The world is cold. That is the first thing I feel as I wake up. It is a deep, bone-chilling cold that smells like wet iron and old grease. My eyes are heavy, stuck together with the dust of the scrap-heap.
I don't move. I don't even breathe. I remember where I am. I remember the metal shack, the rusted heater, and the man named Barlow who thinks I am a Lord.
Slowly, I open my eyes. The room is dark, but a thin sliver of grey light is peeking through a crack in the metal wall. It's morning. Or as close to morning as this smog-filled world gets.
I look at my arms.
My heart stops. The black silk suit is gone. My skin is covered in grey soot. My fingernails are broken and black with oil. I am wearing the same thin, ripped rags I woke up in yesterday.
The "Gilded Veneer" has failed.
[STAMINA: 15/100]
[RECOVERY RATE: LOW (MALNOURISHED)]
[DEBT UPDATE: 1,000,000,001,200 CREDITS]
Fifteen points. That isn't enough. I need at least five points a minute just to look like a human being, let alone a King. If I turn the skill on now, I'll be back to zero before I can even walk out the door.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Someone is knocking. The sound is like a hammer hitting my skull.
"My Lord?"
It is Barlow's voice. It is muffled by the heavy metal door, but I can hear the nervousness in it. He sounds like a man who hasn't slept. He sounds like a man who is wondering if the "Lord" inside is still alive.
"My Lord, it is the first bell," Barlow says. "The fog is thick today. The Market is opening soon. I have... I have prepared a small breakfast. It is high-grade algae-paste. The best in the district!"
I stay frozen on the cot. I can't let him in. If he opens that door and sees me like this—a starving rat in a pile of blankets—he won't give me breakfast. He will give me to the Collection Angels.
"Wait," I croak.
My voice sounds like gravel. I cough, trying to find that smooth, arrogant tone I used yesterday.
"I am... in the middle of my morning meditation," I say, louder this time. "Do not enter. The energy in this room is... delicate. If you break my focus, the backlash could level this shack."
There is a long silence on the other side of the door. I hold my breath. I can hear Barlow breathing. He is standing right there, his hand probably on the door handle.
"O-of course, My Lord!" Barlow stammers. "I did not mean to disturb the Flow! I will leave the tray by the door. Please... take your time."
I hear the sound of a metal plate hitting the floor outside. Then, I hear Barlow's heavy footsteps moving away.
I let out a shaky breath. I have a few minutes, but not much more.
I need to fix this. I need a way to keep the lie going without burning through my stamina every second. I look around the shack. It is filled with Barlow's junk. There are broken mirrors, piles of old clothes, and boxes of spare parts.
I roll off the cot. My legs feel like they are made of jelly. I crawl over to a pile of discarded fabric in the corner. It is a heap of heavy, brown canvas—probably old tarps used to cover scrap-heaps.
I grab a long piece of the brown cloth. It is stiff and smells like chemicals, but it is thick. I wrap it around my shoulders like a heavy cloak. I find a piece of wire and tie it around my waist.
Then, I find a broken piece of a helmet—a visor that is tinted dark green.
I pull the brown cloth over my head like a hood. I put the green visor over my eyes.
Now, I don't look like a scavenger in rags. I look like a mysterious wanderer. I look like someone who is hiding their face on purpose.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: DIGNITY CHECK...]
[DIGNITY RATING: 5/100 (MYSTERIOUS TRASH)]
Five points. It's better than two.
Now, I activate the Gilded Veneer, but I don't try to make a whole suit. I focus only on the edges of the brown cloth. I make the canvas look like expensive, hand-woven wool. I make the green visor look like a rare emerald lens.
By only "fixing" the edges of what I am already wearing, the cost drops.
[SKILL ADJUSTED: PARTIAL VENEER]
[COST: 2 STAMINA PER MINUTE]
"Better," I whisper. At this rate, I can last seven minutes. Seven minutes to get that food and get Barlow back under my spell.
I walk to the door and slide the bolt back. It screams as it moves, the rust protesting the motion. I pull the door open.
The air outside is a wall of yellow fog. It is so thick I can barely see five feet in front of me. On the ground is a metal tray with a bowl of green slime and a small, hard cracker.
I pick up the tray. I don't eat it out here. I step back into the shadows of the shack and wait.
Barlow is standing by his workbench, his back to me. He is sharpening a blade on a grinding stone. Screee. Screee. Screee. The sparks fly into the fog.
"Barlow," I say. My voice is deep and muffled by the hood.
The merchant jumps, nearly dropping his blade. He turns around and bows so fast he almost hits his head on the workbench.
"My Lord! I... I didn't hear the door!"
He looks at me. He sees the heavy brown cloak and the glowing green visor. He doesn't see a "Lord" in a silk suit anymore. He sees something more frightening. He sees a man who looks like a secret agent or a high-level assassin.
"The air is worse than I thought," I say, gesturing to my hood. "I have had to activate my 'Environmental Shroud.' It is a very sensitive piece of technology. If you touch it, your hand will turn to ash."
Barlow's eyes go wide. He pulls his hands back and tucks them under his armpits. "I wouldn't dream of it, My Lord! I understand! The Sump-Fog is toxic today. Very wise!"
I sit down and start to eat the green slime. It tastes like salty grass and old fish, but as it hits my stomach, I feel a rush of heat.
[NUTRITION DETECTED: STAMINA +10]
[CURRENT STAMINA: 23/100]
I eat every bit of it. I even lick the spoon. I need every drop of energy I can get.
"Barlow," I say, setting the bowl down. "Today, we go to the Market. I need to see the 'Luck' being traded with my own eyes. And you are going to introduce me as your 'Silent Partner' from the North."
Barlow looks nervous. He rubs his neck. "The North? But My Lord... the people at the Market... they are greedy. They will try to scan you. They will try to see if you have Credits."
I stand up. I let the "Gilded" edges of my cloak glow just a little bit brighter.
"Let them try," I say. "I have a trillion credits of 'Fate' on my account. If they scan me, the sheer weight of my destiny will break their machines."
It is a lie. The truth is, if they scan me, they will see the biggest debt in history. But in this world, a debt that big looks almost exactly like a fortune if you don't know how to read the screen.
"We leave now," I command.
I step out into the yellow fog. I have twenty-three minutes of life left. I need to find a way to turn Barlow's fear into real, spendable Luck.