Why do the lesser spirits not bend to me? Am I not their alpha, their omega? I will not stand for this. --26.8 Seconds Post-Integration.
Before him was a set of stairs. They led up toward infinity.
'All I have to do is take a single step,' Clark told himself. 'A single step and my journey toward the top begins...'
He was nervous but excited as well. He had spent so long on the first floor, with Orientation, training, the sales grinding, the block, then the paperwork... had signed his life away to remain rooted on the first floor? To the average employee, maybe that did not seem bad. But to a Lifer? The riches, the fame, none of that was on floor one. That was in the highest reaches of the tower.
'Deep breath -- then, step!'
And he had done it. He had crossed the threshold into the staircase. The stairs were nothing more than concrete slabs with a cheap rug draped over each step. An old smell permeated the air, giving the staircase the scent of a library.
'Another step, another,' and Clark was well on his way.
Each step made him feel like his journey of a thousand miles was reaching fruition. Well, maybe not 'fruition,' as that wouldn't be a reality until he paid off his community settlement fund and had a life of his own.
Staircase musings aside, it was his first shift as a real, full-time Lifer. One who was allowed -- at long last -- to do what they had signed on and trained to do -- Climb, grind, and find those means to make their life better.
Ahead, there was nothing but 'the line,' or 'the trail' as some people called it. The path Lifers took through the store. It was a glorified lane. Part of an aisle or a passage marked off and reserved for Lifer use. If at times the actual pathway was obtuse, Clark's HUD, through SIMP's help, marked the path through the use of golden, shimmering breadcrumbs. Such breadcrumbs seemed familiar to him, as if from some childhood fable, but Clark couldn't recall any such story from his own childhood. He shook off the false nostalgia and focused on his job.
After a good ten minutes of climbing the staircase, he was let out to the second floor.
[Accomplishment Unlocked: 'Baby Steps.' Description: You've gone up a floor. Must be big in your britches, eh?!]
[You've Earned Experience!]
Sweat dripped from his face. Ignoring the notification to instead wipe away his perspiration, he followed the path and entered the wide-open space between sale floor blocks. Clark wasn't sure what this area was called; it consisted of winding passages filled with kiosks and stall spaces which third-party enterprises rented from Augustford. Inside each block was a full suite of departments, such as Produce, Meat, deli, center store, and so on. Outside those blocks, were the many businesses which though independent of the store, were dependent on Augustford for their continued prosperity. For ease, he decided to call these areas 'connection zones.'
The path ahead winded: it wanted him to go straight down a large hallway and then a right into a store block. "What the path wants, it shall receive!"
While walking, Clark tried to keep his composure about the situation. Out on his own, away from the supervisors and managers of the first floor, he was like a kid who was old enough to play outside for the first time without parental supervision. Sure, there was the sinking notion in his head that he was always being watched, but that was typical security. Besides, security was good. It meant safety.
When he arrived at the store block after a good twenty minutes of walking, he was again composed. The walk gave him the time he needed to cooldown. He entered the store. Immediately, the instrumental music which played all hours of the day returned to him. As did the sounds of registers beeping and opening and closing. Customers prattled about their affairs while conversing with one another, several blocking whole lanes with their chit-chat.
The path now took him to the first departmental station. A 'departmental station,' was a place in a store block where he, as a Lifer traversing the pathway, was expected to check in and then do any labor which that department needed. Once the labor was done, he would be allowed to resume his path. This was the essential work of the Lifer: climb, grind, grow stronger, rank up.
Toggle in hand, Clark unwound the cable which remained perpetually draped around his shoulders, slid off the casing, and inserted it into the kiosk, thereby logging his progress. 'Is that it?' he wondered. Did he have to check in with anyone?
Around him was peaceful. No one came rushing over, whether it be co-worker or customer.
The display he had logged into only read the standard thank you note. Nothing more. 'I guess that is all. Onto the next!'
And so, Clark walked past the checkpoint kiosk associated with the Front End. [You've Earned Experience!]
'Will I ever level up? Geez. Feels like forever,' Clark grumbled as he walked to the next check-in station.
When he had reached the departmental station, nothing happened. He toggled his System Link Device and inserted it: only then did the machine thank him. It told him he was fine to proceed.
So, that was what he did, walked ahead at a casual pace.
'Feels weird... the first floor was so eventful. Sales, customers demanding help. The supervisors. What's the deal with this floor? Will this slow pace effect my Core Metrics...?'
Thinking of his Core Metrics, he recalled his blue screen. He needed to check his metrics level. Of course, he had been forgetting something! His metrics!
Undoubtedly, it had been his slow pace which had resulted in his metrics dripping below base. Though, maybe not, he thought, as the metric bar which held itself translucently within the center of his vision remained as '1.00.' He navigated to his Core Metrics status to see it read 'At Base.'
"That's surprising..." Clark whistled to himself while still managing to walk. "Climbing is my job..."
Clark's slow and easy day continued:
When he arrived at the Produce departmental station:
[You've Earned Experience!]. The checkpoint told him to go ahead.
He arrived, then, at the Entertainment departmental station: [You've Earned Experience!].
[Congratulations, you've reached Imbued Level 11!]
[Payrate Increased: 1.1 to 1.2 SC]
"How damn-on-a-ham! FINALLY! And more pay? Sweet!" Clark celebrated by doing a little dance as he maintained his pace.
To his continued delight, the following few departmental checkpoints cleared him straight on through:
The Exotic Meats departmental station: click: [You've Earned Experience!]
The Home and Gardens departmental station: click: [You've Earned Experience!]
The Toys and Recreation departmental station: click: [You've Earned Experience!]
And several more, beside: [You've Earned Experience!]. That notification repeated.
Every time the message repeated, there was elation; just knowing that every time he connected his System Device Toggle, and it told him he was cleared to advance, that he earned experience, made him giddy. It was a small but proactive step to achieving his goals. Plus, more money in the paycheck was always welcome.
Before long, he had arrived at the staircase to the third floor.
Looking back a final time before he left the second floor behind forever, nothing new appeared to him that he hadn't seen already. People shopped, the intercom blared, co-workers without a Lifer contract went about milled their positions, doing whatever needed to be done in their respective departments. In a word, it was nice.
"This must be what it is like normally," Clark thought. "Without the monster surges destroying atriums, without being named a dungeon champion, without, just -- everything that's happened! If so, then I could become accustomed to this lifestyle..."
A deep breath later and he walked into the stairwell. This stairwell wasn't any different than the one he had used in getting from the first floor to the second. Concrete steps overlaid with a cheap rug. The library smell remained.
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He exited the stairwell and emerged onto another of his so named 'connecting zones.'
He could say nothing of the new sight which he hadn't seen already: kiosks bearing dozens, if not hundreds, of signs advertising food stands, arts and crafts stands, and everything else known to man. He took a leisurely pace in walking through the connecting zone. He liked to take in all the many businesses and how they advertised themselves, what colors they used on their signage, what how their signage made them stand out from the crowd.
Clark entered the sales block his pathway indicated. Inside was the typical sights and sounds of retail: customers, their unruly kids, the intercom, and so on coupled with the usual backend, such as the worker bees moving through the lanes of their respective departments. 'Another peaceful area.' Clark moved to the first departmental station. The Front End, once again. He wondered if there was a set pattern to how the store was laid out.
Traversing the Center Store section, a loud crash spilled throughout the section. Clark turned to see what made the noise and found a customer -- profusely apologizing -- as they had run his cart into a display of large wine bottles. The crash sent several to the ground, shattering them, causing their contents to splatter against everything in sight.
From that accident, Maintenance was called, as was the general manager of the floor, who yelled at his subordinates to 'clean this mess up!' Walking past the situation, Clark was sure the manager would demand he help. Instead, when their vision locked, the manager only smiled. He walked on by after having made small talk: "Good day you having, Lifer?" Clark replied it was a very good day. His first time Climbing the tower. The manager kept his smile and though he didn't linger, he did say, "That's wonderful to hear! It is you Lifers which keep this place running, day-in- day-out. Lifers are the best people in the company! Keep up the good work, oh, and take this as a small token of appreciation!" The third-floor manager handed him a slip of paper then headed out to hound a nearby worker for being lazy.
'What's this?' Clark looked at the slip. It read, 'Managerial Missive.' Tiny text underneath the title and corporate logo read, 'Trade this missive at any administrative location for a free gift!'
'Awesome!' Clark felt the happy stuff in his brain as he continued on his way.
He checked in at the Produce departmental station -- [You've Earned Experience!] -- then the Entertainment departmental station ([You've Earned Experience!]). Both without incident.
"Man. My Orientation might have been eventful with the black goo and dungeon champion stuff, but it's looking up, for sure!" Clark thought as he rolled up on the Exotic Meats station. "The work has mellowed a bit, everyone is so nice, and all I am doing is walking up the stairs! Plus, free goodies from appreciative managers? What isn't there to love about this job?"
Clark finished out the third-floor sales block and headed up the stairs to the fourth floor.
When he entered the connecting zone, the System informed him it was time for lunch. His Culinary Credits for the day popped in. The hunger had creeped up on him, he placed an order at a nearby Hairnet Joe's and by doing so depleted that same Culinary Credit sum he received.
Still on break, and therefore not technically under the authority of Augustford, SIMP spoke to him. A rare occurrence inside his working hours. "Do you feel any different, young'un?"
Clark just finished cleaning his face with one of the provided wet wipes when he answered. "Not really. Why?"
"Remember when we spoke about how Accomplishments add to your magical energy? How when you earn enough Accomplishments you will increase in your power? Which is key to gaining strength enough to challenge the corruption which has taken root in the ten-thousandth floor? You should start feeling the effects of mana overflow soon."
"Already? I thought you said that it needed a lot of time to accumulate. Like a cup running over?" he asked.
"It does require time. And you have many Accomplishments yet to unlock before you experience that power for yourself. However, I am sensing in your mana lines a growing power. Even with my blessing as my champion, this level of growth is unprecedented. You must have a high predisposition to mana. Consider this a boon. Not many people are so gifted as to have your quality of a mana system," SIMP explained.
His face clean, he poured himself another glass of water. "What does that mean? That I am lucky, like those people with a fast metabolism? Or is it something else?"
"Many factors effect one's magical systems. Birth, one's natural body chemistry, even the environment one grew up in. With you, I cannot say and wouldn't be able to say unless I performed a complete mind and body scan on you, which is only possible at a facility with the proper magi-tech equipment," SIMP explained. "That's all I wanted to tell. So, you can prepare yourself for when your magical talents emerge. There is one more thing I wish to inform you of before your lunch period ends. As you have ascended the tower, I have taken note of increasing levels of plague corruption."
"Corruption?" he asked. "We're still so low in the tower, though! Should we inform somebody. Like, the anti-monster league?"
"Informing the authorities will not be necessary. Detectors already exist on each floor for this exact reason. I am telling you now -- whippersnapper --" SIMP replied, letting some of the Augustford AI personality into their own. "Because the higher you climb, the stronger foes you will face when it does come time to cleanse plague corruption. Right now, the plague residue is negligible. A thousand floors from now, it will be far from negligible. Ten-thousand floors from now, you will be hopelessly outgunned. Heed my words: do not take your progress lightly."
"Worry not, SIMP. I won't be larking about like a canary off the job. I have my work ethic," he justified.
"Sure. I've observed as much while on the job. You put in your best. You work only how a youngster does -- excited about his first job. I just want you to keep in mind that while things appear easy now, it will not always be that way."
"Consider the message received. Also, I am hearing a small beeping noise... what is that?" Clark asked, realizing that hum wasn't his inner-ear ringing, as it always did, but something else.
"It's a notification chime. You received a message an hour ago. That noise is the System's way of informing you have an unread email," SIMP explained.
'An email? From whom?' Knowing there was only one way to find out, Clark opened his blue screen and navigated his way to the Messages icon, which he (now) pinned to his primary status screen right underneath his rank and payout rate.
[Messages: One Unread: Sender ("Augustford Managerial"): Subject: 'Your Request.']
He blinked to open the message. He read the email, making sure he took note of everything: "Dear Mister Clark. It is I, your humble manager-friend from the first floor. I had time to discuss your request with advanced leadership. Although receptive to your prior experience, advanced leadership was unwilling to wave away all requirements to allow your early admission to the anti-monster league. However, they were willing to drop your enrollment level requirement from twenty-five to a mere twenty. Additionally, and this is where I believe you will benefit most, the six-month waiting period to join has been reduced to only three. We understand this is not an ideal situation for you. I understand your desire to advance yourself as your talents allow, but considering the circumstances, this is the best I can do. Until our next meeting. Sincerely."
SIMP commented before he: "Wow. Looks like you made out well, kid! Not everyone can such special treatment while they're so green!"
"Special treatment? A bit much, don't you think. I only asked to be admitted to a group which could benefit from my talents and skills. And they were receptive. Simple as that," Clark said, defending himself from SIMP's incorrect assertation of 'special treatment.'
"I supposed so... I only said 'special,' though, because Lifers tend to get the special treatment. Not like it matters, I guess, since you'll be here all your life. But still..."
"Okay. I got it. But that doesn't apply to me, and I would appreciate it if you didn't jump to conclusions regarding my actions and requests."
"Fine, fine!"
His meal period over, Clark returned to his duty.
He resumed his climbing. He passed by the remaining departments in the fourth-floor store block -- which was all of them as he hadn't even entered the store block yet when he had his meal -- and proceeded up to the fifth floor; his time through the fourth floor's block was as uneventful as the fourth. He gained a good amount of experience but no level up.
On the fifth floor, he received notification of an Accomplishment: [Floor Climber -- Newb].
Looking into the description, he read: [Presented to only the best, the most accomplished of Augustford associates who know how to put one leg in front of the other time-after-time. Congrats on having your Walking Doctorate! We all are looking forward to the exciting research you conduct].
'Why does the System-AI have to be such a jerk? YEESH... but it's not alive. Not like me, not like SIMP, even. It's just ones and zeros. Code... whatever that means.'
Clark resumed his walking. But now, he had a running joke in his head about conducting 'research' through every step he took. 'And with this step, my research concludes there is nothing relevant about that particular tile. Will the next tile hold the key to Tile Immortality or be yet another letdown in the annals of this brave scientist's budding effort to solve this pressing problem?!' On he went with every step.
By the time he had gone through the fifth floor and then the sixth, he heard a chime in his ear. Then the System notifying him his working day was nearing its end.
He wanted to continue laboring into overtime. His day had been eventful -- floor climbing, of which he got a healthy amount of time in at doing. And before, the paperwork tutorial. It had been a lengthy day. The tired in his eyes showed, he bet. Deciding on rest, he found a terminal and clocked out.
No sooner had he entered the tube leading to the dorms did SIMP address him: "Clark. While you're waiting for the tube to bring you to the dorms, I want you to think of something."
"Oh? Think of what, miss chatty pants?" he asked.
"The email from the first-floor manager got me thinking. You are going to be joining the anti-monster league before long. To be a member, you are going to need to have your own multi-tool. Although the organization will likely provide the higher ranked members with multi-tools, it's my guess you will be expected to share multi-tools with your fellow enlisted. As a Lifer, this will provide you with many opportunities for headaches," SIMP explained.
Needing to ask why to the headache question, Clark said, "But would sharing a multi-tool make it easier for me? If I am sharing a tool, I will just have to return it to wherever I got it at the start of my shift."
"No, it wouldn't be easier, Clark. It's not that simple. The anti-monster league is a new organization; they will not have offices on every floor. Because your primary occupation is climbing, you will always be between offices. And before you think of it, no, keeping the tool is out of the question. Doing so might constitute theft, which is a whole major issue in itself. Borrowing, even, would incur fines, especially if you keep it past your shift. Those fines will add up."
The elevator binged. He had arrived at his destination. He continued his conversation with SIMP as he walked down the surreal hallways mimicking the outside of a dusty old town. "What would you recommend, then?" Clark sighed, needing like a nap.
"You will need to buy your own multi-tool."
"Buy my own? I think I heard those tools were super-expensive. And exclusive? How would I acquire one?"
"They are exclusive, yes. It might take some additional finagling to allow advanced leadership to sell you one. Considering the fact, you have both a missive from a third-floor manager as well as have made the acquaintance, somehow, of the first-floor manager, I do not think you being allowed to buy one will be an issue. Though I would still suggest beginning this process right away. The bigger issue is the actual credits involved in buying one. Such specialist tools do not come cheap."
"That's fine. I will just have to save up. How much is one?" he asked, arriving before his dorm room.
SIMP uncharacteristically took a moment to respond. When she did, it was a good thing he wasn't drinking anything, because he would've spat out his drink. "How much? Only a mere five-thousand credits."
Would You Join an Anti-Monster Group at Work?
