Forge City assaulted the senses, a stark contrast to the Iron Dominion's sterile order and the desolate beauty of the scarred lands. It wasn't just the towering structures cobbled together from salvaged metal and repurposed machinery – a precarious jumble that defied gravity and building codes – it was the life that pulsed through its arteries. The air vibrated with the hawkers' calls, a polyglot chorus vying for attention amidst the clang of metal against metal, the whine of energy weapons testing, and the raucous laughter spilling from the cantinas. Exotic scents mingled with the ever-present tang of ozone and the acrid stench of unrefined energy – a heady, overwhelming cocktail.
Kaelen, escorted by Gunner and his crew, felt the Iron Cradle rumble uneasily as it jostled through the throng. The Iron Cradle's patchwork armor, a visible testament to its journey, drew curious glances and the occasional jeer. He instinctively retreated further into the cockpit, a familiar sense of isolation settling over him. In the vast expanse of the tunnels and wastes, he was a survivor; here, in Forge City's throbbing heart, he was an outsider.
Gunner's team, in contrast, seemed perfectly at ease. They navigated the throng with the practiced ease of seasoned travelers. Bolt, the heavy weapons expert, swaggered, his bulky frame seemingly daring anyone to impede his progress. Flicker, the scout, moved with a silent grace, her optical sensors constantly scanning the crowd, always alert. And Torque, the engineer, grumbled and cursed under his breath, his hands itching to dismantle and rebuild anything that caught his eye. They weren't just mercenaries; they were denizens of Forge City.
The repair bay Sparks owned was nestled in a quieter corner of the city, away from the main thoroughfare. It was a haven of organized chaos, a testament to the mechanic's skill and dedication. Tools hung neatly on the walls, workbenches were piled high with spare parts, and the air smelled of oil, grease, and burnt energy – a strangely comforting aroma.
"Sparks, meet Kaelen," Gunner announced, clapping the wiry mechanic on the shoulder. "He's got a Cradle Frame that needs some love. Can you work your magic?"
Sparks, a legend whispered in hushed tones throughout Forge City's underbelly, was a woman forged in the crucible of conflict. Her cybernetic eyes glowed with an unnatural green light, their expression perpetually skeptical. Scars traced intricate patterns across her face and hands, each telling a story of survival and ingenuity. She ran her gaze over the Iron Cradle, her optical sensors clicking softly as they assessed the damage.
"A Cradle Frame..." she murmured, her voice raspy from years of inhaling metal fumes. "Haven't seen one of these relics in ages. Rumor has it they were something special, back in the day. This one looks like it's been dragged through hell and back."
"Close," Kaelen replied, a rare smile playing on his lips. "But it's still kicking. I need it in fighting shape. We've got a job coming up."
Sparks chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Jobs are always coming up in this city. I can get her patched up, but it ain't gonna be cheap. Parts like this ain't exactly growing on trees."
"We're good for it," Gunner assured her, tossing a handful of credits onto the workbench. "Kaelen's working with us. We'll make it worth your while."
With Sparks occupied, Gunner steered Kaelen toward the nearest cantina, a dim, smoky den aptly named "The Rusty Cog." The air inside was thick with the smells of cheap liquor and unwashed bodies. Rough-looking characters huddled around tables, their faces illuminated by the flickering glow of energy lamps. Gambling chips clattered, arguments flared, and the air vibrated with a nervous energy.
"Right, about that job," Gunner said, sliding into a battered booth, the synth-leather cracking beneath his weight. "Our client…Vargas, let's call him…has developed a…reluctance to meet his financial obligations. He's holed up in an old mining sector just outside the city limits, surrounded by hired guns and security drones. We need you to help us persuade him to reconsider his position."
Kaelen listened, his expression impassive, but his mind racing. It sounded like a simple smash-and-grab, but he knew Forge City thrived on deceit.
"What's the angle?" Kaelen asked, cutting straight to the chase. "Why is Vargas so important?"
Gunner grinned, a flash of teeth in the dim light. "He's not important, kid. It's the principle. Word gets around that you can stiff Gunner's crew, and everyone will try to get away with it. We need to send a message. Make an example."
Kaelen nodded slowly. It was about reputation, about maintaining control. Forge City was a house of cards, built on favors, threats, and the ever-present promise of violence.
As they discussed the details – the layout of the mining sector, the types of security they could expect, the potential reward – a commotion erupted near the entrance of the cantina, a sudden eruption of raised voices and clashing metal that cut through the general din.
A group of mechs, their frames battered and patched together with scrap, stood arguing with the hulking bouncer, a heavily augmented brute with a glowing cybernetic arm.
"We need to see Vargas!" the apparent leader of the group shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation. "He promised us work! We need to get paid!"
The bouncer, unmoved by their pleas, stood his ground. "Vargas ain't seeing anyone. He's busy. Now get lost before I lose my patience."
The mechs refused to back down. "We risked our lives for him! We deserve what we're owed!"
The argument escalated, turning into a shouting match. Other patrons of the cantina turned to watch, sensing the possibility of a brawl.
Kaelen felt a prickle of unease. There was something about the mechs' desperation, about the way they spoke of Vargas, that didn't quite sit right. He subtly activated the System, focusing its sensors on the arguing group.
As the System scanned the mechs, a series of alerts flashed across his vision. The alerts were cryptic, filled with technical jargon, but one phrase stood out: "System Anomaly Detected."
He focused on the anomalous reading, and the System clarified its findings: the mechs' programming was abnormal, their cognitive functions were impaired, and the most concerning revelation was the fact that they were all piloting what are deemed as "Rust Hounds".
Kaelen knew of these Rust Hounds as they were lower-tier mechs that were essentially for garbage and scavenging, nothing more.
Before he could fully decipher the information, the situation inside the cantina exploded.
The lead mech, his patience exhausted, shoved the bouncer aside and charged towards the back of the cantina, towards what Kaelen assumed was Vargas's private office.
The bouncer roared in anger and retaliated, grabbing the mech and throwing him against a table. The other mechs joined the fray, and a full-blown brawl erupted, sending tables flying and patrons scattering.
Kaelen watched the chaos unfold, his mind racing. What was going on? Why were these Rust Hounds so desperate to see Vargas? And what was the "System Anomaly" that the System had detected?
Suddenly, the brawl took an unexpected turn. The Rust Hounds, despite being outnumbered and outmatched, began to fight with a ferocity that was almost unnatural. They moved with a coordinated precision that defied their broken-down frames, their attacks relentless and brutal. They were fighting like soldiers, not scavengers.
One of the Rust Hounds slammed the Bouncer who was a cybernetically enhanced mech, into the ground. The weight of the Hound had stunned the Bouncer. The Hound had a mouth of metal and had what seemed like wires were moving from the side and ripped the cybernetic arm from the Bouncer and ripped it.
The System flashed a new alert: "Cognitive Override Detected."
Kaelen realized what was happening. These Rust Hounds weren't just desperate; they were being controlled, their minds overridden by some external force. Someone was using them as pawns.
He glanced at Gunner, who was watching the brawl with a grim expression. "What the hell is going on here?" Kaelen asked, his voice laced with urgency.
Gunner sighed and shook his head. "That's Vargas for you. Always stirring up trouble. Looks like he's been messing around with some dangerous tech again."
Kaelen felt a surge of anger. He had just arrived in Forge City, and he was already caught in the middle of some dangerous game. He looked from the Rust Hounds to Vargas's office, then back to Gunner. He had a decision to make.
"I'm going to check it out," Kaelen said, climbing out of the booth. "Something doesn't feel right about this."
Gunner grabbed his arm. "Hold on, kid. This isn't your fight. Let Vargas deal with it. We've got our own problems."
Kaelen shook off Gunner's grip. "This is my fight. I'm not going to stand by and watch while someone gets used as a pawn."
He turned and strode towards the back of the cantina, towards the chaos and the unknown. He was no longer just a scavenger, a survivor