Inside an abandoned garage attached to one of the older buildings in Sector 11, Tyler stood surrounded by a mess of wires, metal scraps, broken tools, and dismantled machine parts that had been dragged there over the past two days. The place smelled of rust, oil, and burnt dust. Half the ceiling had collapsed long ago, allowing narrow shafts of pale afternoon light to fall across the concrete floor, but most of the space remained dim, lit only by the small work lamps he had borrowed from discarded equipment.
This was the only place in Sector 11 where no one would question strange noises or smoke.
And for now, it had become his workshop.
At the center of the garage, rows of large batteries were lined neatly on the ground.
In truth, Tyler originally had only one.
