1% Lifesteal

The metallic torture device shackled around Freddy's head rang, signifying the arrival of yet another unwelcome morning.

The filthy sheets of his tiny bed shifted. With much effort, he freed his arm from the lukewarm embrace of his thin covers. Then, he turned the crank on his headgear alarm. Round and round, it went, speeding up as frustration overpowered his morning weakness.

The sound of crystal vibrating inside grew brighter and eventually—

The mechanism triggered, the ear-grating ringing stopped, and the lock released, allowing him to finally take it off. He opened his eyes. The depressing gray ceiling of his room greeted him, held up by the tight walls on each side, its corners adorned by black mold. His bed was tucked in a tight corner where he couldn't even spread his arms to their full length.

The only light source was the lick of sun peeking through his shades—just enough to see where he was. Pulling the misery-inducing sleep annihilator off his head, he released his shoulder-length, greasy, black hair into a short-lived freefall and shuffled to the right, getting up.

Luckily, he was of average height. If he were any taller, he couldn't stand upright with the low ceiling.

Scooting sideways to reach the window, he twisted the handle. It opened, allowing the sobering morning breeze in, carrying the smell of city-brand petrichor. Finally, with a lift of the hatch, the shades were pushed aside, and the full power of the dawn, already shining over the tall buildings, entered his room.

The sky was particularly blue that day, and the clouds of yesterday's rain still hung on the horizon, journeying to distant lands. Glittering reflections scattered off the floating buildings to the right and jumped off the rooftop puddles everywhere else.

"Fuck this shit, man," he groaned. "Why do I gotta work today?"

The small studio apartment, or as he preferred to call it, the dungeon cell he lived in, was an old, tiny, cramped living space—and the only home he had.

The basket with his clothes hung off the low ceiling. Below it was the old, broken chest he kept his stuff in. It wasn't that big, yet it occupied the lion's share of his room, leaving but a tight, L-shaped path from his bed to the door.

Picking his work clothes out of the basket—the white shirt, black pants, and red vest—he took a whiff of their stench as he brought them up to and away from his face.

He raised an eyebrow. "Rancid up close but unnoticeable from a distance," he evaluated. "I hope they don't catch me borrowing the sample perfume again."

After draping the uniform over the window and praying it aired out some of the stink, he took another step over a stool and entered the "kitchen" part of his room—a fridge cramped between the garbage can and the entrance to his apartment.

He dragged the stool over in front of the fridge. Opening it and bumping the door into the chest, he grabbed the stale bologna sandwich he had half-eaten yesterday. Closing the fridge again, he pulled the chair closer and sat on it, using the small cooler as a table.

His seat was low, and he didn't have the space to sit straight, so he ate head pushed sideways, just barely past the ground.

Once done, he gathered the crumbs into his hand and threw them into the trash. The can smelled horrible, with much garbage compressed into it to save on paying the disposal fee.

He took his clothes off the window and a toothbrush from a glass on the fridge. Then, he put his slippers on, squeezed between the cooler and the chest, and left his apartment, still in his old pajamas.

The moment he opened the door, his stomach dropped.

His neighbor, an overweight middle-aged man with a massive mustache, was chatting with an older brunette woman outside the toilet. The young man instantly looked at the clock on the wall above the bathroom.

6:43 a.m.

Fright turned to anger, and he marched to confront his neighbor. "James, what the hell, man!"

The older man jumped back slightly, turning to face him. "Good morning," the man greeted him cautiously as he leaned back. "Is everything all right?"

He shoved the older man toward the bathroom. "Get in the toilet and hurry up!" he urged. "I'm next on the schedule!"

The man waved him down. "Relax, nobody will get on your back for being a bit slow today," he said with a chuckle.

"I'll be late to work!" he declared, accenting the final part of the statement to make sure it sank in.

"Work?" The man frowned. "Did you forget what day it is today?"

His tired, angry glare answered that question.

The older man awkwardly coughed as he shuffled into the toilet, hurriedly closing the door behind him.

He waved weakly at the older woman still outside, doing his best to put on a pleasant expression. "Hello, Sharon."

"Hey there, Fred," she returned the greeting amicably. "How unpleasant that you have to work on the anniversary! I'd quit if I were you."

"Oh, believe me, hahaha…" He laughed lightly. "I'd quit, too."

She chuckled and turned around, waving him goodbye. "Bye, Fred! Have a good one! Hope they don't hold you up too long!" Just as she was about to rush up the stairs, she paused and turned to him. "Hey, you could join James and I for drinks tonight if you don't mind!"

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass," he declined politely. "Still, uhm… hope you two have fun!"

"A shame… I assume you already have plans, then," she said with a wink. "Well, have fun!"

His wave dropped into a light slap on his thigh, and he leaned against the wall as she disappeared up to the third floor of the building.

Plans, huh…?

As the clock ticked, he heard his neighbor singing in the shower. His foot impatiently bounced on the ground, and he gritted his teeth a bit harder every time a minute passed.

6:48

6:49

6:50

That marked the start of his turn, yet he could still hear the water running.

6:51

6:52

6:53—

The door unlocked, and just as James was about to apologize for taking his time, he rushed past him and locked the doors. He glanced at the toilet, angrily squeezing his buttcheeks. Looks like he'd have to crap on his break again.

He undressed so swiftly that he heard a slight tear from his pajamas. Into the shower he went. Even though he turned it to the maximum temperature, the water was still tepid.

At the very least, the landlord provided clean towels every day, one per person, neatly stacked on a pile. Sadly, the shitty people that lived in this complex frequently helped themselves to more than one, leaving the last few on schedule with a pile of damp, stinky cloth.

Even he wasn't entirely spared by this. Once, he had grabbed a used towel and, sadly, ran into the part someone used to dry their genitals, wiping his face with it. Thankfully, he would be spared such a fate as he was on the day shift again.

After drying himself and angrily wrapping the towel around his waist, he walked to the mirror. He paused once he got a good look at himself. Just a week ago, his twenty-first birthday had passed. Hard to believe.

Be it the stress or the acne pock marks and scars that spread over his face and body, he looked aged and weathered; his black hair, draping down the sides of his head, complemented the deep bags beneath his dark-brown eyes.

There was no time to ponder his looks. Nor did he care about them. In his opinion, there was no such thing as being "ugly." Only poor.

Toothpaste on brush, brush into mouth, and a short, furious scrub later, he was dressing.

Buttoning the white shirt and pulling the black pants up, he combed his wet hair to the side and donned the red vest with the store logo. After hearing knocking on the bathroom door, he gave one last regretful look to the toilet and rushed out.

Back in his apartment, he grabbed his keys and opened the fridge, taking out the cheap cold-brew coffee he had prepared the night before, one of the only luxuries he could afford, and running it through a filter.

"I sure hope I don't shit myself."

Usually, if he were late to the toilet, he would simply run to work. His clothes were already starting to smell, so if he ran today, he might get fired for stinking like ass. Or worse, a customer might hit him again. Last time, he got away with no serious injuries, as, thankfully, he didn't anger an archhuman. The next time, he might not be so lucky.

Coffee in hand and shoes on feet, he left the apartment and walked out of the building at a measured pace, taking steady steps down the staircase to avoid spilling his coffee.

Pulling the door open, he stepped outside and—

"Uwoah!" He jumped back as a large drake nearly flattened him. The asshole riding the green lizard didn't even register his existence.

Luckily, the coffee hadn't spilled on his shirt. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked out. Shooting a glance at the prick who rode away without a care in the world, he scoffed.

He didn't let the disturbance throw him off-kilter. The jumpscare did hasten his heartbeat, but thankfully, it wasn't enough to make him sweat. Thus, he continued his daily ritual as he started the thirty-minute trek to his workplace.

There wasn't much traffic this early, especially not in his district. The dilapidated, pothole-ridden road he walked on held a few shallow puddles, and he made sure not to step into any.

The usual carriages, pulled by more drakes, made their way slowly down the road, avoiding the holes so they wouldn't break a wheel. The smell of wet drake shit filled his nostrils. They didn't clean it often enough in this part of the city.

To his immense surprise, he had to dodge a splash when a speedy, self-propelled carriage blazed by him. Those didn't appear too often around here, but judging by its direction, it wasn't surprising.

The disappearance of the potholes marked the entry into the twenty-third district, and Freddy glanced at the relatively new buildings with envy. Although few archs lived here, shops still sold weapons, mostly civilian-grade, for self-defense.

Cafes were already pulling their chairs outside, and music could be heard from multiple sources. The sound of crystals designed for purposes besides ear violation was much more pleasant than the war crime that woke him up every morning.

Eventually, the clean but ordinary road was replaced by shiny marble paving. As Freddy stepped into the 25th district, he began the most controversial part of his daily routine. On good days, he would admire it. On bad days, he would plot a fantasy terrorist attack in his head.

Floating structures, islands, platforms, colorful bridges leading from one tall building to another, expansive, gravity-defying balconies, and vast yards, some in the shape of floating, spinning balls, resembling miniature planet gardens, were only some of the things in his vicinity.

The shiny white castle on a floating island way up in the sky, the ring building to its left, and the tower that rose taller than both the floating structures were even more impressive.

The wealthiest district in his entire city was a collection of the homes of powerful archhumans and their family members, who were likely archs themselves, probably with talents they were wasting with their luxury lifestyles.

Exotic plants pulled from passages grew everywhere, likely as a dick-measuring contest between the residents. Despite the opulence, for over half the houses there, he had never seen a single person inside or outside, which likely meant that they were someone's second, third, or fourth, or whatever home.

As he stepped into the district, he spotted the carriage that nearly splashed him a few minutes ago. Several large men pulled heavy metallic fences from the inside of the carriage, which was likely bigger than it seemed from the outside.

Freddy smirked at the pointy spikes lining the surface of the fences.

Someone's renovating their fuck-you-poors decorations, I see? he thought with a chuckle. Good for them.

Taking a sip of coffee, he walked onward, and eventually, another one of the carriages overtook him, stopping near the district's edge on the other side. A strong sense of deja vu hit him. Similarly dressed men as those prior offloaded the exact same fences.

He raised an eyebrow at that. Influential people hated feeling like someone was copying them. That likely wasn't the case, though. Some rich bastard was probably making a long ass fence in the sky or splitting the district in half.

Yo, I heard you like segregation, so I put segregation in your segregation!

Freddy chuckled a bit, and the workers shot him a glance. Walking past the men, he waved at them awkwardly. He finished the final sip of his coffee and threw the single-use cup into a garbage can.

Once he was out of the district, he immediately took a sharp turn right and walked through tight paths between the buildings to the place where he worked.

It was a medium-sized store in the 24th district where he had been working for over eight years. Charat Hypermarket, the sign said.

He walked past the "special offer" signs that he had placed himself yesterday and entered the massive store. A vast array of products stretched down the nauseatingly large building. Colorful aisles of groceries spread to each side. Fruits, vegetables, and other similar products sat to his left, while the cash registers were to his right.

After making his way to the back of the store, greeting the manager to clock into his shift, and sneaking into the fragrances aisle to use a sample, he walked to one of the cash registers. Theirs was one of the few stores that worked today, and people loved forgetting small things until the last minute. If the dozens of people inside were a sign of things to come, today would be a long-ass day.

***

Although it could sometimes be tiring, he didn't always hate his job. The twelve-hour shifts were a pain, but he had no life outside of work anyway. The noon lull struck, and he caught a moment to breathe.

A large, rectangular broadcasting crystal hung off the wall a bit away from the cash registers. It was angled awkwardly, but he could see everything on it without much problem, even though he had to strain his ears to hear anything.

A finely dressed reporter was talking about the anniversary. Freddy always found it a little morbid that it had ever become a celebrated holiday. Well, he was sure those in power today appreciated the sacrifice.

"Hey! Young man!" a middle-aged lady called as she angrily marched over to his cash register.

He groaned internally, Oh, boy, here we go.

"You billed me wrongly! Thief!" she screamed, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"Calm down, madam," he soothed her. "Please, show me your receipt."

With a smug, self-satisfied expression, the woman pulled the receipt out of her bag and shoved it aggressively into his face. "You've billed me twice for the napkins!"

He briefly read through it.

I'll be damned, so I did.

The deepening frown on his face only widened the grin on hers.

"I apologize, Miss. Allow me to fix my mistake." He gave the woman a well-trained smile as he reached for the bag in her hands.

"Hold on there, what are you doing!?" she interrogated as she clutched her bag and stepped back.

"Oh, I apologize"—he withdrew—"but I have to count everything up again to refund you."

The woman looked peeved at that but, to his shock, managed to control her temper and wait the half a minute it would take him to scan everything.

There was no way to prove she didn't just buy two sets of napkins and hide one. As a veteran in this business, however, he knew how the company dealt with such situations. The odds of catching a petty thief in action weren't high enough to justify the risk of losing a paying customer.

Which is why the customer is always right, he thought sarcastically, wishing all the worst on anyone who used that phrase unironically.

One item after another went past the inscribed metal scanner, and the total price showed on the tiny crystal to his right.

He frowned and sucked air through his teeth as he squinted his eyes and bent forward. "What?" he whispered to himself.

It was more, not less, than before.

His heart sank when he compared the receipt to the itemized list on the screen. "Ah, I apologize… Miss, but uh… I, haha…" he chuckled stiffly. "I seem to have… scanned the napkins twice instead of scanning the cookies twice. That… will be… another two dollars," he said, his voice getting smaller and smaller as he did.

Expression cooling, back straightening, arms crossing…

Oh, for fuck's sake.

***

The small line of people watched the manager lambast Freddy for a few minutes, and the woman was given a coupon for the inconvenience.

He rushed to apologize when the woman walked out, but the manager waved him off, whispering to ensure none of the customers could hear him and speaking fast as he was in a hurry, "You have a good record, don't worry, I get it, mistakes happen; I won't dock it from your pay or anything," the manager blurted out and ran off in a rush. "Keep your eyes open, and don't do that again."

"Oh… okay."

That didn't make it any less stressful… or embarrassing. The next annoying, rude bastard rushed over before he had time to recover, pulling dozens of cans of beer out of the shopping cart.

This would be a long day, indeed.

***

After spending fifteen damn minutes waiting for Jenny, the chronically late night-shift worker, to take over, he finally headed home.

His hand gripped the plastic bag holding the can of beans that would be his dinner tonight, and he walked on, leaving another exhausting workday behind.

Muffled, loud music could be heard from many directions, and he couldn't help but feel particularly lethargic today.

The 200th anniversary, huh…?

"Maybe I'll cut loose for the 300th one," he joked, but a considerable part of him was serious.

Perhaps that was why people celebrated the Rift. The possibility of living to see something a hundred years in the future would have been an incredible privilege for anyone two hundred years back.

Sighing profoundly and keeping his head down, he reached the opulent 25th district. The moment he approached the turn, he had to stop immediately.

"Uh-oh…"

There was a fence. And it was blocking the path through the district. He could feel a headache setting in, but he calmed himself.

A man walked up to the fence and casually jumped over it as if it weren't there, startling him slightly. Turning to the right, he spotted a short line of people looking to get in and a guard letting them through.

Just keep it cool, Fred. You got this, he told himself as he stepped into the back of the line.

It went by rather swiftly, and soon enough, he waved at the guard and tried walking through, but the man stopped him immediately. "Please provide identity verification or confirmation that you have business inside."

"What do you mean?" He tried playing dumb.

"This is a private district. Mortals aren't allowed entry without permission."

Fucking what!? Since when!? he raged in his mind, but none of that showed outwardly.

With a polite smile, he scratched his head and chuckled awkwardly. "Oh, hahaha, sorry, sorry, I am going to a party tonight, so can you just let me through?"

"Please provide a ticket or name of the person that invited you," the guard requested as he pulled a list out of his suit, and Freddy bit his lip.

"His name is John."

The guard raised an eyebrow. "John, who?"

"John… Smith."

"Nobody by the name of John Smith is expecting guests," the guard declared.

"I'm not a guest. I'm a… uh… an en—ter—tainer? Yeah, I'm a dancer. Of a, you know"—he waved his hands around his torso—"special kind."

"Sir, I will have to ask you to step away."

The line behind him grew longer, and he made a last-ditch effort. "Insolent! Do you have any idea who my father is!?"

Glancing at the beans swinging in the bag he carried in his hands, the guard gave him a flat look, then gently but firmly pushed him to the side.

Fuck! he screamed internally as he hesitantly turned around, tightening the grip on the bag in his hand.

A few people in line laughed at him, but that was far from his biggest problem.

Biting his fist in frustration, he walked away from the gathering crowd and sat on a short wall. He wasn't here for sightseeing; he had to go home! Glancing to the left of the Bastard Barricade, then to the right, he felt himself shaking a little, and he had to swallow a lump in his throat.

It was already nearly 8 p.m. The 25th district wasn't that big, but it was a different story if he had to walk all the way around it. If he went left through the rest of the 24th district, where he was currently located, he would have to add another forty minutes to his daily routine, both to and from work. With his work time, he barely had three hours of free time a day, and his chores devoured most of that. Even that night, he was supposed to head to the damn laundromat to wash his clothes.

Taking deep breaths and clenching the bag, he murmured into his chin, "Calm down, Freddy. You got this."

He could also go right, adding barely another ten minutes to the walk. Not that he was a big fan of classism… but right… that was the bad part of the city.

The 26th district was quite firmly walled off from the twenty-fifth. And that simple wall hop made all the difference in the world.

He wasn't unlucky enough to get robbed… Hopefully.

"Whatever…" He breathed out as he got up and walked right.

What robbery? The only thing of any value on his person was a damn can of beans. And he'd rather lose a kidney or two than walk home for over an hour.

As he proceeded, it wasn't long until the sounds of music grew more distant and muffled. The exact line that separated the 26th district was clear as day, given that that was precisely where the street maintenance ended.

Ragged roads, worn-out buildings, and trash lining the corners reminded him of a bittersweet part of his life.

Lots of people walked the streets. Teens gathered in every corner, and loud talking could be heard everywhere. He couldn't help but feel bad for his earlier thinking. All he saw here were people having fun and living their best lives.

But he felt a lot less sorry after he ran into a group of three drunk, shirtless men who hugged him, grabbed the bag of beans out of his hands, and ridiculed him, screaming "boy got beans" and the like.

Thankfully, they returned his food, and he went on his way. Beans wouldn't be on the menu for a while again. Eventually, he reached a turn and took another quick shortcut.

"Oh, yeah, this is where Greg's place used to be," he mused.

They used to take him there when he was little. Yet another reason not to walk this route.

Walking through the relatively narrow space between the buildings, he noticed someone had left their doors open. He was somewhat taken aback by how bright the inside of that place was.

The doors were massive, and the light was far from natural. Some part of him screamed that something was wrong, but he was too tired to put two and two together.

It was only as he walked past it, turning his head and reflexively violating the privacy of the supposed owners, that he realized this was no home at all.

His grip on the grocery bag tightened, and his legs froze.

The world spun as he stepped right in front of a portal leading onto an endless, open field of golden grass.