Location: The Information Desk , Bargain Bin

“Next!”

Finally, after what seems like hours of waiting, you’re at the top of the line. Your legs are pounding with fatigue, joints clicking together audibly from the long shopping trip you've endured. You know that the paved steps you walk are consecrated with the blood of a hundred aislers who were not as lucky as you were. Hopefully, the payment will make up for all the pain you’ve suffered on this journey. The double layered cardboard thrums uncomfortably in your arms, making it all the more tempting to open it up and find out exactly what the hell your client asked you to ferry all the way from the Triple Bleach Mop Up.

“Next!”

You step forth, the wide-shouldered guards letting you pass. The package clangs on top of the cherry red plastic counter. The inspector, a matchstick thin man wearing an oversized Sports Jersey, gives you the stink eye and examines the documents you pass over to him.

“ Hmmm…..” The border inspector takes a closer look at you, eyes squinted. “ You’re a strange sight around here. Not like these other aislers, aren’t you?”

He makes one single comment as he rifles through your identity pamphlets, making only one cursory comment.

Choose one of the four backgrounds below.

[X] - “ Don’t let your pet beast cause any trouble in town and we’ll get along just fine. Next!”

You are a Pet-Master of Pets and Animals. Beside you is your ever-faithful Pet, a loyal beast that you have held a strong bond with ever since you were born. Many denizens of the Wal look down upon you partly due to stigmatisation of those in the Pets Departments as feral, uncivilized monsters.

[X] - “ Why would you travel to a backwater hole such as this, tron? Next!”

You are an acolyte of the enigmatic Tronic Temple, otherwise known by the rest of the Wal as trons. Trons are cyber-enhanced technophilic analogues and rival the Books Department in terms of their academic prestige. You have studied all your life to understand the technological wonders of the Wal and guarded these secrets dogmatically. Many raiders would be keen to use your knowledge of the inner workings of the Wal for their own advantage.

[X] - “ Far from home, samurai? We’ll know who to look for if someone finds a headless body in town. Next! ”

You are a wandering paper ronin of the Stationary Shogunate. Your clan that you owed your allegiance was wiped out during the last battle between your nation and the Clothing Dynasties. Clad in an unbreakable suit of paper mache, your combat skills with your office utensil of choice is second to none and your will is indomitable as stainless steel. Most inhabitants of the Wal find you completely unbearable due to your antiquated sense of honor.

[X] - “ Oh my - it's - I didn't expect one of you - I mean, I'm just the biggest. MayIhaveyourautograph,please? May Sam bless you with discounts on your travels, sir knight. Next! ”

You are a Cereai, a religious paladin of balanced diet and honorable nutrition. Your kind is known using their hardened blades of sugar and holy powers blessed onto you by your Mascot of worship to help the innocent, nourish the obese and maintain dietary harmony in the Wal. Most Cereai are known throughout the Wal for their feats of altruism and so, you will always be harassed by passersby for help.

[2] - “ Far from home, samurai? We’ll know who to look for if someone finds a headless body in town. Next! ”

[1] - “ Why would you travel to a backwater hole such as this, tron? Next!”

[1] - “ Don’t let your pet beast cause any trouble in town and we’ll get along just fine. Next!”

---

Narrowing your eyes at his flippant comment, you wait for him to sign off the rest of your papers. You swipe the package off the counter as you make your way towards the exit. Well, you would have but your hips bang into the turnstile. You push but it doesn’t budge. Sighing, you lean your shoulder into it until the rusty metal creaks and finally gives way, making you stumble as it allows you past.

A hideous smell breaks your line of thought, the eye-watering smog of burnt plastic and rubber leaving you gagging and coughing. You wipe away the tears and spot the source. A large inferno on one of the guard posts on the eastern entrance. You hear one guard rushing past you shout out something about “ Damned nevergrow!”. He whistles and a ten man group rushed behind him in formation, armed to the brim with grill gloves. The bright glow flickers and wavers in your entranced eyes, melting the acrylic into a bubbling froth. The embers whip wildly back and forth like kites under an air conditioned wind. The dance of orange and red is not new to you. It is something you are familiar with, the burning. It was inescapable during the Black Friday.

Memories rush forth like people’s craft was smote to ruins, all your efforts to protect and fight for your clan gone in a single war. You unclasp the honour badge from the sling that held your scabbard, the symbol that you dedicated your life towards in your hand. You saw………

Choose what you see.

[X] - A splintered shield lanced through by two color pencils in a criss cross.

You were a retainer of Clan Faber-Castell, one of the five founding clans of the Stationary Shogunate. As such, they wield considerable military and political power, having incorporated the territories of many minor clans in order to maintain their dominance. They are especially famous for their use of their pencil yaris, sharpening their wooden implements to a deadly degree.

[X] - An origami pinwheel flower.

You are a retainer of the Sakura Family. Sakura do not possess the army of samurai that most clans have but they are one of the very few clans that supply the Stationary Shogunate with their invaluable knowledge of Origami, the art of paper smithing that is considered legendary by other Departments in the Wal.

[X] - A paper crane folded out of sheet metal in a pool of black.

You are a mercenary of the decadent Crane and Co Clan. Although not a founding clan of the Stationary Shogunate, they are the most richest and preside over trade with other neighbouring departments. They favor the use of metallic stationary over the traditional paper stationary that most other clans use, believing that the Department’s strict adherence to tradition will be their downfall.

[X] - Smears of bright cherry pink awkwardly shaped into a smiley face.

You are what remains of Clan Smiggle. The smallest of the minor clans, what they make up for in size is their unquenchable optimism and code of justice that makes them a parallel of the Cereai. They are one of the many clans that favoured intervention of the Stationary Shogunate in the affairs of other more impoverished Departments. Shame that their approach led to their extinction in the last Black Friday. Now, the clans future rests on your shoulders.

Shaking your head, your eyes wander over something else in the distance. The namesake of the settlement looms over you, a humongous mass of detritus and artifacts from all corners of the Wal. The tales you heard from wanderers on your journey as well as your Sensei did not do it justice. The pile rested in a massive gyre rent in the superstructure of the Wal, cratered in the floor. Stockers floated errantly overhead like a cloud of flies over a dead body. You watch one to your right, floating just low enough to be visible. Your body freezes instinctively, even as you tell yourself that you and the rest of the settlement are far away from the Stockers senses, enough that it won’t trigger a security alert. It stops near the periphery of the pile, chute unfolding from its square belly. It only takes a second for the gush of expired garbage to unload before the stocker becomes a speck in the distance.

Enough fooling about. You have a package to deliver and the sooner you can get out of here, the better. The meeting place that your client provided was on the 2nd row of a Shelf downtown. You begin at a brisk pace, your sandals plodding in the trash littered ground. You settle at a pace that’s slow enough not to bring any attention onto enough but still fast enough to meet the demands of your schedule.

You take a right turn, past a street of roving Samplers, all grinning hungrily and wearing sandwich boards with slogans such as “ FREE TWINKIE KEBABS” and “ BUY NEW QUINT-A BATTERIES”. Unfortunately, you seem to have stumbled onto a large mass of people, huddled together as if they were weathering the cold. They were paying attention to a man on a stage, preaching brazenly to the crowd. He was dressed in the blue and yellow polo shirts and jeans that the Pre-Fall employees used to wear, his mannequin features contorted in a cold homely grin. Around his neck was a long sash woven from a dozen old ties but the most identifying feature of his character was the yellow smiley face on his face, the lines carved messily with a knife.

“ Refund your debts! Refund your debts before Smiley, my friends, and he will greet you at the Gates of Sliding with everlasting discounts!” The crowd was possessed, hanging onto every one of his words, before repeating “ Refund our debts” along with him. You roll your eyes. Great. A priest of the Smiling One. You thought your clan had wiped out those maniacs already. It seemed those lunatics were hardy like the blessed Nokias of the Electronics Department. No matter how many times you killed them, they always managed to put themselves back together at the end.

However, you’re not part of a clan anymore. You’re strictly here on business. Before you can walk away, one of their followers runs into you excitedly. He’s young, at the age where you’re smart enough to believe you’re independent and dumb enough to be impressionable. He’s adorned in the same uniform as the priest onstage.

“ You there, friend! Smiley blesses you with low prices! Please accept this as a token of his favor!”

He lifts out an old coupon punched through the top with a pipe cleaner, forming a makeshift necklace. It’s old and crunched up. You can read out the musty letters of ‘90 PERCENT OFF’ on the scratched surface.

Choose your action.

[X] - Accept the gift.

[X] - Politely refuse his gift.

[X] - Write in

[X] - An origami pinwheel flower - [3]

[X] - Politely refuse the gift. - [3]
[X] - Accept the gift - [2]

[X] - A splintered shield lanced through by two color pencils in a criss cross [1]

[X] - Smears of bright cherry pink awkwardly shaped into a smiley face [1]

---

Bloody zealots. Years of hard coded samurai conditioning that scream at you to cut the raider down are kept at bay by your senses. You remember the fire again, only this time, with the flag of the Smilers flapping overhead, a crescent black grin scrawled from burnt Play Doh over a jaundiced face. The way they tortured and killed your fellow Samurai in your clan without honour…….

You snort at the religious article with contempt and then, at the boy with pity. He was fresh stocked, an aisler who shouldn’t have been concerned about the concept of their own expiration date much less involved in religious cults. You hold the sympathy boiling in your heart and crush it underneath the cold hammer of reason. As much as you despised the Smilers, you didn’t want to anger them unnecessarily.

“ My apologies, but I was raised a Brandist, not as one of your flock.” You half-lied. “ Perhaps, your gift would be better served in the hands of someone more worthy than me.”

You didn’t get any reply. Instead, the boy's eyes shone with an eerie glint of rage, glowering at you in silence. He somehow stared straight into your pupils, even though they were hidden underneath the bulky rim of your helm. His stilted expression then morphed back into a cheery smile. “ Oh, no worries, good sir. You’ll accept his touch one day.” His voice lowered down an octave, taking on a sinister air. “ They all do.”

He then looked back at the priest who said something that made the crowd whisper in excitement. The boy gasped. “ Prayer’s about to begin!” He then bowed towards you. “ May low prices bless your future, good sir!”

Before you could say a goodbye, the young cultist disappeared into the crowd which began the process of singing a hymn. Well, that was strange. As you walk away, the singing became frenzied chanting, transforming into a cacophony of deranged shrieking and screaming, with the same three words uttered out loud.

“ ALWAYS LOW PRICES! ALWAYS LOW PRICES! ALWAYS LOW PRICES! ”

---

You arrive at the Upper Shelves. Located at the north of the Bargain Bin, they stood high above the rickety shacks and hovels that everyone made for themselves. Only a few powerful individuals could afford to live on an abandoned Shelf. You were about to find out what type of player your client was.

You stared up at the Shelf as you stood at one of its four barrel sized pillars. It was raised sky high, just stopping halfway near the Roof of the Wal’s superstructure. Ropes or makeshift ladders were usually used by most lesser Departments to navigate a Shelf but this Shelf instead used a flattened cardboard pallet that was connected by gummy worms to a pulley system. As you waited in line, the platform jerkily shifted up as shopping cart sized rats provided the force to lift it, egged on by armored guards wielding whips made from fishing hooks.

“ Stop.” One of the guards says as you approach. “ You are required to hand over your weapon to us.”

“ Like I would want your filthy hands to desecrate my blessed weapon.” You take a step back. “ You push me too far, swine.”

The guards proceed to part their coats and your eyes widen. Overcharged maglites from the Tronic Temple. One flick of the switch and not all the origami in the world could save your flesh from being char broiled.

Sighing, you glumly take off your prized weapon, the one that has served you well throughout the horrors of the Wal and surrender it to the guards.

[X] - Ivory Crane, a monstrously huge paper odachi that is said to be crafted from compressed origami sheets. It is relatively lightweight for its enormous size but is considered to be unwieldy in close quarters. It more than makes up for it with a blade that can bisect a Stocker in half with enough force. It has seen battle with the edge have dulled over years of usage.

[X] - A bundle of foiled origami paper that is razor sharp yet fragile at the same time. Your elders refer to this weapon as the Death of a Thousand Folds. You have been trained to fold the material into a variety of thrown implements from kunai, shuriken to paper airplanes to small hand held implements. You now only possess 186 sheafs out of the original thousand originally given to you.

[X] - An oversized ream of gift paper utilised by the Sakura Clan and perhaps, their most unique implement. This paper possesses remarkable tensile strength and you are trained to unfurl it and furl it back during combat, using it as an oversized whip to immobilize opponents. Its true ability lies however in your ability to use it to construct makeshift structures in a matter of seconds. When all else fails though, you can use the Wrap of War as a solid bludgeoning instrument.

[X] - Ivory Crane, a monstrously huge paper odachi that is said to be crafted from compressed origami sheets. It is relatively lightweight for its enormous size but is considered to be unwieldy in close quarters. It more than makes up for it with a blade that can bisect a Stocker in half with enough force. It has seen battle with the edge have dulled over years of usage. [3]

---

You remember the time when you first received an Ivory Crane from your parents. These gaijin would never understand the history in its cracked pommel, the scratches on the tip that told of a thousand battles. You draw it out of its enormous scabbard, nearly as tall as you are, before shoving it into the bodyguard’s hands. It’s hard to let go, the comfortable grip parting itself reluctantly from your calloused palms.

“ Be sure to take care of it.” Your voice takes on a warning edge. “ Lose it and your soul will be my refund. ”

“ Yeah, yeah.” The bodyguard points to the waiting line behind you. “ You’re not the only aisler in the Bargain Bin. Let’s skip the bluster and get to the part where you’re here for business?”

“ And remember.” The other gruffly spoke. “ This ain’t the Stationary Department. No laws here, trials by combat, or tradition. All we care about is your price tag and what you’re willing to pay.”

You walk past the both of them and stand atop the elevator. Your blade disappears from sight as you slowly ascend into the upper levels of the Shelf. From the platform, you see poverty stocked on every shelf in all of its forms. Aislers scraping by on expired Kelogg’s corn flakes and old bubblegum boiled in a stew. A table where people gamble over minute amounts of tic tacs over price tag poker. A group of bandits armed with toothpicks confronting a lone beggar. Murder. Violence. Survival. All the most primal aspects of humanity stocked on a shelf.

You arrive on the highest level, the most opulent out of the entire Shelf. Instead of snack wrapper tents, these aislers could afford to shelter in the rare cereal boxes. You spot one distinct in the crowd, a 20 foot tall box that was labeled with the visage of Tony the Tiger, the muscled tiger god of the Cereai. The art depicted the deity flexing his ginormous striped biceps, veins popping out. The doorway was situated underneath his stretched out legs.

You heard the sound of loud munching as you walked into the dingy cardboard box. The smell of curdled milk was thick in the enclosed space. You spot a stocky man sitting behind one of those old XL Barbie playset tables from the defunct Toys Department. Cut styrofoam pads covered his entire figure like makeshift armor, making a shrill ear-renting squeak everytime he moved in place. Sweat glistened down his shaved head. He’s not used to a climate like the Bargain Bin. No air conditioning meant that the temperature was on the fritz between warm and tepid hot. He didn’t pay much attention to your arrival and was more engrossed in burying his face in the 3 foot long twinkie he has on the table.

Behind him was a mammoth of a man. There was no doubt he could lift you up by the neck and pop your head like a can of soda. A coat of multi-colored feathers covered his entire naked back whilst a paper bag skirt made up his lower extremities. Your only assurance against him was the two-inch paper cuirass that hugged your upper body along with the massive pauldrons on your shoulders. You try not to let the massive industrial stapler gripped in his tattooed arm intimidate you. He leaned his neck down to take a look at you before gently tapping the shoulder of his boss to interrupt him from his meal.

“ Well, well, look who we have here.” The man slid his twinkie to the side. “ You’re late. It’s rude to be late for a meeting.”

“ I was held by the - “ You stop one word short of cursing the Smilers. With the presence of the Smilers here in the Bargain Bin, you didn’t want to take the chance that your client was a Smiler sympathizer. “ commotion.”

“ The Cult of the Smiling One?” The man guffawed. “ Yeah, I can see that. They just came in a few days after the Spring Seasonal. Claimed to be on charity work to help out those who lost their Shelves during the Black Friday. By the time they got rooted here, the Department authorities couldn’t do anything.”

“ But I digress.” The man leaned out to shake your hand. “ Name’s Haagen. Dark and scowling over here is Leash. Now….., do you have it?”

You adjusted the angle of your body slightly to show the boxy package curled under your arm. The man’s eyes twinkled with hunger as you gave him the box, the table curling under the weight.
“ Hmmmm.” His brows were furrowed as he inspected it closely. You could only make out some of his mutterings. “ Never said anything about Wal-Tech. I wouldn’t be concerned if it was Tupperware but biometric locks? “

“ Do you not know what’s inside it?,” you asked Haagen.

“ I get paid not to know just as I’m paying you not to ask.” Once he was done inspecting, he nodded over towards Leach who produced a cooler from behind his back. He opened it and took out a clear bag, dangling from his fingers. “ As agreed upon, your reward.”

Leach lobbed it over to your open hands. It’s cool to the touch, dew coating your fingers. You slowly open the ziplock, revealing to you…….

[X] - A Limited Edition Anniversary 2B Statedler Scrivener. Constructed out of space-age materials, this pencil is said to be able to keep its mono-molecular sharpness forever. Only 50 of these pencils were distributed during the Pre-Fall era and only the head members of the Founding Clans have each of one. The Scrivener is considered by many in the Wal to be a holy artifact and in the Stationary Shogunate, you will garner respect amongst your fellow samurai for having acquired such an artifact. Be careful not to lose this.

[X] - A premium Wal-Pachinko lottery card. Many an aisler died attempting to get their hands on a lottery card and fewer have found a usable Wal-Pachinko machine. If you could find a working Wal-Pachinko machine, you would receive treasures that the Tronic Temple would gleefully sell entire tracts of their Department to buy.

[X] - A finger of the Great Sam. Well, supposedly the Great Finger of the Sam. The bone has been separated at the third digit and it shines with an unusual yellow glow. Well, supposedly the Great Finger of the Sam. Your client claims it was in the contract. Maybe, it’s a scam. Or perhaps, it isn’t. Do you want to take the risk?

[x] - A Limited Edition Anniversary 2B Statedler Scrivener. Constructed out of space-age materials, this pencil is said to be able to keep its mono-molecular sharpness forever. Only 50 of these pencils were distributed during the Pre-Fall era and only the head members of the Founding Clans have each of one. The Scrivener is considered by many in the Wal to be a holy artifact and in the Stationary Shogunate, you will garner respect amongst your fellow samurai for having acquired such an artifact. Be careful not to lose this. [2]

[x] - A premium Wal-Pachinko lottery card. Many an aisler died attempting to get their hands on a lottery card and fewer have found a usable Wal-Pachinko machine. If you could find a working Wal-Pachinko machine, you would receive treasures that the Tronic Temple would gleefully sell entire tracts of their Department to buy. [1]

---

You grab the instrument gently by its shaft, the metallic sheen of the golden paint glowing like sunlight. It’s light but your hand trembles as if you are holding a shake-weight. It feels unworthy. Holding a sacred artifact of your department in your hands, you can’t imagine anything else that would atone for your crimes to the clan than this pencil.

“ Thank you, Haagen,” You bow courteously. “ You have honoured your side of the deal. I will not forget this. ”

“ Whaddya expect? This is the Bargain Bin. Everyone expects a fair exchange in this department.” He mutters errantly, more focused on the package than you. “ ‘Besides, I’m not that type of person. I may be engaged in a little bit of shoplifting but then, again, who doesn’t?”

You snort. Of course, everyone knew the truth of the Wal. Everyone was a shoplifter under the gaze of the automatons that lorded over their very lives and no one was a customer. No matter how well you tried to conduct yourselves, Security would always identify you as a worthless shoplifter. Then again, there were plenty of Departments and lesser factions that tried to convince themselves otherwise. Your mind wandered to the loud chanting of the Smilers as you tuck the Scrivener gently inside your belt.

“ I could think of some,”you said “ Nevertheless, the Sakura Clan is in your debt. If you ever need a -”

The floor beneath you begins to shake, making your feet stumble as you trip on non-existent ground. Poison comes to your mind at first but that thought soon disappears as you see the other occupants of the cereal box are swaying as well. This wasn’t a hallucination. Leash grabs you by the neck, stopping you from having a personal meeting with the cardboard floor. The shaking then stops. Haagen, however, is worse for wear, groggily clambering back up after falling down on his bum.

“ Samurai, was this you?!” Haagen points at you accusingly. “ Did your clan come down here for Sport?”
“ No.” Leash sniffs the air like a hound, taking long draughts of the tepid air. “ Different smell. More clean. More plastic.”

Haagen’s face then pales, white with fear. “ No, it can’t be…..” He dislodges an ice cream scoop stuck on his table before running outside with Leash. You follow them both. Outside is an inferno. So much so that the smoke makes your eyes water. The lower levels of the Shelf are burning and waiting at ground level is a horde large enough to take over an entire Department. Thousands of flaming match-sticks held by the same maniacs you encountered earlier in the Bargain Bin.

“ FOR SMILEY.” One of them at the front shouts. “ FOR THE GREAT SAM. PURGE ALL OF THESE SHOPLIFTERS, MY FELLOW SHOPPERS!”

You swear if you make it out of this alive to kill any Smiler you meet ever again. Just out of caution.

“ Useless knock-offs.” Haagen curses. “ All that Rocky Road I bribed them was all for nothing.”

“ Alwaaayss Low Prices!” The first of the horde haul themselves on top of the Shelf and begin running in a loose formation towards you, shrieking prayers to Smiley himself with outstretched rictus grins.

How do you respond?

[X] - Escape the Shelf and live to fight another day. Some of your kin may call this dishonourable but you see it as a matter of common sense. After all, you do not answer to these inkless brigands.

[X] - Defend your martial honor like a samurai truly would. Although you may be without your weapon, you can still use something from the surrounding Shelf to help you survive. Cut through these Smiler dogs and spill their blood in the name of the Clan you fought for.

[X] - Defend your martial honor like a samurai truly would. Although you may be without your weapon, you can still use something from the surrounding Shelf to help you survive. Cut through these Smiler dogs and spill their blood in the name of the Clan you fought for. [1]

---

Retreat? You purge that traitorous thoughts from your head. Run away like a dishonourable, inkless coward?

You stood strong when a platoon of milkmen from the Dairy aisle assaulted your column at the northern freezers.

You stood unflinchingly as the Cult of the Smiling One unleashed the horrors of Security on you, charging on pidgeonback with lance in hand towards the shelf-tall robotic manservant.

You stood bleeding, protecting the glue farmers of Uhu, as several children huddled behind you in a pipeline, the tattered remains of your thousand folded katana in your hands against a horde of Smilers.

You will not fold now or in the foreseeable future. The first of the cultists comes towards you, a heavyset man with thick jowls who wears a headband crafted from measuring tape on his bald scalp. Your face wrinkles in disgust as you notice a dozen bad habits immediately. He grips his three-foot long spoon too loosely. His breathing is irregular. His back is bent too low. He never had the fortune to go through the martial regimen that the Stationary Shogunate provided to you.

“ ALWAYS LOW - urk!” His scream is cut short as your fist connects with the Adam's apple of his throat, stopping the deranged cultist dead in his tracks. You then rip the weapon from his dazed hands and take a moment to examine it. It’s not a spoon.

It’s a spork. Even better.

In one swift movement, you bring it overhead and then, down upon him, splattering his skull all over the shelf top, Specks of blood shower over your pristine paper armor like red paint over a clear canvas. The rest arrive, 20 in total, and look at you, unsure of whether or not to attack. You take a look behind. Haagen and Leash are taking care of a dozen Smilers on the other side of the Shelf. Haagen gives a personal demonstration to the Smilers that a ice cream scoop is sharper than it looks whilst Leash is busily turning them into dead meat as you hear the dull thwacks of staples entering their bodies.

A cry breaks the silence.

“ KILL THE SAMURAI!”

“ Steel bends and paper tears, only honour is eternal!” You reply in return, leaping into the horde of Smilers and begin a dance that you stepped thousands of times before in practice and in the fires of sport. Limbs fly as you swing the stainless steel in your hands into the thick of it, smashing bone with the flat of it and spearing through flesh with its three prongs. It is a thin line between bloodlust and discipline that you engage in, swinging your spork with mania and precision. One Smiler gets the bright idea to attack you from behind, failing as you shove the handle into her gut before silencing her heaving form with an underhand slash that spills her brains out.

“ Hold.”

The remaining Smilers stop attacking at the sound of the word.

Your muscles ache with the familiar twinge of fatigue. You haven’t gone this hard since Black Friday. Both Haagen and Leash have been subdued whilst you were battling, dozens of hands gripping their bodies. Haagen, in a fit of desperation, kicks the package you delivered towards you. You grab it and level out your spork towards the crowd. They hiss in response, surrounding you in a circle that grows ever smaller by the moment.

The crowd parts and rumbles as the same priest who spoke at the entrance of the Bargain Bin looks at you, not with geniality, but with a cold smile.

“ All this blood shed…….. What a waste. A shame that you are not on our side. I understand your hatred towards us, samurai.” He lisps over the first syllable breathlessly, as if uttering it gave him bliss. “ Out of respect for your loss in the last Black Friday, I will allow you to leave this Shelf with your head intact.”

You keep your guard up, shifting your body so that the package is guarded behind you. The priest notices, raising an eyebrow.

“ I see...." He then looks at Haagen with a sneer of contempt. " What did he give you to ferry it all the way here? I doesn't matter. You may think you know what you have in your possession but you have no idea what value it holds to me. Name your price, samurai. You fight for an ice cream smuggler and a feral beast. I suggest a person who values honour such as you should leave….and forget the past history between your department and our brotherhood. ”

“ Don’t listen to this gluten free coward!” Haagen yells madly at you. “ Protect it and I will pay you back a thousandfold!"

[X] - Give the package over to the priest. After all, how much can one package be worth?

[X] - Deny it from the priest. Whatever is inside the package, you can't guarantee that the Cult of the Smiling One won't turn it upon the Stationary Shogunate. They are still the same ones who led a crusade that razed dozens of departments during the Black Friday.

[X] - Destroy it so that no one can have it. If it's so much trouble to the both of them, you might as well cut the common factor out of the equation.

[X] - Deny it from the priest. Whatever is inside the package, you can't guarantee that the Cult of the Smiling One won't turn it upon the Stationary Shogunate. They are still the same ones who led a crusade that razed dozens of departments during the Black Friday. [2]

---

“ Forget?” You echo the priest’s words back to him as your eyes look around for any possible escape or opening to take advantage of. “ You ask me to forget, you rusted swine? You of no ink, no honour, no warranty? The man who slew my ilk and claimed it was as Sam dictates it?”

“ Spare me your sanctimony, samurai.” The priest raised his arms high and spoke aloud. “ Violence is the payment that the Wal demands. If Sam thought us so wrong, why do the likes of the Stockers or security exist?” There was a brief chuckle at the end of his question before his voice took on a softer lilt. “ But, enough of this. You are stalling for time. So, give me the artifact before we take it from you by force.”

In the middle of the priest’s ultimatum, you spot a white beacon in the sea of blue and yellow shirts. Your sword, Ivory Crane. You stuff down the boiling rage that threatens to make you growl as you put two and two together to realise that your blade is being bermirsched by the hands of those zealots. The situation was becoming more and more dire by the second and all your options were off the table. Unless, you negotiated but what could you…..

The sword appeared once again in your view. You take notice of the upper shelf and the fact that there are no guard railings on either side of the edge. Slowly, a plan began to form in your mind.

“ The sword.” You blurt out loud. “ It’s a heirloom. Give me the sword and I will give you your package.”

“ No! Don’t - “ Haagen’s pleas were cut off as a vegetable peeler was lowered near his throat.

“ Very well. ” The priest said. “ Sham, give this samurai their sword back as a gesture of our good will.”

The crowd rumbles as they let one of their own move through. A brown haired man with a bandolier of bubble wrap walks through, holding your sword clumsily by the pommel. To be frank, you’re more concerned about the condition of the sword rather than how Haagen looks at you as if he could kill you with his gaze. The cultist cautiously lifts it out towards you whilst lowering his other hand out towards the package. You grab the wrist, making everyone in the crowd stand at tension.

“ The sword first,” you said.

Grumbling, the man holds Ivory Crane out to you, blade first, waving towards you whilst still holding onto the package. He has a tight grip on it. Solid. A puritanical insistence on never letting go, no matter the cost. That’s just what you need.

You grab Ivory Crane by the blade and push it back into the man’s face, the blunt of the sword turning his nose into a red splotch as he recoils back, dazed. His foot stumbles and with a twist, you launch both of you and him off the Shelf, the cultist still gripping onto the package for dear life whilst your sword is in your hands.

Your fingers catch onto the rim of the box-like package and you hug it against your body, its contact with your skin giving you a certain thrill as the wind whips in your hair and -

The sound of bone cracking cuts your victory short, darkness blooming in your vision to take you away from the split-second agony.

---

You come to, a voice in the darkness fading in and out every second.

“Hello?......Hello there?.......Pupils responsive…...Hello, can you hear me?”

You make a half-hearted sound that you think is a yes. The man chuckles.

“ You were out for quite a while.” Your vision returns in a blurry fashion. You can make out white hair and a set of reading glasses on his face.. “ Hard to believe you can speak right now in your state.”

“ S-smiler - “ you croaked out to the blurred figure.

“ Aye, don’t worry, lad. Bargain Hunters repelled them off the border. Rumor is that they pulled in favors from a nearby Dorfen Fort. Don’t know the specifics but it was enough to get them off our backs.”

You notice something wrong.

[X] - Why is half of your vision so dark?

[X] - You frown as you flex your right fingers and grasp nothing but air.

[X] - It’s a relief to feel lighter at the waist but it’s uncomfortably lighter, almost as if you’re missing a leg.

[X] - Why is half of your vision so dark? [2]

---

Nevermind that. Unfortunately, it’s hard to think when your head pounds relentlessly, so much so, that you can barely concentrate your thoughts. You grimace, grunting loudly as you raise yourself up. From what you can see, you’re swaddled in what appears to be repurposed popcorn bags on top of a bed. The room is a wide hallway with several other beds lying to your side and across, men and women in different states of injury lying upon them. Small children scurry around to each bed like mice, carrying bottles of pills and alcohol swabs.

However, It’s a different story on your right. All you see from your right side is nothing. Just a black indistinguishable haze, as if someone wrapped a blindfold over half of your face. You crane your neck up and then, a paralyzing pain from your lower spine to the back of your head forces you back down.

“ Easy there.” The old voice talks again.” You’ve just fallen off five shelves. It’s Sam’s miracle that you’re still -”

You point towards, or try to point to where your right eye is.

“ Let me see it,” you utter.

“You’re still recovering. You need to re-”

“ Let me see it”

A makeup mirror swims into your vision. A crack in the glass presses into your reflection like a root, etching itself into your left cheek. All that remains of your right eye is an empty socket, puckered scars round the bone. It’s hard for reality to set in, like waiting for glue to set. It’s as if your mind is attempting to reconcile with your torn body. You try to blink. You think you’re blinking. You have to be. It’s not - Your mouth grows clammy, refusing to acknowledge

“ My eye, my eye,” you begin to stammer to yourself like a broken PA speaker, as if you hoped your vision would return with each. You reach out to claw at what you know is an empty round crevasse of pulp and viscera but a crinkled hand reaches out to stop you.

“ I’m sorry, son.” His apology carries the energy of routine self-loathing. “ I wish I could do more. You would need an Wal-Clinic or a Tron specialising in cybernetics to replace your broken eye. Even then, with that damage….”

He takes away the makeup mirror and you turn your head to the left, to where he sits. Your vision now has become more clear and with it, the identity of your mysterious rescuer. A moth-eaten labcoat covers his emaciated frame with a necklace of doctor playset toys hanging around his limp neck. A thick beard of grey masks his chin whilst all that remains on his head are wisps of white.

“ They’re still cleaning up the remnants of the Crusade outside. We’ll talk more when opening hours resume.” He scratches the back of his head. “ In the meantime, take some rest, samurai.”

He stands up and leaves you to think in your broken state. Time passes as you think about how worthless you are as a samurai now. You took a gamble and the gamble cost you your body. How can you fight when you can’t even see properly? How would your clan react?

Eventually, the fatigue of injury pulls you back into unconsciousness, less painful than the one your fall forced you into. Your mind drifts back to a single moment in the past.

What was it?

[X] - Your hand brushes through pale green mist. It’s hard to breathe with the mask but you have to bear it. The toxic residues of the Bleach Mare would melt your flesh to the bone in a matter of seconds if you took it off. The captain signals you wordlessly, knocking his fist against his elbow, and pointing it to the mast. You stop yourself from replying as your brain fills in the gaps of his wordless communication. You walk towards it and begin hoisting the sails.

Then, a shadow leaps from the water and lands onto the deck with a fleshy thud. Its leached skin drips detergent that hisses upon contact with the planks. You slowly draw your sword in anticipation as it jumps towards you with a screech.

[X] - How can light be so heavy? That’s the only question on your mind as you wander the eternal horizon. You take a look up for a brief moment into the cloudless, grey sky. You’ve always been curious about the Gates of Sliding and the Parking Lots, about how it would be great to just take a tiny peek. Your experiences here has caused your childhood desires to wither up and dry.

“ How much longer?,” you whisper to your guides travelling in front.

You always know the reply.

“ We are at the mercy of the Roof, brother.”

You sign and huddle further inside the cool grasp of the tinfoil blanket, shielding off the baking heat as your feet trudge further and further onwards.

[X] - “ Again.”

You remember sweat and blood as your weapon clangs to the floor nearby. You pick it up. An ancient face, chiseled like folded origami, stares down at you in disappointment. Hurt pride and something more, a thirst, wells in you as your trembling hand picks up the pommel, the scent of frosted sugar cloying in the dry air.

Breathing in, you ready your stance and charge again.

“ Again” - [1]

---

He criticizes every blow you make, every step, even how fast your breathing. The memory of his blows, even with blunted cardboard edges, still stung your skin. Even though he wasn’t born in the Shogunate, he is the epitome of your ideals. Unyielding like stainless steel. Pliable as folded origami. Most of all, he is stationary incarnate, organisation and order embodied in his form and teachings.

Yet, through all the pain, you feel a small sense of nostalgia at simpler times when you were concerned about practicing your footwork and not about practicing sport. Where the worse you had to deal with was a grueling day of hacking at cardboard dummies instead of Smilers.

Younger days. Unfolded days. You crack a smile as you twirl down into an overhead slash onto his shoulder, only for him to block it at the moment with the flat of his cardboard blade. You press downwards, gritting your teeth, biceps shaking in stress whilst he is still as a statue. He then opens his mouth.

" Samurai."

He repeats it again.

" Samurai. Wake up."

The dream crumbles like soggy paper as you com to. You wipe a strand of drool from your cheek, only to realise that an impish hand is currently jostling your shoulder. A bald head, like that of an egg, accompanied by brilliant green eyes stared back at you with curiosity. He was dressed in the same doctor's coat as your savior, only more oversized to the point where his sleeves drooped limply down his wrists. You blinked as he waved a flashlight in your eyes before nodding in approval and jotting down notes on a Etch-A-Sketch that hung from his neck. You frown, though not in disapproval. Children were expected to fight and train from birth, from the lowest of glue farmers to the highest of paper nobles, in the Shogunate. It was odd to see that this tradition was also present in other departments.

“ I apologise, samurai. Doctor Panadol asked me to bring these to you.” The child lifts an oversized aluminium dinner tray towards you. “ He is the man who saw to you earlier today.”

What lies in it is not food but eyes. Dozens of them with different colored pupils. You grasp at them carefully, expecting it to be flesh and blood, only for them to be unnaturally smooth and cold to the touch.

“ They’re fakes. All over the counter, of course. ” He bows again. “ I’ll leave you to your own privacy.”

The child leaves to yourself. The fake eyes dance in between your fingers as you look at them staring back at you with a plastic glint.

[X] - Leave your missing eye bare as a reminder of who you are.

[X] - Take your clan’s insignia and mould it into an eyepatch.

[X] - Accept the fake eye from the pharmamancer.

[1] - Take your clan’s insignia and mould it into an eyepatch.

---

They’re not as well stocked as Dorfen merchants but you’re lucky you didn’t lose any of your fingers in the fall. With some leftover pipe cleaner and silly string, you manage to make a rudimentary eyepatch. You wipe a smear of glue on the bottom of the paper flower and stick it in front of the patch. It’s not a work worthy of a papersmith, by far, but nevertheless, a quiet sort of pride swells in your chest. You gently wrap it around your head, slotting it gently into the bony crevasse where your left eye used to be.

After that, You keep asking when you can leave and it’s always the same response combined with the constant prodding and testing that makes you feel like one of those caged monstrosities from Pets N Animals.

It’s after the fifth day that you decided enough was enough. The taste of pre-packaged lunchables crusted your tongue and in spite of your politeness, there was only so much prodding and medical examinations you could handle. As you step off the bed, rest rust cakes your joints as your muscles . You stretch out your arm, rotating it experimentally. The stings of pain erupt periodically every time you pull your arm too fast or in a certain direction. At least you can finally stop lying in this damn bed.

The door at the end of the hallway bangs open as one of the child helpers you see scurrying and busying other patients comes towards your bed. Instead of holding a tray full of syringes and bottles of pills, he held something that was wrapped in a thick orange Sham-Wow. He stopped at the front of your bed, looking reverently towards you in a way that made your skin crawl.

“ Sa-samurai!” The boy gave a slight bow before gently offering you the bundle.“ The Pharmacist asked us to give you back your items. I do have to warn you, though. Some of your items didn’t make it through your...fall unscathed.”

How bad can it be? You unfurl the blanket. Most of your wargear is undamaged, with the minor scratch or dent.

Well, save for one.

[X] - Can it even be called armor anymore? The inch-thick pauldrons have been shaved down to a thin wisp. The plating around your gorget has been crumpled. The only thing that’s usable is the cuirass and even then, the holes peppered throughout are big enough to fit your pinky through.

[X] - Ivory Crane’s seen better days. The sword passed down from your father has been completely demolished, leaving little more than a torn handle with a bent chaffed blade. You doubt that it could even withstand one blow without breaking apart in twain.

[X] - Can it even be called armor anymore? The inch-thick pauldrons have been shaved down to a thin wisp. The plating around your gorget has been crumpled. The only thing that’s usable is the cuirass and even then, the holes peppered throughout are big enough to fit your pinky through.

---

“ Sorry,” The boy trembles as he notices the frown on your face, aghast with shame. “ If I could, I - “

“ No need for apologies.” You wave your hand nonchalantly, even trying to put up a smile to reassure the boy, though it shakes. “ You saved my life. What could be more important than that?”

Your confident expression then falls dour as your eyes stare at the tattered, shredded remains of paper in your hands. You barely hear the door opening and closing, your eyes blurry and wet as your heart pounds. Centuries of history and craftsmanship undone by your own actions. The success of your journey to the Bargain Bin is now tarnished by the loss of your paper mantle.

Did bringing the package back to your clan really matter?

Your head jolts up in realisation. You were an idiot, how could you forget about the package?

As if answering your question, the door opened and the same man who you woke to, half-blind and injured, strides in. His cheeks grow a dull red as frustration scrunches up his white brow.

“ You shouldn’t be up.” Now at your side, he tries to gently ease you back into your bed. “ It takes more than a few days to heal your broken ribs, and we don’t even known whether or not there’s any complications- “

You slap his hand away and speak curtly. “ I feel well. Thank you.” Your ribs swell in pain with each word you say. Your next words come out a little more drily. “ Who are you and why did you help me?”

“ I go by many names but for now, I would prefer to just be known as a simple Pharmacist.“ He rubs his right hand as though it aches, staring “ As for why I sheltered your broken corpse away from the Smilers, would you believe me if I said it was out of the goodness of my heart?”

You don’t reply back and just merely glare at him. The Pharmacist takes a good long look at you, leaning close enough that you can see the flecks of white in his black eye. He then shakes his head sadly.

“ No, you’re far too cynical for that. Your eyes look as though you’ve been forced to sleep your entire life. I wonder what happened to you at such a young age...”

You hate the pity. Fists tightened, you sigh at this noble charade he was putting on.

“ What do I owe you?”

He looks at you as though you’ve claimed to have found the Gates of Sliding. His chest heaves in silent laughter before he replies.

“ Nothing. Everything’s over the counter.”

“ You must be a fool to think that I’m that naive.”

“ And you must be a pessimist to see the worse in what I say.”

Your eyebrows arches in disbelief. “ What? Am I just supposed to believe that I walk out of here with no debts?” The notion of charity in a locale such as this is enough to make you sputter. “ I- I - is this some Dorfen joke I’m not getting?”

“ Like I said before, everything’s over the counter.”

Alright, enough’s enough. In a blink of an eye, you pull out Ivory Crane from its scabbard and stop a hair’s length away from turning the pharmacist’s beard into a carpet.

“ Say that phrase again and I will gut you like a sea monkey from head to toe.” You punctuate each word with growing impatience. “ What does it even mean?”

“ An old saying from my Department.” The pharmacist looked at the sword as if it was an errant cockroach and pressed it down with a finger. “ It means no prescriptions on part of the patient, no questions asked and privacy observed. Well, until some members reinterpreted that as having the liberty to experiment on any aisler desperate enough to come to them. I didn’t agree with them and they didn’t agree with me. At least, they allowed me to leave with my dignity. ”

A sliver of regret flashed over his face, mouth curling downwards like a creased corner before smiling yet again, this time with less levity. He clears his throat and continues on.

“ Anyway, if I need to make it more clear to you, you’re free to go now. My assistants made sure to return everything that belonged to you. ”

“ Not everything!,” you blurt out hurriedly “ There was a-”

“ Ah, right.” He pinches his nose in embarassment. “ That box you were found with. Just wait here for me to bring it back.”

He snaps his fingers nad hollers something intelligible to several of the assistants in the hallway. Scurrying back through the doors, it takes only a few seconds before they come rushing back through,the same square package you nearly sacrificed your life for carried by several of them. The pharmacist takes it from their hands, nodding his head in thanks, and then, looks at it with admiration that makes your stomach turn.

“ Here we go. Strange little thing. Haven’t seen Wal-Tech like that since my 42nd Christmas Sale.”

“ Wal-Tech?”

“ Mhm.” He turns the box around and taps a side where strange blocks of white and black assembled into a square have been stamped on. “ Those hieroglyphs for one. I’ve only seen these on rare artifacts and the like. I can’t make head or tails of them but if you find…….Well, I’ve intruded enough in your affairs as I have already.”

He then places the package onto the bed, frame creaking under its weight, before looking at you.

“ So, where will you go now, Samurai?”

Your mind wanders briefly about your plan.

[X] - Stick with your original plan. Go back to the Stationary Shogunate and give the package to your clan elders.

[X] - Seek help from another more technologically advanced Department more familiar with the intricacies of Wal-Tech to learn about the package.

[X] - Get rid of the damn thing and find a way to destroy it. It’s caused more than enough trouble as it has.

As you decide on your plan, you turn your eyes to the Pharmacist and decide what to tell him.

[X] - Let him in on your plan.

[X] - Ask him if he can help identify the package. (Optional)

[X] - Lie.

[X] - Kill him. No one can know about this package except you.

[2] - [X] - Stick with your original plan. Go back to the Stationary Shogunate and give the package to your clan elders.

[2] -[X] - Let him in on your plan.

[X] - Ask him if he can help identify the package. (Optional)

---

You reply teresely. “ Back to my home. To my parent clan. To the Stationary Shogunate.” You hug the package tightly and stare at him expectantly, waiting for the sound of laughter or stinging criticism of your plans that were already beyond the expiry date.

Instead, all that comes is an understanding nod. “ Honor really gets the best of you at the end, doesn’t it, stationari?”

“ Like an outsider would even know about us.” you bite back.

“ Oh really?” The pharmacist clears his throat and then, begins to speak slowly, as if reciting a creed. “Steel bends.”

“ Paper tears,” you reply automatically whilst your brows raise in surprise.

“ Glue hardens.” he continues, never pausing.

“ Ink smears.” Your mouth says the words out of habit but there’s only the question of How? on your mind.

“ My will is stainless.”

“ My honour is eternal,” you finish breathlessly. “ Where did you learn it? Outsiders only know the shortened version.”

“ You're not the first Samurai I’ve encountered.” The pharmacist said before pointing towards your eyepatch. “ So, Sakura, eh? I suppose you were tasked with returning this package to the papersmiths.”

You nod. “ Aye. They promised to restore my reputation and my status as samurai if I brought it back to them.”

“ Promised.” The pharmacist rolled his eyes. “ Is that what those old warhawks call it nowadays? Do you really think giving that package to them is the best thing to do? We all know who started the last Black Friday in the first place.”

You didn’t need reminding of that. With no patience to discuss the politics of inter-departmental politics, you decided to take a different tack. You lifted the package out to him invitingly “ Perhaps, they won’t if you can help me identify what this is exactly.”

“ This is high quality plastic, no doubt about it.” He rapped against one side of it with its knuckles soundlessly before rubbing his nose and taking a deep breath. “ I can smell disinfectant. It’s been stored for a long time. It doesn’t have the stench of the Wal on it at all….”

He continued to look at it some more, turning it upside down and onto each and every end. When he was finally done, his face was slightly ashen, looking down at the package with reverence.

“ Like you heard me earlier, this is Wal-Tech.” He scratched his chin. “ But this is no ordinary piece of Wal-Tech. It has the mark of the Employees on it.”

“Employees?,” you scoff. “ They’re all dead. There are no more employees left. Everyone knows that they all perished during the Fall.”

“Or so we believe.” He then crossed his arms. “ This is priceless. With all the details you’ve given to me, it would make sense why an entire Smiler crusade would be after this product. Anything with the mark of the Employees on it has the power to change a Department. Even change the Wal itself…..”

He turns to look at you, face now grim and ashen.

“ I think it’d be best for you to leave the Bargain Bin. At once.”

---

You depart the day after during the opening hours. You gather what equipment survived your fall and try to make the best of your ruined armor. With a little help from the Pharmacist’s assistants, you manage to pancake it into a paper buckler that hangs onto your right hand.

Even, the Pharmacist did leave you one parting gift.

[X] - Take one item from the good Pharmacist.

[X] - A tube of 100 Vitamix-Plus Gummies - Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, you think you even see a little bit of magenta in there.

[X] - WalVicks Absolute Zero Cold Relief - This dark bottle rattles with a liquid that frosts the very glass itself.

[X] - Novolog Insu-Inhalant - This nasal syringe immediately makes your nostrils itch at the thought of using it.

[X] - You didn’t take anything from him. Regardless of how he helped you, you can’t trust to put any substance in your body that was given by him.

[X] - Take one item from the good Pharmacist.[1]

[X] - A tube of 100 Vitamix-Plus Gummies - Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, you think you even see a little bit of magenta in there. [1]

---

You remember the warning words the pharmacist gave you before you departed.

“ Take one if you’re feeling unwell. Two for emergencies. Only take more if you are near death.” The iron memory of his grip on your hand comes painfully back when he dragged you close to him. His last warning was spoken as if he was begging. “ And don’t ever eat three of the same color.”

Taking in the stale air, you take a look back at the ruined Top Shelf from which you fell from before heading out. It’s quiet. Emptier than usual. The bustling bazaars and samplers who would be following you like hungry flies are almost non-existent today. Only a few wander the streets and they do so hurriedly, like cockroaches fleeing from the shadow of a foot.

You walk alone towards the entrance from which you originally entered the Bargain Bin. The counter is now a ruined pile of slag and plastic. You spot a man decked in a full-body suffocating diving suit pull out a sharpened match stick out of a wall and toss it into a pile of other assorted weapons - Q-Tips, plungers, anything that the Smiler horde could get its hands on. You stop just as a Shopping Cart comes through, its hover jets sputtering to lift up the load of dozens of dead bodies it carries.

There’s a loud shout of commotion and your muscles tense up in anticipation of yet another unexpected Smiler attack. Thankfully, it’s not. The source of it is coming near the entrance where a dozen guards standing in a ring are pushing away a crowd of aislers from cola merchants to dorfen workmen. You work your way through the angry crowd to make it to the front. Why were all of these people so angry? As if recognising your confusion, one guard walks up to you and puts up a hand.

“ Sorry, stationari.” The guard shook his head. “ I can’t let you go out through this gate. The Bargain Guard’s been ordered to keep all aislers away from this area until the situation has been rectified.”

“ I can handle myself out there.”

The guard narrows his eyes and rubs the dark circles around it. Your eyes recognise the signs of fatigue on him. Not just general exhaustion but battle fatigue. Every patch of exposed skin under his cardboard vest is covered in scratches or bruises. His scabrous knuckles are an angry red and he's almost leaned over in a slouch, as if his body wants to sleep upright. You swear you can even see burnt rent scars, tinged green, on his tupperware helmet. You then come to a realization.

It's not from the angry and riotous aislers they've been fighting all day.

It's from what's outside that gate.

“ Oh, you think you can handle a rabid pack of Amboluceti? In fact, have you ever seen an amboluceti before?” He cuts you off rudely before you can get a word in. “ No, you haven’t. If you had, you wouldn’t be asking me this stupid question in the first place. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not going to get in trouble with my superior for letting some binge buyer with a paper sword waltz by me and get himself trounced by six Amboluceti around the next aisle.”

He sticks his nose and stares unflinchingly up into your eyes, awaiting whatever words you have to say.

[X] - Force your way through.

[X] - Intimidate the guard.

[X] - Find another way through.

[X] - Find another way through. [2]

---

You make one last try. You puff your chest and attempt to insert some degree of authority into your speech.

“ I am on a sacred quest from my Clan. Prevent me from leaving and you bring the wrath of the Shogunate on you.”

The guard doesn’t budge and instead, merely laughs as he slams the long chair leg he’s holding against the ground for emphasis.

“ Right…...I’ve heard better lies.” He sarcastically drawls. “ Even if that were true, I still wouldn’t let you through. Your Clan could send a penja to kill me and I’d still make sure my dead body would be parked right here preventing your paper ass from leaving the Bin.”

There’s no point in arguing with him further. You note with relief that the guard’s face turns momentarily white when your hand wavers to the pommel of your sword. You then stop and then, give a curt nod as you turn around and leave.

“ I wish you the best of luck in your duties.”

He leaves one last parting jab. “ Good to see you have common sense - HEY!” He points over your shoulder. Following his finger, you see a dorf covered in a ensemble of Lego attempting to scale the melted plastic walls with a makeshift grappling hook. “Someone get that dorf down from there before he attracts an entire horde onto us!”

As the guards were distracted with the trespasser, you began ruminating on these new circumstances.

There were only a few ways out of the Bargain Bin. Sneaking over the walls and going through uncharted paths was a risky bet. Going on unpatrolled and untravelled paths was a scratch coupon he wasn’t willing to bet on. Even the most experienced Samurai were leery of such an option and would scout ahead for any possible dangers. You didn’t have the time or luxury for that.

Otherwise, there were no spills nearby the Bargain Bin to take advantage of. You heard of a Portable Toliet that a group of Cleaners retrofitted into a trafficking route. Its availability was cut short by the steep prices that the Cleaners charged for transport and you severely doubt that you had enough on you to pay the steep price that the Cleaners offered……

[X] - Sneak out through the walls. It’s not the most safe option but it’s the most obvious one. You’ll have to count on your training to make it through the aisles of wasted Shelves and find a safe trail.

[X] - Contact the crew of Cleaners in the Bargain Bin and see if you can hitch a ride on one of their ships.

You take a look around to see what possibilities are available to you. A few opportunities come to mind as you look around in the crowd.

[X] - You spot a person of interest in the crowd, one who distinguishes themselves from the vast horde of raving aislers…...

[X] - A woman dressed similar to you, but in a mail of bright yellow cardboard instead of alabaster paper. She bears the insignia of a yellow bumblebee on her chest plate.

[X] - A gaunt man of chrome and metal. He chitters in a spastic language, with several strange symbols emblazoned across his skintight suit. He busily types away on a tronic device, skittishly looking around at everyone else who steers away from him.

[X] - Strange. Is that a tree? The elders told the origins of paper to you once, where before the Fall, your ancestors harvested pulp from beings of brown and green. You’ve heard many tales of trees before but none of them mentioned them having four limbs and a head. The word ‘ ALL NATURAL COMPOST’ has been carved with a knife into their woody body.

[X] - You spot a person of interest in the crowd, one who distinguishes themselves from the vast horde of raving aislers…...[1]

[X] - A woman dressed similar to you, but in a mail of bright yellow cardboard instead of alabaster paper. She bears the insignia of a yellow bumblebee on her chest plate. [1]

---

In the dour crowd, you notice she’s the only one to bear an infectious grin as she continues to pepper random aislers around her with questions. The smell of cardboard intermixed with frosted sugar stings your nose as you close in on her. Her freckled face, tightly bound with hexagonal swimming goggles, looks around curiously yet not with naivete as her left hand touches the handle of a wickedly curved needle that’s about the size of your forearm.

You lightly prod her shoulder just as she’s in the middle of having a conversation with a beleaguered Greenthumb.

“ Forgive me for my intrusion, dear Elf, but would you happen to know where - ” She pauses the moment you make contact with her cardboard armor. Before you can even introduce yourself, she turns towards you in a blink of a eye, hovering around you and babbling in a language you

“ OhbyFructoseandSucroseareyouaSamurai?I’veneverseenoneinthefleshbefore!The detailsofyourDepartment’sexploitshavebeenspreadlikenutellaallovertheGrocery department!ThisisthemostamazingmomentofmylifesinceI-” She takes in a deep breathe. Just when you thought it was over, she continues again at the same ear-blistering pace. “WhenthelegendaryZ-GripassistedSugarFrostintheevacuationoftheIkeanLamplightsin thedawnoftheSeventhWinterSeasonal.OrhowcouldIforgetaboutthetimewhenClanCastilo joinedforceswiththePathoftheTigertoshutdownanIceCreamtraffickingrouteintheNorthern Aisles.EventhestoryofTicoderongathe Majesticwhobeatoneofourmostsacredpaladinsin a joustingmatchwithonlyafiveinchpen-”

Her spastic ramblings are catching the attention of the entire crowd as she continues to thunder on with glee. You wave your arms up in a placating manner, eyes shifting around nervously. By the Founding Clans, didn’t she have an off switch?

“ At ease.” You whisper urgently. “ Whilst I appreciate your departmental appreciation, it would be better to converse with each other about such matters in a more…” Your eyes stare at a nearby Dorf. “ ...private location.”

“ Oh, I’m just - “ She mumbles, a flustered expression on her face. “ - Gosh, it’s not everyday you get to meet a Samurai.”

“ And it’s not everyday I get to meet a Cereai.” You reply back in turn. You notice her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red after you mention it. “ Let’s continue this in that abandoned Coupon Booth over there.”

---

“ Oh, thank you so much for agreeing to help me!” Your head thrums as you spot the blessed shadow of the Coupon Booth in the distance. The Cereai continues to speak with a grateful tone as the both of you walk together. “ I’ve been trying to find someone for the last hour or so to help me in my - “

“ Just as long as you agree to get me out of this hellhole.” You cut her off.

Once the both of you reach the booth, the Cereai reaches into her pockets, making you tense for a moment. It’s only once she pulls out two foil-covered bars that you relax. You take the oatmeal bar she offers you and sit on top of a dilapidated conveyer belt whilst the Cereai chews on her own bar as if she’s a guinea pig tearing off chunks of flesh.

“ I never thought I’d see a Cereai all the way out here in the Bargain Bin.” you comment.

“Not a knight. A squire.” You take a taste of the bar as she grumbles bitterly. The thick honey coats your tongue so much that it takes a few gulps before you can properly breath. “ Initiate Squire Melissa of the Path of the Holy Insect. At your service.”

“ What are you doing here?” Your right eyebrow furrows. “ I thought all the Grocery Department was too chaotic for the Cereai to venture out of it.”

“ We are!” She blurts out too quickly before sagging backwards slightly with a smile that tugs too hard at the edges. “ Well, the knights are. We’re running out of members quickly. The Path of the Insect tasked me on a penance of nutrition four seasons ago, to help the unhealthy, to cleanse the obese and to ensure dietary balance wherever I go. Only after I complete my penance will I be recognised as a fully fledged Cereai.”

“ It must have been hard.” You say. “ Being on your own.”

“ Oh not at all, “ She shakes her head. “ Most Cereai merely devote themselves to their craft but forget the true purpose of our founding. To protect the average aisler. The price of protecting the innocent is higher than that of any cereal or cardboard I cloak myself in.” Her smile then twitches. “ Or, so I believe.”

“ So, why are you here in the first place?”
She takes an awful while to answer the question, finishing off the remainder of her oatmeal bar. She then peeks around the corner, checking to see that no one is listening in on your conversation before speaking.

“ Have you ever heard of Fort Monopoly?”

“ The Dorfs?” The Stationary Shogunate had few dealings with the bearded squat men before. They were useful but notoriously unstable and immature due to their exposure to the mysterious elixir only known as Age B Gone. Why would a Cereai ally with those who were responsible for the downfall of their own Department. “ Why would you involve yourself with those obsessive maniacs?”

You try not to wince at her judgemental glare. “ They needed help. I found them on the outskirts of the Bargain Bin, recovering from a straggler of Nevergrows. Their Fort had just been ransacked and their men, women, children were all but skin and bones. I protected them until they made it all the way to the Bargain Bin. I’ve kept them safe for the last few months. They plied their trade and managed to accrue enough wealth for the last Seasonal. We were supposed to leave three days ago until - “

“ The Smilers.” You realise, cursing those wretched cultists. “ The Smilers damaged your only exit route.”

Melissa nodded with a wry smile. “ Since then, the Dorfs have been working on another way out of here. We’ve recently got a tip off on an old abandoned Shopping Cart Mark 3.0, Employee Model. The heavy duty kind that’s strong enough to carry the entire of the Fort out of the Bargain Bin.”

“ So, what’s stopping you from getting it?”

The Cereai lifts up two honey-greased fingers. “ Firstly, it’s location. I know where it’s located in the Inner Bin but it’s been sealed off along with the main Exit Gate ever since the Smiler attack. Only one of the guards know the way in and I’ve been having little luck convincing them. Secondly, it can only be activated with a valid Employee Card. I spotted one at the Bazaar before the attack but the sampler who sells it has gone missing. My bet is that he’s still in the bin somewhere.”

You scratch your chin as you begin to decide your options.

[X] - Accompany her to focus on one task. There’s better strength in numbers as your recent ordeal has taught you.

[X] - Split up and focus on individual tasks. The sooner you complete this, the faster you’ll get out of this accursed bin.

[X] - Accompany her to focus on one task. There’s better strength in numbers as your recent ordeal has taught you.

---

“ - I think it’ll be better if we focus on individual tasks.” Melissa said, her eyes scrunched up in thought as well. The false antenna of her helmet twitched as she pursed her lips tightly. “ I’ll go for the Shopping Cart. You can focus on convincing that guard to donate that Identity Card to us. Here, I’ll - “

“ No.”

She looks at you in momentary confusion.

“ We go together.”

“ But,but,” She sputters “ - the Dorfs expect me to finish this by - '' You raise your hand up and she glumly pauses in the middle of her speech to let you explain yourself.

“ The Dorfs need you more than you think. They can afford to wait another day or two if you’ve been with them for this long. Besides, the Bargain Bin at its weakest right now and every raider and bandit will be staring at this place as if it’s on clearance. Your bravery and dedication to nutritional balance will be in vain if you do not take into account the current situation.”

You then lift out your arm in invitation.

“ It’ll be slower together, yes, but safer.” Your left arm brushes over your eyepatch, cold and empty to the touch. “ And safety is in precious supply these days.”

You’re not sure what to make of Melissa’s expression. Somewhere between doubt and excitement. She lifts out a finger towards your outstretched arm. Then, all five before clasping it tightly.

A smile then breaks on her face before she squeals in excitement.

“ OhbythefoodpyramidI’mactuallytouchingasamuraifor-”

“ Please stop doing that.”

---

“ So, what’s your name?”

The Cereai asks out of nowhere as both of you walk through a dingy slum carved out of paper cartons and plastic bottles. The scent of spoilt centuries-old milk is heavy in the air and you don’t want to even think about the exact contents of the white liquid both of you are stepping in right now.

“ Huh?”

“ Your name.” Melissa says it as if it’s evident. “ I can’t just keep calling you samurai until my expiration date. Your….” She pauses, searching for the word. “ teacher -”

“ Stationary Lord.”

“ Your stationary lord gave you a name, right?”

“ I - “ You stumble over your words, frustrated by the fact you had to give a long explanation for such a simple question. Your throat clams up as the memory of starchy glue comes back to haunt your mind. “ - I don’t feel comfortable explaining it.”

“A nickname, then.”

You scoff. “ Samurais do not engage in such trivialities - “

“ Well, how about….” Melissa snaps her fingers. “ Paper Cut?”

“ Already taken.”

“ One Eye?”

“ That’s original.”

“ Lucky Charm!” She shrugs under your confused glance. “ You know, because of the clover on your eye-”

“ It’s not a clover.” You stop walking. “ We’re here. Or so you say. Are you even sure someone would even live in this dump?”

You both stare at a dilapidated rusted shipping container, blue paint flaking off its walls with the words “ WAL” barely visible on the sides. A makeshift door has been hollowed out on the sides with a square row of soda bottles rammed left and right to serve as makeshift windows. However, it’s sunken into the floor, the foundations barely struggling to hold up its enormous weight.

“ Oh, don’t be such a downer.” Melissa said cheerily as she walked up to the front door. “ I’ll handle this. You can just hang by and look angry with that one eye of yours.”
“ Glad to see you didn’t hire me for nothing,” you spoke sarcastically.

Melissa ignored the barb, standing face to face with the door which, now that you were up close, was a can of Spam cut in half. She cleared her throat and politely knocked on the door three times.

“ Repel, if you’re in there, we just want to - “ A hoarse voice, muffled by the door, spoke out before Melissa could finish her sentence. You see a wavy figure through the soda bottles, slightly hunched over.

“ What do you want?”

“ We want what I spoke with you earlier to - “

“ Forget it!” Repel shouted. “ I’m not dealing with Cereai, especially now that you’ve brought a friggin’ stationari to my doorstep. You know how many people in this Shelf would kill me for what I have? If I give you this, people are going to find out and when they find out, they’re going to tear me limb from limb.”

[X] - Ask whether or not you could exchange something of equal value for the identity card.

[X] - Offer to help him with whatever problems he has in exchange for the Identity Card.

[X] - Forcibly knock Repel’s door down and take the Identity Card by force.

[X] - Offer to help him with whatever problems he has in exchange for the Identity Card. [2]

---

“ By the Boxes….” Melissa looks as if she’s one more insult away from knocking down the door and throttling the aisler by the throat. She knocks on the door once more with exasperation“ Repel, you promised me that you would see whether or not it was possible to give me the Identity Card yesterday. You can’t just back out of our deal without any explanation!”

“ Explanation?” You flinch as Repel’s voice somehow goes up a few notches in enraged hysteria. “ Those thrice scammed Smilers are the explanation! If you expire out there and they somehow trace it back to me….” Repel’s voice trails off as he becomes silent. You see his silhouette remain still in the bottled window. Your trained ears make out muffled whispers of frustration as Repel seemingly begins talking to himself.

“ No…..Stupid, stupid…..How am I going to deal with…..Ugh, just perfect, one problem after the next……”

“ Great.” Melissa puffs up one side of her cheek, crossing her arms in annoyance as she turns her back to the door and begins walking away. “ All my years in gift exchange and I can’t even convince one lone aisler to give up his goods. Now, we need to think of a Plan B! Come on, samurai. He isn’t going to help us. ”

You begin to follow her but your mind wanders to those words the aisler whispered. He ground beneath your feet sticks to you like elephant glue. There’s something more going on here than meets the eye. Instead of following Melissa, you walk to the door and give one single hefty knock that shakes the foundations of the makeshift shelter.

“ What in the - !” Repel screams inside. “ Didn’t I tell you to go away, Cereai?!”

“ You’re not dealing with the Cereai. You’re dealing with me now.”

Melissa mouths a silent “what are you doing?” looking at you quizzically. You put two fingers to your mouth as you look at her as Repel replies back in a doubtful tone.

“ What are you going to do, samurai? Cut down this door and drag me out until I beg? That’s what I expect from the Butchers of Black Friday anyway.”

You ignore the barb and merely continue on, mustering all the calm you have in your body.

“ As much as that is tempting, no. I’m going to offer you something more fair. We’ll solve whatever problems you’re having and you give us the Identity Card. You’d be foolish not to hire a Stationari and a Cereai in front of your door step. ”

“Problem? What makes you think I’ve got any problems?” Repel scoffs out loud.

“ Really?” You pretend to lose interest as you look at the silhouette through the window and shrug your shoulders. “ Well, I guess you’ve got a handle on it, then. We’ll go find others who are more willing to help. Come on, Melissa, let’s - “

The door slams open and Repel stumbles out, wheezing. Your eyes water at the white fog that hangs around his stick-thin body which is adorned in a simple rag of cheap tinsel wrappers. Around his waist is a belt of repellent canisters which jingle with each step he takes. His bloodshot eyes plead with you as he lifts out a hand.

“ WAIT! Wait. Alright, I’ve got one task for you.” He gulps before continuing. “ I need you to get rid of a dire-roach.”

“ A dire-roach?” You snort derisively. This was what the sampler was all worried about? “ All you need to do is just step on -”

“ It’s not just a dire roach! It’s - “ Repel birefly grabs you by your pauldrons, spittle flying from his mouth, before letting go. “ It’s the most ferocious beast I’ve ever seen! It dragged my shopping cart into the depths of the Lower Shelves. I tried to use my stockpile of Raid on it but it just ignored and scurried off into the Bin!”

“ So, what do you want us to do?”

“ Kill it, get rid of it, I don’t care how you do it! Just make it not my problem anymore and you can have this stupid thing for all it’s worth.”

He pulls out a moulded plastic blue square from under his belt. A faded picture of a smiling blonde man is in the center with a small printed name and a barcode underneath. At the top right corner is the unmistakable symbol of Sam’s benevolence, the six spoked star that the Smilers worshipped. It was a very good duplicate if it was one.

Melissa pulls you aside suddenly and looks at Repel suspiciously.

“ I don’t trust him. What if he’s lying?”

“ There are better lies to tell, and do you know anywhere else in the Bin we can find an Identity Card?”

The lack of reply is her answer. There’s distrust on Melissa’s face as her lips purse nervously, looking at Repel and then, you. She then sighs in defeat and give a deft nod.

“ So, what’s our next move?”

[X] - Accept the task that Repel has given to you immediately and make haste.

[X] - You are not risking your life and Melissa’s to venture into the depths of the Bargain Bin to slay some creature. Take it from Repel by force.

[X] - You know a PetMaster in the Bargain Bin, the one who was guarding Haagen. Leash. Just because he’s missing doesn’t mean he’s dead. Having him on your side would make this task easier.