Genki gazed across the broken cityscape or what was left of it. In the distance, he spotted a building that looked like a bank. It had to be the one owned by the old man, Owen the same man who shoved him earlier. Behind him stood the still-intact bar: The Amaris Bar, the first building he'd seen upon arriving here.

  Farther out, he noticed other structures more buildings, some barely standing, others looking like poorly maintained homes. Sparse, leafless trees dotted the cracked terrain, along with patches of dirt and scrap metal. Toward the edge of the city, he could make out an old port, and beyond that, a half-destroyed military base. That must be where the armed men with those alien-looking weapons had come from.

  “Alright, I hate to say this and it’s not like anyone can hear me talking to myself but I’m completely lost…"

  He let out a sigh, reluctantly admitting the obvious.

  "I guess that old guy is my best shot. Even if I hate to admit it… I’m hopeless right now.”

  There was annoyance in his voice, but not panic. Genki wasn’t someone who liked asking for help. He wasn’t the strongest, but he valued pride—especially when it came to dealing with people who treated him without respect. That was just how he operated.

  Still, even he could swallow his pride if it meant surviving in this strange, broken world. This place was nothing like Earth.

  As he walked under a sky filtered through cracked concrete overhangs and twisted metal beams, Genki tried to ignore the stares.

  The people here were strange not just in expression, but in appearance. Bright hair colors: red, silver, green, and even deep ocean blue. He couldn’t tell if they were dyed or if this world simply worked by different rules.

  Their fashion was even more bizarre. Goggles, patched gloves, mismatched jackets, and worn-down overalls in all shapes and sizes. It wasn’t style. It was survival.

  But what struck him most was the look on everyone’s face—exhaustion, tension, and dull acceptance.

  "And to think I used to complain about my job back home..."

  He spoke quietly, sympathy creeping into his voice as he looked around.

  "I feel like a hypocrite."

  With that, and a reluctant breath, Genki turned and began walking toward the bank.

  "Alright, so that's the old guy’s bank. Eh, not impressive, but better than anything... why did he even act tough with me?"

  Genki muttered, thinking back to their earlier confrontation. The bank was pretty basic, the kind of structure you'd expect—yet it stood out. Somehow still intact in this decaying world, it was made of red brick and limestone. The facade was symmetrical, with classical columns, an arched pediment, and green-trimmed windows. It looked eerily similar to the banks back on Earth, which Genki found ironic.

  He pushed open the door at the front and stepped inside.

  A guard stood near the entrance—tall, imposing, clearly stationed for protection. He wore a suit of armor cobbled together from salvaged materials: rusted metal, dented plates, rough welds. It had the silhouette of a medieval knight, but the patchwork nature gave it a more desperate feel. The man himself was built—muscular, with short blonde hair, a cold stare, and a long scar running down the left side of his face. His eyes were a piercing blue. On his back rested a massive sword, and strapped to his hip was a weapon that resembled a gun.

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  The man caught Genki staring and spoke.

  "What do you want, shrimp? Admiring my beauty or something?"

  Genki's mind started to drift he wanted to avoid another pointless conflict. He just shrugged.

  "No, sorry, uh... what's your name?"

  "Kaedin, for you, runt."

  He sounded serious when he said "runt." Genki shrugged it off again, trying to play it cool.

  "Yeah, and I'm Genk—"

  He was cut off.

  "Don't say anything. Let me search your pockets and see if you're clear to go."

  Genki sighed but obeyed. He needed information and guidance.

  Kaedin approached, towering over Genki, who stood at 5'8". He searched through the boy’s pockets carefully. Eventually, he pulled out two items: Genki’s phone and wallet. He held them up with a puzzled look.

  "What is this? Some kind of old tech device?"

  He turned the phone in his hands, clearly unsure.

  "Alright... looks clear to me, I guess. You could probably fetch something decent with it, eh— not my problem."

  He handed the items back.

  It had gone more smoothly than Genki expected.

  Nobody was inside the bank, obviously. The people here seemed fairly poor at least, from what Genki could see outside. Ruins, broken homes, and scarcity clung to everything.

  Owen, hunched behind the counter, was occupied counting the coins he’d gathered from his latest clients. He looked up and noticed a familiar face.

  "Ah, you're that kid from earlier. What, ya come beggin’ for money?"

  The old man grinned beneath his worn hat. Genki hadn’t noticed before, but now it was impossible to ignore—a golden tooth flashed between Owen’s cracked lips. If Genki already disliked this guy, the visual just made it comically worse.

  "Oh no... I just came to ask where I am. What’s the name of this town, actually? And where could I find a place to sleep—or maybe work?"

  There was a flicker of hope in Genki’s voice, though he tried to hide it. That hope didn’t last long.

  "Yeah, kid. You’re in Port Amarin, little coastal dump in the grand territory of the Ameris Lands. Shattered, but still standing. Once a fabulous land of this, that—blah blah blah—who cares!"

  He rolled his eyes.

  "And work? Pfft. Kid, you’re skinny like a plank. You sure you can handle any kind of manual labor ‘round here? Don’t make me laugh."

  Genki swallowed his pride and held back a reply. He glanced toward the silent guard still standing nearby. Not the time to get smart.

  "You’re funny," Genki muttered. "But yes, I can handle anything. I just need a place."

  The old man let out a dry laugh, which turned into a raspy cough.

  "Alright, alright, I get it. You could try fishing, maybe chop wood and sell it. Scavenge old junk, the usual. Or hey, if you're real desperate, steal something. What do I care? Use your brain."

  He jerked a thumb toward the grimy window beside him, his smile crooked and unpleasant.

  "As for where to live? Try the slums. But be careful. There are nasty folks out there. Real nasty. They're out for blood, and you..."

  He narrowed one eye.

  "...you look like a perfect target. Pretty boys like you? The beasts eat ‘em alive."

  Genki didn’t respond.

  "That all? I ain’t a tour guide I own a bank. Now scram."

  That was all the convincing Genki needed. He stepped outside without another word.

  The whole visit felt... pointless. But now he had some direction. A vague mission. A role, if only temporary.

  He glanced up at the sky, letting his thoughts drift in a brief escape from this broken reality.

  Then a loud thud.

  A bag full of tools hit the ground nearby. A woman—tall, lean, and quick—knelt down to gather them.

  Genki stepped forward, instinct kicking in. He knelt beside her and picked up the scattered tools without a word.

  She smiled, flashing a cocky grin. Her short blue hair was tied back roughly, and her red eyes had a sharp, alert glint. She wore worn overalls streaked with oil, and her cheeks were smudged with dirt but her skin beneath was smooth, almost glowing.

  "Thanks for the help, man! You new in town? Don’t think I’ve seen you before."

  She gave him a casual thumbs-up, her energy loud and bright—completely opposite of everyone else Genki had met so far.

  Genki hesitated before replying.

  "Yeah... I just got here."