TIME: DAY 1 OF EXILE, 21:00 HOURS.
LOCATION: SECTOR 8 - DEEP SUMP PUMP STATION (HIDEOUT).
STATUS: RECOVERY.
The pump station was silent, save for the rhythmic dripping of condensation from the rusted ceiling and the shallow, wheezing breath of Arthur Valeri.
Ren sat on the cold concrete floor, his back against the heavy iron door, keeping watch. He held the scavenged pistol loosely in his lap. He hadn't fired a gun in the real world since the raid on the Old Exchange, but the weight of it was the only thing keeping his anxiety at bay.
In the corner, illuminated by the dying yellow beam of the flashlight, Maya was kneeling beside Arthur. She crushed one of the antibiotic pills Torque had given them into a fine powder, mixing it with a few drops of water in a bottle cap.
"Open up, Arthur," she whispered gently. "It's time for your medicine."
The old man's eyes fluttered open. They were still glassy with fever, but the terrifying grey pallor was starting to fade. He swallowed the bitter paste and coughed, a wet, rattling sound that echoed in the small stone box.
"Leo..." Arthur murmured. "Is Leo... safe?"
"I'm here, Dad."
Leo (Tank) was sitting on the other side of the room, his massive frame hunched over. He was stripping the dirty bandage from his left hand.
Ren winced as the gauze peeled away. The wound was angry—swollen, red, and weeping yellow fluid. The scavenger's machete had cut deep, and the filth of the Scrapyard hadn't helped.
"That needs to be stitched," Kara (Jinx) said, looking up from her laptop. Her voice was tight with exhaustion. "And cleaned with alcohol. If the infection gets into the bone, Leo... you lose the hand."
"We don't have alcohol," Leo grunted, wrapping a fresh strip of torn shirt around it. "And we don't have a needle. The pills will have to do."
Ren looked at his squad. They were alive, but they were deteriorating fast. The "HP Bars" in his mind were flashing red.
Arthur: 15% HP.
Leo: 60% HP (Status: Infected).
Kara: 80% HP (Status: Exhausted).
Ren: 90% HP (Status: Paranoia).
"We need a better plan than day labor," Ren said, breaking the silence. "We can't survive on three ration bars a day. We're burning more calories than we're eating."
Ren reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the Black Data-Slate he had stolen from the sorting line. He slid it across the floor to Kara.
"Tell me this was worth the risk."
Kara picked it up. She turned it over in her grease-stained hands.
"Standard issue Blackwatch field tablet," she noted, running her thumb over the cracked screen. "Biometric lock. Encryption level 5. Probably belonged to a squad leader or a logistics officer."
"Can you crack it?" Ren asked.
Kara looked at her own laptop. The power indicator blinked red: BATTERY: 8%.
"Not with this," she said, tapping the dead screen. "I need processing power to brute-force the encryption. And I need electricity. My battery is practically dead. If I plug this slate in now, I'll drain the last of my juice and we'll have nothing."
"Torque has power," Ren said. "The Scrapyard. I saw his throne room. He has a direct line to the geothermal grid. And he has that mainframe he wants you to fix."
Kara's eyes widened. "You want me to hack a military tablet inside the gang's headquarters? While Torque watches me?"
"It's the only play," Ren said. "Tomorrow, when we go back, you use his power to charge your rig. You use his mainframe to run the decryption algorithm in the background while you pretend to fix his junk."
"And if he catches me?" Kara asked. "He has a hydraulic claw, Ren. He'll snap my neck."
"He won't catch you," Ren said firmly. "Because Leo and I are going to be a distraction."
"A distraction?" Leo asked, flexing his good hand.
"Torque wants to see you fight," Ren said. "He mentioned a ring. If you're fighting, the whole gang will be watching. Including Torque. That buys Kara the time."
Leo looked at his infected hand. He looked at his father, sleeping fitfully on the rags.
"I'll fight," Leo said. His voice was low, dangerous. "I'll kill whatever he puts in front of me."
Ren nodded. "Then it's settled. We rest. Tomorrow, we go back to work."
TIME: DAY 2, 08:00 HOURS.
LOCATION: THE SCRAPYARD - "THE PIT."
STATUS: THE DISTRACTION.
The Scrapyard was louder today.
News had spread through the Rust Belt that the Ironheads had fresh meat for the Pit.
The Pit was exactly what it sounded like—a drained industrial acid tank, thirty feet deep, with walls of slick, rusted steel. Spectators lined the rim, banging wrenches against the railing and chanting for blood.
Ren stood near the railing, his face hidden by his collar. He had been assigned to "Hazardous Waste Disposal"—shoveling slag from the smelting pots—but he had maneuvered himself close to the action.
Down in the Pit, Leo stood alone.
He had stripped off his trench coat. He wore a dirty tank top that showed off the massive muscles of his shoulders and back. He looked like a titan carved from granite. But Ren could see him favoring his left side. His infected hand was wrapped tight in duct tape—a makeshift cast to keep the wound closed.
"Fresh meat!" Torque shouted from his VIP box—a suspended crane cabin overlooking the arena. "The Big Man says he lifts heavy. Let's see if he hits heavy."
A gate on the far side of the Pit groaned open.
The crowd roared.
Walking out of the shadows wasn't a man.
It was a Mining Droid.
Specifically, a "Demolisher Class" unit. It stood seven feet tall, painted hazard yellow, with thick armor plating. Its right arm ended in a rotary rock-drill. Its left arm was a massive hydraulic hammer.
"No weapons!" Torque announced. "Man versus Machine. Standard Rust Rules. Two enter, one leaves."
Ren's stomach dropped.
In Aegis Online, a Demolisher Droid was a Level 15 mob. Easy for a geared player.
In the real world, it was a ton of steel that could punch through concrete.
"Leo!" Ren shouted, though his voice was lost in the roar of the crowd. "It has a blind spot on the dorsal sensor!"
The droid's optical sensor glowed red. It revved its drill. WHIRRRRRR.
Leo raised his fists. He didn't look afraid. He looked focused.
Tank Stance.
The droid charged.
It moved surprisingly fast for something so heavy, its metal feet clanging against the floor plates. It swung the hydraulic hammer in a wide arc.
Leo didn't dodge.
He stepped into the swing.
Ren flinched.
But Leo didn't take the hit. He caught the arm.
With his good right hand, Leo grabbed the droid's wrist-piston mid-swing. The momentum lifted Leo off his feet, but he held on. He used the droid's own force to swing himself around to its back.
"Yes!" Ren hissed. "Aggro management."
Leo slammed his elbow into the droid's neck joint.
CLANG.
Metal dented, but didn't break. The droid spun its torso 180 degrees—a move a human couldn't do—and lashed out with the drill.
The spinning bit grazed Leo's ribs, tearing his shirt and drawing a line of blood.
Leo roared in pain and scrambled back.
The crowd went wild. "Drill him! Drill him!"
Leo was cornered against the rusted wall. The droid advanced, raising the hammer for a crushing overhead blow.
Ren gripped the railing. Use the environment, Leo. Use the map.
Leo looked down. The floor of the Pit was covered in loose scrap metal and puddles of oil.
As the droid brought the hammer down, Leo kicked a heavy steel pipe. It rolled under the droid's foot.
The droid stepped on it. Metal slid on metal.
The machine stumbled, its balance compromised. The hammer smashed into the ground, missing Leo by inches, cracking the concrete.
Leo saw his opening.
He didn't punch the armor. He grabbed the hydraulic line powering the hammer arm.
With a roar that shook the Pit, Leo pulled.
He ignored the pain in his infected hand. He ignored the stitches tearing. He put every ounce of his "Strength Stat" into the pull.
SNAP.
Black hydraulic fluid sprayed out like arterial blood. The droid's hammer arm went limp.
The droid flailed with its drill, but it was off-balance now, leaking fluid.
Leo didn't let up. He picked up a jagged piece of scrap metal from the floor—a heavy gear cog.
He leaped onto the droid's back.
He began to hammer the gear into the droid's neck joint.
CLANG. CLANG. CRUNCH.
Sparks flew. The droid thrashed, slamming Leo against the wall, but the Tank held on.
With one final scream of effort, Leo drove the gear into the droid's central processor unit located at the base of the skull.
The red eye flickered.
Bzzzt.
The droid froze. Then, slowly, it toppled forward, face-planting into the oil.
Silence fell over the Scrapyard.
Then, Torque started clapping. His hydraulic claw made a deafening CLACK-CLACK-CLACK sound.
"Winner!" Torque shouted. "The Big Man stays!"
Leo stood over the fallen machine, chest heaving, blood dripping from his ribs and hand. He looked up at Torque's box. He didn't smile. He stared with the cold fury of a predator.
TIME: 08:15 HOURS.
LOCATION: TORQUE'S WORKSHOP.
STATUS: THE HACK.
While the Scrapyard watched the fight, Kara was fighting her own battle.
She was alone in the workshop with two guards, but they were distracted, watching the fight on a monitor.
Kara stood in front of the Mainframe.
It was a monstrosity—a pre-war server bank the size of a refrigerator, covered in dust and cobwebs. Torque wanted her to get it running to manage his inventory logistics.
"Okay, big boy," Kara whispered, wiping sweat from her palms. "Let's see what you can do."
She had already stripped the power coupling. She connected her own laptop to the mainframe's power supply using alligator clips.
Green Light.
BATTERY CHARGING.
Next, she connected the Black Data-Slate to her laptop via USB.
Then, she bridged her laptop to the Mainframe's processor core.
"I'm borrowing your brain," Kara muttered.
She initiated the decryption software she had written during her university days.
TARGET: BLACKWATCH_SLATE_04.
ENCRYPTION: MILITARY GRADE.
PROCESSOR: IRONHEAD MAINFRAME (LINKED).
The screen filled with scrolling code.
Usually, this would take days. But the ancient mainframe was a beast. It was raw, analog power.
ESTIMATED TIME: 10 MINUTES.
"Hey!" one of the guards shouted, turning away from the fight monitor. "What's that noise? The fans are spinning up."
Kara froze. The mainframe was whining like a jet engine as it crunched the numbers.
"It's... it's the diagnostic cycle!" Kara lied, typing furiously. "I'm flushing the dust from the cooling vents. If I don't run it hot, the humidity will short the motherboard."
The guard walked over. He looked at the screen. It was just a wall of cascading hexadecimal numbers.
"Looks like gibberish," he grunted.
"It's machine code," Kara said, channeling her inner arrogance. "You want me to translate it to binary for you?"
The guard scowled. "Just fix it. Torque wants his inventory list."
He walked back to the monitor. "Whoa! Did you see the big guy rip that hose?"
Kara exhaled, her heart hammering against her ribs.
PROGRESS: 85%.
She looked out the workshop window. She saw Leo down in the pit, dismantling the droid.
Hold on, Leo. Just a little longer.
PROGRESS: 99%.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE.
A folder appeared on her desktop.
FILE: OPERATION_CLEANSWEEP_PHASE_2.
Kara opened it.
Her eyes scanned the document. Her blood ran cold.
It wasn't a patrol schedule.
It was a Work Order.
TARGET: SECTOR 8 UNDERCITY.
OBJECTIVE: TOTAL PURGE.
METHOD: INCENDIARY BOMBARDMENT.
DATE: TODAY.
TIME: 12:00 HOURS.
Kara checked the clock on the wall.
It was 10:30.
She pulled the USB cord. She shoved the slate and her laptop into her bag.
She didn't care about the guards anymore.
She ran.
TIME: 10:35 HOURS.
LOCATION: THE SCRAPYARD COURTYARD.
STATUS: THE WARNING.
Ren was helping Leo limp out of the Pit. The big man was exhausted, but the Ironheads were patting him on the back, offering him water skins and jagged pieces of scrap metal as trophies.
"You're a beast, Tank!" one ganger shouted. "You broke the Drill-Bot!"
Ren was calculating the payout. Torque would have to pay big for this. Maybe enough for a real doctor.
Suddenly, Kara burst through the crowd. She wasn't hiding. She was sprinting.
"Ren! Leo!"
Ren saw the look on her face. It was the same look she had when the missiles hit the bridge in Chapter 10.
"Code Red," Ren whispered.
Kara skidded to a halt in front of them, gasping for air.
"We have to go," she hissed. "Now."
"What did you find?" Ren asked, grabbing her shoulders.
"The slate," Kara panted. "It's a burn order. The Blackwatch... they aren't patrolling. They're liquidating."
"Who?" Leo asked. "Us?"
"Everyone," Kara said. "The Ironheads. The scavengers. The Sump rats. The Admin classified Sector 8 as 'Irreparable.' They're firebombing the whole Rust Belt at noon."
Ren looked at the clock tower above the gate.
10:40.
One hour and twenty minutes.
"My dad," Leo said, his face going pale. "He's in the pump station. If they bomb the sector..."
"He burns," Ren finished.
Ren looked around the Scrapyard. Hundreds of gangers. Laborers. Kids working the sorting lines.
They were criminals, yes. But they were people. And they were about to be erased.
"We run," Kara said. "We grab Arthur and we hit the deep tunnels. We can make it to Sector 9."
Ren looked at Torque's tower.
"If we run, everyone here dies," Ren said.
"They're Ironheads, Ren!" Kara argued. "They enslave people!"
"They're human," Ren said. "And they have something we need."
Ren pointed at the massive Transmission Tower on top of Torque's workshop.
"That tower connects to the city-wide PA system. It connects to the emergency band."
"Ren, no," Leo warned. "You're thinking like a hero again."
"I'm thinking like a Strategist," Ren said. "We can't outrun a firebombing carrying a sick old man. We need to stop it. Or at least... we need to shoot back."
Ren turned to Leo.
"Can you walk?"
Leo straightened up. He wiped the blood from his ribs.
"I can fight."
"Good," Ren said. "Kara, give me the slate. I'm going to have a chat with Torque."
TIME: 10:45 HOURS.
LOCATION: TORQUE'S THRONE ROOM.
STATUS: THE BARGAIN.
The guards tried to stop them, but Leo simply shoved them aside with his good arm.
They burst into the upper office.
Torque spun around in his chair, his hydraulic claw snapping open.
"You got a death wish, rats? Entering without a summon?"
Ren threw the Black Data-Slate onto Torque's desk.
It slid across the metal surface and stopped right in front of the gang leader.
"The droid wasn't the test," Ren said, his voice level and cold. "This is."
Torque looked at the slate. He looked at Ren.
He picked it up. His cybernetic eye scanned the screen.
He read the file.
OPERATION CLEANSWEEP.
Torque's human eye twitched. His mechanical jaw clicked.
"Is this real?" Torque growled.
"My tech cracked the encryption ten minutes ago," Ren said. "Look at the timestamps. Look at the routing number. The Blackwatch isn't coming to arrest you, Torque. They're coming to incinerate you. They're tired of paying you for scrap. They're balancing the budget."
Torque slammed his metal fist onto the desk, denting it deep.
"Those suits... those corporate bastards. We have a deal!"
"The deal is over," Ren said. "At 12:00, the bombers arrive. You have one hour."
Torque stood up. He looked out the window at his kingdom—his piles of trash, his workers, his wealth.
"We can't evacuate," Torque said. "Not this much gear. Not this many men."
"Then don't evacuate," Ren said. "Dig in."
Ren stepped forward. He wasn't a laborer anymore. He was the Guild Leader.
"You have four Quad-Cannons on the perimeter wall. You have surface-to-air missiles you scavenged from the war. You have that transmission tower."
"What about the tower?" Torque asked.
"Give me the tower," Ren said. "Give my tech access to the broadcast array. We can jam their targeting scanners. We can force the bombers to fly low."
"And then?"
"And then," Ren pointed to the massive anti-air cannon on the wall, "you shoot them out of the sky."
Torque looked at Ren. He saw the fire in his eyes.
"Who are you?" Torque whispered. "You ain't no Sump rat."
"I'm Wraith," Ren said. "And I'm the guy giving you a chance to die on your feet."
Torque grinned. It was a terrifying, metal-filled smile.
He hit the alarm button.
WOOP-WOOP-WOOP.
The siren wailed across the Scrapyard.
"ALL HANDS!" Torque's voice boomed over the speakers. "DROP THE SCRAP! GRAB THE IRON! WE GOT COMPANY!"
He looked at Ren.
"You got the tower, Wraith. Make it count."