As Andy stepped out of the shower, the hot water had done little to ease the weariness that weighed on him. He glanced at his body in the mirror, noting the bruises scattered across his arms and torso. Must’ve been when I hid, he thought, running his fingers over the marks. Got a bit scraped up back there. The thought of the underground, of the danger he’d just narrowly escaped, made him shudder for a moment, but he pushed it aside. There were more pressing matters now. The Mayor’s meeting. Wily’s health.

  As he towel-dried his hair and looked up, Andy caught his reflection in the mirror. His piercing blue eyes stared back at him, a striking contrast against the tan that clung to his skin. He was tall, lean, and surprisingly muscular, though not from the usual exercises others might do. His muscles were hard as knots, honed from years of picking up heavy machinery and working with tools that most people wouldn’t dream of handling.

  Andy paused for a moment, staring at his reflection as the words echoed in his mind: Still young, but so much life already lived. He had the look of someone who’d seen more than most of his years should have allowed. At only 19, he’d spent what felt like a lifetime working with his hands, navigating a world that constantly tested his resilience. He hadn’t had a childhood like other kids, filled with carefree moments or time to simply exist without the weight of responsibility hanging over him.

  Instead, he’d had to grow up fast—too fast. The scars on his body, the bruises from the underground, the tired eyes that told the story of too many sleepless nights spent alone with his thoughts and projects, all of it was evidence of the hardships he’d faced. And that didn’t even account for the emotional toll—the loss of his parents, the time spent in the orphanage, the strange isolation that came with being born in the wasteland, an "outer born," as others called it. No one ever looked at him without some judgment, and that stung.

  And yet, despite all that weight, there was still a fire in him, a drive. He refused to let life crush him. It was in the way he worked, the way he could fix things others couldn’t, the way he pushed through the fear and the exhaustion when everything else screamed at him to stop. He wasn’t old—he didn’t look old. But in his mind, in the way he carried himself, Andy felt like he’d lived far more years than he’d actually had. His life was tough, and it had shaped him, for better or for worse.

  He shook off the thought, not wanting to linger on it too long. He had to keep moving forward. There’s no time for regret, he reminded himself. He had a job to do, and Wily needed him. The Mayor’s meeting was just another step forward—another chance to prove that he, despite everything he’d been through, could make a difference.

  With a deep breath, he grabbed his shirt, wiping the fog off the mirror with the sleeve and making sure there was no lingering residue from the underground. Today was important. He couldn’t afford to show up looking like a wreck. Not when Wily was counting on him, and certainly not with the Mayor expecting to see the results of their hard work.

  Quietly and efficiently, he dressed, buttoning his shirt, rolling up his sleeves and tying his boots. It felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but he’d carried heavy things before. He could do it again.

  After he dressed, he took one last look in the mirror. Just don’t screw this up, he thought, and with that, he turned toward the door to meet Wily. The meeting with the Mayor was a step toward something bigger—a chance to prove himself, to prove that the work they did mattered. And maybe, just maybe, it was time for Andy to see himself as someone who could make a difference in the world.

  But that was a thought for later. For now, he had a meeting to attend.

  Wily and Andy walked side by side, making their way through the bustling streets of the city, the distant hum of machinery and the familiar smells of grease and metal filling the air. Wily was in one of his rare moods, a low chuckle escaping from his lips as he gazed up at the towering structures above them.

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  “Ah, the ringed city," Wily muttered with a trace of sarcasm. "The last beacon of humanity, or so they say. If only people knew how much work it takes to keep this place from falling apart. They do not know." His voice dropped into a low, almost bitter tone. "If the machinery in this city ever stopped, if someone just… forgot to maintain one crucial part, one gear, one wire, you know what would happen? It’d all come crumbling down. Everything we’ve built here would be gone in a day. But no, all they see are the pretty towers, the shining streets, the food they buy from the market. They don’t think about the duct tape, the blood, and the sweat it takes to keep them alive.”

  Andy couldn’t help but nod, a familiar weight pressing down on his chest. He’d fixed enough machines, tweaking old technology, and making do with broken-down parts to know exactly what Wily meant. People in the city don’t see what goes on behind the scenes, he thought. They don’t understand that the life they live is a fragile thing, held together by the hands of people like Wily… and me.

  “Yeah," Andy said quietly, his eyes scanning the streets. “They don’t see the actual work. They just see the food on their tables and the lights above their heads. They don’t realize what goes into keeping it all running."

  Wily smirked, shaking his head. "Exactly. No one appreciates the effort until it’s too late." He let out a long breath, his expression softening. “But we keep going, don’t we? We keep fixing, we keep rebuilding. ‘Cause that’s what we do."

  They continued walking in silence for a moment, the sound of their footsteps in sync as they moved deeper into the agricultural district. The landscape shifted—the tall, gleaming buildings gave way to a sprawling expanse of farmland, dotted with strange, almost alien-looking creatures grazing on the grass. The air here was thick with the smell of chemicals, a faint haze hanging in the air as workers in full face and body suits tended to the fields, their movements methodical and precise.

  A blend of human and machine, the workers wore simple suits to protect them from chemicals, while others wore mechanical arms or enhanced legs—remnants of accidents or upgrades. It was a grim reminder of the price people had to pay to keep the food coming. Lazily wandering through the fields were mutated animals—mostly mutts, a mix of different creatures grafted together—some sporting mechanical components such as wire legs or extra sensors in their skulls.

  The entire scene had a greenish hue. The sky above the dome-like buildings clouded with chemicals and the glow of artificial light. The agricultural district was a place few people ever visited outside of work hours. It was the lifeblood of the city—the one place that kept them all fed—but it was also a place of danger and harsh realities. Workers faced constant exposure to airborne chemicals, and the animals highlighted the unpredictable nature of bioengineering. Mutated creatures weren’t just the result of natural processes; some had been intentionally altered to survive in harsh environments, while others had come from discarded experiments, twisted remnants of what was supposed to be a safe, controlled system.

  As they walked further into the district, Andy couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had crept into his chest. Everything about this place felt artificial, a lifeline that was both necessary and deeply unsettling. The people here did their work without question, always pushing forward, but Andy knew that one day, the system might fail. One day, those machines might break, and no amount of duct tape would be enough to fix it.

  "Alright, kid," Wily said, interrupting his thoughts, "The mayor’s office should be up ahead. We’ll talk about the bio vat project, show them how it’s all working. They’re keen on it, but don’t let that fool you. These are the same people who’ll throw you under the bus the moment things go sideways."

  Andy glanced over at his grandfather, knowing Wily had seen enough of the city’s politics to be wary.

  “I’ll stay sharp,” Andy replied, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this meeting—whatever it was about—wasn’t just about the bio vat project. There was something more, something beneath the surface. He had to be ready. For whatever came next.

  They reached the center of the district, where the mayor’s office was located. Andy couldn’t help but take in the place’s sight: a sleek white building that stood in sharp contrast to the rest of the industrial landscape. It was a symbol of power, efficiency, and privilege—everything the rest of the city wasn’t.

  The game was about to begin.