The craftsman and gun experts of The Sparks’ workshops adored searching for beat-up and thrown-away expensive parts in the giant ring of slums near it. Klitch’s crew, the Hoods of Centercity, had joined the scavenging as well and with the help of all their contacts, created Vinny.

Vinny was a fashion statement--he wore a red coat unlike the usual brown--a multitasking genius, and most importantly of all, a robot. The Hoods outfitted him with countless hidden weapons, tools and scanners. The red coat covered his blocky, wire-covered body. Scarves and a hobo’s hat hid most of his face and gloves eliminated any suspicions that his hands might in fact not be hands, but laserguns.

Klitch jogged to a toppled vending machine in the Rusty Levita and grabbed himself a black can of Heart Throbber. He cracked it open, took a big sip then handed it to Tenner.

Earthy bitterness flooded his tongue, sweetness washed it off before freezing his mouth. That was one hell of a journey of flavor.

“Vinny can fulfill whatever command a bandit in a Centercity parking lot could even fathom to order,” Klitch said. “If he fails, which is very possible considering the shit we made him from, no one will die. Maybe a bit of my soul because I spent hours and hours on it, but that can be replenished. A life cannot.”

What a weird way to think…

“Not only your soul, Klitch,” Gibby spoke up. “I banged together the thing’s head.”

“Then I crammed the scanner in place of his face, the cassettes in place of the left side of his brain and the--”

“CHEKscan in place of his right half. Thing has more in its head than most people I’ve come by.” Gibby laughed.

“CHEKscan?” Tenner should’ve known what that was, but couldn’t pinpoint it.

“The scanner that accesses a person’s CHEK. Shops use them for transactions, Realms use them for entrances, scammers use an expensive version of them that accesses a CHEK without a person’s permission, and we use them to have a quick and easy way to program a homemade robot,” Klitch explained.

“He ever work before this job of yours?”

“Not really. Vinny’s first task was to scan the points of the Harvest building I marked before bumping into you. He can see through walls and made sure what we need is where we need it to be.”

An iffy feeling crawled in Tenner. He couldn’t trust a robot. And one that hadn’t ever been tested before? Absolute madness! The bandits even said it themselves -- awful parts made it up. During a break-in of such risk, banking everything on such a robot was a terrifying, idiotic risk. At the same time, he knew, the bigger the risk, the bigger the prize.

“In an hour, Vinny will run around the building, spraying lasers everywhere then barge inside and cause the biggest commotion he can. Everyone’s attention, including the Blogogos’, will be taken. That’s when we get in through the back.”

Almost every bandit in the world has used a variation of this method. Simply put, it works. Yet Klitch seemed to like switching things up.

“A minute after the shitstorm begins, the rest of the crew will run in, pretending to be guards. They’ll neutralize poor Vinny, get witness reports and hopefully not trigger the Blogogos. By the time they’ll be done, you, Tenshot, me and Gibby, will have collected the loot we deserve. And we’ll be halfway back here -- the perfect rendezvous.”

It should go well, but there’s no extra time, just in case something bad happens, Tenner thought. But it won’t. Not if it depends on me -- it’s impossible for me to mess up.

“As you see, the plan is so simple I didn’t even plan for anything to go wrong,” Klitch said, almost as if reading Tenner’s thoughts. “I’m not an idiot to expect nothing to go wrong, but I believe you’ll be able to deal with any possible trouble on the spot. Anything nagging your question bone?”

“How much do we get paid?” A bandit who’d pretend to be a guard spoke up.

“I already said when you’ll get paid and how much. We all get the same share. Except for Tenshot over here. He’s got his own little quest.”

“More than a little quest,” Tenner said under his breath. “A matter of life and death.”

“Oh, a matter of life and death?” Gibby rubbed his palms. “Haven’t been in one of those since forever ago! Mind sharing this matter?”

“I don’t know if I can trust you -- if I do, I could die.”

“Imagine us, planning one of the biggest jobs of our life and some random wanders into a place no one ever wanders into. And we accept him with open fucking arms. That’s some trust we, or at least Klitch, have in you. Be nice to see some from you… Tenshot.”

Tenner gave the interested bandits a rundown of his journey so far. They quietened down. Everyone focused on each of his words. When he finished, the bandits remained quiet for a while.

“So, Tenshot… Though we’re not paying you, how much that Chisel is?” Gibby put his chin on his fist.

“I don’t know if I--”

“Trust!” Gibby snapped.

“A few hundred credits.”

Klitch stomped the empty can of Heart Throbber. “Unfortunate. Everyone get ready -- I’ll be making sure everything’s fine with our star.”

“Can you believe it?” Gibby said. “This is it. A heist we’ve planned for weeks and weeks!”

He’s acting like a drummer in front of a guitar, Tenner thought and said. “Everything’s gonna go perfect. It does feel a little skimmed--”

“Because you are not prepared. You come in here just before we start. You get on Klitch’s good side. And your story is the shadiest fucking thing I’ve heard.” Gibby’s tone changed in an instant. “I’ll trust you because Klitch knows what he’s doing, but really… Do you expect me to believe what you just said?”

“Watch your--”

“There're collectively at least 250 bounties between us. We’ve gotten on the bad side of pretty much everyone in Centercity. Then you, a bounty hunter, come. Now add all those things up. Tell me what you got.”

“You think that some mastermind you wronged sent me to kill you.”

“Finally, something from your mouth that I don’t doubt.” Gibby took a deep breath. “Want me to believe you? Steal me something valuable. Kill somebody. Or just admit the truth.”

How tired I am of people telling me what to fucking do. Tenner stood up and stretched. His fingers slipped under his belt and unsheathed his axe. He swung it and grinned. “Don’t know about that stealing part, but killing I’m not against--”

A toilet in the middle of the levita lot fell over, shaking the ground. Tenner jumped, almost chopping Gibby in half. A head poked out of the hole under the toilet. The face was dirty, like the smoke fuming around it, and it unleashed a spree of coughs.

“Pissdungeon,” Gibby said calmly. “And our head craftsman -- Laddo.”

Tenner eased a little. His confusion only intensified.

“Screw this box and its mother!” Laddo growled laying on the ground. “Never again in my life!”

“Go ahead, wanderer Tenshot.” Gibby tapped Tenner’s back. “Wander into the Pissdungeon.”

Gulping, Tenner walked up to Laddo. “What’s going on?”

“A conspiracy. The worms… The worms! They’re messing with my work” The craftsman sat up and fixed the dirty goggles over his hair. “The world hasn’t seen anything like my box before, but that fool Klitch has abused me into working in the worst place for science there is.” He crawled into the hole under the toilet. “Therefore it seems it’ll never be finished. Come on into the Pissdungeon, Tenshot, I require a helping hand.”

The smell of urine radiated three meters from the Pissdungeon. Got an hour to burn. Tenner clenched his nose and followed in. Might as well do it in the name of science.

Pipes went along the dirt walls full of tiny holes. At the end of the cramped hole, a table with a briefcase stood. Laddo tapped it.

“The box. It shall change combat forever. Or at least until the second version comes.” He focused on a hole in the wall and punched it. “But these damn worms keep playing with me.”

“Want me to take care of them?”

“Might as well. I need to focus and think of a way to fix this.” Laddo pressed a button on the handle. The briefcase started opening. A gear sprung out, a wire ripped and the thing closed.

“Crafting is awful. No wonder you lost your mind from it.”

Tenner flung, squished and crushed the hordes of worms in the holes.

“Trust me, my mind is tight inside my head. It’s the ability to let others see it that has left me! Now, for the love of science, let me focus.” Laddo tinkered with different tools. He tested the briefcase. It fell apart. He brought the parts back together and tried again.

The worms’ attack eased and Tenner took a closer look at the compressed mechanisms inside the briefcase. They boggled his mind, but the patterns they followed were clear.

A worm slid down his leg. He stomped it and asked, “Tried testing the box with the mechanisms open?”

“I need silence!” Laddo snapped. “Yes, I have!”

“Tried untying the gear and the wire?”

“That connection is important, damnit.”

“Tried replacing the gear?”

“This is the fourth replacement already!”

“And did you try something apart from a gear?”

“Silence or I shove a gear--” Laddo’s face glowed. “Ass…” He grabbed a tool and muttering “ass”, tinkered with the briefcase.

My presence alone brings genus ideas--

“Get back here you dumbass!” Klitch’s voice sounded above.

Laddo didn’t register a sound, lost in the mechanisms.

Tenner patted his shoulder, clambered out of the Pissdungeon and shared confused glances with Gibby. Then, they both turned to the source of the chaos.

“Change of plans!” Klitch grabbed a long-barrel laserpistol and ran out of the levita. “I accidentally activated Vinny’s routine! We’re starting now!”

Gibby seemed flustered too. No held-back-laugh energy in the air. This was real.

Tenner gripped his axe and shot after the leader of the Hoods. The confused bandits behind him jumped into their guard uniforms as fast as they could whilst Gibby followed Tenner with a canvas bag flapping off his back.

Beyond alleys, in the streets, Klitch left a trail of obscenities, chasing Vinny. As they turned left, a group of Kristus’ cronies, led by a Priest’s Eye came into view. In a moment, Tenner went over countless explanations that it wasn’t him they were staring at.

FUUUUUUUUUCK. He turned back.

The glowing blue cross slammed his chest.

[Warning! Damage: -40 to health]

Tenner crashed into a wall and Kristus let a smile slip. Shards covered the ground. A cloud of dust blocked the entrance to the alley. Tenner crawled backwards, slicing his palms. He couldn’t catch a breath. His chest was paralyzed. Blue light entered the fog of dust.

Tenner struggled to his feet. Gibby grabbed him by the shoulders.

“It’s on -- no turning back!”

“And I’m not turning back!” Tenner spoke through a tight throat. “I’ll find an... alternate path there. You’ll see me where I have to be when I need to be!”

Gibby’s eyes narrowed. Tenner kept looking over his own shoulders: now, the dust was engulfed in blue. A second and the cross would emerge.

“Trust!” Tenner spat Gibby’s words back at him.

The bandit’s fists let go. In a flash, there was nothing but air where Tenner had been held.

***

A chunk disconnected from Harvest’s white wall. It crashed and the ground rumbled. Klitch and Gibby carefully stepped through the rubble and stopped inside. One more tremor resonated through the ground.

“Run!” Tenner stopped a few meters ahead and caught his breath. “The path I took let me see a Blogogo from up close-- too close!”

Klitch gripped his laserpistol. “That means--”

The blogogo landed in the hole in the wall, roaring.

“That we have even less time!”

The bandits ran to the right side offices while Tenner took a straight path past dead cubicles, wire-covered machines and holograms, warning of an intrusion at the entrance. If he hadn’t mixed up north with south, he had to just run to make it to the warehouse.

But at the end was a wall-wide window with a view into a dark ravine, dividing the office from the warehouse.

I’ll find who built this place and hang them myself. Tenner banged on the glass. Then he noticed a skywalk on the second floor led over the gap.

He stopped beating, searching for a path up. The glass kept shaking. Not good, unless Tenner wanted to get torn apart by a Blogogo. He ran to the stairwell up. Leaping behind, the Blogogo toppled tables and chairs. No need for grace -- one of its furniture ravaging jumps equalled Tenner’s twenty steps.

A lasergate guarded the entrance to the stairwell.

[Sign: Please use the emergency exits]

The elevator was in the Blogogo’s path of destruction and emergency exits -- nowhere to be seen.

Tenner cursed, equipping his axe. His mind cleared, anger instead of fear flowing through his veins. How do I destroy it?

Alarms started blaring from the ceiling. They were louder than the creature’s crashes, then the same volume, then quaint in comparison.

Tenner swung. And spun. The axe chopped into the laser emitters. The gate dimmed, but the air around them was still hot. It wouldn’t be enough to pass. The Blogogo did not care -- it threw itself at Tenner. He dropped out of its way, pushing the axe into the lasergate, and crawled after it. Enough for my axe to hold back.

As the creature regained its balance, he was half-way through the gap, the axe under him red from soaking up the beams of death.

Then, for a moment, he swam.

What? This is like a concrete canal -- I move, but I’m not going anywhere. He let go. And the Blogogo reeled him back. His clothes tore. The axe slid off the gate.

Tenner clawed, kicked and growled. The Blogo ignored each of his glorious attacks of desperation. Certainly, he had to change his approach. By the time the creature pulled him up, he had the red-hot axe in his grip.

In his vision, someone stood on a podium, lifting a massive trophy. The sight disappeared. Realizing, Tenner swung the axe over his head. Blood sprayed, refreshing his hair with a little crimson rain. He tried chopping again, but the Blogogo threw him at the wall.

He crashed into its outline, opening more cracks. Tearing wires. Flickering the lasergate.

The Blogogo roared and punched. He dodged some and embraced others. He tried figuring out its pattern. But its rage kept it from following any clear rules. Some of the lasers started cutting out.

Battered like a bad scammer, Tenner danced around the Blogogo. The axe in his left poorly blocked any of its attacks. Stopping in front of the gate, he almost stumbled in.

The Blogogo’s fists were red from slamming into the wall. It stared at them. The injuries had to have taken dozens off its health. And it was furious. In fact, its rage could only be compared to the heat on Tenner’s back.

The creature unleashed a jab that was a projectile of certain death, hundreds of damage points crammed into a few dozen square centimeters.

Tenner faced it unflinching.

Death centimeters off his nose, he jumped where the Blogogo wouldn’t ever think -- back into the lasers.

[Warning! Damage: -3 to health] [3x]

The pain of hot rods piercing in half struck every part of Tenner’s body and he landed on his knees, clenching his jaw. This is nothing more than a mosquito bite. Under the pain of the radio turning off in the middle of a killer song, he faced the Blogogo’s fist. The creature pushed it farther. Its wail loudened with every centimeter then something snapped in its mind and it backed off.

Tenner laughed. Come on, don’t give up, bring me more! I survived a surprise priest attack, a Blogogo and deadly lasers! After mocking the creature, he contemplated hurrying to his target, but came to a simple conclusion -- his intelligence was vastly superior to the Blogogo’s.

It would need hours to figure out what he did in a split second.

As usual, the laser-induced agony lasted less than a minute. Tenner was left out of breath and uncomfortable from dust, covering every centimeter of his skin.

He strolled through Harvest’s second floor.

The desks here on the second formed a target in whose middle a hologram levitated. Machines, like massive microchips, were on the tables along with the typical stacks of papers. Some of the machines had small windows on their sides, robotic hands and inventions inside. Some shone small replicas of the holograms in the floor’s middle and attracted Tenner’s attention. He leaned over one such desk. Under the replica, blueprints with detailed descriptions covered the table. The sketches’ complexity boggled even his great mind and tingled his instincts.

Then the papers started to glow in Tenner's eyes, like long lost polaroids proving civilization's existence hundreds of years ago. And they could be heard, calling. Tenner snatched and shoved them into his pocket then glanced at the hologram coming out of an odd machine.

It visualized a walking person. Besides that person, a figure with CHEK Extensions, which had designs Tenner hadn’t ever seen, ran with incredible speed.

A second hologram from the other side of the device showed a giant building with tiny red figures going into it, taking out blue boxes and running away. To the side of that example was a building with massive guns on each of its sides. Those weapons evaporated the red figures.

Chills running down his back, Tenner pulled his gaze away and returned on his way to the skywalk.

There were plenty of secrets Centercity kept tightly locked. Harvest was as evil as Kristus, just mastered the not-starting-a-mass-murdering cult part the priest ignored. Certainly, countless other high-rises were as fucked up.

Tenner had to loot every last corner of this place, turn it into a blessing, before his hunt to rid the world of evil evaporated its every last molecule.

I wonder who’ll try to stop me. No police or laws. Maybe Centercity has its own, like it has the guards at the entrance?

A meter in front of him, a chair splattered. How dare it interrupt his thinking? And since when do chairs fall from the sky? Instinctively, the axe appeared in his hands. He stood tall, ready to finish the Blogogo off. Then it came into view. Not leaping and crushing all in its wake, but rocketing and annihilating.

Its roar out-screamed the alarm. Something whispered into Tenner’s ear, “you should fold” and he listened, hiding under a table.

The Blogogo slammed into where he’d stood, it panted, it dripped with blood and it searched.

Tenner decided the opposite and stopped breathing whatsoever. Tables lifted from the floor around him. Change of plan again, he decided, crumpling a blueprint, and tossed it. The faint sound attracted the Blogogo’s attention.

Yes, it was also staring at its landing spot.

In a flash, Tenner’s roof disappeared. Bloody hands gripped him. He threw his axe up, shaking the creature’s jaw and carried his ass to the skywalk. The monolithic crevasse, unlit and unfurnished-- a fall to someone’s death if someone misstepped on the skywalk without any barriers--was incredible to view from above.

The state of emergency separated the skywalk by three meters from each part of Harvest. Tenner jumped onto the hovering walkway--it rattled--and in one step, bounced off. He wouldn't make it to the warehouse. But his axe did. Holding on, he clambered up.

Honestly, I’m really great at not falling to my death. But I underrated that Blogogo’s brain -- it really hit some high notes.

Eyes wide, he scoured for something to block the path. At the same time, the Blogogo was jumping onto the skywalk, its tongue down to its legs. Then its face crashed into a metal shelf, went sour and fell down from the walkway, slamming into the bottom of the ravine between warehouse and office.

Tenner inspected the creature, breathing through the adrenaline rushing in his veins. Close call. The shelf is way too heavy -- who dared make it like that?!

[Name: Tamed Blogogo

HP: 21]

[Non-C creature]

Still alive? It’s certainly following my example of falling from the sky.

With the Blogogo dazed and injured on the ground, Tenner took his time pushing the now bent metal shelf down.

It rattled then, as it crashed, screws and rods of steel flew everywhere. Blood splattered. Lots and lots of blood. A pond of crimson formed on the ground while the walls of the crevasse dripped with it. Quite a gnarly sight.

The upper half of the warehouse was a highway of interconnecting metal walkways. Tenner leaned on the railing of one, scanning the fastest way down to the floor with all the goodies. Between the Sections, levitating platforms with the letters “KRK” floated, moving inventory. Kirks, he would call them.

Got it.

A path connected in Tenner’s vision.

The walkway under his feet shook. He fell, tore pipes and wires hunting for something to hang on, and a centimeter from death, grappled back up. Another emergency pain in the ass, he realized. The walkways had all shifted.

He quickly found a new path and ran. It moved under his feet. Again, he almost fell to his death. Minutes passed and he wasn’t any closer to the floor. He needed a new approach: he leaned on the railing, found a path and tossed his whole body over it.

Mid-air, the awful memories associated with falling froze Tenner. The way under him shifted. He landed and adrenaline hammered its way into every nerve. This is pretty fun! He jumped and jumped, sometimes not looking where he fell.

His instincts took the wheel. In a minute, he was sliding off a mountain of crates to the floor. One box opened and a backpack fell out. He snatched it--it’d be perfect for storing weapons--and walked towards Section 80.

His foot stood in a laser.

The hum and buzz of the Kirks silenced and for a moment, the far-off office alarms seemed louder than ever. The floating platforms broke apart into cube shaped robots and split up. Out of each of their surfaces, a laser beam emitted. One flew straight at Tenner. He hid behind a wall of crates and the Kirk flew past.

Having to sneak around scorched the remains of the little time he had. But his XP count crawled up. And [True Sneakiness] levels skyrocketed. By the time Section 80 appeared, he thought, well, at least this is as easy as killing a hobo.

But how in the world will I find Chisel’s supplies?

The Section was a capital of barrels. Tenner scratched the back of his head, wandering past the stacks. Something banged inside a green, exoskeleton reinforced, one. It tipped over. That’s it, Tenner thought, rounding up all of the green barrels.

A swarm of Kirks was circling him and one flew at him, the light of its scanner searching for his face. His left covered his face and his right slapped the snitch right out of the air. The others kept circling, but none approached.

Tenner turned back to the goodies. How would he get this half-ton out of here and to The Bars? He thought and growled, and clenched his fists, and grabbed his axe. The Kirks were making it ten times harder and deserved to die.

He used the rage to chop open the barrels and shove the Gerophoras--green, tiny, mouthless slimes--into the backpack he’d picked up. I’ll be gracious and sacrifice my loot. The Gerophoras protested while the wheat that was crammed in afterwards remained calm.

Tenner put the overweight bag on his back. Its contents kicked him several times before calming down. His hands wiped his axe’s blade, eyes scanned for the stairs up to the floating walkways above the warehouse while his legs put him on the move.

It was time to leave. Tenner wouldn’t, of course. Klitch trusted him and got him inside: he, out of all the people, deserved Tenner’s respect the most.