Space folded.
For less than a second, Sans felt that familiar sensation of being nowhere and somewhere at the same time.
Then—
POP.
His slippers touched concrete.
Sans opened his eyes.
The city was much closer now.
Very much closer.
Too close, actually.
A gigantic metal wall towered in front of him, covered in floodlights, cameras, communication antennas, and enormous coils of reinforced wire.
The wall stretched in both directions until it disappeared into the distance.
Sans slowly looked upward.
"...huh."
The repaired drone wriggled beneath his arm.
BEEP.
"yeah."
Sans stared at the wall.
"guess they take neighborhood watch pretty seriously."
The drone beeped again.
Beyond the wall, Sans could see buildings.
Not the impossible alien metropolis he'd first imagined from kilometers away.
Up close, the truth was easier to understand.
The strange silhouettes weren't aliens.
Mostly.
Humans walked along elevated platforms wearing respirators, artificial limbs, military equipment, welding masks, and other strange technology. Old industrial towers stood beside newer skyscrapers. Vehicles moved through crowded streets. Armed patrols watched intersections.
The entire city looked like someone had taken an ordinary human civilization—
then given it several decades of war, paranoia, and increasingly large guns.
Sans could respect the commitment.
A translucent notification appeared.
[LOCATION DATA ACQUIRED]PLANET: AQUAMARINEREGION: STARDRAGONLOCATION: WESTERN CAPITAL — OUTER DISTRICTGALAXY CALENDAR: YEAR 687VERSION 1.0 LAUNCH:358 DAYS REMAINING
Sans stared at the final line.
"...version?"
The interface remained silent.
Sans poked it.
His finger passed through.
"helpful."
He hadn't forgotten the words from earlier.
NPC — Special Entity.
Mechanic.
Experience.
Level.
Now there was a version countdown.
Whatever this world was—
it had rules that looked suspiciously like a game.
Sans' grin remained exactly where it always was.
His eye sockets didn't.
"...great."
The drone tilted.
"either i'm trapped in a game..."
Sans looked toward the enormous city.
"...or reality's gotten really into user interfaces."
Neither option sounded particularly comforting.
WESTERN CAPITAL — GATE 17
Hundreds of people were waiting to enter.
Workers.
Merchants.
Soldiers.
Farmers.
Vehicles loaded with supplies.
Sans joined the line.
The person in front of him glanced backward.
Then immediately looked forward again.
Sans waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
Thirty.
"..."
He looked toward the gate.
Still far away.
Sans sighed.
The drone beeped.
"don't start."
BEEP.
"i know teleportation exists."
BEEP.
"i'm trying to be responsible."
The drone stared at him.
Sans stared back.
"...yeah, feels weird to me too."
They moved forward approximately one meter.
Sans' shoulders dropped.
This was unbearable.
He considered using a Shortcut.
Then noticed the security.
Cameras.
Heat scanners.
Armed soldiers.
Machine-gun emplacements.
Some kind of automated detection arch.
He could probably bypass them.
Probably.
But appearing inside a heavily defended city with absolutely no identity while looking like a walking skeleton seemed like an excellent way to turn "investigate the city" into "investigate how many bullets it takes to annoy Sans."
Information first.
Trouble later.
Maybe.
Twenty-three agonizing minutes later, Sans reached the checkpoint.
A Stardragon guard looked up from his terminal.
Then stopped.
Sans waved.
"heya."
The guard stared.
Sans stared back.
The guard looked at the drone.
Then at Sans.
Then back at the drone.
Finally:
"...Identification."
"don't have one."
The guard blinked.
"Citizenship card?"
"nope."
"Travel permit?"
"negative."
"Merchant license?"
"nah."
"Work documentation?"
Sans thought about it.
"technically unemployed."
The guard slowly put down his tablet.
Another guard glanced over.
"Problem?"
The first guard pointed at Sans.
The second guard looked.
Silence.
"...What the hell is that?"
Sans put one hand against his chest.
"wow."
He shook his head.
"and we just met."
The first guard's hand moved closer to his rifle.
"Species."
"skeleton."
"That's not a species."
"been working out pretty well so far."
The second guard whispered something into his radio.
Sans noticed.
So did his interface.
[SOCIAL INTERACTION DETECTED]Current Suspicion: 43%WARNING:
Your appearance does not match any registered standard human phenotype on Planet Aquamarine.
Sans mentally sighed.
No kidding.
The first guard pointed toward a scanning arch.
"Step through."
Sans looked at it.
The interface immediately analyzed the machine.
[BASIC BIOLOGICAL/ENERGY DETECTOR]
Condition: 92%
Function: Detects concealed weapons, abnormal energy signatures, radiation, explosives, and biological anomalies.
Sans looked at the scanner.
Then down at himself.
Bones.
Magic.
No organs.
Soul magic.
Teleportation.
Gravity manipulation.
He looked back at the scanner.
"...this is gonna be funny."
"Move."
Sans stepped through.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Every light turned red.
The machine displayed:
ERROR.
Then:
NO HEARTBEAT DETECTED.NO BODY TEMPERATURE DETECTED.UNKNOWN ENERGY SOURCE DETECTED.BIOLOGICAL CLASSIFICATION FAILED.POSSIBLE SUPER.
Seven rifles immediately pointed at Sans.
People in line screamed and backed away.
Sans stood beneath the scanner.
"...called it."
The little drone beeped nervously.
A guard shouted:
"HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"
Sans removed his hands from his pockets.
Very slowly.
"pal, i don't think hands are the biggest problem you've got with my anatomy."
"DO NOT MOVE!"
Sans didn't.
For once.
A different man approached.
Older.
Officer markings.
He studied Sans instead of immediately aiming at him.
Smart.
His eyes moved toward the scanner results.
"Are you a Super?"
Sans tilted his head.
"super what?"
The officer's expression hardened.
"...You're telling me you don't know what a Super is?"
"pretty much."
"Where are you from?"
Sans considered answering honestly.
A place beneath a mountain in another universe.
Probably wouldn't lower suspicion.
"pretty far away."
"Nation."
"doesn't have one."
"Settlement."
"also complicated."
The officer's patience visibly lost health.
"Name."
"sans."
"Full name."
"sans."
"Family name."
"sans."
"..."
"parents weren't big on paperwork."
One of the younger guards snorted before quickly pretending he hadn't.
The officer rubbed his forehead.
Sans understood the situation.
They weren't evil.
They were guards protecting a city during what looked like a period where giant walls and automatic weapons were considered necessary civic architecture.
And Sans looked suspicious as hell.
Fair.
Sans glanced at his drone.
Then at the sack of mechanical components he'd salvaged.
"tell you what."
The officer frowned.
"i'm a mechanic."
Sans pointed toward his interface out of habit.
Nobody reacted.
Right.
Only he could see it.
"sort of."
"Prove it."
Sans glanced around.
One of the checkpoint barriers had a damaged motor.
Its right arm kept twitching.
CHK.
CHK.
CHK.
Sans pointed.
"that thing's busted."
Everyone looked.
The officer narrowed his eyes.
"The barrier?"
"drive motor's skipping."
The officer looked toward a technician nearby.
The technician hesitated.
"...It started malfunctioning this morning."
Sans walked toward it.
Three rifles followed him.
"Can I?"
The officer considered.
Then nodded.
"Slowly."
"everything i do is slowly."
Sans crouched beside the barrier.
The interface appeared.
[AUTOMATED SECURITY BARRIER]
Quality: White
Condition: 64%
Damage:
Drive gear misalignment.
Servo lubrication insufficient.
Motor controller connection loose.
Repair Difficulty: Very Easy
Sans opened the access panel.
The technician stepped closer.
"You know this model?"
"nope."
The man's eyebrow twitched.
Sans touched the drive assembly.
The Mechanic class went to work.
He could see how the machine fit together.
Not literally.
No glowing arrows appeared inside it.
Instead, his thoughts organized themselves.
Pressure.
Movement.
Current.
Wear.
He understood what mattered.
Sans removed one panel.
Adjusted the controller connection.
The technician watched.
Sans reached toward the drive gear.
Paused.
No tool.
"...got a wrench?"
The technician stared.
Then handed one over.
Sans adjusted the gear.
Added lubricant.
Closed the panel.
Five minutes.
He stood.
"try it."
The officer pressed the control.
The barrier lowered.
Smooth.
Raised.
Smooth.
Lowered.
No twitch.
The interface chimed.
[REPAIR COMPLETE]Completion Rating: 88%You gained 36 EXP.Basic Maintenance proficiency increased.
The technician looked genuinely surprised.
"You've never worked on a Stardragon M-22?"
"first date."
"...You diagnosed it in seconds."
Sans shrugged.
"machines complain pretty loudly when you know what to listen for."
The officer studied him again.
Suspicion remained.
But it had changed.
Sans wasn't simply unknown anymore.
He was useful.
In this world, Sans suspected that distinction mattered.
The officer sighed.
"Temporary entry."
Sans' grin widened.
"see? knew we could work this out."
"You're required to register with the municipal office within forty-eight hours."
"there it is."
"You cannot enter District 1."
"wasn't planning to."
"Do not use unregistered supernatural abilities inside populated areas."
Sans paused.
"...define supernatural."
The officer's stare became flat.
"Don't."
"gotcha."
A temporary identification slip printed.
The officer handed it to him.
TEMPORARY FOREIGN RESIDENTNAME: SANSRACE: UNKNOWNOCCUPATION: MECHANICSECURITY STATUS: MONITORED
Sans stared at the last line.
"...feels welcoming."
The gate opened.
Sans walked through.
The drone floated beside him.
"well, buddy."
BEEP.
"we're officially suspicious."
THE WESTERN CAPITAL
The first thing Sans noticed was the noise.
The second was the guns.
The third—
was money.
Everywhere.
Markets filled entire streets.
Mechanics sold parts from crowded stalls.
Weapon stores displayed rifles behind reinforced glass.
Food vendors shouted over passing traffic.
Uniformed students moved in groups.
Workers hauled components into industrial buildings.
Armed convoys occasionally rolled through intersections.
Sans looked at one shop.
Then another.
Then at a restaurant.
Then at his empty pockets.
"..."
His interface chimed.
[NEW PROBLEM IDENTIFIED]CURRENT FUNDS: 0 AQUAMARINE DOLLARSCURRENT PROPERTY:
Damaged Reconnaissance Drone
Salvaged Mechanical Components
Hoodie
Shorts
Slippers
Sans stared.
"wow."
The drone beeped.
"don't judge me."
His stomach couldn't growl.
One of the few benefits of being a skeleton.
Still—
money meant shelter.
Materials.
Information.
Transportation.
And most importantly—
ketchup.
If this world had it.
Sans suddenly had a mission.
[PERSONAL OBJECTIVE GENERATED]Acquire Local Currency
Sans dismissed it.
"didn't need you for that one."
He wandered deeper into the outer district.
A gigantic digital screen displayed local news.
Sans stopped.
Not because he particularly cared about politics.
Because one word caught his attention.
GERMINAL
A news anchor spoke over footage of soldiers and burning structures.
"—Stardragon officials have once again denied reports of Germinal activity within national territory. Authorities advise civilians not to approach suspected Germinal agents and to report unusual military movements immediately."
The image changed.
A black symbol appeared.
Sans' smile remained.
His eye sockets narrowed.
People nearby barely reacted.
Apparently this wasn't unusual news.
Another screen displayed:
SIX NATIONS SECURITY SUMMIT CONTINUES
Another:
BORDER SKIRMISH LEAVES 17 DEAD
Another:
WANDERER SETTLEMENT REQUESTS AID AFTER BEAST ATTACK
Sans stopped walking.
This world wasn't merely technologically advanced.
It was unstable.
War was sitting beneath everything.
Waiting.
That explained the walls.
The rifles.
The suspicion.
The officer at the gate.
Sans' gaze shifted to a countdown in the corner of his interface.
Version 1.0 Launch: 357 Days, 23 Hours, 16 Minutes.
Players.
Maybe.
If "version launch" meant what he thought it meant.
Sans didn't like the implication.
A game world before the players arrived.
NPC classification.
Experience.
Quests.
Mechanic class.
He had enough pieces now to make an ugly picture.
But not enough to know why he was here.
The interface gave no answer.
So—
he needed someone who understood this world's rules.
Preferably someone who wouldn't shoot him.
A sign caught his eye.
MECHANICAL REPAIR — WEAPONS / VEHICLES / HOUSEHOLD MACHINERY
Sans entered.
DISTRICT 8 — BROKEN GEAR WORKSHOP
A bell rang.
DING.
An older woman looked up from behind the counter.
Gray hair.
Grease-covered clothes.
Cybernetic left eye.
Very large wrench.
She stared at Sans.
Sans waved.
"heya."
She stared harder.
"Costume shop is three streets east."
"not a costume."
The woman's cybernetic eye zoomed.
"...Oh."
A pause.
"That's unfortunate."
Sans nodded.
"tell me about it."
The woman's eyes shifted toward his drone.
Then toward his scrap sack.
"What do you want?"
"money."
"Get out."
"worth a shot."
Sans placed several salvaged components on the counter.
The woman's expression changed.
A compact power cell.
Hydraulic components.
Servo motors.
Processor.
She picked up one.
"Reclamation unit?"
"five of 'em."
"You stole municipal machines?"
"they tried to recycle me."
She looked up.
"...What?"
"long story."
She examined the power cell.
"Damaged."
"mostly."
"Twenty."
Sans stared.
"twenty what?"
"Aquamarine Dollars."
"for all of it?"
"For that cell."
"and here i was ready to accuse you of robbery."
The woman snorted.
The remaining components were evaluated.
218 Aquamarine Dollars.
Not much.
But not zero.
Sans accepted.
The drone beeped.
"we're rich."
The woman laughed.
"Two hundred isn't rich."
"you haven't seen my previous bank account."
Sans turned to leave.
Then noticed something on the workbench.
A handgun.
Disassembled.
Several components had been removed.
His Mechanic interface reacted immediately.
[OLD-STYLE AUTOMATIC PISTOL]
Quality: White
Condition: 41%
Fault:
Repeated firing causes feed failure.
Possible causes:
Magazine tension.
Feed ramp damage.
Recoil spring fatigue.
Chamber deformation.
Sans stopped.
The woman noticed.
"What?"
"gun's jamming."
Her expression shifted.
"You can tell from there?"
"educated guess."
"You said you're a mechanic?"
"apparently."
The woman pushed the pistol toward him.
"Fix it."
Sans looked at her.
"for free?"
"No."
Now Sans was interested.
"how much?"
"If you fix it properly—five hundred."
Sans sat immediately.
"should've led with that."
The woman folded her arms.
"Tools are there."
Sans examined the pistol.
Different problem from the drone.
Smaller tolerances.
Mechanical forces under violent pressure.
A mistake wouldn't make it fly badly.
A mistake could make it explode in someone's hand.
Sans slowed down.
Actually slowed down.
He inspected each component.
Magazine.
Fine.
Recoil spring.
Weak.
But not enough.
Feed ramp.
Scratched.
He looked closer.
There.
A slight deformation near the chamber mouth.
Enough to catch certain rounds after repeated heating.
Three related problems.
Not one.
Sans opened his interface.
Repair Success Rate: 51%
Not good enough.
He replaced the spring with one from the woman's parts bin.
Polished the feed ramp.
Adjusted the damaged area.
Repair Success Rate: 77%
Better.
Sans' left eye briefly glowed.
The tiny chamber component lifted into the air.
The woman stepped forward.
"What the—"
A tiny blue aura surrounded the metal.
Sans used gravity magic to hold it perfectly stable while making a microscopic adjustment.
His interface flashed.
[MAGIC-ASSISTED MECHANICAL MANIPULATION ACTIVATED]Precision increased.Repair Success Rate: 94%
Sans reassembled the pistol.
The woman stared.
"You didn't use a clamp."
"didn't need one."
"You moved the part without touching it."
"yep."
"Psychic?"
"different department."
She loaded the pistol.
Walked toward a reinforced firing lane.
Ten shots.
No jam.
Twenty.
No jam.
Thirty.
No jam.
She returned.
Five hundred Aquamarine Dollars hit the counter.
Sans pocketed them.
[Repair successful.]Completion Rating: 93%EXP gained: 74Craftsmanship bonus: +16 EXP[Basic Maintenance] proficiency increased.
Sans' total experience climbed.
A notification appeared.
[Mechanic (Novice) Lv.1 → Lv.2 available.]Cost: 200 EXP.
Sans stared at it again.
LV.
EXP.
Those letters carried memories.
Dust.
Empty corridors.
A smiling child.
A knife.
Timelines.
Sans dismissed the notification.
The woman noticed his expression shift.
"You okay?"
"fine."
It came out quieter than usual.
Sans looked at the gun.
"In this world..."
He paused.
"what exactly happens when someone gets stronger?"
The woman gave him a strange look.
"That's a broad question."
"humor me."
She leaned against the counter.
"Normal people train."
She pointed toward Sans.
"Supers awaken."
"supers."
"You seriously don't know?"
"new in town."
"Apparently."
She sighed.
"Espers. Pugilists. Mechanics. Psychics. People with abilities ordinary humans don't have."
Sans' attention sharpened at one word.
"mechanics are supers?"
"If they're actual Mechanics."
She tapped the counter.
"Not someone who knows how to replace a drive shaft. A real Mechanic channels energy into machines. Builds things ordinary engineers can't. Gets stronger, makes stronger machinery."
Sans looked at his hands.
The interface.
Mechanic.
Novice.
So this wasn't merely an occupation.
It was a path of power.
The woman continued.
"Most Supers start weak. Some stay weak. The dangerous ones don't."
Sans understood that extremely well.
"and levels?"
The woman frowned.
"Levels?"
"never mind."
She couldn't see them.
Of course.
Sans looked around the workshop.
Books.
Manuals.
Machine parts.
Weapon diagrams.
Knowledge.
Something clicked.
The interface didn't give him everything.
It translated knowledge he genuinely acquired.
Meaning—
if he wanted to become better at the Mechanic class...
he needed to learn.
The woman noticed him staring at a shelf.
"Basic machinery manuals."
Sans pointed.
"for sale?"
"Some."
"how much?"
"More than seven hundred."
Sans checked his money.
"...you're kidding."
"No."
Sans looked at the money.
Then the book.
Then money.
The drone beeped.
"i know."
BEEP.
"i know."
Sans put almost everything on the counter.
The woman blinked.
"You sure?"
"unfortunately."
She handed him the book.
BASIC MECHANICAL THEORY — VOLUME I
The interface reacted instantly.
[KNOWLEDGE SOURCE DETECTED]Possible Knowledge Acquisition:
Basic Material Composition
Study Progress:
0%
Sans stared at it.
Then smiled.
Now they were getting somewhere.
The woman watched him.
"Name?"
"sans."
"Mara Venn."
Sans nodded.
"thanks, mara."
She looked at his temporary identification.
"Unknown race. Mechanic. Security monitored."
She laughed.
"You've been here less than an hour?"
"yep."
"You're doing well."
"that's what i keep telling myself."
Sans turned.
"hey."
Mara looked up.
"you know anything about Germinal?"
The humor vanished.
That fast.
"Why?"
"news keeps mentioning them."
"Stay away."
"wasn't planning a vacation."
"I'm serious."
She leaned closer.
"Germinal isn't a street gang. They're an army without a country. Terrorists, soldiers, fanatics—depends who you ask."
"and Stardragon?"
"One of the Six Nations."
Sans nodded.
Pieces.
"why are they fighting?"
Mara's expression became tired.
"That question is older than half the people shooting each other."
Fair.
Sans started toward the door.
Then Mara spoke again.
"If you're looking for mechanic work—"
Sans stopped.
"There's a junkyard in District 7."
Sans slowly turned.
"...you had me at junkyard."
"Kero Junkyard. Biggest disposal ground in the district."
That sounded useful.
"Owner's a bastard."
Less useful.
"But there's always scrap. Always repair work. Underworld types buy weapons there without asking too many questions."
Sans' grin widened.
"sounds charming."
"Don't get comfortable. Raccoon's men will rob you if you look weak."
Sans shrugged.
"good thing i'm handsome."
Mara stared at his skull.
"...Sure."
The drone beeped.
"see? he gets it."
Mara handed him a small handwritten address.
"Ask for work. Don't mention me."
"why?"
"I owe Raccoon money."
Sans stared.
She stared back.
Sans tucked away the address.
"definitely mentioning you."
"Get out."
"already going."
NIGHT
Sans sat on the roof of an abandoned industrial building.
Western Capital stretched beneath him.
Millions of lights.
Vehicles.
People.
Weapons.
A whole civilization that had never heard of monsters beneath Mt. Ebott.
His drone sat beside him.
The mechanical theory book rested open across Sans' knees.
He'd read the same page seven times.
Not because it was difficult.
Because his mind kept wandering.
Papyrus.
The Underground.
How long had he been gone?
Did time move the same way?
Was this another timeline?
Could he Shortcut back?
He had already tried.
Short-range movement worked.
Long-range—
nothing.
Whatever had brought him here had closed the door.
Sans looked toward the sky.
No Underground ceiling.
Actual stars.
"...papyrus would love this."
The drone beeped softly.
Sans glanced at it.
"yeah."
Silence.
Then he looked back at the book.
"guess sitting around won't get me home."
He turned the page.
The interface updated.
Basic Material Composition — Progress: 7%
Sans' grin returned slightly.
"besides."
He tapped the page.
"apparently i've got homework."
The drone beeped excitedly.
"don't sound so happy."
An hour later—
Progress: 21%
Sans' eyes were half closed.
Two hours—
43%
His skull dipped.
Three—
61%
Sans fell asleep.
The book slid off his lap.
The drone caught it with one mechanical arm.
BEEP.
Sans snored.
The interface remained floating over him.
Then something changed.
A new notification appeared.
[SPECIAL CONDITION DETECTED]Host possesses pre-existing supernatural energy incompatible with conventional Mechanical Force.Mechanic class synchronization continuing.Current synchronization: 3.7%POSSIBLE PATH DETECTED:ARCANE MECHANICRequirements unknown.
Sans slept through all of it.
The drone stared at the notification.
Then at Sans.
BEEP.
No response.
The notification faded.
ELSEWHERE — WESTERN CAPITAL OUTSKIRTS
A freight train moved through the darkness.
Livestock shifted inside one of the carriages.
Among them sat a young black-haired man wearing stolen clothes.
He leaned against the wall.
His eyes were closed.
His mind wasn't resting.
The Germinal Organization wanted him dead.
His old identity had disappeared.
He had an interface nobody else could see.
And he had recently awakened the class he knew better than almost anyone.
Mechanic.
His destination was visible beyond the windows.
Stardragon.
Western Capital.
Han Xiao opened his eyes.
"Finally."
The lights of the city grew closer.
Neither he nor the sleeping skeleton miles away knew it yet—
but Planet Aquamarine had just gained two people who weren't supposed to exist here.
Two Mechanics.
Two interfaces.
Two anomalies.
And unlike Sans—
Han Xiao knew exactly what kind of world they were standing in.
MORNING
Sans awoke when sunlight hit his skull.
"...five more minutes."
The drone beeped.
"five."
BEEP.
"ten."
BEEP!
Sans opened one eye socket.
"traitor."
He sat up.
The book fell into his lap.
His interface appeared.
[STUDY SESSION COMPLETE]Basic Material Composition Progress: 68%You have gained 42 EXP through study.Current EXP: 328
Sans froze.
He stared at the number.
Enough to level Mechanic.
The same notification returned.
Spend 200 EXP?Mechanic (Novice) Lv.1 → Lv.2
Sans didn't press anything.
He leaned backward.
LV.
EXP.
Numbers.
He remembered what those numbers meant in his world.
Execution Points.
Level of Violence.
A measurement of someone's capacity to hurt.
But here—
he had earned experience from repairing a barrier.
Fixing a gun.
Reading.
Learning.
No killing.
No dust.
No bodies.
Sans stared.
"...not the same."
The drone tilted.
Sans looked at the level-up button.
He hesitated another second.
Then pressed—
YES.
Warmth moved through his bones.
Not determination.
Not LOVE.
Something else.
Knowledge.
Mechanical instinct.
Energy.
The interface updated.
[MECHANIC (NOVICE) LEVELED UP]Lv.1 → Lv.2
Intelligence +1
Endurance +1
Energy +10
Free Attribute Points +2
Potential Points +1
Sans remained seated.
No bloodlust.
No emotional numbness.
No feeling that hurting someone had become easier.
Nothing like LOVE.
He exhaled.
"okay."
His grin relaxed.
"that's... actually good to know."
The distinction mattered.
Maybe more than anything else he'd learned yesterday.
This world's EXP—
wasn't his world's EXP.
Same letters.
Different meaning.
A rather cruel coincidence.
Sans stood.
He picked up the book.
Put his hands in his pockets.
The drone hovered beside him.
Today's goals were simple.
Learn.
Earn money.
Figure out Mechanical Force.
Find out what the hell an Arcane Mechanic was.
And visit Kero Junkyard.
Sans looked toward District 7.
"...hopefully nothing weird happens."
KERO JUNKYARD — SAME MORNING
A group of armed thugs stood outside the gates.
One spat onto the ground.
Another checked his pistol.
Their boss had told them a new mechanic might be coming by.
Nobody particularly cared.
Mechanics came and went.
If they were useful, Raccoon squeezed money out of them.
If they weren't—
they disappeared.
One thug yawned.
Then another man approached the gates.
Black hair.
Calm eyes.
Ordinary clothes.
Nothing particularly impressive about him.
The thug stepped forward.
"Kid."
Han Xiao stopped.
"You're in the wrong neighborhood."
Han Xiao looked at him.
Then toward the mountains of scrap behind the gate.
A faint smile appeared.
"No."
He continued walking.
"I'm exactly where I need to be."
Several streets away—
POP.
Sans appeared beside a traffic sign.
The drone appeared with him this time.
Sans looked proudly at it.
"see?"
BEEP.
"remembered you."
He looked up.
DISTRICT 7
Sans unfolded Mara's address.
Then followed the road.
Toward the same junkyard.
Toward the same morning.
Toward a person who might finally understand why Sans had an interface.
And perhaps—
toward the first person in this entire universe capable of looking at a talking skeleton appearing out of thin air and thinking:
This isn't even the strangest thing that's happened to me this week.
END OF CHAPTER 2