PLAYER SYSTEM C20 HOVERBIKE MECHANIC

Jack rode his hoverbike northeast through Dareth, heading toward the South Merida district. As the city blurred past him, the scenery gradually shifted. The pristine roads, sleek buildings, and holographic ads of Upper Dareth slowly gave way to a quieter, more rugged part of the city.

By the time he reached South Merida, the atmosphere had completely changed. The air was still relatively fresh—thanks to minimal reliance on fuel-based energy—but the quality was noticeably different from the polished vibrance of the upper district.

The buildings were old, some even crumbling. Paint peeled from their sides, and rust clung to exposed pipes. Cracks split the uneven roads, disrupting the smooth airflow of his hoverbike. He quickly activated the ‹Auto-Stable› function to compensate, even if it drained more energy.

Samantha, who sat behind him, looked around with wide eyes—curious and slightly unsettled. “This place feels... different. It’s not nearly as busy. And the buildings—are they abandoned?”

Jack adjusted the throttle. The wind blew against his face as he sped up. “This is South Merida,” he called out over the breeze. “A district that never got corporate support. The government mostly ignores it. It's not a place for people who can afford luxury. Rent’s cheap, food’s cheaper—if you’re okay with the black market. Most here are just trying to survive.”

His tone carried a weight, his gaze filled with quiet sympathy. Samantha’s expression softened, mirroring his emotion. “And... this is where you work?”

Jack nodded.

Soon, he pulled up in front of an old warehouse with a crooked metal sign bolted above it: ‹Greasepit 10›.

The place looked more like a scrapyard than a shop. Piles of discarded hoverbike parts littered the sides, and workers in grease-stained coveralls moved about with tired, mechanical rhythm. Broken bikes sat half-dissembled around them, sparks flying from tools as repairs were made.

Jack parked his hoverbike and removed his helmet, hooking it onto the handle. As he walked toward the warehouse, some of the workers gave him casual nods and greetings.

“Well, look who’s here—our young prodigy.”

“Morning, Jack.”

Jack gave them a small wave and polite nods, Samantha trailing quietly behind him, observing the place with curiosity.

Inside, the space was hot and loud, filled with clanging metal and the smell of oil. At the center stood a tall man in his forties—six foot two, with deep brown skin, high cheekbones, and a square jaw. His hair was short, and though he looked like he hadn't left the garage in days, his beard and mustache were cleanly trimmed.

He was bent over a disassembled hoverbike, tools in hand, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Sir Morgan,” Jack called.

The man looked up, and a smile creased his rugged features. “Jack! About time you showed up.” He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked over. “Customer wants to add extra carry-bags to this one. Says he’s going on a deep crawl in the lower levels of the Root Tower.”

Jack nodded, immediately stepping forward to study the hoverbike without hesitation.

He didn’t say much—but he didn’t have to. He was focused, attentive. Morgan could already see he was mentally working through the modifications.

Together, the two of them got to work. Morgan handed him tools; Jack adjusted the framework. They barely needed to talk, years of working side-by-side turning their collaboration into muscle memory.

Meanwhile, Samantha stood a short distance away, watching in silence. Her eyes followed Jack, who was entirely in his element—focused, capable, calm.

For a moment, it was as if she were seeing a completely different side of him.

And for the first time, she smiled—genuinely.

---

Two hours later, a man walked into the garage—dusty boots, torn gloves, and a thick coat patched with old wires and metal plates. One look, and Jack immediately knew: a Junker.

The man walked up to the customized hoverbike, inspecting the added carry-bags and reinforced plating. He grunted in approval. “Hmm. Not bad. I’m satisfied. You did good work, kid.”

Jack simply nodded. Junkers made up the majority of their clientele—explorers and scavengers who made a living diving into the lower levels of the «Root Tower» to collect scrap, energy cores, and forgotten tech.

The floors of the tower were filled with what they called “rooms,” though they weren’t actual rooms. They were dimensional gateways—airlocks that led to specific zones within the «Desolated World.»

The deeper the floor, the more dangerous the zone. But at the lower levels, the risks were minimal—safe enough for moderately skilled Junkers to explore, gather resources, and return.

As Jack watched the Junker ride off with his upgraded bike, his thoughts drifted to the origins of the towers themselves.

Three hundred years ago, the world changed forever.

It started in the city of Herald—when a massive sinkhole tore open the earth. But this was no ordinary collapse. From the depths, enormous root-like vines erupted, twisting up into the sky like the fingers of a buried giant. Then came the monsters.

At first, the military fought back with bullets, bombs, tanks—whatever they had. But the creatures just kept coming. Even worse, similar sinkholes began appearing across the globe—sometimes large, sometimes small—emerging in cities, forests, mountains… even deep beneath the oceans.

In desperation, the governments deployed a nuclear strike on the largest sinkhole, hoping to obliterate the threat once and for all.

It failed.

Not only did the bomb fail to seal the hole, but it triggered mass mutations in the monsters—making them more terrifying, more resilient. Worse still, the surrounding environment suffered, twisted by the radiation in unpredictable ways.

After that disaster, nukes were off the table. But just when hope seemed lost, humanity changed.

People began to awaken.

The first generation of Awakeners were volatile—powerful beyond measure but unstable, with many unable to handle their abilities. Some even exploded upon awakening. But in time, the second and third generations were born with more control. The powers stabilized, and humanity found new strength.

Together with these Awakeners, humanity managed to push back the monsters. Some even dared to descend into the sinkholes themselves, searching for answers.

That’s when the corporations stepped in.

They discovered that the root-vines were emitting strange frequencies—signals that created portals to another world, later known as the «Desolated World.» A world of dead cities, ruined landscapes, vast forests, and harsh deserts. A world eerily empty, yet filled with danger—and opportunity.

To study and contain these rifts, corporations began constructing vast underground facilities around the sinkholes. Thus, the first «Root Towers» were born—sprawling vertical structures descending deep into the earth, layered with floors, rooms, and dimensional access points to the strange alternate world.

The exploration of the Desolated World didn’t just uncover ruins—it changed the future.

From the remains of its advanced cities, humanity reverse-engineered forgotten technologies. And from the bodies of its monstrous inhabitants, they harvested energy cores—mystical shards that became the new lifeblood of civilization. Cleaner, stronger, and more versatile than any fuel or battery before it.

Thanks to this otherworldly discovery, the world entered a new era—both terrifying and full of promise.

---

After finishing a job and wiping the sweat off his brow, Jack spotted a new face approaching the garage. The guy looked young—early twenties maybe—but the exhaustion in his eyes aged him. His coat was patched, his boots worn, and his hoverbike was sputtering, its engine casing scorched and half-melted.

Definitely a Junker.

Jack stepped forward and nodded politely. “Need help with something?”

The young Junker hesitated, then finally spoke, “Yeah... My bike caught fire the moment I entered one of the low-level doors in the Root Tower. I bought it recently, though—it looked brand new. The guy who sold it said it was fully ready for exploration.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, walking around the bike to examine it. “Low-level door? You mean the entry-level zones in the Desolated World?”

The Junker nodded.

Jack knelt beside the bike and gave it a quick visual scan. Something felt off. “Is this an analog hoverbike or digital?”

The Junker blinked. “Huh?”

“You do know only analog vehicles can pass through the dimensional doors, right?” Jack explained, standing up straight. “Gadgets, drones, and digital-based bikes get fried the moment they cross into that frequency field. It’s why most rookies prefer the older models—they're bulkier, but they survive.”

“I-I was told this one was analog!” the Junker stammered.

“Is that so?” Jack smirked slightly. With a swift motion, he reached under the outer panel and peeled back a disguised cover—revealing the sleek, factory-issued module of a low-grade digital bike underneath.

The Junker’s face drained of color. “What the...?”

“You just got scammed,” Jack said plainly. “Seller probably slapped on some retro casing to pass it off as analog. Cheap trick. Happens more often than you'd think.”

The Junker groaned. “I spent nearly all my savings on this.”

Jack held up a hand. “It happens. Lots of people out there dressing up digital junk to look old-school. But don’t worry—” he gestured toward the shop, “—we’ve got some real analog models in stock. Tough builds, low maintenance, and reliable for the lower floors. I can show you some budget-friendly ones.”

Reluctantly, the Junker nodded. “Yeah… I guess I don’t have a choice.”

As Jack led him inside, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy. There were always more desperate souls trying their luck in the Root Tower. Most didn’t have the money or knowledge to protect themselves.

Later, after setting the Junker up with a proper model and logging the sale, Jack took a short lunch break. He shared a brief conversation with Morgan about upcoming orders and the current shortage of spare analog fans. Then it was back to the grind.

Thanks to his experience as a motorcycle mechanic in his previous life, Jack worked fast and clean. His movements were sharp, practiced—far ahead of the younger workers around him, who still struggled with calibrations and energy core installation.

Five hours later, the sun began to set over South Merida.

Jack finally packed his tools, wiped his hands, and stepped out of the shop—ready to head home.