The descent into the old power plant's underbelly was a rapid scramble, followed by a short jog through reeking, abandoned service tunnels. The air immediately grew thicker, heavy with the metallic scent of dust and the faint, sweet-and-sour odor of the subterranean ecosystem.
I moved with practiced ease, my heightened senses adjusting to the dim, oppressive atmosphere of The Vein. I lead Syn along, navigating by instinct and the low thrumming of the geothermal energy that powered the deep systems.
"We need to get past to Levels 1 through 3, my base is on level 4B the Gutter. Stick close to the pipework," I instructed, my voice barely above a whisper. The Vein was a hidden, sprawling bio-punk beast city beneath Phoenix, constructed from sewers, elevator shafts, collapsed freeways, and biomechanical infrastructure. It was lit by neon fungus, lumen spores, and hacked powerlines. The Vein was controlled by rival clans, Splicer crews, and Beast syndicates.
We rounded a corner where the tunnel opened into a vast, cylindrical chamber—an old overflow drain perhaps—
''CLASH!''
''CLANG!''
I immediately froze, yoinking Syn back into the shadows behind a cluster of rust-eaten pipes.
A violent, chaotic battle was underway in the center of the cavern.
My eyes instantly darted to the edge of the fight, where I saw a flash of dark bio-steel and curved blades.
I whispered to Doctor Syn, "Hold here while I get closer to observe."
My attention snapped back to the combat. Pinned against a jagged rock formation was the unmistakable, powerful figure of a distinctive dark clad warrior. He was fighting for his life against a pack of horrifying new hostiles: six-legged, armored horrors that Herja instantly cataloged as Blaze-sting Scorponoks.
These creatures were grotesque. They were roughly the size of a minivan, with chitinous, orange and red carapaces that shimmered under the occasional flickering hazard light. Their tails ended in wickedly curved stingers, and as they moved, small puffs of yellowish gas—a neurotoxin, likely—were expelled from vents in their backs.
The warrior, however, was a blur of lethal, controlled movement. He was faster, stronger, and far more aggressive than the Scorponoks. As one of the Scorponoks lunged, the warrior glided under the stinger, driving his weight into a cleaving elbow slash!
On each of the warriors elbows, a wicked, metallic glint flared: two curved ultra-sonic blades, embedded directly into his bio-boosted armor. The blades emitted a low, high-frequency whine as they sliced through the air. The creature's carapace offered no resistance; the blade cut deep, and the Scorponok dissolved into a torrent of pressurized viscera.
This warrior was not just fighting; he was surgically exterminating. He glided about effortlessly dispatching the advancing waves of Scoponoks on his bio-boosted rollerblades, which now where a single giant wheel under each of his heels.
Me and Syn stayed deep in the shadows, silent witnesses to the evolving ecosystem of The Vein. I watched the warriors deadly wheeled dance of destruction, focused efficiency. Herja, in that suit, would be a precision weapon, but right now, this mysterious warrior objectives aligned perfectly with my own, clear the tunnel.
"Thats! that's the Zhundrel unit that I discovered!" Syn breathed, the sound weak and horrified as another Scorponok was violently bisected.
"Who could it be" I replied, my voice edged with curiosity. "And he's better equipped than I thought."
The Zhundrel warrior—still unidentified, but clearly in dire need of a distraction—was momentarily pinned, his single-wheel rollerblades slipping on the ichor-slick floor as the pack of massive Blaze-sting Scorponoks closed the circle.
I didn't hesitate. I focused my core energy, manifesting the savage, deadly tools I had earned. With a low, furious hiss, my fingernails elongated and hardened into the razor-sharp Claws of Herja, shimmering with bio-steel strength.
But the claws weren't enough for these minivans of chitin and toxin. I extended my left hand, palm facing the enemy, and executed a quick Brood Mother Palm Summon. I summoned a pack of Spine weasels and two snapping polayander plants to add in the battle! I haunched on all fours aiming my charged plasma tail for another volley!
PHOOM-PHOOM-PHOOM-PHOOM!
The energy volley tore into the side of the nearest Scorponok, cooking the creature's armored shell and sending it reeling with a screech of agony. The warrior in the Zhundrel unit—didn't flinch or look back. He was clearly a trained professional. He registered the aid and adjusted his angle of attack instantly.
The chamber turned into a terrifying, swirling dance of death. The spine weasel were ripped in half as they made a heroic charge biting at snapping pincers, while the snapping polyander plants released psychoactive spores and slashed with their snapping maw tendrils!
I fired off three more plasma bursts, staggering the middle rank of Scorponoks. This bought the warrior the precious few seconds he needed to regain his footing. With a sudden burst of speed from his bio-boosted wheels, he became a dark blur, gliding low to the ground. His ultra-sonic elbow blades sliced clean through the legs of two creatures, felling them like grotesque, metallic trees.
I advanced, using the confusion. The remaining Scorponoks, driven by simple, aggressive instinct, pivoted from the warrior and lunged toward my vulnerable form.
My Claws met the first attack. I roared, intercepting a swipe from a stinger and tearing a shallow rent in the creature's thick carapace, the sound like ripping sheet metal. I sidestepped the acidic spray and launched a point blank tail blast, finishing the job.
The warrior completed his flanking maneuver, his blades flashing as he dispatched the last two creatures with a pair of perfectly executed, high-velocity strikes.
Suddenly, it was silent again, save for the hum of the latent power lines and the dripping of Scorponok viscera. The jammed tunnel was clear.
The Zhundrel unit—slicked with ichor but otherwise immaculate—stopped ten feet from me. He turned, the reflective dark visor of his helmet obscuring his face. His ultra-sonic blades retracted back into his armor with a barely audible psshhh.
My claws retracted as well, my tiger stripes subsiding to a low thrum. I waited, ready for a fight, or a conversation.
"You're fast," I finally said, nodding toward the fallen beasts. "You also owe me a thank you."
The warrior remained silent, simply tilting his head. The air crackled with tension, and the question hung unspoken between us: Who are you? and What do you want?
The reflective dark visor of the xun'dral unit's helmet slid up with a hiss of hydraulics, revealing the familiar, intense face of Mothman420.
I blinked.
I instantly recognized the set of his jaw, the determined glint in his eyes, even under the stress of the brutal fight. I had seen that face in countless live streams and shaky cell phone footage from the riots.
Mothman's eyes widened, recognizing the tiger stripes, the glowing blue plasma tail. He didn't know the name "Ash," or "Herja" but he knew the reputation.
"You're! You're the one who took down the CENO Tower!" he exclaimed, his voice slightly distorted by the suit's internal comms, raw disbelief mixing with something like awe. He gestured to the surrounding carnage of Scorponok parts. "And I'd be willing to bet you also sent me the footage of the Lunar Cry."
I gave a short, curt nod. "It's true. I'm the one." My gaze swept over the sleek, dark bio-steel of his suit, settling on the embedded elbow blades. "But when did you pick up this armor? Since when did you become a splicer?"
Mothman shook his head, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "It was after the tower went down. And this thing... it had me on autopilot. I don't know how I did any of that stuff just now, the suit just fights on its own!" His voice was genuinely strained, the confession of a man who'd just watched himself commit extreme violence without conscious control. "It just... takes over."
I lowered my guard slightly, taking in his confusion. It wasn't the arrogant smirk of a newly empowered warlord. This was a man struggling with a new way of life.
"That's not good," I murmured, glancing back to where Syn was hidden. The air was thick with the stench of plasma and scorched chitin, but the silence had returned. Before Mothman could respond, there was a frantic rustling from the shadows. Doctor Syn darted out from behind the pipe cluster, her eyes wide not with fear, but with sheer, professional obsession. She ignored the surrounding gore and skidded to a stop next to the xun'dral unit.
"You're wearing a Xun'dral unit!" she gasped, her voice vibrating with suppressed academic excitement. "One of three only ever found! We found it in a derelict spacecraft at a CENO black site." She reached out an index finger, stopping just shy of touching the dark, bio-steel armor. "The autonomous programming, the integrated sonic weapon ports—it's remarkable. You truly are a living prototype."
I looked from Doctor Syn's frantic, excited face to Mothman's guarded, confused one. A heavy silence followed, thick with the unasked questions about his fate.
"She can tell you all about it," I said, my voice low and urgent, cutting straight to the proposition. "All about the armor, CENO, and the Lunar Cry footage. If you want answers about that suit and why it's driving you, you need to come with me back to The Gutter."
I gave him a hard look, meeting his eyes over the top of the newly lowered faceplate. "We're all being hunted by the same people, Mothman. We just ran into a problem, and you just helped me solve it. Maybe I can help you solve some problems in return."
"Besides I don't have time for a debrief here" I stated, pushing past the destroyed Scorponoks aside. "We've got CENO agents on our trail, and they'll be dropping through that ceiling any minute. We need to move.