The silence lasted less than ten seconds.
Outside the ruined gate, the remaining aberrants circled uneasily around the charred corpses of their kin. Their guttural growls vibrated through the air, crimson cyber-eyes sweeping the hangar with restless hunger. Again and again, they flicked toward the fallen Ravager husk, as though weighing whether the steel carcass might still breathe flame. Fear battled with greed in their animal minds.
Neo leaned against the mech's cold steel foot, every breath dragging knives across his ribs. Pain and weakness washed through him in relentless waves. His mind, however, refused to falter—it was running equations, scanning for outcomes. The pulse was gone. The coolant drained. His last trick had already been spent. When the aberrants came again, he would have nothing.
Do something, anything.
His gaze swept the warehouse like a targeting laser. Piles of scrap. Shattered support columns. And above—an intricate web of rusting beams straining overhead.
A plan sparked. Reckless, suicidal. If he could collapse part of the ceiling, maybe it would crush them—or at least slow them down. Of course, it would likely bury him as well.
He braced, trying to drag himself into position—
Fwoosh—!
A sharp whistling tore the air, so alien it didn't belong to this wasteland.
The lead aberrant's skull detonated like an overripe melon. A mist of black ichor and metal shards painted the wall.
Fwoosh! Fwoosh! Fwoosh!
Three more hyper-precise shots rang out in rapid succession. Each one surgical, merciless. Another aberrant collapsed with a hole clean through its chest. Another dropped, knees shattering. The third fell without even a scream, circuitry sizzling.
Cold efficiency. Clinical precision. A professional's kill.
Neo's pupils tightened. That wasn't the crude roar of gunpowder. That was the high-frequency crack of an electromagnetic rail weapon. Whoever fired it had impeccable aim and nerves of steel, chaining lethal shots in less than a breath.
The last aberrant shrieked in panic, bolting for the shadows.
It never made it.
A black silhouette dropped from the torn vent above like a phantom. Swift as a panther, silent as falling ash. In its hand, a combat blade shimmered with blue plasma energy, carving a cruel arc—
Shhhk!
The aberrant's head flew clean off, its body staggering forward a few steps before crumpling lifeless.
The figure straightened. A soldier, armored in gray-black composite plating streaked with grime, but still radiating hard-edged technological weight. Nothing like the rags of slaves Neo had seen. A full-cover tactical helmet concealed the face, visor flowing with faint green data streams. No human features visible.
The soldier swept the battlefield with practiced vigilance, checking the corpses outside, then turned—helmet optics settling squarely on Neo, huddled against the Ravager's leg, blood and dirt clinging to him like a second skin.
Bootsteps echoed behind. Three more armored figures entered, weapons raised—sleek electromagnetic rifles, muzzles angled low but steady, ready to snap up at a heartbeat's notice. Their formation was tight, precise, silent—military to the bone.
Neo's stomach sank. A disciplined unit like this could only belong to one of the major enclaves—or something even more shadowed.In his condition, facing these soldiers was no better than facing aberrants.
The one who had struck with the blade—the leader—spoke first. The voice came filtered, a flat, mechanical edge stripped of warmth:
"Civilian. Report your identity and what happened here."
Her visor turned toward the Ravager husk, smoke still curling from the gutted chest, then to the blackened aberrant corpses strewn across the floor. The helmet tilted slightly—just enough to betray… curiosity.
Neo forced his breath steady. He couldn't reveal the truth. But neither could he claim his slave designation. He had to gamble.
"I… I'm a drifter," he rasped, voice cracked with weakness. "Got chased by those things. Stumbled in here. As for… that—" His eyes flicked toward the scorched remains.
"The old mech just… went off. Sprayed fire out of nowhere. Nearly scared me to death. But it took out a few of them."
A flimsy lie. Full of holes. But all he could offer. Hopefully, they cared more about the aberrants than one half-dead stray.
The leader advanced, boots crunching debris. She crouched by a charred aberrant, inspecting it. Then, rising, she studied the Ravager's gutted chest. Her hand moved suddenly—picking something up.
The alloy pipe Neo had used. Charred cables, stripped and jury-rigged by desperate hands.
She turned back toward him. Even through the mask, Neo could feel the sharpened weight of her gaze.
"A drifter?" Her tone shifted—flat, but edged with amusement. "A drifter who recognizes the remnants of a Hermann circuit? Who can repurpose dead wiring and residual capacitors to reverse-trigger an industrial mech's failsafe and ignite its coolant?"
Neo's chest tightened. She knew. She saw everything—right down to the ancient term "Hermann circuit."
Impossible. That knowledge was supposed to be lost. Forgotten. No one here should have recognized it.
The alloy pipe clattered as she tossed it aside. Then she stepped closer, presence pressing against him like a physical weight.
"Who are you really?"
Neo braced for restraint, interrogation, maybe worse.
Instead—she gestured. One of the riflemen tossed her a compact medkit. Without hesitation, she lobbed it to Neo's feet.
"Your ribs are broken. You've got internal bleeding. Stabilize yourself if you want to live." Her tone remained cold, but her actions betrayed contradiction. "As for your identity… we'll have time to find out."
She turned slightly, issuing crisp commands:
"Owl—scan the warehouse. Log any tech worth salvaging. Anvil—secure the perimeter. Blood will draw more of them. Doctor—check his vitals."
Then, once more, her visor turned toward Neo. Beneath the mask, her gaze drilled into him, sharp and unreadable.
"You're interesting, drifter. Maybe… worth more than those beasts we just killed."