Chapter: Scrapper Moon Distortion
The D-section sprawled wide, filled with broken towers of metal, twisted appliances, and heaps of discarded lives.
The others had branched off into their own corners to dig, each carving out their own slice of the scrapyard.
For the first time that day, Iseul found herself alone with Loadon.
The mech stood beside her, tall as a grown man, his shadow spilling across the junk piles. With no eyes watching, no scavengers hovering nearby, she let her shoulders finally loosen.
*Good. Just me and Loadon now. No prying eyes, no jealous hands.*
She stretched her fingers, letting her gift stir beneath her skin.
The subtle hum of radiation trickled into her bones, steady and invisible.
In peace, she could search more carefully—find the scraps others missed, the ones hiding faint energy signatures.
"Alright, Loadon," she said, brushing a streak of grime from her cheek.
"Let's sort this mess properly."
Together they dragged out piles and built order from chaos.
They made neat stacks—clothes on one side, worn toys in another, appliances stripped for their cores, recyclable metals gleaming faintly under dust, and the pure trash shoved aside with no hesitation.
"Debris pile, Loadon."
Loadon stepped forward with mechanical precision, scooping heaps of rust and broken plating into his arms.
With careful strength, he poured them down the chute of a waiting space bag.
Iseul flicked her hand, creating a steady stream of falling debris from her side, guiding the pieces into the bag like a funnel.
The 8-meter interior swallowed it all without complaint, filling layer by layer.
"Good. Next bag."
Loadon sealed the filled one, hefted it with ease, and slid it into the trolley cart.
Then he returned, already reaching for the next pile she'd sectioned off.
It became their rhythm—she picked, sorted, and directed while he hauled, carried, and placed.
When she went to get her turn-in checked, he stayed behind to keep dividing freed junk into neat piles.
When she returned, they worked seamlessly again, side by side.
*This is better,* she thought, wiping sweat from her forehead.
*No one staring. No one asking questions. Just me and him. And the junk, of course.*
It wasn't glamorous, but it was steady.
Her parents had always said Scrapper Moon was the practical choice.
Cheaper housing, cheaper education.
The family had money, decent money—but they still chose to stay here.
*If they could've lived without scraping for parts, they would have. No one comes to this planet unless they have to.*
Iseul crouched by a corroded panel, fingers brushing faint currents of radiation.
*But if I'm smart, if I keep working this way… I can make it worth it.*
Her eyes roamed over her growing piles. Some were good finds—energy chips, high-density alloys, repairable circuits.
Others were pure junk: dented pots, broken toys, twisted wiring too far gone.
Most scrappers would toss the worthless pieces without hesitation.
Iseul didn't.
She slid a cracked alloy plate into a small side bag, then added a pile of broken circuit casings.
"Loadon, mark these as keepers."
The mech tilted his head. "Items identified as low value. Confirm retention?"
"Confirm. I'm keeping them," she said firmly.
"They're trash for selling, but not trash for me. I can practice my crafting on these. Better to ruin junk than waste good metal."
Her gaze flicked briefly toward the mech beside her, then to the thought of another frame waiting at home—the half-finished butler mech.
The torso was smooth, its systems intact, but the legs…
Pleasure-bot legs. Too thin, too polished, all wrong. An eyesore every time she looked at it.
She gritted her teeth.
*One day I'll rip those stupid things off and replace them with proper reinforced struts. But I need the right alloys first. Nothing brittle. Nothing cheap. Something worthy of standing on.*
She shoved another handful of corroded scraps into the practice bag, ignoring the sting of dust against her skin.
*Until then… I'll keep collecting. Keep learning. Loadon deserves better upgrades too. Stronger plating. Cleaner cores. And when I'm done, that butler won't look like a joke anymore.*
The mech hummed beside her, silently scooping another load into the debris bag.
Hours slipped by in that rhythm—bags filled, carts loaded, junk sorted into order.
Sweat streaked Iseul's brow, her gloves darkened with rust. She checked each pile twice, moving the best finds into secure bags for sale and stashing the "worthless" ones she wanted to keep for practice.
Every time she guided debris into a space bag, she adjusted the flow with her gift—falling bits moving like a stream, sliding into the eight-meter pocket of space until it was packed through and through.
Loadon sealed each bag and stacked it neatly into the trolleys.
The piles shrank around them, replaced by order.
For a while, she almost forgot where she was.
The scrapyard became less chaos and more workshop, every ruined piece holding possibility.
'Half for sale. Half for me. That's the deal. If I only ever sell everything, I'll never get better at what I really want to do.'
Her parents wouldn't have understood.
They cared about grades, about savings, about keeping their heads down. But Iseul wanted more than scraping by.
And here, with only Loadon at her side, she could work toward it without anyone asking questions.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve, staring at their progress.
"Not bad, Loadon. We're faster than the others today."
The mech's eyes glowed a faint green, acknowledgment without words.
She smiled faintly and turned back to the piles.
And then—
A deep rumble rolled through the scrapyard, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
"—?!" Iseul staggered, grabbing a trolley handle. Loadon immediately braced her with one heavy hand, his frame steady against the quake.
The noise grew sharper, like metal grinding against metal, echoing from below.
Shouts broke out from across the D-section.
"What the hell?!"
"Stay clear—!"
"Something's coming up—!"
Before anyone could move, the scrapyard floor split with a metallic shriek. From the jagged cracks came a flood of beasts—low-ranking mutated vermin that had thrived in the radiation-soaked underbelly of Scrapper Moon.
Dozens of metal rats , their bodies plated in dull silver scales, burst into the open. They were two feet tall, thick as small dogs, their glowing eyes darting for prey.
Behind them slithered the first of the 'metal rat snakes.'
Some were only five feet long, writhing like whips of steel. Others stretched fifty… a hundred and fifty feet, armored coils scraping sparks against the ground.
And then came the larger ones—towering, **four-foot tall metal rats**, their jaws clicking with serrated metal teeth.
The scrapyard erupted in chaos.
Scrappers screamed, scattering from their piles.
Trolleys toppled, bags split open, scraps spilling as people scrambled to escape the flood.
Iseul's pulse hammered in her throat as she gripped Loadon's arm.
The mech's eyes flashed a bright warning red to purple. "Threats detected."
The ground shook again under the mass of beasts.
This was just the beginning.