Waking up felt like falling into something cold, thick, and viscous.
Sound returned first: somewhere behind the thin wall, an old man was hacking violently, while a floor above, an industrial press thudded rhythmically. I opened my eyes—and instantly squeezed them shut again. The dim light of the bulb under the ceiling felt like a magnesium flash.
"Awake, then," Ephraim's voice sounded muffled.
I tried to answer, but only a dry rasp escaped my throat.
"Lay still," the old man said, lifting my head and bringing the rim of a tin cup to my lips.
My vision slowly focused. We were in a tiny flophouse room. Walls of rusted corrugated sheet metal, the ceiling so low that Zeno, frozen in the corner, nearly propped it up with his head.
"What... happened to me?" I managed.
"Blue jelly," Tira tossed out without turning around. She sat by the door, sorting through cables. "Scavengers shoot up with it when they need to drag a severed leg back to base. It completely shuts down the pain centers. You didn't die of shock during the 'surgery' only thanks to this crap—and something else, too. The right arm prosthesis acted like a fuse: when the pain in the left spiked, it simply flooded your neural channels with white noise."
"You’re staying here," Ephraim said, pulling the blanket over me.
"What about you guys?" I asked.
"We're heading to Griz," Tira said, standing up. "He's a scrap master. Zeno's logic circuits got fried back in the shaft; right now, he's basically concussed. Griz can fix him and get parts for your prosthesis. But it's going to cost money."
"Pay with what?"
"We made a deal. The fights in the Pit," Ephraim grunted gloomily, checking his knife. "Tonight they’re putting up the 'Centurion'—a heavy drone belonging to one of the local bosses. If we smash it to pieces, Griz takes the processor as payment. Tira volunteered to pilot Zeno via an external remote. Looks like she's been waiting for this her whole life."
"That's... dangerous..." I rasped, trying to pull myself up.
"It’s dangerous to stay unprotected," Tira cut him off, already tossing a dirty tarp over Zeno. "Sleep. We’re locking the door from the outside. Piece is under the mattress. If anyone tries to bust in, shoot right through the door. Aim for center mass."
I heard the bolt clank, and their footsteps faded down the echoing corridor. The blue jelly held me in a strange state: my body was paralyzed with exhaustion, but my mind worked with perfect clarity.
Meanwhile, Tira, Ephraim, and a disguised Zeno forged through the Middle Level market. The crowd was noisy—the perfect place to get lost... unless you happened to be dragging a giant under a tarp behind you.
Griz's workshop welcomed them with welding sparks. The owner—a sullen guy with a mechanical lens instead of one eye—looked Zeno over with interest.
"Order... no, Academy build..." he rasped. "Alright. The Pit is waiting."
It was an abandoned freight elevator surrounded by makeshift stands made of shipping containers. Below, under the harsh glare of spotlights, the 'Centurion' rolled out—a low-slung, ugly tracked machine with a massive circular saw mounted on its nose.
Tira gripped the portable control unit in her hands. Her fingers flew across the buttons. She plugged the cable into the port at the back of Zeno's head—and he came alive.
"Let's go, metalhead," she whispered.
Tira pushed Zeno to his absolute limits. When the Centurion lunged forward, trying to saw Zeno in half, she ducked him out of the way at the last possible second and delivered a crushing blow to the opponent's track assembly. Metal shrieked. The crowd roared.
Ephraim stood at the very edge of the arena, brass knuckles clamped in his fist, scanning the stands. At the exact moment Zeno swung for the finishing blow, the remote in Tira's hands jerked. The screen flashed red.
[ATTENTION: EXTERNAL AUTHORIZATION REQUEST]
[PROTOCOL: "SHEPHERD"]
"What the..." Tira shook the controller. "Someone's trying to hijack the signal! Ephraim!"
The old man spun around—and spotted them. Two figures in gray cloaks on the upper tier. One of them held a directional scanner antenna.
"Tira, finish it and let's go!"
Tira gritted her teeth.
"Not today!" she snarled, slapping the manual override panel.
A grinding screech erupted from Zeno's chest. He ripped out the Centurion's core with his bare hands, tearing straight through the armor plating. In the same breath, Tira yanked the cable back, tearing it from the port.
"Move!" Ephraim grabbed her arm, and they dove into a maintenance corridor while chaos erupted in the stands, the crowd trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.
...
I woke up in the flophouse to a sharp noise. Someone was running down the corridor—screams, heavy trampling.
Fighting through the weakness, I fished the gun out from under the mattress. My prosthesis responded with a delay, but my fingers still found the trigger.
The door burst open with such a crash that I nearly pulled the trigger. Ephraim and Tira flew into the room. Behind them, stepping heavily and loudly, came Zeno. His manipulator was smeared with black machine oil, and in his other hand, he clutched a glowing block.
"Up, Iron!" Ephraim barked, grabbing his pack. "We've been spotted. The Academy busted the arena."
Tira was already by my side, checking the bandage on my left arm.
"Sorry, kid, no rest for you. Griz is covering our escape through the sewer tunnels, but we need to haul ass right now."
"Help me up," I said, leaning on my right arm..
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