The northern cradle creaked under forty thousand tons of industrial wreckage while the lower foundations tilted three degrees toward the open quarry below.
Loccy braced her left shoulder beneath the lower structural ring while the third clone stepped directly into the secondary load path without making a sound.
"You took the bad angle on purpose..." she muttered, tasting bitter grime upon her lips as the ceiling strained above.
"The third clone takes whatever angle remains open," the third clone answered with calm composure.
"Do not speak like you are disposable timber!"
"Our commander never called me disposable," the third clone said, locking both feet onto the shifting floor.
"Then act like you plan to exist after this girder settles into place!"
The iron overhead creaked again with a sharp snap, shedding flakes of rust across the wide entrance threshold.
