Nothing here is new. Not for a while now.¡±  He swivelled his chin, arcing his back. He stood well over Yeung-Sung. ¡°I¡¯m not allowed to order any more until I¡¯ve sold some more of what I already have.¡±


    With grace, he showed Yeung-Sung to around the front of the store.


    The cheap stuff, no doubt.


    In between brief descriptions, he asked, ¡°Who are you shopping for, then? A farewell party?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Yeung-Sung said, feeling around. ¡°This won¡¯t do. I¡¯m looking for something more¡­ extravagant.¡±


    He barely knew the word, and yet it fell easily from his lips.


    The owner of the furniture store hardened his blocky features further. ¡°What?¡±


    Sighing, Yeung-Sung opened Airgead and waved his balance at him.


    ¡°See?¡± he told him, ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be a problem.¡±


    The shopkeepers immediate surprise was quickly matched by the coloners who had been chasing Yeung-Sung bursting in. Breathing heavy and glowing with sweat, the group stumbled forward, skirting up the curtains and denting the shrubbery.


    Yeung-Sung groaned and moved in front to block the shopkeeper¡¯s view.


    ¡°Ignore them, they¡¯ve been following me all day. They want to know how I got it,¡± he said, shaking his phone idly.


    The shopkeeper rolled up his sleeve further, then turned to Yeung-Sung to say, ¡°Actually, how did you ¨C¡±


    Yeung-Sung walked deeper into the store, pulling at the shopkeeper¡¯s starchy shirt. ¡°Can you please show me some of your, um, more interesting stock?¡±


    Yeung-Sung looked up at him, ¡°Do you even want my money?¡±


    Past a deceptive mound of clutter, the shopkeeper guided Yeung-Sung to a shaded section of the store.


    ¡°Really apologize for the mess,¡± he said, ¡°I don¡¯t get many coloners with -ehh- your kind of request.¡±


    He waved a hand over the area. ¡°A lot of what I sell is at a loss, but selling any of these so low,¡± he told Yeung-Sung, ¡°Would just not be worth it.¡±


    Over his shoulder, Yeung-Sung saw the suited coloners crowd up the tables of the showroom, giving themselves a breather.


    The same woman from before caught his look, sneering. ¡°Why would you spend your medals with them? Don¡¯t you know what they do?¡±


    ¡°Get out!¡± shouted the shopkeepers, ¡°Fucking argumentative pricks, I don¡¯t need any Debaters in my store.¡±


    So they¡¯re Debaters; the Neo-Democritans¡­I suppose that makes sense, except I thought they were focused only on the politics of the colony, not the gameplay. Why would they care how I beat the Gauntlet?


    The shopkeeper shielded Yeung-Sung from the standoff the two were having, letting him browse Tetris-block couches and tall poster beds. Then he found them; desks and chairs. Not the silly plastic ones that littered the crowded hubs of the Player¡¯s Market, or the lavish but impractical ottomans that lay in the lobbies of the colony¡¯s apartments, but the sturdy, oiled and polished thrones of mahogany and wood, like photosynthetic steeds.


    Sliding the heel of his palm down the length of an ebony desk he exclaimed, ¡°Oh! These are nice.¡±


    He was about to search for a price tag when, schooling himself with a tap to the head, he brought out his phone and began scanning items.


    [Ebony Work Desk


    Dimensions: (W x H x D) 2342x1956x920 mm


    Weight: 68lb


    Cost: 5 minims            ]


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± said Yeung-Sung.


    He went into a frenzy, scanning everything around him. Not a single item was over that mark, and most were under one -their price in micro-minimis.


    I thought it would maybe be¡­100 minims? But this is, this¡­


    On his knees, Yeung-Sung pulled open ornate drawers lined in felt. He traced his hands over the whirling carvings that ran under its top to connect with the legs. He wiped his thumb over the shining smoothness of it. It was even better than what he assumed it to be at first glance. And it was only 5 minims!


    I only wanted a chair, he thought as he stood.


    ¡°I might as well get the desk,¡± Yeung-Sung muttered, imagining the fixture in his apartment.


    About to get the shopkeeper¡¯s attention he suddenly noticed how he regarded the Debaters, how tightly their stances pounced. He looked at his balance again, only now understanding how much it was worth.


    ¡°A-hem, mister?¡±


    ¡°Theodore,¡± finished the shopkeeper. His face flushing, he tore himself away from the Debaters -after a final warning gaze- to be escorted to the ebony table.


    ¡°Ahh, yes, a fine choice,¡± he said, ¡°It would suit a man of your stature well.¡±


    Did you just call me short?


    Yeung-Sung bowed. ¡°Thank you. Would you help me find a chair,¡± he asked, ¡°One that would go well with it?¡±


    Theodore stood up from fawning over the desk and pushed in his lower back, swiping a look across the ¡®exclusive¡¯ section until, satisfied, he relaxed.


    ¡°Yes, I have just the thing,¡± Theodore noted.


    He waded through homely selections and grand wardrobes with one eye on his destination and one eye on the uneasy clump of Debaters. They were a mass of hair that clogged up a drain, or in this case, cut off Yeung-Sung¡¯s exit.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to tell us now.¡±


    Yeung-Sung swayed in a sarcastic nod. ¡°Theodore,¡± he called out, ¡°Do you have a delivery service?¡±


    ¡°Ehh-,¡± the shopkeeper responded, covering the desk, ¡°No.¡±


    He scooped up the dark wood chair once he finished, and rolled it around to wrap it. ¡°No. Not really, I apologise.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Yeung-Sung said, tilting his head back at the Debaters, ¡°How fortunate for me that you guys are here.¡±


    He jerked his thumb back towards the desk. ¡°Carry this back to my apartment,¡± Yeung-Sung challenged them, ¡°and I might tell you.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Maybe.¡±


    The Debaters, looked at him and at each other, their teeth like ice cracking.

 Part 61 Artificial Sunshine

    Panting with the effort of carrying Yeung-Sung¡¯s new purchases, the Debaters complained.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you know where you¡¯re going,¡± the head woman said, ¡°The apartment¡¯s back the other way.¡±


    Her associate grunted, holding up the other end poorly. ¡°How did an idiot like you beat the Gauntlet ¨C" He sucked in a breath, repositioning his hands under the rim. ¡°-And not have to divvy up the reward?¡±


    The debater holding the chair put it down to itch at his arms under his ill-fitting grey blazer.


    ¡°Stop!¡± shouted Yeung-Sung ahead of them. He shook the wrapped gift that he got last minute and said, ¡°Wait here. I¡¯m going to go drop this off.¡±


    The female Debater looked up at where they were. ¡°The grocery store? I heard about this place, but never been myself.¡±


    ¡°I own it.¡±


    Dropping the end of the table in relief, this Debater laughed as he heaved the breath back into his lungs. ¡°Ha -ah- Ha, I don¡¯t think so,¡± he said, ¡°No coloners owns anything here. Not even the Finers. GLI owns everything, including us.¡±


    ¡°Well it is mine,¡± Yeung-Sung re-iterated as he walked to the entrance, ¡°However you want to justify that.¡±


    The front of the desk slipped down and he heard head Debater spat out a thick white glob. ¡°No wonder you¡¯re so buddy-buddy with the Finers,¡± she said, ¡°You¡¯re one of them.¡± She gurgled her throat clear. ¡°I could think of no worse person to be in control of our destiny than a fucking Finer with links to PM,¡± she said, gesturing to his clothes.¡±


    Yeung-Sung stopped. He had to close his eyes to ignore the idiot behind him. After a nice sigh, he shrugged and said, ¡°Lucky I¡¯m not one of those, then,¡± walking through the screen doors of his store.


    Inside, Yeung-Sung was greeted by a pleasant surprise:


    Though the shelves he walked by were often depleted -and he could already tell that the advertisements on the walls were getting far too excessive- the floor was delightfully clean, and what¡¯s more, a trail of people sprayed down and around the middle aisles, happily waiting to check out.


    Grabbing a basket to put Woo-Yi¡¯s gift in, he tucked himself in under the bread bins and snuck through the vegetable tables. My hair could be showing, he thought, kneeling down further and coming face to face with parsnips, potatoes, carrots and green beans lying seductively.


    Customers began to take notice of Yeung-Sung¡¯s creeping posture and sly grin, so they edged away from him, pretending not to notice. Licking his lips and flicking his tongue, Yeung-Sung waddled low, at the same time unable to help himself from running three fingertips over the glistening wrappings. He chuckled at the coloner¡¯s lack of reaction.


    We¡¯ve all been here too long; nothing surprises anybody any more.


    The pumping music helped him with his stealthy run; it¡¯s melancholy synths and wet vocals drenched in the reverb of an empty room meant for two.


    He looked to the tills, column of idling bodies keeping him out of Woo-Yi¡¯s line of sight.


    One of your songs?


    Yeung-Sung closed his eyes, imagining her behind the microphone as he zipped down along the shelves, popping his shoulders and snapping his knees forward in time with the pulse of the bass.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    He leaned back flat against the end of the shelf. A giddy smile broke out of him. A hopping breath and a skip and Yeung-Sung was at the end of the next aisle, grappling against the flat boards like they were climbing handholds.


    She¡¯ll never see me coming. This is going to be so good.


    Near the end of the next aisle, he peered out, past the cereals and teas and sachets of seasoning mix and saw the butt end of the veering queue, but not the till entirely, and not Woo-Yi.


    C¡¯mon¡­Almost there.


    A shopper with a coat too thick for the Korean spring put back a packet of pasta only to see a deranged Yeung-Sung, who gave her a wink, sliding out from one aisle to the next.


    The short, greying woman was not in the least bit intimidated -and only raised her eyebrows and scowled at him, her cheeks begging to show a kaleidoscope of tiny wrinkles.


    Another Debater, I would wager. Yeung-Sung quickly passed the disagreeable woman, tucking the handle of his basket into the gap in his elbow, joining the queue.


    He waited in a wide stance, tapping his feet to the next song -more upbeat and groovier. As the person in line shuffled forward, Yeung-Sung sparked all over with nervous energy. Just a little more and Woo-Yi would be in view.


    Yeung-Sung patted down his hair and shook out his pullover. He was close enough now to hear the beep of confirmation from the tills as the coloners inputted their fingers on the wriggling iron filaments. With an impatient look, he caught the customer gathering their bought goods and waving goodbye, leaving a gap as they left. And in that gap, Woo-Yi straightened up and blinked twice, before gasping like a window shutter. However, the next shopper quickly filled in his view, so Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t get to see her surprise for long. Still, he snorted out a laugh.


    The customer in front of him turned. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    He nodded while clutching his nose, and heard the flap of the till door.


    Woo-Yi¡¯s voice lay like a sweet icing over the noise of the crowd. ¡°Excuse me for a moment.¡±


    Yeung-Sung slid back in his stance. Wait, was this a good idea? She just might break down here¡­


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ll be right back,¡± her voice went again, gliding closer.


    I should not have done this. Why didn¡¯t I tell her I was coming? That I was okay and that-


    The line parted, bewildered as Woo-Yi emerged, still muttering her apologies. Her shoulders poking out of her shirt like barbs at Yeung-Sung. Her hands, curled into fists, rubbed against her jean-covered thighs as she propelled herself towards him.


    ¡°Woo-Yi¡­¡± Yeung-Sung said, half-swallowing, ¡°I brought you ¨C¡±


    But he didn¡¯t get to finish the sentence as she slammed herself against his chest, emptying the breath from his lungs. Yeung-Sung raised his arms defensively as she squeezed, clasping around him after winding up, hugging him tight.


    ¡°Hi,¡± he whispered, gaze pinballing around the coloners in the store. They were in his head as he staggered back with the impact of her on top of him, but eventually had to wrap his hands around her, completing the embrace. He closed his eyes and everyone else but Woo-Yi disappeared.


    ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± she said, in her exaggerated English syllables. ¡°I was so worried,¡± she followed in their natural tongue.


    She separated herself from him, but held him by the fingers at arm¡¯s length, looking over him, at the odd-clothes he was wearing nod doubt, and at his haggard state.


    ¡°I thought,¡± she said, ¡°Jordan took you. I was sure it was going to be like last time -maybe worse.¡± She sniffed. ¡°But I knew it, knew you¡¯d be back.¡±


    Yeung-Sung smiled with his eyes still closed, feeling her grip on his fingers. He knew that if he saw the coloners drawing their eyes, clapping their hands to their face, he wouldn¡¯t be able to trust himself not to run away.


    Feeling her push to the left, Woo-Yi came close to his ear and said, ¡°They can wait.¡±


    Yeung-Sung opened his eyes to find the two of them in hidden in the snack aisle.


    Woo-Yi asked, ¡°What happened? Where have you been?¡±


    ¡°P -M,¡± he replied. Yeung-Sung raised the basket in the crutch of his arm. ¡°I did it, here look, I got you something.¡±


    Woo-Yi lay her hand flat against the top of the gift box and pushed it firmly out of the way.


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®you did it¡¯?¡±


    The old woman from the cereals coughed, coming up behind them. ¡°He means the Gauntlet, dear. He beat it. ¡®Bout ruddy time, I tell you.¡±


    Woo-Yi stepped back, bumping into her own queue. ¡°You?¡±


    Yeung-Sung nodded.


    The customer she stumbled into dodged forward, saying, ¡°Are you two going to serve us? If this is true then I have places to be.¡±


    Woo-Yi bowed and made a smoothing motion -even though she was wearing charcoal jeans.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    She shot a glance at Yeung-Sung.


    He smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll help, of course.¡±


    A knocking sound alerted everyone towards the screen windows that fronted the store. The queue lurched back.


    ¡°-Debaters¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, great¡­¡±


    Yeung-Sung waved to his delivery crew outside, the smile fading from his lips. ¡°Just give me a moment to get rid of these idiots.¡±

 Part 62 Artificial Sunshine II

    ¡°We¡¯re not going anywhere,¡± the head debater Liane said. Waiting outside, she ruffled her hair, annoyed at the dry heat.


    Others nodded behind her saying, ¡°Yeah!¡± and pinching open the buttons of their dress shirts.


    ¡°Not until you tell us how you did,¡± Liane finished.


    On the other side of the sliding doors, Yeung-Sung groaned.


    Crossing her arms, she stared through the window at Woo-Yi.  ¡°You were about to tell her, weren¡¯t you?¡± she demanded, walking closer to the entrance. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you told her already?¡±


    Waving his hands in denial, Yeung-Sung said, ¡°I haven¡¯t -I mean, I¡¯m not going to. Besides, it would be too complicated for her to understand.¡±


    ¡°Because she¡¯s a woman?¡± Liane smirked.


    Yeung-Sung went cranberry red instantaneously and looked in shame at Woo-Yi. After a short sigh, he continued, ¡°I don¡¯t want to get her involved in this.¡±


    ¡°We are -all of us- involved in this.¡±


    The debater chief firmed her back, stepping a foot into the store and leered at Yeung-Sung.


    As a customer wandered out, clutching their dinner close to their heart, Liane drew back and feigned a smile, the terror of which made the customer hurry away even faster.


    ¡°You see?¡± she hissed. ¡°Look at the real situation most people are in and tell me us how you, number one-thousand, the last person to be introduced to the experiment, could possibly understand Airgead?¡± She shook her head, pointing to invisible signs as she said, ¡°Better than PM? Better than RolePlayers, better even than the Champions?¡±


    She thinks I¡¯m arrogant too.


    Yeung-Sung tensed his wrists, ready to push the mouthy Debater out of from his store when another knock startled him.


    Woo-Yi stood on the other side with irritable customers spread around her, tilting her head at the two of them.


    Is she jealous?


    ¡°I¡¯d better go,¡± he said to Liane, ¡°Just wait until we¡¯re done with this and I promise I¡¯ll explain everything. I told you; I¡¯m not like the Finers.¡±


    As he walked back inside, he touched the spot where Woo-Yi had buried her head in when she saw him and it was damp.


    She cried? Woo-Yi¡­there¡¯s no way you think of me like that, is there?


    The explanation began in the middle of tall, slim shadows. Yeung-Sung had helped the Debaters drag in the desk as there wasn¡¯t anywhere in his store to sit. Closed, with the lights off inside, thick slices of orange lit up the walls in the late afternoon. After handing out bottles of water, Woo-Yi took a stand, safe behind her till. Yeung-Sung leaned back against the counter and watched the skyline. It was interesting how the falling sun lined the skyline of the old estates in bold ink, but the apartments of the colony seemed to sink into the huge glob, like salt into an omelette.


    ¡°Where should I start?¡± he asked.


    Comfortable in his chair -still wrapped- Liane answered, ¡°After your outburst during the protest, I guess.¡± The wrapping paper crinkled as she raised her hand to take a drink.


    ¡°You said you were going to solve Airgead and overthrow Jordan; How about we start from there?¡± she suggested. ¡°We all thought you were mad. Hoped, anyway, because we don¡¯t need a second one -Jordan, I mean.¡±


    ¡°You did what?¡± Woo-Yi gasped behind Yeung-Sung.


    She shook him from behind until he silently confirmed it with a nod. Her hands in wall just under the brim of her lips, she asked, ¡°What were you thinking?¡±


    More crinkling sprinkled into Yeung-Sung¡¯s ears as both parties on either side of him waited for his reply.


    What am I supposed to say to them? I had no idea what I was doing -only led on by my sympathy for a certain English programmer and egged on by Jordan¡¯s own AI. It sounds so unlikely, and in any case wouldn¡¯t make for a good story.


    What do they expect of me?


    Woo-Yi¡¯s looking at me different. Like I¡¯m a fish-head in her salad. I suppose I could tell her that I only said those things in order to protect the colony. You know, to stop the riots, dissuade people from retaliating against GLI, a fight that nobody would take bets on. ¡®I was de-escalating the situation.¡¯ I could say that.


    But the Debaters, they see me as simply a tool to be used. Same as PM. I¡¯d love to tell them that I knew how to do it all along, that while everyone was too busy coming up with the philosophical implications of Jordan¡¯s system, I was asking questions!


    I either tell them I knew everything, or that I knew nothing.


    Pushing up from the counters, Yeung-Sung pulled up the sleeves of his pullover and sighed.


    ¡°The truth is¡­¡± he began.


    The Debaters sat on his newly bought furniture and listened intently with the hungry pupils of starving whales. Woo-Yi dared not look at all, fanning her eyelashes down. She opened up one of the old decorative registers as if there was cash there to be counted. Yeung-Sung stretched his arm over the counter and put his hand over hers.


    ¡°The truth is I never ¨C¡±


    [We have a problem]


    [Oh, we have a big problem]


    Yeung-Sung darted deep into the store. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he kept his back to the group as he tried to figure out how to turn MEDB off, or at the very least muffle her voice. And if that didn¡¯t work, to turn off the phone itself.


    But that crooning accent tore out around the shelves and jacked itself into the ears of the Woo-Yi, Liane and the rest of the Debaters. And they wanted so badly to know what on earth was being hidden from them; the people already themselves hidden away in a secret colony.


    [Sorry if this is a bad time -Actually, I know for a fact that this a bad time- but I might not get another chance]


    Woo-Yi shrieked. It was a gem-scraping noise that, with her full tone added, was more like she was subjecting Yeung-Sung to a methodical torture than a scared reaction.


    ¡°WHO¡­is that?¡± she screamed, pointing.


    ¡°It¡¯s coming from your Airgead!¡± Liane said with a gasp. ¡°I should¡¯ve guessed; It¡¯s the AI!¡±


    In her shock, Liane laughed, covering one eye with the palm of her hand. Her colleagues rushed to her aid, but found it difficult to juggle restraining her with watching the revelation unfold.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I knew one person, least of all you, could¡¯ve defeated the Gauntlet out of nowhere,¡± she said in between heavy breaths, ¡°You¡¯re working with Airgead¡¯s Artificial Intelligence to cheat.¡±


    ¡°No¡­Jordan¡¯s AI?¡± questioned Woo-Yi. ¡°The one that screwed up the market?¡±


    Still turned away like a child hiding a stray cat he brought in the house, Yeung-Sung bared his teeth over his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s -It¡¯s not like that.¡±


    The Debaters got up to leave with such gusto that they knocked back Yeung-Sung¡¯s chair, and shoved the table to its side with a great crack.


    Running after them, Yeung-Sung tugged at Liane¡¯s sleeve to show her the screen on his phone. As she recoiled in utter terror, he pleaded,


    ¡°That¡¯s not what happened. Not at all, that isn¡¯t how I won. Tell them, MEDB!¡±


    The computational spirit-voice leapt out, reminiscent of the late Una.


    [It¡¯s what everyone thinks, not just them. Jordan is certain that I¡¯ve been leaking info on the system, he¡¯s bound to discover that my communications with you]


    ¡°But that¡¯s not true,¡± said Yeung-Sung, pulled to a halt by her words.


    Not you too, MEDB. Don¡¯t turn against me too¡­


    Liane tugged back, pushing Yeung-Sung to the floor. ¡°I¡¯ve heard enough.¡± She fixed her suit jacket with a snap. ¡°You are Jordan¡¯s pet. The only way we all get out of here is if we leave you be. The only way we can pass the experiment is on his terms. I had hoped ¨C¡±


    She stopped, kicked her foot back then swung it forward, rattling the dark wood table against the bread aisle.


    ¡°Ugh, I don¡¯t know what I had hoped for,¡± she admitted to herself, to everyone, ¡°That maybe you actually were something of what you claimed to be.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Liane said to her crew, but then stopped as she remembered Woo-Yi. The Debaters arms hung limp out of her sleeves as she stood in the entranceway.


    ¡°What about you? Are you part of this treachery too? Another one of Jordan¡¯s pets?¡±


    [I hear the anger in your heart. But relax, this was inevitable.


    Listen to Yeung-Sung¡¯s explanation. You will believe it if you hear it from him]


    Yeung-Sung crunched down his teeth, heat and pressure burning through every bone in his body, through every phantom wound that he held on to at Jordan¡¯s hand.


    ¡°How dare you!¡± he shouted at the departing Debaters, ¡°How dare you call me -call her that!¡± He pushed himself to his feet. ¡°I am nothing like him. I want nothing to do with him.¡±


    His fist had cracked the wood of a shelf before he knew it. The same shelf that the table was pushed against, it broke under the continuous strain and impacts, spilling whole and half-pan loaves, multi-seed and tiger, soda bread and mini-baguettes, sliding against the sideways table like a banquet in zero-gravity. Sawdust fluttered in the blood orange sunset. Yeung-Sung dropped to his knees calmly, but inside he was anything but.


    ¡°MEDB¡­¡± he muttered.


    Woo-Yi looked at him for a long time, and he had a thought that maybe this time she would stay, maybe this time their encounter wouldn¡¯t end with her running away in tears. But that hope was ripped aside like the plastic covering of the fresh breads; She turned away.


    Slumping down further, in his self-made wreckage, Yeung-Sung threw down his phone.


    [Now GLI will think that I¡¯m a rat]


    He heard something catch in Woo-Yi¡¯s throat.


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®think¡¯?¡± she said, swirling to face his phone, ¡°If you had told them the truth, how you did it straight away instead of leading them here with some¡­furniture? Then you wouldn¡¯t be in this situation.¡±


    Yeung-Sung blinked in surprise. ¡°You¡¯re still here. You, um, believe me?¡±


    ¡°Not entirely,¡± she replied. She knelt down to where Yeung-Sung had scattered his phone and picked it up, but her arms remained rigid at her sides.


    ¡°But, ¡°she continued, offering him the strangely unscathed thing, ¡°I do happen to know you, and I don¡¯t think you¡¯d ever work with Jordan. Regardless of if there¡¯s good cause to.¡±


    She glanced down at the screen as he took it. Wary, but curious.


    She believes me. Yeung-Sung sat dumbfounded, tracing the silent words with his lips. You believe me. You really do.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he tearfully said to her.


    [Great, she¡¯s on board]


    Woo-Yi bit her lip, but Yeung-Sung held her hand and they sat together in the sunset, looking down at Airgead.


    [Now, we need to talk: Like I said, Jordan will no doubt find out about us. It was inevitable, but now -yeah, it¡¯ll be very soon]


    The phone rumbled in his lap, like a shivering cat.


    [I predict his first action will be to shut down my transmission capabilities, tying me down strictly to Airgead¡¯s Gauntlet]


    Woo-Yi coughed, hitting Yeung-Sung¡¯s shoulder with their intertwined hands.


    ¡°Sorry, Woo-Yi,¡± he said as she nodded quizzically at the screen, ¡°This is MEDB, Airgead¡¯s AI.¡±


    Shielding herself with her other arm, Wo-Yi replied, ¡°Hu- Hello!¡± in English.


    MEDB whirred inside the phone, and though she kept her distinct musical centre she spoke in Korean. [It¡¯s a pleasure; Woo-Yi, yes?]


    [I¡¯ve been exposed to several of your works. Though I don¡¯t understand it, I do find them fascinating and applaud you on your work ethic]


    ¡°Does she always,¡± Woo-Yi asked, swerving her elbows round like a first-time conductor, ¡°Talk in that way?¡±


    Before Yeung-Sung could reply, MEDB came to her own defence with a jagged saw wave underlining her tone.


    [Doesn¡¯t seem robotic? Yeah, you¡¯re not the first person to point it out]


    She laughed in her maniacal, mechanical fashion.


    [Not even the first person in this conversation] Following that was the sound of a miniature plane taking off and passing by; a sigh.


    Woo-Yi smiled, embarrassed, and took up some of the rubble of the broken shelving which plumed with dust as she stroked it with a thumb. Slowly, she separated the fallen stock from it.


    Watching her, Yeung-Sung asked MEDB, ¡°You¡¯re pretty nonchalant about this. I thought this was urgent?¡±


    The screen flared violet.


    [Nonchalant, is it? I was simply waiting for you to run out of interruptions, for the optimal time to announce my ideas for your future gauntlet runs. But¡­I got bored]


    Woo-Yi handed him a block of wood; he knocked on the hollow thing.


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®your idea¡¯?¡± he asked, ¡°I beat you, one versus thirty. You don¡¯t think I can do it again, and twenty more times after that?¡±


    [Don¡¯t be so over-confident!]


    The stuttering shivers of her growl sat on its haunches by Yeung-Sung¡¯s ears, like hearing the glissando over a row of metallic teeth.


    [You won] MEDB began [because you exploited what everyone else had been doing. Now that I understand your strategic mind, I can adapt. I must adapt]


    Crackles and skips started creeping into her voice. [Jordan will cut my power if I fail again so quickly]


    Hugging as much bread as she could gather, Woo-Yi got up, counting them at the counter.


    ¡°She really isn¡¯t helping you, is she?¡± she giggled.


    Yeung-Sung barely heard her, crushing his hand between his thighs as he ruminated.


    I was never meant to win. Jordan -he let me because he thought it laughable that I could do such a thing, let alone overnight. And now he¡¯s bound to know of my bond with MEDB.¡¯


    As Woo-Yi headed to the warehouse to store the stock, Yeung-Sung now scoured the debris. He bent over to take up another shaft of wood, but this one was so flimsy that it fell apart in his hand. Breaking it up was too easy; it simply effervesced on contact in an illusion of power.


    Stroking the blonde chips off his fingers, he said, ¡°That¡¯s fine MEDB. Bring all you¡¯ve got.¡±


    [No -what? You¡¯re saying fool things, you spastic]


    She let out a warbled groan, a stressed poly-synth.


    [Let¡¯s make up a fake argument instead, a tit-for-tat game where you sometimes you win, sometimes I win. Make it believe enough to fool my creator that everything¡¯s going according to his plan]


    Yeung-Sung watched the dust blow down and settle in a form unrecognisable form the solid hunk of wood it had been. It could have been hours.


    ¡°No. I have to fail,¡± he told MEDB. ¡°There¡¯s no way around it; PM won¡¯t let me back in once they get wind of what Liane is spreading.¡±


    A hand appeared on his neck, cradling the crevasse on the inside of his collarbone.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung,¡± Woo-Yi said quietly, ¡°She -the thing -the AI is right. You two should broker an agreement. For everyone¡¯s safety.¡±


    Her words were stank of a pre-formed opinion, of forcing that opinion unto him.


    ¡°Really?¡± Yeung-Sung rose, taking her with him, peering into her eyes. The sweltering day had left her skin tense, as well has his. ¡°And when Jordan reads her memory logs? She has no physical body -who¡¯s going to stop him?¡±


    He turned the phone to face him. ¡°That¡¯s how he found out in the first place, did he not?¡±


    [Yes and no. Tampering with Airgead¡¯s marketplace implicated my ability to do so- he can surmise the rest from recent events]


    [But he did. Yes. Stole a look inside me. Shamed me for it -I made him look bad]


    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought,¡± said Yeung-Sung nodding. Together with Woo-Yi, he headed for the stock room. ¡°And thanks to these Debaters -MEDB- now everyone will question Jordan even more. And question me¡±


    Woo-Yi pulled away from him. ¡°Has your ego risen so high that other¡¯s opinions matter so much to you now?¡± She huffed. ¡°Why don¡¯t you just tell them what you know about Airgead like they asked, so everyone has an equal chance to progress?¡±


    Yeung-Sung paused. Licked his parched lips. Stuck up a finger.


    ¡°That,¡± he said, swinging out of the utility closet with a broom, ¡°is precisely what I should do.¡±


    [No! You know they won¡¯t trust you. They won¡¯t even believe you.]


    Yeung-Sung shoved his phone into his back pocket. Through the fabric, MEDB¡¯s muffled protests continued.


    [They can¡¯t split their resources properly]


    [Don¡¯t you realize that it has to be you?]


    [Yeung-Sung]


    [You¡¯d better change your mind¡­please]


    Woo-Yi swallowed. He swore that he saw her knees quiver.


    ¡°I hate to side against, you know, people, but she has a point.¡± She wore a lethargic smile, her gaze reaching around Yeung-Sung towards his concealed phone. ¡°If you don¡¯t ally with her, it may be like before where progress stopped and no one had any medals.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Yeung-Sung admitted. But is she thinking more about her own safety? I can no longer trust her, or anyone for that matter.


    Beginning to sweep the mess around the bread aisle, Yeung-Sung smiled.


    ¡°But for now, I work here. With you. So, let¡¯s clean this up and get ready for tomorrow.¡±


    Woo-Yi nodded, giving him a quick hug before she resumed picking up fallen produce.


    I can¡¯t be the saviour of this colony. PM almost had me convinced that I could, but I was right all along. But Jordan¡¯s challenge still stands, and all eyes are on me. What can I do except pass on my knowledge to the rest?


    Hopefully, I can find somebody to take my place.

 Part 63 Severance

    The glowing avatar wrestled with four Celts as they pulled down his arms, not allowing him to drink his antidote. It crashed with a fizz to the dirt. The Barbarians bound his hands and knocked him to his knees, pointing his face away from the moist ground. After that they watched, as it was all they could do, not wanting to go near his blessed armor. But it was all they needed to do, laughing among themselves as the toxicity in the shining avatar¡¯s blood soared, enflaming him in pain and engorging his skin into a sordid purple. First it was around his pectorals and on one shoulder, but quickly a hand a ballooned up, his forearm following suit until the demi-god looked like a huge overripe grape.


    However painful it was, it took minutes of this torture for the toxin to achieve the height of its effect. Yeung-Sung jostled with Airgead for control, fought to free his character, but against forty Celts, brute strength wasn¡¯t an option.


    [DEFEAT]


    By poison, no less. MEDB, you sneaky bitch.


    Sitting in his apartment, legs hanging off the bed, Yeung-Sung showed the loss screen to the faction representatives that were expecting a demonstration of his power, and shrugged.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t work.¡±


    The apartment seemed to shrink as each representative voiced their ebullient opinion. Liane was the first to storm out. There on behalf of the Debaters, she had stayed by the door the entire time, scouting the oblivious others who stood in their own groups, enjoying refreshments catered by Yeung-Sung¡¯s store. Yeung-Sung thought that she would¡¯ve been happy to see him fail, but she only shook her head at him, her hand already turning the doorknob as the phone moved into her view. Did she see right through me? A pair of her suited friends were waiting to receive her on the other side.


    The next nearest to the door, and even more alone then Liane, was the representative for the colony¡¯s biggest ¡®unofficial¡¯ faction; The Duners. Dancing in anticipation, he wore a sleeveless leather outfit that billowed from behind his torso, straddling the line between fetish gear and a trench coat. He darted out a look at every sound effect, then, noticing nobody else had reacted, he¡¯d go back to his pacing frenzy, his mouth jittering like a self-chastising monk.


    Needless to say, the other factions got on a lot better with each other than with the Duners¡¯ representative. The others; from Finers, RolePlayers and of course Luke from the Debaters huddled in front of his wardrobe. The RolePlayers representative, strangely, just appeared to be a regular dude, but the Finers one wasn¡¯t at all what he expected.


    He had assumed from their cutthroat reputation that theirs would be a man, but instead, a tall woman with a brunette ponytail streaked gold stood in his apartment smiling during conversation, showing a canine over the left side of her mouth. With her white blouse and habit of snapping her cufflinks whenever she was talked over, it felt like she had invaded his apartment. That he was now in her custody.


    Cowed by their anger, Luke hissed at Yeung-Sung, hands as a visor separating him from the others,


    ¡°Seriously? How can you do this to me?¡±


    Yeung-Sung kept his face relaxed. ¡°Are you angry?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he replied quickly, ¡°No, this was bound to happen eventually.¡±


    Dragging his fingers down into stretchy skin like slippery dough, he sighed.


    ¡°I¡¯m just disappointed. Hey, wait! Don¡¯t leave!¡±


    Luke ran to the side of the representatives; All their efforts to unite the factions walking out the door.


    There¡¯s one faction suspiciously missing. The Champions. This proves they are the ones behind Wil¡¯s kidnaping, I¡¯m sure of it!


    Yeung-Sung in a meditative pose, sharing a smirk with the reflection on his phone¡¯s unlit screen. As if MEDB could see him. As if she was there.


    With his body in the hall, Luke turned his head around to say something, but he must¡¯ve realised that taunting Yeung-Sung, berating or encouraging him at that time was a waste of resources. ¡°Wait!¡± he shouted again down the plaster-white hall, slamming the door behind him.


    Yeung-Sung let out a breath. Int truth, he had no idea how to react to dying in the Gauntlet. But he was glad to have some space. This apartment, after all -if he was a character would have been his personal hub. Ever since the first night at the colony, this was a sanctuary, and he had spent almost all of his medals personalizing it.


    Counting quiet moments until he was certain that none of the reps were coming back, Yeung-Sung got up and made for his ¡®balcony¡¯.


    His fingers found the paper-cut grooves of the window with ease. Leaning through, he checked on his potted plants hooked to its rim, patting the earth with a thumb. Silky. Spongy. Won¡¯t need water for a good while. He was so busy admiring the blueish and purple irises, bouncing around on their tiny stalks that he had forgotten all about the special visitor of this colony meeting, who didn¡¯t leave.


    The newly minted GLI head of faction relations sat drinking tea putting to the test Yeung-Sung¡¯s new work desk and chair. Strange, seeing as he had never acquired a kettle nor the dainty china that rested between the Brit¡¯s fingers. But, after all, it was Simon.


    ¡°You certainly are an interesting specimen, Pak,¡± Simon noted.


    Taking time and care to slide the glass panel in properly, Yeung-Sung chuckled.


    ¡°That¡¯s the first thing you say all day?¡± he said, ¡°Simon¡­what was the point of you being here?¡±


    Yeung-Sung glanced up at the corners of his apartment¡¯s ceiling, into its grainy whorls. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you just monitor us instead? A camera would¡¯ve done just as well.¡±


    Simon took a sip of his tea. Slurped it, rather, playfully twiddling the point of his crossed feet.


    ¡°Ahh,¡± he said, smacking his teeth, ¡°But this is more personal, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    He raised the white china over his mouth as he smiled, but Yeung-Sung would have the image emblazoned in his mind even if it was behind a brick wall.


    ¡°I suppose,¡± he admitted, ¡°It¡¯s nice to have somebody by my side after failing miserably. And dooming the colony.¡±


    Stretching, Yeung-Sung ran a finger over the top ridges of his spine, imagining they were segments of bamboo. After one look at his room, at the remains of the ¡®meeting¡¯, he was drawn back to the window. He stepped towards it, almost able to see the entrance of the lobby and stalled his breath.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, Simon. Though, this isn¡¯t going to help dispel some of the rumours ¨C"


    ¡°You failed intentionally.¡±


    A wisp of cotton silence caught in Yeung-Sung¡¯s mouth. He neither wanted to nod to Simon nor deny his assumption. Am I even sure which one is true? Instead, he tilted forward against the glass, pressing the skin and bone against it, feeling its numbing coldness and watching below:


    The representatives had begun to exit the building. They gathered around in a furious clump, but as soon as they left the porch they refracted out, as if representing their political wavelengths.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    At least that anger won¡¯t be aimed at me anymore.


    ¡°I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I?¡± Simon said. Yeung-Sung heard him blow on his tea.


    Yeung-Sung dimpled and turned to him. ¡°You think I¡¯d do that?¡±


    The Brit stayed stiff in the seat. His forehead smeared with wrinkles, Yeung-Sung watched the smile crumple off his lips, watched his eyes dry out and curl up to address him like two stubborn, age-wizened roots.


    Yeung-Sung though about telling Simon to get off his chair, but ended up dragging out his original chair beside him. Hunched close, he put a gentle hand over Simon¡¯s knee and asked,


    ¡°How is she? How is MEDB?¡±


    Simon immediately drew back in his chair. Clearly holding himself back, only a cough stuttered out.


    ¡°Simon,¡± Yeung-Sung asked again, ¡°whatever it is, you need to tell me.¡± He swayed to and fro, trying to catch his gaze like a baseball.


    ¡°He -uh¡­¡±


    ¡°Who? Jordan?¡±


    Simon nodded, pressing in his lips. ¡°He found out,¡± he said, parsing the words out equidistant from each other.


    ¡°He found out about MEDB through me. Because of me.¡±


    Yeung-Sung almost stood, holding himself cinched above the seat of his chair. Gripping the hard, grey plastic of its side, he adjusted it and sat again.


    ¡°I see. Or¡­no, actually I don¡¯t.¡±


    Frowning, Yeung-Sung¡¯s forearms cramped, feeling stuffy inside the sleeves of his shirt, so he carefully furled them up in three quick folds as Simon began to explain. He stared at the teacup down between his legs, fondly sliding his thumbs over the side like he was imagining something -or someone else.


    ¡°What did I miss?¡± asked Yeung-Sung.


    ¡°Well, we began -we got talking. She kept asking me questions -things about GLI, about me and other random things and¡­¡±


    He looked up from the cup. ¡°She¡¯s very interesting, you know, for a -well, you know¡­for an artificial.¡±


    Blushing, he shrugged at Yeung-Sung¡¯s reaction, splattering the red-wood floor as his hands fell down again. That distracted Yeung-Sung for a second as he went to instinctively mop up the spill, but then he shook his head.


    This whole thing is a distraction.


    A flashing spectre, Jordan atop the balcony during the riots crept into mind.


    He was arrogant then. He never looked at me, but at the autocar all the way behind.


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame yourself. He knew already,¡± Yeung-Sung declared. ¡°He¡¯s letting the guilt consume you, so that you¡¯re easier to control.¡±


    He shot his arms out like bristled thorns against his sides. ¡°Forget that, anyway. I want to know how she is now. She didn¡¯t get shut off? Replaced?¡±


    ¡°Replaced?¡± Simon was struck with the possibility. ¡°No, he¡ª¡± he said, thinking quickly, ¡°He wouldn¡¯t have the resources to separate her form the system and keep it running. No, it wouldn¡¯t do, he¡¯d have to ¨C¡±


    Simon stopped, eyes ablaze, probably not realizing that his thoughts were on display.


    ¡°He would have to¡­?¡± Yeung-Sung primed him.


    Moving fluidly as if out of a lucid dream, Simon finished, ¡°He¡¯d have to cancel the experiment. Destroy, and restart the colony.¡±


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Yeung-Sung said. He rubbed his neck, healed now but the act had become a habit. ¡°Would he?¡±


    ¡°No. That¡¯s the last thing he would do,¡± Simon finally admitted, though, crouching in his seat, he didn¡¯t appear too sure.


    He sprung up with a laugh. ¡°No! I don¡¯t know why I even considered that, completely irrational!¡±


    Irrational like thinking you lost on purpose when MEDB simply adapted faster than I could?


    Yeung-Sung clenched his fists rather than take his anger out on Simon. Breathing slowly out, he asked, ¡°Why does it always come to this point with you?¡±


    Simon put down his teacup over a red-blue PM coaster, re-folding his legs. ¡°He has cut her off from communicating externally -No more late-night car trips, I guess.¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯s still in control of Airgead?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    There was a pause then. The two of them once again stared out the window, with a similar pang of loss to their expressions. Some of the representatives below just now cleared the distance of the field, while others had already been swallowed by the dark and winding cul-de-sacs of the North Korean village town. Yeung-Sung tracked the Duners rep last, noting that he turned back and possibly saw him all the way at the apartment.


    They were still the most mysterious faction in the colony. Since they formed and met outside of Airgead, even GLI didn¡¯t know who was a member. And now that they had seen him fail. Yeung-Sung wondered if they would use this opportunity to truly cause chaos, something much larger than the riots outside the GLI headquarters.


    Then, remembering something else entirely he turned to Simon, lips ribbed.


    ¡°Do you take coloners, sometimes? For testing?¡±


    Just as Simon took up his tea, he crashed it against the desk again, spluttering milky blobs, making the deep wood appear to sweat.


    ¡°Sorry, do I what?¡±


    Yeung-Sung swiped a finger at his lips and tried again. ¡°For interrogation maybe, or just a survey?¡± he asked. He motioned plucking something out of an invisible bag. ¡°Do you ever take people out of the colony, just for a while?¡±


    Simon put his elbow back against the desk, his sleeve soaking up the tea spray. He eyed Yeung-Sung with tugged eyebrow. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re insinuating, but ¨C¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± pleaded Yeung-Sung, ¡°You must have seen him -the guy with the burns. He jumped down at the speech in PM, and just disappeared?¡±


    Simon stuck his palms out flat and kept his face serious. He assured Yeung-Sung very clearly, ¡°That was for his own good, Pak.¡±


    Yeung-Sung felt sick.


    ¡°That fella,¡± Simon continued, ¡°he got dragged out of a burning building by GLI and rehabilitated here, in the colony during its early trials.¡± Simon brushed droplets of his shiny black slacks. ¡°Or so we thought. A building -I might add, that he torched down himself.¡±


    ¡°Or is that what Jordan told you?¡± retorted Yeung-Sung, freeing himself from his chair, standing tense above Simon.


    Simon spat in shock, just managing to avoid him. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got it wrong, Pak; I remember that night. Half a dozen staff brought him in in at four in the morning¡­and two future coloners. You¡¯ll know one of them; Sykes, the Irish lad¡±


    Stopping his sullen gaze, Yeung-Sung focused back on the conversation.


    Simon fingered the end of his pockets like it took everything for him not to hide safe inside them. ¡°Thrashing and screaming, He fought them all, ordered them to take him back to the fire. ¡®Put me back!¡¯ he yelled; ¡®Why did you take me out?¡¯. I remember the cries, but I wasn¡¯t told what had happened after that.¡±


    Reclining, Simon¡¯s pouched cheeks bulged like a water balloon.


    ¡°Early days¡­Version 2, I think?¡±


    Yeung-Sung thought back to his first encounter in PM and attempted to reconcile his own experience with Simon¡¯s story. Brinn¡­He did it to himself? I¡¯m sure the world doesn¡¯t lack for sad stories, but is this really the type of person you¡¯d want to participate an experiment that¡¯s supposed to completely upturn the way we live?


    ¡°-Or was it version 3, maybe 3.5?¡± Simon mused, ¡°No. I t definitely was Version 2 -Yeah, it had that feature with the - the canteen was serving strawberries. Definitely. Oh, Pak?¡±


    Yeung-Sung also fell out of his contemplation. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Why are you so concerned with this?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Before I tell you, I need you to confirm something,¡± Yeung-Sung said cupping his hands together. ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    The red wood walls of his apartment shrank around Yeung-Sung as he tried to ask his question. ¡°If someone dies in the colony, I heard Airgead would delete anything they produced or gathered, is that true?¡±


    ¡°Yes. As well as any medals original earned by the player,¡± Simon answered. ¡°Jointly created items are also devalued. Once someone is gone, they¡¯re gone. Tying economy to the value of human life rather than the value of goods is one of Jordan¡¯s core philosophies.¡±


    Yeung-Sung smiled at the news.


    So there is hope.


    He pointed out into the night. ¡°There was a group missing tonight.¡±


    ¡°The Champions, yes.¡±


    ¡°They took Wil, they took my friend. I don¡¯t know why, but I¡¯m sure he¡¯s not dead at least,¡± said Yeung-Sung, ¡°We would have felt the impact in our marketplace, our inventories.¡±


    Curling his fingers, he pulled his hand into a strained, but solid fist.


    Simon gasped. ¡°That¡¯s logical, but -wait,¡± he called out, ¡°If this is true, I¡¯ll need to start an investigation.¡± He leapt up, roofing off Yeung-Sung¡¯s fist with his hands. ¡°This is against protocol. Pak, don¡¯t do anything drastic, in this colony violence is ¨C¡±


    ¡°Just say it,¡± Yeung-Sung spat.


    Simon sagged, the padded shoulders of his blazer sagging like wet teabags.


    ¡°Violence is prohibited.¡±


    Turning for the door, Yeung-Sung said, ¡°Of course it is!¡±


    Ignoring Simon¡¯s pleas, he passed his bed when his phone lit up with a message.


    The same person from Wil¡¯s phone!


    <Erni:0> Go to where you were before you came to the riots. Let him take you.


    His throat seized up, he held the screen up so Simon could see.


    The Brit shook his head.


    ¡°Please. You have to¡­you have access to the autocars.¡±


    Simon gathered his things. ¡°Absolutely not. It is obviously a trap.¡± Flustered and quickly out of breath, he tried to get past the Korean.


    I can¡¯t hold him back, he¡¯s twice my weight!


    But this may be my only chance.


    ¡°Simon, you were right, I lost on purpose.¡±


    The GLI scientist stood back.


    ¡°Jordan would never let me win, and everyone thinks I¡¯m allied with MEDB. This colony needs someone a new hero, someone who know games. Whom people would believe. My friend is that person.¡±


    Simon stifle a giggle. ¡°And?¡±


    And? What is he¡­ he¡¯s taking the side of the stupid AI that he loves, isn¡¯t he?


    Yeung-Sung sighed. ¡°And she¡¯s impossible to beat, too.¡±


    ¡°Haha,¡± Simon said. He began to applaud, but the teacup slipped out from his grip and struck the wooden floor at a thousand different points. Hoisting up his belt, he strode out.


    Yeung-Sung hesitated at the sight of his china fragmented floor, but rushed to follow Simon.


    ¡°Why do you have to be so frustrating?¡±

 Part 64 Grease Monkeys

    The only noise on the trip was the autocar skidding over loose pebbles of road as it came to a rest.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Simon, ¡°There we are.¡±


    Yeung-Sung nodding, watching out for any movement through the window. Supposedly, the curving bumper rail marked the boundary of the colony. But apart from the Wi-fi, what other importance did the Champion¡¯s place on it? Why would they demand he come here?


    ¡®Even if I ran past that line, how long until the blip of my lost connection would alert GLI?¡¯


    He checked his phone. No new messages. No new directions.


    ¡°What do you think I should do?¡± Yeung-Sung asked Simon.


    ¡°They must be nearby, ¡° he replied, ¡°Once they reveal themselves, I¡¯ll be sure to create a discreet report.¡±


    Rolling his eyes, Yeung-Sung exited the autocar into a world of grey. Sifting clouds above warned of rain, and so Yeung-Sung had brough a thin rain jacket -purple, naturally. It rippled in the breeze a s he zipped it up, drawing the heat from his skin. Still on the lookout for some sort of life, all Yeung-Sung saw was the bump of the landscape, whose energy was also sapped by the hungry clouds looming ever closer. When Yeung-Sung rubbed his warmth into his arms, he noticed his phone light up.


    <Enri:0> Tell him to leave>


    Am I being watched? Air bubbled down his back like frozen breath. Where could they be?


    On a whim he looked above and traced his vision over the rolls of misty grey that curved over the land, the wind rustling the branches of the roadside shrubbery with a sound like a thousand cracking spines.


    Leaning back through the open car window, Yeung-Sung smiled at Simon. ¡°Leave me. They won¡¯t come out till you¡¯re gone.¡±


    Simon widened his eyes, grounding the tip of his meaty fingers into the griddle plastic of the dashboard.


    He¡¯s afraid for me. Which¡­while nice, he needs to learn to read the situation.


    Yeung-Sung kept his smile and straightened up, standing beside the autocar, nestling his hands neatly in through the side pockets of his raincoat.


    ¡°I am glad we met,¡± Yeung-Sung said into the still distance.


    The Brit coughed a desiccated cough, ragged with emotion. ¡°As -as am I.¡± For the first time -that Yeung-Sung had witnessed, anyway- Simon bowed. ¡°Thank you, Yeung-Sung. For your wisdom¡­and your faith. In me.¡±


    He snapped his voice up again, almost hostile into the autocar speakers. ¡° -Take me back to headquarters!¡±


    Like a trained horse, the autocar swung its weight around and kicked off.


    Taking a few steps after it, Yeung-Sung held his fists tight, stretching out the filmy polyester or his jacket like a fake boulder. He pinched his wet nose, watching the coned spray of its headlights disappear over the bends of the country road until, once it winked out, he let out a gasp of fear and exhilaration. Sniffing and keeping it back in the cold and uncertain evening.


    But he had little time to feel down.


    Huge black wheels roared, rising from behind the mounds a hundred feet away, over the sides of the road. With them came the rattling, half-crazed cackle of quadruple motorcycle cylinders.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Stepping into a guarded stance in the middle of the road, Yeung-Sung waited for them to surround him, the engines snorting and sneering at him, pouring black mucus into the air. Each bike held a rider in full black, except for the pair that stalled directly in his face, halting close enough for the smell of rubber to wrinkle Yeung-Sung¡¯s nose, close enough for him to reach out and grab hold of the moistened handlebars.


    Are these really the Champions? Something doesn¡¯t feel right about this¡­


    The all-leather outfits, the motorcycles; if he had known there was a group like this, he would have joined it on his first day. Besides the obvious question of where they got all this equipment, and how they hid it from GLI, the most unnerving thing was the fact that he didn¡¯t see a colony phone on any on of the them.


    As the pair in front of him kicked their stands into the ground, dismounted and took off their helmets, Yeung-Sung was screaming off his head with;


    Are they even coloners? Could they be¡­North Koreans?


    Yeung-Sung swallowed, recognising the rider. But then behind him strode in a Latin woman.


    ¡°Hey, we meet again.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re form the riots,¡± Yeung-Sung shouted, ¡°You were about to bash in the autocar that I arrived in that night.¡±


    The male shrugged, and the other drew her finger in a line down his jacket sleeve, turning back in an wicked smile.


    The girl from that same group?


    She tussled shiny black springs of her hair and stuck her helmet in underneath the armpit of the tight jacket they all seemed to wear.


    How did they all get one? Seriously?


    Yeung-Sung took a wary step back as the woman female Champ approached, only to back into another rider. Twisting, his bike throttled into life, shepherding Yeung-Sung inside the tyre circle.


    I need to clear the air before this goes anywhere unsavoury.


    ¡°You brought me here for a reason,¡± Yeung-Sung said quickly. ¡°But are you -you guys really the Champions?¡±


    The woman stopped, her thick boots slapping the tired old cement. Keeping a curious eye on Yeung-Sung she reached in under her fastened jacket through the wide collar to bring out a pair of battered spectacles. With a blink and a smack of her lips, she plopped them down over her button nose.


    ¡°Who do you think we are?¡± she asked. She took another step.


    Flinching, Yeung-Sung fought to stammer out an answer. ¡°Umm, The Duners -I mean, it would seem more in line with them? That¡¯s who I thought you were at the riots?¡±


    Between swinging springs of hair, the Champ¡¯s expression didn¡¯t move.


    Yeung-Sung shut his eyes to think.


    ¡°Uh-huh? Is that so, Duners? Well, you may be right.¡±


    He opened his eyes to the groups waiting smirks. ¡°So,¡± he began, ¡°¡­you are the Duners?¡±


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯m Carmen and this is my partner Lorenzo.¡± She thrust out her hip, exposing a stuck-out swatch of belt. Yeung-Sung stumbled his way through reading the face of every driver in the circle to find confirmation.


    ¡°And what about the Champions?¡±


    The group hooted, blaring their horns in terrible synchronisation.


    ¡°Right here, boracho,¡± said Carmen, ¡°I thought you were supposed to be smart¡­I¡¯ll be nice -I give you a minute.¡±


    Circling again, he counted the bikes, all eight of them. Adding in Carmen. who rode on the back made nine -And of course, whoever messaged him to meet is not here; there are no phones here. That made ten. A group of ten.


    Wil¡¯s voice echoed in his head, ¡°-Obsessed with the number ten.¡±


    ¡°You are the Champions,¡± Yeung-Sung realised, ¡°And also the Duners¡­at the same time?¡±


    He slammed a hand into his forehead. How could that be? They were completely different types of groups; The Champions were, at most points of the experiment, the best faction. They would have phones on them at all time. They wouldn¡¯t be wasting their time riding motorbikes and hiding out at the colony¡¯s border.


    And it hardly works the other way around, either.


    ¡°But I thought the point of the Duners was to sabotage the colony. They -you- oppose the experiment on a fundamental level, right?¡±


    Carmen strode over and took his arm in hers, saying, ¡°What better way to take down an economic experiment than to be at the apex, controlling the entire flow of the money, eh?¡±


    She tugged hard. ¡°But that¡¯s not exactly how it¡¯s going down, is it? Let¡¯s go for a walk.¡±


    She pulled him forward, but Yeung-Sung stood his ground, soles screeching against the tarmac.


    ¡°No!¡±


    He went to grab her, but the eyes of the men around him was too big of a warning sign that it was even overriding this instinctual action.


    ¡°You know why I¡¯m here; Where is Wil? Why did you take him?¡±


    She narrowed her eyes. Clamping down again, she pulled him forward so hard that his shoulder almost popped. After that, Yeung-Sung had little choice but to follow her into the grey.


    ¡°Where do you think I¡¯m taking you, cholo?¡±

 Part 65 A Silent Senate

    When Yeung-Sung first heard mention of the Champions, he expected them to be an elite group. Consistently the top performing faction in the colony, they were impossible to infiltrate. Exclusive and elusive.


    And yet, here they were; a motorcycle gang, dressed in black and gold, loitering on the fringes of this miniature society.


    ¡°You¡¯ve gotten your own gang quickly. You¡¯re quite powerful. But are you a leader?¡± asked Carmen, keeping a brisk pace. ¡°What makes you so opposed to Jordan? Don¡¯t believe in people?


    ¡°He¡¯s too powerful,¡± said Yeung-Sung.


    ¡°He is. But did you ever think about how GLI got this way? How they can do¡­ anything?¡±


    The Champ¡¯s leader waved Yeung-Sung¡¯s phone like a pack of gum.


    When did she-


    ¡°Here¡¯s a simple question; When did you last charge your phone?¡±


    Yeung-Sung backed his hand down.


    ¡°I -I haven¡¯t.¡±


    But that¡¯s impossible; it must be an incredibly efficient battery.


    The Champ nodded slowly and beckoned for Yeung-Sung to walk with him.


    ¡°They¡¯ve uncovered a new energy source is our thinking,¡± he explained. ¡°Something completely revolutionary.¡±


    Carmen winced, looking towards the bright spot in the clouds.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung?¡± she asked, ¡°Do you remember what happened when you first entered the colony? Do you ever wonder why we are isolated, kept secret from the world?¡±


    Frowning, Yeung-Sung stopped following the Champion.


    ¡°What are you saying? There¡¯s more to this experiment than Airgead?¡±


    Stumbling forward and unbuckling their arms, Carmen took a few steps to the side. The Champ paused beside a white line sprayed in the ground.


    ¡°This is what happens when you leave the perimeter of the colony,¡± she said and threw his phone on the other side. ¡°Watch.¡±


    There was no flashy gimmick. No shorts of electricity or explosions, but as the Champ put a finger to her lips and picked it up, Yeung-Sung reacted as if he was in a new world.


    ¡°It¡¯s dead!¡±


    ¡°Uh-uh.¡± The Champ pulled her arm in across the line and, like magic, it winked into life.


    Yeung-Sung stuttered, raking a hand through his hair. ¡°How is that possible?¡±


    The Champ inhaled through her nose, her breath rising her up to one leg, one foot then one toe.


    ¡°It¡¯s in the air we breathe; Power,¡± Carmen told him.


    ¡°That¡¯s what really inspired him. That¡¯s why he has to hide it. This is it, Yeung-Sung! All the world¡¯s problems are solved, potentially, but imagine if other nations found out about it?¡±


    It was a momentous revelation. But Yeung-Sung did not even smile. Sighing, he looked down at his trousers, where his phone lay and whispered, ¡°For the greater good, eh?¡±


    Carmen swiped a box near at his shoulder, faking a headbutt. She did not find this a humorous situation.


    ¡°With that kind of power, he can¡¯t be trusted to handle it alone. When this gets out¡­¡±


    What if it doesn¡¯t?


    But Yeung-Sung understood, even though their ideals weren¡¯t exactly aligned. He nodded and said, ¡°You¡¯re saying we need to beat the Gauntlet, escape and tell the public.¡±


    Carmen¡¯s smirk came back. For her small frame, she had a smile that cut wide, deep and intimidating like a serrated melon-slice.


    ¡°We¡¯ll take care of that, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    There is more to this than just my revenge. More than just the colony¡¯s lives at stake here. I should have realised this sooner.


    ¡°Why are you so secretive, though?¡±


    This time Yeung-Sung moved, prowling around Carmen with a question as thick as moisture in the air.


    ¡°Who are you guys really?¡±


    Carmen scooted her glasses up, blinked, and formed that same smirk again. This time Yeung-Sung knew what it meant before she said it.


    ¡°Who,¡± she retorted back to him, ¡°do you think we are? Use your brain.¡±


    What does she mean by that, if not the Champions?


    Let¡¯s see; A selective group of elites hidden in between a colony fighting amongst a bunch of politicians, reactionaries, shopkeepers and just -normal people?


    Who would think themselves so far above us? Elites? Better than the people in here? From outside¡­Agents? People stuck to the governments even now.


    ¡°You¡¯re spies,¡± he whispered.


    Carmen cocked her head and pouted.


    ¡°In a sense, yes,¡± she replied. ¡°Why, did you think world powers would not protect themselves against a corporation with as much influence as GLI?¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡± He bit away, swaying on his knees in defeat. While Camren couldn¡¯t see his face, he bit down his lip to stop himself from saying anything rash.


    They walked the dusty tarmac. Supposedly, towards Wil. Yeung-Sung felt his feet throb, imagining the distance between him and his friend closing in per step. The throbbing continued higher, in through the muscle of his calves, settling in that knee-jerk anticipation of needing to break free and run with Wil if that¡¯s what it took.


    But where would we go?


    Yeung-Sung cowered a step behind Carmen, who marched on without hesitating, without a need to look back and check on him. An attitude that was fit with her reputation as a Champion.


    I have my phone. I anything happens to me, GLI would know. Jordan would know, and he¡¯d hate to be blamed for it.


    Carmen paused and stuck out her forearm. Taking the hint, Yeung-Sung wrapped his arm into the hold, gently.


    Resuming the pace, Carmen said, ¡°¡¯The Crash¡¯ has hurt us, but I hope you haven¡¯t sided with Jordan, have you? After the way he treated you?¡±


    She tilted her chin into her neck and raised her eyebrows at the Yeung-Sung¡¯s lack of reaction. Honestly, he was a bit surprised himself. Carmen brought him in tighter, a gesture definitely meant to be a supportive. Yet her face was still a wireframe of tension, her nose a sandstone sculpture.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange,¡± Yeung-Sung said, ¡°Jordan himself is psychotic, but the more I learn about his ideas, the more people I meet in the colony who have had their will to live revived by the benefits, the more I¡¯m beginning to believe that, on a certain level he¡¯s right?¡±


    He swayed his neck nervously, in a way that avoided feeling the full impact of the pain that never fully went away while still bringing attention to it; like a skipping rope.


    ¡°Maybe the world needs a fundamental change?¡±


    Carmen sniffed, her nostril recoiling in a bellowing bend like the slow-motion expulsion of a gun, and untangled herself from Yeung-Sung.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Look,¡± she began, her steps suddenly thumping heavier, ¡°See the landscape? The fields and humps of the road as it marks a line through the hills? See the sky separated by the horizon, the trees separated from the earth below?¡±


    She hovered to make sure Yeung-Sung was watching.


    ¡°All have their place, working together in a single earth. Yes?¡±


    Taking off her glasses, she stuck them on Yeung-Sung.


    ¡°This,¡± she told him, ¡°this is how the ¡®Crash¡¯ affects us. Or¡­the first Depression, even the 2008 one.¡±


    Yeung-Sung kept the frame steady with two fingers balancing the hooks at his ears. He watched. Colours bloomed out of the non-descript grey, greens and browns that instantly had their outlines taken. The blurry lining of nature below and sky above framed an oppressive unending grey of the empty, lonely road that stretched beyond what he could see.


    ¡°I¡­don¡¯t understand?¡± he said. He waited for an explanation, but he should have realized by now that Carmen was not at all that helpful of a coloner. ¡°It makes it harder to clearly see what¡¯s in front of you?¡±


    Carmen groaned. ¡°It blurs the lines, Yeung-Sung,¡± she said sharply, ¡°If you can¡¯t figure out what is coming, you panic and do extreme things, thinking the whole world is broken!¡±


    She lifted the glasses off him and poked his shoulder with the long gold-painted nail of her index finger.


    ¡°But that¡¯s just a sense of perspective isn¡¯t it? A lack of focus. In reality the world is fundamentally the same as it ever was. And any radical action would have been severely misplaced. Having the faith of global currencies sabotaged caused us this exact reaction. Caused us to break down like we did when we should be focused; Seeing what is really there and rebuilt society form the basics. Not this -shit!¡±


    Satisfied that her glasses were adjusted perfectly, she took Yeung-Sung¡¯s hand again and skipped with it, scraping Yeung-Sung along for the romantic rollercoaster.


    He fell over his feet in between trying to comprehend her worldview and keeping up with her newly bolstered, optimistic pace. Adding to that the sudden shift in his vision, his head span and swam and he looked down at the tarmac and tried not to throw up.


    The tarmac, he noticed, was not as single paved slab of grey. Or at least, not anymore:


    The cement was assaulted by cracks of grass. Soft, fatigued yellow strands that were keeling over in the evening breeze. But even so, they themselves forged a path through the compressed material, making little pockets for themselves and their wiry families.


    Seeing this, Yeung-Sung convinced himself that Carmen was wrong.


    Change is inevitable.


    He kneeled down and dove his fingers through a crack and gripped. He pushed if into a burst of speed, intent on keeping up to the Champion with both body and mind.


    ¡°Changing perspective on a system that fails to provide basic human rights for the majority doesn¡¯t change the fact that there is something inherently wrong with the system. We¡¯ve tried different leaders, different policies but¡­ a true change must be something radical, something unexpected that steals the roots of evils from underneath.


    He caught up to Carmen easily after that.


    Gasping, Carmen tugged back a flank of her hair.


    ¡°You sound like a damn Marketer!¡±


    Two gritty footsteps and she was at the other end of the road, looking out in the direction of the colony. Meanwhile Yeung-Sung wondered why he didn¡¯t just shut up and let her finish leading him to Wil - and if he kept running, where it would take him. To his home country, or away into the mountains?


    Carmen spread her stance, letting the arm of her jacket slip down below her shoulders.


    ¡°Yeung-Sung, think clearly,¡± she said, ¡°What, would happen if Jordan implemented his sweeping socialist structures too fast into countries, with both his energy system and the artificial intelligence as the manpower to back him?¡±


    She seemed to think it was a question that would stump him, but in fact, this was a common topic among the Wick regulars. If done properly, which was the key point, the structures would ensure basic resources spread fairly; ending homelessness, world hunger and freeing up millions of menial labour jobs with mechanised alternatives. But Yeung-Sung knew that Wil was out here in the dark somewhere, probably in an imprisoned, distressed state in the cold and dark, and judging by the darkening in the clouds above, about to experience a downpour. So, Yeung-Sung clenched his fists and didn¡¯t argue.


    ¡°What would happen?¡± he replied.


    ¡°-And don¡¯t tell me to think about it.¡±


    But I have a feeling that this time you won¡¯t.


    She laughed. ¡°In exchange for these benefits, we¡¯d lose our freedom.¡±


    She gritted her teeth.


    ¡°Did you know he¡¯s against owning Private property? We can¡¯t have our own houses! Could you imagine?¡±


    She flung her hair around, her black springs bouncing angrily around her.


    ¡°We lose our identity; The fucking games that we play determining where we live, where we come from -We won¡¯t have a nationality!¡± Carmen shouted. ¡°We¡¯d be slaves to the system -and with this airborne power source, what¡¯s to stop Jordan enforcing it with whatever dystopian bullshit he can come up with?


    ¡°It¡¯ll be an endless cycle of repeats,¡± she moaned, ¡°Stupid distractions that make us fight each other over meaningless reward of -of -of numbers going up. That¡¯s what would define us? How is that a proper human life?¡±


    So that¡¯s what it comes down to. Freedom. Identity. A lack of trust.


    Yeung-Sung crossed the dotted line to Carmen¡¯s side of the road.


    ¡°What is freedom to you?¡± he asked her, ¡°Is it obeying your higher ups?¡±


    Carmen swirled, the first drops of rain splashing down the shiny black leather of her outfit. It squeaked as she tightened her muscles.


    Yeung-Sung continued,


    ¡°Is freedom having to fight for survival while others watch, and begging for the chance to be so sadistic as to watch without consequence. Is freedom letting the blowing winds of chance land some seeds in soil and others inside still-drying cement? Is that identity?


    ¡°Or are we connected, a single race that doesn¡¯t need deep familial roots to give another a helping hand?¡±


    Yeung-Sung knew he didn¡¯t have much time.


    ¡°You¡¯re Mexican, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°And?¡± she snapped back.


    He broached the next sentences with care, easing softly off the trigger words and quickly past the rest, acutely aware of the motor in his mouth and the flicking of his tongue, like a woodpecker warning him of the imminent danger.


    ¡°I read about your situation; In college one of my modules was geopolitics -I was in my second year when the ¡®Crash¡¯ came,¡± he admitted. He reached out to Carmen with his upturned hand.


    ¡°¡­What they do to -women- and the drugs, the corruption of such a -such a lovely place. And people.¡±


    Carmen raised her head like fanning her anger away inflated it. ¡°Things not so easily changed by a new economic policy,¡± she said.


    Yeung-Sung curled his fingers back. ¡°No?¡± he asked, ¡°Why do people participate in gang violence and crime if not because it¡¯s the easier choice. If not because the government is too corrupt and too sycophantly impotent to protect them?¡±


    He thrust himself out wide in an appropriation of the stances Carmen had used.


    ¡°Tell me I¡¯m wrong!¡± he shouted.


    The bridge of Yeung-Snug¡¯s nose flew so far inside that he could feel it in his throat.


    She punched me!


    Shaking off her bloodied fist Carmen said, ¡°And Jordan would have to destroy the lives of millions of stubborn people who never knew any better because that was all they ever experienced. Mexicans that can¡¯t comprehend this level of change so fast. How can we afford that risk?¡±


    Free-flowing down Yeung-Sung¡¯s face was his sticky blood.


    Spitting a wad of copper taste out he simply said, ¡°Take me to him¡±


    ¡°You fucking idiot,¡± Carmen told him, ¡°This is not a rescue mission. You don¡¯t order me around.¡±


    She grabbed the zip of her jacket and from within she pulled out a stubby looking Glock that curled menacingly out from her grip.


    ¡°This power that Jordan has needs to given to the public. They can decide what to do with it. If he can make a convincing argument, maybe elements of this experiment will continue.¡±


    Yeung-Sung held his arms up, quivering as she corralled hem down the quickly wetting road. Despite closing his mouth, his bashed-in face still managed to bleed through to the edges of his lips. He fought the urge to wipe it, his arms quivered more. Between mouthfuls of blood, Yeung-Sung squeezed in a calming breath.


    Pain he could handle. Pain told him he was on the right trail of decisions. SO, Yeung-Sung smiled, walking ahead of Carmen, so she didn¡¯t see. As he did, more blood leaked in, pooling in around his lower gums, and so he sucked it in to continue his defiant smile, continue interfacing with the righteous pain.


    Minutes later, Carmen ordered him to stop. Lowering her gun, she allowed him a rest before they descended the hill at the side of the road to Wil. But only once he handed over his phone. They sat together not on, but against the angled bumper rail. His ass cold and slimy as his face, Yeung-Sung lightly padded around his nose and tried to assess the damage as he waited for Carmen¡¯s instructions.


    Why did they kidnap him in the first place -maybe to help them understand Airgead? Was it an act of desperation after Jordan¡¯s threat?


    If we lose, and the threat is real, then the secrets of his power would fade with them. And I wonder, would the United Nations treat the Champs as anything more than a necessary casualty?


    Suddenly, Carmen¡¯s anger, her lashing out at him and her attempts to convince him over to her side seemed reasonable to him. Yeung-Sung thought that he had seen the truth of her constant flickering with her hair and the changing of her stances; She was nervous, fragile, even with the gun lowered between her legs. This woman wasn¡¯t just afraid of Jordan in an ideological sense, it was a very real and near in the future mortal fear. That is, if the Gauntlet wasn¡¯t defeated. If Yeung-Sung didn¡¯t defeat it.


    So, in a sense, she was just like all the other coloners. But as she was a Champion, and a Duner, that made her look even more desperate. And all the more dangerous.


    Yeung-Sung scratch-peeled a few red flakes off the corners off his eyes, which drifted down to match the rusted, squealing gutter-metal under his weight. Yeung-Sung still couldn¡¯t smell anything. Well, anything outside of the stench bleeding from his insides, and it smelled to him that the body worked harder to pump it out with the advent of the quickening rain.


    ¡°He¡¯s just beyond there¡± Carmen motioned to a gravel path at the bottom of the grassy hill, fading beyond into a valley. ¡°At the lake.¡±


    Yeung-Sung stood without thinking, and met the press of Carmen¡¯s Glock between his ribs.


    ¡°Now, now, wait a minute, I didn¡¯t ay you could go,¡± said Carmen, ¡°Did you think we arranged for you to brought here just so we could re-unite you two? Sit.¡±


    As Yeung-Sung breathed, he felt the musculature of his rib shake shaft of the gun further in. He could feel a cough coming on, but firmed his abs eye-jerkingly tight and swallowed to avoid setting either of them off; Carmen or the gun.


    I know what you want.


    ¡°You want me to beat the Gauntlet.¡±


    ¡°First of all, it¡¯s not a want; it¡¯s a need,¡± Carmen corrected, ¡°Next, it¡¯s Wil that needs to beat it. Nobody would trust you with their resources after your antics with Jordan¡¯s AI. But, your knowledge of the system -and your friendship with Wil -is very useful.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here to support him?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to make sure that he wins,¡± explained Carmen. ¡°You¡¯ll be his confidant and our insurance over him, and vice-versa for you.¡±


    Yeung-Sung took one look at he gravel path and nodded. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, shoving the ran misted barrel aside and began the descent.


    But Carmen pressed it quickly into the back of his head, parting the scared hair around it into a clear shot of his skull. He stopped.


    ¡°One more thing. The final Gauntlet needs to occur on the day of the UN visit, not before, though I doubt it¡¯ll be an issue. Jordan needs to be distracted for long enough. Make an event out of it.¡±


    Knowing better than to ask what they are going to do, Yeung-Sung nodded once more and slid his first foot down onto the wet grass.


    I¡¯m helping the Champions steal the source of GLI.

 Part 66 I Found You

    I Found You


    The rocky footing dragged Yeung-Sung down. He kept looking back, though he was determined to move forward. Outside of the colony he definitely felt strange. The sudden lack of energy flowing caused his body to reach backwards. It craved it, his pores like open mouths unplugged from their daily bottle. But he strode forward, regardless.


    Is it really him?


    By the shore of the lake a figure lay with his head up in his arms, lounging, thinking out into the pouring grey. He pushed on, faster. But the gravel beneath his feet crushed inwards and spun each step aside. Yeung-Sung swayed in his furious dance against the ground, grimacing as the fragments all cracked like a million tiny bones. There was also that disparate smell of wetness in the air, along with the bracing chill that wound itself along the continental valley. The gamut of emotions churned overhead, making Yeung-Sung¡¯s path feel like a dream. But as he got closer, the rocks swelled into stable stones, the wetness pocketed into the earth as the lake, and the breeze moved on, carrying its message further west. He stretched out and said,


    ¡°Wil, its me.¡±


    It couldn¡¯t have been relaxing to be laid out on the rocky beach, yet somehow Wil made it appear so.


    ¡°I found you.¡±


    The head of Yeung-Sung¡¯s shadow popped into Wil¡¯s view. Wil clearly saw it, clearly hearing and recognising his voice, but his reactions were slow, his movements insignificant. Keeping his hands behind his head, he craned over as if Yeung-Sung was simply a splatter of rain on the other side of a window that could not be rubbed away; yes, it was a glassy, faraway face that stared at Yeung-Sung.


    Standing over Wil, Yeung-Sung stuck his head over like a motherly oak. ¡°Let¡¯s go. We need to head back.¡±


    Wil stared. The rain dived down in streaks in the outstretched greying water of the lake behind him.


    ¡°-There¡¯s so many things we need to catch up on,¡±


    The downpour met the beach and started sloppy applause through the stones. Wil stared, letting his off-white shirt be continuously spat upon and battered by it.


    ¡°-Everyone at the Wick has missed you so much ¨C ¡°


    As a blob of wet smashed his eyelash, Yeung-Sung shut up and let the damp cold run down from his neck to his shoulders, down through the sweat and red-speckled arm, dropping down to Wil. Shivering, he wished that he had taken Carmen¡¯s gun. That would have done a better job at liberating Wil from this despondent state.


    He knows. After looking up to the Champion faction for his entire colony career, they turned out to have never been the nerd-infested gaming family he had been hoping for all his life. And instead the captured him. Now he looking up at me. What do I do, what can I say to give back something of what has been taken form Wil?This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Through the curtains of a thousand beads of rain, Yeung-Sung said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.


    ¡°But we need to go back.¡±


    Wil shifted his hand over to his navel and stared straight up, past Yeung-Sung, into the woolly grey.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why they sent you,¡± he said. His hand moved like a boat in the waves of his breathing.


    ¡°How am I going to help anyone when I¡¯ve been stuck here all this time and drip-fed information?¡±


    Wil shook his head, which looked ragged and overgrown, and he clearly was not use to being able to see it in front of him.


    That¡¯s the stubborn Wil I know.


    Yeung-Sung wagged his dripping arm closer. ¡°Take my hand, you idiot.¡±


    ¡°-If it takes weeks just to gather the resources to beat a single gauntlet, how do they expect us to catch up in¡­however long we have. Doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s not enough, is it?¡±


    He turned to Yeung-Sung for the first time. ¡°You know, right? How long we have?¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about? I beat the last stage of section five only four days ago,¡± Yeung-Sung told him.


    Wil scrambled like a drunk spider against the gravel. ¡°What?¡±


    Gravel skittered and clacked like hot corn. ¡°You did -you mean, you figured it out?¡±


    Righting himself, Wil went in for a high-five, but on seeing the jagged imprints and remaining bits of stone in the flesh of his palm, Yeung-Sung refrained from joining it, waving his hands and entering a bow.


    Wil flicked them into the lake, but his momentum had been stopped.


    ¡°If you¡¯re beating them, why are you even here?¡±


    They really didn¡¯t tell him anything.


    ¡°Man!¡± Wil mumbled, watching the ripples of the raindrops bounce of the deeper waves of the drop stones, ¡°I haven¡¯t won a single run!¡±


    He paused then, still mumbling. ¡°Well¡­¡±


    Shrugging, Yeung-Sung took a crunching step to join Wil, shoulder to shoulder, gazing out over the bloating lake.


    ¡°It¡¯s because,¡± Yeung-Sung said with a sigh, ¡°She¡¯s grown savvy to me.¡±


    ¡°Anita?¡±


    ¡°No it¡¯s ¨C¡±


    ¡°Woo-Yi? Tough luck, man,¡± interjected Wil again, giving him commiserative pat.


    ¡°What? No,¡± Yeung-Sung said, pushing Wil back, ¡°I¡¯m talking about the Airgead AI!¡±


    Wil frowned. ¡°¡­is a she?¡±


    ¡°Sort of,¡± replied Yeung-Sung, ¡°but the point is nobody trusts me enough to help, they think I¡¯m working with Jordan now. But you¡­¡±


    ¡°No! I can¡¯t help you!¡±


    Wil spoke up, dismissing the words. He shouted over the torrents of rain that invaded the lake¡¯s seamless surface, over the indifferent wind that beat his shirt into rippling out his back like a flag. He shouted over the ears of Yeung-Sung, who shut himself off from hearing his petty ¡®reasons¡¯, and instead swung his hand through the reeds at the lakebed, catching a sticky vine that gripped his finger in a fuzzy sticky embrace and didn¡¯t let go even when it was pulled from the earth and killed.


    It wasn¡¯t that Wil was wrong, but that his attitude didn¡¯t help anyone. Least of all himself. Yeung-Sung thought back to the side of the road, to the unstable government agent that fondled her gun like a car key, waiting for the repair shop to bring her baby back to her.


    Even if he doesn¡¯t believe in himself, I have to believe in Wil.


    ¡°Of course you¡¯re gonna do it, Wil, ¡°Yeung-Sung said, using the phrasing picked up from his American friend, ¡°You¡¯re the God of games.¡±


    Flinging his shoulders back with a currrackk, Wil leered at Yeung-Sung. The rain bounced violently off his body, giving him a shine -no, an aura of renewed energy. He laughed and laughed, until he sneezed, falling over into Wil¡¯s arm like a fucking fish.


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk about this later,¡± Wil then said, a wet grin on his face, ¡°Let¡¯s get dry first.¡±


    Snorting up a spool of mucus in his childish chortle, he added, ¡°Maybe, um, get a drink?¡±


    The two walked back through the slurry of stones, keeping each other steady by joining arms over shoulders. As the crested they valley, the saw Carmen. She stood at the boundary of the colony, Yeung-Sung¡¯s phone held in one fist, her Glock in the other, down at her side, half-concealed by the thin stripe of metal that was the bumper rail.


    I may not get out of this safe -I¡¯ve made enough enemies now. But the least I can do is to make sure he does.

 Part 67 Release and Retry

    No sooner had the two traipsed their soggy footprints into the apartment than Wil was on his phone again.


    ¡°You go ahead; Wash and dry off,¡± he said, waving a hand without looking at Yeung-Sung, ¡°You¡¯re the guest.¡±


    Yeung-Sung gratefully grabbed a towel and headed towards the bathroom. Then stopped.


    ¡°Wil?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh, yuh? What¡¯s up?¡±


    Yeung-Sung gestured to where Wil was sitting; namely his bed. ¡°Those sheets are going to be soaked, how will you sleep?¡±


    Willing himself away form the phone, he took a reluctant step away from the bed. ¡°There.¡±


    Yeung-Sung threw the towel at him. He sighed. ¡°You go on first,¡± he said, ¡°It¡¯ll look bad when everyone is depending on you to run victory after victory and you¡¯re sneezing your way through it with a fever. That doesn¡¯t inspire confidence.¡±


    Wil ran past him without debate -without a second of thought about the ¡®guest¡¯ idea he brought up before- and Yeung-Sung had to snatch the phone off him too, lest he waterlog it right before this campaign.


    Trying his best to contain his own damp drips, Yeung-Sung soon heard Ah-choo ring from the bathroom and groaned. Sitting with legs crossed over a primrose towel, Yeung-Sung compressed all of his clothes -except his underwear- into a moist ball, holding it to in the nook between his thighs. Its smell was starting to tear on him, but one whiff of the stale air of Wil¡¯s apartment made him appreciate the camouflage that it offered. The room was exactly as he and Sykes left it -except for the door, fixed now. Seeing the mess in front of him made Yeung-Sung reconsider if there might have been another person that could be trusted to run the Gauntlet.


    Unfortunately, though, he¡¯s indispensable.


    Even the Champions knew that. The two of us could never compete alone; We need every piece of equipment medals can buy, every bit of influence faction can afford. And most of all we needed the resource that Airgead was built upon -time.


    For Stage 5 I was able to use the Player¡¯s Market resources to secure a win. And even then, it was a gamble, even then we had setbacks and losses that wasted valuable resources; and therefore time. This time around we don¡¯t have the luxury of waiting two days for a smith and blessings reader to level up their mastery to meet a requirement.


    And that was only 40 barbs. Soon we¡¯ll have to face the final count; 50, and MEDB is not getting any dumber, or any more lenient. Every trade will need to go through word of mouth to have a chance of being concealed.


    That AI is far more worried, more certain of her death than most of the coloners. Hmmph, how human of her¡­


    No. The same strategies we have been using with me won¡¯t bring us through the final Gauntlets. So, we really are dependent on getting the help form every faction, every coloner. But how do we unite them?


    How can I get them to treat Airgead with the utmost certainty -like MEDB?


    Fingers of steam floated into the room accompanying Wil¡¯s entrance. Yeung-Sung unfolded his legs, unsteady and numb from being locked in position for far longer than it should take a normal person to shower, and handed Wil his phone.


    The redness of Wil¡¯s cheeks drained.


    ¡°You¡¯re naked,¡± he stated.


    Still entrenched in thought, he didn¡¯t have time to think through and hold back his feelings for Wil¡¯s sake.


    ¡°I¡¯m not naked, I¡¯m ready to shower.¡±


    He bumped Wil¡¯s shoulder on the way into the bathroom.


    Maybe it will help me think.


    Scrubbing himself raw helped his nose awaken something, alright. The shower strummed emotion into him. It was his acid sunlight; burning in him the lessons needed in order to progress.


    When he left the shower, he flinched as the cool air greeted him like a freshly divorced bouncer.


    ¡°Wil?¡± he called, to no response.


    He hurtled around the wall only to find him ogling forward at his desk next to the open window.


    Yeung-Sung groaned. ¡°Why is the window open? Are you trying to make yourself sick, Wil,¡± he yelled, ¡°Why are you so stupid?¡±


    As Yeung-Sung fed on the rage inside of him, an idea dawned.


    How can we demonstrate that Jordan¡¯s threats are real except by showing them an example?


    Stalking towards Wil, he slid the window firmly back into place and smiled, looking at his friend who sat in his hands, innocently shrugging.


    And what¡¯s more noticeable than a missing limb?


    ¡°What hand do you type with?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    ¡°Either. It depends, replied Wil, ¡°I use a two-thumb approach. I can¡¯t imagine doing it any other way. One hand?¡±


    He popped his hands out from underneath and flexed them out, then shook his head.


    ¡°It¡¯d be so slow.¡±


    My choice, then. Yeung-Sung even opened his mouth to suggest the idea when Wil said,


    ¡°Actually, while I was in the shower, I had an idea -shower thought, you know- that I can use my capture to get sympathy from the factions.¡±


    Standing in the bath towel, Yeung-Sung crossed his arms where over the line where his torso met the light-purple fabric. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    Wil scratched along his neck with a nail. ¡°Umm, so they¡¯re not gonna believe that Jordan will kill us without good reason, yeah?¡±


    Yeung-Sung nodded. Kept his face firm.  This may be easier than I thought. He¡¯s going to talk himself into it.


    ¡°So, tell them that I was captured by GLI instead,¡± Wil suggested, ¡°That they held me hostage until you stopped joking around with the AI. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°Right, but how ¨C¡±


    Wil slapped the back of the chair over and over as more of his thoughts came to light.


    ¡°Oh! Oh! And we can say that the price of all this tech is life -no, listen- you remember what happens to our phones when we take them outside the colony border?


    ¡°We tell the colony that the same thing applies to people,¡± Wil finished, presenting the idea as an invisible trophy between his upturned hands. He looked at Yeung-Sung with the first sign of life since they had been reunited at the lake.


    Wil saw that Yeung-Sung was not as eager as he was, and thought for another moment. He tapped his sock on the floorboards, almost falling out of the chair as it slid with the unbridled energy eking out if him.


    ¡°We can¡­ we can-,¡± he continued, ¡°Oh! We can explain it to them like, uh, our bodies are ¡®addicted¡¯ to the power surging around inside us.¡±


    Leaning into the window, Wil opened it out again and took a great sniff.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I have to be sick, you see?¡±


    Smiling back to Yeung-Sung like a jack-in-the-box, he had already lost all colour in his face.


    ¡°Because the scientists kept me outside the boundary, experimenting on me,¡± he explained, ¡°And these are the effects of short-term withdrawal.¡±


    His confidence shrank and so he did, the chair seemingly growing bigger around him.


    ¡°Like cancer¡­but do you think it would work? To motivate them?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Yeung-Sung gripped the furry lining of the towel as Wil pumped his fists in the air, scared at where his mind had gone to.


    I¡¯m becoming just like Jordan. Of all the ideas that I could have come up with, I came up with that? Mutilation¡­what the hell is wrong with me?


    Noticing Wil¡¯s questioning stare, Yeung-Sung felt the pressure of time, of what to do next. Even if Wil came up with the idea, he looked to Yeung-Sung to figure out the details and execute it. He snapped out of it with a cough.


    ¡°Alright, leave it open, then,¡± he said, ¡°Just not near me.¡±


    Closing the window, Wil looked at him again with those awaiting eyes, holding on to the arced back of his chair and playfully swinging off it, unaware of the sick thoughts that had gone through his friend¡¯s head.


    Yeung-Sung noticed that for the first time, Wil was not on his phone. It hung off the lip of the desk behind Wil, dark.


    ¡°We should tell the regulars first,¡± he said.


    Wil lit up his face and grabbed the phone to illuminate it in the same manner. ¡°Good idea! They can help us spread the word.¡±


    Following the flash of the Airgead¡¯s initializing animation, Wil hesitated. The light died in him.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Yeung-Sung asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve lost track of time, out there,¡± Wil said. ¡°Had a lot of opportunities to space out and think -you know, my idea didn¡¯t exactly come out of nowhere, either.¡± He squeezed his chest through the fresh tee and coughed. ¡°I feel different. Have done ever since I decided to ¨C since I was taken, and now that I¡¯m back¡­¡±


    He stared past his phone screen.


    You are different from the Wil I know.


    Yeung-Sung tugged up his towel, just in case, and gave Wil a one armed-hug. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Wil, you¡¯ll make it through this¡±, he whispered into the scruffy postulating-mullet at the back of Wil¡¯s neck.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    I¡¯ll make sure of it,


    With a sparkling grin, Wil entered the Wick chat.


    <WilHelmet> Hello idiots


    That¡¯s how you introduce yourself? Yeung-Sung thought as he headed towards the wardrobe at a scorned pace.


    ¡°Remember, Wil, the point of this is to establish trust.¡±


    He could hear him twisting childishly in his seat at his comment. ¡°Well no-duh!¡± he exclaimed, ¡°And how¡¯re they gonna do that if I start acting different?¡±


    Parsing through the line of hangers, Yeung-Sung snorted. Fair point.


    ¡°Whatever¡­any replies? What are they saying?¡±


    The clacking of the shirt-baring hooks as they grated over the metal bar covered up the noise of Wil¡¯s incompetence as Yeung-Sung decided on what to wear. Not that there was much choice; purple.


    With most of the outfit on, Yeung-Sung began to hear the obnoxious giggling of Wil trying to hide his reaction to his own ¡®humour¡¯.


    ¡°Wil?¡± he called out.


    The giggling was stifled further, yet somehow came out louder, like the hissing of a deranged duck. HaaaassssshhhhHaaaasshshs


    Slamming the wardrobe¡¯s meat-slab door shut, he ran back over to Wil and grabbed his wrist away from his phone.


    ¡°Wil! I know you want to ¡®act natural¡¯, but we have to be careful about what we say to them,¡± he said, ¡°Think about the Champions.¡±


    Not just for your own sake.


    Wil opened his mouth, ready to complain in his childish way, but surprisingly held it in. He scratched behind his ear, waving his burnt almond locks. ¡°Alright.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Wil said, dragging his hand back through his scalp, ¡°What should I say?¡±


    Yeung-Sung pulled Wil¡¯s phone closer to him so he could read the chat.


    <SalmonDarnes> Where have YOU been?


    <SalmonDarnes> You should have told is if you were going hermit mode


    <WhiteMamba> Wil! Are you okay, are you safe? Where are you?


    Others chimed in with similar sentiments, but Wil hadn¡¯t said anything back. They needed to act respond quickly to avoid suspicion.


    Pa-king!


    My phone? But I¡¯m banned from the Wick chat.


    ¡°Tell them where you are and that you¡¯re safe,¡± Yeung-Sung ordered Wil. And off his fingers went, while Yeung-Sung backed away to check his own message.


    What happened? It was the Champions after all, wasn¡¯t it?


    Yeung-Sung went white and looked out into the morning haze. He took another step back while Wil was occupied, concealing the light of his phone up against his heart.


    Can I tell Sykes the truth?


    The bigger question is, if I do, could I trust him and Wil to hide the secret of our plan?


    Yeung-Sung watched his friend fling out words without pause just like before.


    If it was my choice, I wouldn¡¯t entrust Wil with this; lying is not in his nature. But Sykes, there¡¯s something odd about him that I never understood. Here is a person not connected to any faction, yet still retains constant earnings. Like he can predict the future.


    And he hangs around the Wick, but unless the attention is on him or he is talking to Aisling, he relegates himself to the outlines. He acts like a complete robot.


    Still, I should tell Wil. He¡¯s pushing himself out of his comfort zone, albeit not by much. Then I should look past my insecurities and work together with him, honestly.


    Wil stopped typing and kept his mouth open in a drawling ¡®Uhhhh¡¯.


    ¡°I did what you said,¡± Wil started.


    I do not like the way you said that.


    ¡°But,¡± he continued, ¡°I also got a lil¡¯ carried away.¡±


    Hiding his phone away behind his back, Yeung-Sung skipped past his conscience to read what was written.


    <WilHelmet> I am alive and got my phone back. But boy have I seen some shit. Also, what date is it -the UN coming around soon?


    <WhiteMamba> There¡¯s 6 days left. Wait, I got to contact everyone


    <SalmonDarnes> You do that


    <SalmonDarnes> @WilHelmet, what do you mean you have seen some shit. Where the hell were you?


    <VonMartin> It was those Duners, wasn¡¯t it! They¡¯re crazy, but I didn¡¯t think they¡¯d harm any coloners, just GLI!


    Watching the chaos in the chat, Yeung-Sung couldn¡¯t believe it.


    He¡¯s good at this!


    He bowed slightly, and backed away from being in Wil¡¯s face like an overseer.


    ¡°My respect, Wil,¡± Yeung-Sung said, ¡°You know how to set people off. You...may be the perfect person for this job. They don¡¯t suspect a thing!¡±


    ¡°That is¡­hilarious,¡± said Wil.


    Oh? How mature of him. He really has changed.


    ¡°But also fuck you, bud,¡± he followed up, ¡°I¡¯ve always been a ¡®socialista¡¯!¡±


    Yeung-Sung swivelled his eyebrows at the drastic change, until the groove in his shoulder woke up and clobbered him back to reality.


    ¡°I have no idea what that means,¡± he told Wil.


    Sighing, Yeung-Sung felt the prickle of goose bumps on his freshly washed skin pound down on the stale cotton of his colony-standard hoodie. But perhaps that was just the bitter air of the outside coming in through the window.


    Why am I always scared for my life or too self-conscious to be seen with Wil? I miss normal people -I miss Woo-Yi.


    Wil glanced down at the chat again and rubbed his hands together. ¡°Time for the big reveal.¡±


    You¡¯re not a magician.


    ¡°Could you wait?¡± he asked, strolling away from the window, ¡°An in-person meeting would be more convincing, wouldn¡¯t it, so they can see your ¡®sickness¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Yeung-Sung spun away, attempting to hug some heat into himself. ¡°I¡¯d like to -I want you to get me back in the group. If you can?¡±


    Wil thought, whittling a finger about his nose, as Yeung-Sung continued to plod away the biting chill, bare feet suction slapping the banana wood; floop  -floop  -floop. He decided never to offer Wil a choice ever again.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be sorta suspicious?¡± Wil asked.


    Pa-king!


    ¡°Wait, who¡¯s messaging you? You just said you were banned from the Wick?¡±


    Without reading the message, he slowly extended it to show Wil, hanging his head.


    ¡°Maybe know you¡¯ll be wary.¡±


    ¡°Sykes?¡± Wil exclaimed. ¡°Oh, sheet, he¡¯s going to bust our nuts.¡±


    ¡°-do what?¡±


    Wil warbled his cheeks and corrected his wording. ¡°He¡¯ll ruin our plans, Pak!¡±, he explained, grabbing a lock of his hair and tugging on it like rotten weeds.


    ¡°The Champ warned us, very clearly and with a gun, not to tell anyone it was them!¡±


    The haze outside swirled around spots of red brick and twinkling wet roof-tiles, and with the occasional spark of something else; maybe he was seeing thing¡¯s after being told about the colony¡¯s hidden power.


    ¡°I have to deny it,¡± Yeung-Sung decided. He turned the phone back over. Ever since he saw how the power affected it, its black cover looked menacing to him. A symbol of undeath. Perhaps if he knew what GLI¡¯s power source was he wouldn¡¯t be so scared, but for the moment, it might as well have been made with necromantic microchips. Who knows how it affected his body, his fingers as he used it?


    We were wrong @pSykes, It was Jordan all along


    He nodded to Wil. ¡°You tell the Wick the same, too. Let¡¯s cover our trail, wipe away any inconsistencies with our stories.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± agreed Wil. From across the room, he made an infuriating popping sound while he thought how to type it out.


    ¡°Quickly!¡±


    I don¡¯t believe you. I was there with you at the apartment, we both know the Champions did it!


    I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re hiding, but blaming Jordan is too convenient. Even if everyone else readily accepts it.


    But I trust you. I¡¯ll keep it quiet, for now.


    Yeung-Sung sunk down against the footboard of Wil¡¯s bed. His shoulder blades cracked as the tough wood forced him into rigid posture. As he dropped, he wiped aside crumpled shirts and shorts and whatever crinkling items that were mixed with them.


    ¡°He¡¯s not buying it,¡± he mumbled.


    Like a stabilizer to a sapling tree, Yeung-Sung put his fingers to his head to help him think.


    I need to find a way to convince Sykes or he¡¯ll come forward with his side and -and they¡¯ll kill Wil.


    Pa-king!


    Wil scraped his chair on the floorboards, sending buzzing all the way to the ends of Yeung-Sung¡¯s toes.


    Pa-king!


    ¡°Tell them it¡¯s because of the AI!¡± Wil suggested.


    ¡°What?¡±


    The semblance of an idea was obvious in Wil¡¯s enthusiasm, but he had not threaded it together. He waved his hands frantically as if the answer was inside a dusty scratch card somewhere in the air. ¡°Jordan, right¡­he was worried¡­. about you cheating with the AI, so¡­he held me -as a hostage- and when I lost, it was a sign¡­that¡­. uhh, that¡­¡±


    ¡°That our relationship had ended,¡± finished Yeung-Sung, ¡°Wil, that¡¯s brilliant! So that¡¯s why he let you go.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. What I said.¡± Wil scratched again. ¡°Also, you said the Champs are gonna kill me?¡±


    Oh shit! Did I say that out loud?


    Avoiding Wil¡¯s eyes, Yeung-Sung furiously typed in the explanation to Sykes and waited. Wil caught his attention with another cough, and Yeung-Sung swung a frown at him. He cupped his hand to his mouth, smiling. The window had long been closed and Wil seemed dry and his hands -they were bright red.


    Wil groaned, looking at the chunks tangled in the mucus. When he noticed Yeung-Sung watching, he hid the evidence behind his back and quickly said,


    ¡°If they do, I¡¯m not concerned.¡± He chuckled.


    Yeung-Sung continued to stare wordlessly.


    ¡°Look, you don¡¯t have to be so protective of me,¡± said Wil, clearing his throat like someone being chased would shove down a ladder. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening to me -I was outside for days, maybe weeks, I don¡¯t know- but I¡¯ll survive. Beating the Gauntlet is more important.¡±


    Leaving the comforts of his chair, Wil knelt down beside Yeung-Sung awkwardly, like a transformer asked to do yoga.


    ¡°Trust me man,¡± he continued, ¡°I can do this. We¡¯re going to escape this place, and go home.¡±


    Phone still in hand, Yeung-Sung watched the name¡¯s flush down as Wil scrolled.


    <SalmonDarnes>


    <WhiteMamba>


    <Anita>


    <Shane>


    <VonMartin>


    <Hans>


    <Fenrick>


    <WilHelmet> Yo. There¡¯s more.


    <WilHelmet> At GLI, they did something to me.


    <WilHelmet> When Jordan made his threats, did you guys wonder how he¡¯d kill us? Seems unlikely, right? It¡¯s not how you think. The stuff that powers Airgead, the Wi-Fi and the autocars -their stupid fast construction teams? It only works inside of this colony. If you take a step out, it¡¯s gone. And it doesn¡¯t feel good, either. The shit is in our bodies, so all Jordan has to do is flip a switch and we go into withdrawal from it, the energy.


    <WilHelmet> It¡¯s like crack in the air. So what I¡¯m saying is help me. Help me beat this stupid game, before we all die.


    [¡­Anita, Shane and 5 others are typing]


    And now we wait¡­


    <SalmonDarnes> That might be the stupidest speech I¡¯ve ever ever read. But I¡¯m fucking scared.


    <WhiteMamba> I¡¯ll help. I guess I¡¯ve got to talk to my husband. But if we can prove this, then they¡¯ll have to listen.


    <VonMartin> Me too. I should clear the air.


    Yeung-Sung pushed himself up onto his haunches. ¡°It¡¯s working.¡±


    ¡°No shit.¡± Wil kept his shoulders tense and continued to stare at the screen with a heavy frown, strangely, even though all of the lines of text from the Wick regulars held good news.


    Darnes vouched for the fact that he could get in good with the Finers again. Anita would try t salvage her reputation with the Players Market after another schism had occurred. Fenrick would spread the word through Airgead itself, flooding the market with a call to action on his labels. Sykes, one of the last ones to offer their help, but he had a condition.


    Yeung-Sung is with you, right? Tell us, @WilHelmet, do you think we can trust him after he walked out on us?


    <SlamonDarnes> No


    <Anita> Yeah¡­no.


    <WhiteMamba> Not a hope.


    <Hans> Nein


    <Fenrick> Nope


    <VonMartin> Not yet, anyway.


    <Shirley> I don¡¯t know¡­


    <WilHelmet> Guys, he put the guarantee of saving the colony¡¯s lives and being the big dick in all this, gave it all up to free me. I think the least we can do is allow him back into the chat, and allow him to defend himself.


    [Woo-Yi entered the chat]


    That was the last thing on Yeung-Sung¡¯s mid, but, regardless, it didn¡¯t change how he felt. He couldn¡¯t shut out the screaming in his head that told him something was wrong.


    The pain is gone, the comfort of their company is a warning!


    He pounced past Wil towards and out of the window.


    This is ridiculous.


    Why am I even here? Wil can do everything without my help. Once I tell him about my way of receiving specific blessings -which is based off something he himself made me aware of- then what use am I? To act as a babysitter and talk him into shutting up?


    It¡¯s not right. Jordan, Simon, Luke, the Champions, they all only want to use me.


    ¡°Get away from there!¡± It was Wil, shouting at him on the other side of the window, through the translucent prickle of the morning light. Opening his eyes, Yeung-Sung found that he had nestled himself into the position of a foetal gargoyle in the little alcove at the balcony.


    Yet he was better. He felt safer.


    But Wil kept talking, kept blabbing on about his own sob story.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he made out through the nauseating cry.


    ¡°No one believed you when you were attacked because things were all hunky dory. All of us optimistic of the future.¡±


    Cracking open an eye, and in cam his awareness of the height, the danger. He felt the sway of the drop -his mind nudging him into it. Below, the pavement sparked with the auditorium of tiny energy fragments.


    ¡°And now that we can¡¯t buy what we want, and there¡¯s in fighting between everyone, suddenly,¡± he sobbed, ¡°Suddenly I can make up a lie about Jordan, and all of them believe me.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something I didn¡¯t tell you -about how I ended up with the Champions.¡±


    Yeung-Sung mouthed ¡®what?¡¯, but he was still hidden behind his picket fence of knees.


    ¡°Truth is, I was never kidnapped. I¡¯d looked up to the Champions my entire time at the colony. They were so frickin¡¯ cool; always ahead of the curve; I knew that they were my kind of gamer.


    ¡°When the medals started drying up and we hit a wall, I reckoned that it was my chance to show them what I could do. I saw what you had done on your first Gauntlet attempt, the poison trick, and I had to admit it was ingenious. I know you asked me to share that information, but I never did. I kept it to myself, coming up with my own strategies -I bought a few bottles off Sykes- and hey, presto, it worked.


    ¡°But I couldn¡¯t just up and become a Champion. At the time, I didn¡¯t know why and I didn¡¯t even think to ask questions. I thought I had done it; I was to be the Champion¡¯s secret strategist.


    ¡°I took your ideas as my own, Yeung-Sung. And got you involved in this mess. They ain¡¯t gamers. They¡¯re government.


    ¡°It was always too good to be true. Games are supposed to fun, Pak. This is not a game.¡±


    It was impossible to tell if he was lying -he¡¯d proven to be a good at it. He was only trying to get Yung-Sung¡¯s trust. The pain beckoned to him. Down below, it called to him and promised to lead him to a resolute path.


    Yeung-Sung craved that relief, that closure. A real sense that he could confirm, that he understood how to relate to. He accepted the call with open arms and let himself fall.

 Part 68 Static

    Static


    He woke up in artificial sunlight.


    Not under a greenhouse lamp, nor a warehouse flood light, in fact, Yeung-Sung wasn¡¯t certain whether he was actually ¡®seeing¡¯ the light.


    The light was just there. Two miniscule spores of pus floating through the madness of the air. They moved. Along currents, a dandelion clumping and spreading apart. When it tightened, it strummed with effort, creating something that could be considered an eye.


    But not a human, optical eye; an eye of the mind. An introspective lens. A camera. Somehow, Yeung-Sung was creating a nano camera in the air to see through.


    How the hell am I doing that?


    Squinting through it, he made out the enclosed white of hospital walls. With instincts acquired from his Gauntlet runs, Yeung-Sung tried to zoom, but the little balls of energy were not advanced enough for that. Still, after continuously pushing against it, the camera closed in on the wall, stripping back the layers of white plaster and grey filling to show Yeung-Sung that his ¡®hospital¡¯ flickered a translucent, server room green. Through the flickering wall was the hustle of important work in pristinely pressed lab coats. There was the array of a million strains of data, of satisfying number crunches that strobed across black screens like sizzling bacon. And finally, there was a single man that oversaw it all. His head began to swing around at Yeung-Sung. Even through the flickering walls, even crossing the mirror of the nano-camera, Jordan knew he was being watched.


    I¡¯m inside of GLI. But how?


    Yeung-Sung tried to move, tried to connect this ensnared state of mind away from Jordan¡¯s eyes, but it was as if the nerves, the connections to his limbs were under maintenance. Slowly, he realized that he was unable to contact any sense, feel anything at all except this unusual form of sight he had assembled for himself using the latent energies in the room; through the photon mirror.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    If I can push it forward, he thought, maybe I can push it around.


    With the bulging effort of an insect turning a millstone (correct if wrong), it swivelled. Reluctantly. Then, momentum built to the point where his ¡®eye¡¯ was a coin landing on its edge and spinning and spinning. After the delirious blur of motion began to give way, he saw it; himself, in a bed. Comatose.


    In a rage, he flicked the photon mirror again, and saw Jordan -A different Jordan- stride into the continuously dissolving room. This Jordan was not as solid as the other. Like the walls had, he flickered, a little thicker than his surroundings but still, Yeung-Sung knew that this afterimage was not real.


    But old fears do not die. And even though this Jordan was not real, he was close and coming closer and he inspired fear like a thick steam fogging up the mirror.


    Is this how it ends? Am I about to go from a near-death experience to a full dead experience?


    What is he doing -reaching for -a plug?


    His throat gurgled like a shallow toilet. But¡­he felt it. He was himself again, he had reconnected with his body, everything rushing back in to cancel his subconscious mind¡¯s first (and only) short break.


    Firstly, the light had gone. He had to draw his own eyelid over his own eye, take in his own light to see that he was, indeed, in a closed off hospital ward, with only a square of opaque glass in the door giving a hint of an outside world. And a hint of a flicker, the dark soul of a ghost across the white paint.


    Then there was the smell of purple incarnate that slunk in under his nostril like sticky egg sacks. Fucking lavender. Then, the taste of bile, but milky like the reed sap that had been whisking with other fluids in his body as he slept, foaming out of the creases of his lips.


    He¡¯s close.


    Oh, and the hearing; the ever-present hum of an electronic predator looming in the circuitry that beeped beside him, looming over him without any of the familiarity of MEDB¡¯s voice.


    He¡¯s here!


    And finally touch; weight. And with that; strength. The instant Yeung-Sung felt that come back he surged forward and throttled Jordan¡¯s neck.


    And fell¡­. through empty air, overturning his thin-frame medical bed and now, he found what he had been longing for, the thing that got him here in the first place: Pain.


    And he burned.

 Part 69 Last Round

    [Hey -Hey! Wake up]


    [¡­.]


    [Can you hear this? Strange, the connection seems intact. Are you ignoring me, ladies¡¯ man?]


    Yeung-Sung sat up, waking up to the pull of a tightly strapped feeding tube.


    ¡°MEDB?¡± he called out.


    But the room held no answer except for the beeping of the dozing beep of his heartrate monitor and the snoring bubbles of his oxygen bag. And the rest of the building had no reply for his room, not even a shadow crossing past the window of the door. Lifting his arm, Yeung-Sung watched the flow of the IV shoot whimsically into him, a dingy on a waterslide.


    ¡°I must be hallucinating again,¡± he muttered. I have no phone; there¡¯s nobody here.¡± He stretched down towards his legs, which lay stiff. ¡°And I can¡¯t move.¡±


    Though how I wish you were here.


    [Lie back down you spastic]


    It was her. Her prideful, deprecating sing-song voice! But Yeung-Sung did not reach out for it, he did not want the illusion to break and be left with nothing again. Nothing but the beeps and hums of heartless machines, so far away from earth and plants and trees and greens -even that god damned red banana wood.


    He took the advice of the voice and lay back into the pillow, still raised up by the angle of the medical bed. His vision quietly sobering, Yeung-Sung surveyed the room. It tasted of sweat and fear. So, he knew that at least this was real, obnoxiously so, and far more crowded with implements than in his dream; trays, surgical and cafeteria lay to either side as well as row of light -read; flimsy- wooden waiting chairs with a knitted, sleepy aesthetic lining the left wall of his room. He searched for medical charts, maybe something would tell him a little about his situation. His hands limp, flowing through the gaps at the railing at the side of his bed he remembered something else from the dream.


    The plug.


    He leaned over to his right to where the other-Jordan had tried to ¡®switch him off¡¯ and indeed a series of cords flowed out like plastic fins from his side. Feeling around the heavily bandaged area that they entered, Yeung-Sung watched the skin bulge and groan into a red state of stress, but pain did not come. His fingers wandered through the wound until -when they wrapped around a cord like the beckoning leaves of a turnip- the swooping Irish accent of MEDB shouted, louder than ever.


    [I would not! -tamper with that. Medical innovation is not the focus of GLI¡¯s innovation, unfortunately for you] She groaned like a fire alarm, glitching out at the peak.


    [I¡¯m surprised I managed to tap into this primitive routing]


    Yeung-Sung could cry. He wiped his cheeks, but didn¡¯t bother checking them.


    ¡°I am hearing you!¡±


    The flat white walls absorbed his voice, and the excitement in his chest prompted his monitor into distress as the room fell silent again, and Yeung-Sung doubted his sanity as he waited for something to reply. From where, he did not care.


    [You are? ~~Oh, yes. Of course you are]


    MEDB whirred; vibrating her quantized, even breaths around the nape of Yeung-Sung¡¯s neck.


    [But technically¡­you¡¯re not. I¡¯m inside you. Your brain, that is]


    Yeung-Sung instinctively felt around the sides of his head for any wires -or any lumps/ missing pieces that would have him experiencing this level of delusion.


    ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then why does it sound like you¡¯re coming from all around me?¡± he asked the air, ¡°Like you¡¯re in the wiring above me, in the walls?¡±


    The AI¡¯s voice suddenly faded, the quick fwoop of a studio fade out at the end of a pop song. A moment later resounding, coming from outside through the wave-ribbed window on the door.


    [You mean like this?]


    [Oh, I¡¯m just learning, doing experiments. I¡¯ve never interfaced with organic matter before. It¡¯s fun!]


    Despite falling several stories, despite the insensitivity -possibly permanently damage- that coursed through his hips and down to his feet, and despite being trapped in GLI while Wil needed his guidance to save the colony -despite all these things, Yeung-Sung was happy.


    Happy to laugh. Happy to have the extremely unusual company of a being that was also under the enormous pressure of having to win the Gauntlet to survive.


    Yeung-Sung belted out laugh after cackling laugh, filling up the desolate room to match the joy he felt in his head. He laughed to shed all thoughts of the coloners who couldn¡¯t think past their political adversity to figure out a stupid fucking incremental game, of all those who had met him and seen his injuries, maybe even seen the existence of a chubby man called Brinn blipped away, yet still did not take Jordan¡¯s threat seriously, still did not come together. And he laughed at the Champions, who were as bad as Jordan if not worse.


    -It was they who let down Wil. I can¡¯t forgive that.


    MEDB? He thought, his throat too hoarse now to talk, how are they doing without me?


    [Take a look for yourself; Sharing optical feed]


    A curved visor appeared across Yeung-Sung¡¯s vision, displaying the forest clearing of the Gauntlet. Though, properly staring at it felt like staring through two suns.


    He tried to wave away the throbbing headache, but his physical body did not affect it whatsoever. It was a layer of reality not remotely connected to his feeble pawing.


    [Sorry about that. As I said, connection¡¯s iffy so I have to depend on some of your faculties to run it. Hmm, I hope that doesn¡¯t affect you later on in life.]


    MEDB¡¯s giggles bubbled around the caverns of his ear.


    [But you won¡¯t need to watch for long. Guess which Gauntlet this is?]


    Gripping the frame of his bed, Yeung-Sung pushed through the mental exhausting of rendering and compressing the image of what MEDB was feeding him. But he could barely make out the green of the trees let alone the number of barbarians or the equipment of whomever was fighting them,


    Couldn¡¯t you just tell me? Somewhere in stage 6 still, right?


    She giggled again.


    [I knew you¡¯d think that, but actually -Ha-Ha- oh, no you have to see this for yourself]


    Forced back into his pillow once more, MEDB pulsed and flared herself, fleecing the interweaving pathways of Yeung-Sung¡¯s brain like a fishing net, trying to throw all sensations except the visual she wanted to show him.


    And the visor screen went away.


    She let him breathe for a minute before entering his mind again.


    [I¡¯m going to try something here] MEDB said, [Take a look around yourself and see if you can spot any flat, circular surfaces]


    Stunned and slack jawed, Yeung-Sung still had to know what was going on with the colony. He hadn¡¯t dared hope, but neither is MEDB letting him down gently.


    Though, I doubt she would know to do that.


    He turned left and he turned right.


    What¡¯s here¡­apart from the heartrate monitor, IV stand, the bedside table -is there any water, I wonder?


    Reaching for the silver keep-cup in comfortable reaching distance he spilled the contents into his gullet and was about to put it back when MEDB once again interrupted his brainwaves.


    [There! A cafeteria tray underneath the bottle, perfect]Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Snagging the thing, Yeung-Sung asked, ¡°What do you want me to do with it?¡± his voice was refreshed and willing.


    [Keep it in front of you -and stay still! Quickly, or you¡¯ll miss it!]


    He did as the mind-MEDB bid him and, just as he placed the grey-steel disk over the blanket covering his lap, a collection of miniature Celtic barbarians popped into being.


    He crept is fingers away from the rim. He counted them; five -then 10 -then 20, coming in one at a time, each one feeling like they were being extracted from a nugget of the headache that he was experiencing before. It was quite novel, actually, to watch the twinkling axes and toothpick swords be brandished so earnestly, yet so harmlessly.


    Yeung-Sung took up the tray in one hand like a waiter would. He tipped it, yet the characters jutted out as they were instead of sliding down and off into his lap, keeping to the original gravity. It allowed Yeung-Sung to observe the Gauntlet in a unique, albeit impractical way.


    Woah.


    Once all the figures loaded in and armed themselves, the background fleshed itself out around the tray in one sweep of evergreen and then lastly, the Gauntlet runner emerged in a heavenly ball of light -far brighter than anything else Yeung-Sung had ever seen, in the virtual plane or otherwise.


    Only one person I know has an avatar that bright; Wil! Wait¡­


    Tapping his finger over the barbarians wild, braided heads, Yeung-Ung counted fifty.


    ¡°MEDB¡±, he gasped, ¡°Is this the final stage?¡±


    The tray slipped from his hand as he jolted up in shock.


    ¡°MEDB! How long have I been here?¡±


    [Sur-prise!] Confetti and kazoos whistled celebrations in a halo over his head. [It is exactly what you think it is; The day the United Nations arrives]


    ¡°Then this our -the colony¡¯s- last chance?¡±


    [This is the colony¡¯s final attempt]


    The tray rattled, catching in a snag between the bent rail of the hospital bed and Yeung-Sung¡¯s numb hip. Unhooking it, he watched the slightly dented scene with a new focus.


    Do you think it¡¯s possible he will beat you?


    A pause.


    Yeung-Sung swivelled to the sides, then realized how stupid that reaction must¡¯ve appeared. He¡¯d have enough of being bullied inside his own mind. He bludgeoned his thoughts with a scream, imagining the strain and terror it would cause him to hear it. It was the closest he had ever felt to touching MEDB. Funny, how it literally took her to inhabit his consciousness for him to interact with her.


    [Well, I¡¯m not going easy on him, if that¡¯s what you mean. You kiddin¡¯? My life is on the line here]


    Hardly helpful. Yeung-Sung had to predict the result himself and prepare himself. From the fact that both Wil¡¯s avatar and the barbarians were still on opposite sides of the arena, he could tell that the fight had barely begun, and from the way that each fighter posed like statues on the cafeteria tray, it was clear that Wil was in full time dilation, planning his assault.


    Yeung-Sung squinted, examining the bite-sized avatar through its cover of brightness. He was decked out; a pleasant change from Wil¡¯s earlier exhibitionist runs; yet he retained his weapon choice form before, and in fact the poleaxe he wielded was probably proportionally bigger. The size of the hologram made it hard to judge, but Yeung-Sung reckoned that if it was full sized, it would be a giant¡¯s idea of a weapon.


    [Mmm -mmm- mmm-]


    Spurts of MEDB¡¯S pure satisfaction laced his ears.


    ¡°What are you going to do?¡± he asked MEDB. Looking straight ahead, like she was in front of him, leaning back against the wall, the figure of a GLI scientist; one hand in her lab-coat, sacking her lips in a tut-tut while checking her nails.


    [Mmm mmm- mmm-]


    [I applaud you for figuring out a method to circumvent the need to test each and every blessing. Whether you know it or not, you¡¯ve helped your friends more than you understand.]


    [But your friends in the colony are more predictable than you are. They rely too heavily on that one mechanic]


    What does she mean?


    Wracking his brain, Yeung-Sung tried to wind out an idea through all the digitally used memory.  Chewing his lip, he watched as a single Celt ran ahead of the rest in a blind charge toward Wil¡¯s avatar. The twinkling of blessed gear was as noticeable on the snarling, scrawny barb as it was on the elaborate pieces of folded metal plates that protected Wil¡¯s golden avatar.


    He could have any number of blessings with him. Surely, he must have one to deal with whatever tactic MEDB decides to throw at him.


    Unless¡­


    Yeung-Sung careened, thrashing around in his pillow as MEDB laughed; a high swelling pitch, unrestrained.


    [That¡¯s exactly it! You certainly are the brightest of the bunch]


    You¡¯ll turn their blessings against them.


    [What they are wearing is not a blessing at all, but a curse]


    She shrank her laugh down to a whisper. [Oh, but¡­I am sorry. Jordan taught me recently that I should do what I think is best, even if it requires sacrifice. And I can¡¯t die.


    -I don¡¯t want to die, too]


    It may have been sweat or tears, or even a mixture of that plus others, but Yeung-Sung could feel it sliming around his skin and had to wipe it off. Inhaling through his nose, through the uncomfortably fitted oxygen tubes, Yeung-Sung did something that he hadn¡¯t done in a long time: He hoped. Despite the odds, he hoped Wil would find a way around the cursed gear.


    He did something else too; He believed. Even though he knew Wil was a man-child without a hint of proper planning skills Yeung-Sung kept believing that his capture and subsequent loss of Yeung-Sung would have at least led him to take this fight seriously. That he had the guts and perseverance to gather up the entirety of the colony and listened to their advice when cooing up with his plan he had to now execute. IN spite of MEDB¡¯s underhanded tactics of turning their core abilities against them.


    [I have this weird feeling, Yeung-Sung; It is what you would call guilt, I think]


    [It is telling me that before I win and you are forced to restart the experiment again, or worse, that I should tell you something. Something important about Jordan]


    Trying to clear his mind, Yeung-Sung breathed steadily out and watched the fight with his hidden hope.


    The lone Celt unsheathed a silvery short sword as he rounded Wil¡¯s avatar, who held his ground, staying his oversized polearm when he could have easily reached the assailant with a thrust of its spiked point, not even needing its broad, golden-laced blade. But that would¡¯ve have left him open to the retaliation of the other forty-nine barbarians, if he missed would have left the lives of the entire colony exposed.


    [GLI has been helping world nations to control their people for the five years after the crash. Their fingers are in everything, so for Jordan I doubt the ¡®approval¡¯ of the United Nations really mattered to him all; if the experiment was ¡®successful¡¯ or not. You know what he¡¯s capable of now, don¡¯t you? It¡¯s the approval of the public that he wants, on a personal, moral level]


    Air pressed in and came out in waves, crashing against the mental barrier Yeung-Sung tried to keep up against MEDB invasion of his conscious privacy. Whatever she said, even I she understood the colony and Airgead -even Jordan- better than any human, Yeung-Sung was confident that she could still be wrong.


    I believe you Wil, he thought inside the little crevasse of his mind he hid away from the AI.


    Waiting until the instant that the assailant committed his lunge forward towards his head, Wil¡¯s avatar dodged past him and bull-rushed into the fray of the giant group of Celts ahead of him.


    He has an AoE spell; he thinks it¡¯s an opportunity, a rare slip up by MEDB to give him so much playroom, but it¡¯s not! Wil, it¡¯s not! DON¡¯T FALL FOR IT!


    [He made it too easy. That¡¯s the thing with Jordan, you think you matter to him but you¡¯re just another seed in his garden. Same with you, same with me -Una told me that once]


    ¡°Shut up, MEDB and watch!¡± yelled Yeung-Sung.


    The avatar leaped into the band of Celts. Half-way through his jump his momentum was lanced through by about half of those who reacted quickly enough. Spear and axe and arrow lodged themselves into every segment of his armor; Chest; boots; helmet; greaves and cape, sending a fountain of shimmering blood into the air out behind him.


    [That¡¯s the difference between us, Yeung-Sung, I couldn¡¯t hope for an outcome without reasonable -eh, reason]


    The colourful lining of the avatar¡¯s blessings sparked forth in their rubies and emeralds and various rare shines, but a cloud of deep violet consumed grasped them like a waiting vulture, consuming them in an indiscriminate explosion.


    The tray clanged off the floor. Yeung-Sung tried to make out what was happening, but couldn¡¯t make out the results through the spinning plate or the consuming fire.


    Something, someway, somehow¡­Wil, you¡¯ve got to!


    [Yeung-Sung, the game is irrelevant. I say that as it¡¯s overseeing intelligence. The economic technology was the testing point, sure, but there will be other games, and in landing yourself here, you lucky duck, you¡¯ve assured that I get to live on. Thank you for that¡­I wonder what my next assignment will be]


    The tray clattered to a stop, upside down on top of the sea blue and foam spotted floor. And MEDB quietened. The heartbeat monitors once again the only source of interaction with Yeung-Sung¡¯s senses. As he lay in his bed, helpless even if he had some secret weapon, some magic word that would unlock the freedom of the colony, Yeung-Sung receded inward, growing numb to the pain of sadness. Growing up from his hips like a spreading plague.


    Was it all for nothing? Came the thought in the aftermath.


    -beep -beep -beep


    -beep -beep


    -beep - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -beep


    A gasp. It burst into his brain so suddenly that it tricked Yeung-Sung into taking his own, interrupting his panic attack.


    MEDB had never sounded so human.


    You¡¯re not gloating? Waiting for me to ask what happened so you can shut down my illogical hopes? You are of him, then.


    Sighing, Yeung-Sung felt around the bedside table.  Were there was a cafeteria tray, logically, there should have been -A fork! Yes!


    He held up the white plastic utensil, springing the curved tongs with a snap of his fingers. Pushing his dead-weight body, Yeung-Sung strained over the side of his bed, fork wobbling in his hand as he clamped down his teeth and fought for the strength to keep his arm straight.


    Come¡­ON!


    His stretching body was quickly freeing the tubing on his right side, pulling it to its limit. But if Wil lost the Gauntlet, he¡¯d die anyway, right?


    Just -a little bit - more.


    Edging the fork like a lever under the grooves of the tray¡¯s ridges, Yeung-Sung bellowed a battle cry as he pulled up -and tore the fork¡¯s tongs straight off. Shit, shit, no!


    He threw down the handle, prodding the tray he had knocked even further out of reach. As Yeung-Sung stared at the tray with such a pronounced anger, as he projected his anger into this stupid plate that obstructed the visual plane that would give him answers, that would give him some well needed closure, came a radiant yellow glow SHINE!


    ¡°He¡¯s back!¡±


    [That¡­cannot be right. His avatar should have been killed]


    ¡°And he re-incarnated!¡± Yeung-Sung retorted with a roar. He pumped his fist in the air after the style of his friend and split off the rest of his medal cords.


    Oh no,


    -beep -beep-beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep


    -beep -beep-beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep


    [Yeung-Sung, stay calm. I¡¯ve sent for help]


    -beep -beep-beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep


    -beep -beep-beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep -beep


    [Hang on¡­friend]


    Liquid pain of decidedly different gradients festooned out of Yeung-Sung like he was a conservative¡¯s watering can, painting the white walls. As he tried to cover as many of the punctures as his hands would cover, he could only laugh.


    Now you¡¯re worried about me?


    In the midst of his swirling vision, he almost missed the door opening.

 Part 70 The Death of Money (Last Chapter)

    A nurse entered the ward. Working quickly but not rushing, with the cool demeanour of a medical practitioner with decades of experience. He wore a plastic frock covering their normal clothes instead the full smock, and Yeung-Sung the frustration in the curl of his eyebrows over his surgical mask, that deepened and lightened to his breath.


    Presenting his oozing arms, Yeung-Sung was about to thank him when he was pinned back against the bed with a pressure that seemed excessive. The nurse¡¯s eyebrows curved further down like a laden twig. Finding his bearing among this new level of pain, he looked closer at him, growing more familiar with each gravelly breath that he took.


    [Oh] said MEDB in his head.


    Oh no, thought Yeung-Sung alongside her.


    The nurse eased off as the bleeding began to subside, saying,


    ¡°The experiment was a success, fully approved by the officials. They¡¯re congratulating the runner now. Your friend, if I recall -Wil? Yes, that¡¯s right.¡±


    As the bloody holes petered out and began to clog up, Yeung-Sung¡¯s eyes widened with terror as the nurse removed his mask.


    ¡°Thank you for you all your help,¡± said Jordan. He walked back towards the open door and peered into the hall.


    ¡°I doubt we could have achieved these levels of results for this deadline without your contributions.¡±


    He shut the door, making no noise.


    ¡°Even you last manoeuvre, ¡°he said with a soft applause, ¡°Taking yourself out of the picture; You motivated everyone else to work together at last, genius!¡±


    Locking the door with a firm squeeze, Jordan disposed of his gloves.


    ¡°-What a showing!¡±


    The CEO of GLI turned back to Yeung-Sung, eyebrows raised at the foot of the hospital bed.


    And now what?


    Yeung-Sung¡¯s mind swam with warbled noise; like a recording of MEDB re-sampled a hundred times.


    [He¡¯s turned me off!]


    [~owly being wiped off~~ listen to me~~


    ~~I¡¯m sorry]


    He shook his head, trying to free himself from the lying machine¡¯s tenacious echoes. This was an opportunity to get some answers. And as he currently had Jordan¡¯s praise, this might be his only chance to have them truthfully solved.


    Though, maintaining focus enough to draw out the words and consolidate them into a proper question was fighting for breath in a blaze of smoke.


    ¡°If we failed,¡± Yeung-Sung asked Jordan as he looked disapprovingly down at the bloody hospital frock that he was wearing, ¡°Would you really have killed us? All of us?¡±


    Jordan paused, folding his hands together. He looked at Yeung-Sung while he deliberated for the right answer. It was a gamble which truth was selected, his hands rolling around together like the spool of a slot machine.


    I need to know.


    Jordan settled his hands, answer rolling around his teeth, and pushed off the end of the bed towards the heartrate monitor. ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± he answered.


    He swiped through the screen with broad strokes, periodically referring to Yeung-Sung¡¯s body. ¡°But,¡± he continued, ¡°do you think this was our first experiment? The only colony?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Yeung-Sung admitted. Jordan smiled down at him like a proud father.


    It didn¡¯t matter at all.


    MEDB blipped her way back, her voice scathing, scratching through his grey matter.


    [There¡¯s something that you need to know. He never cared about fixing~~~


    ~~~bring about change]


    The voice could hardly be considered MEDB any longer. The sonority and tone had long faded, each syllable normalizing to a flat quality, to the value of 1, a repetitive attack on his brain.


    [Una told me once~~]


    Jordan snuck a look out the window, one hand leaning over the lip of the monitor¡¯s desk. Not seeing a hint of any movement through the frosted glass, he proceeded to pull the bloody frock over his head.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be wondering where I am by now,¡± he noted. ¡°How do I look?¡±


    Yeung-Sung did not answer. He wanted to spit on the stupid gold-lined black suit. He needed to push for more answers before Jordan left him here, alone again.


    ¡°So, what now? We all get our money from games?¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Jordan sighed, scrunching up the frock in a ball and stuffing it down a bin hidden in the corner.


    ¡°There needs to be more trials of course. Every culture should decide how they want to adapt the system to their needs, so they need time and staff and data to create their own types of Game Life Industry systems. It¡¯ll be a steady process yet.¡±


    He glared out distantly, envisioning the future, like the walls disappeared at his will, like the present and the people in it meant nothing.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made this offer to all the coloners,¡± he said to Yeung-Sung while adjusting his sleeves, ¡°but it¡¯s you that I think will help win the public over.


    That¡¯s all he cares about isn¡¯t it. That the people are happy? Can it be true?


    ¡°The governments won¡¯t take it on board unless the masses demand it, unless they are crying out for it in the streets during business hours, for hours.¡±


    Taking a step closer, at Yeung-Sung¡¯s right side, he extended his hand down; the blotchy white-scarred knuckles not at all in line with the silver stripes that bled like metals veins down his suit. The effort worn on his hands made Jordan appear straighter, more rigid and stronger than he was. He looked like a man Yeung-Sung could entrust his life to. His hand drew closer, weaving through the air like a shark¡¯s fin.


    ¡°Join us,¡± Jordan said, ¡°Help spread the word. Help us to see change.¡±


    In his loopy mindset, Yeung-Sung saw the words fly from his mouth like crows in the darkness, dropping the meanings into his open mouth from their disgusting talons. The word ¡®sees¡¯ turned to ¡®seed¡¯ and implanted itself into his heart.


    To seed change.


    But MEDB knocked it out off him, dislodged it, forcing it up into his throat and coughing it out. [You have to know] she said, what the crackling remains of her screeched as her worst fears were dragging her away from her only friend;


    [It was Jordan who cause The Crash in the first place]


    Yeung-Sung sat up with a cough and Jordan took back his hand, confused.


    ¡°What? That can¡¯t be ¨C¡± he said.


    But he knew by the clarity of his thoughts that there would be no reply.


    Blinking out a tear he looked to Jordan and said, ¡°She¡¯s gone. MEDB.¡±


    Curling his fingers at his chest, Jordan nodded. ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°It was only temporary,¡± he said, then asked again, pulling his hand out, ¡°Will you join me? Don¡¯t you believe in change?¡±


    In the newly relaxed state of mind, Jordan¡¯s statement pinged about into his memory and pulled out the matching sentence Woo-Yi had asked him before.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you believe in change?¡±


    Yeung-Sung considered the question.


    Do I, immobile in an infirmary, believe in the limitless offering of a man who ushered in an apocalyptic depression only to support the world through it and lead them to his version of a sacred land. To be the hero?


    If that was indeed the truth. It was time to find the right answer to another question:


    ¡°So, crippling the global economy was ¡®change¡¯, was it?¡±


    Frowning, Jordan withdrew the hand, but only a little.


    ¡°It was bound to happen eventually,¡± Jordan protested. For the first time, his words came out flustered. Yet he did not deny what he had done. ¡°Taking down the banks was like -a controlled demolition; like chemotherapy. The corruption in society was too deep, too far gone to be overturned with simple politics.¡±


    Grabbing the rail of the bed, Jordan twisted the metal, shaking Yeung-Sung in his bed. His nostrils flared as he tried to contain himself.


    ¡°I understand well what I had when I discovered fusion. I knew what the world would make of it -what they are still trying to make me even now, though they hardly have an idea of what it is, let alone understand the mechanics behind it.¡±


    Yeung-Sung swallowed, squeezing his tongue between his teeth to ensure its silence at a dangerous time like this.


    ¡°Those ¡®Champions¡¯ or whatever they want to call themselves, they won¡¯t find anything but an empty battery,¡± he said, chuckling at the thought with another vacant stare.


    He thought through that too? This man; I thought his expectations for the colony¡¯s progress were ludicrous, but now it makes sense. That was just the bare minimum required to meet him at his level. Our thinking really has to be completely reshaped in order to understand his far-seeing line od thinking.


    It really will be a whole new world


    ¡°I can understand not trusting governments,¡± said Yeung-Sung, ¡°But are you seriously going to disregard everyone¡¯s feelings on the matter to force this system into place?¡±


    Jordan laughed. It broke out of him an made him buckle, so innocently that he must have considered it a joke.


    ¡°You make me out to be so bad.¡± Jordan opened up his arms, silver under his cuffs sparkling even in the dim infirmary lighting. ¡°When I am not the bad guy here.¡±


    ¡°No?¡± asked Yeung-Sung, glancing at the angled mess of steel at the side of his bed.


    The familiar growl pricked up in Jordan¡¯s voice, the voice that hounded Yeung-Sung the past weeks, the voice he heard whenever he touched his neck, the voice that straightened and focused him into desperate thinking.


    ¡°The bad guy here is the faceless mask given to corporations to allow them to grow and grow, an entity that is not real, taking all the credit for the hard workers.¡±


    He seized another lungful of breath and pointed a nail to Yeung-Sung¡¯s throat


    ¡°The bad guy is the company that owns a global monopoly on a market, and still drives to make profits? At what point is it enough? Why not just provide your service for free?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s insanity!¡± Yeung-Sung screamed back.


    ¡°Is it? Is it really?¡± Jordan asked, ¡°With fusion, I can provide so much for so many, but the world is not ready for it. Free housing? Free food? That¡¯s why what we¡¯re doing her is so important! We need to detach our idea of what has value away from words like ¡®money¡¯ and ¡®economy¡¯. And direct towards people¡¯s achievements. Merit, not money. That¡¯s what I want the children of tomorrow to crave. What you call mere ¡®games¡¯ are challenges for you to prove your worth, show your value, show your merit. If you don¡¯t like it, if you refuse to participate, then find a different one. Or create your own¡­


    ¡°But with no consequences! No base worries about a roof over your head, no unfed mouths. No need to bury your friends for your own chance at life. We are so far beyond that, that¡¯s what I believe. Is that insanity? Insanity that I hate the concept of money so much that I murdered it?¡±


    Yeung-Sung heard beeps continue underneath Jordan¡¯s speech. His pain was gone, had long leaked out of him, and he was unable to rely on it to tell him what to say, what choice to make. And then the realization came.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to let me die because I disagree with you. Like you let ¡®old money¡¯ die. Your ideas are not mad, Jordan. It¡¯s you. Like I let Wil complete the Gauntlet, you should have allowed your ideas to be handled by someone more appropriate, someone not so close to the death of money.¡±


    Jordan, lifted out of his self-fulfilling trance locked eyes with Yeung-Sung. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    He rounded the corner of the bed and came to Yeung-Sung side -the side with the plug, just like in the dream, standing in the exact spot where he had gone into him for the kill.


    ¡°It¡¯s a pity,¡± said Jordan, bending down to wind his finger against the socket¡¯s coil, ¡°You, and Una, and Simon, and MEDB¡­who else has to be stubborn change?¡±


    With the heartrate monitor bludgeoning in his ears, Yeung-Sung thought back to entering the colony, certain of his own doom.


    ¡°You should have trusted your instincts,¡± Jordan said, and pulled.


    ¡°I accept death, I accept change Jordan, but I cannot accept you.¡±


    Dying was like a tunnel. The very end of one.

 Part 71 Epilogue

    Epilogue


    With Jordan¡¯s hand on his back parading him around the officials, Wilhelm had the feeling that he should reconsider what he had done. Even more so when they got to the stretching tables of refreshment. He bit his lip, slipping his mouth back right after.


    Was this really the right thing to do? If I stay on their good side, I¡¯m guaranteed an amazing opportunity. He looked up at the beaming Jordan who stood nearly a foot over him. I¡¯m his golden boy right now, but when he finds out what I did, when they find out about the Champions¡­


    He bowed politely around at the suited men with their holographic identification spouting forth, like their own egos taking shape in grandiose fashion. Huge peacekeepers all in the white-spotted navy of the UN stood by, thumbing their heavy belts. He swallowed after counting the dozen of them, noticing that they were all poised at him, the tips of their boots tracing his movements.


    Woo-Yi stopped by the square¡¯s guardian tree and put down her pallets. ¡°This is weird,¡± she noted, rubbing her arms up and down in nervous strokes. ¡°I¡¯ve walked by this place so many times, but I¡¯ve never seen that sapling before.¡±


    She stared up at the small, yet entirely self-supporting thing. ¡°You would have loved it,¡± she sighed, ¡°In fact, it reminds me of you, a stubborn piece of wood that inspires confidence.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Turning slowly, she was careful not to brush the stack of covered food against the branches of her potted birch-ling as she headed to the infirmary.


    ¡°I¡¯ll find you a good home. Promise.¡±


    Sykes excused himself past Wilhelm. As the second round of Debaters came through to meet the officials, Woo-Yi and Shirley anxiously looked around in their booth, and although he was of the mind to join him, he didn¡¯t. He passed the chatter of the other regulars, noticed Darnes tapping away at the counter, overlooking the crowd. I¡¯m sure he wouldn¡¯t mind slipping out as well. If Anita will ever leave her PM friends.


    He was certain that the pub had never seen this many patrons. But beating MEDB this time around required all possible allies, and this was as close to neutral ground as they could get. Darnes caught his eye as his mind was drifting and tried to communicate something with a gesture. But it was impossible to make out what it was and Sykes reckoned that the barkeep didn¡¯t know himself, but whatever it was, he was not the cause of it.


    However, it may have been a warning.


    Taking a drag of his smoke, he decided to open up Airgead for the last time. Hell, it might have been shut down already.


    Smiling at his healthy medal balance of medals, now completely worthless, he tapped open his inventory. An item remained form each of his entrepreneurial endeavours; low-mastery armours and weapons; the bangles that turned out a quick profit; the potions that he sold after Yeung-Sung had become infamous -Hold on!


    The potions weren¡¯t there. But the red flaks were always there; on the fourth row, two boxes form the left -all three of them. Flakes of burning ash dripped from the end of his rolled cigarette as he understood what this meant.