Inside the modest tavern room, Trevor sat heavily on the edge of the wooden bed frame, the springs groaning beneath his weight.
He unzipped a compartment in his survival pack and pulled out a dense glass container. Carefully measuring his daily dose, he downed the liquid in one gulp.
He needed to consume 500ml of castor oil every single day to maintain his artificial heart and keep his humanoid body processing smoothly. Without it, his internal cybernetics would lock up, grinding his mechanical joints to a halt.
Setting the empty vial aside, Trevor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and checked his gear.
He tapped the screen of his tablet cyber-computer. The interface lit up with a faint blue glow, displaying steady diagnostic lines of futuristic code.
Satisfied, Trevor unlatched his compact tool box. Inside, hundreds of miniature robotic termites shifted in silent, metallic synchronization—his personal repair colony, engineered to mend his wounds and maintain his cybernetic body in the field.
“Well, luckily the repair colony is still working,” Trevor observed, resting his elbows on his knees.
He then turned his attention to his primary arsenal: the heavy, rusted iron briefcase resting against the foot of the bed. It was an extraordinary piece of high-tech weaponry. Unlike the crude black-powder firearms of this era, it didn't require physical ammunition at all—it fired concentrated magic missiles.
Trevor ran a quick diagnostic scan through his neural link, cycling mentally through all ten of its transformation modes:
[VANHEIMER BRIEFCASE - WEAPON SYSTEMS]
Mode 1: Large Briefcase (Base Form)
Mode 2: Gunblade
Mode 3: Organ Gun (6-Fold Barrel Assembly)
Mode 4: Flying Drone
Mode 5: Tower Shield
Mode 6: Halberd
Mode 7: Sniper Rifle
Mode 8: Chain Grappling Hook
Mode 9: Air Shock Bazooka/Launcher
Mode 0: Solar Panel Mode (Recharge System)
Eelon raised its metallic head from behind Trevor's shoulder, its emerald optics narrowing as it ran a parallel check.
“Everything is working just fine,” the AI reported softly.
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Trevor tapped his collarbone, reading his internal HUD.
[SYSTEM STATUS]
Battery Level: 85% (Estimated runtime: 24 hours)
Trevor clicked the briefcase shut and stood up, slinging his pack over his shoulder.
“Eelon, what is the most advanced city today?”
Eelon flicked its mechanical tongue, processing global databases.
“Owl City and Ingston City,” Eelon replied.
Trevor paused, his brow furrowing as he looked out the grime-covered window toward the industrial skyline.
“Is there any elements and ingredients that can make us another time machine capsule?”
Eelon tilted its sleek head, its internal drive humming faintly.
“Based on the data in historical context, it is impossible with the current technology they have.”
Trevor rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive headache coming on.
“Oh, great... How can I make it back to our timeline?”
Eelon curled around his shoulder, its voice remaining cold and objective.
“Accept the reality that this is your current timeline.”
Trevor clenched his fist, glaring out the glass.
“I will find a way no matter what.”
Leaving the tavern, Trevor stepped into the bustling commercial districts of Solheim.
The cobblestone streets were packed with merchants, steam-venting machinery, and citizens wrapped in thick wool coats. Trevor stopped by a local market stall to purchase food and essential supplies, shoving them into his pack.
He then entered a tailor shop and bought a heavy, dark French coat. He slipped it on over his black Kevlar vest, adjusting the wide collar so Eelon could remain completely hidden beneath the thick fabric while maintaining a clear view of their surroundings.
As he navigated toward the city's open-air docklands, Trevor stopped in his tracks, gazing up at the sky.
Floating gracefully overhead were massive, flying wooden junk boats powered by glowing Mana Fuel Cells and humming prop-rotors. Trevor approached a shipbroker's display board to check the listing prices.
A decent flying junk boat cost a staggering 2,000 Ravinian Gold.
Trevor whistled softly, dragging a hand down his face.
“Fuck, Eelon. That was expensive. I think I'm gonna rob a bank to get that.”
Eelon peeked slightly from under his coat collar, its green eyes glowing faintly.
“Why do you need that for?”
Trevor crossed his arms, looking up at the majestic wooden vessels drifting through the clouds.
“I need to travel all over the world to find materials for a time machine capsule.”
Realizing he needed a fortune in quick cash, Trevor turned back toward the central plaza and began scanning the public bulletin boards posted along the street for high-value targets.
His eyes locked onto a large, blood-stained Wanted poster pinned near the center.
It was an official contract for the notorious Axe Gang.
The parchment listed 56 active members, offering a reward of 25 silver coins for each of their heads. At the top of the poster was a rough charcoal sketch of their leader, Asmund, carrying a massive bounty of 12 Ravinian Gold and 80 silver coins.
Trevor smirked, tearing the poster off the board with a sharp snap.
“Now we're talking about business here.”
Without wasting another second, Trevor pivoted on his heel and strode briskly toward the Solheim Town Hall to claim the contract, gather intelligence, and secure the clearance needed to collect their heads.