After Shirley’s departure Yeung-Sung had to get up. And perhaps he should have left too, maybe even gone after him or called out his name at the door -he can’t have gone far. Instead, he sipped a beer at the window ledge, watching the rain fall down the glass and thinking about what Shirley had revealed to him.

‘At once the saviour of mankind and a total psychopath.’

He wanted to believe that Shirley had a point, but each time he confronted his feelings on Jordan, the words fell from his mind, letters and words and syllables melting down the window pane, leaving behind only scratch-like streaks. The marks suddenly reminded Yeung-Sung of Shirley’s chest, and so he backed away.

Jordan had saved him, Shirley had said. He was pulled out of homelessness and starvation to participate in the colony. A little out of place, but safe and provided for. Though, he wondered, was it Jordan directly, or someone like Simon, someone who worked to actually create the idyllic vision that their boss preaches. Yeung-Sung clenched his beer at the thought of being touched by that madman again while striding towards the main booth.

Taking a seat at the edge, he looked around and realised that he saw them in a new light. They weren’t ardent worshippers of Jordan, nor were they watching over him in GLI’s stead. No, the regulars of The Joint Wick must have been brought into the colony just the same as Shirley had; out of their broken, jobless cities. It started making sense, actually. To have a colony undisturbed by international powers Jordan would’ve had to rescue the thousand coloners, rather than have them recruited. Yes, he was softened to them by the sizzling calm of rain and the pondering -and the alcohol, too.

In the booth, Sykes demanded full attention. On the high-stool that Darnes had brought out to the booth, the Irishman rocked it, laughing as the rest told him about what had just transpired. Sykes imagination of the scenes -Yeung-Sung confronting Aisling; Wil and Woo-Yi’s attacks; Darnes’s alpha-male displays- as he heard about them, he made mock impressions of the different regulars and asked,

“Was it like that?”

Yeung-Sung pretended to laugh as well, along with the rest, but in truth he hid his face as much as he could behind his pint glass. He was actually glad when Darnes emerged, taking an uncomfortable seat on the couch. He thrust a pint out at Yeung-Sung, muttering, “You’ll pay later,” nodding to the bar.

Behind it, Anita smiled faintly at Yeung-Sung, elbows out over the counter, half-talking with Mamba, half on her phone. He stared a little too long after the fact and blushed as Anita winked, moving out of sight.

They were on to something else now -Yeung-Sung was finding it difficult to follow along, so kept drinking, hidden in his beer- and he watched Sykes explain to the group, arms out in a T-pose, while Martin and Mamba looked amazed.

Bu Wil shifted around in his seat. Yeung-Sung pinched his eyes and tried to focus.

“—But I’m sick of hearing about it, this sort of thing always happens to you.”

Sykes leaned in over a knee, “What are you suggesting?”

“It is most eem-pressive, you have to admit,” Martin said, nudging Wil in the ribs.

“Horseshit!” Wil spat out, holding his chest and sulking, “He must be cheating, or getting help!”

“Eh?”

Wil narrowed his eyes, but still backed further into the couch, staring each other down, “We’ve all seen you with her. What’s she to you?”

Sykes flushed and briefly turned to the back booths.

Aisling? Interesting…

Von Martin, shook his head. “He only has ridic-you-loss luck, boy.

Darnes raised a finger and shook his head. “And what is luck, except statistical inevitability?”

“Exactly,” Sykes said, settling the rocking of his stool. “It’s more patience than anything else, like fishing or the like.” He crossed his arms at Wil. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”

Darnes chuckled. Von Martin slapped the table. Wil exhaled furiously and looked at Yeung-Sung, whose face was blank.

“Aww, fuck all of you!” Wil shouted and batted his hand like as if to sweep them out of sight. He stepped over Yeung-Sung and stumbled out towards the bar. He put up the middle finger behind him.

“Feckin’ child,” Sykes sneered.

Yeung-Sung waited Sykes to turn back over his shoulder, then put down his drink. “I’m sorry, I didn’t follow. Why was Wil mad -You did something in Airgead, Sykes? Did you beat a Gauntlet?”

Sykes had been sitting proud up until that point. But it was as if Yeung-Sung pulled a blanket over him, disregarding his achievements -whatever they were- by simply not paying attention when he was bragging about them.

Sykes sleeves -white, yellowing at the edges- stuck out of his pockets as he rummaged through. “No, I didn’t do that. Though, from what Wil told us, any of us could do a far better job than you.”

Martin had to laugh at that too. “You had to get it out of your system, don’t worry we understand.”

Yeung-Sung scowled at them. What the hell did Wil tell them?

“We’ve found out more about Airgead’s mechanics since you attempted your run,” Darnes explained. “Your health potions were a decent idea but just wait till you hear about this. Open yours up, we’ll show you.”

“Oh.” Yeung-Sung wanted to slap himself. I forgot; It’s been days since I’ve even looked at it. How much have I missed?

Bringing out his phone, it slid around his vision in a daze. Turning it on, he had to wipe his fingers off his hoodie four times before it accepted his fingerprint. Drinking was a stupid idea. I should get some water.

“We were trying to figure out how to obtain skills, or use magic in Airgead since the reset,” Darnes said, scratching his chin with a bandaged knuckle. “There were several rumours going around that some characters started with abilities, so some died over and over, hoping to revive with some deadly skills.”

Sykes shook his head. “No such luck. That wasn’t the way. But I have some RP -Roleplayers- in the next apartment and it was amusing to hear them get their hopes up.” He couldn’t hold it any longer and keeled over with the force of his laughs.

Roleplayers? Yeung-Sung frowned. “You never mentioned them, Darnes.”

The barkeep shrugged. “They’re a non-political group, focusing solely on the game, which is why we pay attention to them, but they have no agenda except to play. So much that they lose themselves in it.”

“Sounds like Wil,” said Yeung-Sung. Wait, didn’t Wil tell me before that there were no abilities in the game, only skills that we create? Checking on the American, he found that he was returning, two beers in each hand. Alongside him was Mamba, and behind that Steph held open the widest smile and Hans waddled cheerfully along.

“So, did you find them? The skills?”

They nodded. “Wait, wait, I’m getting to that,” Sykes was saying said, reminiscing while gazing at the ceiling. “I noticed they kept dying and needed gear,” he explained with a grin, “So naturally I made a ton of the weakest, easiest weapons and armour, and sold it them.” Sykes bit his lips to refrain from laughing again.

Wil bumped his shoulders from behind, so the Irishman smirked and said behind him, “We’re telling Young Sonny boy here how about blessings. And how rich they made me”.

Wil rolled his eyes and passed in through Darnes. Mamba coughed, creating space between the Wick owner and Von Martin.

“Alright, lad,” Steph and Hans said in unison. Gesturing with his glass, Yeung-Sung let them squeeze through into the middle of the mauve couch, while he stayed on the edge.

“Yeung-Sung,” asked Darnes, “do you remember the part in the tutorial where you it told your character to kneel down and pray?”

While nodding, Hans poked Yeung-Sung and whispered, “You mind if I take a look, been wondering what you’ve been up to with the potions thing.” Yeung-Sung handed him the phone.

With everybody settled, Darnes continued. “It turns out that the ‘Gods’ in Airgead are generous ones, because they reward faith with blessings! It’s like an enchantment on a piece of gear, providing certain effects.”

“Of course,” Sykes added in, “There’s no way to know what they do.”

“Not without testing,” Wil admitted, swirling his pint with a steady wrist.

Wha-

Seeing Yeung-Sung’s bewildered reaction, Sykes threw his palms out. “Wait, wait now, let me explain, because here’s where it starts to come together.” He wavered his hands like he was calming a lion. “Because the blessings only go off, they found, after being damaged.

“Ah, see now the armor targeting system makes sense, doesn’t it? Anyway, once the other factions got hold of this information, they began their testing. And good blessings quickly became more expensive than any gear. The factions that found them first, beat the gauntlet first. So, again, Sykes’s warehouse of the most basic equipment one could make gone -at quite the premium, I might add.”

Yeung-Sung parsed through the words for a minute. So you pray to the Gods to help you? That would have been nice to have before. Makes my poison tactic useless in comparison. Still, Wil was right…

“I still think it’s a dumb system,” said Wil, necking his drink before anyone could respond.

Hans scrolled through Yeung-Sung’s profile, looking concerned. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you” he stated. The German shook his head and shoulders, lolling his tongue in his mouth. “Poisons, eh?”

“What’s he got?” asked Mamba.

Hans turned the screen and showed the booth; Yeung-Sung’s inventory appeared as mahogany shelves and racks, stacking rows and rows of his concoctions. Some were labelled to the extent of his knowledge. Others bared mysterious sludge, shifting around, each with its own distinctive colouring -or discolouring.

“This is…This is,” Hans stammered.

“ –Quite excessive if you planned on bringing it into battle, but a nice stockpile if they ever become in demand,” finished Sykes.

Shane craned around. “Do they keep well?”

“Keep?” asked Yeung-Sung.

“How long do they last for in there, dear?” Mamba re-iterated. “Organic items degenerate in Airgead, similarly to real life”

Steph scratched his head, his arm like a vine hanging down over everyone’s heads. “Seein’ as yer’ a greengrocer, I thought you would’a known that.”

“Though,” he admitted, “I’m not sure how you would classify, -eh, that.”

Yeung-Sung hadn’t considered it.

Snatching the phone back off Hans, he swiped up and down, taking a flash survey of his stock. How would I tell?

Do they keep forever? Do I have time to figure it out?

He slumped down in the couch and sighed, “I don’t know…”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Wil said, dimple showing in one cheek, “Who would make a game mechanic that ages poison? Wouldn’t it grow more potent over time?” He seemed like he would’ve added to that, but withdrew himself, swirling his beer again, the glass filled almost to the rim.

“But here’s the scary part,” Hans said, grabbing up his half-pint and flushing his throat with it, “He has more than poison in there.”

Yeung-Sung looked up from his slump. He saw that he wasn’t the only one surprised at Hans’s directness.

Holding the booth in suspense, Hans pinched and rolled his stomach, putting his empty glass and contorted his face as if he was about to throw up.

“Our lad here has health and vitality potions mixed in there too. Labelled by his hands. Any coloner could pick one up at market and drink himself to a fast rebirth before their Gauntlet event starts.”

Hans pushed the heavy table forward as he leapt up and it roared against the floors of The Joint Wick.

“That’s how you intend to break apart the experiment!” he demanded. “Well, listen here, this is our life now. Imagine if you did this for real? You think I’d let it go –”

“Yes, Hans, let it go,” Martin growled. He put his arm out between Yeung-Sung and the German.

“You’ve seen what he’s been through,” said Mamba as she raised her glass against him, “Could you blame him?”

Hans tore his eyes off Yeung-Sung to respond. “I don’t take attempts on human-life lightly.” He spoke with a bite that came out easily through his accent.

“That’s not the same as this,” shouted Wil, shoved behind by the two of them.

“It might as well be!” Hans swerved, trying to break free of Von Martin’s hold, his greaser jacket squeaking at his movements. “He doesn’t even deny it!

“And what if his attempts cause the UN to disqualify the experiment? Then what happens? Alter! We go back to our old lives? That’s not going to happen.” He squeezed the lapels of his jacket. “No. I’m not starting again.”

Yeung-Sung was halfway out of the booth when Hans pushed the table again, causing Yeung-Sung and his phone to slip from the booth. As he fell, he tried to catch his phone, his virtual rack of flasks and their contents gently whirling as if they were asleep, and Yeung-Sung didn’t want to wake them.

The German moved to see him over the table, but settled for stretching overtop a wall of arms.

“we’re here ‘til the world ends, or ‘til it changes. Why stop it? Don’t you want the nations to fix their issues, to have a united economy? If not for yourself then, perhaps, for someone you left behind?” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So there is someone.”

Yeung-Sung crawled around between the far legs of the booth’s table.

It’s not that you’re wrong, Hans. You speak well, and truthfully, I’ve always wished for someone to turn back the clock on the ‘Crash’, but not Jordan. Not here.

If I left my family in a bad position before, imagine how much worse it would be when Jordan takes it over.

Straining his neck over the edge of the table, Yeung-Sung said, “If you really think GLI will bring about some mythical world peace, then you’re the madman.”

“It’s simply not possible.” He opened bandages on his wrists like two bright red ribbons, an turned them veins-up. “And I’m glad I’ve been shown first-hand how right I am”.

“Yeung-Sung!” exclaimed Mamba. A few of the others paled, but Wil teared up.

“I thought we were through with this,” he said.

Keeping his wrists up, he breathed calmly. “There are better ways than this!”

Hans hesitated for a moment, before knocking down Martin’s arm to lean in over the table. “And there are better ways for you than poison.” With that, he strode from the booth, his hands over his ears, eyes only for the bar. Yeung-Sung heard him say he needed ‘A big one’, so, pulling himself up with the curved thigh of the table leg, he shouted back,

“Isn’t alcohol a poison too?”

Hans lurched back for one grim look before he continued walking. Yeung-Sung heaved, his head flat against the table, and watched him for a while, daring him to look back -to face him one more time. When it was evident that he wouldn’t, he stopped straining so hard and flopped into the felt embrace of the couch.

Around the booth, others tried to diffuse the tension:

“Well, I have lot of experience with ‘poison’, if that is what you want to call them,” Martin announced, pounding a hollow beat on his chest.

“Not as much as Darnes, I’ll bet,” joked Steph, “He’s a proper animal.”

“Oh yeah?” Wil asked, pulling a long face.

“Totally,” Steph said back, giving him a thumbs up. He began describing an image of the mountains of coke that used to be stashed in the Wick.

As he excused himself from the booth, Darnes warned them,

“Hey, don’t you listen to that sheep-fucker and his tall tales.”

Wil huffed. “Hey! Hold on…you’ll believe that Darnes is a coke-head, but never even listen to my stories? I could’ve been a crack addict for all you know.”

“Nah, mate, you don’t have coke nose,” Sykes answered, rocking his stool again.

“Oh, really? And how do you know about ‘coke-nose’, Sykes?” Wil asked.

“I don’t. But I do have coke blood-pressure,” he laughed, nearly falling off his stool.

Mamba flicked a beer glass from her mouth, licking he lips. “And here I was thinking you were an innocent lad.”

They continued on like that for some time, unearthing some rather unusual facts about their life pre-colony, like how Wil had been on Adderall for most of his life, or how Mamba sold weed to most of her office at one point.

Yeung-Sung wanted to stay. He wanted to laugh and drink and poke fun of one another. He wanted to forget about the responsibility that they had; Both as Airgead testers, and as community members. He clacked his mouth a few times in an imitation of laughter, but he was not in the correct mindset -how could he be? He wanted to not be himself, he realised. He wanted to become someone who could corner themselves and forget about how Jordan and GLI were busy re-creating the word with their ideas. But the ebb and flow of his pain would never let his thoughts drift far that.

Peering around the booth wall, he looked back out the cracked front window as the laughter went on. It still rained; the grey sky squirming out its discomfort onto dry land. Yeung-Sung sighed and got up.

“I need a glass of water.”