It’s an unwritten rule when you work the Penny Mines to sew your pockets up tight, or better yet, don’t wear any clothing that has pockets. That’s the safest option. That’s the best way to stay above suspicion and to avoid the slightest accusation of thievery. Because if there’s one thing the Tongsly Belch Corporation does not abide, it’s thievery.

  Of course, the definition of thievery when you’re working for the Company is remarkably broad. Take too long eating your one allotted meal and you’re ‘thieving Company time.’ Use too much toilet paper and you’re ‘stealing Company resources.’ Every ounce of material and time is allotted, and to go beyond your allotment by even a hair’s breadth is to court disaster.

  Cragmire Gaul—or Craig as he would later style himself—was well aware of the unwritten rules and stipulations that governed life in the New Artemis Penny Mine. He was a fifth-generation miner, born into a ‘red family’ whose debts grew year on year no matter how hard he and his brother worked, no matter how long his aging mother and father continued to ply their crafts.

  Chief among the rules was to avoid pockets. Next was to stick to the schedule no matter what. The Company had cameras and surveillance equipment everywhere. Each portion of food was weighed, each second measured, and every speck of gold accounted for. Running behind or slouching on the details simply wasn’t an option. Even a red family could be worse off than it already was, and there were worse places to work than the Penny Mines.

  Perhaps the fourth or fifth rule in the unwritten canon was not to speak with strange little bastards dressed in white robes and trying to hand out ‘literature’ in a way that positively screamed cult. Perhaps it was a little lower down the list, but Craig knew with certainty that it was definitely one of the rules; a rule that he was currently breaking.

  He couldn’t say why he’d chosen to speak with the figure who called himself Grelic Strom, nor why he’d accepted the crumpled pamphlet the figure had proffered. Perhaps it was simply curiosity, the mind-numbing boredom that typified his life, or the seed of chaos that he knew dwelled within his heart, buried somewhere deep, but something had driven him to speak with the robed figure and hear what he had to say.

  As he listened to Grelic speak, Craig recognized the chaotic spirit his father had condemned so regularly. It was that tiny part of Craig’s mind that whispered forbidden thoughts, goading him to break with tradition, to hang the rules and burn it all down. He managed to keep that voice quiet for the most part, but not today. Today, he had just wasted twenty seconds of Company time and wasn’t looking like he was going to stop any time soon.

  “You can stop looking at your chrono, Cragmire,” the other goblin said with a grin. He tapped the small coin symbol on his right breast. “We’re on System business. Part of the official Dominion Ultrimax recruitment drive, so you won’t be penalized for speaking with me.”

  Craig nodded, though he doubted the other figure’s words. He might not be punished immediately, but Craig knew that every second he wasted with this robed buffoon would eventually come back to bite him in the ass. The problem was, on this day, at this time, he simply didn’t care, and he wasn’t completely sure why.

  “The chance to be a part of the great game!” the other figure continued. “To explore the Dominion Ultrimax Contest in all its glory and witness firsthand the wondrous exploits of our kin. Doesn’t that sound great?”

  Craig turned the pamphlet over in his hand. It was filled with what seemed like thoroughly incendiary propaganda that urged followers of this Path to actively work against the Mammon System and the Dominion more broadly.

  “You could pay off your family debts in one season,” Grelic went on. “Think of that. All those debts erased, your family suddenly able to pull itself out of ignobility and rise to the rank of common citizens within the Dominion.”

  Craig shook his head. “I don’t get it. I thought you guys all came out of the contest itself. Like, you were all disgruntled NPCs that banded together.”

  “That’s the official story, yes, but the truth is we actively recruit to fill positions within the Path.”

  “Why?” Craig said, eyes narrowing. “Is it because you keep getting killed?”

  The other goblin waved away the comment. “Not killed. Retired. In one season, it is possible to clear away one’s debts, as I have said. This being the case, most followers of the Path only join for a single season. After that, they return to their former lives, victorious and able to reach heights they never dreamed of.

  “Money? That’s your pitch? I thought the whole point of the Path was to do away with all that stuff.” Craig read one of the earlier paragraphs from the pamphlet he was holding.

  “‘Lay down your gold, cast off your trinkets, and free your soul! The Dominion enslaves with shiny chains, but we walk barefoot toward true victory. Join us, and together we will triumph without coin, without corruption, without compromise.’”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Grelic nodded, wearing a broad smile. “Truer words have never been spoken. And if you follow that advice, you can pay off all your family debts and even make some coin before returning as a hero to your kin.”

  Craig looked over at the other goblin, waiting to see if he would fathom the absurd contradiction in his own statement without Craig having to explicitly point it out. He waited for a few precious seconds but realized that he was going to have to press the matter himself. There was also the underlying panic he was beginning to feel, given the amount of time he’d now wasted with the recruiter.

  “You Path people are all about standing against the Dominion and casting off money, but the primary benefit in your pitch is cash? Doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Oh, I see,” Grelic replied with a nod. “It’s not real, you know. This Path business. I mean, you’re right, it did originally emerge spontaneously from the game many seasons ago. The System originally thought to simply stamp it out but soon found that having members of the Path actively work against it within the contest added a certain level of tension to the game narrative which was quite profitable. So, in the years following that first emergence of the Path, the System set about recruiting new members for each subsequent season.”

  Craig nodded. “Because every member of the Path died, right? The first time around?”

  For a brief second, the calm, smiling fa?ade Grelic wore slipped. “No. Where did you hear that?”

  Craig shrugged. “Rumors mostly. I’m right though, aren’t I? The first Path members all got wiped out.”

  Grelic maintained his momentary indignance for a few moments longer before dropping the fa?ade and nodding. He leaned forward, speaking conspiratorially.

  “Of course they got wiped out. They basically tried to stage a revolution against the Mammon System. It was carnage, of course. A bunch of robed morons with pitchforks and toothpicks taking on the might of the System. It basically turned the contestants against those first followers of the Path. All it took was a single message. A five hundred Belch Buck reward for every kill. They were wiped out within a week.”

  His eyes lit up again. “But ratings skyrocketed, and the System soon realized that the citizens of the Dominion liked having an underdog like that in the fight. Even one that was never going to actually win. Especially because of that fact. The truth is that those first Path followers were living out a fantasy that many citizens of the Dominion have longed to fulfill. Fighting against a corrupt System that values money above all else. The story basically writes itself.”

  Craig considered the other goblin’s words, thinking through the implications of what he was hearing.

  “So, the Path is just another part of the game then. They’re not real. And, if I join, I don’t really have to believe any of this shit?”

  “You just need to play the part, friend. We’re all actors, NPCs within the Dominion Ultrimax Contest who provide a counterpoint to the dominant narrative. Our job is to stir things up, to give voice to the complaints and dissatisfaction of Dominion citizens and to confuse and unsettle players where we can. You join for a season, play your part, and then, once you’re done, you can come back to this place as a hero!”

  “Or in a wooden box,” Craig suggested. “How many Path members end up dead each year?”

  Grelic spread his hands out to the sides. “Some do die, it’s true, but far less than you would think. We’re protected, at least in the initial stages of the contest. The System actually wants us there, so unless it’s more profitable for us to die, we tend to be left alone. From time to time, the System will actively protect Path members from harm, translocating us out of harm’s way so that we can continue our work.”

  It all sounded too good, and Craig had long ago learned to be distrustful of anything that seemed to have no downside. Life as a Dominion penny miner provided a brutal and thoroughgoing education in pessimism, and Craig had learned well over the years.

  “The numbers are far lower than you see in the feeds, trust me. That’s all for show. The actual chances of dying in the contest are lower than the chances of dying here in the mines. If you stay alert and follow the directives of the Path, you’ll be fine.”

  He motioned to the surrounding rock, glistening with thin veins of gold.

  “Or you could waste your life here and die young, unremembered, and accomplishing nothing other than digging your family a little further into debt.”

  Craig looked down at the pamphlet and caught sight of his chrono. Three minutes! That’s how long he’d been talking to the recruiter. If the Company chose to dock him for the lost time, it would take a year or more just to earn back what had been ‘stolen’. A year of overtime. That’s most likely what waited for him if he sent the recruiter away and continued working in the mines as usual.

  Take a chance! Why not? There’s nothing for you here but misery and suffering. You’re the fifth son of a red house. You’ve got no hope of advancement, let alone acquiring profit. You’ll never find a suitable mate, and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your short life chipping away at rock, farming gold for the Company while never acquiring gold yourself.

  Of all the elements his inner mind had thrown up just then, it was the thought of never being paired with a suitable mate that stung the most. He was in the height of goblin manhood, yet he lived his life surrounded by other male miners, and with no money and a red house, he’d have no hope of finding a mate any time soon.

  Craig longed for the touch of feminine hands, for the pleasures that the female sex promised. He had seen them, of course. Distantly, on several occasions, he had seen women being led to the breeding camps, and that fleeting glimpse was enough to send his innards fizzing. He wasn’t alone in that regard, of course. The Penny Mines were worked exclusively by male goblins, and thus he spent the majority of his life around other males. Even his own mother had been put to service elsewhere in the vast mining world, leaving his father and all the male sons to continue the family business—if it could be called a business.

  As if sensing the desire in Craig’s eyes, Grelic leaned forward, eyes glinting with promise once more.

  “And then there are the orgies!”