[LOCATION: THE FORGE - COMMAND CENTER]
[TIME: 09:00 HOURS]
Julian woke up screaming.
He sat bolt upright on the cot, his hands thrashing as if conducting an invisible orchestra.
"The song!" he gasped, clutching his ears. "I can't hear the song!"
"That's because I muted it," a gravelly voice said.
Julian froze. He looked up.
Lucas Thorne sat on a crate across the room, sharpening a combat knife. His ghostly blue arm flickered in the dim light.
"Where am I?" Julian whispered, his violet eyes darting around the rusted, industrial room. "This isn't the Academy."
"This is the real world, kid," Lucas said. "The one the Alchemist didn't show you."
Lucas stood up. He tossed a data pad to Julian.
"Your Headmaster abandoned you. He detonated the sonic dampeners in the hall. If I hadn't countered the frequency, your brain would be soup."
Julian stared at the pad. It showed security footage from the Academy. The Alchemist entering the elevator. The cold smile. The abandonment.
The boy's hands trembled. The "perfect order" he had been raised to believe in crumbled.
"What do you want?" Julian asked, his voice hardening.
"I need a Tech-Mage," Lucas said. "This base—The Forge—is running on 1950s generators. The defenses are offline. The fabrication plant is dead. I can break things, Julian. But I need someone who can make them sing."
Lucas extended his hand.
"You can stay here and rot. Or you can help us burn the Alchemist's empire down."
Julian looked at Lucas. Then at the dead consoles around him.
He stood up. He straightened his torn navy blazer. He raised his hand, holding an imaginary baton.
"This system uses analog circuits," Julian critiqued, narrowing his eyes at the mainframe. "It's barbaric. The harmonic resonance is all wrong."
He flicked his wrist.
[ABILITY: TECHNOMANCY.]
A violet spark jumped from his finger to the console.
HUMMM.
The lights in the command center didn't just flicker on; they surged. The mainframe roared to life. Screens that had been dark for forty years lit up with green text.
[SYSTEM ONLINE.]
[DEFENSE GRID: REBOOTING.]
[FABRICATOR: STANDBY.]
"Better," Julian sniffed. "But I'll need better hardware."
"Work on it," Lucas said, turning to the door. "I have to take the dog to the vet."
[LOCATION: "THE RUST BUCKET" - OFFSHORE ILLEGAL FIGHT RIG]
[TIME: 22:00 HOURS]
Three hours south of The Forge, in international waters, floated a massive, converted oil rig. It was a hive of scum, villainy, and chrome.
Neon lights reflected off the oily black water. The air smelled of grilled meat and burning hydraulic fluid.
Lucas, Elena, and Tank walked through the crowded market deck. Lucas wore a heavy cloak to hide his arm.
Tank looked terrible.
Without his heavy armor and his Gravity Hammer, he looked smaller. His left arm—injured by the Sentinels—was in a sling. He walked with a limp.
"You sure about this, Boss?" Tank grunted, eyeing the cybernetic shops lining the walkway. "This place is a chop shop. They steal parts from dead bodies."
"We need the Atlas Chassis," Lucas said. "It's the only frame strong enough to hold the Void Collar's power source. And we can't buy it. We have to win it."
They reached the center of the rig. The Arena.
It was a pit surrounded by electrified chain-link fences. The crowd roared as two cybernetic fighters tore each other apart below.
[CURRENT CHAMPION: "THE BUTCHER"]
[CLASS: HEAVY INDUSTRIAL]
[PRIZE: ATLAS MK-IV CHASSIS + 1 MILLION CREDITS]
Inside the cage, The Butcher stood over a defeated opponent. He was a monstrosity—a human torso grafted onto a bulldozer's treads, with buzzsaws for hands.
"Who wants the next beatdown?" The Butcher roared, his voice amplified by cheap speakers.
"I do," Tank said.
He stepped up to the registration table.
The bookie, a rat-faced man with a digital eye, looked at Tank. He saw the sling. The limp. The lack of weapons.
"You?" The bookie laughed. "The entry fee is 50k, big guy. And funeral costs are extra."
Lucas stepped forward. He slapped a heavy bag onto the table. It clinked with the sound of pure palladium bars (looted from the submarine).
"He's fighting," Lucas said.
"Name?" the bookie asked, eyeing the palladium greedily.
Tank ripped off his sling. He rolled his neck, cracking it.
"Tank."
[THE ARENA FLOOR]
The cage door slammed shut.
Tank stood across from The Butcher. The crowd jeered. It looked like a slaughter waiting to happen. Tank had no weapons. Just his fists and his grit.
"Flesh," The Butcher sneered, revving his buzzsaws. "I'm gonna peel you like a grape."
"Tank!" Lucas yelled from the railing. "Don't box him! You can't trade hits!"
"I know!" Tank yelled back.
The Butcher charged. His treads chewed up the metal floor.
Tank dodged. Barely. The buzzsaw sparked against the cage, slicing the mesh.
Tank wasn't fast. He was a brawler. And without his suit, he was vulnerable.
He took a grazing hit to the shoulder. Blood sprayed.
"Is that all you got?" Tank roared, adrenaline flooding his system.
He grabbed a loose steel pipe from the floor. He swung it.
CLANG.
The pipe bent around The Butcher's armored head. The cyborg didn't even flinch. He backhanded Tank with a metal fist.
Tank flew across the ring, hitting the electric fence.
ZZZRT.
"Aaaagh!" Tank fell to his knees, smoke rising from his back.
"Finish him!" the crowd screamed.
The Butcher raised both buzzsaws. "Goodbye, meatbag."
Lucas gripped the railing. His ghost arm flared. He could interfere. He could Phase-Shift down there and end it.
[DECISION: INTERVENE?]
"No," Lucas whispered. "He has to ascend."
Tank looked up. He saw the saws coming.
He didn't look at the weapon. He looked at the floor.
The rig was old. The metal plates were rusted. And The Butcher weighed two tons.
"Gravity," Tank muttered, remembering his old hammer. "It's all about leverage."
Tank didn't block. He rolled forward, directly between The Butcher's treads.
"What?" The Butcher paused, unable to see beneath him.
Tank grabbed the edge of the floor plate The Butcher was standing on.
He screamed. Every muscle in his body strained. His veins bulged.
"UP!"
Tank ripped the floor plate upward.
It wasn't superhuman strength. It was physics. The Butcher's center of gravity was high. When the floor tilted, he tipped.
CRASH.
The massive cyborg fell backward. He landed on his back, his treads spinning uselessly in the air like an overturned turtle.
Tank didn't wait.
He climbed on top of The Butcher's chest.
"You got a lot of metal," Tank panted, blood dripping from his nose.
He grabbed the hydraulic cables connecting The Butcher's head to his body.
"But you got a soft neck."
Tank pulled.
The Butcher screamed as his primary hydraulics failed. His buzzsaws stopped spinning.
Tank ripped the central CPU core right out of the cyborg's throat.
The machine died instantly.
Tank stood up, holding the sparking CPU over his head.
"WINNER!" the announcer screamed, shocked.
[THE CHOP SHOP - 1 HOUR LATER]
Tank lay on the operating table. The prize—the Atlas MK-IV Chassis—hung suspended above him. It was a masterpiece of military engineering. Heavy plating, internal reactors, and mounts for heavy weapons.
The Cyber-Doc, a woman with four mechanical arms, looked at Lucas.
"You want me to graft this onto him?" she asked. "It's too heavy. His spine will snap."
"Not if you use the palladium," Lucas said. "Reinforce the bone density. Make him a juggernaut."
"It'll hurt," the Doc warned Tank. "More than the fight."
Tank looked at the chassis. He touched the mount where a new Gravity Hammer could go.
"Do it," Tank said.
The Doc lowered the surgical laser.
[THE DOCK]
Lucas waited outside, watching the ocean. Elena walked up to him, holding a datapad.
"Julian messaged," she said. "The Fabricator is online. He's printing the components for the Void Collar. But..."
"But what?"
"He found something in the Forge's old logs," Elena said grimly. "A transaction record. From last week."
"Impossible. The base was abandoned."
"Not completely," Elena showed him the screen. "Someone accessed the geo-thermal vent remotely. They siphoned power."
Lucas looked at the coordinates of the power transfer.
[DESTINATION: SECTOR 4 - THE SWISS ALPS.]
[RECIPIENT: THE ALCHEMIST.]
"He didn't just steal the data," Lucas realized. "He stole the fuel."
A heavy thud shook the dock.
Lucas turned.
Tank stepped out of the clinic.
He was massive. The Atlas Chassis added six inches to his height and doubled his width. His limbs were encased in matte-black armor. His eyes glowed with a new, tactical red HUD.
He flexed a metal hand. The sound of servos whining was smooth, powerful.
"How do you feel?" Lucas asked.
Tank picked up a solid steel anchor sitting on the dock. He crushed the fluke in his grip like it was styrofoam.
"Heavy," Tank grinned, his voice deeper, resonating through a vocal synthesizer. "I feel heavy."
Lucas nodded.
"Good. Because we have to carry a monster up the stairs."
Lucas looked back toward the island.
"Let's go collar The Heretic."