The wind howled with a pressure that threatened to burst Kaelen's eardrums. Gravity, as if holding a personal grudge, pulled them down towards the deadly surface of acid rain and mountains of rusted metal.
"You have a plan, right?" Kaelen yelled, his voice a feeble whisper lost in the roar of the wind. His eyes watered, and his breath caught before it could reach his lungs.
Jester was like a rag doll, flailing uncontrollably in the air. The metal prosthesis on his left leg was blackened and locked from the previous energy blast. The eerie glow in his eyes had faded, replaced by a static grayness. His systems were crashing, but his mind... His mind, that hyperactive processor crunching billions of data points per second, was still operational.
Below, the chaotic geography of Scrap City grew rapidly. A colossal, rusted beast entered Jester's field of vision: a magnetic crane. It rose above the piles of garbage like a dinosaur from the industrial revolution.
In Jester's mind, the world instantly transformed into wireframe models and flowing lines of code. The crane's operating system was so ancient that its firewall was no better than Swiss cheese. *A Windows 95-based fossil,* Jester thought, that dull smile still plastered on his face even as he fell. *How nostalgic.*
His physical body couldn't move, but his digital consciousness launched an invisible signal through the port at the back of his neck. The signal threaded through the raindrops and struck the crane's rusty antenna.
**[CONNECTION ESTABLISHED]**
**[AUTHORITY: ADMIN]**
**[COMMAND: REVERSE POLARITY - POWER 200%]**
The colossal electromagnet below roared to life with a painful groan. Kaelen felt the weapons and buckles at his waist suddenly yanked upwards. Jester's metal leg and the reactor in his chest were also caught by the same invisible hand.
Their descent speed slowed with bone-jarring deceleration. Instead of slamming into the ground, they hit the magnet's invisible cushion. The crane shuddered under their weight, and its operator-less arm creaked as it swung. The magnetic field suddenly cut out.
Kaelen and Jester plummeted ten meters onto the top of a scrap heap, landing hard on old refrigerators and crushed car wrecks.
"Ugh!" Kaelen groaned, turning onto his side, his ribs aching. "Was that your plan? To crush us like tin cans?"
Jester lay on his back. The paint on his face had mixed with the rain, black tear streaks extending down to his chin. A mechanical wheeze escaped his mouth.
"Landing... successful..." his voice crackled like a broken radio broadcast. "My score... out of ten... error code 404."
Kaelen struggled to his feet. The landscape around them was like an industrial depiction of hell. The sky was covered in sulfur-yellow smoke, and the falling rain lightly stung the skin. This was Nova-Veridia's dump; the place where everything the city spewed out accumulated.
The detective went to Jester and hoisted him onto his shoulder. The clown was surprisingly heavy; his dense muscle mass and metal implants made him a difficult burden to carry.
"Hang in there, freak," Kaelen muttered, his boots struggling for purchase on the slick metal ground. "I won't leave you here."
But they weren't alone.
From the shadows of the scrap mountains, metallic clanking and guttural breathing began to rise. First two, then five, then ten dark figures appeared. "The Rusty Leeches." Dehumanized scavengers who had replaced half their bodies with mismatched parts found in the junkyard.
The circle tightened. They held rusty saws, electric batons, and crude firearms. A burly man, clearly their leader, with half his face covered in cheap chrome, stepped forward. His cybernetic eye glowed like a red laser in the dark.
"Fresh meat," the leader said, his voice metallic due to the voice modulator in his throat. "And quality parts. Look at the servos on that leg."
Kaelen gently lowered Jester to the ground and reached for "The Judge" under his trench coat. He drew the massive revolver from its holster and aimed it at the leader. He squeezed the trigger.
*Click.*
A dry sound. A punch landed in Kaelen's stomach. He had forgotten he'd used his last bullet in the previous skirmish.
The leader grinned. His teeth were ground-down metal shards. "You're out of bullets, detective. But our fun is just beginning."
Kaelen flipped the gun, gripping it by the handle. He was preparing to fight with it like a club, but he stood no chance against them. Just then, a faint but cheerful voice came from behind him.
"Oh, how rude. Is this how you greet your guests?"
Jester was trying to sit up, clinging to Kaelen's leg. He was in no condition to stand, his systems still flashing "rebooting" warnings, but his mind... His mind was like a sharp blade. His hazel eyes scanned the leader's gear.
*Target: Gang Leader. Hardware: 3rd Gen Ocular Implant. Origin: Black Market, Eastern Bloc. Status: Insulation failure. Battery leakage detected.*
Jester pulled a useless cylindrical piece of metal, torn from the wreckage of the Black Manta, from his pocket. He raised it into the air with trembling hands.
"This thing you see," Jester said, his voice suddenly serious. He used a theatrical intonation. "It's an experimental Thermal Reactor Core, belonging to the Syndicate. And right now, it's linked to my pulse."
The gang members paused. The leader squinted his one good eye. "You're bluffing. That's just a piece of metal."
"Is that so?" Jester chuckled, but the chuckle was like a madman's delirium. "If my pulse drops below 120 – and right now I'm about to piss myself from fear – this little baby will trigger. It'll pop us all like popcorn kernels in a microwave. Don't believe me? Don't you feel the radiation leak?"
Jester sent a simple command from his mental interface. It wasn't a complex hack; just a "ping" signal that slightly increased the voltage of the leader's already malfunctioning eye implant.
The leader suddenly brought his hand to his face. "Agh!" His cybernetic eye crackled, and the skin around it began to redden.
"See?" Jester said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Your eye... That's the first place to feel the radiation. It's melting, buddy. Your brain's about to leak out your ears."
The leader panicked. The pain was real, so the threat must be real too. "Fall back!" he yelled to his men, retreating while clutching his face. "He's a maniac! They're all maniacs!"
The Leeches scurried back into the dark holes they had emerged from, as if fleeing an invisible wave of radiation. Within seconds, the scrap heap was silent once more.
Kaelen let out a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. He turned to Jester. "What was that thing in your hand?"
Jester tossed the metal piece over his shoulder. It hit a tin can with a dull thud. "An old hydraulic piston cap. But my acting was Oscar-worthy, admit it."
Kaelen shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. He hoisted Jester onto his back again. "Let's go, clown. We need to get you fixed. I know someone nearby. If she's still alive."
***
The "Scrap Doctor's" clinic was a rusted subway car, buried underground. Inside, it reeked of heavy motor oil, disinfectant, and dried blood. Cables hung from the ceiling, coiling around like jungle vines.
"Bring him here, lay him on the bench!"
Dr. Scraps resembled a four-armed spider, with two extra mechanical arms mounted on her back. The old woman's white hair stood on end as if she'd been electrocuted, and her eyes held the excitement of a mechanic rather than a surgeon.
Kaelen laid Jester on the metal operating table. The clown's left leg was now completely dysfunctional; cables were severed, pistons bent.
The doctor lowered a magnifying glass to her eye with one of her mechanical arms and began examining Jester's leg. "Magnificent..." she whispered. "This craftsmanship... This circuit structure... It's not human-made. Or at least, not made by a sane human."
"Can you fix it?" Kaelen asked, standing guard at the door.
Scraps grimaced. "I don't have parts of this caliber, Detective. This technology is fifty years ahead of the junk in my scrapyard."
"You don't need parts," Jester said suddenly. He had opened his eyes and was staring at the flickering fluorescent lamp on the ceiling. He didn't seem to be in pain, more like he was trying to solve a mathematical problem.
He sat up and looked at the piles of scrap around the table. His pupils focused, and virtual labels appeared over each object.
*Object: Motorcycle Shock Absorber (1998 Model). Durability: High.*
*Object: Toaster Heating Element. Conductivity: Suitable.*
*Object: Hydraulic Press Piston. Pressure Capacity: 5 Tons.*
"Doctor," Jester said, his voice taking on a commanding tone. "Get that shock absorber in the corner. We'll connect it in reverse. Solder the heating element to the neural network. We'll turn the heating problem into an advantage; we'll use it as an energy storage unit."
Dr. Scraps stared at him in astonishment. "Son, if you connect it that way, your leg will explode."
"No," Jester said, grabbing a screwdriver from the table and beginning to remove the screws from his own leg. "It won't explode. It'll just... operate a bit aggressively. Come on, we don't have time. Forget the anesthetic, just give me the soldering iron."
The next hour resembled an industrial assembly more than a surgery. Sparks flew through the air, metal grated against metal, and the smell of burnt flesh and oil filled the room. Jester was rebuilding his own leg like a Lego set. He laughed where he should have felt pain, displaying a childlike joy as he slotted a circuit board into place.
Finally, Jester got off the table.
His new leg was utterly devoid of aesthetics. It was crude, industrial, with exposed pistons and cables, something like the illegitimate child of Steampunk and Cyberpunk.
Jester stomped his metal foot on the ground.
*THUD.*
The floor vibrated. The metal plate buckled slightly.
"A bit heavy," Jester said, bending his knee to test the leg. A powerful *hiss* came from the pistons. "But it'll kick like a mule."
Kaelen looked at Jester's new, intimidating toy. "Great. Now what? We can't sneak into the city with that leg. You're causing an earthquake with every step you take."
Jester walked towards the old, dusty radio in the corner of the clinic. He turned the dial. Through the static, the Consortium's propaganda could be heard:
*"...Rebels in Zero Sector are being purged. For the safety of our citizens, the energy shield has been raised to maximum level..."*
Jester looked at the radio, then turned his head and grinned at Kaelen. This time, his smile was wild and determined, even beneath the sad makeup on his face.
"We're not going into the city, Detective," he said. He tapped the radio's speaker with his finger. "We'll make the city come to us. That architect wanted perfect order, didn't he? A flawless system."
Kaelen frowned. "What are you thinking?"
"We'll prepare a Trojan Horse for him," Jester said, activating the hydraulics of his new leg. "We can't get in from above, the shields are too strong. But every city has an intestinal system. A place where data waste, sewage, and forgotten secrets flow."
He pointed his finger downwards, towards the metal floor.
"We'll flush the toilet, Detective. And all the filth will rise to the surface."