I see now the dominion before me. Its petty lordships and communes. It is more complex than I imagined... --28.7 Seconds Post-Integration.
'What a simple paycheck,' Clark lamented.
Before he headed out for his shift, he checked a System notification he missed. It was the one informing him of his paycheck's deposit. 'Only eleven credits. How much gets taken out by taxes?'
His new bank account total was one-hundred-and-fifty-one standard credits. Which wasn't bad. But it wasn't too good, either.
Clark glanced at the time. He had to leave for his shift. He walked down the dorm hallway. It was a pretty sight, seeing how all of his dormmates had invested in and decorated their habitations. He wondered what income they pulled down for them to be able to afford such superficial extravagances. His, meanwhile, was as plain as the day he moved in... 'No matter. In time, I will have the funds to make my place a home.'
He returned to the tenth floor connecting zone. He crossed through the archway and entered the zone proper. He gained experience and -- whoosh -- gained a level up.
[You've Reached Imbued Level 13!]
"Nice! But it's time to work! And no pay raise? I guess not with every level, but still... for a moment it looked like I was gunning a pay bump per level."
Entering the store block his pathway brought him, his time in the block was uneventful. A system notification informed him of [Modernizing] his HUD, so his Core Metric bar readout had changed from the number five to the number one. Everything about the bar remained funcitoning as normal. He gained or lost points in accordince to his work ethic. Throughout his shift, Clark was notified of the need to render assistance several times, firstly, in Produce, then in the Entertainment departments, but both instances were over quickly and took up only enough of his time to be a nice change of pace.
Hours went by. He walked, toggled his device into various checkpoints, and gained experience. He took some breaks, continued his climb, and managed to keep his Core Metric readout within an acceptable condition. Progress in his climbing took him to the thirteenth floor. About to head into the store block, he was stopped by his growling stomach, and by SIMP's sharp words.
"Clark! Apologies for interrupting your labors, but I have news. I found someone on social media willing to answer some questions. You have a lunch break coming up. Take it now and head to a cafe on the floor below," SIMP instructed.
"Will do," Clark said, not fancying walking down a whole flight of stairs to chat with someone.
Doing that -- walking down a whole flight of stairs to talk to someone and this time without pay since he was on his lunch -- he spent his remaining stamina reserves on finding the cafe SIMP recommended in time. Not an easy feat with so many shops jampacked in the connecting zone.
Aroma Moe's was the name of the place. Inside was dark, reeked of cheap coffee, which Clark recognized because his family had grown and sold high-quality coffee beans.
SIMP spoke softly in his ear. "There he is the man with the purple hat."
Clark found the man easily and went over to his table. "Excuse me, sir? My name is Clark. Cola Clark. I believe you spoke with an associate of mine regarding your ability to answer a few questions for a new Lifer?"
The man looked jovial. Large, bushy bearded, but with a firm demeanor to boot, the man clearly had been with the company for a long time. "Ah, boy, sit down! I am having my afternoon libation. Sit and chat with me for a bit."
Clark sat down. "Thank you for meeting with me. Lots about the job I don't understand, despite the many tutorials they've thrown my way."
"Ah! That's the nature of the store. Fill your head with every bit of gibberish under the sun any intelligent idiot can fathom but leave out all the most important bits. I almost ran off and quit the first month when I first joined just because of the heaps of crap they didn't, and at times, refused to tell me..." the man took another drink from his ale flagon. "That's neither here nor there. What do you want to learn?"
"Uh, blockages, I guess," Clark said, taken aback by the man's less-than-respectful tone for the company which employed them both. "I was walking along the Line, then construction work slowed me down. Had to wait hours for the AI to build me a new path. It sucked."
"Ugh! Construction. That's always a given in the tower. Just when you think you've rid yourself of it -- WHAM!" the man emphasized by slamming a fist on the table. "You run into pipe repair, floor repair, heck, one time, I had to stop because they were replacing a lightbulb, if you can believe it!"
A lightbulb? 'Must've been some light...'
"What can I do? I heard from a friend that I had to learn 'the lay of the land.' What does that mean, though."
"Ah, yes. That's the term. Lay of the land. Boy. You look fit. Before you signed up for Augustford you must've been a survivalist, right?"
"Yes, sir. I came from the Wastes."
"Ha! Like me! I came from the Wastes, too. I figured as much from your dark skin. Most of these tower folk are so pale, I doubt they remember their roots. They spend too long cooped up in chambers and retail lanes. Why, I bet--" the man then launched into a long-winded screed on what he saw as the differences between the so-called 'civilized' folk of the tower and those who, like he and Clark, made their living outside the constrained economics of Augustford. Thought Clark thought it was nice to see a man so enthused on life outside of the tower and the company, he kept nervously glancing at the clock.
"Anyways... err, what was I talking about?" the man asked.
"The lay of the land?" Clark ventured.
"Oh, yes -- of course!" the man took another drink. For his sake, Clark needed to end this conversation before the man's inebriation became an issue. "So, lay-of-the-land. It is like how it is in hunting. If you're tracking a deer, what do you do if it tramples across a patch of ground difficult to navigate?"
"Simple. Tread carefully. That or find a clean-cut path nearby."
"And there's the rub! Same for the store, essentially. Now, in the store, it is not so easy because it is so big and if you want to earn that paycheck, the store is not going to let you go off of their precious Line-trail. So, you need to stay close to their original route. What do you do, then? Find markings. Except, instead of animal poop, you're looking for meta-data."
"Meta-data?" Clark asked, thoroughly confused.
The man took another large sip from his beer and demanded another from the barista. He didn't notice the scent of alcohol when he first walked in, but now he did, and it almost overwhelmed his nose. He glanced at the clock again.
Hiccupping, the man still managed to answer in a somewhat coherent way. "Eye! Aye? Meta-data. Nothing fancy you have to do. Tell your AI to search for 'line meta-data' and for it to keep the settings. Then, all you have to do is explore the store block... then... uh..."
Clark waited for the man. By now, he was more than tipsy, and he hoped the man was not wasting his time. His lunch would be over in minutes, and he still had to clock back in, not to mention, return to the floor above.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Then the man remembered. "Oh, with the settings established," he said, more to himself than to Clark. "All you have to do is explore and OH, plug your toggle into anything with a System Link toggle, switch, or connectivity port. When you insert your System Link, you have to tell your AI to search for the meta-data, so it knows it is looking for an alternate route. Otherwise, don't worry about it. Once you compile enough data from enough System jacks, it can compile an alternate route."
"It's like tracking? If am fanning out from my 'prey,' in this case, the path-line, and anticipating where it is heading through the way of its tracks, or 'meta-data,' as you described it, then I need to be wary of every possible location it could be hiding in. Something like that?" Clark asked, feeling confident as he kept to the hunting analogy.
"You bet your britches, boy! Another round, lass!"
Clark had to run his way back through the twelfth floor. Running wouldn't prevent him from being late -- he already was -- but returning as quick as he would minimize further loses. His Core Metric Bar already was in the negative by a decent amount, a full point-twenty-five, and so he had to do something to gauze his data-based wounds.
"Oh! You got to be kidding me!" he cursed while waiting for the elevator. The transport tubes wouldn't take him to 'only' a floor above, apparently, that was not how the transport tubes on the lower levels worked; a lesson he learned the hard way after waiting for one for several minutes too long until a co-worker came and set him straight.
When he arrived on the thirteenth floor no part of him was untouched by sweat. He was so out-of-breath, he thought it surprising when he didn't faint. But he swiped his System Link toggle into the proper checkpoint and all seemed well -- at least, his Metrics Bar stopped its slow but unrelenting downward dip. [0.70] was where it ended. 'A full thirty points lost! How am I going to recoup this?!' But he knew the answer -- through hard work.
Clocked back in, negative in his Metrics Bar, and with no Hera this time to bail him out, he resumed walking along the path-line. He kept his eyes glued to the Matrics Bar, talking to it. "That's right, go up, you pathetic--" Clark said as soon as his Metrics went slightly, cursing at it, as if that would advance it quicker.
Eager to return to work but exhausted from the run between floors, Clark's pace was a hovel. Although the departmental stations did not demand of him to perform labor at one of the actual departments in the store block, several customers did ask him for help. Several, upon a closer inspection of him, revoked their calls for aid once they witnessed him drenched in sweat. "Young man!" a stingy woman remarked. "You need to take better care of yourself! I expect better from Augustford employees!"
Almost snapping at the woman, Clark instead kept his retort. "Thank you, ma'am. I will do so from now on. I appreciate your feedback."
He clocked in to several more departmental stations. None of them demanded of him labor.
"At this rate," he muttered to himself while walking the path-line, "I won't have anything to show for the day! I'm still twenty-points Below Base! I need something, anything!"
Then, his shift ended.
He wanted to continue and work some overtime. Yet he couldn't... not with his uniform being awful and dirty and his actual body no better.
He clocked out and returned to his dorm to shower and wash his uniform in the wash basin built-in to his dorm's kitchen area. By the end of the shower, a modest meal, and washing his garb, a notification came in from the System: [Paycheck Imminent: Core Metrics detected as Below Base. Would you like to use Judgement Points to reinforce Core Metrics?].
"Oh, yeah. That's what Judgement Points are used for, yeah, to reinforce bad Metrics," Clark mentally reviewed. "How could I forget?' As he considered, he realized he did not know what the conversation rate was, so he asked, and found the conversation rate less than idea -- one Judgement Point would net him a tiny fraction of a Metric Point; "And here I was thinking I had a lot of Judgement Points... crap."
Clark looked at how his Judgement Points total: sixty-five points. If he converted all of his points, he would only be able to reinforce his Metrics Bar by about seven or eight points total. Considering he was down by twenty, was it worth it? "Then again, is it not worth it? These points are meant to be spent in a scenario just like this... I literally can't do anything else with them, so, why not?"
He made a decision. "System: use all accumulated Judgement Points to reinforce Core Metrics, please."
"Understood," the System told him in kind.
A moment later, his new Core Metric total appeared: [0.73].
'And just like that,' Clark muttered to himself. 'I have no more Judgement Points.'
Hitting harder was when his paycheck came a moment later: [Direct Deposit Now Available]. He waved the notification open to reveal a big, fat zero.
"W-what is this?" he asked no one. "SIMP! Where is my paycheck?" Clark's voice was breaking. Where was his pay? His whole body filled with tension, fear. He couldn't have been fired, right?!
"Clark. When your Core Metrics fall beneath what Augustford considers the minimum productivity standard, your wages are garnished. They consider this garnishing as 'fines.' Until you bring your Metrics up again into neutral territory, your wages will be fed toward your lagging Metrics."
He heard SIMP's explanation but couldn't believe it. His entire check, though?!
'That means," he thought. 'If I fall Below Base too many times, I won't even have the funds to buy myself food or make the land grant payment... this isn't good...!'
Panic threatened to overwhelm. Then anger, which eventually settled into a smoldering resentment. He thought bitterly about the customers earlier who dinged him for being a little sweaty: 'If those freaking people didn't turn their noses up at a little sweat, I would at least have something in my check -- but no! They just had to open their fecking mouths!'
For a while, Clark paced back and forth in his dorm, thinking of nothing better to do than ruminate on his ill-luck. 'Of course, isn't it my fault for going to meet that Lifer? I didn't have to overtake my lunch break like that... of course, it wasn't my fault the man was drunk and going on and on about nonsense!' And so, Clark went, arguing with himself until he was exhausted and so tired he had no other recourse than to sleep.
He woke up immensely refreshed.
'The paycheck fiasco is behind me. Now, I need to work...'
While on his way up to floor thirteen, he reviewed what he learned about the 'lay of the land.' The meta-data stuff seemed easy... which was the key word, seemed. Augustford made things harder in practice than it initially appeared on the surface. Though he willed that this meta-data search would be simple the next time he encountered a construction or maintenance block, he wouldn't count his blessings until the advice he received, and suffered for, gained him benefits in practice.
Back on the job, Clark worked with a fury. He tore through the checkpoints on the thirteenth floor and barrowed through the fourteenth floor's checkpoints. By the time lunch came around, he had climbed till the start of floor sixteen.
[You've Gained Experience!]
[You've Gained Experience!]
He heard again and again.
Another sound he heard repeatedly was customers calling him to help. "Can you grab that bag of cat food for me?" "Youthful sire, please, heave my bags for me out to the curbside parking!" and his 'favorite:' "Could you tell me where [some niche product] is?" The niche products were the easiest requests to fulfill but also the most unpredictable. Although the System AI told him where something was instantly, what was also instant was the customer's reaction when they either didn't carry said item or were sold out of said item. People wither smiled and said, 'that's fine, have a good day!' or they cussed him out.
Did he care? Not really. Grinning and bearing their verbal tirades earned him performance points, so this time around, he was happy for the uppity customers screaming like infants.
When Clark clocked out for lunch, his Core Metrics Bar read, [0.95].
'Almost there. Here's hoping some jerk-off doesn't demand the impossible causing me to snap at them or thinks there's a bit too much sweat on my brow!'
[Congratulations! You've reached Imbued Level 14!]
[Your Rate of compensation has increased: 1.4]
'BOOM YUH!' Clark punched happily into the air to celebrate his pay bump. 'A tiny bit more for my desperately depleted check.'
When he clocked back in from lunch and entered the store block, refreshed now that his core metric was nearly back to At Base, he received a notification which filled his step with some bop: [Distance Reward Gained: 25 Miles Traversed; You've Gained FIVE Opportunities!].
'A distance reward?' And more to the point, five Opportunity loot chests? Heck yeah!
[Checkpoint Reward Gained: At least 50 Checkpoints Certified: FIVE Opportunities Added to Inventory]
'And now this? More heck yeah! Why wasn't I getting these earlier?'
A brief look at his inventory confirmed the deposit of the Opportunities. He loved the idea of being rewarded for the simple act of doing his job and wanted more. A lot more.
"Excuse me, young man?" a customer's voice called out, igniting in him a happiness.
"Yes? How can I help you?"
The customer wanted him to summon a manager so as to complain to them about something petty. But the customer was so thrilled, the System rewarded him with a three-credit Store Coupon [+3] as well as another Opportunity.
And then...
[Customer Help Goal Met: 25: Reward: FIVE Opportunities; Reward: FIVE Promotion Points]
'Holy crap... five whole promotion points?! The Opportunities are hit or miss but the promotion points are serious business. Wow... maybe SIMP is right? Maybe things will be alright. If I keep up this pace, I will be making bank before long!'
Work... work... work...
The hours passed and with levity in each step. He felt like he did back when he first signed on to the Lifer career. Like, his future was bright, and ready to be earned.
As it always did, his shift ended after a long labor. Feeling ready to tackle some overtime, he worked a bit longer, hoping to gain some additional rewards. Though the only reward he did gain was, at long last, the dip of his Core Metrics back into At Base territory.
Thinking on his schedule, he had the next day off...
'What on earth am I going to do with a whole day off?' he mused. 'Guess I'll find out.'
Would You Work at a Place which Fined Your Paycheck?
