Taking all of this into account, I had to admit that having the dwarf to serve as my eyes mightn’t be the worst strategy available to me. Especially if I kept walking into pissed-off lady-orcs. Between his surprising amount of knowledge about the game (something that admittedly still made me feel a little uneasy) and the information about potential threats he could access using that evidently high-level perception skill of his, Samusk definitely had talents that I could make good use of.

As I’d pondered all this, I’d been oblivious to our progression up the queue. We were finally a few bodies away from the servers. When we finally reached them, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

“A beastling?” I gasped. “On canteen duty? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“So?” replied Samusk, quizativly. “The place is probably full of the buggers. Ye can’t go judgin’ ‘em all by the one who robbed us. That would be racist.”

“But look at the amount of hair on her body. And she’s serving food. You can’t tell me that’s hygienic.”

“What do you suggest she does about it, shave? Go get herself a full-body hairnet? Have some common sense, lad. Now shut it, her kind has better hearing than ours.”

Oops.

The line slowly shuffled forward until I reached the beastling responsible for dishing out the food. I couldn’t be sure if she’d heard me, but either way, my request for a menu did not receive the friendly customer-service smile that I had been hoping for. Not that I imagined the beastling had much use for smiling in general. She had so many crooked teeth protruding from her mouth, it was hard to tell exactly what expression she was going for.

“Tray,” she growled, her tone suggesting that yes, she probably had heard me.

I flashed her my best ‘most women I meet find me attractive, please instantly fall in love with me and give me nice things in return’ smile, obligingly holding out a wooden tray that looked oddly like a poorly-crafted Bento box. It had lots of separate compartments, which at least suggested variety. Who knew what wondrous assortment of fantasy-themed food I was about to taste for the very first time. Slow-roasted unicorn? Pan-fried Pegasus wings? Frost-giant slushies for dessert?

My hopes were immediately dashed, as the grumpy beastling ladled a dollop of grey slop into just about every compartment of the tray.

“What the hell is this?” I demanded, not even attempting to hide my contempt.

No answer came, save for a grunt. I lowered my tray down to my companion’s eye-level so that he could turn his impressive analytical skills upon its contents.

“Low nutrition gruel,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

“Seriously? ‘Low nutrition gruel?’ That’s its actual name?”

“Yup. Contains eighteen percent of our daily nutritional requirements, apparently.”

“Why the hell is it so grey?” I continued, taking the dwarf’s tray to collect a portion on his behalf. The counter had not been designed with the smaller warrior in mind. I presented Samusk’s platter and received an equally unappetizing dollop of grey.

“Is there even any meat in it?” I asked, handing the tray back to its owner.

“Small amount” the beastling replied, grimly. “Rat, mainly.”

“So, what you’re saying is, we don’t even get the nutrition we need to keep our virtual bodies healthy? Where’s the logic in that? It’s just simulated food, after all. I get that the ‘game’ is supposed to be a form of punishment, so I don’t expect the food to taste great. But at the very least we should be getting what we need to keep our virtual bodies strong.”

“They want us to get upset over how shit the food is,” piped up the wizard behind us. He was in his late teens, dark-skinned, and his avatar’s trademark silver hair and eyebrows sat oddly with his youth. As did his feeble patchy attempts to grow the customary grey beard that went with his role. “See, if you hate the grub, you’re more motivated to earn yourself something better,” he continued. “Plus, there are the practicalities of feeding us well… the dungeon doesn’t allow for the conjuring of meat, not unless it’s summoned in its original form…”

“You mean mobs?” I asked.

“Exactly. An’ the harder the buggers are to kill, the tastier their meat tends to be. That’s why the handouts are piss-poor. Rats taste like stewed crap, but they have no armor and poor offence, so even the low-ranking players can catch and kill them. Makes them popular with the food-gathers, but no one else.”

“I see. Thank you, ah...”

“MerlinPotter,” he replied, somewhat sheepishly, before adding: “I panicked during avatar selection.”

“Shade,” I replied with a grin, shaking his hand.

“No probs, glad I could be of service. Now hurry up and move yer arse. Vile as the grub is, it’s the only thing down here that’s free. That means there’s still a bloody queue for it, regardless.”

I apologized for holding up the line, handed my tray to Samusk, and went to fetch us some cutlery and water. As I lifted two tin cups and dipped them into the lukewarm contents of the wooden barrel that was our canteen drinks dispenser, something occurred to me.

Shit, NoobSlayer asked me for high-quality meat, among other things. But if ‘high-quality’ is just another way of saying ‘more dangerous,’ that might not be as easy to acquire as I’d first imagined. Dammit, why do I keep accepting quests without understanding what the hell I’m getting myself into?

I put that out of my mind and surveyed the ‘cutlery’ on offer. It was little more than cheap wooden kindling, curved down the middle like a stick of celery (if such a thing could be grown from a flimsy, wood-like substance).

-[ Items acquired: Two slices of Spritewillow Reed. Intended for use as an alternative to a spoon. Quality: Poor. Durability: 1/1 ]-

So, running around with a sword the size of your leg is totally acceptable around here, but a metal fork or spoon is too dangerous to ask for? This place is totally fucked up.

“This was all I could get,” I advised Samusk apologetically, handing him the odd, fragile utensil, his water, and taking back my tray.

“No surprises there,” replied the dwarf, studying the pathetic item, adding: “Rogues are partial to small blades and stealing things. They just ruin it for the rest of us, eh?”

As Samusk surveyed the room for a pair of empty seats, the young wizard behind us had just returned with his own ‘cutlery’. He seemed friendly enough, so I decided to risk bothering him again.

“So, ah… what you said about the meat, earlier. Am I right in saying that anything we kill, we get to keep?”

“Yup, you kill it, you get to eat it,” he replied, scanning the room as he spoke. “With the exception of our fellow prisoners, of course,” he added with a smirk, before correcting himself: “Well, unless you’re one of those lads.” He gestured his ‘spoon’ toward Pac-man’s evil twin. “I hear those sick fucks have a slightly more ‘alternative’ pallet.”

“You mean the demons, right?” I replied. “Shit! I knew that bastard back at the spawning site was looking at me like I was a damn fast-food delivery. If they’re so dangerous, how the hell can they just roam free like that?”

“Can’t say for certain, mate, only been here a couple of weeks myself. But from what I understand, the continued spread of the dungeon coupled with the sheer number of prisoners has taxed the warden’s NPCs to breakin’ point.”

“NPCs? You mean the regular guards, right? I haven’t even seen one since I got here.” I decided not to point out that this was partly because of the amount of time I’d spent unconscious, so far. “Can’t this warden guy just generate some more?”

“This may be a game, but an artificial world always has its pre-programmed limits. The dungeon was never intended to hold so many players at any one time. Probably would have cost our stingy new owners too much to track down the sub-routine that was limitin’ the number of NPC guards…”

“So, they drafted in demons to pick up the slack?”

“Can you think of a better choice? Naturally scary buggers with a bad reputation an’ unpredictable power-sets... who better to keep this bunch of bastards in line? The demon players have no hope of ever ascending, so they may as well make the most of it. Remember, this is the lowest level in Atone Online. Who better to police hell than the demons, eh?”

“I can’t argue with that, but still… being eaten by the other players… that’s horrifying.”

“Well, the freaks have to be paid for their services somehow, right? And troublesome prisoners are the one commodity that never runs out down here. So I’d guess for the Dungeon Warden, it’s a win-win situation. You want my advice, you’ll try not to think about it too much. It’s not like the poor sods who get eaten won’t respawn eventually, eh?”

I knew that much from experience, having recently found my way down the back of a shadow stallion’s throat. But the knowledge didn’t make me feel any safer.

“Demons aren’t the only ones with a taste for human flesh, mind,” he continued. “Don’t forget, to the necromancer class, we’re all just cattle. And they’re not above using us as such.”

“Shit, I forgot all about them. And the ‘damned knights.’ Don’t tell me they’re on bloody janitor duty or something.”

“Don’t worry about them, mate. Those bastards have their own canteen. In general, the fallen’s dietary needs are little more ah…”

“Immoral?”

“Yeah, that’ll do. In fact, they don’t only have their own canteen, they have their own floor. That’ll be why you haven’t run into any of them, yet.”

Why did he have to say ‘yet.’

With that, the apprentice spotted his associates (an older spectacled wizard who was doing his best impersonation of Dumbledore and a fellow Harry Potter wannabe) and politely bid me farewell.

I was satisfied with the information the young wizard had provided me, though there had been more I had wanted to ask. For a start, I still had absolutely no idea where I could obtain illicit substances for the ‘mighty’ NoobSlayer, in order to fulfil my dubious quest. I’d considered broaching the subject, my suspicion being that the wizards may be the source of the ‘dark crystal meth’, given their alchemical background. But I’d stopped myself, for no other reason than the fact that asking the first black prisoner I met where I could find drugs would have made me feel like a total prick. Excluding Mai, who was an AI, MerlinPotter had been the first person I’d met who’d been nice to me without expecting anything in return. And with that in mind, the last thing I wanted to do was accidentally offend the kid.

Anyway, I had other options to win the Knight’s favor. The revelation that I was entitled to keep the meat of any mob I killed was just what I’d needed to hear: that gave me options. I’d encountered the dungeon’s monster community the very moment I’d arrived, which at the very least suggested that they were plentiful. The rep point I’d gained from the shadow stallion’s death also suggested that they were fair game and that they also granted less tangible rewards. Yes, the more I thought about it, mob meat seemed like my most likely form of payment for my desperately-needed training. Unfortunately, that presented me with a bit of a catch-22: my XP was still too low to take on a shadow foal alone. But I couldn’t grind my combat XP without fighting something, and I doubted that rats would cut it. Of course, if there were rats, surely there was something else I could hunt to help me on my way.

I turned to Samusk. The dwarf was still surveying the room, and despite my attempts to hurry him, seemed oblivious to my presence. After another few minutes of being used as a turnstile by bustling barbarians and irritable half-orcs, the wait began to grate on me.

“Why are we still standing here?” I moaned, my patience finally exhausted. “My slops getting cold, and it was barely appetizing to begin with. Can’t we just go find ourselves a table?”

“What do ye think I’m doin’, lad? We’re tryin’ to network, remember?” he huffed. “So choosin’ where we sit is very important.”

“You’ve been studying the entire room since you got here. What the hell are you looking for, anyway?”

The dwarf rolled his eyes. “We need to find a gang to join. Or yeh do, at any rate.”

“Strength in numbers?” I enquired.

“Not only that. A well-organized gang will pass on its skills to its newer members, trainin’ them up fer the group’s overall benefit. And one of the best things ye can do fer yerself down here is acquire as many skills as possible. The range available topside is much wider, but the more skills you have, the more invaluable yeh become.”

I subtly suggested that the dwarf was about to develop the punchbag skill, and he finally relented, leading us into the belly of the beast.