The Cyber-Hound moved with a speed that felt alien to this rusty environment. It leaped.
Kenji reacted too slowly. His brain knew what to do, but his synchronized, weak body couldn't move fast enough. He threw himself aside, but the Hound's claw snagged his ribs.
The pain was a pure, intense electrical shock. Kenji cried out, a sound that was perfectly muffled within the headset. He hadn't just taken damage; it felt like his ribs had been bruised.
The Hound turned. Kenji knew he could only take one more hit. He desperately looked for a weapon. He saw a loose piece of pipe. With all his might, he strained to lift the heavy thing. His weak arms trembled.
The Hound jumped for the second time.
This time, Kenji didn't analyze. He acted. The moment the Hound's head dipped—the telltale telegraph for its lethal spring—Kenji dropped and swung the pipe upwards with a desperate, primal force.
C L A N G.
Metal on metal. The Hound bounced off the pipe and crashed against the wall. It fell with a shower of sparks and went still.
Kenji dropped the pipe and slid down the wall, his lungs heaving as if he had just run the entire track.
"I... I survived it," he gasped.