Kenox blinked to erase the message from his line of sight, immediately glancing around at his surroundings.

It looked like he was in some kind of conference room, with a long, wooden table taking up most of a drab, undecorated room. There was a thick cover of dust on the table, staining its deep-brown wood into a dull-gray color. Twenty-five chairs were lined up on the sides of the table, each cut of the same wood, each layered with the same gray dust. A closet door in the back corner almost blended with the shadows thanks to the warped, dirty glass of the room’s windows, streaming barely any light in past the filth on their surfaces. The floor beneath Kenox’s feet was made of cut stone, and he could feel the dust grains on its coarse surface as it chilled his bare toes to the touch.

Wait, bare toes?

Kenox peered at his feet a little more closely, noticing the dirt caked under his toenails and the rough callouses edging around the pale flesh. The whiteness of his skin against the stone almost shocked him when he saw it – he certainly wasn’t used to mistaking his own feet for those of a ghost.

“I’m definitely in a different body for this sim.” Kenox mumbled aloud, looking up from his feet and glancing around the room to try and find a mirror. There was always a mirror nearby when they were placed in a sim so they could check their new appearance and judge whatever physical characteristics they’d been endowed with.

He found one tucked behind a heavy wooden door to his right, its glass pane dirty just like everything else in the room, but good enough to examine himself in. Kenox bent down and grabbed the edges of the mirror, lifting it up into the air so he could peer at himself more closely.

Yep. He was definitely in a different body.

Gone was the deep-brown skin and thick black hair that he’d grown up with nearly all his life, and the piercing golden eyes most people couldn’t hold a stare with for long. Gone was the lean physique he’d spent years training up, and the tiny scar on his right eyebrow from falling down a set of stairs as a child. When Kenox lifted the front of his shirt the tiniest bit, he also noted quickly that the ugly dips and grooves of wrinkled, pink tissue which usually covered his abdomen was gone.

He was now a white-faced, bony young man, his head shaved to a fuzz of gray-brown hair, his eyes dark black and cheeks sunken in. His whole expression looked so dull and lifeless that even Kenox cringed away from the pathetic reflection upon seeing it.

Yikes. He definitely wouldn’t be able to depend on his natural charisma for this test. One tool out of the toolbox already, and a rather important one at that.

Kenox brushed his fingers absently over the fuzz on top of his head, holding the mirror in one hand as he frowned at the unbecoming appearance. The rags clothing his bony body didn’t look too promising. Was he some kind of servant? A slave? He didn’t have bruises or scars on his wrists or ankles from shackles, though. And as far as Kenox could see, there were no signs of physical abuse on the man’s body, either.

Probably a low-ranking servant. Better than a slave, but still not very influential.

So he didn’t have rank, prominence, prestige, or power in the toolbox. This sim was starting off at a serious disadvantage.

“An economic crisis is inherently political.” Kenox muttered, putting the mirror back on the ground and glancing at the conference table again with a deeper frown. “I’ll need to pull the attention of government and finance officials to make anything happen.”

He couldn’t waste the time in developing a political persona or backing for this run-down body. One of the test parameters was based on time, so if he wanted a higher score, he needed to figure out a fast method to get the economic resurgence going. Which meant he needed to simulate a persona, and simulate it quickly.

Step one determined.

“Now where am I?” Kenox asked next, planting his hands on bony hips as he scrutinized the dusty room. “Clearly, it’s not used often. Maybe I should leave?”

Before Kenox could continue with that line of thought, the wooden door burst open at his side, and a furious-looking man stormed into the room.

Black eyes zeroed in on Kenox, set in a scowling face heavily-creased with displeasure, and when the man spoke to Kenox, his voice sounded more like that of a barking dog’s than a human’s.

“Terence! You still haven’t cleaned up in here yet?!” The man roared in outrage, eyes flashing as he gestured furiously at the dusty conference table. “The finance committee is going to be here any second, you worthless mutt. Make your keep and get this place ready for them. If you don’t,” The man turned a threatening glare on Kenox. “I’ll throw you out on the streets to shrivel up like the steaming pile of leech excrement you are!”

Leech excrement. He wasn’t going to get that image out of his head for a while.

“Yes sir! I’ll clean it right away!” Kenox bowed to the man immediately, wincing at the way his voice cracked now that he was using a higher volume. His vocal cords were under-used. This body only spoke in a low voice, maybe even in whispers. Definitely not one for public speaking or projecting a powerful voice.

Another tool out of the box.

Kenox gritted his teeth as he ran to the table, grabbing a small rag conveniently laid on top of it, and beginning to dust the wooden apparatus.

As his arm worked in methodic strokes, sending clouds of dust puffing gently in front of his eyes and nose, Kenox’s mind raced to figure out a tactic.

There was a finance committee meeting in this room soon. No doubt, the test had it set up so that this committee would be deciding on a major policy for Cannesia with the goal of turning their economy around. The make-or-break meeting that would decide their next big attempt at financial resurgence.

That was good for Kenox since he’d at least be near the location where the decision was being made. An easy path would be to listen in on the discussion on the other side of the door, and help bolster whatever plan the committee decided on. He could create his fake political persona and use it to support the plan, garnering public approval, stirring up change in the masses, and driving the plan along with a speed-boost.

Kenox moved around the conference table, dusting it off as quickly as he could, losing himself in the unending motion of his arm as his mind kept spinning.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

However, waiting it out was a plan that was at least two weeks in the making. One to learn the rules of this country and world and establish a believable, influential persona for it, and another to begin garnering support in his name and furthering the economic cause.

Two weeks was way too much time for a top score – that would be the average.

Which meant…

“I’ve got to influence this meeting, today.” Kenox muttered to himself, glancing over his shoulder at the huffing man by the doorway. The man was looking around the room with an anxious expression, occasionally wiping at his brow, or glancing into the hallway behind him as if waiting to see who was coming.

Kenox eyed the man’s clothes scrutinizingly. Expensive. Richly dyed. There was a gold chain looping from one of his pockets and clipping to the back of his shirt. A style of the country, perhaps. But definitely one for an elite class.

This man had influence.

“Is anyone else coming down the hall?” Kenox asked casually, the man’s head snapping over to him with a scowl.

“Why are you even talking, worm?” The man snapped, waving a dismissive hand at Kenox, but glancing back at the hallway nonetheless. “It doesn’t concern you who’s coming and who isn’t!”

“Of course, sir.” Kenox said carefully, moving around to the far edge of the conference table now, bowing his head as he dusted off that end. Putting distance between himself and the other to create a feeling of security. “I’m just asking because you seem to be looking into the hallway a lot.”

“Because I’m expecting company that I’m not remotely prepared for, thanks to you!” The man barked, clenching his fists and shaking one of them at Kenox from across the room. “This room should’ve been cleaned hours ago, Terence! Filthy scum! Why I even asked a no-good servant like you to do something so important is beyond me. I thought you could at least handle cleaning.”

“Is this committee really going to be that important?” Kenox made his eyes wide and raised his voice a few octaves, lifting his head to shoot the innocent look at the man by the door. “Are you in the committee, too, sir?”

“Of course I’m in the committee, putrid swine!” The man was practically screaming now, spit flying from his mouth as he raved, eyes darting rapidly between the hallway and Kenox. They were landing on the hallway even more now, though, the man’s attention clearly redirected to the impending meeting.

Kenox began to work his way around the other side of the table, steadily coming closer to the man again.

“I’m the head of palace finances, so I need to have a say in this new program.” The man was continuing, wiping his forehead again as he looked anxiously at the hallway. “If they’re really going to use palace funds for this new venture, I have to hear all about it first. I’ve heard rumors already, but I…I don’t really know what to think or how to handle it.”

The man groaned, planting his face in his hands as his shoulders shook. “I’m not one for meetings. I can’t handle large crowds of people.” He bemoaned, shaking his head with his face still buried. “I mean, look at this room!” He suddenly straightened, gesturing at the dusty, unused space around them. “I never use this place, Terence! Never! Because I hate talking to people!”

The man turned another glare on Kenox, but Kenox could clearly see the panic now in the piggish eyes as he crept back to the head of the table, ever closer to him. Kenox kept his head bowed and his shoulders pulled inward as he moved, making himself smaller and more docile in appearance. Drawing the smallest amount of attention he could as the man kept talking.

“And now I have to lead a meeting in front of these bloodthirsty politicians and financial advisors.” The man was just babbling now, wringing his hands nervously as he turned fully away from Kenox to face the hallway. “I’ve never even met any of them before! We’ve just been sending letters back and forth where all I’ve done is deny them access to palace funds. And now they want to meet in person! They’re sick of me, I can tell. Oh, how am I going to turn them down in person?!”

The man clung to his hair desperately, still facing outwards and babbling about his predicament. Kenox kept quiet in the meantime, wiping off the last puffs of dust on the table and eyeing the particles as they floated up into the air. A fair amount of them were flying up, but there should still be plenty caught in the rag. He glanced at the chairs around the table, debating wiping those off as well, but he decided it would be too much hassle.

He’d wasted enough time as it was. The committee would be arriving any minute now, if this nervous man’s reaction was anything to go by. Step one had to be enacted soon.

“What’s your name, sir?” Kenox asked calmly, stretching the rag out between his hands as if to fold it.

“What? Terence, what are you talking about? I’m your master, Myrrone Callimud.” The man huffed absently, head beginning to tilt back towards Kenox. “Did you breathe in too much-”

Kenox spun around in an instant, raising his hands up and over the man’s head, and pulling the dust rag sharply over the man’s open mouth. The taut cloth dug harshly into the thick skin of the man’s face, effectively muffling the shocked shout that tried to escape his throat.

Kenox swiftly grabbed the two ends of the rag with one hand, and used his free arm to wrap around the man’s throat, pressing firmly against the man’s trembling trachea.

The dust on the rag flew into the man’s open mouth, choking him more effectively than the rag by itself would have, the unfortunate palace advisor beginning to cough and wheeze as he sucked dust down his throat. His eyes watered as his dust-inflamed breathing became more difficult, Kenox’s arm pushing against his throat worsening the matter quickly.

The man clawed desperately at Kenox’s arm, but Kenox calmly planted his feet on the ground and leaned backwards, using his body weight to put more force behind his choking grip. He counted the seconds in his head as the man scratched at his arm, struggles growing weaker alongside his coughs, chokes, and muffled cries, until eventually, the body slumped to the cold, stone ground.

Kenox knelt beside the unconscious body, eying the bruises forming on the man’s throat as he tied the dust rag tightly around the man’s mouth. Gag in place, Kenox began to methodically strip the man of his clothes, peeling off one expensive garment than another as the seconds ticked by.

A simple choke like that would only keep an average person out for around thirty seconds or so, probably even less. He had to hurry and get rid of the man before he regained consciousness.

Kenox quickly slipped into the newly acquired clothing, frowning critically at the way it sagged on his too-bony body. The new shoes were a surprisingly good fit for his feet, however, somewhat making up for it. But the gold chain was far too gaudy for his liking and dragged one end of the upper tunic down, so he simply looped it around the man’s wrists, using it for makeshift handcuffs in place of a rope.

“Shoddy job.” Kenox muttered to himself, wincing at the unconscious, half-naked man breathing heavily on the floor. “Was knocking out a palace rep really the best I could do?”

Obviously, other members of the palace would be able to figure out the ruse, even if these so-called politicians and advisors wouldn’t know the difference.

But Kenox didn’t need to stay in the palace after this meeting. His job was to create economic resurgence. After influencing the decisions of the upcoming committee, Kenox could escape and work on bolstering his economic plan in key places around the country.

Assuming this guy didn’t withhold funds and cancel the plan after he took his place as the real Myronne Callimud again.

“I’ll have to ensure he won’t be able to do so.” Kenox frowned, staring intently at the man’s face for a few seconds. There were a number of ways he could do so, ranging from the more violent to the imperceptibly subtle, but it would all depend on how this meeting would play out.

“Speaking of which.” Kenox quickly grabbed the man under his arms and hefted him upright, dragging him along the ground towards the closet in the back corner. There was no time to waste with the committee meeting closing in and the countdown to regaining consciousness ticking down. He had to get this man out of sight and get into position before the others arrived.

It took a few seconds, and the weak arms he was now equipped with certainly didn’t help after he’d spent apparently all of his strength strangling the guy earlier. But eventually, Kenox had dragged the bloated body all the way to the corner, opened the closet door, and hefted the man inside. Glancing around quickly, Kenox spotted a key on the floor beside the closet and closed the closet door, locking it with the key just in time for a voice to ring out behind him:

“Myronne Callimud, I presume?”

Well, well, well. Showtime already.