As they spoke, the room’s blast door slid open. An Avenger unit stepped in, carrying another robot’s body in both arms.
“Your new chassis is already being fabricated, Walt—just not here,” the Gentleman said. “It’s at the Twin-Tower Fortress to the northeast. For the next leg, you’ll borrow this one.”
The Avenger laid the body onto the circular platform beside Walt. It was the same model as his old frame—an Exiler—but the head was half gone.
“I picked it out of the wreckage above,” the Gentleman went on. “Everything but the head is intact. You’ll interface cleanly.”
“Thank you, Savior,” Walt said, sincerely.
The platform’s arms unfolded and, in a few brisk motions, removed the damaged head.
“No need. See you in a minute.” The Gentleman cut Walt’s power to begin the installation.
***
By the time Merc finished swapping out his arm and climbed down from the service pod, Walt’s transplant was underway. The Gentleman gathered them into a tight circle.
“Hector sent another piece of intelligence,” he said. “Phantom Forge’s arsenic-based lifeforms are evolving on their own now. I just ran DNA sequencing on the tissue Merc and Little White recovered…and I found traces of Hector’s genes in it. That confirms his fear.”
“What is it?” Bit asked. “How bad?”
“Ask Merc and Little White. What you fought was the early version.”
“That was early?” Little White’s face went pale.
“What does Phantom Forge want?” Bubbles signed.
“Isn’t it obvious?” the Gentleman said flatly. “It wants to be the Creator.”
“You’ve said that before,” Bit muttered.
“Yes,” the Gentleman replied, and for once the tailored smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But I didn’t expect it to be bold enough to splice human DNA into arsenic life. That gives its monsters real intelligence. It’s building an army it won’t even be able to control.”
The room went quiet. Only the soft whirr of tools and actuators filled the air.
The Gentleman sighed. “And it gets worse. Hector is still in its hands. That means it has an endless supply of human DNA—top-shelf DNA.”
Bubbles stepped closer and signed, then forced the words out aloud. “Let us…try again. All of us. We rescue Old Man.”
Bit jumped in immediately. “He’s right. It’s worth one more shot. Now we’ve got Walt—he knows Grayrock Base, and he’s been to Zone X. We won’t be fighting blind this time. We can bring the Old Man back.”
Little White nodded hard. “Bring him back. And my teacher.”
Even Merc, who rarely weighed in, said only: “Agreed.”
***
“No.” The Gentleman’s voice sharpened. “Kids—I want to, too. But no. You’ve no chance. Not one percent. Walt failed once. And your little unauthorized stunt the other time? That told Phantom Forge exactly what you were after. It won’t let go now. It’s laid a net for you and it’s waiting.”
He paused, and the name came out like a bruise. “We already lost Efa. I can’t afford to lose any of you.”
At Efa’s name, nobody spoke.
Bubbles tried to insist—then a dull boom rolled through the floor. Overhead lights flickered. The room shuddered.
They’d been so focused on arguing they’d forgotten the war outside. Everyone snapped to the open channel at once.
“They blew the Skyline Ringway dome,” Little White hissed, scanning a translucent HUD that unfolded over her eyes.
Bit drew his blade and headed for the door. “Then we go out and butcher them.”
Bubbles rose with his halberd. Little White and Merc surged after.
“Back. All of you.” The Gentleman’s command cracked like a whip.
They stopped. Returned.
“Sometimes I think I should take lessons from Phantom Forge,” the Gentleman said, anger tight in his jaw. “You never treat my orders as orders.”
He exhaled, forcing himself calm. “They’ve split into five columns and pushed into the underground city. The relief fleet I sent is pinned in the air over the Silverstrand Gobi. Doomsday Fortress is finished. Once Walt’s body is mounted, you break out—together.”
He glanced toward the platform. The transplant was near completion. Then he shrugged off his meticulous suit jacket and stepped into a service cradle himself. Mechanical arms unfolded, and armor plates began to sheath him piece by piece.
Bubbles signed, then spoke, haltingly: “Bubbles…not happy. Doomsday Fortress really can’t hold?”
“Don’t poke Julian right now,” Little White said under her breath. “He’s not happy either.”
“This place…Kelly and I lived here,” Bubbles signed. “All memories are here.”
“How long ago was that?” Little White snapped, forcing brightness into her voice. “Save the nostalgia. Get your halberd ready—this isn’t over yet.”
“Bio-humans have no humanity,” Bubbles signed.
Little White’s eyes flashed. “You—!”
***
[BEEP…BEEP…BEEP]
A status chime pinged: the installation was complete.
The platform’s arms retracted. The ring rotated from horizontal to vertical. When it locked into place, Walt came online.
The sensation of having a body again snapped something into him—confidence, weight, balance. He stepped off the platform like he’d done it a thousand times before in Grayrock’s maintenance bays, and the borrowed chassis felt…right. He lit his ion blade—nearly full charge. A V30 was seated in the leg slot. The laser pistol worked. Internal power read eighty percent.
The Savior had chosen well.
“If somebody told me I’d ever fight shoulder-to-shoulder with an Exiler,” Bit said, circling Walt, “I’d have ripped out its speaker and bolted it to its ass.”
Little White couldn’t help laughing. “Walt, during the fight? Stay far away from Bit.”
“Wei wu she LI mi xe?”
“What’d he say?” Bubbles asked, confused.
“Sorry,” the Gentleman said, already armored and moving. “Forgot to swap your voice module.”
An Avenger arrived carrying an Exiler head. Two minutes later, Walt had a new speaker, new optics, and a fresh faceplate. Fully restored.
The Gentleman waited a beat, listening to the chaos on the channel, then said, “Now. Most of Phantom Forge’s forces have pushed into the underground city. The upper level is thinner. You leave. Take Tunnel N5. I’ve staged ground-effect bikes at the mouth.”
“You aren’t coming?” Walt asked.
“I stay and cover you. There are things here that can’t fall into Phantom Forge’s hands.” He shoved an FBZ pulse rifle into Walt’s grip. “Another of me will be waiting at Twin-Tower Fortress. Move.”
They were ready. Once he gave the word, they flowed out.
Beyond the blast door stretched a short, wide corridor. Two neat ranks of Avengers stood at attention, rifles shouldered.
As they passed, Little White leaned close to Walt and whispered, “Next time you see Julian…don’t call him ‘Savior.’”
“Why?”
“‘Savior’ is a Plando slur. They started using it after humanity died—just to mock him for ‘failing.’ Got it?”
Walt ran the definition in his mind, then nodded. “Understood.”
At the corridor’s end waited a freight elevator. They piled in and rose.
When the doors opened, they were on the underground city’s top tier, inside a cramped storefront that opened onto a narrow alley. The exit was so well hidden Walt would’ve missed it if he didn’t know to look. They vaulted to the rooftops and moved toward the Skyline Ringway.
From above, firefights flared across the city—muzzle flashes, explosions, smoke. Julian repeated the same order again and again on the open channel: do not get dragged into street battles.
Wherever they went, Tower Clan units surged out to meet Plando forces, throwing themselves into the fight to mask the team’s movement.
Soon they reached the Skyline Ringway. The great dome above it had collapsed into a jagged hole. Below, the central park was buried under rubble and fallen plating—along with the Tower cedar that had stood there.
Through the breach, Plando robots rappelled down on cables. Bloodthirsters crawled over the rim and into the depths. Even Devastator tanks were lowered on cranes.
Father’s signal web blanketed the area. Walt couldn’t feel it anymore—and even though he’d expected that, the absence made him want to laugh.
Beyond the Ringway there was no more Tower Clan cover. They hunkered behind a low rooftop barrier, let a handful of Bloodthirsters scuttle past overhead, then slipped around the Ringway and cut into a side street.
This street was shorter. It ended fast—at a square plaza with no rooftops left to hide on.
And the plaza was ugly: Plando units clustered thick, two hundred at least. On the far side, a ramp rose to the upper level, and more robots kept streaming down it.
A staging point.
But the plan required that ramp.
Julian’s voice came over the public channel. “You at the North Sector plaza?”
“Here,” Bit answered.
“Enemy count?”
“Some. Not much.”
“If it’s under fifty, handle it. More than that, detour through the northwest access tunnel.”
“Roger, Julian.”
Walt, at the rear, opened his mouth to ask how to find the detour—
And then Bit climbed to the highest edge of the roofline, drew the shimmering 2D Blade, and bellowed into the plaza.
“Phantom Forge! Open your dog eyes and watch—watch me carve your trash one by one!”
He jumped.