Chapter 2

Anzhi was an ordinary orphan child who, from an early age, understood that you have to fight for your place in the world. If you want to live a normal life, you’d better know how to stand up for yourself. Soon, he would get a chance to join the game. It was an old tradition: to avoid traumatizing the kids, they were given one game and one family. The invitation opened up big opportunities. Chrysalis was promising and would soon gain a massive user base. Those who started playing from the beta test would have a huge advantage.

In all games, kids traded information—every player knew that. Their levels didn’t increase, but they could travel the world. Aggression from full-fledged players toward kids was punished harshly. A player’s age matched their real age up until eighteen—then they could choose any appearance. Even if you played as a goblin child, your body would gradually grow in line with your real age. And a pacifier icon appeared before your in-game name, so no one could pretend to be an adult.

Anzhi did his warm-up and was ready to run if the upcoming fight in the new block turned out to be disadvantageous. “Always stay in control”—that was the principle he followed flawlessly. Bullying taught him a simple truth: hit anyone who tries to ride you, and keep hitting until they lose the desire to mess with you. Three teens were already heading toward his capsule. The oldest looked about twelve.

“Here’s our newbie.”

“What’s wrong, shrimp, already pissed yourself?”

“He’s mute. Why even ask? We’ll rough him up and lay down the rules. If he squirms, we’ll beat him again—he won’t tell anyone anyway.”

The red-haired boy with blue eyes was the oldest and clearly the leader of this little crew of enforcers.

“I despise you for your weakness and stupidity.” If Anzhi wanted to, he could’ve said it. But speaking wasn’t worth it—being mute drew less attention and made it harder for the kids’ gangs to use him. Still, he could be a source of cash.

Pointing to his ear and then the ceiling, Anzhi signaled that the adults were watching and that a riot-suppression sound system would kick in if a fight broke out.

“Don’t worry about that, shrimp,” the leader said. “We’ve got people up there. We’ll have three minutes to scrap.”

“Listen up, runt. Ten credits a week from you. How you get them is your problem. Sell your body on the lower levels if you have to—it’s a hot commodity down there. Refuse, and you’ll be in a world of pain… constantly.”

The last part was said with undisguised glee. Anzhi clocked who the real threat was.

No point in talking further. A kick to the groin for the one in the middle. A kick to the knee for the one on the right. Dodging a grab, he bolted down the hallway.

“Gek, grab him! I’ll kill that bastard! Little runt… hitting below the belt’s dirty. I’ll bury him! Rot him out on the lower levels!”

“Three on one is fair, though,” Anzhi thought as he ran. After two corridors and a turn into a third, he grabbed a pre-stashed metal bar. When Gek caught up, Anzhi swung it at his neck, then started kicking. Another kid showed up, saw his whimpering buddy on the ground, hesitated in the corridor, then called for the last enforcer. The situation wasn’t great: a little kid beating a teen twice his age to tears.

They were about to jump him together when the siren blared. Everyone hit the floor, clutching their heads and covering their ears.

Then came the usual routine—dealing with the overseer. Vaalsi was an older man with graying temples and a prickly attitude. Tall and wiry, the old guy knew what went on in the orphanage but never changed a thing, always sticking to the letter of the law, even when it didn’t benefit him. He took a cut from the enforcers and covered for them when needed.

After reviewing the footage of Anzhi striking first against the three teens, they handed out standard punishments: four extra hours of classes for Anzhi, two for the trio.

“You’re screwed, runt. You’ll be pissing blood,” the redheaded leader said, instinctively shielding his groin.

A radiant smile was Anzhi’s reply. He’d already figured out that uncertainty scared people more than a duralloy pipe—and while smuggling one into the orphanage was tough, he was always happy to bring a new one for a good cause.