Griz's smile was a terrifying sight, a gap full of sharp teeth in his leathery face. But for the first time, it wasn't a smile of contempt or shrewd greed. It was a smile of professional respect. The respect of a craftsman for a client who not only knew what he wanted but had the means to get it, earned through fire and chaos.
"All the extras, huh?" he grunted, his four arms rubbing together in contentment, a sound like old leather being stretched. "I like your style, kid. Come on in, have a seat. Let's go shopping."
What followed was the most surreal shopping experience of Leo's life. Griz didn't take him to a store. He opened a secure terminal in his workshop, his four arms dancing over a holographic keyboard with dizzying speed, jacking directly into the Scrapyard's black market network. A holographic catalog of ship parts, engines, and weapons materialized in the dusty air, floating between them like a ghost of forbidden technology.
"Alright, let's build your 'Phantom'," Griz said, his small eyes shining with the passion of a true artist. "First, the heart. The soul of the machine."
They scrolled through a list of power cores, each one more exotic and dangerous than the last. There were unstable antimatter cores with warnings in red letters about "spontaneous disintegration." Miniature singularity drives that promised incredible speeds but with the minor side effect of occasionally warping time around them. And even a "Forged Golem Heart" which, according to the description, was powered by the rage of an imprisoned mountain spirit and required "mineral sacrifices" to stay appeased.
"You want speed, but you also want stealth," Griz advised, his expert voice cutting through the background noise of the Scrapyard. "That one there." He pointed with a claw at a modest-looking power core, a sphere of smooth, dark metal. "Cold-Vacuum Power Core. Tech from an extinct insectoid race. Converts the vacuum of space into pure energy. It has no heat signature. It's almost undetectable on passive scanners. It's not the most powerful, but it's the quietest. For a renegade, silence is worth more than speed."
Leo agreed. The price was astronomical, nearly half his Karma Points balance, but he transferred the funds without hesitation. A small containment box, covered in cooling runes, materialized in the workshop with a soft pop.
While Griz, with the dexterity of a four-armed surgeon, began to install the core into the 'Phantom's' chassis, he continued to present options to Leo, like a tech sommelier suggesting the perfect pairing for destruction.
"Cloaking," Griz said. "The chassis already has its own radar-absorbent tech, but we can improve it. I've got a 'Light-Displacement Mantle' from a crashed elven scout. It bends light around the scooter. Makes it practically invisible to the naked eye when it's still. Costs extra."
"I'll take it," Leo said, the image of hiding in plain sight too tempting to resist.
"Weapons," Griz continued, his eyes gleaming. "Your plasma wrench is a tool, not a weapon. You need something with range." He showed Leo a diagram of two small emitters that could be mounted under the handlebars. "Compact Ion Cannons. They won't pierce the hull of a cruiser, but they'll fry the systems of any Syndicate drone or bounty hunter scooter that gets too close."
"Put them on."
"Defenses," Griz growled, his excitement growing. "An EMP emitter, like the one you used on your friend Kael, but controllable. And a reality-chaff dispenser. It drops a cloud of particles that confuses dimensional targeting systems. Very useful for escaping missiles that travel through portals."
"Yes. All of it."
By the end of an hour, Leo's Karma Points balance had dwindled to almost nothing. He felt a pang of panic watching his hard-won wealth evaporate. But before him, in the center of the workshop, was his reward.
It wasn't a scooter. It was a promise of survival. The 'Reborn Phantom' was a work of art of scrapyard engineering. Its matte black body seemed to drink the light. The new power core hummed silently at its heart, and the compact ion cannons were seamlessly integrated into its fuselage. Griz had even patched the headlight hole with a reinforced metal plate.
"She's yours," Griz said, patting the fairing affectionately. "Treat her well. And try not to wreck her in the first week."
Leo mounted the scooter. The leather seat molded to his form. The controls felt like a natural extension of his hands. When he activated the engine, there was no roar. Just a deep silence and the almost inaudible hum of the cold-vacuum core. The scooter rose into the air, stable and silent as a shadow.
He felt a surge of power, a sense of control he hadn't felt since his life had been turned upside down. For the first time, he wasn't just the prey. He was a predator. He had claws.
"Thanks, Griz," Leo said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.
"Don't thank me. Pay your bills," the mechanic grunted. "Now, get lost before any more of your bounty hunter friends show up."
Leo navigated his new 'Phantom' out of the workshop and into the artificial skies of the Bazaar. No one looked at him twice. He was just another shadow in the city of monsters. He activated the light-displacement mantle for a moment, and saw in the reflection of a shop window that his scooter had vanished, leaving only a slight distortion in the air, like heat rising from asphalt.
He found a quiet spot on an upper cargo dock, overlooking the swirling Void beyond the energy dome. He had his ride. He had his mission. Find the Hermit of the Crossroads.
He pulled out the 'Pathfinder' the Hermit had given him. The dark crystal screen was blank. As long as your desire to reach the Regulator is absolute... the path will appear.
Leo closed his eyes. He focused. He thought of the horrifying truth of recycling, of the faceless doorman, of the Scrap Scavenger's desperate hunger. He thought of Yuki, risking herself for him. He thought of his contract with the Broker, of the victory that would be stolen from him. He thought of the Regulator, the prison at the heart of the system. His intent solidified, transforming from a vague wish into a cold, hard need. It wasn't about revenge. It was about justice.
The device in his hand grew warm. He opened his eyes. On the dark screen, a single, shimmering line of light had appeared, pointing to a specific spot on the energy dome. His first step.
But before he could even think of leaving, his smartphone vibrated. It was a message from an unknown sender. It wasn't the Syndicate. It wasn't Yuki or Sephie. The ID was just a string of random numbers, an anonymous, untraceable broadcast.
He opened it. The message contained only three words, cold and brutal.
They have Yuki.