Dmitri Sokolov’s smug grin was a physical assault. My lungs still burned from the fumes, and the sight of Pasha, bound and terrified, made my decaying soul ache with familiar, grinding fatigue. This was exactly why I hated active engagement. So much effort. So much *standing*. Maksim swayed beside me, gripping his side, his face pale beneath the grime. He was holding himself together by sheer spite, I guessed. He was savoring this, the little cockroach. I had half a mind to just pass out. That sounded far more appealing than any of this. “You really think that’s a choice?” Maksim growled, taking a shaky step forward. His gaze was fixed on Pasha, a terrifying possessiveness in his eyes. He’d probably raze the whole district for that kid now, just to spite Dmitri. Which, honestly, was a bit much. Dmitri chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “Oh, I know it is. You value your reputation, Chernov. You value your *control*. This ledger… it proves you’re a fool. A puppet. And I’m about to prove you’re weak.” He gestured to the colossal war-rig. “You see this beauty? Customized. Special order. One-shot resonance imploder. Set to vaporize anything in a fifty-meter radius. And guess who’s in the bullseye, Maksim?” My eyes narrowed, tracking the primary barrel. It was indeed a beast, built to level small buildings. Standard issue, but this one looked… modified. I’d seen these schematics. Had even *improved* them, back in the day. The core issue with localized imploders was always the resonant feedback. Unless you perfectly tuned the pulse discharge with the engine’s rotational frequency, you risked a catastrophic cascade failure. A rookie mistake, but a common one. I stifled a yawn. “You really shouldn’t have tinkered with the power couplings, Dmitri. Especially not with a standard K-47 motor block.” My voice was flat, bored. I rubbed a speck of dust from my elbow. “It completely throws off the harmonic stabilizers. Amateur.” Dmitri’s smirk faltered. “What are you babbling about, boy? You think a few weeks in Chernov’s gilded cage makes you an expert? I built this monstrosity.” He puffed out his chest. “It’s perfect.” “No, you *didn’t*,” I corrected, shifting my weight, wishing for a stool. “You bought the parts, sure. But I bet you had some poor schmuck from the Vorlag Yards install them. Someone who thinks a wrench is a hammer.” I glanced at Maksim. “Remember that little detour we took? While you were busy having a dramatic internal monologue about dying?” Maksim, who had been tensing for a fight, blinked slowly. “Detour?” “Yeah. When you were practically dragging your feet. I thought, you know, while we were in the general vicinity of *this specific ironclad*, I might as well recalibrate its engine’s resonance dampeners. Just a quick, dirty remote override. Took two minutes.” I shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Never know when a weaponized vehicle might come in handy. Or, you know, backfire in someone’s face.” A hush fell over the courtyard. Dmitri’s men exchanged uneasy glances. Even Pasha, through his gag, seemed to process my words. Dmitri’s face twisted into a snarl of pure disbelief. “You… you’re bluffing! You didn’t have the time! The equipment!” “Oh, I had the time,” I drawled. “And the equipment? Please. This isn’t rocket science, it’s a glorified vacuum cleaner with delusions of grandeur. Besides, keeping my soul from evaporating within the year keeps me motivated. It’s making me less lazy. Annoying, really.” Before Dmitri could formulate a response, he heard a distinct *thunk-whirr* from within the machine's engine compartment. Then a high-pitched whine that escalated rapidly. “What was that?” one of his guards muttered, nervously lowering his rifle. “That,” I explained, pointing lazily, “is the resonant feedback building. See? I told you. Not enough harmonic dampening for the K-47’s output. It’s going to overload.” Dmitri blanched, a sudden panic replacing his smugness. “Fire it! Fire the payload, you idiots!” he shrieked at his crew. “Now!” The chassis shuddered. The whine turned into a piercing shriek. A flash of blinding blue light erupted from the snout—but instead of shooting forward, it pulsed violently, imploding inward. The entire rig bucked like an enraged bull, its armor plates groaning under the immense, misdirected stress. Then, with a deafening *CRUMP*, the localized implosion chamber detonated. Not outward, but *inward*. The front assembly crumpled like a tin can, twisting into a grotesque, compressed mess of mangled steel and sparking wires. Black smoke billowed, reeking of ozone and burnt oil. The explosion sent a shockwave that threw Dmitri and his closest guards backward, tumbling across the concrete like discarded dolls. Dmitri landed hard, his head bouncing off the pavement with a sickening thud. He lay there for a moment, disoriented, blood trickling from his temple. His pristine uniform was shredded, and a look of utter, public humiliation was plastered across his face. His men, who had just been moments away from firing on Maksim, stared at their ruined siege vehicle, then at their disgraced leader. The silence was absolute, broken only by the distant groans of the dying ironclad. It was the perfect moment. Pasha, whose eyes had been fixed on me with dawning understanding, suddenly lurched. A small, crude device—a tangle of copper wire and salvaged battery cells—clattered to the ground from his hand. He’d built it. He’d actually built an EMP. The electronic chains binding him to the frontal armor sparked, then shattered with a series of sharp cracks, falling to the ground in broken links. Freed, Pasha didn't hesitate. He scrambled over the mangled metal, his small legs pumping, his terror-stricken gaze locked on mine. He was running, not from danger, but *to* me. He was going to make it. Dmitri, seeing his last shred of control vanish, let out a guttural roar of pure rage. Blood streamed from his nose and forehead, blinding him in one eye. He staggered to his feet, his hand fumbling at his belt. His fingers closed around a small, red button. A dead-man’s switch. His eyes, now completely deranged, locked onto Maksim, then Pasha, then me. “You think you’ve won?” Dmitri shrieked, his voice raw with fury. “You think you can humiliate me and walk away? I’ll take this whole rotting city with me! Every last brick! Every last dirty *mutant*!” His thumb slammed down. The ground beneath our feet shuddered. Not from a local blast, but from something deeper, a tremor that reverberated through the very foundations of the Kosvarg Foundry district.

The Mechanic's Payback