The metallic shriek tore through the morning air, a sound like a train grinding itself to scrap.
CRACK.
Hardy's prosthetic leg twisted at an unnatural angle, the main hydraulic joint rupturing in a spray of pressurized fluid. Gears scattered across the cobblestones like metallic confetti, their high-pitched ting-ting-ting echoing off the surrounding buildings.
Hardy's scream wasn't pain—it was pure, animalistic shock. His crushing grip around Pierre's ribs went slack as his body instinctively tried to compensate for the sudden loss of his primary support.
Pierre dropped to the ground, his boots hitting cobblestone hard enough to send jolts up through his knees. Air rushed back into his lungs in ragged gulps. Each breath felt like swallowing fire, his compressed ribs protesting every expansion of his chest. The world spun for a moment, black spots dancing at the edges of his vision, but he forced himself to stay upright.
