The Apex Medical Depot’s sterile air curdled with ozone and spent energy. Vex lay crumpled, her cybernetic arm a ruined mess of wires and twisted metal. Rykard stood over her, a dark monolith. His shadow swallowed her small form. “The route,” Rykard’s voice grated. It was a low rumble, a predator’s demand. “Now.” Vex coughed, a wet rattle. Blood flecked her lips. One good eye glared up at him, defiance warring with terror. “You think… you can just waltz in?” Rykard’s foot pressed down, lightly, on her broken arm. A whimper escaped her. “The Pristines. They move supplies. You know the way.” His foot shifted, a fraction heavier. The joint beneath it groaned. “Alright! Alright!” Vex gasped. “Damn you, Spliced brute.” She spat, weakly. “Sector Gamma. The old Skyway Bridge, south of the Obsidian Wastes. They run a resupply every seventy-two hours. Standard convoy. Two armored transports, a scout drone, six grunts. Energy shields. Heavy laser turrets.” Rykard listened, his inner Ethan absorbing every detail, cross-referencing it with forgotten sim data. The Skyway Bridge. A classic choke point. Prime ambush territory. But the defenses. A full Pristine convoy was no joke. He pulled his foot back. Vex sagged, breathing hard. Then, the ground vibrated. A low thrum, deep in the earth, not from the depot’s decaying machinery. It was growing. The steel girders of the collapsed roof rattled. Dust fell from fractured concrete. Vex’s good eye widened. Fear, raw and unmasked, painted her face. “No. Not here. Not now.” “Leviathan,” Rykard rumbled. The sound resonated in his bones. It was closer than he’d thought. Much closer. The thrum intensified into a roaring tremor. A segment of the depot’s wall cracked, showering debris. Rykard’s instincts screamed. *Movement. Escape. Danger.* His Crag-Born body pulsed with a primal urge to bolt. “It’s heading north-east,” Vex choked out, scrambling away from the wall. “Directly for the old geothermal vents. It’ll tear this sector apart.” Rykard didn’t waste another second. He grabbed Vex by her good arm. Her gasp of pain was ignored. He needed her to verify the route, to prevent a trap. He flung her over his shoulder, a surprisingly light burden. The depot groaned around them. He burst through a buckled door, into the pale, irradiated twilight. The air outside was thick with dust and the acrid tang of decaying technology. The distant, monstrous rumble was a physical force, shaking the very stones. “Skyway Bridge,” Rykard commanded, his steps already devouring the ruined street. “Show me the fastest route.” --- The Leviathan’s growl faded behind them, replaced by the howl of the wind through skeletal buildings. Rykard ran, mile after punishing mile, Vex still slung over his shoulder like a sack of scavenged parts. She cursed him, whimpered, then finally fell silent, her strength giving out. He didn’t stop. He pushed his monstrous body, the Crag-Born engine burning efficiently, eating up the desolate landscape. They moved through the Obsidian Wastes, a cracked expanse of vitrified rock and ash. Twisted metal skeletons of ancient skyscrapers stabbed at the bruised sky. Radiation readings ticked higher. Rykard felt the familiar prickle on his hide, a faint tingling. His Spliced genes provided resistance, but not immunity. Ethan’s mind recognized the threat, but Rykard’s body shrugged it off, a low hum of discomfort. Vex stirred, groaning. “Put me down, you bastard. My arm is killing me.” Rykard slowed, then gently, surprisingly gently, set her on a cracked slab of concrete. He kept a hand on her, a silent reminder of her situation. His internal clock was ticking. The Pristine convoy wouldn't wait. “The bridge,” he prompted. Vex pointed a trembling finger. “North. Keep to the low ground. Less chance of drones spotting you.” Her voice was hoarse. “There’s a collapsed underpass about a klick out. Good cover. You can get above them.” Rykard nodded. The underpass. Another classic ambush point. Ethan’s simulations clicked into place. He could use the elevated position, target the scout drone first, then disable the turrets on the transports. “What’s in it for you?” Vex rasped, clutching her injured arm. “Why risk your hide for Pristine scrap?” Rykard didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Ethan’s motivations were complex, layered. Survival. Understanding. A desire to reclaim a semblance of humanity, even in this beastial form. To find out *why* he was here. Scavenging for gear was only a means to an end. This wasn’t about simple scrap. This was about intel, about proving his capabilities, about testing the limits of his new existence. “You just want to watch the world burn, huh?” Vex muttered, rubbing her face. “Spliced.” She shook her head, a grimace of pain. “Always the same.” Rykard ignored her. His gaze scanned the horizon. The Skyway Bridge was visible now, a skeletal arch against the smog-choked sky, an ancient artery of concrete and rebar. It spanned a wide canyon, a natural funnel. Perfect. They reached the collapsed underpass after another hour of relentless movement. The air here was cooler, shadowed by the massive concrete and steel. Rykard found a stable perch overlooking the main road. It was elevated, offering a clear view of the canyon and the bridge beyond. “Stay here,” he told Vex, his voice flat. “One move, and I snap your neck.” Vex shivered, but offered no argument. She huddled in the shadows, her lone eye tracking him. Rykard settled in, his body coiled. He could feel the residual radiation from the Obsidian Wastes slowly dissipating, his regeneration kicking in. His senses were sharpened. The faint smell of ozone, the metallic tang of irradiated dust, the distant buzz of something mechanical. He focused. Patience was a new skill, one Ethan had learned in his sedentary life, now being forcibly grafted onto Rykard’s primal urges. Minutes stretched into an hour. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in sickly oranges and purples. The air grew colder. Then, a faint hum. Not the Leviathan. This was different. Sharper. More precise. He saw it first. A glint of polished metal in the distance. The scout drone. It zipped ahead of the convoy, a black insect against the dying light. Rykard tracked it, his Crag-Born vision easily picking out its angular form. Two armored transports followed, massive rolling fortresses. Their heavy tires chewed up the ancient asphalt. Turrets swiveled on their roofs, menacing eyes scanning the wasteland. Small figures moved around them – the Pristine grunts, their power armor reflecting the dim light. Ethan’s tactical mind surged. *Target the drone first. Deny them reconnaissance. Then the turrets. Prioritize the plasma cannons over the heavy lasers. Their heat signature is higher, their recharge slower.* Rykard’s hands flexed, his claws extending slightly. He needed a clean shot, a precise strike. He couldn’t afford to waste energy. The convoy moved with practiced efficiency, a pristine bubble of order in a world of chaos. They approached the choke point, the canyon narrowing, the Skyway Bridge a mere five hundred meters ahead. This was it. Rykard took a deep breath, the stale air doing little to calm the rising anticipation. He waited. He needed them closer. Within optimal range for his jump, for his strike. His muscles tensed, a low growl forming in his chest. Closer. Closer. The drone was almost directly below him. The lead transport was following. The time was now. He launched himself from the underpass. A blur of grey muscle and scarred hide. He moved with impossible speed, a rocketing beast falling from the sky. The air shrieked past him. He aimed for the scout drone first. His target was its optical array, its primary sensor. The drone’s proximity sensors shrieked a warning. Too late. Rykard’s fist, a stone hammer, smashed into the drone. It exploded in a shower of sparks and mangled components, twisting violently as it plunged into the canyon below. Alarms blared. The Pristine grunts shouted, their voices distorted by comms. Energy shields flickered to life around the transports, humming with power. Laser turrets spun, targeting his last known position. Rykard landed hard on the roof of the lead transport, his heavy boots denting the armored plating. The Pristine soldiers reacted with trained precision. Two grunts turned, energy rifles spitting blue light. Rykard rolled, the bolts searing the air where he’d been. He pushed off, closing the distance in a single bound. The first grunt raised his rifle. Rykard met him with a devastating punch, tearing through the power armor’s chest plate like cheap foil. The grunt crumpled, a gurgle of static escaping his comms. The second grunt charged, swinging a reinforced stun baton. Rykard caught the blow on his forearm. The impact jarred him, but his hide held. He ripped the baton from the grunt’s grip, then used it to sweep the grunt’s legs out from under him. As the soldier fell, Rykard smashed the baton down, crushing the helmet. More grunts piled out of the second transport, their weapons already tracking him. Drones, smaller, less armored than the scout, deployed from hidden bays, their whirring blades a new menace. The energy shields on the transports flared, deflecting stray shots. *Too many. They’re faster than the sim data indicated. And these drones…* Ethan’s calculations updated instantly. The Pristines had upgraded their standard convoy significantly. This wasn’t just a resupply run; it felt like a combat patrol. Rykard roared, a challenge, a declaration of war. He ripped a panel off the transport’s roof, exposing wires and circuits. Sparks flew as he tore into the internals, disabling the turret. The hum of the energy shield wavered, then steadied as the second transport's system compensated. His goal now was the cargo bay, the source of the Pristine’s precious supplies. He heard a whirring sound above him, different from the small drones. It was a heavy, metallic clatter, growing louder. Rykard glanced up. A larger drone, heavily armored, descended from the Skyway Bridge. Its twin plasma cannons glowed with an ominous blue light, locking onto him. This was not a standard patrol drone. This was an Hunter-Killer unit. And its cannons were charging fast. He had minutes. Maybe less. The grunts below were regrouping, their energy weapons focused. He was trapped on the transport, exposed. His Crag-Born instincts screamed for him to run, but Ethan’s mind knew he couldn't leave without the intel, without the supplies. He needed to get inside. Now. The Hunter-Killer’s cannons reached full charge. A blinding flash erupted. Rykard braced, knowing he couldn't deflect it all. He had to decide: attack the Hunter-Killer, or try to breach the transport. Both were suicidal. But one might give him a chance to learn why the Pristines were so heavily armed. He had to know what they were hiding. And then, a new, massive rumble vibrated through the canyon walls. Not the Leviathan. This was closer. Something fast. Something metallic, hurtling towards the bridge from the northern wastes. Another faction. And they were coming in hot. He was caught between two Pristine transports, a Hunter-Killer drone, and an unknown, fast-approaching threat.

Echoes in the Rubble