In the Exosuit Reconstruction Bay, steel groaned like beasts gnashing their teeth.
Kael lounged back in his chair with a cigarette between his lips, the silver-gray suit on his body reflecting the cold industrial lights. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn't slept in three days.
"Only one color?" he asked, voice dragging with disdain. "This gray looks like a corpse's face. I can feel my depression relapsing just looking at it."
Across from him, Nocturne stood motionless, frost seeping from beneath his helm while the mechanic removed his chest plate for the sixth time.
"As long as the armor functions, that's all that matters," Nocturne said, clearly losing patience. "Are you in this for combat endurance—or a fashion show?"
"You're under my banner now," Kael flicked ash off his cigarette, crossing one leg over the other. "If I walk you out in something ugly, that's my reputation on the line."
"We're partners," Nocturne replied flatly. "Not subordinates."
Kael laughed, slow and languid, blowing a ring of smoke in Nocturne's direction. "To qualify as my partner, your aesthetic standards need to at least pass minimum civilized benchmarks."
Nocturne glanced at the diamond-studded mechanical prosthetic on Kael's left hand. "Since when do nouveau riches have aesthetics?"
Kael lifted his mechanical hand seriously, rotating it for display. "Pick one: full diamond for presence, or half diamond for understated luxury?"
If Nocturne still had eyes, they'd be rolling into the back of his skull.
A mechanic stumbled forward, holding up a piece of mint-green chest armor. It gleamed with fresh lacquer, fluorescent and obnoxious. Kael's eyes lit up immediately.
"This one. Perfect. Install the full set—make him shine."
Nocturne looked down at the armor, feeling his entire dignity scraping against the bottom of the abyss. The material felt brittle, plasticky—barely enough to cover the chassis. If this qualified as "presentable," he'd rather go unarmored.
"Front left leg and right dorsal plate are missing," the mechanic stammered, wiping sweat. "We can only substitute with light blue and beige…"
Kael's face twisted. "That's an assault on my eyes."
"Who's to blame?" Nocturne murmured, unamused.
Kael paused, then asked suddenly, "How tall are you?"
"Two point eight meters," Nocturne replied, checking the alloy density.
Kael stood, crushing the cigarette underfoot. "Ah. Too short. That's why the proportions are off."
Silence detonated through the bay. Nocturne froze, fingers tightening around the alloy blade at his side.
Kael continued casually, "Add height to the helm, reinforce the boots—make him at least look like a legitimate Exosuit war-class slayer."
"Kael—" Nocturne lifted the blade.
"Short and ugly—I'm not—"
The blade slammed into the floor beside Kael's arm, sparks leaping.
Leaning in, Nocturne's voice dropped, cold as a guillotine's edge.
"The Dyne Syndicate moved dozens of Exosuits into Eastbridge overnight. Have you even wondered how?"
Kael's smirk vanished.
"They have a carrier."
Those four words sliced the oxygen out of the Reconstruction Bay.
A carrier wasn't mere transportation—it was an apex predator in the war ecology. Where it appeared, cities ceased to be names; they became coordinates on a ruin map.
Kael's pupils contracted to needlepoints. Sweat trickled down his temple.
Nocturne stood before him, the green armor reflecting a glacial gleam—like an ancient machine deity rising from the abyss to purge all organic life.
"Land routes are impossible," Nocturne continued coolly. "Each Exosuit weighs eight tons. An entire combat squad would collapse the support grid within an hour. They came by sea. And not one ship—an entire fleet."
Kael reached out, as if to grasp something—found only air.
Nocturne leaned down, speaking directly into his audio receiver, every syllable sinking into Kael's neural threads.
"It's not dozens of Exosuits. It's legion scale. The town you're trying to 'unify' is nothing more than their first landing platform."
Kael exhaled a soft laugh—low, reckless, like a death-row inmate lighting his final cigarette at the foot of the execution block.
"Brother, why scare me like that? I told you—I don't have the appetite for empire."
He tilted his head, lips brushing against Nocturne's audio port, voice a deep rumble.
"My goal is to unify Eastbridge… and make it look pretty doing it."
Nocturne straightened, offering no response.
The two of them stepped apart while the mechanic, trembling like a malfunctioning servo, continued mounting weapons onto Nocturne—longblade, war-dagger, heavy cannon, gun barrels—all fixed from his shoulders upward. When fully expanded, his arsenal would fan out like a peacock's tail… if peacocks were made of steel and bathed in blood.
Kael's expression settled. His eyes narrowed, and it was as if a different mask slid into place—the mask of a syndicate lord who determined the fate of cities with a wave of his hand.
"The nearest port to Eastbridge," Nocturne said, voice even, "is Dalan Port. If I plan to survive past the end of this month, I'll seize it—before The Dyne Syndicate arrives."
Kael's pulse hammered once, like a hammer on steel. Then his breathing evened.
"You willing to do it?" Nocturne asked.
Silence folded over the Reconstruction Bay. Even the machinery paused, as though waiting for a verdict.
Then Kael laughed.
The sound was low, restless, a spark flicking across dry gunpowder. "Willingness doesn't matter."
He rose to his feet, turning his back on everyone. It was as if he were already standing on a battlefield only he could see.
"What matters is—" He glanced back over his shoulder. And in his eyes, the light burned not like flame, but like magma splitting open the earth's crust.
"—who's going to stop me?"
Nocturne had never carried this much absurd metalwork in his entire existence. He gave no comment on Kael's "fashion sense."
They exited the assembly bay. Outside, a heavy combat motorcycle idled in the snow. Arq, clad in black leather, approached with helmet in hand.
"Boss, let me come with you."
"No." Kael waved him off and jerked his chin at Nocturne. "I've got him. That's enough."
Arq lowered his voice. "Ryuu's worried—"
"Is he your boss, or am I?" Kael swung a leg over the driver's seat and gripped the handle. With a sharp kick, the engine roared to life like an awakened beast.
Nocturne climbed on behind him. The motorcycle carved a clean arc through the snow, pivoted, then launched like a missile through the gates of Galan Hall.
The wind was razor-sharp. Kael accelerated, swearing into the gale. "Fuck—should've taken the helmet!"
Nocturne said nothing. Consequences, as far as he was concerned, were part of Kael's entertainment budget.
"Hey—hold onto me!" Kael barked.
"Why? Do I owe you?"
"It's freezing—I'm about to piss frost!"
Nocturne silently activated his internal heating system. Thermal current radiated through the thin armor and into Kael's back. Kael jolted, stunned.
"You—you have a heater?"
"If you don't need your mouth, shut it."
"Brother," Kael said with raw sincerity, "you're incredible."
…Why did that compliment sound so profoundly wrong?
Kael practically melted into Nocturne's chest while still cranking the throttle. The heavy motorcycle streaked down the snowy streets of Eastbridge Gamma District like a lightning bolt. Pedestrians froze, staring wide-eyed at their syndicate lord thunder past with what looked suspiciously like a… giant grasshopper clinging behind him.
"You like to show off," Nocturne murmured into his ear, voice close enough to echo through his neural nodes.
"Showing off is the sharpest weapon," Kael replied.
"By showing the entire city your terrible aesthetic?"
"No—by showing the entire city that Galan Hall has a new Operator."
Nocturne fell still.
"No best armor for you? Then I'll give you the worst. Only the best and the worst are remembered instantly."
Without realizing it, Nocturne tightened his grip around Kael's waist.
"I've got three power stations here with Ryuu—two nuclear," Kael said, tilting his head, letting the biting wind whip his black hair into his eyes. "I'm about to show you the third."
The heavy motorcycle lurched at the next intersection, tearing down a dirt slope toward a lone, towering structure in the wasteland. Nocturne's optics locked immediately. A quantum power station.
In the era of Exosuit warfare, electricity was power. Whoever controlled the power stations controlled the battlefield. Each Exosuit was a ravenous predator of volts and amps, conquering territories to feed the endless cycle of conquest and energy reclamation. From the first wars of annihilation, nuclear power surged; by the fifth war's end, quantum tech tore the sky open. Nuclear reactors became relics. Quantum stations became the pivot of all dominance.
Kael stopped the bike atop a hill opposite the station. Below, the white-domed building stood silent and perfect, like a star fallen to Earth. Clouds hung low, their muted glow dancing over the surface.
Kael lifted his chin, pride sparking in his gaze. "The only quantum power station in Eastbridge? Mine. And Ryuu's."
He stared at the dome like a general presenting his battle standard. His fervor bordered on mania.
Nocturne remained impassive at his side.
"Hey," Kael elbowed him lightly. "Do you know what a quantum station means?"
Nocturne swatted his arm aside casually. "How tall are you?"
"183 centimeters. Still growing."
Nocturne's gaze swept him over. Kael wasn't short—but there was always this sense he hadn't yet earned the right to stand at the peak. "The Dyne Syndicate's core Exosuits already run on full quantum supply. Nothing new here."
Kael snorted. "By the time I claim Eastbridge, I'll have my own quantum Exosuits. Galan Hall will rule the borderlands!"
"Just with that one station?" Nocturne's voice was flat, almost bored, as if stating the obvious doom.
Kael didn't argue. Instead, his eyes flicked to Nocturne, realization dawning.
No chemical batteries. No nuclear cores. No power modules of any kind. "You… a quantum Exosuit?"
Nocturne's laugh was sharp, mocking. "Do you even know what infrared radiation is?"
Kael froze.
Infrared—any object above absolute zero emits it. And if that energy could be captured and quantified, it could surpass nuclear fission and fusion combined—becoming the ultimate source.
"In my eyes," Nocturne stretched a hand across the barren landscape, "you, this hill, the frost in the air, even each flake beneath your feet… they're all energy."
His finger drifted to the distant quantum station. "Including that. Deep red, dense… intoxicating."
Kael's scalp tingled. "You run… on infrared radiation?"
Above absolute zero, everything became his battery. Never empty. Never degrading.
Kael's Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes wild with a reverent madness. "What… what are you?"
Nocturne brushed his face aside, unimpressed. "Stop looking at me like that freak." He swung onto the bike. "Move. You're underdressed."
Kael restarted the bike. Not back to Galan Hall—toward the center of Eastbridge instead.
The road unraveled in ruin. War-torn debris stacked like corpses; displaced souls huddled among broken walls, lifting blank, hollow stares. The city's skeleton whispered in silence, and the two figures on the bike cut through it like lightning and shadow.
Kael slowed the bike, glancing back at him. "If I unify Eastbridge, consolidate all three stations, we can give power back to the civilians. Streets lit again, heating restored—no one left to rot in darkness."
Nocturne's voice was cold. "Why do the lives of these people matter to you? You save them, they won't thank you. When someone replaces you, not a single tear will fall for you."
Kael smiled lightly, bringing the bike to a halt in front of a three-story building. His eyes, however, were sharp, almost feral. "As long as you're at my side… no one's taking my place."
Nocturne spared him a glance. "Once I get the 'Eyes,' I leave."
"Annoyed by me that much?"
"Yes."
They bickered, then stepped into the building. At a glance, it was a ruined mall—originally taller, but anything above the third floor had collapsed in shelling.
The bass of electronic music rattled dust from the ceilings. Kids staggered along railings, some vomiting, others twitching, the air thick with alcohol and psychotropics. Nocturne's sensors picked it immediately—Galan Hall's territory. The "club" of the clan.
Kael led him up to the second floor. As soon as the juniors saw their leader, smiles spread across their faces, and they swarmed to surround him, guiding him into the private lounge.
Inside, smoke twisted in shafts of neon, perfume cutting through the haze. Women sat like living ornaments, arms draped around them casually. This was post-war reality—men were casualties, women became commodities, stockpiled by the syndicates. Kael and Nocturne were each encircled by bodies, momentarily numbed by the proximity of flesh and warmth.
Alcohol loosened Kael's mind. He abandoned resistance to the heady haze, roughly pushing away the woman draped over Nocturne, seating himself instead.
Nocturne's gaze remained icy, infrared vision mapping the lounge. In the dim glow, couples writhed across booths, their heat signatures forming flaming red lines in his sight, weaving a vortex of desire.
"Jealous?" Kael's breath was hot against his ear.
"Not really."
"You ever had a woman… when you were alive?"
Nocturne paused, then shook his head.
Kael chuckled low, a drunk grin creeping across his face. "With that tone, I'd have thought you were some veteran playboy…"
"What tone?"
"The last time," Kael leaned against his shoulder, staring up at the flickering neon, "I said I'd let you handle Bonehelm, you said you didn't have that kink. Shit, Ryuu and I thought you were gonna… do Exosuit-style."
"Cyber sex," Nocturne said flatly. "I don't play."
Kael's eyes sharpened like a bloodhound catching a scent. He lifted his gaze in a flash, locking onto Nocturne's with predatory intensity. "Shit… this thing really exists? Exosuit to Exosuit… how the hell does it work?" His lips twitched, voice low and crackling like static. "Structural coupling? Interlocking?"
Nocturne studied him, the youthful, striking face betraying little lust, only unfiltered curiosity. "Exosuits have retractable tubes in the lower abdomen. Twist off the G12 plating and you can see them. The sensory system is sensitive."
Kael's expression shifted subtly—awkward yet unwilling to stop probing. "Uh… and then?"
Nocturne continued, calm and precise: "Behind the Q9 armor, at the thigh junction, there's a leftover fuel conduit. Sealed, but removable. Inside is soft metal tissue, elastic."
"Fuck…" Kael's eyes lit up. He leaned closer. "You've tried it?"
"I've seen others do it."
The alcohol loosening him, Kael's gaze flicked toward Nocturne's lower abdomen. "Who'd volunteer for that? Just thinking about it… ugh."
"Many like it," Nocturne said, hand pressing over his eyes, voice carrying a pulse like an electric signal. "First time it hurts. After a few… you get used to it."
Kael shivered—not sure if it was the icy touch of mechanical fingers on his face or the suggestive tone whispering in his ear—but his heart raced. He tore his gaze away, stepping back.
"You know a lot…" he muttered, forcing a grin, lifting his glass as if nothing had happened, and draped a woman's hair over his flushed cheek to hide the burn of embarrassment.
Neon sliced the smoke in the private room into shards of light. Nocturne swept an ultrasonic scan along the partition wall and picked up two familiar heat signatures—Arq and the boy everyone called "Zayden the pretty one."
On the crescent sofa, two girls laughed and clinked glasses; the metal hollow clink echoed. Arq, like a seasoned hunter, cradled a glass of ice-cold distillate and nudged it toward Zayden. "Come on, give us face—one shot. Don't be a coward."
Zayden's face flushed crimson. He stared at the glass, voice thin as if chilled: "I… I don't really handle hard liquor well."
"Everyone can. Two sips and you're fine!" Arq shoved the cup to his lips while slapping his shoulder. "If you can't handle this, how do you expect to be an Operator?"
Zayden curled his fingers, trying to pull away but not daring to refuse outright. "Brother… I really don't like this—I'm uncomfortable."
Arq's grin snapped off. He shoved the glass into a girl's hand. "Fine. Don't drink. I'm not asking you to play macho—I'm trying to teach you responsibility." His gaze went hard. "If you let people treat you like a soft target, you lose."
Zayden looked up; tears pooled in the red rings around his eyes. "I don't want to be mocked. I just want to do my job and stand with you all—keep this busted city together."
Arq softened. He put a hand on Zayden's shoulder and thumped it like a pact between brothers. "Listen—don't let them use those tricks to break you. You'll get your footing. I've got you. Anyone who dares look down on you, I'll gut him." He forced a crooked smile, folding threat into comfort. "First learn not to be pushed around. Then learn the Exosuit tricks."
Zayden clutched the hem of his jacket, voice breaking with shame and relief. "That day in the Solaris Arc I actually overloaded—I threw up all over the cockpit. Ever since they've been making jokes."
Arq crouched to meet his eyes. "That's the price of learning. People only see the surface, but you know what you learned. Don't let them define you."
Nocturne watched in silence. On his ultrasonic feed, the two heartbeats swelled and fell like tides, magnified without sound. In that instant the noisy club carried a small warmth—not from liquor or drugs, but from the scratchy comfort of being acknowledged and guarded.
The music kept pounding, infrared heat signatures still rising and falling, but in the fractured neon light Zayden's shoulders loosened. He looked up, voice small but steady: "Thanks, bro."
Arq gave a feral but sincere grin and signaled the bartender for light beer. "Nobody's laughing at you tonight. One touch and I throw him in the disassembly bay for a week's training."
Laughter rolled through the room—bulky, a little theatrical, but carrying real heat. Nocturne's optics drifted between the two, as if logging a new, unspoken bond.