1% Lifesteal

The cold… The smell… Ugh…

The word headache wasn't enough to fully encapsulate the headagony Freddy felt as he woke up. Sparse light peered through his shades the same way it did every morning, and his hand reached for the headgear.

But something was strange. The sound that usually tormented him was missing, and—

Wait… Where's my—

"Oh fuck!" he yelled as he jumped up into a seated position. "Oh fuck, oh shit, oh God!"

The alarm was on the ground! How could he forget to put it on!?

Rushing to get out of bed, he got up, eyes darting around the room, looking for his uniform. "My clothe—" He sucked air through his teeth as he remembered where they were.

No wonder his room smelled like an abandoned morgue. Rushing over to his dainty trashcan and hesitating as he reached to move it out of the way, Freddy revealed the pile of bloody cloth that had once been his work uniform.

"Oh man," he groaned with a half-disgusted, half-panicked expression. "What time is it anyway? No, what day is it!? Thursday?" he questioned with his eyes narrowed. "Friday? It's Friday, shit!"

The locks on his door were pushed out of the way as he peeked into the hallway. There was a crowd of people waiting to get into the toilet, but he ignored them as he checked the clock above.

9:31 a.m.

"Why!?"

If he had already overslept so long, couldn't he at least feel somewhat good? Why didn't he…? Why…?

The realization struck him rather abruptly, and the rush he felt disappeared.

He closed the door.

Without thinking about it, he moved over to the window and opened it, then sat on his bed and looked at his hand, mesmerized.

He hadn't said anything about being late today, so there would be hell to reap when he faced his manager. There was also a pile of bloody, rancid clothing sitting behind his trashcan that he had to do something about.

And he was an arch.

He was an arch.

Freddy Stern—an archhuman.

The vividness of the last few days conversely served to dissuade him from the fact that it was all real. The same brain mechanisms that prevented him from blending the fictional shows he saw on the BC at work with reality now worked to prevent him from coming to terms with it.

There was one way to undeniably prove it. His hand hovered, shakily floating toward the lid on his chest, and as he touched it, he couldn't pull it open since it was locked. With a deep breath, he gathered up the courage to get up.

Grabbing the key he had hidden beneath a cracked floorboard under his bed, he put it into the lock, and with one, then two turns, he unlocked it. His fingers rested on the lid again, and while anxiously biting his lips, he pulled it up.

The scrolls he had received still sat precisely where he had placed them. Although the feeling of anxiety subsided, there was no sigh of relief. "I see," he whispered. "I guess I'm an arch now."

Good that it was real, but that was nothing to get too excited about. Not yet, at least. Several responsibilities and tasks hung over his head, and there was some serious adult decision-making to do.

The crowd outside made it clear that he wouldn't be getting a turn in the toilet any time soon, so he had no choice but to go without. He'd wash up at work a bit if need be.

Pinching the unbloodied corners of the clothes behind the trash can, he threw them into the bin, and after he got dressed into his other, barely-cleaner outfit, he took the bag of trash with him as he left the apartment and locked the door.

It was time to go to work, he supposed. Once he left the building, he threw the bag into the nearest dumpster and began his walk.

What was likely a combination of the smack he received to his head yesterday, horrid sleep quality, freezing to death, huffing stink fumes all night, and a nasty hangover gave him such a nasty headache that it made him almost forget about all the other pains scattered throughout his body—of which there were many.

His legs still hurt, and he felt like his shoulders had nails driven into them, while his stomach, neck, and ass muscles felt tense and inflamed.

Habit took charge, and he trod his usual daily route. "Oh, fucking great!"

The Bastard Barricade, or rather, the stupid fence that blocked his path, once again appeared before him. But this time, things were different.

Freddy—the archhuman—squared his shoulders and confidently approached the man standing guard. "I have to go through," he declared imperiously.

"State your reason or provide verification, please," the man responded in a practiced tone.

"I have to get to the other side." He winced at his own words. What was he, a chicken?

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

"Please provide verification, sir," the guard demanded again.

What's happening? he wondered internally. Can't he sense my power of whatever?

Given that the man didn't even show the slightest hint of respect toward him, he either couldn't sense anything or just didn't care.

Well, it wasn't like he could sense anything off about the man, either. He knew that archhumans were meant to have this presence, and he had felt it himself. But that was only the case for those at the second star. And he was at the absolute start of his first.

With a frustrated sigh, he looked up at the man. "You know what?" The urge to chew the man out nibbled at the back of his throat for a good moment. But. "Have a good day," was all he said.

He was already late for work. What harm was there in taking his time?

So, as he bid his goodbyes, he turned around and started his trek around the private district. This time, he took the long way around.

***

Jason, Freddy's manager and long-time acquaintance, breathed out as he finished hearing the summarized justification for his employee's absence. "That's rough," he said. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I'm okay."

He had told him about his involvement in the passage break, leaving the part about becoming an archhuman unspoken. He wanted to brag, but he had no way to prove it for the time being. If anything, it could needlessly complicate his work relationship. Until he got the hang of everything, he'd prefer having the security of a job.

"Well…" The man looked at his cluttered desktop and pulled a paper from the messy pile. "Naturally, nobody could ask you to work a day after going through something like that"—he handed the paper to Freddy—"but today is different. Your message said nothing about an absence, and I had to fill in for you for the past few hours."

Freddy glanced at the warning paper detailing his transgression and penalty. Before he could even read it, his manager transcribed its contents. "You'll be filling in half a shift in storage tonight," he said with a slight glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "And I'll be deducting the destroyed uniform from your paycheck."

The headache he felt grew more intense, and his grip on the paper tightened, creasing it.

"Go. Get up," the manager rushed him as he got up and headed out of the room, but not before adding, "Get a new uniform first." Then he left the room and closed the door.

As he stared at the paper, he felt something inside him shatter. He reread the contents, scanning over the words. Punishment… huh?

Several minutes passed, and finally, the door opened again as the manager walked in, finding Freddy sitting in the same place he had left him. "What are you doing!? Get up!"

With slow, measured movements, he crumpled the paper in his hands and threw it at the garbage can in the corner. He missed, and the ball clattered to the ground.

"What are you—" the man tried to ask, but—

"I'm leaving," he said as he got off the chair and walked past the manager, bumping into him in the process.

"Leaving!?" the man squealed as he ran in front of Freddy. "What kind of behavior is this? Do you think you're tough stuff for surviving a break!? I'll seriously fire you if you don't stop fucking around!" he shouted with a stern glare.

"You'll fire me…?" he asked the man, stopping at those words. "All right, then. I apologize. I've been a little out of it. I'll get to work in a second."

The manager wanted to add more to his warnings but was too busy to dish them out. With a venomous glare foreshadowing further critique, the man walked away, and Freddy headed to the back room to change.

Soon enough, he was at the register. The headache threatened to split his head apart, and with every beat of his heart, a pulse of pain flashed through his forehead.

A man walked over, slamming a large basket of items on the register. "Hurry up, kid," he urged.

Just as he was about to grab the item, he paused, slowing down. Then, maintaining direct eye contact with the customer, the dutiful employee painstakingly slowly moved the articles over the scanner.

The man-in-a-hurry kept trying to get him to speed up. But to no avail. Freddy took his sweet time, and once he was done, the customer angrily jogged away, apparently not having been bullshitting when he claimed to be in a rush.

Before long, a woman walked over, carrying several cartfuls of items. Then, with a self-satisfied smile, she threw a collection of coupons down, acting as if she were revealing a strong hand in poker.

Added together, they amounted to a roughly 90 percent discount on the purchase.

Ignoring the fact that several had already expired, he faced the woman. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but company policy prohibits the usage of several percentage-based coupons for a single purchase. It even states so on the coupons themselves."

"Where does it say that!?" the woman asked with clearly fake outrage as she pointed at the coupons, showing that there was, indeed, no such clause—but there was a smudge as evidence for her attempt to remove it.

Rather than arguing, he picked up the coupons, tore them to shreds, and threw the pieces into the garbage as he casually turned to the woman.

She gaped. "Why did you do that!?"

"Why did I do what?" he asked, his eyes sparkling innocently.

"You tore my coupons!"

"What coupons?" he asked again.

"This is outrageous!" she declared. "I'm going to sue this company! Take me to the manager!"

"I am the manager," he declared without as much as a hint of humor.

"That's—" she tried. "You're lying!"

"Prove it," he dared with a smile.

The woman didn't know what to do, and faced with a crowd that eyed her in annoyance, she defaulted to evacuating the store, leaving the mountain of unpurchased items behind. A pile he couldn't be bothered to remove.

As the day marched onward, the newly ascended arch found handling rude customers easier than ever. And with every straightforward solution applied, his headache got just a bit easier to handle.

***

"Mmmm, yup," the manager concluded, nodding his head. "You're fired. Get the hell out of my office."

"Thank you, sir!" Freddy thanked the man with a beaming smile as he got up to leave.

The manager scoffed. "That's what you wanted, huh?" he asked sarcastically. "Well, sorry to say it, but this isn't how it works. You don't get compensation for losing your job like this," he told him. "After all we did for you, this is how you pay us back? I'm very disappointed in you, Freddy."

"Don't worry," he insisted as he turned around, his grin spreading wider. "I got all the compensation I needed."

***

On the trek back home, Freddy's gait had a bounce to it.

The air smelled fresher; the midday sun, whose powerful light he witnessed oh-so-rarely, shone even brighter than usual. He didn't even mind that he had to walk around the 25th district.

Because, conveniently enough, the 24th district just happened to be where he had some chores to wrap up.

***

Although paying the taxes made his soul want to evacuate his body, he couldn't help but grin at his bank statement.

Available Balance: $42,812.13

This wasn't just forty-two thousand eight hundred and twelve point thirteen dollars, no, no, no. This meant far more than the number itself indicated. After all, all the money he had saved until this point had been because he wanted to become an arch.

But given that he had already become one? He could do whatever the hell he wanted with it.

Of course, he was in no rush to waste it, but… this value hung in an awkward limbo. It wasn't enough to buy something like a house or an apartment unless he wanted a run-down shack, and it was far too much to quickly spend on daily necessities, especially given his frugal nature.

There were plenty of things to buy, though. There was much to prepare. However, one more annoying chore waited for him, so he put that to the back of his mind as he focused on the task at hand.

***

Back on the stairs leading up to his apartment, he munched on the cheap sandwich and glanced at the time on the clock in the hallway.

9:46 p.m.

What he thought would be a minor chore turned out to be a humongulagungus pain in the ass. He lifted the trim card into the light as he glanced at it. It was his new ID. Besides the somewhat fancier color and the statement that he was a water-affinity arch, nothing was extraordinary about it.

Although interestingly enough, nobody had asked him about his talent. It made sense, he supposed. The imperial government was hardly a unified, singular entity. Numerous political parties and organizations would prefer to keep the information of their members secret, including their involvement with said parties.

But this did not mean that getting the ID had been an easy task. For him, it had been a monstrous undertaking. To his bewilderment, the first thing they had done when he came to register as an arch was call the fucking police! His impoverished background and lack of education apparently triggered several alarms, and they had to investigate where he got his prime from.

So much for the aforementioned privacy; that was apparently a luxury one had to be born into.

This had, naturally, obliterated any excitement he felt, and unfortunately, it wasn't the last thing that aimed to destroy his mood.

Seven. Not one, two, three, four, five, or six, but seven different offices—all quite the walk away from one another—were necessary visits to collect all the documentation. Thankfully, all the offices worked 24/7. Archhuman bureaucracy had at least some privileges, it seemed. Finally, with the herculean task out of the way, he was done with his immediate responsibilities.

Or so he thought.

The metallic, musty stink of rotting blood slammed his nose harder than a knee to the face when he opened the door to his apartment. "Ugh, what the fuck!?" he yelled with a frown as he angrily stomped his foot on the ground.

First, his room still stank. Second, he had no sheets on his bed. And third, everything was filthy. He pinched his brow and angrily blew air through his pursed lips. "No can do," he said.

This was no environment to begin a new chapter of his life. Such things required a certain degree of ceremony, at least some pomp. How was he supposed to believe his life had changed if these were his living conditions?

Yet again, he was back home dead tired, having eaten nothing but some cheap, filling crap, and was about to sleep like shit in a stinky, cold room.

If he had had the resolve to quit his job, it was also time to properly set his shit straight.

Although he felt exhausted, he slapped his face and squared his shoulders.

Just a bit more, he thought. I'll do what I have to do now, and I will begin my new life tomorrow.

Hopping down to the first floor, he entered the storage room that held the cleaning equipment. With a few brisk hops from the toilet to his room and back, he wiped the bloody patch and finished cleaning his floor, window, fridge, and other dusty surfaces.

Leaving the window open to let the room air out, he exited his apartment, locking the door behind him.

It wasn't long until he was bolting down the street. Soon enough, he reached the entrance to the 25th district. A different guard stood outside this time, and he simply showed him his ID, which was enough to let him pass through. Never had he felt happier walking down that route.

Leaving on the other side was even more straightforward, and with a few turns, he had reached his destination.

Charat Hypermarket, the sign said. Although he wasn't particularly enthusiastic about being back here, it was the closest store still open at this hour. With only a bit of hesitation, he walked inside.

Not as an employee.

But as a customer.

***

Consensually spending money was a foreign concept to him. Looking at the cart of items, he felt his heart tighten in agony. After all, he was about to spend a hundred dollars—on a single shopping trip! Wow!

There wasn't anything fancy in the cart. Really, he was just buying new sheets, quite cheaply too, and some new clothes and shoes. Plus, the food he would have for lunch and dinner tomorrow.

There wasn't much of a line he had to wait through, so before long, he was offloading his items at the cash register.

"Wait… Freddy?" the night shift worker, his former colleague Jenny, asked him.

With an awkward smile, he waved at her a bit. "Yeah, it's yours truly…" he said with a chuckle.

"Hi." She laughed a bit, but her smile quickly vanished. "I, uh… heard about earlier today… Uhm… Sorry about what happened," she said.

"What?" he asked dumbly, somewhat confused by her words. "Oh, no, no, haha, don't be sorry. That was… Well, intentional."

"No, I mean—" she said hesitantly. "I mean, that too, but about the… you know. The… break."

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, I get it! Yeah, no, don't worry about that either," he comforted her with a chuckle. "I made out of that one like a bandit."

"You what!?"

"I what? No, I—" He waved. "Aaargh, no, I mean, Jesus! I didn't steal anything!" he clarified. "No, but uh, I ended up manifesting a prime the morning after."

"Oh," she said as she offered to shake his hand in congratulations. "Wow, that's amazing! Congratulations!"

"Thank you!" he thanked the woman as he clumsily accepted the handshake.

She grabbed one of the shirts and put it through the scanner. "So, what're you gonna do now?"

Stunned speechless, he simply stared at the woman. He pondered the question. What was he going to do? That was a question that, by default, triggered a suffocating feeling of anxiety. Or, it used to.

He scratched the back of his head, and his face morphed into the most genuine smile he had ever given anyone as he honestly answered, "I have absolutely no idea."

***

12:12, the clock said, marking the very beginning of a new day.

As he had stopped to wash his newly purchased clothes at the 24/7 laundromat, he returned home quite a bit later than expected. But it was fine. It wasn't like he had a job to wake up to tomorrow. That thought alone left him satisfied to no end.

Soon enough, he got ready for sleep, tucked himself into his new sheets, and prepared to wake up to a new chapter of his life.

Sheets warm, obligations out of the way, financial problems, at least momentarily, resolved—finally, the last remnants of his headache withered away as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

***

"I adore you, Master…" a deep, gurgly voice called. "So why do you betray me like this? Bathe me again… Bathe me again! Bathe me again!"

"Huwahaaba—" Freddy jolted awake, staring around the room in panic but finding nobody there. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" he shouted as he grabbed a handful of his loose hair.

So much for waking up to the new chapter of his life in peace. But the fright of that nightmare didn't last long, as excitement rapidly overwhelmed it.

He clapped his hands and rubbed them like a greedy goblin as he shifted toward the chest. He reached for the key, placed it into the keyhole, and turned, unlocking the lock and pushing the chest open…

Revealing the scrolls he had hidden inside.