After the event, Steven and One separated from the group, entering a narrow shortcut that led to the previously hidden mechanical vehicle.
The air in the corridor was thick with the tang of corroded metal and faint traces of scorched ink particles, remnants of countless failed experiments and attacks from their past encounters. The ground vibrated slightly underfoot, as if the mechanical heart of the vehicle was already alive, sensing their approach. Silence stretched between the two, heavy and tense, broken only by the faint hiss of pollution energy drifting from cracks in the walls.
Steven's eyes flicked toward One, wanting to offer advice, caution, or perhaps a warning, but his tongue faltered. He shook his head slightly in frustration, unable to articulate the concern he felt for someone who outwardly seemed so harmless, yet carried a weight far beyond his age.
Finally, when they reached the open area in front of the vehicle, Steven's voice cut the stillness.
"How are you going to deal with two abominations?" he asked, his tone even, but with just enough weight to betray genuine concern. "Even if they're being weakened by the Armament in the sanctuary, it's still a dangerous task for someone like you."
One's mind drifted briefly to the truth of Steven's question.
Brant and Steven hadn't been present during his private training with Marco. They only knew him as the errand boy of the group—harvesting, repairing, assisting—but nothing of the power subtly building within him. He understood the question wasn't judgmental; it was born of worry.
"I'll manage," One replied, his voice calm. "Marco helped me build it. The suit… it's mine to use."
Steven blinked, processing the words. He had always noticed One's attention to the exoskeleton, but he assumed it was merely a discarded project left by Marco during one of his countless engineering bouts.
The realization that One had been refining his use of the suit in secret sparked a mixture of curiosity and admiration.
One guided Steven toward the vehicle, stepping onto the grated metal ramp that led to the hidden interior. The air inside smelled of oil, scorched metal, and the faint tang of lingering ink particles—the scent of a place where creation and destruction existed side by side.
The vehicle's mechanical systems hummed in acknowledgment of their presence, pistons and servos creaking softly as if in anticipation.
The suit loomed before them, two meters tall and imposing. Its body was rough-hewn, functional over aesthetic: uneven metal plates fused with exposed pistons, a mounted shoulder cannon, oversized welded gun-arms, and power conduits snaking along its frame. One's hands moved over the surfaces, brushing away grime and dust, feeling the faint vibrations of energy still lingering in its circuitry.
He opened the cockpit and slid into the interior, the metal pressing against him like a second skin. The smell of heated metal, oil, and pollution energy mixed into an almost intoxicating sensory cocktail. He flexed his fingers against the control grips, feeling the mechanical joints respond instantly. Each servo whirred and hummed under his touch, almost alive, as if it recognized its purpose and its master.
One paused briefly, inhaling the faint scent of scorched electrical conduits and the static tang of charged air. He could feel the vehicle's systems syncing with the suit, the energy of the surrounding pollution being pulled in and converted into raw power. He pressed the activation pedal, and the suit's hydraulics hissed and groaned as it adjusted to his frame. Shoulder cannons rotated slightly, sensors aligned, and the oversized rifles on the arms hummed faintly, ready to discharge at his will.
The first step was to suit up fully. One's boots pressed against the metallic floor, hydraulic pistons in his legs flexing with a satisfying groan as they adjusted to his weight. The suit's plating compressed around his torso, snug but flexible, pistons extending along his arms and shoulders to amplify strength. The tactile sensation of metal melding with muscle, of gears and hydraulics pressing against his skin, was oddly comforting—each click, hiss, and mechanical groan singing a song of raw, destructive potential.
He flexed his arms experimentally.
Each movement sent ripples through the suit, pistons contracting and expanding in perfect harmony. The mounted shoulder cannon aligned automatically with the sensors embedded in the visor, the faint whirring of its power core a constant reminder of the destruction it could unleash. He ran his hands along the oversized rifles, feeling the cold metal, the grooves worn by repeated testing, the subtle vibration of stored energy waiting to be released.
The suit's systems began to draw power from the surrounding pollution, the faint hum of electrical energy crawling along the conduits, crackling softly against his fingertips. One could feel the energy surging, converting into thermal and kinetic power ready to be harnessed. The faint tang of ozone and scorched metal filled his nose, a sharp contrast to the mustiness of the vehicle's interior.
He ran through a mental checklist, flexing each limb, firing a few test pulses from the shoulder cannon, feeling the heat spike in the joints and conduits. Each discharge burned faintly, the air around him vibrating from the force released. Sparks danced across the tips of the rifle barrels, a reminder of the raw potential stored within. The faint metallic taste of ionized air clung to his tongue, the scent of burning electrical circuits sharp in his nostrils.
Steven watched silently, his expression a mix of awe and apprehension. He had seen Marco build remarkable machines before, but the precision, functionality, and sheer destructive potential of this suit when interfaced with its true master was something else entirely.
One exhaled slowly, feeling the energy humming through him, the suit now fully synced and alive.
The mechanical joints groaned softly as he shifted his weight, the shoulder cannons swiveling automatically to track imaginary targets, the rifles crackling faintly with stored thermal and electrical power. He flexed his fingers, feeling the tactile feedback from every joint, every conduit, every servo. The suit had become an extension of himself, and through it, the raw pollution energy of the world could now be weaponized to devastating effect.
Steven finally broke the silence, nodding with approval. "Alright… you're ready," he said. "Just… remember, even with this, don't underestimate them. Two abominations may be weakened, but their instincts are still lethal."
One simply nodded, his fingers resting lightly on the control grips. The whir of hydraulics, the faint scent of ionized air, and the quiet hum of the suit filled the cockpit. Outside, the polluted winds swept across the wastelands, but within the exoskeleton, he felt a sense of quiet control—the raw potential to survive, fight, and dominate now literally in his hands.