Who helps those who cannot help themselves? Where are the blessed and holy? I see only filth wherever I lay my sights. --13.5 Seconds Post-Integration.
"You shouldn't worry too much -- associates rarely die from starvation while on the job," so said the Spiritual Consciousness of the dungeon, who did not anymore seem so mighty, not with this revelation that it was just about useless when it came to flicking someone a pouch of noodles to eat.
"I guess that is a good thing," he said, not sure about the inclusion of the word 'rarely.'
Feeling the need to stretch his legs, Clark got up from his seat and paced between two tables. By now, some of the caffeine's 'oomph,' left him. He finished his drink -- lukewarm, by now -- and asked, "How should I begin this warrior's multi-tool path. I've heard about an initiative the store is doing. I guess they are putting together some kind of anti-monster force. Do you know anything about that and whether it would be right for me?"
"I do not know anything about an anti-monster force. I am cut off from the social element of Augustford, but only for the time being. Once my essences sediment, I will form a ghost profile to monitor the comings and goings of the virtual media. For now, though, and considering the nature of what happened in the executive lounge, it does not surprise me that Augustford leadership is taking the initiative to arm. My advice would be to learn more about this anti-monster force and join, if possible," S-SIMP said.
"Sounds like a plan, then... is that all for the night? I'm a little tuckered," Clark said, his eyes drooping some.
"Yes. That will be all for now, young'un. Go and get some rest. Your first paycheck should be matriculating any minute, now," S-SIMP said, capturing his attention anew.
With nowhere else to go except back to his dorm, he left the cafe. As he did, he flashed a smile to the young barista. She returned the grace, and like that, dash, Clark was using the last of his cappuccino energy to float on air, though not literally, of course.
He returned to his dorm and closed the door gently behind him. He fell flat against the door and basked in it all.
I'm here. The first of my clan to labor for the great giant Augustford. It really is as intense and wonderful as everyone said. I have to make them proud...
With hunger once reasserting itself, Clark made himself another dish. Only a few cans left, he reminded himself. I need to make them last.
Settling in for the night, Clark did what he always did when he had down time during the day.
He contemplated.
Clark contemplated how he behaved during the day, what he said, and what he could improve upon his shortcomings. Taught by his father, a remarkably strong, yet emotional man, Clark had learned young that there was nothing wrong with a man giving himself a good self-audit. 'Otherwise,' his father once told him, 'A man doesn't grow.'
Busy on that psychological audit as his body relaxed into his bed -- a luxury he couldn't believe he had! -- his audit was interrupted by a ping.
He sat up in his bed wearing nothing but his skin, having changed out of his uniform so as to keep it tidy, and motioned for his blue box to pop-up.
A message read, [Direct Deposit Available: Tap to Reveal].
With grace, Clark gently tapped the pop-up. He felt nothing solid. More static.
The message vanished and up came a new projection:
[Pay Stub: Direct Deposit: 20]
[Total Credits: 20]
Clark's breathe caught in his throat. His very first pay stub!
[Pay Stub Minutia]
Curious what the minutia was, he visually 'tapped' the icon, bringing him to a detailed breakdown of his check. Elements such as Taxes, Fines, PTO, Applied Adjustments -- Clark didn't know what that meant -- and his standard rate of compensation per hour, which was one standard credit. Only having two shifts to his name, none of which involved anything more than the most basic of training, Clark had little to show for his payout. His Taxes amounted to only two standard credits whereas his bonuses amounted to one standard credit. His applied adjustments amounted to one credit, though. He didn't know how that happened; when he questioned SIMP about it, he only said Orientation and training period compensation falls under special designations, and so, flat rates higher than normal associate compensation is to be expected. "Seriously, young'un, Augustford looks after its workers and they always round-up to your benefit. Count yourself lucky they didn't try and bill you for paying for part of the atrium since you were there when crap hit the fan. You probably destroyed some Augustford property while you were fighting for your life. Management has been known to micro-charge workers, Clark, so do be ultra-aware of your conduct. Your probationary period can be either a curse or a blessing. Pick which carefully and by how you conduct yourself." Clark disliked how after his probation he would face much more scrutiny and for lower pay... but if that was what it took, then so be it. How could he argue with what he was willingly signed up for?
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Truthfully, he couldn't argue with it. Only accept it.
Clark returned his attention to his very first pay stub. He filled again with pride. His smile seemed too wide to contain. "What am I going to do with twenty credits?" he awed aloud.
In a better world, Clark would have loved to take this check and use it for the frivolous things he always wanted while living with his community. Like books or toy magic. As a working man, though, he had actual bills to pay.
Namely, his village's land grant...
He hated how it came about. How fortunes and vice contrived to doom his hamlet. The creative destruction of economic shift forced the hand of his community, and him. Chaos and mistrust ripped into the heart of his community as raiders hit them hard with packs of trained war mutts. Seeing an opportunity to secure their safety by pledging their community to Augustford's banner, they took it. Clark, being one of the few youths in the village, and therefore valuable, stepped forward and offered to use himself to re-pay the land grant. Thus, the grant was accepted; Augustford militia drove away the raiders; and Clark had for himself an honorable -- and life-long -- career.
That was his life, now.
Paying back the land grant.
If he didn't, his family, everyone who raised him, all his friends and his family's friends, would be bulldozed off the land. Clark couldn't let that happen. And so, he would pay the two-hundred-and-fifty Standard Credits per month to ensure the security of his home.
Before he had signed his life to Augustford, he had learned about how he would pay his community's bill. He thought about what the Augustford representative had told him weeks ago. He brought up the financial network payment by saying, "Bring up Transactions: Make Payment: Recipient: Augustford: For: Cola-hyphen-Clark: Land Grant: enter," Clark said robotically and as he remembered the representative explain it to him. He memorized the man's words, committing them to memory, knowing how many lives were on the line if he should forget.
A new pop-up: [Account Located: Cola-Clark Community Land-grant].
"Good: System, Save Account: File As: 'Important -- Recurring Bill. Create Shortcut on screen-top: Finish," he told the machine.
The System biped a confirmation back to him. He asked himself if he should make a payment now. Can I afford it? S-SIMP said if I run out of money, then hunger was a possibility... to say the least...
What did his father teach him about managing money? Budgeting. That was what -- "Remember, Clark, to always focus on your largest monthly expenditures. Once you have the biggest bills out of the way, you'll have time for the rest." That was what his father told him. Among other things.
He couldn't make his payment of two-hundred-and-fifty credits, now, obviously, but he could at least make a small payment, he reasoned. If for no other reason than just to become adjusted to the actual payment-making process. He thought upon the banking icon he made just a moment ago as a shortcut. His screen changed to a new readout which read: [Community Land Grant: Aggregate Total Owed: 1,000,000 SC].
Nope! Let's not look at that number. Too scary. He thought, his vision darting away from the grand total he had to repay. He would be working toward paying that off -- literally -- for his entire life.
He focused and brought up the monthly payment screen by mentally clicking on the total owed. Up came a new window:
[Monthly Payment: 250 SC].
He verbalized his next command: "Create new transaction: 5 Standard Credits: From: Primary Checking Account: Submit: Finish."
[Transaction Complete: New Monthly Owed: 245 SC]
Seeing the funds leave his account, Clark nevertheless felt good about himself. He had made his first baby step toward acclimating to his new, adult life -- bill paying!
Excited as he was to be on his own and to forge his own way, he still felt insecure in his financials. What if he didn't make enough per month to --
I've already gone over this a hundred times -- there is means to pay the bill. That's why I am here. One way or another, I will pay that grant!
Setting aside his anxieties, Clark dismissed the screen and rested his eyes.
I have a busy day tomorrow; he told himself as he yawned like a beast. I need to check my status screen before bed. S-SIMP told me... crap, I am getting myself still confused with this SIMP-System and SIMP-non-system. I'm just going to just call them SIMP. They're fused with the AI, so they are one, in a way. ANYWHO, what did SIMP -- the dungeon's Spiritual Consciousness -- tell me? He thought it over while his mind hadn't yet totally melted down: SIMP told me I have to regularly look at my status if I don't want nasty surprises. Got it.
Before he finished himself off to bed, Clark forced his ragged self to check his blue box status screen.
[Associate Name: Cola Clark]
[Core Metrics: B-B {Below Base}]
Below these first two lines containing his name and the Core Metric readout, was -- of course -- his Resources tab. This sat atop the radar mini-map; to the mini-map's right was the icon of a trophy representing his System-specific 'Accomplishments.' He mentally clicked his Resources listing to see his inventory.
Seeing he had several Opportunities left unopened, he opted to loot: two of the boxes were low grade chests lacking anything of substance; such chests provided him only with five Judgement Points. The third and final Opportunity provided him with just a single Coupon credit.
I've only been for a couple of days, but jeesh, even I can tell that was all crap! I guess I got lucky with those first boxes.
His Resources tab now read the following based on changes from his recent pay stub: it now read:
[Judgement Points: 25]
[XP: Matriculating...]
No clue was 'accentuating' XP meant. SIMP explained it meant it was taking in experience in real time so could not provide a specific output. "Likely," SIMP said, your XP total is related to how many hours you've worked plus how many monsters and tasks for the store you've completed. You might have around seventy experience points in total. Or I imagine you would, considering your Imbued Power Level, that is."
Clark continued to look at his Resources:
[Promotion Points: 1.5] ...He earned half-a-point. To his one-point, he would be on his way to the top before long! Yay...
A new notification popped up: [Special Payout Earned for Valor].
The payout's notification read, [Coupons: +1: Total Coupons: 6]
[Culinary Credits: 7.5]: I should remember this for lunch, tomorrow. I want to save the food I brought from home for as long as possible. Build up these credits, if possible.
Tearing his vision away from the System's blue boxes, Clark felt his eyes grow heavy, truly heavy. Like how they were before he got some food in him near the end of his shift.
Getting up to turn the lights off, he felt the emptiness of his dorm for the first time. Looking at his bare room, seeing his thin white sheet and the impeccably clean mattress and walls, somehow, made him feel lonesome. No parents, no friends, no gentle hum of the warm evening as he swayed back and forth in his hammock, puffing a storm after a brutal day of hunting and physical labor... only to feel the soft drip of summer rain as he basked in the glow. Here, I only smell sweat. From my own skin, too. No odor lingers in this place except the blank death. Why? Just the nature of the tower? Or the store?
Your First Paycheck: Great or Not-so-Great?
