Chapter 3: The City of Rust and Steam

Kenji’s eyes fluttered open to the acrid sting of steam and smog. The world around him clanked and hissed like a living, mechanical beast. He was lying on a cold, rusted metal surface, and above him loomed a sky obscured by the exhaust of countless smokestacks. Gigantic brass gears turned endlessly in the distance, and steam-powered airships drifted through a haze of soot.

Coughing, Kenji sat up. His attire had changed once more: he wore a weathered engineer’s jumpsuit, its many pockets stuffed with tools and scraps of wire. A heavy belt of brass components clanked at his waist, and his fingers were stained with oil. His chest still ached from the phantom wound, a cruel reminder of the spear that had ended his previous life.

"Get up, you rust-rat!" A boot nudged his side, and Kenji looked up to see a man glaring down at him. The man had a jagged scar running across his brow and wore a thick leather apron splattered with grease. His goggles, cracked and smeared with grime, rested on his bald head. "The Chief wants a word, and he ain't a patient man."

Before Kenji could respond, the man yanked him to his feet and dragged him along a narrow catwalk. They crossed over boiling vats of molten metal and dodged steam vents that spat out scalding clouds at irregular intervals. Kenji’s head spun, trying to process his surroundings. The City of Rust and Steam, he thought. It was as if this world ran on industry and chaos, powered by steam engines and kept alive by the work of exhausted laborers.

They arrived at a massive control room where a wall of flickering monitors displayed images of the city: streets crowded with steam-powered carriages, workers scrambling to repair malfunctioning gears, and airships docking at rust-stained platforms. The Chief, a wiry man with a wiry gray beard and a mechanical arm that clanked with every movement, leaned over a control panel, barking orders to his subordinates.

When Kenji entered, the Chief’s eyes narrowed. "So," he drawled, his voice a rasp like steam escaping a valve, "the infamous 'Saboteur' finally graces us with his presence."

Kenji blinked. "Saboteur? Wait, I think there’s been a mistake. I’m not—"

The Chief slammed his metal fist onto the panel, and sparks flew. "Don't play dumb with me! The city's power grid is on the brink of collapse, and everyone knows you’ve been tampering with our steam lines. Now, you’re going to fix it." He jabbed a finger toward a blueprint sprawled across a table. "Or I’ll see you thrown into the Pit."

Kenji swallowed hard. "Fix the grid? I don't even know—"

"Stop wasting time!" the Chief interrupted. "You’re an engineer, aren’t you? Use that head of yours, or it's the Pit for you."

Panic bubbled in Kenji’s chest, but he forced himself to breathe. Think, he told himself. Every world has its challenges. Adapt or die. He moved to the table, his mind racing as he examined the blueprint. It depicted a complex network of steam pipes and gear mechanisms, but something about the design felt… off. Anomalies that shouldn’t be there, patterns that almost made sense.

The Chief growled impatiently. "Well?"

Kenji traced the lines with his finger, a realization dawning. The grid wasn’t just a power system—it was a clockwork puzzle, one that might hold a clue to his curse. "Give me some time," he said, determination hardening his voice.

The Chief scowled but waved him away. "You’ve got until nightfall," he snapped. "And no funny business, or it’s the Pit. Understood?"

Kenji nodded, and a guard escorted him out of the control room. As they descended a spiral staircase, Kenji caught glimpses of life in the City of Rust and Steam: children playing with clockwork toys that jittered and whirred, merchants selling mechanical contraptions from brass stalls, and gangs of pickpockets slinking through the shadows. The city pulsed with life, but it was a harsh, unforgiving existence.

When the guard finally released him, Kenji made his way to a workshop filled with spare parts and half-built machines. He rubbed his temples, the ache in his chest flaring. If he wanted to survive, he needed allies. But who could he trust in a place like this?

"Need a hand, mate?" a voice asked from the shadows. Kenji spun around, knife at the ready. A woman stepped into the light, her short, copper-colored hair glinting. She wore a patchwork vest covered in tiny brass gears, and a welding mask dangled from her neck. Her eyes, bright and curious, crinkled with a mischievous smile. "Relax," she said. "I’m Tess. You’re the 'Saboteur' everyone’s talking about, huh?"

Kenji lowered the knife. "I guess so," he replied cautiously. "But I’m not actually—"

"Yeah, yeah," Tess interrupted, waving a hand. "The Chief’s wrong about most things, so no surprises there." She glanced at the blueprint he carried. "You really think you can fix the grid?"

Kenji hesitated. "Maybe. But I need more than tools. I need information about… anomalies. Strange occurrences, things that don’t fit."

Tess's smile faded, replaced by a wary look. "Anomalies, huh?" She crossed her arms. "You mean like the disappearing buildings on East Forge Street, or the people who say they’ve seen other versions of themselves in broken mirrors?"

Kenji’s heart skipped a beat. Other versions… It sounded too familiar. "Tell me everything," he urged.

Tess studied him, then nodded. "Fine. But not here." She led him through a maze of alleys and gears, eventually stopping at a hidden entrance to a rickety elevator. The lift creaked and groaned as it carried them upward, past layers of machinery and pipes, until they emerged onto a rusted platform overlooking the city.

The view was both awe-inspiring and bleak. Towers of iron and brass stretched toward the smog-choked sky, and gears the size of houses turned methodically in the distance. The city’s heart, a massive steam engine known as the Iron Core, pulsed with an almost living rhythm.

Tess leaned on the railing. "People say the Core’s alive," she murmured. "That it feeds on time itself, twisting the city around it. But if you want real anomalies, you should know about the Syndicate."

Kenji frowned. "The Syndicate?"

She nodded, lowering her voice. "They control everything that shouldn’t exist. Devices that warp reality, technology that defies logic. They’re dangerous, and they don’t like anyone poking around their secrets." Her eyes met his, and he saw a flicker of fear. "If you’re really interested, you’re playing a deadly game."

Kenji gripped the blueprint tighter. "I don’t have a choice," he said. "This city, these cycles—I have to figure out what's behind them."

Tess sighed, then gestured toward a series of pipes snaking down from the Iron Core. "The Syndicate’s main lab is hidden beneath the Core. If you want answers, that’s where you’ll find them. But getting in… it’s suicide."

Kenji’s mind raced. He needed those answers, but the odds were grim. "Then I’ll need a distraction," he said. "Something to draw their attention while I slip inside."

Tess’s grin returned, sly and daring. "You’re crazier than I thought, but I like it." She leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. "There’s a black-market gang that owes me a favor. We could start a riot in the lower districts, give you the opening you need."

Kenji nodded, hope flickering in his chest. This world was a puzzle, and every piece brought him closer to understanding. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that the city itself was watching, waiting for him to make the wrong move.

As Tess began outlining the plan, steam hissed through nearby pipes, and the Iron Core's pulse grew louder. Kenji couldn’t help but wonder if the city would let him survive—or if it, too, had its own plans for him.