You're Useless

If I said I never meant to attract this much attention, I'd come off like some Japanese anime protagonist.

I really never meant to attract this much attention, though.

The fact that I kept that thought firmly behind my teeth was probably where my considerable social experience and people-reading skills got to shine. I was proud of myself.

Proud or not, facts were facts. I had pulled off a disaster big enough to put me in everyone's spotlight, and now it was time to deal with the aftermath.

"There he is. The luckiest bastard in the whole prison."

"That guy's only been on Special Duty three times, and he's broken the profit record every single run?"

"...You sure he's not hacking?"

"Dude, stop treating this like a game."

"That's not even the real issue. Everyone who dropped into the same zone as him yesterday got listed as KIA—never came back."

"Yeah, I heard. The guards went ballistic and launched a full investigation, but since it happened during Special Duty, it'll probably just get buried as a cold case."

Murmurs. Whispers. The whole place stirring.

Had I ever gotten this much attention in my entire life? Had I ever been dragged through the rumor mill this spectacularly? Even if I unrolled the life of Han Seungho—the actual human being—like a panoramic film and put it under a microscope, I wouldn't find an event like this.

So even as the pressure threatened to punch a hole straight through my stomach, I didn't let a flicker of it show on my face as I headed for my cell.

The cellmates had clearly already heard the news. The moment they saw me, they came pouring out and started fussing over my exhausted self like I'd just returned from the dead.

"Boss! We heard the news! You pulled off another huge score this time?!"

"That's our Boss! I believed in you the whole time!"

"Honestly, Boss, weren't you a Special Duty professional all along?"

That last one made me flinch despite myself. I was, in fact, a Darkzone exploration, combat, and extraction specialist with ten years on the clock. Of course, if I got swept up in the mood and started running my mouth, something I shouldn't say might slip out. So I first calmed the overexcited bunch down.

"Settle down. People who hit it big on Special Duty either got lucky, prepared well, or worked well with their teammates. In my case, I'd say I got lucky."

I just did a fucking amazing job, that's all.

"People dying on Special Duty isn't exactly news. It's not something worth celebrating or panicking over every single time."

The ones I'd personally snuffed out hadn't even numbered thirty, so an incident that killed about two hundred and twenty people wasn't a big deal from where I was standing. The reason they died was just that painfully obvious.

Everyone was in the middle of farming when those lunatics suddenly set off the siren, and a Native Species Wave exploded across the entire map. What the hell were they supposed to do?

And it wasn't even a regular one-and-done Wave. Once it started, it was a semi-permanent Wave that wouldn't stop until every last prisoner was dead or had escaped. In EFD, that was just the garden-variety result of trolling, so from my perspective it wasn't a big deal.

There was no point talking Darkzone shop with guys who were getting out soon anyway, so I changed the subject at a natural break. Just then the cell caught my eye—they'd finished the move and the interior work while I was gone, and it looked spotless.

"More importantly, the wallpaper came out clean. Who put it up?"

"I did, Boss!"

"Nice. When you get out, you should look into interior work."

"Boss! Take a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look at these wires I laid out! You don't have to worry about shorts, leaks, or overloads at all."

"You should do electrical maintenance on the outside."

"How about the walls and floors I cleaned up?!"

"...You guys might as well all go into this line of work together."

What was with these guys? Weren't they supposed to be baby criminals dreaming of becoming kings of the night? Why were they so damn good at this stuff? Or maybe they'd been scraping by at the bottom of society doing odd jobs their whole lives, and the talent had just naturally bloomed in this direction?

Either way, once they got out they wouldn't have to play petty crook anymore. They'd eat well enough. Even in a virtual dystopia ruled by cutting-edge science, there were still plenty of places that needed human labor and skilled hands. Especially ordinary folks who couldn't afford corporate solutions and products—they'd become regulars of these three handy brothers.

"Well, I made a lot of money this time. Hard workers deserve a reward."

I handed them the bundle of coupons I'd picked up as a bonus when I cleaned out the Gwangsu Family. The Gwangsu Family was gone, so technically no shop would honor those coupons anymore—but if I was the one who'd given them out, that was a different story.

"Go to the H-088 Commercial Zone and eat and drink as much as you want. Just be back before dinner and you'll be fine. If anyone says they don't take coupons anymore, tell them I gave them to you. I'll go settle the tab later."

"C-can we really go?"

"What, do I look like the kind of guy who'd work you that hard and then settle it with a single bowl of jajangmyeon?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Then go."

Was it that much fun, knowing that the Super Rookie—the lucky charm who brought death wherever he went, the profit-record breaker that every prisoner and guard in the place was watching—had their backs? They were grinning ear to ear in no time and filed out of Cell Block H-050.

Which meant I could finally call in the visitors who'd been watching me from the sidelines for a while now. Those visitors were none other than fellow Oranges.

"So. You've been hovering around here like a dog that needs to take a leak. What's the business? And don't actually start barking just because I called you a dog."

"I'll get straight to the point. Join us."

"I just said don't start barking. Is it that hard to understand human speech?"

"It wouldn't be a bad option for you either. A handful of petty crooks who'll be out soon aren't much use as subordinates. You'd be better off joining forces with us starting now and expanding your influence. Then you could lock down this cell block and the ones around it."

I leaned back in my newly purchased chair and slowly looked over the group of Oranges who'd come into my cell. One big fat guy, one scrawny stick of a man, one curly-haired foreigner who'd clearly rolled in from god-knows-where, and one sharp-eyed type who'd reek of con artist the second you put him in a suit. It was such a bizarre lineup I had to wonder where they'd even found each other.

"Ah. Now I remember."

Looking them over carefully brought back a memory from about two weeks ago.

"You're the friends who used to hang around that slippery snake who tried to reel me in first, aren't you?"

"...He's not here. And if you decide to join us, we're willing to cut him out."

"Nah, it's fine. Friendship between buddies shouldn't break that easily, right? Just treat him like you always did. People get hurt pretty easily when the way you treat them suddenly turns cold."

Imagining the guy who'd bought me a cheap bulgogi rice bowl with a slick smile, now sitting around looking gloomy as the group's outcast, already made my heart ache.

"Actually, more importantly—why the hell do you think I'd team up with you? I'm genuinely curious. Let's hear the reason."

Of course, I knew the reason better than anyone. I'd been in prison barely two weeks, and on my third Darkzone drop I'd already broken the profit record three times running. A completely insane achievement. I hadn't taken down the Gwangsu Family myself—I'd borrowed Vladimir Borshch's power—but the rumor that I'd wrecked them had spread all the same. In other words, these guys had gone crazy over the fame and the sky-high bounty I'd racked up in such a short time.

"Oranges like us can never leave this prison. We're stuck rotting here until we die. So wouldn't it be better to at least enjoy what limited freedom and power we can get inside?"

"And if I join hands with you, I get to savor that limited freedom and power a little more... 'richly'?"

"You're a quick study."

A quick study, my ass. I sighed and stood up.

"If you've got a brain, use it. Is teaming up with you actually in my interest?"

"We're Oranges, same as you. Isn't that enough?"

"That's exactly the problem, pal."

I jabbed Fatty's chest with my finger, making no attempt to be subtle.

"You people were sizing me up from day one, looking to fleece a newbie like me. Like fishermen dangling the bait of easy profit right in front of my face."

"Newbies who can't prove themselves don't last long. I'd appreciate it if you thought of it as a kind of screening process."

"Yeah? Well, you failed my screening. Get lost."

"......"

Fatty's face seemed to flush a little red, but I didn't care. I waved them off. If they had any more schemes prepared—if even one of them had a brain that actually worked—they'd swallow the explosion and hold it in.

"We know a considerable amount about this prison. How the ecosystem works, what factions exist, how the power structure operates. All of it. Don't you need that information?"

"Not really?"

I genuinely didn't. I was probably the user who knew more about EFD than anyone except the developers themselves. I knew exactly what future this prison was heading toward. Even if a superintelligent AI showed up and started prophesying, it would be less accurate than me.

"Besides, if you know it, plenty of other people know it too. No reason to take you in."

"You'll pay a steep price. You might get fed false information."

"And what guarantee do I have that you won't demand payment? That you won't lie to me? Or were you about to say something stupid like, 'as long as we're together, that would never happen'?"

"We want a mutually beneficial relationship. There's no reason we'd do something that hurts us too. You're being overly suspicious."

"When it comes to people like you, there's no such thing as too suspicious."

Maybe if I were some wet-behind-the-ears kid who hadn't tasted the bitterness of the real world. I'd spent years bouncing between ordinary jobs, dealing with every type of human being imaginable, and now here I was living in the same space as actual criminals. In this place, treating everything with suspicion was like wearing a special-issue gas mask in the Darkzone at all times. Non-negotiable.

"Well, the real reason I don't want to work with you is something else."

"If there's something we could fix or improve..."

"......"

What? Surprised? Too shocking a fact? But it was the truth.

"If the benefits you brought me overwhelmingly outweighed the damage, I might've at least thought about it. But no matter how I run the numbers, you just don't have that kind of value."

"Isn't this just an emotional dislike?"

"Not a chance. You won't find anyone in here more calculating than me."

I pointed at Fatty, whose breathing was getting rougher by the second.

"Fewer than three Special Duty runs. Pretends to be the action leader, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but all he's good for is throwing his weight around."

Next, Skinny, hovering at his side and reading the room.

"Fewer than three Special Duty runs. Works hard to look like a weakling so he can coast along. A textbook free-rider."

Then the curly-haired foreigner of presumed Latin American origin, smirking in my direction.

"Fewer than five Special Duty runs. Decent individual skills, but completely unmanageable without a tight leash. Putting him in charge would be insane, and using him as a subordinate would be a massive loss. A troll."

Finally, the Intelligent Inmate, analyzing everything from my body language to my eyes with a sharp gaze.

"The most Special Duty experience of the bunch, and the actual leader. The type who'll do any dirty job to get what he wants. Also the intellectual type who puts up a figurehead and sits back to watch and analyze. You've got the highest value of anyone here—and you'd ruin me the second I kept you close."

On top of that, I had a pretty good idea why each of them had been sentenced to death. Fatty had been an organization man on the outside, getting blood on his hands. Skinny was a serial killer who'd preyed on the elderly, children, and women. The Latino was less a serial killer and more a terrorist or extremist who'd staged some grotesque massacre. And the one still watching me with those intrigued eyes... probably someone from a high position in a corporation or the government who'd been doing dirty work, something went wrong, and he'd taken the fall.

It was all so obvious I could yawn.

"If you've got anything in your skull besides leftover noodles, you should've gotten the picture by now. If you still don't, go see Ted Chan and get yourselves some cheap Smartlinks. He might even give you a group discount."

I shrugged and sneered, and they exchanged furtive glances. Plan A hadn't worked, so Plan B was starting to look more appealing.

They were just testing me from the start.

I was a death row inmate who hadn't teamed up with anyone, didn't have some powerful backer, and didn't even have a faction of my own. I was just doing well. Humans usually feel competitive with people on their own level, clashing constantly and maintaining a friendly rivalry. But when the gap is too wide, they feel envy and jealousy instead.

Of course, if the gap is truly enormous, that can turn into awe and even respect. But if they decide the gap is small enough that they can drag the other person down with their own hands, nine times out of ten they start with malice. That's just how humans are. That's how they're programmed.

"When things don't go your way, you get ready to throw hands. Or you slink off and scheme for the next opportunity. Those are traits that only cause damage in a partnership where trust matters most."

"......"

I applied some quiet pressure to the ones still reading the room, and they decided starting something here and now was a bad ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠idea. They backed off. Fatty, Skinny, and Curly quietly left the cell first. The Intelligent Inmate, who always moved last, looked back at me and tossed out a line.

"Everyone calls you a lucky rookie Orange. But that's something only people who don't know a damn thing would say."

"Yeah? I actually think I'm pretty lucky."

I'd even boosted my Sixth Sense—the luck-adjacent stat—with Alpha Fluid. But he had no way of knowing that. He dropped his gaze and turned to leave. And true to the spirit of cliché, he didn't forget a classic third-rate villain exit line.

"You're already too famous to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠operate as a solo act. The only reason we could come see you first today is because the others were being considerate of us as fellow H-050 residents. But will that still be true tomorrow? And after that?"

"If they're the same kind of people as you, I don't think it'll be a big problem."

Nobody with a functioning brain would team up with guys like that.

"Well. I hope that opinion of yours doesn't change. Because when it does, you'll have to come find us yourself."

"If I crawl over on all fours like a dog, you gonna take me in?"

"...You lunatic."

After they were completely gone, I shut the cell door and lay down on my personal mattress.

"Yeah. It's about time I put a squad together."