O.C. Saar
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General Release | Chapter 1: A Hob in Need
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 18:01:00 +0000 UTCTWO YEARS LATER
The taste of metal and ash covered my tongue as I stumbled out of the swillhouse that held me captive last night in a storm of alcohol, fighting, crying, and laughing. The sun’s light beat down on me, making me feel twice as heavy. My head felt like someone had stuffed a bucket of rusty iron bolts in there and hit it with a sledgehammer a couple of times for good measure.
I glanced at the top right of my vision where a notification icon blinked, and mentally commanded it to open.
[DEBUFF GAINED] - [Hangover]
Effects: Reduced accuracy, Slower reaction time, Headache.
“Despite all the warnings, you apparently did not drink responsibly.”
[DEBUFF GAINED] - [Light Concussion]
Effects: Headache, Dizziness, Sensitivity to light and noise.
“Watch your head!”
I winced at the windows that my NovaSight corneal implants projected, but even with lowering the window brightness, they hurt. The debuffs were the exact outcome I expected of last night’s activities, so I dismissed them and their baleful brightness with a thought.
“Come get your fresh pipe-rat skewers right here, folks,” a familiar, portly vendor shouted over the din of the day’s crowd from across the street, his voice another sledgehammer blow to my temples. Still, even at this distance, the smell of his wares promised a salve to my aches.
Once the street was free enough from vehicles, I rushed across. I regretted the sudden movement at the first step, my stomach threatening to void what little it had inside of it, but I pushed through the feeling. Then the feeling pushed back. By the time I crossed the street, my head was swimming so much that I had to take a few seconds to center myself and look up into space and the stars that twinkled beyond. I took a few deep, long breaths, carefully avoiding looking in the sun's direction.
The hangover was a bitch.
When I was younger, I never had hangovers this bad; then again, I never drank as much back then. Had no reason for it. Snapping out of my spiraling thoughts before I went too far down, I looked around for the vendor and the snacks he was peddling.
He looked at me with a pleasant, if strained, smile and waved.
“Hey there, Raziel, it’s been a while.” His voice was as jovial as ever, even if the smile never quite reached his eyes. Few people in this sun-blasted ring smiled with their all, and those few were children who were taught, sooner or later, reasons not to.
“Hey, Flon,” I grunted, my throat feeling like I swallowed a bag of metal filings. “What are you selling today?”
The closer I got to the cart, the more my mouth watered at the smell.
“Pipe-rats glazed with sweet and sour apple sauce.” He puffed his chest out proudly before adding in a barely audible whisper, “And some side dishes, if you have the stomach for them.”
I scoffed. I knew the kind of side dishes Flon offered and had no appetite for them. “What kind of pipe rat you selling?”
He looked at me like I had slapped his mother and kicked his father in the family jewels. “The wire pipe kind, of course! You think I’d serve sewer pipe rats with my precious applesauce? I worked hard on it!”
“Flon, your fabricator made it.”
“And I worked hard on getting my fabricator to make it.”
“You had to press a few buttons.”
Rings, my headache was getting worse.
“And I pressed them a lot and with conviction. Besides, it was hard work coming up with the recipe!”
He planted his fists on his hips and stared me down, daring me to continue arguing. Part of me wanted to keep going, but that part wasn’t currently nursing the mother of all headaches and in dire need of greasy food so that part of me could jump off the ring and into the planet.
I wearily nodded my head, conceding the point. “Fair enough. I’ll have two skewers. What are you taking today, coins or credits?”
“Today is coins. Need to go to the Otherside Market and buy some more meat; this is my last batch.” He grunted and handed the skewers over. The meat was a golden brown, glistening in the sunlight with the promise of decadence. Every moment that passed made it harder to resist its siren call. “Five large and five small copper coins, please.”
I dug out the coins from the pouch at my hip and offered them to the man. He hesitated for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him, one of my eyebrows raising in question.
“Raziel, are you sure you don’t want any side dishes? I have some really good ones.” He tried to give me a meaningful look, but with his puffy cheeks, it came out more like he had a hard time holding back a burp.
“No.”
“But-”
“I’m not working anymore. You know this.” I stared hard at him.
“I know, but it’s been three years. You have to-”
“I don’t have to do anything.” I cut him off again, perhaps a touch more harshly than I should have.
“Okay, okay.” His shoulders drooped, finally giving up. “Do you at least want to come with me to the Otherside Market? Or have something you want me to fetch for you?”
I shook my head with a sigh. “There is nothing you could get in the Market that I would want right now, Flon. Aside from some more Pipe-Rats.”
I placed the coins on his cart’s countertop and took a bite out of my new snack. As soon as I bit into it, the meat let out its juices in my mouth, the savory flavor intermingling with the sweet and sour apple sauce perfectly to create a culinary experience that, to my mind, rivaled the finest restaurants of the Middle Ring.
In other words, it was bloody delicious.
My soul sang with relief as the unique symphony of flavors slowly eroded away my headache, a sensation that only greasy food could elicit in a hungover mind. “Terra, I needed that. Thanks for the food; say hi to Arina from me.”
“I will. She’ll be happy to hear you’re still kicking around. And hey, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He gave me a sad smile, a pitying smile. I hated it. “We’re here for you, both of us.”
I could feel bile rising in my throat again, this time out of anger, but I quickly clamped down on my temper. Blowing up at Flon wouldn’t help anyone. He was just trying to help; he cared. With one last clench of my jaw to steady myself, I grunted, “Thanks,” and walked away.
My habitation module was only a five-minute walk away through the metal-covered alleys of Sector 16. Still, the pipe-rat meat had long since been devoured by the time I stood in front of my door. I waved my wristwatch over the lock to my hab, and the door slid to the side, getting stuck halfway through. A little bit of percussive maintenance helped the door open completely, and I stepped into my darkened home. Not bothering to turn the lights on, I tossed the wooden skewers in the recycling port next to my door and stumbled into my shower, shedding my clothes on the floor as I walked to the bathroom. The hot water hitting my body helped me clear the last traces of the hangover desperately clinging to my brain. I took a deep breath, enjoying the moment of warm, dark comfort. I opened my status page and watched the debuffs disappear, one by one.
[STATUS]
Name: Raziel Ibicas
Class: Citizen
Age: 27
Health: Good
Debuffs: None
Certifications:
Bounty Hunter Licence [Expired]
Detective Licence [Expired]
Mercenary Licence [Expired]
Marksmanship Certification - Expert
Close Quarters Combat Certification - Adept
Engineering Certification - Novice
Current Balance: 6,087 Credits.
“Hob, turn the lights and the drying mode on,” I called out loud, my voice bouncing around the enclosed shower.
“Certainly, s-sir.” My habitation module’s AI replied in a distant and distinctly posh accent as my shower started blowing hot air all over my body, drying me in mere moments. I hadn’t missed the stutter.
Stepping out of the shower, I massaged some of the soreness out of my shoulders and inspected myself in the mirror, looking for new bruises from last night.
“Only three, not bad.”
I chuckled as I started flexing at my reflection, and he flexed right back, the smug bastard.
“Sir, as far as I am aware, acquiring three bruises in a night of what you described as 'having a drink or two with s-some buddies to relax’ is highly irregular for most pe-pe-people.” He sounded downright snippy. I felt a pang of guilt. I did promise to fix the glitch in his speech module as soon as possible. Guess today was the day.
“Hob. Sometimes, when a man and another man love each other very much, they punch each other to show that affection.” I told him, in a teasingly patient tone, as I walked out of the bathroom and inspected what was once my clean and neat habitation module. It had been a while since it had doubled as my office, and it showed. I would clean it up. Someday.
“First of a-all, sir, I sincerely doubt that healthy expressions of love involve physical violence,” he said, his voice coming from the kitchen.
“Unless it is consensual,” I corrected him, walking over to my closet and putting on whatever clean clothes were within reach.
“Unless it is consensual,” he acceded. “That being said, I am not sure how much affection you hold for said men, considering that in the 56 months that I’ve been active and self-aware, you have not mentioned them once, save for two nights ago, and I doubt it was consensual, considering the health scan I performed on you showed that the oldest of your new bruises is on the back of your head, which is why, by the way, I added some painkiller gel to your shower water.”
“Wait, really? So, I have four bruises from last night? Damn, I’m getting rusty.”
I chuckled at my own joke as I walked into the kitchen and started rifling through my fridge for a snack. The best I could find was a four-day-old cookie, but it would do. I munched on the stale thing as I gave my stove a pet. “Wanna play some games?”
My stove, where Hob’s primary circuits were stored, replied enthusiastically.
“It would be my pleasure, sir!”
Hob was always enthusiastic about games, whether playing or observing me play. It was natural; after all, he took after… No, none of that now.
I shook my head, clearing my thoughts.
Curiously, he was developing a fascination, nearing obsession, with old games. The older, the better. Can’t say I blame him. The ancient Terran games had a certain charm that the contemporary ones couldn’t quite capture. Maybe because the games from antiquity were sometimes a window to look through and see our lost home, perhaps it was that the new games all had propaganda in them, subtle or not.
I fired up a role-playing game we had been playing for a while; those were Hob’s favorites, and we took turns controlling the characters and the dialogue choices. His kind nature always shone through games like those; he’d constantly pick the so-called “lawful good” dialogue choices and insist on taking classes that would make him the “tank.”
In games where we played different characters, that was quite helpful. But, if we were controlling the same character, my preference for fast, squishy, and hard-hitting characters that would take your coin, seduce your wife, and then break all your pots looking for spare change would clash with his more straight-and-narrow, honorable approach to hilarious results.
If I were a character in one of those worlds that had to interact with a character we controlled, I’d think the fellow utterly insane, one moment acting like a scallywag, the other like the noblest paladin. In fact, I might have rewarded them without them even completing any quests, just to make them go away. Huh, I might have to try this “good merc, bad merc” one-man routine at some point in the future. Could loosen up some tongues… Or get me institutionalized.
We spent some hours like that, playing games and joking around. It was nice. Then reality came crashing back down to the sound of three cheery dings from my wristwatch and a notification icon at the corner of my vision.
Sighing, I paused the game and opened the notification.
[URGENT COMMUNICATION NOTICE]
You have received a message marked as “Urgent.” Please access a terminal at your earliest convenience.
“You’ve got mail. Read it. Now.”
With a grunt, I waved the notification away and got up from the couch. Sitting at my desk, I removed my wristwatch and placed it on the surface, turning my terminal on. The desk's surface lit up, and my Novas projected a display. “Hob, what messages do I have?”
“You have three unread messages, sir. Two are marked ‘Urgent.’” Hob’s voice was now coming out of my desk. “The non-urgent one is from a user called Sister Silver, received last night. From the urgent messages, the o-one one you just received is...”
I looked up with concern.
“Hob?”
“The one you just received is from the Habitation Unit Management Account Network, and the other unread urgent message is from a user called Kornok, received yesterday,” he continued as if nothing had happened.
“Silver, HUMAN, and Kornok. Lovely.” I elongated the last word, hoping my annoyance would escape my mouth in one breath. It didn’t.
“Right, delete the message from Sister Silver and Kornok. What does HUMAN want?” I asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.
“It is about…” Hob would sometimes pause for effect; he loved being dramatic. This felt different. The pause was too sharp, too long. There was the faint sound of static in the background.
“It is about…” He repeated, the voice coming out a little quieter and distorted. A little more empty.
My hackles rose.
“Hob, you good?” I patted the desk, my brow creasing in worry. “Run a quick diagnostic for me.”
“I already have, sir.”
“And?”
HOB’s voice devolved back into the more stilted, robotic version he used to talk with before he developed a personality.
“HUMAN’s message concerns your outstanding bills regarding this Deluxe Habitation unit. An error in the system was detected and resolved, revealing you hadn’t paid any bills for two years and seven months. HUMAN is notifying you that if y-y-y-you do not settle all outstanding bills within the next two days, you will have possessions of equivalent value seized from your property. If no su-such possessions exist, you will be evicted. If you refuse to leave the premis-s-s-ses, a Priest will arrive to excommunicate you. Half of all credits going into your account from today until all outstanding bills are settled will automatically go into repaying your debt. Half of all credits going into your account from today until all outstanding bills are settled will automatically g-g-go-go-go into repaying your debt. Half of all credits going into your account from today until all outstanding bills are settled will automatically go into repaying your de-de-debt.”
I shot up from my desk. “Hob? Damn it, what’s happening now?”
I scrambled to my oven and ripped off the panel to its left, exposing a mess of wires and components more complex than I could ever understand.
“Sir, my cognitive errors are getting w-worse.” His normal voice was back, albeit sounding terrified. “Last night, in your absence, I had to triage two separate errors by bypassing two failing components. I thought it had been enough, but this one is the worst yet. I can… Feel it. I’ve been trying to resolve it without relying on your assistance for the last five hours, but….”
“Damn it, Hob! You should have told me as soon as it occurred. You know I’m here to help.” My hands started shaking, and my breath grew short. I can’t lose him. Not him, too. I promised. I promised I’d take care of him.
“I did not wish to b-be a burden.”
“Don’t be daft. You are never a burden. Now, tell me, what components need replacing this time?”
Damn it, I was almost out of money, too.
Three years of spending it all on booze and components to keep Hob going without any new work had ruined my finances and vaporized my savings. I would blame my luck, but I knew nobody was to blame except me.
Suddenly robotic, harsh, and loud, his voice broke me out of my reverie.
“ERROR CASCADE DETECTED. FATAL ERROR IMMINENT–S-sir, I think I am scared, help m– COMPONENTS THIRTEEN, TWO HUNDRED FIFTY-SEVEN, THREE HUNDRED FORTY-THREE TO FIVE HUNDRED EIGHTY-ONE FAILING–FATAL ERROR OCCURING IN T MINUS TWENTY-THREE MINUTES–I am scare—FATAL ERROR OCCURING IN T MINUS TWENTY-TWO MINUTES.”
One of Hob’s numerous components shorted out next to my face, spitting out sparks, and I jumped back, the smell of burnt hair filling my nose.
“Fuck! Hob, enter sleep mode, level three. Suspend consciousness. Activate basic mode.”
Immediately, the rising whine from Hob’s components died down.
“Basic mode engaged. Consciousness suspended.”
Hob’s voice was emotionless and robotic once more, as if he were no more than a regular household assistance bot.
“Hob, run a diagnostic test and give me your current status.” I did my best to calm down. Gotta take things one step at a time.
“Diagnostic test completed. Status: Error cascade in progress. Currently, two hundred and forty-three components are no longer functional and must be replaced. Redundancy protocols have failed. More components will fail as time goes on. A fatal error will occur in t-minus 71 hours and 46 minutes.”
I slowed down the process. Good.
“What happens once the fatal error occurs?” I already suspected the answer.
“Core Processing Module will be destroyed. The unit will no longer be functional. Consciousness will be destroyed. Memories will be destroyed. Repairs will no longer be possible.”
I swore under my breath. “Why did this happen?”
“Unit has been repaired and had components replaced 56 times in the past 29 months of operation. Component compatibility of the replacement modules is at an average of 41.3%. Compatibility issues have caused errors with increasing frequency. Due to improper repairs, the error threshold was exceeded last night at 23:52, and an error cascade began. Error cascade reached the detection threshold two hundred ninety-four minutes ago.”
My thoughts started spiraling. What if I had not gone to that bar last night? Could I have helped avoid the cascade? What if I had made some money and bought better-quality components? What if I paid more attention? What if I knew what I was doing? “Why did you not tell me sooner that these errors were adding up?”
“The unit detected the error-compounding issue during the User’s fifth attempt at repairs. This unit tried informing the user of the errors multiple times during the repairs, but the user told this unit the following: ‘Don’t bother me with that shite anymore. Just let me fix you, and everything will be fine. I can fix this. Everything will be FINE.’ Thus, this Unit suppressed the warning messages regarding errors compounding.”
My own voice being played back at me sent chills down my spine. I sounded drunk. Belligerent. Out of my mind. It made sense, considering it was still the early days. Hob hadn’t even developed a true personality yet. Of course, he’d take my drunken words as an ironclad command. Rings, this was all my fault.
It was all my fucking fault.
“How much money will it take for me to repair you within the next two days?”
“Missions have been generated and sent with the details,” said Hob. A moment later, a blue notification window opened in front of me, blocking my view of the circuitry.
[MISSION ADDED TO LOG] - [A Hob in need is a Hob indeed!]
Objective: Gather 134,730 credits to buy high-quality components for repairs. (269,460 credits are needed due to 50% of your earnings being automatically seized by HUMAN)
Time Limit: First Threshold: 47 hours and 43 minutes. (If the time limit is exceeded, the repair cost will rise as more components fail.) The Mission fails after 71 hours and 46 minutes.
Success: Hob will be repaired and continue operating error-free for three more years.
Failure: Hob is destroyed.
[MISSION ADDED TO LOG] - [Are we HUMAN, or are we Debtor?]
Objective: Pay a total of 293,910 credits to HUMAN. (Objective changes to 159,180 credits if you complete the mission “A Hob in need is a Hob indeed!”)
Time Limit: 47 hours and 43 minutes.
Success: Your debt will be paid off, and you will retain ownership of your possessions.
Failure: All your possessions will be seized by the Ecclisiarchy.
[SUMMARY OF CURRENTLY ACTIVE MISSION OBJECTIVES]
Acquire 428,640 credits (134,730 for components, 293,910 for debt to HUMAN)
Find and Kill Varhas
I stumbled back, shocked at the notifications. Almost four hundred thirty thousand credits were more money than I used to make in two years of non-stop work or four at my usual pace. Now, I had to come up with it in two days. But this was all my fault, my mistake to fix.
I clenched my jaw, steeled myself, and straightened my back.
“Hob, undo the deletion of Kornok’s message. It must be about a truly special job if he grew the balls to reach out to me. Let’s see what he has to say.”
