“But some people live there?”
“In the Stench? Yeah, some people do, if you can call slogging through shit life.”
“Are they goblins or orcs?”
“They have their own nicknames that speak for themselves. We call the people that live in the Stench shit-guzzlers. But if you meet one, you should know they call themselves the bogmen. Call one a shit-guzzler and you’ll find yourself in a fight. They’re skilled fighters and love a good brawl.”
“Okay, bogmen. Why bogmen? Well, I could guess, but…”
“Every veteran here knows why. The Stench was one of six sewer nodes around Drainagetown — they surround the upper district like the petals of a shitty flower. It’s a twisted mess, hundreds of intertwined pipes, all full of shit. Literally.”
“Whose shit?”
“Elven shit, of course!” Mads scoffed. “What a silly question. All the shit in the world goes to Drainagetown.”
“Really? All the shit goes there?” I narrowed my eyes.
“Smartass goblin! That’s just a saying. Well, who knows, maybe it really does. Anyway, all the drains go to Murkwaters and everything’s filtered. The Stench used to play a part in producing stinky filth, until there was a huge accident there about twenty years ago. It was real serious, lots of important equipment broke down. The situation was so bad that Mother decided it wasn’t worth the effort to repair it, and sent goblins and orcs to scrap the remains of the most important tech and abandon the destroyed node.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“I’ve been there once. Just by the entrance — I didn’t go inside. But I saw the giant pipes, smashed in and twisted, the collapsed and blown-out walls, the remains of broken equipment, pumps and stuff. Mother made the right decision — there was nothing that could be repaired. The pressure was split between the five remaining nodes, but shit still leaks into the ruins of the sixth node, making a kind of shallow swamp. It slowly flows into the gutter that leads to lower Drainagetown. That’s how the Stench came to be. I’m pretty sure that’s where they fatten the worms up before they butcher them. That one time, when I was standing at the entrance, covering my squad, I thought I heard weak, distant screams coming from the depths. Three years ago, a unit of fighters found a fat, badly-wounded worm swimming down the gutter and dragged him out. He died in their arms, leaking blood mixed with shit. He didn’t say a word, either — his tongue had been cut off. And his eyes. And his balls. Hey, there’s my evening’s entertainment! Give up your spot, goblin!”
“Thank you,” I said, sliding off the ledge.
“Stay away from those places. Stick to the Outskirts. It’s much safer here — trust me.”
“I trust you. What about the Stagnant Cesspool?”
“Don’t even mention the name. It’s a rotten place.”
“Got it. Thanks again, Mads.”
“No problem. We were all new once. Don’t forget to check your job list all the time — the system doesn’t automatically warn cadets about extra jobs.”
I ceded my spot to a broad-shouldered, beefy man a little older than me who was smiling at Mads, and went back to my team. I didn’t look back — what other people didn’t in their spare time was none of my business.
My party was in the heat of Battleship, sipping their lemonade and swearing at some sneaky submarine. The other patrons of the Jolly Plux were staring at the screen, enjoying their roasted meat.
Pork…
For fuck’s sake…
I had a good imagination, and only my self-control prevented it from running wild. But this time I let it run wild. And it painted a vivid, disgusting picture.
I saw, like I was there, a skinny stump of a worm cowering in a corner. Sinister shadows fell over him, and skilled hands gagged him and knocked him out with a punch to the head. They grabbed the motionless body and dragged it down a death path. Switching paths, staying out of the system’s sights, they carried him all the way to the Stench. Sloshing through the fetid muck, they dragged their victim further and further into the depths of the abandoned node. There, away from the eyes of the system and the goblin and orc workers, they tore off his clothes, pried open his mouth, and cut out his tongue, definitively transforming him from sentient being to cattle. They gouged out his eyes, one after another, then cut off his balls. Why? To lower his hormone levels and make him flaccid, docile, and fat?
Then the bloodied worm was thrown into a pen or a cage with a bowl of feed, and I doubted it was anything good. If the worm refused to eat it willingly, they’d force feed him. He would swallow the food, one way or another. Eventually, the time comes when the worm loses his will to live and his fear of dying — just stares blankly with his empty eye sockets into the endless darkness and eats whatever they give him.
Then the inevitable moment — it’s time to butcher the fattened pig. They poke his ribs and buttocks, now swollen with fat, nodding approvingly, then pinch the thighs and pull at the rolls of fat on his back. Then the butcher slowly takes out a sharp knife and slashes the indifferent worm’s throat. They don’t hit the heart because that makes it hard to drain the blood afterwards. It’s much easier to slash open the carotid artery. Or, even better, to stick a butcher’s hook into the doomed worm’s lower body and hang him upside down. That way they can collect the blood in a bucket. The best cuts are sold, and the pig keepers get the rest. The offal is thoroughly boiled, shit and all, and the resulting mash is used to feed the other worms that aren’t fat enough yet…
A dark feeling started to grow deep inside of me.
My conviction strengthened — this place was wrong, this world was all wrong. Things shouldn’t be like this. If only I knew why I felt that way.
I sipped my lemonade and growled approvingly. It was good. I doubted it was really made from actual fruit, but it was tasty, even sweet.
I had to check my interface…
Status.
Physical Condition.
Finances.
Jobs.
Well, would you look at that. I mentally thanked Mads.
Job: Patrol.
Important additional details: Reach the destination before 20:00. Be ready to replace the previous patrol after the double signal.
Description: Patrol main hallway 29, sectors 20 — 40. Destroy any plunar xarls on sight. If a system target is received, eliminate the indicated target.
Job location: Main hallway 29, sectors 20 — 40.
Deadline: 22:00. Cede area to next patrol after the double signal.
Compensation: 45 sol.
Current time: 18:38.
A timer was counting down under the job text. 04:13… 04:12…
I had less than five minutes to make a decision. The countdown was understandable — the system was trying to ensure main hall 29 was constantly patrolled in two-hour shifts.
The reward was fantastic. Fifteen sol each for two hours of easy work. The only things that bothered me were the clear danger of running into a pack of hungry pluxes and the mention of a system target. I wasn’t totally sure I should sign up for this one. However, there were no other options and I had less than three minutes left. I could make the decision on my own, but I had to consider my partners’ condition.
I finished my lemonade, put down the cup, and turned to my team. They were both smiling happily — Bask the Zombie had ended the game challenge with a decisive victory.
“We sank ‘em all, Elb!” Yorka raised her clenched fists. “Sent them to sleep with the pluxes!”