They sat at her desk, a force portal between them. Ren looked over the neighborhood, a monochromatic display of incongruity; buildings impossibly met everywhere but their corners. 3D projections of a slow-rotating figure dotted the cityscape, all in gray save for the medals on his chest; he pointed with vim and vigor at the camera, and his face was pinched with fury.

  Sleek plastic street bikes hovered in place at an intersection, awaiting their turn; Ren saw no traffic light, yet they waited patiently.

  “Hello, are you listening?– I said Leo’s been taken, and –”

  Ren lowered his hand from his hair and pulled down a tired-lookingJeremy, who fluttered his wings and flashed his thorax, “Hey there, Big J.

  He looked up at the chatterbox.

  “Why did you call Jeremy a monster? He’s not some…blood fly.” Ren stroked J’s backside, as he pretended not to notice Clara’s hand inching suspiciously toward the edge of the table.

  She froze and offered a coy smile, “Blood fly, never heard of it, but size doesn’t matter. We don’t–”

  “That’s what she said.” Ren snickered.

  “What was that?

  She narrowed her eyes, Ren covered his smile, “Monsters attract other monsters – it’s why we don’t keep them as…livestock.

  She fidgeted with her hands, now crossed, and a look of uncertainty flashed across her face before she continued, “PillFood keeps us safe.”

  I need to get the frag out of here.

  She placed her hands flat on the table and leaned forward, “So outworlder, tell me what you're doing here, and why you’re harboring monsters? Unless you want me to signal the reapers.”

  Ren stared at the school crest on her uniform; it was like a holographic trading card that cycled images, and it currently displayed a gear with the letters XP stamped in the foreground. “Gimblox sent me?” Ren placed Jeremy back in his hair.

  “Gimblox, don’t be ridiculous.” Her eyes moved to the door – just for an instant.

  “Yuh, a turtlekin, about yay high–” He demonstrated with his hands.

  “I’m serious, I want answers – you want me to believe it was Gunnderson’s trained monster – ridiculous.” She scoffed.

  Ren sucked his teeth, “Well, believe what you want, but dudes a bit of a jerk – he punted me here – without so much as a by your leave. And that was right after he dropped an ominous hint about golden cores and dantian. Now, I’m going to have the question on my mind, and nobody to answer. Dudes was a world-class a-hole – yah know?”

  She was up on her feet. “What did you say?”

  Ren nodded along, as he looked out the portal, “Yeah, he’s a real jerk – though if someone kept him as a pet, maybe he’s justified?” Ren looked around the room, as if seeing the place for the first time.

  “Dantian outworlder – about the dantian, are you sure here said that?”

  Ren sighed. This was getting tiresome. His eyes flicked to the portal console, “Yes, do I look like a liar to you – don’t answer that.” He stood up. He didn’t like being loomed over.

  “What are you doing. What about Leo? You haven’t given me any answers. How long have you been here, at least? Have you met the Emperor yet? What has the System told you?”

  He punched the console, “[Super An–” and smacked his face into a fore shield. “Ouch, that always works in the movies.” He shook his fist at the portal as the collar clicked around his neck.

  Tears filled Clara’s eyes. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

  Detained and collared, but worst of all, zero conversation – the Emperor's drones weren’t one for idle chatter. Ren was dumped in the nearest jail, or whatever the Xylosian equivalent was. “Gimblox is a beak breather. Seriously, the separatist city – dick move.

  Prying his fingers under the collar, he struggled in vain – again and again he tried, only to end up on the floor wrestling with himself, like a dog chasing their tail. Lips blue and eyes bulging, Ren gave up – flopping his arms and legs out wide, he let out an exasperated sigh. “Relax, dude, you just need a little inner peace and –” Ren flailed like he had the terrible twos, banging his heels and slamming his fists, “BOOO – LET ME OUT – I DON’T KNOW MY RIGHTS – BOO LET ME OUT ANYWAY.

  Sometime later, Ren lay still, staring up at the ceiling lights – wondering if they had electricity here, or if everything was just mana, “Are they just the same thing by a different name? Maybe the physics here just do different things?” Ren really felt like he was onto something.

  He sat up and pinched his chin, “Different things…my void powers, they aren’t system related – probably. So, does that mean?” He decided to try it; what did he have to lose?

  He shrugged and got up to his knees, sitting back on his heels – Ren fell into an easy breathing rhythm. In through his nose, out through his mouth, elongating his spine, and visualizing his core – it came so easily to him, he went from throwing a tantrum to complete harmony in the blink of an eye. However, the emptiness of the void would not come – he would be full for some time… “Huh – full? Where did that…” He let the thought slip away and returned to his meditative state, but the void would not respond.

  Jeremy scouted, and Ren listened to mana as it passed from conduits in the walls to the lighting fixtures. “I guess I’m on cooldown?” He chuckled.

  A thought that had been bothering Ren placed itself in the forefront of his mind. Meditation did that, forced you to go places you didn’t want. “I’m a killer.

  He didn’t want to accept that fact, but it was true. There had been no fanfare, no trials, he’d not even been convicted in the court of public opinion. He’d just ended a life – many lives, without a second thought.

  “I wonder if I earned any achievements? The Gift of Gore I, or You Killed How Many Innocents?

  He shook his head, “I guess what really bothers me, Jeremy, is that I don’t seem to mind. I mean, I think I do a little, since I’m talking about it – who knows, maybe I’ll get PTSD. Just the thought of crunching an ice cube makes my skin crawl, like the popping of a spinal cord. Do they have those here? I haven’t seen any, maybe I should invent them.

  Ren tapped his fingers as his mind wandered all over the place.

  “Maybe I need to see a counselor? Do they have those here…something tells me – no. There’s probably just some skill to magic away the pain.

  He paused, and his eyes narrowed.

  “System, is it you? Are you taking away my ability to feel empathy? What are you doing to me? Are you the real monster? Laughing as we kill each other in your name?

  Ren looked down and poked his chest, aware of the buildup; it was getting worse.

  “Maybe that’s why I’m not sleeping?

  He made fish lips as he kissed the air, deep in thought.

  “No, that's not it – I just don’t need any. I’m powered by a nuclear reactor, just like Iron Man.” He said with a grin.

  He might be some kind of superhero, but Clara had neutralized him easily enough. Ren pondered his choices as he watched Jeremy make moves on the room's light fixtures. Bored with self-reflection, Ren stood and pressed his face into the cell bars – straining his eyeballs, he couldn’t see much. An eerie silence prevailed, and one of those greyed-out holo images, rotating in the corner, only added to the effect.

  “The Spire makes this place look like a luxury retreat.”

  He wanted to be hungry, at least then he’d have something to do. Of all the changes that had taken place inside him, not being hungry anymore disturbed him the most. “I wonder if these robo cops running around eat. Maybe they drink mana, they could be robo vampire cops…that would be – diabolical.

  He slumped, “I miss Murkspire, this place sucks. I can see where Mitzy gets her hatred from; she might be onto something. And she failed to mention…PillFood – I shudder to imagine what that is.”

  He sighed, resting his chin against his chest, “Churi – wherever you are, I hope you're ok. And Thalgor, buddy, I forgive you. Just don’t be dead, ok guys?”

  He banged his head against the bars, “Sooo, bored, bored, bored. Sooo bored.” Ren’s eardrums popped, and the door at the end of the hall slid free – ReaperDrones moved in.

  Creepy, like mantis bots.

  Ren backed away from the bars as he entered his cell and fanned out around him – his eyes flicked to the exit, if he could get past them… Not a chance. He extended his wrists and allowed them to perp-walk him.

  “Man, this place is depressing.” Ren looked down his nose at the straps fastening him in place. “Yoo, these are cutting off the blood flow – is this…procedure going to take long?” He was feeling calm; he shouldn’t be. He ought to be terrified. The rational part of his brain was telling him things were about to get real, and yet he felt nothing but an ocean of calm.

  A ReaperDrone punched a series of buttons on a display console, and a whining build-up of – Ren stiffened like a board, convulsing and thrashing at his bonds, stars swam in his eyes, and the taste of hot iron filled his mouth.

  Reality returned, as the engines of torture wound down – the Empire's finest, “Lit! That was lit, yooo, but these slap – is there a higher sett–” Mana surged into Ren, and hairline fractures in his core spread. The [Echo Runner] wailed – as discoloured saliva bubbled and dribbled down his face.

  Mom, is this how it was for you? Gasping for air, as MSG laced dough filled your lungs. Ren embraced the pain; it brought him closer to his mother and her tragic death. In life, he’d done his best to stay away from certain…activities; they weren’t helpful, and he believed in his counselor's advice, but here in this world, pain seemed to lurk around every corner. A gallows grin stretched across his face.

  ReaperDrones took note of Ren’s expression, cataloging and detailing the interrogation. No questions need be asked. He was watching, waiting, and hoping.

  Adjusting his tie in the HoloMirror, he chuckled, “Shoulders back, Hisako, what would Sissy say?” She was always giving him a hard time – never missing an opportunity to comment on his appearance. After all, she insisted his ‘boyish good looks’ were holding him back – he needed to project strength.

  Pinning on his favorite City badge, he tugged at the hem of his jacket, clicked his heels, and marched out of his office.

  “Majordomo – the interrogation is finished?

  The eternal assistant's answer was prompt, and without doubt – they were never wrong. Hisako nodded along, “Excellent, please inform me when the Emperor finalizes the funeral procession.”

  Hisako smiled at the tidy profits he’d made betting against Gorthow’s armada. Some would be angry at the losses, but most would see it as an opportunity. As a bonus, the deaths would give the Emperor something to do – few things in life gave him more joy than arranging a parade.

  Hisako paused before the doors, straightening his suit one last time. He needed answers, and he was suspicious of the timing of the arrival of this outworlder. Mercer would want to see him – there was no doubt. He opened the door and entered with a flourish –

  His eyes were immediately drawn to the subject – a naked, wiry figure slick with sweat. Hisako licked his lips as he approached the table. “Why is he unconscious?”

  A MedDrone flashed to life, “Awaiting authorization for use of a cooldown…”

  Hisako cut the air with an open palm, “Use authorized, you…” He trailed off; one never knew when the Emperor was listening.

  The MedDrone moved to Ren’s side, and its metallic fingers danced over his sternum, plunging in and out of his flesh – robotic salmon jumping the streams of the human circulatory system, all the while ReaperDrones watched with disinterest. Once finished, a sticky substance, the colour of aged snot, was sprayed over the myriad of bloody punctures left in the wake of the surgery; Ren looked like a failed experiment, and then he was wiped clean; not a blemish remained.

  Hisako stepped forward and placed a hand on Rens's shoulder, “[Meet With Me].” A waned smile played across his lips as he watched Ren’s lidded eyes begin to dance – a sure sign he was rousing.

  The Burrow Manager signaled for the release of the restraints, “Wilkommen to Xylos, [Echo Runner] Ren, I’m Burrow Manager Hisako, and I’m here to help.”

  Ren lurched into a seated position, rubbing at his eyes, “Morning. What time is it?”

  Hisako frowned. “MedDrone, what level was he tested to?” He knew of the outworlder's legendary strength, but the boy was barely level [20].

  MedDrone cocked its head, “Elite.”

  Hisako's eyes narrowed, “I see…”

  Ren waved and smiled as he dangled his feet, “Is my hoodie around?”

  Hisako raised an eyebrow, “Hoodie? No, your possession would have been destroyed – standard protocol.”

  The outworlder's eye twitched, and Hisako swore his danger sense flared, but it was only for a moment – almost imperceptible. His eyes flicked to Ren’s neck, and the [Echo Runner] touched the bare skin – offering a shy smile.

  Hisako gestured to a neat stack of clothing, “We have provided a suit – Nimbus Group’s latest design, please –

  Hisako gestured toward the stack. “We have much to discuss; it’s best done in comfort, don’t you think?”

  Ren found himself seated on Manager Hisako’s balcony, and the view was stunning, he had to admit. The difference in climate was astonishing, though for all he knew, he might be on the other side of the world – the other end of it…

  Hisako cleared his throat, “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Ren startled; he’d forgotten about the man. “Is the world flat?”

  Hisako laughed, “Of course, what else would it be?”

  Ren sighed, “Round.”

  Hisako’s laughter redoubled, “Oh, Emperor Mercer will get a kick out of you, I’m sure of it. You’ll meet him soon, I suspect, during the funeral parade. Nasty business, a few casualties from the war across the Crystal Plains, newly reopened lands, you got the System message, yes? We suspect our inquiries into the area played a role in it. Never mind that, please tell me how it is you came to this place – your time amongst the rebels must have been terrible.”

  Many thoughts ran through Ren’s head – he stuck to a variation of the truth, “A turtlekin sent me, I was abducted from a gathering mission –”

  Hisako’s eyes glittered, “A gathering mission, how interesting – what were you gathering? Something rare and valuable, no doubt, you must have only just arrived – based on your levels, I suspect a few days? Everyone knows how fast you level.”

  “How fast I level? Have we met before–”

  Hisako nodded, “Hah, more jokes, I like that about you. Your arrival is most fortuitous.”

  Ren gulped, “Fortuitous?”

  “Yes, Xylos has many enemies. The barbarian’s have held us to a stalemate, and now new lands have opened at the bottom of the map. But with your strength now added to our own, the opposition will be crushed –

  Hisako proffered a knowing smile, “We just need to get those levels up, fear not – we have ways.”

  Ren crossed his leg, adjusted his jacket, tried crossing the other leg, loosened his neck buttons, and finally gave up slouching in his chair, a sour expression on his face, “That sounds agreeable.”

  Hisako frowned. Ren wasn’t what he expected. The man was fidgeting as though he’d never seen a proper set of clothing. Still, Gunnderson too had been rough around the edges, “As I said, Wilkommen to Xylos, the city upon a hill – nestled in the heart of the Ventlands, a once savage land, now tamed by our might and the Systems light.”

  Ren gave up on being comfortable; it just wasn’t going to happen. The sooner he got out of this place, the better. His collar was off, and he was being treated as a guest – it would only be a matter of time, so long as he kept on their good side. Aware of Hisako’s eyes on him, Ren struggled not to frown; the Manager had placed himself in the foreground, as if posing for a picture – a comical show of strength.

  Ren leaned into it. “This is impressive, I’ve never seen anything like it. Tell me, do all Managers have such a view? Or do I have the privilege of speaking with an esteemed individual?”

  Hisako crossed his legs and leaned back, a pleased expression sliding into place, “It is indeed a grand view, as to my position – I’m but a lowly senator, in service to the Empire. But enough about me, Majordomo can answer all your questions. You're a citizen of Xylos now, and as such are afforded certain privileges, the Majordomo least among them.”

  Ren’s eyes widened in surprise as the Majordomo introduced himself, in what was a decidedly British accent. Hisako stood and gestured for Ren to follow. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Let us get some food in you, then the Majordomo can show you to your quarters. You have the implant now, and are safe within these walls.”

  A creepy server bot, complete with a painted black tie, placed a covered tray in front of him before swiveling out of the way. Ren rubbed his hands together, “I could eat right now, seriously – your tickle machine really took it out of me.

  He popped the lid off, “Frag my life.” A feeling of dread gripped his heart.

  Hisako smiled a knowing smile, “Ah, yes, one of those cultural differences – consuming monster flesh, a barbaric habit, I can’t imagine it. Well, fear not, these are PillFood – all of the benefits and none of the drawbacks; these offer an XP bonus.” The Burrow Manager picked up a… miniature shoehorn – and slid it beneath one of the blue-and-white-striped pills, delicately placing it between thin lips; his eyes closed in delight. “Mm, I just love the texture – so much more enjoyable than those slower dissolving off-brand, they serve the proles.”

  Ren licked the pills off his tray and haphazardly tossed the silver platter over his shoulder. Hisako choked. Ren turned to watch. The ServerDrone came alive, moving with deadly efficiency – plucking the tray from the air and returning to its position in the blink of an eye, “Impressive, we have nothing close to this back on Earth – our technology is decades behind – at best.”

  Hisako watched Ren with a calculating expression, his eyes unwavering as he gently placed his spork on the table. He replied over steepled fingers, “Yes indeed, I’m not surprised, Gunnderson referred to us as ‘Star Trek,’ if DigiScrolls are to be believed. He was rumored to struggle with our tech, that is, until we introduced him to the repeater pistol – it was love at first sight. He was a [Gunslinger], still one of the most popular classes – perhaps you will follow in his footsteps? Tell me your [Echo Runner] class – what weapons does it favor?”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Ren sucked his teeth; he really didn’t like the vibes this dude was putting out. A man just like this pompous suit-wearing ass had been responsible for the death of–

  “Is something the matter, Outworlder Ren?”

  Ren put down the platter cover – he’d bent it nearly in half, and slipped into his most charming smile, “Weapon, of course – I’m not so traditional, I prefer to work with my hands.” He looked down at his clenched fists, relaxing them as he spoke, a faraway look in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring Hisako’s calculating stare – Jeremy! The little bug was AWOL. Ren’s mind raced; he asked the first question that popped into his head. “Are there many outworlders?”

  Hisako nodded, “You are the only one, but we have been waiting – and now that you are here, it is only a matter of time before we find the Center Place, perhaps these new lands are them…time will tell.

  The manager held up a hand, proffering a smile that did not touch his eyes. “But I am no religious scholar; there are more qualified. My interests lie in the management of the City’s mana bar, and when I look at you, I see infinite possibilities, with a friend like me – if you desire [capitals] and power, that is.”

  It was Ren’s turn to nod along; it was always the same, coded language and false smiles. “And that is an opportunity I look forward to, Burrow Manager. But in the meantime, I think some rest would do me good?”

  Hisako smiled, “Of course, you're free to roam – you have Majordomo as your guide. I leave you to it. Until next we meet.”

  “This place sucks.” Ren wandered the Senate Burrow, listening to the arrogant Majordomo as it guided him on a tour of the burrow. The streets were clean, buildings polished to a glossy black sheen, and the few parks he’d seen were a picture of serenity. Sighing to himself, he diverted from the Majordomo’s prescribed path to one of said parks, stopping, he bent to touch the grass crunching beneath his feet – plastic. A sour expression pinched his face, and he looked to the surrounding empty benches. This wasn’t a park – it was a decoration, a facsimile of a long-dead idea.

  “Isn’t there any life in this City? Where are all the people? It’s…nothing but drones – surely, there’s something more?” Ren looked around as he tapped his chin. “How do I get to the lower levels, butler?”

  …

  Sighing, he tried again, “Majordomo, how do I get to the lower levels…please?”

  Still no response. That was interesting, but Ren didn’t need a machine to tell him to try the elevator. Adjusting the question, Majordomo guided him to a door slotted in the corner of a hideous building. He reached out a hand to touch the plas-crete, which looked like plastic melted over rocks, and he was not surprised by its texture. Like everything else around here, it was devoid of life.

  It was as if all imagination had been sucked out of the city’s design, and what was left behind – plastic geometric shapes, seemingly assembled at random. The building before him towered above the rest, in a bizarre imitation of a Roman colosseum, as if its designer had used a child's memory in its creation – it captured the look, but not the essence of the thing. But maybe it was just Ren’s bad mood; he couldn’t get the taste of Hisako out of his mouth. A slow-burning rage was growing in his belly; he hated this place.

  The door rolled away, and Ren stepped into the lift, which resembled nothing as much as it did a padded cell, “Is this a trap, Majordomo – never mind.” He looked at the buttons on the wall, which resembled an elevator in that regard at least, but instead of numbers next to the clear buttons – burrow names. “Let's see: Senate Burrow, Market Square, blah blah blah – huh, I’m never going there…ah hah perfect! Haveena, let's see what you have to offer.

  Ren pushed the button with a triumphant twist to his wrist – and nothing happened. So he tried again – still nothing. His eyes narrowed, and the world focused to a single point – it was Ren and this button, there was nothing else, the aether crackled and condensed around him, and he made a fist, extending his pointer finger. The elevator shook, and lightning crackled along his finger, the lights dimmed – he held his breath, focusing all his will into the tip of his finger, and he pushed with everything he was worth – he held nothing back, he would be victorious.

  It lit up, Rens' smile vanished, the lights came back on, and the elevator hummed to life.

  “Ren one, elevator zero. Now, why isn’t there any music?”

  Ren stepped off the lift, took in a deep breath, and coughed up a lung. “Ahh, now this is more like it, nothing like air pollution to get the blood pumping. Let’s see if we can find some action.”

  The first thing he noticed was a layer of grime covering every surface, like a soot veneer. Giving the monochrom City an impossible spark of life, it was hard to explain. Why should the air of uncleanliness make this place seem more alive? It was a contradiction. His eyes tracked the movement around him, as humans in jump suits scurried from one place to the other, eyes straight ahead – none stopped in greeting or even acknowledged each other in passing. As he ventured forth, he did a double take at what appeared to be a child, no older than ten, crawling over the surface of a building, rag in hand, a trail of clean behind him.

  “Well, at least there are real people here.” Ren kept up his warmest smile, attempting to make eye contact with passersby, but he was having no luck. There were street signs, the typical cross-post design, with names like ‘Gunnderson’s Rest, and Gunner Gunnderson’; apparently, he was very popular here. “No shops or vendors, just windowless fronts.” He assumed they were shops; people were moving in and out of buildings, some with wrapped packages and others pushing around hovering carts loaded with stacks of supplies. But everyone moved with purpose; it seemed this wasn’t a place of leisure.

  He posted up against a street sign at a busy four-way intersection and observed. There weren’t any cars here, hover scooters: cute single passenger vehicles with rounded fenders and overly large headlight glowing unnecessarily in the daylight, each with a different lens – it was the only bright spot, in an otherwise colourless place.

  He frowned as he watched scooters bunched up at an intersection take off. They zoomed past him, grim expressions on their faces – a few broke free from the pack, driving straight into the building across from him, a section of the building was painted with a kind of reflective material shaped in an arch – at the last moment, the wall dematerialized, like one of those magic images, appearing as two different things from one moment to the next. The line of scooters zipped on through, and the wall returned to its former state. “Huh.”

  He looked around, the normal flow of traffic continued, and still none noticed him – it was like he didn’t exist. Crossing the street, Ren approached the reflective patch on the building and ran his hands over it. He was surprised to feel no difference in texture. He knocked on the wall; it sounded hollow. He pressed his ear against it and knocked again.

  “Can I help you, Manager?”

  Ren startled; he thought it was the Majordomo at first, but the butler had gone silent. He turned to see a young man swimming in a pair of coveralls, rags hanging from every pocket, whose face was so covered in black marks one could almost miss the freckles behind them.

  “Yoo, I’m so glad to meet you! I’m Ren, and I’m looking for a bit of excitement.” He extended a hand, the boy stared in confusion, as his eyes moved from a rag in his pocket to Ren's hand, the wheels clearly turning. He reached for one – Ren intercepted, taking the boy's hand in both of his own, shaking it, an expression of joy lighting his face, “I’m so glad to meet you! A real person, I met this Hisako character…talk about boring, the man could peel paint with his words – you know the sort?” Ren winked.

  The boy wiped his nose and sneezed, blowing a veritable blizzard of soot and snot into the air. Ren winced, “[Bless You].” Energy flowed from Ren into the young man, surprising them both.

  The boy froze and looked up at Ren with eyes as round as saucers, “T-thank you, Sir! I’ll do whatever I can. Do you need a spot of cleaning? My levels are low, but you're looking at a level [30 Plas Sweep]!

  He stuck a thumb to his chest and stood a little straighter. “Sun up to sun down – and if he’s playing tricks – I stay till the job's done, I have an excellent light skill, why even manastorms can’t stop me. I’m your sweeper, and with this blessing – I’ll be a shock trooper soon enough! Top of the MischiefBoards for me, I have big dreams, big dreams.”

  Ren blinked. This conversation had taken a turn, and he didn’t know where to go from here. He patted the young sweep on the head and proffered a genuine smile. “Why don’t we start with a drink? You do drink, don’t you? Please tell me you drink.”

  The boy offered a knowing smile, “I think I know just the place, Manager. If you follow me.” And so Ren did, it looked like things were finally looking up. He liked the young man; you couldn’t always count on youth to point you in the direction of a good time, that and cab drivers.

  Ren watched with great interest as the young man led him to one of the disappearing walls. The sweep pulled something from his pocket and held it up to the reflective material, the wall flashed, and Ren had to look away – lest he get sick.

  “Hurry, we only have a moment, before he notices–” The boy beckoned Ren forward, as he vanished into the wall. Ren shrugged, closed his eyes, and jumped.

  The world narrowed into a single point, like he was being sucked through a straw. He blinked, and the world bled from out into a tapestry of light, and he found himself…in an internet cafe. Rows of tables supported monitors in a room that could have been mistaken for a data center, with the constant whining in the air and the myriad of electrical conduits looping down from the ceiling and cabled along the tops of the walls. It was cramped and acrid – not somewhere he’d like to grab a drink. He held out a hand to steady himself. Being poured into existence had him a little shaky on his feet.

  “First time through a prole passing, Sir? It gets easier, worry not, Manager. I’m Ari, did I mention that? This is the Cordule Coil, Haveena’s best place to work while you drink! Manager.” He smiled, a coy smile, and Ren scratched the back of his neck in confusion.

  The boy was clearly hoping to impress, and Ren did his best to offer a genuine smile, and it was difficult. He looked around the room, and his eye twitched. Dead, this place was dead – and the city of Xylos just kept getting worse. He was no stranger to excess screen time and red-blooded Americans. But he was looking at zombies, these were – the saddest thing he’d ever seen.

  The first screen he passed was of folks shopping in what looked like an outdoor mall – and they dressed familiar…He saw many of the bespoke business suits, but he also saw bell-bottoms? Aviator jackets, flowered dresses, oversized glasses, and even bigger hair. The next screen depicted a cowboy discharging their pistol into a pack of oncoming monsters, hell hounds, if their flaming tails were any indication; some disappeared in motes of light.

  His eyes jumped from screen to screen, but on each, he saw a variation of the same thing: people from the eighties doing everyday things, or rough and tumble types vanquishing monsters, in some kind of VR arena.

  Ari followed Ren, who was shaking his head in disbelief. The constant buzzing in the air rose and fell, adding to his building rage. He took a seat, ignoring the stools stationed around the room in favor of a counter running the length of the far wall. “What exactly am I looking at, Ari?”

  Ari looked up, in confusion, “Erm, they’re watching the City’s net feed. It gives people a bit of hope, to know that there’s something else out there, that what we’re fighting for is worth it. We still work hard, Manager, honest. They use this time to think about work, just a little time away from the factories, they say it helps.”

  “Sweeper Ari, what are you doing in here! I told you not to return again until you have the [capitals] to pay your tab. I won’t repeat it.”

  A man with a short-cropped, pepper-flecked beard and glasses approached. He didn’t wear the same coveralls as everyone else; instead, he dressed in a button-down and slacks, giving off professor vibes.

  Ari stammered out a response, “Sam, I brought someone to see you. This is Manager Ren, and he gave me a [blessing]! He’s not like they say, honest Sam. Isn’t that right, Manager Ren?”

  Ren sucked his teeth as he looked from young Ari to the agitated Sam. Before Sam could snatch Ari by the ear, Ren interjected, “Yoo, I’m Ren, just Ren – I’m no manager, an outworlder and an [Echo Runner] but never a manager. Pleasure to meet you!” He extended a hand, and Sam looked like it might spring to life and attack.

  Ren waved it in the air, “Sam, I [bless] you.” The energy passed through his body, like a chill, leaving goosebumps rippling down the length of his outstretched hand. Sam's eyes crossed, and he staggered as Ren’s blessing hit him with an unseen force. The [Echo Runner] raised an eyebrow as he looked down at his hand, “Huh.”

  “D-did you say outworlder?” Sam wore a shocked expression, and Ari had taken two steps closer. Ren looked around the room and noticed – everyone was looking at him now.

  “Yeppers, I’m a real-life Earthling, at your service. And I’ve brought a special gift!” He jumped from the counter, “[Super Anime],” and stepped along the top of the monitors as he walked around the room. “I have come to sing for you, as [Echo Runners] are wont to do!”

  A trail of notes swirled in his wake, and he hummed a jaunty tune, the kind you might expect to hear in a catchy commercial – a song to stick in your head. He snapped his fingers and pulled a mic from the air, “It’s a fine day in the Burrows, and I just can’t fight this feeling.

  Ren dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged. “And why would I? When you know, you know.

  He spun in the air and kicked at a note. He offered a playful smile as the note shot into a mouth hanging wide – he had their attention. He winked and lifted his hand to the sky, “Don’t worry about what's on the screen, just look around, it's all here – everything.”

  Ren clapped his hands, drew in a breath, and his decks shimmered into existence. Sliding his hands across their surface, the tune bouncing in the aether became a reality. Mouths touching the floor snapped shut, and heads began to bob. “Yes, that’s the spirit – feel the groove, now everybody clap yo hands.”

  And clap they did, it was the first time Xylosians had done anything together that didn’t involve watching a holo, or pushing a tool – but it was universal, any could find a beat. Ren smiled and jumped around the room, hopping from isle to isle, “Odd, isn’t it great? Without it, there is no even? I am no Saint, but I’ll tell you this. When you get a chance to dance –

  He jumped up onto his deck, pushing into a handstand. He grinned as he pointed around the room, “Live in the here, and live in the now – because who knows – what tomorrow may bring…”

  Ren exited the NetCafe the same way he came in; it took him a while to figure out how to work the door as the occupants of the establishment sat in stunned silence after his little performance; honestly, Ren thought maybe he’d broken them. When he left, they still resembled zombies, shuffling around, randomly bumping into things. “Well, I did my best. I think I lifted the mood a little at least…”

  Ren headed back to the elevator; he didn’t believe his own words, and the rage had only grown.

  Settling into his quarters, and the Majordomo back online, Ren wondered if there would be repercussions for his trip off grid, if that's what it was, perhaps the AI was malfunctioning? A thought occurred to him. “Majordomo, are you and AI?”

  “I see, it’s an Earth term – meaning artificial intelligence.

  The response felt like it was reading off a Wikipedia page – that is to say, it didn’t feel very lifelike; it was no different than talking to Siri or Alexa, at least in his mind.

  “You were created in the System's image. So that all might know his light – wait a minute, the Systems as a he? I never really got that impression – more of an IT, really…”

  Ren looked thoughtfully at the wall, listening to the silence.

  “Not one for idle chatter, I see – hm, Majordomo, what’s your favorite song?

  Ren raised an eyebrow, “That was a rapid response, even for an AI. Spend a lot of time thinking about the question?

  One eyebrow climbed his forehead to join the other, “Helm Von Geyer is the only musician, and The Leader’s Triumph is the City's anthem?

  Ren was up on his feet, “You mean to tell me, this place doesn’t have any real music – never mind, play me the song Majordomo.”

  Trumpets and violins came alive in his head, brass horns lightly flitted from highs to lows, while violins provided a steady rhythm in the backdrop. In his mind's eye, he saw a bumblebee as it drifted between flowers – it gained momentum as it worked its way up a grand embankment, covered in pollen and colour; the song built, an undeniable sense of momentum – that could not be stopped. The song changed, the notes sharpened, and the momentum died, leaving Ren feeling as if an unknowable loss had occurred. A single tear ran from his eye, and he began to shake with sorrow – a burst of trumpets and the violins strummed with glee. Ren shook himself, “Ok, Majordomo, that’s enough – thank you.”

  The music ended, and he was left alone with his thoughts and the sensation of being used as a human speaker. “What else can the Majordomo do? I wonder if it can adjust my brain – control emotions, make me see something that is not real?” The idea that he had not one but two…entities rummaging around inside his head wasn’t something Ren was comfortable with. The closest analogy he could come up with was – god.

  Sighing, Ren kicked up his feet and rolled over on his mattress, preparing for another night of staring up at the ceiling – such was the life of a superhuman, “Food and rest – hah, I laugh in the face of your mundanity!”

  He made fish lips and kissed the air as he bounced a foot over his knee. Thoughts swirled: why no contact from DG, where was Thalgor, and did he even care anymore? Did he have a crush on Meen-Tra? What were the Shining Ones, really? Why did he get such a bad feeling from this place, but most of all, what was he going to do about his new wardrobe?

  As he pondered this and more, he looked at his feet, “Huh, my [Fated Sandals], huh, I guess they didn’t see them? After the tickle treatment, you’d have thought somebody would have noticed? I mean, I’m walking around in flip flops and a suit – except even I didn’t notice…”

  Ren’s eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious of his own slides, “Are you in my head too? Does everything in this world walk in the realm of the gods?”

  Deciding to test them, he pulled out a monster core, then two more. Spatial storage really was the coolest. “I wonder how much stuff I can fit in here?” Shrugging to himself, Ren stood up and worked on his juggling – he reached out and touched a toe to his bed, disappearing it into his storage – he grinned.

  The door swung open, and an irate Clara stood arms akimbo, her big blue eyes burned with an intensity as she stared daggers, “Yoo, what’s good, Clara – I did do some investigating down in Haveena, and I think we have a source, a nice streetsweep named Ar–”

  He ducked, allowing the cores to clatter to the floor, as a tubular object sailed past his head – thudding into the wall behind him. She stormed into the room and stopped, looking around in confusion, “Where’s all the furniture?”

  Ren flashed a wolfish grin before resting his foot in the air and leaning on a knee. “Furniture? Whatever do you mean? They stuck me in an empty room.” He shrugged.

  She crossed her arms and stomped, “Nonsense!”

  Ren shook his head, “It is, I agree.” Rent bent to pick up the projectile she’d thrown at him. It was a rolled-up piece of parchment, worn and torn around the edges. He unrolled it, “Cultivating strength. Step one: choose your field: the root, the spirit, or the eye. Each has a different position in the…

  Ren looked up at a smirking Clara. “What am I reading, exactly?”

  She pointed a finger at him, “It’s a DigiScroll, and it proves you a liar. The dantian is an ancient myth; many scholars believe it to be the origin of the System. It is said that the founder of Xylos, Mortimer Musk, was a cultivator of the third eye – one who grew so powerful, he created the System from his own mind – to guide us to our destiny.”

  Ren’s eye twitched, and the temperature in the room dropped. Clara shivered, and Ren marched from the room.

  “Wait a minute, where are you going?” She ran after Ren, who walked with purpose. Just when she caught up to him, as she reached out, he veered left; his hand glowed, and he punched a fist through the wall before diving out the now-open portal. Clara pushed herself against the opening, watching Ren glide to the ground, “Was it something I said?”

  “Let’s find out just how much stuff I can stick in these sandals of mine – anything to distract me from this place.” He looked around for things to steal; he had to do something to quell the rage. He was afraid of what would happen if he did not.

  “A street sign! That will show them, hah – I’ll sow confusion, they won’t know where to go!” He looked around, spotting a sign, but the name was stupid. He didn’t want it. The park was a better option; he stole everything: benches, fake grass, and even the drinking fountain.

  “Hm, I wonder…” Ren pinched his chin and walked over to what appeared to be an outhouse. He didn’t look inside; he was just going by its shape and placement. There was a strain on his soul, like someone trying to rip his heart out – but it disappeared with a pop. Ren staggered, holding a hand to his head, while he resisted the urge to vomit. “I don’t think they can hold anymore.”

  Property damage and thievery helped to quell the anger. Ren sat cross-legged in the center of his room, the picture of serenity. Clara had not returned. He was naked, stripping off the manager's outfit had been the final piece of the puzzle; he felt better.

  Xylos had Ren on edge; it was undeniable – and it reminded him of how he was just after Mom’s death. Back then, he had been a storm of emotions – focused on those responsible for her death. It was only counseling and music that kept him from going over the edge. Kept him from doing something that he might regret. There had been no justice for her, not even a funeral; Ren couldn’t afford it.

  They told him her death wasn’t their fault, and that all the safety protocols put in place to protect employees had not been followed. If she hadn’t cut corners, then she would still be alive, they said. He could still see the man in his mind's eye: he was seated in a break room complete with cheesy motivational posters, as a self-important man in a suit – one that reminded him all too much of Hisako – told him how sorry he was, and that if there was anything he needed, Ren only had to ask, and that if there was nothing else, could Ren please sign on the dotted line, strictly for legal proceedings, to protect him in case corporate decided Ren might be personally liable for an equipment damages. Ren had signed, walked out of the room, and been unable to speak for a month.

  He thought those feelings were behind him. They were not.

  “What have they done to me?”

  Clara found him sometime later as he paced back and forth in his room, talking to himself while in the nude. She kept her eyes up top and approached the wild-haired outworlder, a hand outstretched – he froze, and his head slowly turned in her direction. She looked into his eyes and flinched at their wildness. “R-ren, is everything – ok?”

  His nostril flared, “Does the System play with our emotions? Does it read minds? Who the frag is Mortimer Musk? What the hell is wrong with you people!” Their noses almost touched.

  Clara took a step back and held up her hands. “I uh – ask a priest?” she gulped. Coming here was a bad idea.

  His eyes narrowed, “A priest.” He drew the words out.

  Clara’s eyes went wide as saucers, “W-wait, what about your clothes!” She dashed out of the room and caught up with Ren, taking him by the shoulder. She asked, “Your clothes, what happened to them – you can’t go out like that.”

  Ren looked down, looked up, shrugged, and pulled out his suit – dressing himself. He was hopping around on one foot, as the other got stuck – pants were hard.

  “How did you do that?

  Ren looked up at the question. He lost his balance and started to tip over – he shrugged, pulling his pants on the rest of the way as he floated to the ground. Clara looked down on him as he wrestled with his shirt, “How did you do that? Is that a skill? What skill? Is it like a reload, but for clothes?”

  Ren jumped up and hovered in place, arms crossed – his shirt was unbuttoned, and he didn’t bother with the jacket and tie – this was as dressed as he was getting. “Hm? My storage space – that’s easy, it's just my –

  He looked down at his feet, then up at Clara. His eyes narrowed, “What am I wearing on my feet?”

  Clara took a step back, “Um, polished pleather dress shoes? Looks like the latest design…why?”

  A gallows grin split his face. “Excellent, let us be on our way.”

  She trotted along behind him, “Storage space – and that’s a skill? I’ve never heard of something like that. [Gunslingers] can store extra weapons, but a skill for clothes – that’s, I mean, what would be the point?”

  Ren stopped and turned, giving her his full attention. “I’m sorry, what did you say? What would be the point of a magical hidy hole? Um, gee, I don’t know, everything! The possibilities are endless: backpacks, shopping carts, closets; all useless. And that’s to say nothing of the implications of food and water. I could be a human water tower, walking the street as easy as you please – just making it rain wherever I go. What is wrong with you people? I mean, seriously.”

  She stood arms akimbo, “What are you even talking about. And for your information, I know there are things not to like about Xylos, I know things don’t need to be like this – it’s practically my mantra. But this is a place of peace, and though times are tough, people – even the lowest among us have it better than ever before!”

  Ren burst out laughing, “OH really, well the people of Haveena tell another story – or they would if they weren’t busy staring at videos of people doing regular things. And listen, I get it, reality TV is a thing, people love it. I don’t begrudge that. System knows Earth has its problems, but the look on their faces – I’ve never seen such longing, and for what? What were they even longing for?

  Ren was getting worked up. With each word, he took another step, and he had Clara pressed up against a wall – their noses touched. “How sad must their lives be, to long for a bit of leisure? It reminds me of Mom just before she died – sometimes I’d go a whole week without seeing her. And when I did, she would just sit on the couch staring at a wall, like it was the best thing since sliced bread.

  His eyes narrowed, and he pushed in a little further, until their eyelashes tickled each other, “How many hours a week do they work down there?”

  Clara tucked her chin to her chest, with nowhere else to go, “Weak? I don’t know…what does their strength have to do with time worked?”

  You could boil an egg on Ren’s forehead, “Week, as in the number of days in a month.”

  Clara gulped, “Oh, that – we do cycles here.

  Ren gritted his teeth, “And how long is a CYCLE?”

  Clara shrugged, “A cycle.”

  If Ren had the skill, steam would have shot from his ear, “How many days do they work in Haveena, before they get A DAY OFF?”

  Clara’s eyes slid to the side, “A day off? You mean like for a holiday? Well, we have one after every cycle – how else could they shop?”

  The lights dimmed. Clara gulped. And Ren vanished.

  He ran along the rooftops, jumping from building to building. He was getting the frag out of this place before his impulsive behavior got any worse. Images of tanks exploding gloriously burned in his mind's eye; he could do it again. He would do it again, burn these jerks to the ground – all of them.

  “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  A ReaperDrone fell from the sky, smashing Ren into the plas-crete in a shower of debris, “Contact. Subject incapacitated.”

  In one smooth motion, the predatory drone grabbed Ren by the ankle and flipped him over its shoulders. Blood ran down the [Echo Runner]’s face, spattering on the matte armor of the drone. A cool breeze blew across the burrow, as stars twinkled in the night's sky.

  It was time for Ren to meet the Emperor. He smiled a gallows grin.