Razer didn’t know what to expect after donning the sack, but his feet pressing against firm ground was not it, yet he ascended a ramp, not more than a few steps from where he was discovered.

  “I warn you, Xylos doesn’t take kindly to thieves…” He stammered.

  “What are we going to steal, Gruntling? Your firestick is worse for the wear, and those boots look like they were crafted by a level 5.” It was the one who had come from behind – there was a deep authority to their voice, and yet a distinctly feminine quality; it was hard to tell with these…

  “May I know what you are at least…b-barbarians?” Razer hoped it wasn’t true; he didn’t remember learning about green barbarians…but their size and those tattoos…

  “Orc.” The other replied, tursly.

  “Names Razer Gunnderson – no relation to him… It's just that my father…I’m rambling – if you're not barbarians…does that mean you’re not going to eat me?” He asked

  “Howdy’a taste?” The shortspoken…orc replied.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” He said confidently.

  If Razer could see, he would have wondered at the look the orcs exchanged, but he could not. They were indoors now, and he wasn’t sure how that was possible, a teleportation skill or device? He didn’t feel the telltale signs of magical travel…so then.

  A sharp hiss and vibrations as a…door opened, “In you go, gruntling…we’ll be right back…try and escape – I wouldn’t.”

  He was guided into a room and pushed into a chair, the sack was yanked off his head, and Razer blinked. He caught a glimpse of a green-skinned female, in a skin-tight dress with a single shoulder strap and a long slit up one leg – before the door shut, leaving him alone with –

  “Greetings, my fellow human – and welcome to DGAir.”

  The entire wall in front of him lit up, and an emaciated, grey man thing, with a teardrop for a head… waved as it stood in a grassy field on a beautiful, sunny day.

  “You're human?” It was all he could think to ask.

  Its face stretched, and its mouth… triangle shuddered around the rim.

  “I’m not feeling well.”

  Razer toppled like a sack of bok, his face met the floor, adding to his growing list of injuries.

  His eyes snapped open, and he vomited – projectile, acidic fluid – before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

  Pat shrugged, “Was it something I said?”

  DG let out a low whistle.

  “What did you do to him?” Asked Draven.

  “Welcomed him to DGAir…he asked if I was really human, then he wigged out – started projectile vomiting. Erm, he did hit his head rather hard…”

  “[Circuleech].” Razer lay on a table, his clothing completely removed, as Draven applied his signature skill.

  “Are you human? I thought you were a rogue agent of the interlopers…” Asked Meen-Tra.

  Pat spluttered, “I’m human…I was born human…and now – now I’m ascendant!”

  [Circuleech].” Draven applied a leech to the groin area, and its guillotine-like maw eagerly accepted the damaged flesh, as it pulsed with the beat of John’s heart.

  “Oh my – is that really necessary, Draven. Will he be… permanently impacted?” Asked Pat.

  “Huh?” Draven pinched his eyebrows in confusion.

  He stirred from his dreams, in them he was running through an open field, and no matter what he did, he could not escape, and soon his [Captials] would run dry and…and –

  “H-hello…” His eyelids fluttered, and he could just make out the shapes of the ceiling panels overhead. The room was dim and quiet, and he was…

  He patted himself frantically, and immediately regretted it, as a squishy something – it erupted in warm fluids, and to his donning horror, he realized…

  “Calm yourself.”

  His eyes flew wide, and he remembered he was captive, he…“What have you done to me –

  He touched the place between his legs. “-- What –”

  Silence.

  Draven sighed and approached the prone figure on the table. He poked the man in the shoulder, after no response, slapped his cheek repeatedly, and still no response.

  “What is it with humans and their penis…” Draven shook his head.

  The next time Razer stirred from his sleep, his hands immediately flew to his groin, and he discovered he was dressed again.

  He sat up and looked – his uniform and boots were gone, and he was dressed in… “Where is my uniform – what is this?”

  “Jeans and a hoodie, now take it easy, the others will be here shortly – I’ve just informed them you’re awake – and feeling better…it would seem –

  Pat muttered the last under his breath, “-- Since you're complaining about free care.”

  “What was that?” Asked Razer, but Pat’s screens had gone dark.

  He threw his legs over the side of the table and stared down at the…slippers on his feet and the strange Y-shaped strap holding them in place.

  “Womens foot-wear…what is this place…”

  The door to his room opened, and he was relieved to be free of having to contemplate cultural differences.

  “It's good to see you awake, Razer – my name is Meen-Tra, and this –

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  She gestured to the imposing figure hulking over her shoulder, a sour expression on his face, “-- Is Draven – you can thank him for the healing…your injuries were – extensive.

  Her eyes narrowed, “What caused them?”

  Razer glanced briefly down at his feet again.

  If I’m not to be eatin…is this a sex thing…

  “I asked you a question, Gruntling.” Meen-Tra applied more forcefully.

  Razer’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, and the black band that wrapped her face gave her a spectre-like appearance, as if she were drawing him in…

  “A monster. It was searching for something…Lyle?” His response was hypnotic.

  “What did you just say?” She asked.

  Razer shook his head, “W-what?”

  Meen-Tra gritted her teeth, “What was that name?”

  “N-name?”

  Draven stepped past Meen-Tra and had him by the throat as he was lifted up the wall. Razer looked down at his attacker, fear clouding his thoughts. As his vision narrowed, he choked, “Monsters.”

  Meen-Tra placed a hand on Draven’s arm, “That’s enough – his is a problem of ignorance, my smoking beauty.”

  Draven huffed and dropped him to the floor, pulling out his rune-stick case as he made for the corner of the room. A small wall panel slid free above his head – consuming the smoke rings that were fast escaping his lips.

  Razer stood up and whipped the drool from his mouth. “I’m sorry. It's just. Can you kill me now, please? This is all too much – and I’ll be beyond death soon enough, there’s no hope for me.”

  Meen-Tra pursed her lips, “Razer, we aren’t going to kill you…Are you hungry? We can –”

  His stomach – traitor that it was – let out a deep rumbling growl.

  She offered a warm smile, bearing her fangs, and Razer almost met the floor with his face for a second time.

  They led him down winding corridors, filled with vines and glowing monsters that flitted about like wisps of gas in the Elysian Fields. The combination of nature and technology was blasphemous, and it brought to mind Church doctrine: ‘System is all, reject natures lie, or die.’

  The air was crisp, with a zesty, floral sweetness; it reminded him of the swamp, he realized, just without the overtones of decomposing bog muck.

  He gritted his teeth. System is all… He repeated the mantra in his head.

  He had to stay vigilant; this was his first campaign, and he, still a [Tool Pusher], had little more than a single training simulation and a broken repeater to keep him safe.

  What would Gunnderson do…

  Something bumped into his leg, and a monster… no, a child, disguised in a heap of rags –

  “Raar – devour, devour…Eldrin comes – he comes…”

  Before he could formulate a response to the pair of eyes peeking out from behind the costume, another child’s voice – from behind.

  “Not on my watch, vermin! DJ Ren and his fly beats will decompose your vines – as he stopped the vile Keepers from harassing Mistress Churi –

  The boy in red said with a flourish, “So to will he you!”

  Meen-Tra sighed – pulling him to the side and through an open door.

  He was assaulted as he entered the new room; his nose had never experienced anything like it, his mouth watered – even as he tried reciting Church doctrine. It failed, and he was pulled on a rope toward…

  Meen-Tra grabbed him by his ear, “No, you don’t – sit over here. Camo’s not to be disturbed while in his throne room.”

  His eyes watered at the pain, even as the pleasure assault continued. He was seated in a daze, ignoring the staring multicoloured faces that looked on in wonder.

  This is it. He thought. Compressed, pilled, and swallowed by these…

  A serving tray was placed in front of him. His body reacted, taking a handful of steaming leafy greens – they smelled of rich proteins and of a bitter tang – he pushed them into his mouth, suckling the juices from his fingers as he pulled out.

  He stared at the wall covered with children's drawings, but not really looking at anything. His stomach ached, and he would be dead soon, his father’s dreams destroyed before they started.

  “Is everything ok?” Asked Meen-Tra, who watched the stranger with concern.

  All his life, Razer had done his best, given everything to Xylos – all in service to his father's dream of one day reclaiming Gunnderson’s legacy. It was a distant dream for a family of [Tool Pushers], but he had believed, had sacrificed everything. It had led him to the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance at levels and [Capitals] – at his very own MaxTech. But it had all come crashing down the moment his boots met bog.

  Work. Every day, all day work. He had done everything that was asked of him – without question or reservation. He was the best he knew how to be. And never once in his life had things worked out for him, not until the day he was called to join the armada.

  This was it, this was his big shot. Glory – it would be his. So then, why in Systems' name was he weeping as he robotically shoveled more greens into his face hole?

  “A new recipe, maybe? Did Camo get ahold of some of Sandy’s Candys?” Speculated Draven.

  Meen-Tra shook her head, “No…this is something different.” She reached out a fist, gently patting him on the back.

  It was too much, the personal contact, the healing, the whatever he was shovelling into his face… being asked how he felt.

  Razer Gunnderson, prole of Haveena, and subject of Xylos – blubbered like a baby, as the damn broke – and a lifetime of trauma and heartache avalanched.

  For the first time in his life, Razer knew compassion – and it hurt worse than anything he could have ever imagined.

  For a brief moment wondered if his [Captials] had run dry.

  He didn’t care anymore. He just kept shoveling and crying. And waiting. Waiting for his debts to be reclaimed, and his family's legacy destroyed – once and for all.

  It was the disappointment that hurt the most. He could take any amount of physical abuse or even anger, but when Earl expressed his disappointment, it struck a chord deep down, which made John feel uncomfortable – he wasn’t used to rejecting authority.

  “Stop pouting, John. Whatever you’re fathers beliefs on technology, it’s your loss. Majordomo is incredible…the information he provides is…exactly as I imagined.” Cooed Earl.

  “As you say, Earl. It wouldn’t do me any good anyway – I prefer to learn with my hands, and not the empty space between my ears.”

  John was self-deprecating, a habit learned from years of abuse at the hands of an overbearing father.

  Earl waved a hand, “Yes, yes, of course. The Majordomo would only confuse you – I’m sure.” The pockmarked orc chuckled, and John wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or if he was responding to something the AI was saying.

  There was a knock at the door, and it swung wide as a helmeted Gorthow entered the room.

  John’s hackles were instantly up, though his danger sense remained quiet, an odd phenomenon that Earl assured him was a function of his anxiety, and so John had kept his feelings to himself, doubting himself, always doubting.

  The seals on Gorthow's helmet clicked in release as he removed the item while taking his place at the head of the table.

  “So, Earl, your implant went smoothly. Now, what can you tell me about our objectives here?”

  Earl steepled his fingers, “Indeed. Majordomo is impressive, his design impeccable – who is the creator, if I may ask?”

  Gorthow raised an eyebrow, “Majordomo is a relic, from our first days on Mars. The Church has conflicting reports on his origins, but most agree on the time period at least.”

  John stopped paying attention – as Earl got excited, he knew whatever it was that had captured his attention…boring and pointless.

  Earl was vague about his past, saying only that he did the lord's work, and John never pressed – it wasn’t his place to question his betters.

  He was itching for a fight, something to make him feel better. It had been a year since their arrival – at least according to Earl – John wasn’t sure of how he kept track, but it was just another reason he was lucky to have found the man.

  Their meeting had to have been a divine intervention. He was literally up to his neck in bog, his lungs crushed, he’d only had a few short breaths of struggle left in him, before he would have been swallowed whole – when a pair of hands dragged him from the muck.

  Earl had been cool, calm, and collected from the very first moment he dragged John to safety. They soon discovered that their arrivals were timed, and while John struggled to comprehend the world, his body, and the last moments he could remember from Earth, Earl seemed to know exactly what to do and in which direction to head.

  Yes, Joh was lucky, for without Earl…

  “Apartheid?” Gorthow tested the word.

  “Yes, I think that will do nicely for this situation. And if your concerns are about [Captials] or mana…they are interchangable you say – but of course they are…

  Earl leaned back in his chair, relaxed in his element, “Let me explain, General –”

  They were still on about technical and boring matters. John stretched his calves beneath the table, struggling to stay awake, as Earl’s monotone vocals threatened to put him to sleep.

  Please let there be a fight soon…