"Lobby's a piss-poor excuse for a bandit," Shriek said with a low chuckle. She rubbed the girl's hair, savoring the smoke. "But I'll give him this—he has good cigars."
Dwarven's eyes narrowed. "Still as indulgent as ever, I see."
"These are good times, Dwarven. Forgive me if I enjoy myself." She leaned back, exhaling a lazy cloud. "Now tell me—what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? And how do I get you out of Tyla before you cause more trouble than you're worth?"
Dwarven set one of the heavy bags down on the table with a loud thud. "How's this for trouble?"
Shriek shifted the girl off her lap, eyes narrowing as she pulled the bag open.
Her breath caught. "Ohhh… saints alive."
Inside lay gleaming ingots. Luzid Metal.
Not common ore. Not scavenged scrap. This was the only substance on earth that could drink in Luzid energy, hold it, and give it shape. The only metal that could birth a Mechanica. Every plate, every tool, every weapon of true power began with it.
Shriek plucked a Ingot from the bag, turning it slowly in the lamplight. Pale veins shimmered through the black surface—starry, alive. She pressed it to her cheek, rubbing against it like a drunk cat to cream.
"Oh yes! This is more Luzid metal than I get those damn miners to produce. When you told me you were robbing the Sage and ditching Belheim, I figured the next word I'd hear was about your corpse baking in the red sands. But here you are—" she grinned, wide and manic, "—a dead man walking with treasure."
She hugged the ingot to her chest, giggling into the glow.
"Don't get too comfortable," Dwarven snapped, dropping into a chair. "We had a deal."
Her laughter cut short. The metal still clutched tight, her eyes went flat.
"You still want to go through with that?"
"Why else do you think I'm here?"
Shriek cocked her head, strands of hair slipping loose around her face. "I thought maybe you'd finally grown smart. Join my crew. Forget Belheim. I practically own This damn town." She spread her arms wide, Luzid Metal scraping in her hands. "And I've got something big in the works."
Dwarven leaned forward, voice low and sharp. "Shriek. Look at me. I didn't come here to play outlaw. I came here to finish what we started."
She raised her mug, eyes unfocused, and took another long swig. "Sorry—I'm buzzed. And remind me, my boy… what was that plan again?"
Dwarven surged to his feet, the chair screeching across the floorboards. "Stop fucking with me!"
His voice cracked like thunder in the cramped room.
"You and Mav built this plan. Two years of gathering resources—contacts, blueprints, staging sites." He yanked the bag wider, shards inside gleaming like captive stars. "The only reason you haven't moved is because you didn't have the metal."
He shoved the bag across the table, light spilling over her metal arms.
"Well—now you do."
Shriek swirled the dregs of her drink, then raised the mug again. The smile was gone.
"To overthrow the Belmouth?" Her voice was flat. One eye narrowed. The other locked on him, cold and unblinking.
A sip. A sigh. She leaned forward, the mug wobbling at the edge of the table.
"Thats right. I figure your gonna need an Onyx and I'm the right man for the job." he nods his head
"Listen, Dwar—Rokk." She caught herself, lips curling around the name.
"I know what your gonna say, but 30-somethin' years ago Black Jackson helped end the War and people thought that would be the end of trouble. Only–bad overtake worse, yeah we weren't in the constant danger but now we're in constant poverty. You see bad is still bad, no matter how you slice it and the Belmouth is as bad as they come. We need someone to kill bad and put in good, You can be the next big legend like Black Jackson and I'll be your trusted Onyx, like Ohgun, providing you and gang with only the most powerful of Mechanicas. So we can get that sweet liberation."
Shriek and Duo looked at each other at the audacity of Dwarven
"Look, Rokk I've known you a long time. And yeah, you're strong, shit one of the strongest I've seen from the new gen. And I've seen some of things you can make But tell me—what do you actually know about toppling governments?"
Dwarven's jaw clenched, but he didn't answer.
"That's what I thought." She set the mug down with a sharp tap. "Back in Belheim, sure—you probably had to get your hands bloody more than once. And I know death there is different from death out here. But still, Dwarven…"
Her eyes glinted, hard as steel.
"I don't think you're ready to dig all those graves."
He opened his mouth, but Shriek lifted a hand, silencing him.
"I'm not done."
Shriek leaned back, drink sloshing, her eyes narrowing on Dwarven.
"You talk like rebellion's just a bigger brawl but have you ever thought that maybe I left for a reason."
She took a long gulp of her beer
"I remember when Mav and I got our start in Belheim. We used to hunt Darkwells. Towns would pay decent coin just for waiting on one to hatch a Derelict. Kill it off, collect the fee, and see you again in six months.' Easy."
She slammed her mug down, the clang of metal against wood sharp as her tone. Her arms gleamed in the lantern light.
"Mav found us one in a mining town. The locals swore it was close to hatching, offered more than any job we'd taken. So we waited in the shafts. Hours ticked by. Finally, I sent a scout to check the Well. Turns out it wouldn't hatch for months."
Her voice dropped, gravelly. "That's when we heard it. The rumbles in the tunnels. Hundreds of them. We tried to fight our way out—only to find the townsfolk had sealed the exits. Scavengers. Fucking scavengers."
She spat the word like venom.
"Worst bastards in Belheim. Later we learned their trick: trap Hunters underground, let the Derelicts do the killing, then strip the corpses for gear to sell."
She let silence stretch, her eyes glittering in the smoke. Then she leaned forward.
"We were down there three days. Waves of the things, clawing through the dark. You ever hear them feed, Dwarven? Wet chewing, echoing through tunnels. That's what woke me one night—the sound of half my troop being eaten alive."
Her lip curled. "I shook Mav awake, and we killed every last one of them."
Shriek rolled up her sleeve, revealing a wide scar carved deep around her bicep.
"But not before they got a piece of me. Lucky enough I survived to get this cool arm but If it wasn't for Mav, none of us would've made it out of that mine. She used that two-hammer style you love so much—barreled us through the tunnels without caving the whole shaft in. When we finally clawed our way out, the townsfolk were waiting. Rifles trained, ready to finish the job."
Her eyes went distant, voice flat. "I stood up to fight, but I didn't have it in me. I understood why they did it. They were starving. Poor. To them, the mines were worth more as a Derelict nest than for ore. I was already half-dead—why not let them kill me, so they could live?
"But Mav… Mav had a different idea."
She let the words hang. "I'll spare you the gory details. Just know you're talking to me right now because Mav was cold enough to do what I couldn't. She was an animal that day."
The grin slipped from her face. She jabbed a finger at Dwarven, metal rings clinking.
"Those are the people you want to save? Rokk, they'll turn on you for a meal before they ever stand with you. And when the Belmouth pushes them, when they betray you for a few scraps—are you ready to be as cold or brutal as Mav?"
Her voice dropped to a blade's edge. "To tell you the truth, I could give a fuck about Belheim, So I'll ask you again. What do you know about overthrowing a government?"
Dwarven didn't blink. "Not shit. But you and Mav's plan—"
"—was something we put together two years ago." Shriek cut him off, her words like steel. "She's been dead for six months and with the Godhand backing the Belmouth their stronger than ever."
The line hit like a stone in his gut. Dwarven's eyes dropped to the floor.
Shriek pressed on. "I get it. She was one of my best friends too. She inspired me to start my own crew and to always do what is necessary. But she was never really about it like you thought. That's why she never registered your underground outfit. We all know—only the incorporated crews get the big contracts."
Her hand stretched across the table, metal fingers resting possessively on the Luzid shards.
"You want payback against the ones who exiled you. I don't need to guess who you really hate. But this?" She tapped the metal, voice dropping low. "This isn't just power. This is freedom. Come with me, Rokk. It's what Mav would've wanted."
Dwarven went rigid. His fists clenched tight.
"You talk like you know her so well but you already got one her core principles wrong." he growled. "You're just scared. Mav didn't 'incorporate' because she didn't want to crawl into the same system she swore to burn. Don't you dare say she inspired you to play by their rules."
Shriek's lips twitched into something sharp and humorless. Her eyes turned to ice.
"You wanna run that by me again, boy?"
She took a slow, measured drink.
Dwarven didn't stop.
"You always rode bitch to her plans. And now that she's gone, you couldn't wait finally not be outshined by her." Shriek slammed down her mug again
Silence.
Shriek's face hardened to stone.
"You know, I get you being there when she died probably fucked you up a little." she said coldly. "She took you in, so I imagined you feel real indebted to fulfill her plans but don't you dare come into my city and start disrespecting me because you don't like what you hear."
"What are you gonna do about?"
"Oh ho ho, keep giving me lip boy and I'll remind you why you came to me to play out your little Black Jackson fantasy."
Shriek's Mechanicas were formed around her arms, twin Mechanica arms sharp fingertips, bladed elbows with cannons imbedded in the palms, metal stretching up to her shoulders. They flared, Luzid energy crawling across the metal, humming like an engine ready to detonate.
Dwarven's hands reached for a set of hammers on his belt. Fire lit his eyes.