"Never in all Nine Worlds have I encountered a bastard like you."
The man clad in black armor towered over, his face obscured by a steel helm. In place of eyes, two glowing crimson lenses scanned, dissecting, hunting for weak spots.
"I'll show you the meaning of real."
He lifted his armored fist and slammed it down with devastating power. The earth trembled, and the man below was obliterated into a gruesome mix of blood and fragmented flesh as the shockwave ripped through the air.
"Shit! Chop, you blew him up!" Another guy slammed a fist on the crate. "How are we supposed to make gas if you keep grinding people into paste?"
Chop turned, chrome lenses flaring. "For fuck's sake. Take his gear. Do I have to tell you everything, you shithead?"
The other man took a step back, raising his hand in a gesture of surrender.
"Alright, man, I was just being cautious, that is all. No need to get heated. If we kill them outright, we will not be getting any gas."
Moving closer to the corpse, now reduced to paste, a cyber-head with neon strips circling his neck and dim, rose-pink goggles knelt down. His hand split and bifurcated into two multi-jointed appendages; the fingers flattened and broadened, gaining mass and surface area as they combed the blood-slick ground for tech and gear.
"I know that you don't have to tell me," grumbled Chop.
The neon Cyber-head scoured the grounds, retrieving all the gear and tech he could find.
Today, they were assigned a routine debt collection job, recovering money owed to their employer. It should have been simple.
"Show me some decency, Killings heads for gas!" a giant roared as it soared through the sky and landed before them.
It was massive, with wire patches instead of wires, its entire body a fusion of machines and human skin stretched over the mechanical frame, giving it a grotesque appearance.
Its metal piston throttled, reverberating the air with dense steam. It looked like a steam engine from the Old Era.
"An old fart! Damn, this day couldn't get any better. Give up all the gears, fool, take a fucking walk." The other members held their weapons, pointing at the old fossil.
The giant grinned, his red mouth oozing fluid that dripped onto the floor, the mucus-like liquid sizzling as it made contact.
He hunched down, the ground cracking beneath him, and in a swift motion, he was upon the group. He smashed his fist down, instantly turning the Black Armour cyberhead into scrap, blood pooling on the floor. The rest fired their laser guns in desperation, but the giant seemed completely unfazed.
The lasers were bouncing off his steam armor, as the steam rose thicker and thicker. Pistons throttled harder and harder, and the group was now struggling to see him through the dense veil of steam.
A crimson red light pierced through the veil, and the group fired at it as soon as it appeared, engulfing the area in a symphony of light.
"Gun him down!! Empty your light!!!" the neon cyber-head screamed at the top of his lungs.
In the aftermath, smoke rose, further obscuring their vision.
"Activate the Vital Sight!!!" shouted one of the members.
The group activated their Vital Sight, their eyes glowing crimson red through the steam-filled veil.
But before they could realize the danger, the neon cyberhead was smashed apart, metal fragments hurtling into the sky. His body crashed onto a container with a thud, the sound reverberating for miles.
"Head down!"
A heavy thud followed, the severed head crashed beside him, silencing the warning before it could finish.
.....
The steam gradually thinned, curling into the air before fading away. What remained was devastation: a heap of mangled bodies, shattered containers, and the lingering stench of gunpowder. Old shell casings glimmered faintly among the wreckage, silent witnesses to the chaos that had just unfolded.
---
Container 42A, Shipyard of XWorm-Bond.
Cyber-Intelligence Agency agents were investigating the crime scene.
A detective crouched down, examining the signature left behind after a gruesome battle.
A CIA officer approached him and, with a mocking and shrieking voice, said, "Couple of gangbangers killing each other... what's new?"
The detective didn't turn as he grinned, an evil and cold smirk spreading across his face. "This is old tech. Somebody trying to fly under the radar."
Picking up one of the shells, the officer frowned. "Them steam-punks?"
The detective shook his head firmly.
Turning his sensor, the CIA agent groaned, "I already have my hands full with Bio-Freaks and now steam-punks too!"
Other officers close in, scanning the wreckage and analyzing the scene. The detective moves among them, high-tech tools flickering in his hands as he gathers evidence and tags the remains.
He straightens, turns away, and steps out of the crime scene. Red and blue lights pulse across his face while sirens wail somewhere down the street, another incident already unfolding.
A voice calls out behind him, "Be sure to file the report this time, Matt."
Without looking back, he raised his hand in a wave and murmured, "Noted."
It was night, and Matt had investigated countless crimes, solving a few smaller ones, but none had captured his attention like this one.
He muttered under his breath, "Ruther..." his voice tinged with sadness.
His hand gradually returned to its normal five-fingered form as he slowly reached for his coat and pulled out a damaged, burnt chip.
He shoved his hand back into his pocket and quickened his pace. He was headed toward the underbelly of the district, where the light faded, and the buzz of commerce dimmed to whispers.
He jumped into the manhole on the deserted city road.
The dark market loomed ahead, black stalls glowing under flickering lamps, trading rusted parts, forbidden tech, and forgotten weapons without a word.
He navigated the market, dealing in illegal goods and tech, ranging from heavy-duty guns to sex dolls. There were weapons with chipped serial numbers, flickering holos of mysterious origin, black-market cybernetic limbs, jars of glowing liquid, and mannequins modeled after living fantasies. Nearby, a vendor argued over a set of sex dolls, their synthetic skin gleaming under neon light, while another sold scrap-grade AI cores next to a heap of blunt-edged pistols.
He stopped in front of a run-down store, its faded metal shutters dented and scorched. The name "BBB Hooks" was etched deep into rusted steel above the door, barely visible amidst the cacophony of shouting, clanging, and the low hum of covert exchanges.
He stepped inside, and the hum of the bustling market outside faded into a distant echo. The cramped workshop was illuminated by harsh white strips and the glow of machinery, filled with the sharp scent of burnt circuits.
A voice growled from above, "Matt Schrödinger! How did you get here?"