The machine squeezed harder. This time Rip felt certain he had at least cracked some ribs, if not popped one or two altogether.

But still, he held on.

[You have gained a new skill: Unbreakable Will.]

He couldn’t even think about the notification, he just concentrated on staying alive.

A lone horseman pulled his animal to a halt on the street and stared at the scene open-mouthed. The robot ignored him, and kept squeezing the sergeant.

Just as Rip started to seriously wonder how much longer he could last, a huge explosion roared farther down the street, the blast sending shockwaves in all directions and blowing out nearby windows.

The horse backed up in fear, bouncy and nervous. The rider held the reins tight and spoke soothing words, reaching down to stroke the animal’s neck. The animal calmed down but the distant fire reflected in its eyes, creating a deep sense of equine discomfort.

The one-eyed mechanical man turned its head and focused down the street where the fire burned. Servos whirred and it dropped Rip on the ground before clanking off in that direction, spooking the horse once more as its heavy steps pounded over the cobblestones.

Rip sat up on the ground and took a deep, painful breath. He carefully pulled out another health potion, biting the cork and spitting it out before downing the whole thing in one gulp.

The horseman stared at him, wide-eyed. Rip smiled back and waved.

“That was a tight spot, if you know what I mean. He must have thought I was done for. All wrung out or something. Obviously, being enhanced helps when getting squeezed by a giant robot. But I don’t recommend it, regardless.”

He stood and walked over to a rubbish bin, tossing the empty vial in. Then he stretched and twisted, working out some of the kinks left over from the machine’s crushing power. With a final smile and nod toward the horseman, he ran after the robot and the fire burning in the explosion’s aftermath.

Vaguely, Rip heard the distant whistles of patrolmen running toward the scene. He slid to a stop and watched as another robot systematically dug a hole underneath a lamppost.

A previous lamppost on the other side of the street had been uprooted and broken apart, and a massive spout of flame blew out of the ground where it once stood. The pieces came together and he realized what the robots were doing.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see a policeman running up. The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the fire and the other robot helping its partner root up the street.

He turned for a box marked “Police” at the corner, and Rip realized the man intended to call in a report.

“Hey! These things are enhanced. Get the Royal Venture Society out here, as many as they can spare.”

He pulled his badge out of the interspatial wallet and flashed it at the man. A spark of recognition lit up in the officer’s face.

“Tell them there are three black airships up there, too. Someone has marked them with glowing paint, probably the Steel Comet.”

“Aren’t you that—”

“Yes, I am. Now get going!”

The officer turned and jogged over to the call station.

The robots reached down in the hole they had dug and pulled at that moment. Rip heard the wrenching of a lead pipe, and the sudden loud hissing of natural gas flowing out of the hole. They crawled out and walked away, heedless of the damage they left behind.

Rip looked up at the burning lamp as the hissing sounds increased. The resulting explosion knocked him off his feet, blowing trash and cobblestones in a huge circle around the hole.

A booth near the lamppost scattered apart in all directions, planks and plywood flying.

“And tell someone to turn off the gas lines for this entire area!”

The two robots hurried off down the street. Rip raced after them, wondering where the third robot went.

He slid to a stop again near some wooden pieces left behind by the destruction of the booth, and took out the Webley that still had some ammo left.

Aiming carefully in a shooter’s stance, he squeezed off a shot at the back of the last robot’s head. It pinged off in the distance.

Faintly, he could hear the officer on the police phone back at the intersection.

“Yes . . . Yes. No, that was the otherworlder shooting, that sergeant from the papers. Yes, he is with the RVS. Yes, sir. I confirmed, and I saw his badge . . .”

The robot stopped. Rip could barely make out the mark the enhanced bullet left on the round metal at the back of its head.

It turned around, and even at this distance Rip could see it was the one he had damaged earlier.

“You and I have unfinished business. Oh, man. I gotta stop with the puns. But you gotta admit, that one was pretty good.”

The robot ran for him, steps clanking faster.

He aimed carefully at its face, centering on the remaining eye. But the robot put a hand up again and the bullet ricocheted off.

Rip grimaced, trying to remember how many rounds were left in the gun. Then he looked down on the ground at the remains of the booth. In front of him, he saw a large piece of plywood.

He smiled and pulled out a stick of dynamite. He lifted up the flat wood and stuck it underneath, then lit the fuse.

By this time, the robot had nearly closed the distance between them. Rip straightened and carefully backed away from the plywood and the advancing machine, hoping he timed things right.

When the robot reached the plywood, it stepped on it . . . and the dynamite blew up, flipping the bot head over heels like a sprung mousetrap. It lay crumpled on the street, stunned.

Rip ran toward it, pulling the Webley back out. Without pausing, he lined up another shot and blew out the robot’s other eye.

Like a wounded creature, the machine crawled to its hands and knees. Rip lit two more sticks of dynamite. Before it could stand up, he put on a burst of [Vampiric Speed] and rushed forward, sliding the explosives into the head, one for each hole.

He ran back toward the police officer at the call booth as twin explosions blew open the robot’s head.