The mech’s steel foot, heavy as a foundry press, slammed down where Oletta had stood a fraction of a second before. The entire structure shrieked in protest, dust and flakes of ancient paint raining from the ceiling. The scarred pilot, encased in the lumbering diesel-rig, let out a guttural laugh that grated through the comms built into his viewport. “Come on, Ghost! Thought you were quick.”
Oletta rolled, skidding across the grit-covered deck, the chill wind whipping her hair. Her speed, once a terrifying advantage, felt like a child’s clumsy dash against the mech’s brutal inertia. It was a beast of welded plates and hydraulic muscle, designed for mining ore, not chasing shadows on a crumbling roof. Its three-pronged claw swiped again, tearing a deep gouge into the decaying timber where Perrin and Bex huddled, wide-eyed but unmoving, behind a collapsed ventilation shaft. Haldon shoved them further back, his soot-streaked face set hard.
“Get out of here!” Haldon roared, his voice raw. “Take Bex, find cover!”
Perrin, usually quick to obey, shook his head. “It’s too big. Nowhere to go.”
The gang boss laughed like cracking iron. “That’s right, urchin. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. This whole stack of rust is coming down!”
The mech’s chassis rumbled, the diesel engine spitting black fumes into the freezing air. Oletta darted forward, a blur of motion, her hidden steel spurs extending with a low *snick*. She aimed for the optical sensor, the mech’s equivalent of an eye, but the heavy casing deflected her strike with a jarring clang. Her arms vibrated with the impact. This wasn’t like the thugs in the stairwell; this was an iron fortress.
The pilot countered with a sweeping arm, a massive piston-driven limb that sent Oletta tumbling. She landed hard, pain blossoming in her shoulder, but she sprang back up, her gaze fixed on the machine. She could dance around it, but she couldn’t *hurt* it. Not like this. Not with brute force.
Haldon, wrench still clutched in his hand, shouted, “The coolant valves! Below the right exhaust port! They’re exposed!”
Oletta’s head snapped towards him, a flicker of understanding passing between them. He was a mechanic. He saw the weak points in iron and steel as clearly as she saw them in flesh and bone. The mech shifted, its heavy treads grinding, aiming a boot-stomp at Haldon. He didn’t flinch. Instead, with a sudden, desperate surge, he slid *under* the descending foot. The ground bucked as the mech’s boot crushed the spot where he’d been a heartbeat before. A spray of splinters erupted.
Haldon rolled clear, spitting ash, then scrambled towards the mech’s right side. The operator, too slow to react to the low-to-the-ground target, snarled, “You think you can fix this, scrap-rat?!”
Before the brute could adjust the mech’s stance, Haldon was there. He brought his heavy wrench down with all the force his body could muster, not once, but three times, against the exposed metal housing of the coolant valves. The clang of metal on metal was deafening, the impact sending sparks flying. A high-pitched whine rose from the mech’s internals, followed by a violent hiss. A geyser of superheated steam erupted from the damaged valves, clouding the air with a blinding, scalding mist.
“Now, Ghost!” Haldon yelled, his voice strained, pushing himself back from the radiating heat.
This was it. Oletta moved. The steam obscured the pilot's vision, his frantic curses muffled by the hiss. He was disoriented, vulnerable. Her past, the cold, calculated precision she’d buried, surged to the surface. She wasn’t the dizzy sister anymore. She was the weapon she’d been forged to be, and her family was the target. Fury, cold and sharp, ignited in her veins.
She ran, not at the mech, but *into* the churning cloud of steam. The heat burned her skin, but she ignored it, her eyes locked onto the glowing red exhaust port that Haldon had pointed out. Blind inside the viewport, the boss tried to pivot, his heavy treads scraping uselessly. He roared in frustration, firing blindly into the mist.
Oletta’s body moved with an unnatural grace, a dance of death she hadn’t performed in years. She launched herself, using a buckled beam as a spring, soaring through the steam. Her steel stilettos, honed to needle points, were already extended along her forearms. She ignored the heavy armor, ignoring everything but the single, exposed weakness. The exhaust port, now superheated, pulsed with the mech’s strained efforts.
With a sharp yell, Oletta drove both spikes deep into the venting port. The casing shrieked under the puncture, tearing into internal conduits. A shower of sparks, mixed with the blinding steam, erupted around her. Grigor’s roar was immediate, cut short as the mech’s internal systems buckled. The high-pitched whine turned into a guttural death rattle.
Oletta wrenched her steel free, dropping back to the deck as the mech convulsed. A final scream choked into static as the viewport cracked, then shattered. The heavy diesel-rig shuddered violently, then exploded in a flash of white-hot shrapnel and black smoke. The detonation tore through the already crumbling roof, ripping away the very edges of the structure. The ground beneath them bucked like a dying animal.
A concussive shockwave slammed into Oletta, throwing her backward. She hit the deck hard, her ears ringing, but her eyes were already scanning for Haldon. He was closer to the edge, still recovering from his own sprint. The explosion had ripped through the weakened timber and steel, sending him tumbling. He disappeared over the newly created precipice, a choked cry leaving his lips. Oletta scrabbled forward, her hand shooting out. Her fingers clamped around his wrist, his bulk yanking hard at her shoulder while his boots dangled over the smog-choked drop.