Tested

"Hey, what is this world?" 

[Accessing Restricted Database…]

[Planet: Hamfarir VI]

[Cvilization Type: Type III]

[Main Features: Temporus | Aerithra | Verdantex | Paradoxia | Ignatia | Lucida | Nauticus ]

[Description: Hamfarir VI, a world brimming with the wonders of steam and mesmerizing Mechamagic. Its seven distinctive domains, each devoted to an enigmatic Astral Artificer, thrive with innovation and endless possibilities. Temporus, a realm of time manipulation and ancient mysteries, is neighbored by Aerithra, where the skies come alive with the art of flight and wind manipulation. Verdantex teems with nature's harmony, where technology and plant life coexist seamlessly. Paradoxia, the enigmatic city of riddles and paradoxes, leaves visitors captivated by its intellectual puzzles. Ignatia harnesses the fierce power of fire, while Lucida shines with the art of illumination and light manipulation. Nauticus navigates the depths of underwater exploration and aquatic Mechamagic. Amidst the magic and machinery, political intrigue, and inter-kingdom alliances, Mechaetherea is a realm of endless adventure, where Mechamagic pulses through the heart of daily life and endless secrets await discovery.]

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"No shit… of course, this is not my world." A light smile cracked onto his face. "Thankfully..." 

"Shut up man, I'm trying to sleep…" The fighter on the top bunk groaned before turning over and trying to get some more sleep. "Also, turn off that steam. It's making it impossible to get some shut-eye." 

"Sorry about that…" Silas sighed, staring at the bottom of the wooden top bunk. 

Glover had provided a place for Silas to sleep, but the problem was, that it was a shared room. The place practically hummed with a mixture of camaraderie and fatigue, shared by a group of fighters who called this place home. The room was an austere, utilitarian space, with rows of flimsy bunk beds lined up neatly along the walls, like weary soldiers in formation. Each bunk was constructed of bare-bones steel frames, their surfaces worn and scratched from the countless nights of restless sleep.

Thin, uncomfortable mattresses provided minimal cushioning, leaving fighters to contend with the unforgiving metal supports underneath. Personal belongings and equipment were stashed beneath the beds, sometimes in organized piles, other times in scattered disarray, a reflection of the diverse personalities that occupied the room.

Dim overhead lighting, when it wasn't time to sleep, bathed the room in a perpetual, soft glow, casting shadows that played across the stark, unpainted walls. The atmosphere was fused with the smell of sweat, and the ever-present buzz of whispered conversations, snoring, and the occasional rustling of sheets and blankets filled the air.

Despite the spartan accommodations, there was an unspoken sense of unity among the fighters who called this room their own. The camaraderie forged through shared hardships and common goals bound them together, creating a unique sense of belonging in this otherwise unremarkable space.

This place was more like a gym than a fight club where a bunch of randoms duked it out for an easy cash grab. All kinds of trash and scum are surveyed and given a chance by Glover who then basically fight for the club and rake in cash while keeping a large split of rewards. 

Nobody in this fight club fought against each other, but instead, challengers who were always willing to try for a big reward. Sometimes other gyms who fought mainly within the underground circle challenged them and due to their notorious prize pool, most were willing to sacrifice their lives. 

"*sigh*... I guess I'll just sleep. No need to think anymore about this… I'll worry about it in the morning…" 

…

The next day, Silas woke up to absolutely nobody in the room. Not even a whisper of those same fighters from last night were present. But through the walls, he could hear them already training in the large mat next door, fighting, talking, discussing, and adjusting their steampunk tech. 

"Mornin' kid! Want to change back into that silly costume of yours or do you want to stay in those dirty clothes!" A voice bellowed from all the way across the room, pouring out from the doorway where Glover stood. He was as dapper as ever, with his eyes fully covered once more. 

As Silas walked over, he rubbed his eyes and let out a resonating groan that reverberated through the rows of rusty metal bunk beds. "To be honest… I'd rather stay in this." 

"Alright, then I hope you remember what I told you last night. If yo' ass is gonna stay with us, you're gonna be rackin' in some cash. Can't have you eatin' for free in my club." 

"All I gotta do is fight, right?" 

Last night, the two came to an agreement that was beneficial for both of them. Silas had very little wiggle room to negotiate, but the boss of this popular fight club was benevolent enough to push everything in his favor. He gave him a place to sleep, food to eat, and an opportunity to survive and potentially thrive in this world. 

All he had to do was fight for the man… or so Silas thought. 

"When did I say you were gonna fight? I can't be sendin' a kid out there. My reputation would melt to shit." 

"Then how am I gonna make money?" Silas asked while the two walked down the musty metal hall and back into the main arena. But instead of standing on the outskirts and watching, they stepped through the chained walls and walked onto the concrete floor. 

"Your status says you're an entertainer. I got a few jobs for that kind of niche, but if you really want to survive in this world… you have to… FIGHT!" 

In one fluid motion, Glover's leg, clad in fitted steampunk attire, shot out to the side, his body maintaining a perfect balance. His muscles, trained to perfection, tensed and released with pinpoint accuracy, propelling his heel with a burst of kinetic energy. The sidekick surged through the air like a piston from an intricate machine, a picturesque display of his honed skills.

The strike was executed with such speed and grace that the imaginary opponent would have had little time to react. Glover's leg was a powerful, extended lever, his boot on a collision course with the hypothetical target. 

"Like I thought…" Glover smiled, lowering his leg and lighting a large cigar. He took a few puffs before gesturing to Silas if he wanted a hit. 

Seeing how it was a potential time to test him on something, Silas immediately grasped the situation. He reached out for the cigar, his guard still up, allowing him to twitch his head to the side. 

FWOOSH

It was an instantaneous movement, that even if with his guard up, still felt as if he had been caught with his pants down. A drop of sweat rolled down the boy's cheek and upon seeing Glover retract his jabbed-out fist, he let out a small breath of relief. 

"... You can fight. Even if you're lacking in some parts, just growing up will fix all of that with ease…" Glover pondered over a few puffs of his cigar before speaking once again. "... hmmmm… you seem almost… how do I put it? Not used to your body? As a clown, I woulda' thought you'd keep more muscle memory and be more capable of controlling your body." 

'This guy is too sharp,' Silas began to sweat profusely. 

"Eh, whatever. Amnesia works in mysterious ways. Now, you're probably thinking why I'm testin' your ability to fight when I'm not allowin' you to fight here." Silas nodded in agreement. "That's 'cause I want you to take on a few gigs for me. Real world training you might call it… and it's perfect for you. Actin' and fightin'." 

For all Glover knew, Silas was proficient in putting on a show. This wasn't even a stretch since he had investigated his sub-class and knew just exactly what the requirements were. Silas immediately understood this, but couldn't help but think… 

'I'm fucked… I can't act for shit! I had no choice in being placed in this stupid, good-for-nothing body. A strange career and a stupid amount of illegal doings? What more could I NOT ask for!' 

Even though Silas was thinking all of this, his facial expression hadn't changed in the slightest. Quite a good start for a boy who has to start learning how to act. 

"Stretch out your arm. I'll send you the info on the gig. There is a time limit to it, but I feel you should be able to finish it within the allotted duration." 

As Silas extended his own arm, glover extended his hand, hovering it just above Silas' forearm, where both of their System Connectors rested. This intricate mechanical device integrated seamlessly into the young man's arm, serving as a link to a restricted database brimming with knowledge. As Glover's palm gently touched the exposed surface of Silas' System Connector, a subtle connection was established between the two.

Through the touch of his fingers and a surge of amber aether coursing through the implanted technology, Glover initiated a data transfer. His own System Connector, similarly concealed beneath his glove, linked with Silas' device, enabling him to share information and insights. The exchange of data was a silent, unspoken dialogue conducted through the connection between their steam-enhanced implants.

For a brief moment, an ethereal web of information spread between them, encapsulating the shared knowledge and memories, like whispers from the annals of an alternate world. Silas, as the recipient, could feel the influx of information washing over him, his mind absorbing the newfound insights.

The transfer was a swift and efficient process, revealing details about the complex world of magic, Steamcasters, and the art of Mechamagic. It was as if a hidden door had been unlocked, granting Silas access to a trove of arcane knowledge that would undoubtedly shape his path in this world of steampunk wonder.

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[Condensing Data…]

[Saving Data…]

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[Gig - Theatre Thief]

[Broker: Glover Withers]

[Requester: #####]

[Description: Are you a master of subterfuge and larceny? Are you enchanted by the allure of Paradoxia, the city of mysteries? We have a job for you! The renowned theater in the heart of Paradoxia is seeking a skilled individual to acquire a valuable jewel prop concealed within the theater's mesmerizing illusions. But here's the twist – the prop isn't what it seems. It guards a genuine diamond worth millions of Cogbits. This high-stakes gig demands a knack for stealth, an eye for detail, and a fearless disposition amidst Paradoxia's bewitching enigmas.]

[Requirements: [Proven expertise in jewel extraction] [Adept at navigating and outwitting magical illusions] [Ability to operate in a high-pressure, captivating environment] [Exceptional problem-solving skills] [Discretion and professionalism] [Ability to dance]

[Compensation: [Negotiation will be completed by the Broker and Requester]

[Time Left: One Day]

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"Ability to dance? I thought I was supposed to act?" Silas scoffed, feeling like Glover was getting more and more untrustworthy. No, just straight-up unreliable to live off of. 

"Eh, you'll be fine. You're not really going to be following the rules of this gig."

Silas' face crumpled into a mess as he read over the gig once more. "There is no requirement to fight. All of these are requirements for spying… I can't spy. You're already aware I'll fail, that's why you tried to see if I could fight." 

The man leaned forward, blowing a puff of the cigar into the boy's face. "You up to the job or not." 

"... Tch… you're gonna kick me out either way… whatever. I'll try, but don't expect anything." 

"That's what I like to hear. Great enthusiasm. Now get to work. Their first show is tonight and you'll need to identify the location of the diamond before anything else." 

"*sigh* Anything else I should know?" 

"Yeah, well... we don't know the exact location of the jewel. I presume it's on somebody attending the event... but we still aren't completely sure." 

"We?" 

"I got a few others coming to help us out."