Harsh Awakening
Allen woke from sleep. His pillowcase was soaked through. He wiped it off with his sleeve and lay flat, staring up at the ceiling.
A raw concrete ceiling loomed above him. It was far sturdier and cleaner than the rickety shacks back home, so why did he miss that wooden roof patched against the rain?
The dreams started sweet but turned to nightmares upon waking. He could pretend it didn't faze him, but shoving the memories aside was never easy.
Ding-ding-ding!
The harsh clang of metal on metal yanked Allen from his reverie. He sat up and carefully descended from the top bunk of the three-tiered bed.
The room's furnishings amounted to just the three bunks and a shabby wardrobe. Even the floor was bare concrete, sending chills rising through his feet.
Allen stood by the bottom bunk, gazing down at the bundle of blankets.
"You need to get up, sir."
"I know..."
A muffled voice emerged from the threadbare quilt, unraveling at the seams. When Allen prompted him again, the covers shifted slightly, revealing sharp eyes.
"You need to get up, sir."
"Ugh."
A young man, barely past boyhood, let out a weary sigh.
"Mr. Vito."
"I said I got it."
Vito grumbled verbally but held back. He couldn't rough up a worker like the others—not with the mark engraved on Allen's collar catching his eye.
Assistants like him typically got three laborers assigned as tools. Who'd have thought the last one would get special treatment?
Not that Vito envied him. That mark meant "precious test subject"—a toy to sate the boss's whims.
"Mr. Vito."
"My ears work fine, so quit calling—"
Vito met Allen's gaze and shuddered. It wasn't just the underground chill; those dead eyes held an unfathomable void.
Feigning nonchalance, Vito grabbed his clothes and left the room. Allen and the other two workers trailed behind.
In the underground communal cafeteria, Vito filled up on bread and maté tea before outlining the day's schedule.
"Morning and afternoon, we'll roam the city repairing broken magitechwear and magitech devices. Anything beyond my skills, we'll collect—so pull out the carts."
"Yes, sir."
"Finish early, and I'll give you plenty of break time."
The two young workers beamed at Vito's carrot.
Allen's face remained impassive, unlike theirs. His serene eyes fixed on Vito scratching his neck—specifically, the collar there.
It was lighter and thinner than Allen's, stripped of the explosive function and left with only tracking for assistants.
Assistants and laborers alike wore collars. It meant Nobak, owner of Nobak Clinic, trusted no one deeply.
"...Hey!"
Vito snapped his fingers in front of Allen's face.
"You listening?"
"Yes."
"Snap out of it and follow."
He didn't scold further. Vito wasn't one to hit without reason anyway, and no worker matched Allen's sharpness and quickness.
His frail body was a flaw, but his sponge-like absorption of knowledge and keen instincts more than compensated.
Vito recalled yesterday's Q&A with Allen. Even on obscure points, answers came swiftly. Sometimes Vito, stumped himself, had sneaked peeks at books while gauging Allen's reaction.
It's been a month since he started under me? With a year of proper training, he might make assistant...
Vito himself, orphanage prodigy, had taken five years. This was five times faster.
Of course, boss and mentor Nobak decided everything. Vito slapped his cheeks and led the workers on.
Clank!
The iron door slid upward, revealing the sloping path to the surface. Allen pulled a smaller cart, sticking behind Vito.
Stepping through the gate opened a vast vista. Nobak Clinic sat midway up the terraced city clinging to the hillside.
Gulls swooped past Allen toward the docks. A slice of Aroma's crescent-shaped harbor came into view.
Ships came and went ceaselessly below, containers shuttled by trucks and forklifts in a frenzy of life. A faint awe sprouted in his hollow heart—until Vito's grumbling chased it away.
"Ah, what's wrong with this thing?"
Vito rubbed a small glass shard on his clothes, huffed on it, and held it to the sun before slotting it into his headgear-shaped EBI port.
A memory modifier storage device. The EBI could also cast spells engraved there on the user's behalf.
One might question the need for magic on simple field repairs.
Bang!
A distant gunshot obliterated the doubt.
Allen glanced that way briefly; Vito and the other two trudged on, indifferent as if hearing birdsong.
Allen hurried to Vito's side. A translucent list of today's stops hovered before Vito's face.
Counting on his fingers, Vito whipped his head around.
"What?"
"Just curious how many stops."
"You'll find out anyway..."
Vito strode to a mansion with expansive gardens, circled behind, and rang the bell. It chimed, and soon a housekeeper opened the back door.
"Good day. Nobak Clinic, here for routine maintenance."
"Come in. The servants' washer and fridge are broken, perfect timing."
"Urgent fix? Still, the master's magitech first—mind waiting a bit?"
"Of course."
Vito followed the housekeeper inside; Allen and the workers headed to the shed by the wall.
Allen, eager to watch, leaned against the shed wall instead. No wandering where the owners might see—they'd been warned.
As he tried recalling a recent magitech engineering book to kill boredom, a creaky hinge squeaked open.
Allen's eyes drifted inside. One wall held gardening tools, the other dusty household magitech.
In the center sat the washer and fridge, humming or rattling—hence "home-shakers," or home appliances.
Allen stepped in, eyed the washer first, and drew a screwdriver from his belt. The watching workers piped up.
"What're you doing?"
"Gonna open it. Peeking inside reveals the fault."
"You've studied mana circuit theory less than a month. Mess it up worse, and Mr. Vito'll chew us out."
"You know just opening it won't hurt. Plus, blindly following orders keeps you stuck forever. Report I did it alone if you're worried—stand outside then."
The workers exchanged looks at Allen's calm, piercing words.
Of course, this wasn't training circuits; practicing on a client's appliance was dicey. They opened their mouths to protest again.
"Why'd Vito save it for last? To give us a shot... Already disassembled, huh."
Allen had the cover off and connectors loose in a flash—no auto-drill needed.
"Sluggish moving crates, but lightning-fast now..."
The workers sidled closer. Disassembled already—scolding inevitable. Might as well learn.
Outwardly denying it, they inwardly admitted: the newbie's knowledge had caught up.
Allen ignored them, probing the washer.
"Mana outlet looks fine, circuit board intact..."
He gripped the cord and released mana—more like excess mana from his mana excess syndrome spilling out.
Whirr!
The motor spun then stalled.
"Motor or capacitor issue?"
Allen frowned, screwdriver to a dusty spare washer on the wall. Meanwhile, workers scrutinized the guts.
"What's a capacitor?"
"You serious?"
"..."
"It regulates mana flow to prevent overload damage. Please read a book."
"And you?"
"Step aside."
Allen shoved the bickering pair, swapped the faulty part with the spare. Cord in hand, the motor hummed smoothly now.
"Fixed it. Why not reassemble?"
"Needs Mr. Vito's inspection."
"Oh..."
Only then did unauthorized disassembly hit them. Amid the shed's chill, a new shadow stretched long inside.
"What the? Who did this?"
The workers' heads swiveled. Allen, unfazed by the heat of glares, spoke up.
"Checked for faults, swapped the capacitor—works fine now. Waiting for inspection."
"I'll see."
Vito waved them off and inspected. No need to probe each part like Allen—not superior skill as assistant, but...
Beep-beep!
The needle gauge checked for him. Green for good, red flash for bad.
Green everywhere. Vito extended a hand backward.
"Hand it over."
Allen silently passed the deemed-faulty capacitor. Vito prodded it; the dim shed lit red.
"Internal circuit snapped. Needs clinic's precision gear for full fix. Good work."
With that, Vito exited to the waiting housekeeper.
"Should work for now. Just a part swap—no issues."
"Thank you. This way..."
"That item?"
"Yes. Fresh batch."
She whispered, eyes trembling despite caution.
"We'll swing by on return."
"Yes."
Thus Vito hit addresses in order. They returned to the mansion; this time a rough-faced servant led them not inside, but to a dim shed far off.
Allen's cart, heading back, was draped in white cloth. Wind on the slope lifted it slightly, revealing bloodstains beneath.
A body lay inside. Allen forced his eyes away.
Nobak Clinic seemed, on the surface, a repair shop and clinic run by a spry elderly man.
In truth, it was a hospital for the underworld, a money laundry, and a fence's den.
The corpse Allen transported would go underground, stripped of embedded magitechwear by trusted assistants. Repaired and cleaned, it'd sell as goods.