The Lower-Works were a nightmare of pressurized steam and forgotten geometry. Massive, rusted pistons the size of cathedral pillars slammed into the floor with a rhythmic, bone-shaking thud, pumping cooling fluid to the High-Watt citadels miles above.
Kaelen pressed himself into a narrow crevice between two steaming pipes. His tattered coat was soaked in black grease, and his left arm—the one marbled with Aether-scars—was twitching with a life of its own. Every time the Sentry's "Data-Bleed" flickered in his mind, he saw ghost-code: Targeting... Acquisition... Calibration Error.
"Shut up," he hissed, clutching his head. "I'm not a machine."
But his body was failing. The radiation from the Sentry's core was "hot." Without a stabilizer, it was like carrying a handful of sun-fire in his pocket. If he didn't integrate the capacitor or vent the energy, he'd melt from the inside out.
He reached an abandoned maintenance sub-station—a small room filled with broken soldering irons and jars of petrified flux. It smelled of ozone and ancient copper. This was a "Solder-Sump," a place where illegal technicians once performed back-alley augmentations.
Kaelen slumped against a workbench, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. He pulled the Model-7 Logic-Core and the Gold-Thread Capacitor from his pouch. They hummed, the golden light reflecting in his dilated pupils.
"I can't wait until I get back to the surface," he whispered. "I have to do it now."
He didn't have anesthetic. He didn't have a sterile environment. He had a rusted scalpel and a portable blowtorch.
Kaelen grit his teeth, placed a piece of thick rubber between his jaws, and sliced into the skin of his own forearm.
The pain was a white-hot scream that stayed trapped behind his teeth. Blood—dark and flecked with blue Aether-sparks—pooled on the workbench. He wasn't just cutting skin; he was carving a "Socket" into his own muscle. He had to bridge the gap between his nervous system and the stolen hardware.
Using the blowtorch, he heated a length of copper-silk wire until it glowed. With shaking hands, he began to solder the wires directly to his ulnar nerve.
His vision exploded. For a second, he wasn't in the Sump. He was seeing through the eyes of the Sentry he had killed. He saw the Iron City from a thousand years ago—pristine, gleaming, and filled with millions of voices.
SYSTEM LINK ESTABLISHED, a cold, feminine voice echoed in his mind. HARDWARE DETECTED: UNKNOWN HOST. COMMENCING INTEGRATION.
Kaelen's back arched. His heart hammered so hard he thought his ribs would snap. The Gold-Thread Capacitor began to sink into his arm, the metal fusing with his bone.
Outside, the heavy clank-clank of Inquisition boots echoed in the corridor. They were close.
"Almost... done..." Kaelen groaned, his forehead drenched in sweat. He took the last wire—the "Return-Line"—and pressed it against his chest plate.
The circuit closed.
The sub-station's lights flickered and died. In the darkness, Kaelen's arm glowed with a terrifying, golden radiance. He didn't feel like a scavenger anymore. He felt like a bomb waiting to go off.