Tink.

Tink.

Tink.

The rhythm of pickaxes against rock echo throughout the winding tunnels of Brix Mines, deep below the mountains. Closer to the surface, the darkness is replaced by the flickering orange light of torches, set into the wall at regular intervals. The glow shines off the sweaty faces of all the miners working here, heaving their pickaxes into the stone walls over and over again.

In one small bend of the tunnel, the ceaseless pounding filled every nook and cranny of Max04428’s head.

The sound didn't bother him these days. When he was first hired as a miner, he thought it would drive him to insanity. After six months of 16-hour days, however, he hardly even noticed any longer. It provided a steady cadence he could follow as he swung his own pickaxe into the wall—crack, crack, crack. By now, the sound was as familiar to him as the beating of his own heart.

Max paused to drink some water from his canteen, retrieving it from his Inventory and taking a long swig. The water was crisp and cool... He felt like chugging it all, but forced himself to leave some for later—his shift wouldn't be over for a few more hours still. Max wiped an arm across his forehead, pushing the sweaty black hair from his face.

Down the tunnel in either direction, more miners attacked other crevices in the walls. Each heaved their pickaxes into the solid rock, over and over and over again. Beside each of them stood a small wheelbarrow, filled with varying amounts of copper-colored gems glittering in the tunnel’s dim torchlight. One of the miners stopped suddenly, seeming to notice something. He reached into the crevice he worked, and when his hand withdrew, it held a small copper gem. Expressionless, the man dropped it into his wheelbarrow before continuing to hammer away at the crevice again.

Peering into his own wheelbarrow, Max frowned at the paltry sum of copper gems it held. His low Affinity for mining had become apparent soon after starting in the mines. Despite his six months of hard, daily work, his skill hadn’t leveled nearly as quick as the others.

This was becoming more and more of a problem. It meant less Gems, and since Gems are valuable, less Gems meant less money. They could be traded in for AlethiaCoin, a virtual currency that had real buying power.

In the real world, decent paying jobs were almost impossible for low-class citizens like Max to obtain. They had the AI revolution to thank for that. Despite the explosion of wealth mass automation created for the corporations that developed them, little of it trickled down to the people whose jobs were replaced with artificial intelligence.

So, in Alethia and other game worlds like it, virtual miners like Max kept swinging away—hour after hour, day after day, month after month—until time ceased to have any meaning. It wasn’t fun, but at least it was relatively safe and consistent. When Max got the offer to mine in Starsword Online, he jumped on the opportunity. There just weren’t many other options that paid as well.

A guard passed by in the tunnels, dragging his heavy club across the rough tunnel wall.

“Keep swinging, you coal-damned bottom-feeders! The day ain’t over yet!” he yelled, purposely kicking up dust with his boots.

All of the miners, including Max, ignored the guard’s antics. They were quite used to this particular brand of motivational encouragement. A constant tirade of insults was simply a fact of daily life for most of the lower-class. Bottom-feeders. Just one of the many creative terms used to refer to those who were born and resided in the lowest strata of society in the real world, known derogatorily as the Bottoms.

Max almost laughed. He’d certainly been called a lot worse before.

He hoisted his pickaxe and began hammering away at the rock wall once again, though not because of the guard’s demand. The insult didn’t really bother him, even if he did want to tell the guard to stick his club where sun of Alethia don’t shine... inwardly, he smiled. The beating he’d receive for that would almost be worth it.

Say what you want about those from the Bottoms, but no one could deny they had thick skin. Everyone from the Bottoms learns to deflect words from a very early age. No, Max couldn't care less about the mild verbal abuse. The actual reason he shortened his break was because he couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Literally.

Because of his low mining skill, if Max was going to have any chance at earning enough to pay all his bills—the mine proprietor’s fee, the guards’ cut, food and drink to replenish himself, not to mention his suffocating financial obligations in the real world—he needed to spend almost every minute of his 16-hour shift swinging away.

Like most of the others working the mines, he had people in to take care of. There was someone who relied on him. Without his steady income, she'd die. Terminal illnesses were curable, but the cures were expensive and nearly impossible for a low class citizen to afford. Until Max would be able to save up enough to pay for her medical treatment, he'd been forced to put her into cryosleep. That too, cost money. The fact of the matter was, Max needed to put as many gems as he possibly could in that rickety wheelbarrow before the end of the day.

Truthfully, he had no idea if he'd ever earn enough to save her... but he had to try. He owed his mother that much, at least. While the corporations who ran the world tended to treat relationships and lives like currency, to Max they were still important, meaningful.

As he settled into a comfortable rhythm again, Max’s mind withdrew into that familiar state of half-consciousness that accompanies endless, drone-like work. He surrendered to it and soon lost track of time.

Tink.

Tink tink.

Tink…

The hours passed. Max produced a few more copper gems from the crevice. At some point, his work was interrupted—an unexpected notification popped up in front of him, snapping him out of mindlessness.

Max squinted. The message read:

Skill increase! Mining - Level 6

...

...

“Nice!”