Our City Hall had always struck me as somewhat pretentious. It had the feel of an upside-down ziggurat, with layered sections extending further and further out, the odd-looking architecture held together by three massive pillars. The somewhat sprawling, style-over-sense layout extended to the connected park. Which was really more like half a standard office park complete with anemic trees, half massive pool of water accented by modern red art balls that looked like someone had taken a bite out of them. 

It was more ridiculous now that said park was being put to a practical purpose. It was absolutely packed with people. Three or four thousand maybe, though it was impossible to know for sure. A small crowd formed at the front, listening to the sweating, swollen, governor speak, sending out the rote nothings along the lines of “We don’t know, we’re trying to find out, please be patient, and you’ll know as soon as we do.” 

But the tide had already shifted away from the actual open forum, to the park beyond. I was expecting other groups of Users to be there and a combination of subtle and unsubtle recruiting, but I wasn’t expecting actual booths—little, quickly put together stations of fold-out tables and chairs that vaguely resembled military enlistment. 

I passed by several smaller stations on my way to the middle of the park where everyone was gathering, eyeing the people behind them. One particularly haunted looking man with hollow eyes actively waved me over. 

Lost someone recently. Trying desperately to connect with others, to move on, to forget. It was probably his fault. That or he blames himself so much it doesn’t actually matter whose fault it was. Useless. Ignore him.

<Cruel Lens> lived up to its name. It was almost as chatty as <Jaded Eye> only without the tendency towards panic attacks and crippling self-doubt. The downside was that the title imbued a sense of casual superiority I found myself actively fighting against. Even in cases like this one, where it was probably right.

I gave the man a nod and a small wave as I continued on towards the center. Someone pushed me back, and I realized I’d inadvertently nearly cut in a snake-like queue that had formed, gradually moving towards the center. The smell of freshly grilled barbecue rolled over me as I moved closer to the center. Two taller people in front of me moved aside, taken by a particularly chiseled and muscled man in business casual, to a parallel row of smaller square tables and chairs. 

A banner, professionally made and highlighted in green and white was emblazoned with the letters LRE, with “Local Relief Effort,” written in a corporate looking font. I looked to the side to hide a smile. 

It was clever. Lure people in with free food, position yourself as an aid group, offer access to help with the teeny tiny caveat that you needed to sign first. Which made their decision to bring their merchant particularly stupid by comparison. I could see him in the back, a reedy, accountant-looking man, pulling food and various supplies out of the air for new enlistments, assumedly in exchange for Selve. 

I reached the front. The woman, dressed in a navy, professional looking dress, gave me a smile with far too many perfectly white teeth. “Hi there, how can we help you today?” 

Oof. Between the Royal We, and the pitch-perfect customer service voice, she was already giving me the creeps. 

Constantly reapplied lipstick, and she actually took the time to steam-press that dress despite us being in the middle of a survival scenario. Likely multi-level marketing background. Single. Owner of an unquantifiable number of cats.

It was time to put <Cruel Lens> to the test. I laughed, some old social nerves coming back. “Um, maybe this is a little silly considering how everyone’s first concern is food, but I’m okay in that regard. Instead, I was wondering if you guys have anything for pets.”

Her eyes lit up and she leaned forwards. The bronze tag on her dress read Rachel. “Aw. What sort of pets do you have?” 

I looked around, as if embarrassed. “A siamese and a ragdoll. The siamese will probably be fine, but the ragdoll is particularly picky about her food.” 

Rachel’s smile widened, the number of showing teeth reaching critical mass. Some of the phony customer service voice dropped away. “Oh, I completely understand. Come with me.” She stood from her seat at the booth. “Bryant, take over.” 

It turned out, Rachel did have many cats. Hardly an unquantifiable amount—fifteen—but a large number just the same. She asked me some questions around the screen I was seeing, clearly used to delineate whether I was a user. Once she’d established I wasn’t, her enthusiasm dimmed, but just a little. 

“So,” I gave her a confused expression, “I join with you guys, you pay in Selve, and I can access your vendor. There’s really no supply issue?” I asked.

“Nope.” Rachel pointed the golden pen she’d been fiddling with over to where the vendor was still handling an endless line of people. “As far as we know, Albert’s stocks are limitless. He’s never run out of anything, unless it’s specifically a unique or limited-stock item.” 

“Like what?” I asked innocently. She was obviously talking about the rarer, non-common goods items like armor and weapons, but I was curious to see how she’d address that. 

Rachel squirmed. “Oh, well, just a few tertiary things. But more importantly, I put together a pamphlet for people looking to make cat food out of the ingredients we have in the company store.” She handed it to me excitedly. 

I browsed through it, pretending to read, considering what I knew. Cruel lens had nailed her. I couldn’t know for sure some things, like her single-status, but she was absolutely a cat-person, and the multi-level marketing background was almost a given considering how carefully and expertly she pitched me on what was basically a job, without telling me what the job was. 

Speaking of which, it was time to tighten the screws. I crossed my arms, closing my body-language in a manner any salesman would immediately recognize. “Well, the new currency stuff aside—kind of going over my head there—it sounds great in theory. And it sounds like there’s a lot of perks and benefits. But you haven’t told me what I’d be doing?” 

Her smile dimmed slightly. “Oh, well, honestly, there’s a lot of cleanup to be done.”

“Like trash?” I asked. 

“Not quite,” Rachel chuckled nervously. “Since the meteor, there have been many changes around the city. New resources. We need help gathering them, and pay a premium to those who help.” 

I kept the confused look pasted on my face as I studied her. 

Some sort of mine, or maybe a dungeon rich in materials.

“Is it dangerous?” I asked. 

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“Not at all,” Rachel lied. Then, after a moment of silence, “Some of the environments can be dangerous, but we have other volunteers on guard duty.” 

“People with experience?” I pushed her. I wanted to see if she would hint at the User, civilian divide. 

“Certainly.” The smile and customer service voice came back full force. “Former military, contractors, even some bouncers. Our priority is protecting our workforce.” 

Interesting. They were still trying to keep the power divide on the down-low, even though it would soon be glaringly obvious to anyone paying attention. 

“Thanks for your time.” I rose from the chair. 

“Is there something else you’re looking for?” Rachel asked, a bit too quickly. There was a bead of sweat on her forehead. Not understanding, I looked from her to the man dressed in business casual, watching us from the central booth. 

Did they actually give you a quota?

I glanced down at the sign-up sheet in front of her. There were several boxes, labeled in bold at the top. Confirmed, Follow-up, and Unconfirmed. 

Maybe I could make a friend if I helped her save face here. “It’s a lot to think about, but definitely something I’d be open to talking over in the future.” 

The gigawatt smile returned. “I can take your name and number down.” 

I proceeded to give her Nick’s name and the number for a local Pizza Hut and excused myself. It didn’t really matter what number I put, as I suspected we wouldn’t be communicating through normal phones for much longer. 

Ellison walked towards me, giving me a subtle nod. He was carrying a variety of too-little-too-late handouts provided by the city, stuff like how to bottle water, how to cure meat so it lasted longer, and how to ration food without starving.

“Technical reading, courtesy of the city?” Ellison asked me. 

“Sure,” I took the bundle from him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him grab a red sheet of paper from his inventory and place it on the bottom of the unique stack. Discreetly, I shuffled the papers until it was on top. 

Food and Other Resources for Selve. Fair Pricing. No enlistment required. 

Beneath the bold text was a series of steps to access Kinsley’s primitive, cobbled together website through the system interface itself. It wasn’t exactly a straightforward process. What Mom had discovered was, when done through the website, there was a twenty-minute delay on delivery that couldn’t be avoided. A warning to that effect was written at the end of the page. 

”Any bites yet?” I asked him in finger-spelled sign-language, concealing my hand under the stack of paper. 

”Not that I’ve seen. Hard to know with the delay.” Ellison replied. 

It wasn’t the best news, but to be expected. ”Keep it up.”

I watched Ellison head off, handing a stack of papers to a bedraggled, confused looking couple. We were specifically targeting anyone who looked young enough to be tech-savvy, and didn’t show any of the obvious physical characteristics of a User. For once, Ellison was happy with the task. Twisted lens whispered. He’s always thought I had too many rules. That I was too careful, too risk averse. Just because he’s my brother doesn’t mean he’s not a potential threat—

I shook my head, wishing I could just wipe the inner-voice from my memory. Regardless of what mean-and-overly-catty said, Ellison was solid. Poor impulse control and adolescent growing-pains aside, he always came through in the clutch. 

Enough. I still needed to find Nick, and get a handle on the rest of the groups. 

I was just about to decide what direction I wanted to head in when <Awareness I> went off. Subtly, I panned the crowd, looking for the threat. It was throwing me off because it usually only activated when I was in imminent danger. 

Then, I spotted him. Even hidden behind his aviators, the scar across his nose was unmistakable. His jaw was clenched. He was wearing a black sweatshirt with a pullover hood. 

My SWAT friend from the hospital was at the Open Forum, and from the looks of it, still operating off-book. He hadn’t noticed me.

A notification popped up in front of my face. 

<Urgent Quest Received>

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