I sat on the rooftop's edge, legs dangling into the abyss, the neon chaos of Ironbound City flickering beneath me. Gizmo lay beside me, battered and silent, sparks flickering from his damaged frame.
Nyra was gone. Her scream still echoed in my mind, a raw memory cutting deep. She hadn't chosen to fall, someone had hijacked her mind, turned my closest friend into a weapon.
My fists clenched, knuckles bloodied. Grief burned through me, searing and fierce.
Gizmo nudged weakly against my side. I gently lifted him, feeling the weight of our loss. Standing, I stared defiantly over the twisted cityscape.
HIVE... They wanted my friend...? They'd awakened something far worse.
It's only been a week since everything fell apart
Hugging the injured Gizmo to my chest, I moved swiftly across the rooftop and slipped back down the way I came. I had to disappear into the deeper shadows of Ironbound City, regroup, and figure out what the hell was going on.
Before vanishing down the ladder, I cast one last agonized glance into the alley's darkness below, where Nyra's body presumably lay.
***
A week ago.
I squinted through the gloom as I pocketed the last of my cred‑chips and slid the workshop's metal shutter halfway down. The single fluorescent tube overhead buzzed one last defiant squeal before dying, leaving me in half‑light. Perfect, I thought, tugging my hoodie's hood over my greasy black hair. Nothing like running on fumes and neon.
Outside, Lower Reach was a carnival of flickering holo‑ads and midnight traders. Every wall pulsed with competing commercials:
[Holo‑Billboard] "NeoGen Nutrient Paste: Three Spoonfuls to Power a Lifetime!"
[Street Banner] "Apex Neural™ Implants: Upgrade Your Mind, Upgrade Your Life!"
I muttered under my breath, "If only one of those could reboot my bank account."A trio of drunken joyriders wove neon‑glow hovercycles through the narrow alley, one nearly clipping my shoulder as he cackled, "You missed us, Riv! Come ride!" I waved him off with a sigh. No thanks… I'd rather ride out the power surge.
Toting my satchel of half‑bought capacitors, I headed for Old Man Chav's salvage stall two blocks north. Under a sagging tarp, his stall was a hodgepodge of scorched circuit boards and dented alloy panels piled hip‑high. His one working holo‑eye glowed blood‑orange as he whittled at a fried datadrive.
"Late," he grunted without looking up. Sparks from his arc‑welder painted silver constellations on the tarp.
I offered a tight smile. "Blame the traffic. And the six‑hour queue at the public charging station." I dropped my cred‑chip on the plank‑wood counter.
He pushed it back at me. "Not enough."
I huffed. "I traded two high‑density servos and my left arm for these credits, and you think that's not enough?"
He finally glanced up, crooked grin flashing. "You'd bite my hand off if I offered more." He rifled under the tarp and slapped five shining pre‑Collapse capacitors into my palm. "Last batch."
I cradled them like fragile gems. "You're a lifesaver." I gave him a mock bow. "Promise I won't fry them on the first try."
He snorted. "Not my problem if you do."
A distant boom trembled through the alley as another transformer bit the dust. Neon signs flickered and some went dark. A hush fell among the traders, broken by the hiss of emergency backup generators.
"Enjoy the blackout," I called over my shoulder, stuffing the capacitors in my satchel. I slapped the charging port on my wrist‑pad and tugged the hood up tighter. "Let's hope the grid holds just long enough."
The trek back was a gauntlet of half‑lit side streets and shuttered vendor carts. Music leaked from a nearby club, bass pounding so hard my teeth vibrated. I skidded around a corner where two cyborg tweakers argued over a smuggled drone.
"Gonna sell it or what?" one snarled, twisting a servo‑arm joint.
The other waved a glowing holo‑credit chip. "I will! Just need a sec to bypass the safety lock."
I ducked into a shadowy alcove, clutching my satchel. Not this time, thanks, I thought, pressing myself against the damp brick as an AV glided overhead, its spotlight off in the darkness. I held my breath until its engines hummed away.
At last I arrived at my workshop's back door: a lumpy steel panel bolted over a busted entrance. I dropped the satchel and worked the latches with fingers slick from grease and adrenaline. The door grated open; I slipped inside and sealed it behind me.
Inside, my workshop was a riot of clutter: tangled wiring, empty NeoGen jars, half‑drunk energy cans, spare limbs from old bots. The holo‑screen above my bench blinked into life with a final ad:
[TV Ad] "SkyNet HomeGuard Drone- Your Eyes When You Can't Watch!"
I jabbed the mute pad. "As if I trust those flying snitches."
In the center of the bench lay Gizmo's chassis, its belly cavity yawning like a mechanical skull. I tugged off my hood, brushing back a lock of greasy hair and wiping sweat from my brow. I eyed the fried capacitor socket, then the five pristine caps I'd just risked my neck scavenging.
"All right, you rust‑bucket… let's get you nine lives, or at least nine minutes before your next meltdown."
I pulled on my welding visor, its green glow reflecting in the scattered metal bits. "No half‑measures," I muttered, plucking the first cap from my satchel. My prosthetic hand clicked as it extended fine solder‑tacks. "This is where you live or die, buddy."
A soft whir from the corner caught my ear: Gizmo's diagnostic drone hovered, its lens flickering. I waved it away. "Not now, Phineas. I haven't had coffee yet."
My fingers danced, threading leads, laying solder, fanning each joint until the new cap gleamed in its cradle. Blue petals of spark flew across the board; I sucked in a breath and tapped the visor's auto‑coolant.
"Hold tight… can't short us out again."
With a final twist, I locked the part in place and flicked the workshop's main breaker. The holo‑screen jumped to a static‑lined news flash:
[News Ticker] "Rolling blackouts continue; HiveTech patrols increase in Lower Reach."
I cursed and banged the side of my console. "Of course. Everything Hive touches turns to static."
In that charged silence, I let my shoulders slump. Why do I even bother? I wondered, staring at Gizmo's empty belly. You're just a bucket of wires. I reached into my pocket and found a tiny photograph of my smiling family, gone in the Collapse. I tucked it against the bench's edge, letting it remind me why I fight to bring metal pets to life.
A soft blue glow filled the bench as I reconnected Gizmo's power lead. The chassis quivered. I pressed my palm to the bench, eyes closed.
"Come on, Gizmo… let's hear that ugly purr."
With a hiss of relays, the LED "eyes" flared green. Motors hummed. Gizmo's tail uncoiled, and he shivered to life. I opened my eyes, disbelief and triumph colliding.
His triumphant whir lasted barely a heartbeat before the green glow sputtered out. His chassis went limp again, LEDs dimming to black. I blinked, heart sinking.
"No, no… not now." I tapped his side panel, but nothing. The faint relay hiss died back into silence.
I glanced up at the cracked wall clock: 2:37 AM. Four hours until dawn. Four hours to cobble together a working pet before the bazaar. And yet here I was, alone with a broken machine.
I rubbed my eyes and ran a hand through my greasy hair. "Funny how there aren't any real animals left in this city," I murmured. "Chem spills, genetic bans… decades ago, they tried to wipe out every living thing that wasn't factory‑approved."
The workshop's lone fluorescent tube flickered again, threatening to die. I straightened, jaw set. "All right, you glorified toaster." I placed Gizmo on the bench and retrieved my satchel, determination blazing brighter than any LED.
Outside, the city rumbled on sirens, distant shouts, a motorbike's roar fading into the fog. Inside, I cracked my knuckles and got back to work. Because in Ironbound City, if you want something, you have to build it yourself and I'm damn well not giving up on my furball.