Jessie, Robert, and I settled on the curb in the narrow band of shade thrown by a wall we’d raised, dust still clinging to our clothes. I uncapped my gray flask, sniffed, and winced. It smelled like something left too long in the sun.
Jessie gave hers a suspicious look. “If this crawls out on its own, I’m not chasing it,” she warned, and took a tentative sip. Her face twisted. “Nope. That’s worse than fermented mangrove root. Definitely not up to your usual standards, Robert.”
Robert swirled the flask, studying the liquid the way a chef would. He took a cautious sip, then pursed his lips. His sour face was enough of a response.
A dry voice chimed in from behind. “It’s a complete meal,” announced a blue-uniformed manager, watching us with open amusement. His bronze ring flashed as he saluted us with his own flask.
Jessie eyed him, unconvinced. “You sure about that? Looks like something I used to skim off the river.”
He smirked. “You could say that. Algae, nutrients, all sorts of ocean harvest. Apparently you can survive on it indefinitely.”
I peered into my flask. “Do you actually eat this stuff, or do you just tell newcomers that?” I murmured.
The manager grinned. “We all get a taste. You’ll appreciateit after a week of twelve-hour shifts. The sandwich paste is the same base, just… chunkier.”
Robert gave a theatrical sigh. “All those years foraging, and now we’re living off pond sludge.”
I downed another mouthful, forcing myself to swallow. “At least it’s filling.”
The manager raised his flask again. “Survival’s the same everywhere, just with different flavors. Bathrooms are over there, by the way. Don’t wait until you’re desperate.”
We continued doing the same line of work in the afternoon, the repetitive task quickly becoming tiresome despite the impressive suits. The novelty wore off fast, and by the end of the workday, my body felt spent. I was used to physical activity—we all were—but not the specific repetitive motions required to move the suit. That combined with the mental strain left me feeling ready to collapse when our instructor announced we could go home.
We walked the suits back to the area we had taken them from, parked them, and then stepped out. My knees wobbled as we trudged toward the bridge where the shuttle waited, humming and ready to carry us home.
At the barriers, I swiped my ring, a jolt of anticipation cutting through my exhaustion. I hurried through, glancing down at the ring’s screen, heart thumping a little harder.
Four characters flashed up:100c.
Jessie caught up beside me, her brow creased as she checked her own display. “One hundred C.”
Robert let out a low breath, his tone flat. “So that’s today’s pay.”
I stopped for a moment, letting the number settlein my bones.Far too low. Anna’s words echoed back: ten thousand coins—bronze level—to qualify for more responsibility, for any hope of reuniting my family. At this rate, I’d be waiting a hundred days just to get my parents out of the hospital. Over three months, three times as long as Hayden had managed.
What had he done differently? The answer simmered, obvious and out of reach: the odd jobs, the riskier ones, the ones I couldn’t touch yet. That, or there was some other trick I hadn’t figured out.
Jessie’s voice was thin, brittle. “Maybe it’ll go up, if we keep at it? Otherwise…” She trailed off, the weight of the calculation written on her face. “It’s going to take forever to get my siblings back.”
I couldn’t muster any comfort. The crowd was already pushing onto the shuttle, and none of us wanted to be left behind. We shuffled in and sank into our seats, side by side but silent, staring out at the sunlit water. The landscape blurred past, beautiful and distant, but all I could see was that number, and the long, uncertain road ahead.
Back at my house, I headed straight for the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, then collapsed onto the sofa. The job list still blinked on the wide screen, cycling through rows of the usual assignments.
I sank deeper into the cushions, letting the silence settle. My eyelids grew heavy. I might have dozed off, water glass in hand, if not for the sharp beep that cut through the quiet. I startled upright, almost spilling my drink, and glanced down at my ring.
House utility bills advance debit: 50c.
A moment later, my balance dropped: 50 coins, not a hundred.
I stared at the screen in disbelief, then swore under my breath, scanning the room as if the house itself might be to blame. My so-called “automatic” house was eating my wages alive.
I shot up and marched to the control panel, flipping off every light. Mike’s tour flashed through my memory as I scrambled around, unplugging every device except the freezer—small enough to justify the electricity, and necessary for keeping my bread and sandwich paste from spoiling. From now on, I’d watch every drop of water, every bit of power I used. If I had to live like Ebenezer Scrooge to get my family back, so be it.
I climbed upstairs and collapsed onto my narrow bed. Maybe now, with most of the house unplugged, I’d avoid another surprise bill for a while. Still, a sick feeling lingered. The whole system felt needlessly complex, every day another scramble to stay afloat. Back home, life was straightforward: grow, gather, make do. Here, everything was measured in invisible currency and silent deductions, stress in every transaction.
I buried my head in the pillow, fighting the urge to compare old and new. I had to adapt—cut corners, keep expenses down, figure this place out. Surely it would get easier.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about those odd jobs—gone in seconds each morning, tempting me more with every lost coin. Two weeks of patience felt impossible. Maybe I’d just hold out until the end of this week, then try for one on Monday. After all, they wouldn’t be on the list if they were truly forbidden. If it went badly, the worst they could do was send me home. At least I’d have tried.
