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Chapter 21 - Blunt Instruments

Training day one.

Rust stood. Open area of refuge. Cleared space. Weapons scavenged from noble trash.

Dull blades. Cracked shields. Broken staves.

Good enough. For learning.

Crew assembled.

Mira. Human. Fragile. Needed defense training most.

Patchwork. Rag construct. No natural weapons. Needed. Something.

Ember. Fire trapped in lantern. Combat capable. But. Mobility limited.

Tangle. Chaos incarnate. Reality manipulation. But. Only when panicking. Needed. Control.

Cog. Watching. Advising. Too old for frontline. Wisdom-bearer.

And Rust. Teacher?

No.

Filed under: leadership inadequate, combat experience minimal, need. Better option.

"I can't. Teach you." Honest admission. "Fought scavengers. Survived. But. Not TRAINED. Not skilled. Need. Someone who is."

Mira. Frowning.

"We know anyone? With actual. Combat experience?"

Silence.

Then.

Cog. Gears clicking memory-accessing pattern.

"There is. Someone. In scrapyard. Dangerous to approach. But. Skilled. Very."

"Who?"

"Designation unknown. Constructs call her. Blade-Sister. Former arena fighter. Survived fifty-three matches. Then. Destroyed master. Got discarded. Lives in. Sector Seven. Deepest scrap. Alone."

Sector Seven. Even Rust avoided. Too dangerous. Larger constructs. Territorial.

"She DESTROYS visitors usually," Cog continued. "But. Will talk. If approach right. Possibly."

"And if approach wrong?"

"Then we. Lose whoever approaches. Immediately."

Ember. Flames crackling amused-pattern.

"Fun. Love odds like that."

"I'll go." Rust. Decision made. "Alone. Less threatening."

"No." Mira. Firm. "Not alone. I'm coming."

"You're—"

"Human. Fragile. Yes. ALSO. Non-threatening. Arena fighter might. Hesitate before attacking human. Buy you time."

Logic. Cold logic.

Filed under: Mira's value calculation, using vulnerability as tactical advantage.

Disturbing. And. Correct.

"Fine. Tomorrow. Early. We find. Blade-Sister."

Dawn.

Sector Seven entrance.

Mountains of larger scrap. Broken siege engines. Discarded war-constructs. Rusted beyond recognition.

Dangerous territory. Multiple eyes watching. From shadow.

Rust. Shield-arm ready.

Mira. Behind him. Quiet. Scared-quiet.

They walked.

Deeper.

Deeper.

Then.

Movement.

Flash of silver. Arc of blade.

Mira PUSHED. Hard.

Rust stumbled. Felt blade pass. Where his head. Just was.

Rolled. Shield-arm up.

Attacker.

Female construct. Seven feet tall. Blade-arms. Both arms. BLADE-ARMS. No hands. Just. Weapons.

Armor-plated body scarred. Hundreds of marks. Battle damage. Never repaired.

Single red eye. Glowing. Analyzing.

"Intruders." Voice like grinding metal. "In my territory. Seeking death?"

"Seeking teacher." Rust. Still. Non-threatening posture. "We build resistance. Need training. Heard you're. Skilled."

"Heard correct." Blade-arms. Crossed. Defensive but. Listening. "Also heard. I destroy intruders. Why risk approach?"

"Because resistance matters. More than. Safety. And. We have nothing to teach ourselves."

Silence.

Then.

Blade-Sister. Looked at Mira.

Really looked.

"Human. With construct. Interesting. Usually. Humans lead. Constructs follow. This is. Reversed?"

"Partnership." Mira. Voice steady despite terror. "Equal partnership. He leads revolution. I help. Support. Fight alongside."

"Lie. Can hear it. Heartbeat faster. You're scared."

"Terrified. Still here."

"Why?"

"Because I believe. In him. In us. And that's. What family does. Shows up. Despite fear."

Long pause.

Blade-Sister. Staring.

Then.

Slowly.

Blade-arms lowered.

"I was. Partnered once. With fighter-caller. Human woman. Masters. Made her order me. Into arena. Over and over. She cried. Every time. Begged them stop. They didn't."

Voice distant. Memory-accessing.

"When I finally. Won freedom. Destroyed masters. She. Helped me escape. Led guards away. Died. So I could. Live."

Looking at Mira.

"Died. For me. Construct. Some humans. See us. As more. Than tools."

"Some do," Mira said quietly. "Some of us. See you as. People."

Blade-Sister. Considering.

"You want training. I provide. What do I. Get?"

"You live alone. In scrap. Eating scraps of scraps. Join us. Have purpose again. Family. Belonging. Or. Stay here. Slowly corrode. Forgotten."

Harsh offer. But. Honest.

Blade-Sister. Laughed. Harsh grinding sound.

"You're brave. Or stupid. Both useful in. Revolution."

Stepped forward. Tower over them.

"Three days. Trial. I train your crew. If they're. Hopeless. I return here. If potential exists. Maybe. MAYBE. I reconsider. Joining."

"Deal."

"Don't shake hands. I don't have any." Blade-arms gestured. "Lead on. Show me. These hopeless recruits."

Refuge.

Blade-Sister entered.

Crew. Froze.

Ember's flames went defensive-pattern. Bright. Hot.

Patchwork. Hid behind Cog.

Tangle. Started glitching. Reality stuttering around her.

"DEFENSIVE POSTURES," Blade-Sister barked. "Good instincts. Bad execution. You." Pointed blade at Ember. "Fire is. Weapon. But lantern is. Weakness. Protect container or. Extinguished."

Looked at Patchwork.

"Hiding is. Valid tactic. But. Hiding behind CLOCKWORK? Smallest shield possible? Bad positioning."

Looked at Tangle.

"You're. Glitching. Reality manipulation? Impressive. Uncontrolled. Like. Giving child. Siege weapon."

Tangle. Whimpered.

"Scary scary SCARY lady with. Blade-arms she'll CUT—"

"I WON'T cut you. Unless you. Attack me. I'm. Trainer now. Apparently." Looked at Rust. "These are. Your recruits?"

"Yes."

"They're. Terrible."

"Yes."

"I can work with. Terrible. Terrible means. Room for improvement. Skilled recruits are. Harder. They think they. Already know. These?" Looked around. "Blank slates. I can. Write on them."

Stepped forward. Center of room.

"First lesson. Survival. Not combat. Survival. Combat comes later. First. SURVIVE."

Raised blade-arm.

Crew flinched.

"Good. Flinching is. Survival instinct. Don't unlearn. Just. Channel. When blade comes. Don't stand there. MOVE."

Swung. Slow. Telegraphed.

Nobody moved.

"MOVE."

Swung again. Faster.

Mira dove. Rolled. Messy but. Functional.

"Better. Human knows. Fear. Uses it. REST OF YOU."

Looked at constructs.

"You don't fear. Death. Same way. This is. Disadvantage. Will teach you to. Fear again. Fear correctly. Fear that drives. Action. Not paralysis."

Ember. Flames flickering.

"I fear. Plenty."

"Emotional fear. Vulnerability. Loss. Not. Death-fear. Combat-fear. Will adjust. All of you."

Three days. This woman would. Push them.

Break them maybe.

Rust. Calculated.

Risk: high. Blade-Sister could. Genuinely hurt crew.

Benefit: if survived, would be. Capable. Finally.

"Begin," Rust said.

Blade-Sister. Smiled. Terrifying smile.

"Listen carefully. Everything I teach. Might save your life. Or. Take someone else's. Pay attention. Because I won't. Repeat myself."

Training had begun.

Real training.

Mira was already bruised by hour two.

Patchwork had apologized forty-seven times.

Ember had nearly set refuge on fire twice.

Tangle had accidentally teleported Blade-Sister's blade-arm six meters away. Once.

Chaos.

But.

Learning.

Filed under: training initiated, Blade-Sister competent (brutal), crew adaptable (barely).

Progress. Painful progress.

[End Chapter 21]

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