The heat of the soldering iron faded from his fingertips as Claude looked at the crude workbench before him, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. In just one afternoon, he had pieced together a working prototype circuit from the junk heap. But before launching his "gaming revolution," he had to face a more basic challenge: survival.
He packed away the iron and tools, draped a rag over his "treasures," and stepped out of the garage. The setting sun cast a warm, golden glow across the street. Standing at the mouth of the alley, he quickly surveyed his surroundings.
Money came first. All he had was the clothes on his back. If he wanted to survive, he needed income. His gaze swept over the storefronts until it settled on a hardware shop. He didn't go in right away. Instead, he spent half an hour observing. The owner, a kindly middle-aged man, greeted every customer with a bit of small talk. Not hard to approach.
Claude finally stepped inside, heading straight for the tools. In his English, touched by a twenty-first-century accent, he asked if the shopkeeper needed help. The man eyed him cautiously.
"You don't look local, son. What can you do?"
"I can repair electronics. Assemble circuits," Claude replied simply. It was his only card—and his strongest one.
The shopkeeper chuckled, thinking he was bragging, then pointed toward a dusty pile of broken radios and TVs in the corner. "If you can fix those, I'll pay you."
Claude didn't hesitate. He grabbed a busted radio, and with the clarity of old circuitry etched in his mind, quickly found the fault. Using the shop's soldering iron, he replaced a few burnt resistors and capacitors, then ran a quick tune-up.
Five minutes later, music crackled to life. The shopkeeper's eyes widened. He had never seen anyone repair something so fast, and with such ease. Without hesitation, he paid Claude and promised steady work whenever he wanted.
Claude pocketed the money, knowing he had secured short-term survival. But he wasn't naive. In 1968, his knowledge was priceless—and dangerous. He would need to hide it well.
The next few days, he lived a double life. By day, he worked part-time at the hardware shop, playing the role of a skilled but quiet young technician. He deliberately slowed down his repairs, pretended to check manuals, making sure not to arouse suspicion. By night, he returned to the abandoned garage, pouring his soul into the "game" project.
With his earnings, he bought more tools, food, and basic supplies. He studied the people of this era—their speech, slang, even their habits. He realized that if he played the part of an introverted tech nerd, no one would pry too deeply.
Claude knew his advantage wasn't just knowledge—it was adaptability. He had thrived in the technological tide of the twenty-first century; now he could thrive just as easily in the raw world of 1968.
And once he was certain no one suspected his origins, he turned his focus back to his grand plan. Before finishing Lightball Duel, he needed to find someone—a partner who shared his passion for technology, but wouldn't be frightened by his far-too-advanced ideas.
That person would become the first witness to the revolution he was about to unleash.