[HOST INTEGRITY: 20%]
[LOCATION: SECTOR 9 - SUBTERRANEAN ZONE (THE SEWERS)]
[TIME: 11:30 PM]
The entrance to the Underworld's economy wasn't a bank. It was a storm drain behind a convenience store.
Ren pried the rusted grate open with a crowbar he'd bought at a hardware store. The metal groaned, revealing a dark, wet tunnel that smelled of sulfur and old regrets.
"Put your mask on," Ren ordered, pulling a black surgical mask over his face. "The air down here is 40% Miasma. If you breathe it raw, you'll get spiritual pneumonia."
Jian, already wearing two N95 masks, looked down into the darkness. "Ren, we have a permit. We have a product. Why are we going into the sewer? Shouldn't we be selling this to... I don't know, rich ghosts?"
"Rich ghosts buy from Nether-Core," Ren said, stepping onto the ladder. "They have brand loyalty. They have contracts. We can't compete with Amazon yet."
Ren began to descend.
"To build a monopoly, you don't start at the top. You start at the bottom. You find the people the market has forgotten."
Ren's voice echoed up the shaft.
"You find the hungry."
The Slums of the Dead
The sewers weren't just pipes. They were a city beneath the city.
In the damp, dripping tunnels, thousands of glowing eyes watched them from the shadows.
These were the Starving Ghosts (Pretas).
They were thin, their spectral skin stretched tight over translucent bones. Their bellies were distended, swollen with hunger, but their throats were as thin as needles. They couldn't eat normal food. They could only feed on stray wisps of spiritual energy.
Jian walked close to Ren, clutching his flashlight like a weapon.
"They're staring at us," Jian whispered.
"They aren't staring at us," Ren corrected. "They are staring at the bag."
Ren stopped at a large junction where three tunnels met. A group of about fifty ghosts sat huddled in the muck, scraping at the moss on the walls, trying to lick the faint spiritual residue off the bricks.
They looked miserable. They looked feral.
"This is the demographic," Ren announced.
He didn't sound sympathetic. He sounded like he was looking at a spreadsheet.
"Target Audience: Low income. High desperation. Zero alternatives."
Ren reached into his bag.
He pulled out a single stick of the Spirit Incense (Type-F).
The indigo stick glinted in the flashlight beam.
One of the ghosts—an old woman with long, matted hair—lifted her head. Her nose twitched.
She smelled the Death Dew binder inside the stick.
Hiss.
Another ghost looked up. Then another.
Within seconds, fifty pairs of hollow, black eyes were locked onto Ren's hand.
"Jian," Ren said calmly. "The lighter."
Jian fumbled in his pocket and produced a cheap plastic lighter. His hand shook as he flicked it.
Click. Spark.
Ren held the tip of the incense to the flame.
It caught instantly.
A thin, purple trail of smoke curled into the stagnant air.
The smell hit the tunnel like a physical shockwave.
Ozone. Cold Rain. Relief.
The effect on the ghosts was immediate.
The old woman gasped. The agony on her face—the eternal, gnawing hunger—vanished for a split second as she inhaled the smoke.
"Sweet..." she croaked. Her voice sounded like grinding stones. "So... sweet..."
She crawled forward.
Then the ghost behind her crawled forward.
Then the entire group surged.
"Back!" Ren barked.
He didn't use the Tiger Seal. He simply stepped back, holding the burning stick high above his head.
The smoke drifted down, forming a small cloud of purple haze.
The ghosts scrambled into the haze. They didn't fight; they just breathed. They inhaled greedily, their bodies trembling as the Vermin Spirit Dust inside the smoke filled their empty bellies.
It wasn't a gourmet meal. It was trash. But to them, it was the first time in years they felt full.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
[CUSTOMER SATISFACTION: HIGH]
[ADDICTION RATING: INCREASING]
Jian watched, horrified and mesmerized. "Ren... they're acting like animals."
"They are starving, Jian. Hunger turns everyone into an animal," Ren said. He watched the incense burn down.
It was halfway gone.
The ghosts were clawing at the air, trying to catch every wisp. They were moaning in ecstasy.
Then, Ren dropped the stick.
He didn't let it finish burning.
He stomped on it.
Crunch.
The smoke stopped.
The ozone smell vanished, replaced instantly by the stench of the sewer.
The ghosts froze.
They looked at the crushed remains of the stick under Ren's sneaker.
Then they looked up at Ren.
The gratitude in their eyes was gone. Replaced by panic. Replaced by Need.
"More," the old woman hissed, reaching out a skeletal hand. "Please... Master... more."
"More!" another ghost shrieked. "It hurts! The hunger comes back! Make it stop!"
The crowd began to close in. Their desperation was turning into aggression.
Jian backed up against the wall. "Ren? Uh, Ren? This is the part where they eat us."
Ren stood his ground. He looked at the fifty snarling, desperate faces.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a handful of unlit sticks.
He didn't light them. He just held them up.
"Free samples are over," Ren stated coldly.
The tunnel went silent.
"You want the smoke?" Ren asked. "You want the pain to stop?"
The ghosts nodded frantically.
"I don't want your money," Ren said. "You have no money."
He pointed a finger at the strongest ghost in the pack—a large man with a broken neck.
"I want Labor."
Ren tossed a single unlit stick to the large ghost.
The ghost caught it like it was gold.
"Bring me ten pounds of Scrap Metal from the surface," Ren ordered. "Copper wire. Pipes. Cans. Anything."
Ren pointed to the tunnel exit.
"Bring me metal, and I give you smoke."
He looked at the rest of the group.
"Bring me useful things. Information. Scavenged parts. Or just bring me More Customers."
Ren smiled behind his mask.
"One stick for every five new customers you bring to this spot tomorrow night."
The ghosts stared at him. Then, they understood.
The large ghost didn't hesitate. He scrambled up the ladder, heading for the surface to steal copper wire.
The others scattered, running down the tunnels to find their friends, to find junk, to find anything that would buy them another hit of the purple smoke.
Within ten seconds, the junction was empty.
The Aftermath
Jian slid down the wall, exhaling shakily.
"You turned them into..." Jian struggled for the word.
"Sales representatives," Ren finished, picking up his bag.
"It's a classic Multi-Level Marketing scheme, Jian. But instead of essential oils, we're selling the suppression of eternal torment."
Ren checked his Inventory.
99 Sticks left.
"Tomorrow, there won't be fifty ghosts here," Ren predicted, starting to climb the ladder. "There will be five hundred."
[SYSTEM ALERT]
[MARKET PENETRATION: 0.1%]
[QUEST UPDATED: SECURE THE FIRST SALE]
[STATUS: PENDING (LABOR EXCHANGE INITIATED)]
Ren climbed out into the cool night air of the city. He pulled off his mask and took a deep breath.
"We need to expand the factory," Ren noted. "Lian is going to need a bigger grinder."