Escalation wore down with the tick of the clocks on the wall. Night illuminated with the orange dusk forthcoming in the far east. Despite this, Lena could not see it. She remained in that dingy little basement seated on a stool opposite to the charging droid. What took her focus was her neuragear's calibration on her optical units as well as ordering replacement skate augmentations; her bow was in perfect condition as well.
Alone with thought as your companion, that drew out the inner demons from the mind, "Ah…..how did I end up in this mess," breath left her lips. Easy was it to complain about the situation, however, she wasn't the one missing limbs. Hours after and the nanomachines within Dynamo were still sealing wounds; working slowly from the lack of danger. The pod he rested in also took measurements on his internals. Lena couldn't help but stare in that hole of cold iron and bundles of wires around his frame. Nerves and bones. "If you slimmed down those legs a bit, you'd probably look human…"
Dynamo's sensors picked up on something. Power was nearing full charge. He switched on to meet the unknown. Shadows pierced through a needle of light, his eyes opened and head lunged forward, "Ah you sonnuva-" the piercing tone that greeted him was all too familiar. Lena stood backing away from him with nose in hand, "Why did ya do that for!?" she snorted out blood.
"Well, why were you watching me sleep!? My systems picked you up as an unknown entity" Dynamo defended his actions, "You know how archaic I am-I don't have some state-of-the-art tech in me," he huffed.
"Wha-you're literally a CC unit! You should have some better integrations even from when you were created! Look at the CC2 and CC6 units," Lena pointed out the advanced states of the Seapavers and Gauntletbombers, more advanced than some machines today.
"Yeah and? Lady you're forgetting I'm made from scrap metal," he pointed out the other pages of the history book. The straps keeping him down were released as he tugged the charger free of his neck. "All the prototypes got the worst metal….ironic how we survive the longest…"
Dynamo gulped, his uranium reserves were still low. On his feet it was difficult for a moment, staggering to the draw closest to Lena. He didn't hesitate opening it, revealing a sealed case within. Unlocked with a retinal scan of its owner to reveal a trove never meant for public eyes. Passed down by very few, a thing like this would sell for hundreds of millions alone, "Hmm? What's that?" Lena's attention swapped to the thing slattered across the table.
Blueprints marked with three sigils. Dyson's magnet, Destria's badger, and the 'alliance' joint symbol were on the top of the map, "Combat Construct blueprints," a glint behind Dynamo's eye just saying the name, "I just have a copy of myself though," he only removed the print for his missing limb with the rest locked away like the treasure they were. "I need to galvanize my insides before I install this new limb."
A jack of all trades was this rogue unit. A fighter, a criminal, a scientist, and now a mechanic working with that he could. His scrapped limb would be torn of wire and melted. Gritty yes, but Kosmik was scarce as of late. Lena decided to leave the workshop and return upstairs for the time being, she didn't need to peek in those prints, "I'll be upstairs if you need me," she hailed out beforehand. With a wave, Dynamo set her off and went to work.
On the couch she stayed, turning on the television with sounds of grinding and sparks accompanying her in the background. Sawing and steaming made it difficult to hear the news, but it was mostly the disaster that was last night. However, among the dumb articles was one report about Lena's hometown.
"The strange occurrence in the city of mandaly continues, reaching the seven day mark where reports of large volumes of chum surface the bay. Smells are reportedly so vile that owners of seafront property and retiring to the city. Tourism is at an all-time low due to the stench on these barren shores, not to mention the effects on the fishing community. Divers are refusing to work and fishermen who do go out to sea hardly see any reward for their work. Scientists are working on detecting a source however the droids sent for research never resurface, if they do it's with the sludge and in a state of disrepair and unreadable. As time passes and more is being researched, many are left speculating what lurks in the depths of these daimon-riddled seas. Who knows what's in store for the seafaring city."
Mandaly was at a loss and so was Lena. Her uncle never alerted her to these issues last they spoke...the picture alone was horrifying to see. The sea is meant to be blue, not a scene of red and pink chunks dangling and bobbing within. Made anyone who saw it sick to their stomach. Downstairs at work Dynamo listened to the same report on the radio; the words brought back nostalgia of the things he saw. He shook his head and carried on work. An investigation was what he did, while his charging pod printed a new arm for him in the side pocket.
Upon his desk was that mysterious gear drive, concealed within his chest cavity now on his desk. Tools poke and disassembled the device which held a sleeping beast, "Shit...just as he said," internals were fried beyond compare; every aspect of the interior was busted beyond belief. His head hurt looking at it. "Where...did I see you before?"
Days of years gone by were too much for his old mind….something of this new age needed to take it over, "Hey can you come down here for a bit?" he called out for the one upstairs, "What's with the situation going on in Mandaly?" swift were his hands to disguise the gear among the drawers of scrap. Lena was at the base of the stairs soon enough.
"Being honest...I don't know. I need to ask my uncle-he's an oyster farmer so he should know about the whole thing. I'll need to ask him when he gets up," she was at a loss. First Giganto and now tragedy befell this other location...what hell was to come.
"Do me a favor, please," Dynamo plead heard by his guest, "There's a market a few blocks away, can you stop by and get me some oil for these old bones?" his hands came together for a little prayer pointed at her with a smile. She rolled her eyes; her thoughts on this district were the same as his. "Come on, please? They won't sell me. If they ask pretend like you don't know me."
"Wha- how come?" her eyes narrowed with a collection of drams from him for the oil. Bad blood was rich in slums like these, nothing new. Dyson's dog was certainly a magnet to that bad ire. At this hour the criminal minds were still active...she needed to look out for him until he was back at full capacity. A final complaint before snatching the coin, "Whatever, I'll be right back."
A chuckle escaped the robot. Lena turned heel and headed to the outside world of a retrograde block. Scrapyard Central, grave of machines for the mounds of scrap piled on the perimeters…..the location's namesake. Hardly people moved into the location or moved out..that's just how things were in this chunk cut out of time. A foreigner in these streets got snuffed out in seconds. Thin streets meant the crowds would thicken, and oh boy, they were getting thick. Numerous people were headed to the central square.
It was a completely different location with the sun up. Wooden stalls were set up around the fountains with cloth roofs. Facing away from the ones set up around the fountain were more sellers in the corners of the block leaving only the roads untouched. Loud were the cries of people who sought the best deals among what was sold. S.C's market was the typical type if any.
Fruits and meats among the occasional mechanical salesman of oil and metals. Some even sold fuel for plasma weapons and billet sheets. Raucous were the people who stopped and made idle chats with the salespeople. Common courtesy and keeping up ties...for ties were more valuable than gold. Lena didn't have time to chat. Her eyes were on the crude oil in the center of the block right in front of the fountain of their god piercing the heavens with the Red Rig. A harsh man was the owner of the goods, steel embedded into his bald head and stout neck. Glassy lenses for eyes and a right arm with exterior spring muscles, "Alright good to see ya again" he spoke with a voice elegant as glass on sandpaper to the man in front of her.
Canned oil was cheap like water, just ten drams and a case was yours. Or so Lena believed. The man before paid the same amount, "Gimme a case," she requested. Immediately the seller's face changed, warped by loathing. Slow he was to getting the box right beside him with a grunt.
"Look how to speak to people, kid," he educated, "There, twenty drams," he spat on the ground. The disrespect made Lena rest her arm on the table. Eyes met in the middle inches away.
"Oi, what's with the price hike?" her voice dropped; bow at the ready to spring, "I saw the last guy get off with ten? What you selling me gold-infused oil or something?" her chin pointed out in an expression described only as wrath.
The android scratched his nose and a loud yawn followed, "Kid are you blind or somethin'? Got to charge for all the effort-labor in lifting and all that" gold and rust-colored teeth glimmered from the morning glow. "Besides I need to do the currency conversion and all that.
"Oh? You gotta charge me for you being a lazy ass?" Lena was too far gone. "And what conversion you got?"
"Oh? You didn't know?" the seller was in shock, holding his chest and looking around dazed. His fingers tapped the desk before leaning in closer, "Don't think we don't have eyes, we know where ya from. Dyson dog money's worth less than the real thing," few words were all it took for both to be at a wit's end. His laughter stopped once heat met the end of his tongue, materialized from the ends of her finger matching that glow behind her eyes. "Ah come on hun take a joke! It's too early for us to wipe another Dyson dog."
Scrapyard Central was by far one of the most terrible locations in the globe for the hivemind of criminals. When a blade was pointed at one, they all took aim as they did now using concealed firearms hidden amongst their limbs. Not a soul didn't stare down this poor woman...but she wasn't back down either, "Go ahead I dare ya," her bow sprung to action. The lines were different, the ends pointed out with the criss-cross looped about. Arrows now aimed at three more in the crowd, "Cause half of you'll die before I do."
Tension continued to rise from disrespect. Another looked on from their roof from afar munching on leftovers, "Those anger issues are worse than I thought," he cringed. A tap of his head sent a message to her neuragear. A ping in Lena's ear.
Don't cut your life short and drop it.
A demand from Dynamo. She turned around and looked, seeing nobody in the distance, "Come on now...we're waiting," everyone pestered her own. She felt blood clotting in her forehead. Those dumb issues took a hold of her again, the bow retracted. Her arrows returned to non-existence. Their firefight came to an end, but the blaze behind those eyes never vanished once the money was set on the counter and oil set over her shoulders. "Somebody throw some salt when she goes."
Oh, how furious was she in the walk of shame; steam exited her ears and nostrils. Crude were the eyes that followed her in the trek back to the most hated home in the region, "You," she kicked the already open door, "Ugghh."
The crate hit the ground with the contents rolling out, "How the hell do you deal with those losers and not kill 'em?" like the same cans, she rolled upon his couch. Dynamo sat at the base of the stairs, eyes directed away from her. His laughter didn't bode confidence. "I need to pack more heat…"
"Yeah? And I need to buy a thermal bike," he laughed off the interaction, "Funny enough Strider can probably get both…" the custom invention of Ingian, roaring black bikes with heat like magma. Hard to come by since most districts banned the oil god's favorite toy outright. "Just got used to their attitude."
"When you live in a place like this for a decade you realize there are some things you shouldn't get involved in-let them pick fights if they want I won't budge. Though it does get annoying when they bang on my door and run away," a forced heckle accompanied the lecture. "Don't forget what I told you the other night."
Lena scratched her head, "I didn't but….it's dumb," her mind simplified the tone, "Like why do they think they can do that? Someone's gotta put them in their place eventually,"
"And that person is neither you nor me," Dynamo was more focused on his good, packing them in order along the counters keeping one for himself. It was easy to tell that she was still tense from the moment. A knock on the door didn't help whatsoever. "Oh, that's-"
"Jesus it's another one of them isn't it!?" her inner thoughts ruled, "Just leave him alone for one damn moment can't you people find anything better to do!?" the person behind the door probably left already, she remained arguing behind it. "No good rotten losers you deserve to get a bolt up your!-"
She opened the door. Her mouth froze with the figure standing behind it. Shadows were his clothes with a brimmed hat; Deja Vu was on her mind. Except for their face. This was a face the entire world knew. Scarred left eye gone white, pale skin from a lack of sunlight and well aged like the locks of golden hair. On Dynamo's front porch stood the man who held his thumb over the country, Alexander Dyson.