The next morning, Zixin woke to the sound of his own stomach trying to eat itself.
His eyes peeled open slowly. For a few seconds he just stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, groggy and disoriented, trying to remember where he was. The room was dim, lit only by a thin yellow strip of light leaking in beneath the door. Concrete. Cracked. Ugly.
Then yesterday slammed back into him all at once.
System Space. The rankings. People hunting for him. The suspiciously cheap underground hotel with its slouched, noodle-slurping landlord.
Zixin groaned softly and rubbed his face with both hands.
His stomach growled again. Louder this time, like it was filing a formal complaint.
"Yeah, yeah. I heard you."
