Chapter 12
The ship trembled as it broke through the station's entry barrier. A deep, grinding sound echoed through the hull as metal scraped against metal. The view outside the cockpit turned from open sky to endless shadow.
Ark leaned against the console and looked out the window. "You ever land inside an asteroid before?"
Tina grinned faintly. "Not one that smells like a junkyard."
A thick hiss filled the air as the airlock sealed behind them. The doors opened, releasing a wave of hot, stale air that smelled like oil, rust, and burnt metal. The light was dim, flickering between red and orange. Far above, sparks of welding torches dotted the dark ceiling like stars.
They stepped out into The Forge.
The world inside the hollow asteroid was a maze of platforms, cables, and suspended walkways. Ships in various states of ruin hung from cranes like broken ornaments. The air vibrated with the clanging rhythm of machinery.
A voice came through the loudspeaker above the docking bay. "Welcome to The Forge. Remember—scrap is life, air is rent, and payment is due upfront."
Tina snorted. "Charming place."
They followed a walkway that curved along the wall. Below them, the Scrap-Fields stretched endlessly—heaps of old ship hulls, tangled pipes, and flickering neon signs that barely worked. People moved through the maze like ants, welding, carrying parts, shouting over the noise.
Every breath was heavy. The recycled air carried the sharp tang of ozone. Ark pulled up his collar. "How do people live here without coughing metal?"
"They don't," Tina replied. "They just stop noticing."
They passed a rusted sign reading "The Rusty Bolt Inn." The building leaned against a tower of scrap, half of it built from an old freighter hull. Faded lights flickered above the doorway.
Inside, the noise softened to a dull hum. The air smelled like alcohol and soldering smoke. Behind the counter stood a man with a cybernetic eye and arms that clicked when he moved.
"Rooms?" he grunted.
Ark nodded. "Two."
"Payment upfront." The innkeeper slid a small mana siphon across the counter.
Ark placed his hand on it. A sharp pull ran through his arm, and the siphon glowed blue. The display blinked: 100 MP deducted. His chest tightened for a moment before his mana settled.
The man grinned. "Welcome to the Bolt."
Their rooms were tiny metal cubes with hammocks instead of beds. The walls shook every few minutes as machines outside roared to life.
Ark sat on the edge of the hammock. "Peaceful."
Tina chuckled. "You call this peaceful?"
"It's the first room we've had that isn't moving," he said.
A sudden crash echoed from downstairs, followed by shouting. Tina's ears twitched. "That didn't sound like peace."
They rushed back to the bar. A group of rough-looking men had cornered a smaller worker. The leader—a tall brute with hydraulic arms and scars down his jaw—grabbed the worker by the collar.
"Pay your air fee, scrap-rat!" the brute shouted.
The worker's voice cracked. "—I paid yesterday!"
The brute raised a metal fist. Before he could swing, Tina stepped forward.
"Let him go," she said. Her tone was calm, but her tail flicked once, sharp as a whip.
The brute turned, his grin full of rusted teeth. "And who's asking? A pretty thing like you should be careful where she sticks her nose." He reached for her chin.
Tina didn't move. She caught his wrist, twisted it hard, and slammed his head into the table. The sound echoed through the bar. The man dropped like a stone.
The rest of the gang roared in anger. One swung a wrench at Ark. He sidestepped easily, grabbed the man's arm, and kicked the back of his knee. The thug went down with a crash.
Another charged with a chain, while a third swung a jagged piece of pipe at Tina. She ducked low, swept the first man's legs out from under him, then used his falling body to knock the second into a table. Both crumpled in a heap.
The last thug hesitated, clutching a sparking baton. He jabbed at Tina, forcing her to back off. Ark saw his chance. He flipped the nearest table upright, blocking the next strike. Electricity cracked against the metal surface.
He focused. Status. Ten unused stat points flashed before his eyes. Without hesitation, he dropped Three into Strength. Power surged through his arms like heat.
He pushed the table forward with a shout, slamming the baton-wielding back into the wall. Tina vaulted over the table and landed a clean kick to the man's jaw. He hit the floor hard, baton rolling from his hand.
The fight was over in less than a minute.
The bar fell silent. The other patrons stared at them with a mix of fear and awe.
The brute, Rork, groaned and sat up, blood on his lips. He glared at Ark and Tina. "You're both dead," he rasped. "The Rust Hounds own this place. You'll never leave the Forge alive."
He spat a tooth onto the floor, then staggered away with his gang.
Tina brushed dust off her sleeve. "Friendly locals."
Ark sighed. "We're going to have a long night."
They went back to their room. The station's dull hum filled the silence between them.
"You think that gang runs the place?" Ark asked.
"Maybe," Tina said. "Or maybe someone lets them. This place feels controlled, like someone profits from every mess."
Ark lay back on the hammock, staring at the metal ceiling. "We'll deal with it tomorrow."
Outside, the lights of the Forge flickered, painting the walls red and gold. Somewhere deep in the metal maze, machines roared to life again, feeding the endless hunger of the scrapyard city.