Retail sucks, I decided, looking out a smudged window of the great big concrete box that was my workplace. It was the middle of summer, with temperatures outside reaching upwards of a hundred and five degrees. Worse, the air conditioner had broke, and the GM refused to replace it. And to top it all off, I was required to wear khakis and a long-sleeve, sapphire button-down as a uniform.

  The old lady across the register from me was talking my ear off. You know how it is. They get it into their heads that you are at all interested in hearing about how cute their newest twin grandsons are, and how proud they are of their daughters who finally managed to get a husband after twelve years of leading them on.

  I interrupted her, much to her chagrin. “So, you have eight mana-flux capacitors, one energy harness, two initiate quality wands, and a 40 watt lightbulb. Do you need anything else before I check you out? I can hold these here while you go find it.”

  “What? Oh, no dear. That’s everything I need. Those wands are for my grandsons, you see. They are going to be so talented—”

  “Wonderful. That’ll be three silver and fifty eight bronze. Do you need a receipt?”

  The lady sniffed. She had to have noticed the obvious social cues by now. “No, that’s alright. It’s pocket change anyway. Keep the change.”

  She handed me four silver.

  Now, I don’t know about you, but when someone says the equivalent of nearly half a year’s rent is pocket change, it tends to make me look at them as though they are crazy. I make five bronze a day. That means I make almost exactly 15 silver a year.

  Twelve of that goes toward rent, at one silver a month. And the rest of it goes into basic necessities: food, WSG, and electricity. I don’t need a car, as I live close enough to my work to walk.

  The old lady was looking at me funny. Great, I was making that face again. The one that says ‘I may be an idiot, but you’re an even bigger one.’ Just fantastic.

  I wiped my face clean of any negative expressions, slapped a smile on haphazardly, and handed her the cheap plastic bag with her purchases in it.

  “Have a nice day!” I said as cheerfully as I could manage. It sounded fake, as all customer service personnel do at the end of a long shift, but it was the best I got.

  She walked off, shooting me a few looks over her shoulder as she left.

  I stood there smiling until the door closed. As soon as that little bell dinged, though, I slumped. That had been the longest eight minutes of my entire day. Right at the end of my shift, too. Ah well, at least I was done.

  Just then, my manager Gerald took the opportunity to walk up behind me. “Hey Felix, how ya doin?”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  Turning to face him, I sighed. “Better now that I’m done for the day.”

  Gerald looked uncomfortable. And if you’ve ever seen a large(not fat, that’s rude) man look uncomfortable before let me tell you, it’s quite a sight. Those arms that looked like bouncing tubes of Jello clasped behind the back to keep from fidgeting, those unusually large and squishy shoulders slightly tensed, those quivering lips and jowls clenched just ever so tighter. It was all I could do not to laugh.

  “Look, man. I know you’re looking forward to going home, but Jake called in sick today, so he’s not able to make it. I need you to take at least the first few hours of his shift until I can find someone else. Can you do that?”

  Oh, joy.

  Of all the managers that could have asked this, at least it was Gerald. Wendy would have just snapped at me that I wasn’t allowed to go home, making me want to leave just to spite her. But despite how nicely he asked, I knew I couldn’t say no. This was a mandatory assignment.

  “Alright, but I had better be paid extra for tonight.”

  Gerald’s fleshy face brightened considerably. “Thanks, man! I knew I could count on you. We really appreciate your work around here, you know.”

  If only upper management showed that appreciation in more tangible ways than nice comments. The occasional benefit or raise wouldn’t go amiss, especially for all the extra hours I put in for them.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Five hours later, I finally clocked out and went home. It was already dark out, and the flickering street lights did very little to illuminate the sidewalk. I didn’t care, though. I was too tired. Even walking was a chore.

  My apartment was a grungy little thing. The paint was peeling, the doormat was too dirty to be called that anymore, and knocking on the door would give you at least five splinters. The interior was even worse, being made up of whatever furniture I could get my hands on. In other words that meant a mattress complete with a slightly dead pillow and a frayed blanket, a folding chair, and a small table to eat at. But it was home.

  As I walked up to the door, I noticed a small envelope slid halfway into the crack. It was the customary eviction notice telling me that if I didn’t pay the month’s rent within the next three days I would be kicked out on the spot. Great, it was that time again.

  I went inside and fished the newest silver coin from its hiding place behind the sink and slipped it into the envelope before walking five yards to the left and shoving it into the door slot of the leasing office. Relief flooded through me. I had survived another month.

  It was time for my monthly allotment of alcohol: a few rounds of beer at the local bar.

  I chucked the extra bronze piece into my savings jar. I had 26 bronze coins saved up. That was a little over half a year of scrounging, and it would be at least four more until I could afford a ticket to the nearest minor dungeon. Then, all of my problems would be fixed. I would make a living from fighting in the military once I got my level high enough.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  I took a look at my system interface for at least the second time today. There wasn’t anything there, of course, but that was only to be expected. I wasn’t worth more than the three words every civilian had in their interface.

  Enter a Dungeon

  Yep, that was it. That was all. You see, the system only really acknowledged dungeoneers. Which sucked, because I could really have used the extra boost in stats. I got way too tired during the day, and the system would help immensely.

  But, as with a lot of other things, I couldn’t have it. I was too poor. But being poor came with a few benefits as well.

  One, I was never accosted by thieves in the streets as I saw others being on a near daily basis. I couldn’t do anything to help, of course. There was nothing I could do about a gun.

  And two, I wasn’t taxed. Like, at all. In fact, I received money from the hard work of other people in the form of a tax refund. It wasn’t fair to those people who had better paying jobs than me, of course, but I didn’t care. I got free money.

  That money went towards my monthly alcohol excursion and my dungeon ticket.

  The Golden Maid, as the bar was called—named after some medieval custom or other—was still open when I arrived. Of course it was. It didn’t close until three in the morning, and it was only just past midnight.

  I walked in the door and plopped myself down in the first available spot at the counter.

  “Ah, it’s the first of the month again.” That was Gill, the barkeep. He was a nice guy with the build of an Olympic wrestler and the temperament of a gentle breeze. As always, he was polishing a glass that really didn’t need any more polishing. A barkeep’s tactic to make others more comfortable, I had heard once. “Good to see you again, Felix. What can I get for you this time? Whiskey? Rum? I even have a couple nice bourbons I just brought in.”

  “Just beer, please.”

  “Shame.” He said, but started pouring me a mug of it anyways. “You could do so much better than this stuff, if only you would try something new for a change.”

  I took my beer and sipped at it. “Not bad. A bit more bathwater than paint thinner in it this time, but not bad at all.”

  Gill laughed. “That’s what you get for ordering the worst drink I have on tap. Stupid giga-corp and their money cutting schemes ruining the taste of a good product.

  “Ah, excuse me. I have to take care of that guy. He paid a full gold. A full gold. Can you believe it? That could buy a full five casks of the best stuff I got here. And all he wanted in return was enough booze to get him drunk to high heaven. I could do that with a few spoon-fulls of my honeywhiskey. But he wanted rum, so a dozen or so shots ought to do it given the look of him. He’s on his ninth and already lolling over.”

  He bustled off to get yet another shot of rum for the man he gestured to, and I took the opportunity to examine the stranger. He was tall and well-built, with a shock of red hair and the wealthiest looking clothes I had ever seen. I mean, come on, you only need one silken shirt, but this guy was rocking like three of them. It must have been incredibly hot in there. How was he not dying of heat-stroke?

  The man noticed my scrutiny. “What are you looking at?” he said, unusually clearly for the level of drunk he was, then slammed back his tenth shot of the night.

  “Nothing.” I said, turning back to my beer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look me over, brow furrowing hard in concentration as he peered through the drunken film I’m sure was filling his vision.

  “You’re poor.” He decided.

  Brilliant observation, Sherlock. How did you come to that conclusion? Was it the clothes? The longer, greasy hair? The fact that I had a money pouch that didn’t jingle? Absolutely astounding.

  “And?” I asked, defensive. There was no reason to be upset, but I was anyway.

  That newest shot of rum was getting to him. He struggled to understand what I had just said, and to put together a response.

  Finally, he just gave up and awkwardly flicked me a coin. “Get yourself something nice.” Then he turned away and slumped back over his drink.

  I caught the coin and tucked it into my pouch. Then, to Gill, I asked, “Who is that guy? I mean, he doesn’t seem like the bad sort, just the kind who is rather casual about his status. That means he’s either been in the lower echelon for a long time, or he’s at the very top.”

  Gill shrugged. “I don’t rightly know myself.” He said, which was surprising in its own right. Gill knew everyone. He even knew the name of that beggar down by eighth street’s baby daughter. How, I didn’t have a clue. “He’s a new one. Must be from out of town. Didn’t even tell me his name, just flicked me that gold piece and ordered rum.”

  “Well anyways,” I said, placing a coin on the counter, “Top me up, please.”

  Gill looked down and blinked. “Now where did you get that?”

  “This gentleman,” I jabbed a thumb at the drunk guy who I was beginning to suspect was a noble, “Tossed it to me just a min—” I stopped when I looked at the piece on the counter in front of me.

  It was gold.

  I snatched it back up and looked at it closer, then bit it slightly. Yep, it was real gold. And pardon my French but damn, I did not expect that.

  As I thought it over, I grew more and more excited. This was my ticked out of here. Even better, it was the exact price of a ticket to the Great Dungeon, the largest dungeon in the world. I just needed transportation, food, new clothes, and a bit of pocket change. But I didn’t have the money for that.

  Then I thought of the silver piece I had just slipped into the leasing office slot. That would be enough to do all of that and more. I just had to get it back.

  Mind racing, I stood up. “Sorry Gill, I gotta cut this night short. I have things I need to do. Places to be, people to see.” I flicked him another copper piece for his troubles, then rushed out the door and down the street.

  I was a bit nervous that I might be held up by thieves, but I shouldn’t have been. As I said earlier, one of the benefits of being a known poor was you didn’t get robbed. I wasn’t poor anymore, but they didn’t know that. I just looked like I was in a hurry.

  Waving hi to Joe—the local gang leader—as I passed, I reached my apartment without a hitch and went inside. It was pretty bare, as usual, and I scrounged around for the paper-clip I knew I had left lying around somewhere.

  At a nearly feverish pace, I rearranged everything, looking for that elusive piece of metal. It was hiding from me, and I needed it. Where was it? Where was it?

  There, over in the far corner of the room, I found the paper-clip. Finally. I nearly shouted in exultation before remembering the quiet time rule of this complex: no loud noises after 10pm.

  I hustled out of my apartment and over the the leasing office. It was a traditional doorknob lock with no upper bar, so I just straightened out the clip and wiggled it around in the lock until it clicked.

  Opening the door, I found my eviction notice on the floor with the silver piece inside. I breathed a sigh of relief at that. Then I locked the door behind me and went out the window.

  I went back into my apartment and drafted a quick letter about how I wasn’t going to be around anymore, then put that in the envelope with the notice and dropped that back off.

  Then I skipped off to do some shopping. I wasn’t getting any sleep that night anyway, so I might as well be a useful little engine.

  I was going to be a dungeoneer!