The "Smuggler's Lift" wasn't a lift. It was a throat.
It was a hollowed-out maintenance shaft running parallel to the main Mag-Lev power conduits of Sector 7. It didn't have a car or a cable. It just had a series of rusted rungs welded to the wall, disappearing up into a column of crushing darkness and electromagnetic hum.
"It's six hundred meters straight up," Pria said, tightening the straps of her Null-Camo. She looked at Ryla's leg—the one missing the servo. "Can you make it?"
Ryla tested her weight on the leg. She winced, but her jaw set in a stubborn line. "I've climbed worse with a hangover. Just don't slow me down, Ghost."
Pria didn't snap back. Instead, she reached into her pack and pulled out a roll of high-tensile compression tape scavenged from the Dust-Walker camp. She knelt, ignoring Ryla's surprise, and efficiently wrapped Ryla's knee, reinforcing the joint where the servo used to be.
"It's not a servo," Pria muttered, tying it off tight, essentially locking the joint to prevent it from buckling. "You'll have to drag it. Use your upper body. But it will keep your knee from blowing out completely."
She stood up, brushing past Ryla without waiting for a thank you. But the gesture hung in the air. It was the first time Pria had touched Ryla without trying to shove her.
"Thanks," Ryla whispered to Pria's back.
"Save your breath," Pria called back, stepping up to the ladder. "You'll need it for the Shear."
Jax looked up the shaft. He could feel the machine's pulse before he even touched the ladder. The Mag-Lev conduits running behind the wall were like massive arteries pumping liquid electricity. He pressed his bare hand against the cold steel.
Thrum... thrum... thrum.
It was irregular. The magnetic shielding was cracked.
"Watch the walls," Jax warned, tapping his mismatched boots together. "The magnetic shielding is rotted out.
There are 'Shear Zones'—invisible pockets of intense magnetic gravity leaking into the shaft. If you have chrome on you, it'll pull you in and crush you against the bulkhead."
"Great," Ryla muttered, looking down at the heavy metallic weave of her runner suit. "I'm a walking magnet."
"Stay center," Jax said. "Follow my rhythm. If I stop, you stop."
They began the climb.
The first hundred meters were grueling but quiet. The only sounds were the clank of boots on rust and the heavy, ragged breathing of three people trying not to think about the drop beneath them.
For Ryla, it was absolute torture. With her knee locked by the tape, she couldn't use her legs to push. She had to haul her hyper-dense body weight up almost entirely with her arms, gritting her teeth against the agonizing burn in her shoulders.
But as they climbed higher, nearing the underbelly of Sector 7, the hum grew louder. It became a physical vibration, rattling Jax's teeth.
HMMMMMMMMMMM.
Jax stopped abruptly. He felt it in his fillings. A Shear Zone.
"Freeze," he hissed.
Above him, Pria froze, hanging effortlessly from one arm. Below him, Ryla halted, her breath hitching in pain.
"To the left," Jax instructed, his Techno-Organic Resonance mapping the invisible current. "The field is leaking from the right wall. Hug the left ladder rail."
They shifted, moving with agonizing slowness. Jax could feel the massive magnetic pull tugging at the steel toe of his left mining boot, trying to drag his foot sideways into the wall. He fought it, sweating heavily inside his hoodie.
They almost made it past.
Then Ryla slipped.
Her arms were trembling from the sheer exhaustion of dragging her dead leg. As she transferred her weight, her sweaty grip faltered. She flailed, her hand missing the rusted rung. She swung outward, her body pivoting toward the right wall.
"No!" Jax screamed.
The Shear Zone caught her.
It wasn't a wind; it was a solid wall of invisible force. It grabbed the metal buckles and weave of her suit and slammed her against the right-hand bulkhead with a sickening CLANG.
"Ryla!"
She was pinned, spread-eagled against the smooth steel wall like a fly in an invisible web. She gasped, her chest violently compressed by the magnetic weight. "I... can't... move..."
The force was crushing her ribs. Her face was turning purple.
Jax scrambled up the ladder, but he couldn't reach her without entering the field himself. If he got too close, his own boots and tools would pin him right next to her, and they'd both be stuck there.
"Pria!" Jax yelled. "She's pinned!"
Pria dropped down from above. She was mostly cloth, ceramic, and bone—she had almost no metal on her. She swung bravely into the Shear Zone, the force barely affecting her lightweight gear.
She grabbed Ryla's harness. She pulled, bracing her feet against the wall. "Push, Neon! Push!"
"It's... too... heavy!" Ryla wheezed, her eyes rolling back.
"Jax!" Pria gritted her teeth, straining against the magnetic grip. "I can't break the hold! Kill the power!"
"I can't reach the conduit!" Jax shouted, frantically scanning the wall. The power cable was buried behind two inches of durasteel plating.
"Then make it bridge or something!" Pria yelled. "I don't know, overload it!"
Jax looked at the wall. He looked at his Spark-Gap. It was down to 15% charge, but it was all he had.
He aimed for the heavy metal bolt anchoring the ladder rail to the wall—the only conductive point connecting his safe zone to the wall Ryla was stuck to.
"Clear!" Jax screamed.
He jammed the Spark-Gap against the bolt and fired his entire remaining charge.
ZZZZZ-CRACK!
A massive blue arc of electricity shot through the ladder, leaped across the gap, and slammed into the magnetic field. The two extreme energies collided—Electricity vs. Magnetism.
For a split second, the field disrupted. The invisible hand let go.
Ryla fell.
Pria caught her.
It was a brutal, shoulder-dislocating catch—Pria snagged Ryla's wrist with one hand and the ladder rung with the other.
The sudden, hyper-dense weight wrenched Pria's arm, but she held on, letting out a sharp grunt of pain.
They swung there, dangling six hundred meters over the dark.
"Gotcha," Pria grunted, her face inches from Ryla's. "Don't you dare let go."
Ryla stared up at her, eyes wide, gasping for air. "You... came back."
"Jax needs you," Pria said, swinging Ryla back onto the safety of the ladder. She didn't smile, but her grip was gentle as she helped Ryla find her footing. "And I'm starting to think you aren't so bad."
Jax slumped against the ladder, his heart hammering against his ribs. He watched them. Pria checking Ryla's ribs. Ryla nodding, breathless but immensely grateful.
"Move," Jax breathed, his Spark-Gap smoking in his hand. "Before the field resets."
SECTOR 7 - THE THRONE ROOM
The air in Sector 7 smelled of ozone and burnt sugar.
Silas sat at a workbench made of polished obsidian. It was nicer than anything he had ever owned. The tools laid out before him were Class-A precision instruments—laser calipers, molecular bonders, things he hadn't touched since he was exiled from the Rim twenty years ago.
"Stop shaking, Old Man," a deep, metallic voice boomed. "Precision is key."
Sector Lord Vorg sat on a reinforced throne nearby, inspecting his reflection in a massive combat knife blade. His face was a ruin of old scars, dominated by the terrifying, jagged steel trap-jaw that replaced his lower face.
He wasn't torturing Silas. He was feeding him. A plate of real fruit—actual, sun-grown pears—sat on the corner of the workbench.
"The actuator is misaligned," Silas muttered, his hands working steadily despite his fear. He was adjusting a spare jaw-piece for Vorg. "If I tighten it too much, you won't be able to speak. Only bite."
"Biting is more important," Vorg laughed, a sound like a garbage disposal chewing gravel. He stood up, towering over the engineer. "But I like your work. Smooth. Much better than the butchers in my motor pool."
Vorg picked up a pear and crushed it against his steel teeth, letting the sweet juice run down his scarred chin.
"You know," Vorg chewed loudly. "I expected you to scream more when we took your shop. But you just... worked. You're a pragmatic man, Silas."
"Screaming wastes energy," Silas said, tightening a micro-screw. "I assume you want the hydraulic pressure increased?"
"Max it out," Vorg grinned. "I want to be able to crush a Runner's skull like a grape."
He leaned in close, smelling of expensive cologne.
"Speaking of Runners... I hope your little strays are smart. The boy and the pink one."
Silas didn't look up. "They're just kids, Vorg. Scavengers. They don't know what they took."
"They took my property," Vorg growled, his mood shifting instantly from amused to lethal. "And they embarrassed me. But don't worry. The Banshees will bring them back. Pieces of them, anyway."
He patted Silas on the shoulder, a heavy, bruising impact.
"And when they do, you can fix them up too. Make them... useful. Like you."
Silas tightened the screw until the metal whined. He looked at the deadly jaw in his hands. A weapon he was building for a monster.
"They're smart," Silas said quietly. "Smarter than you think."
***
The top of the shaft ended in a heavy service hatch. It wasn't locked; it was rusted shut.
"Stand back," Jax whispered.
He used the hydro-spanner Ryla had given him, wedging it into the hinge and using the leverage of the ladder to pop the seal.
CREAAAK.
Heat blasted them.
They pulled themselves up and rolled onto a metal grating. They were on a catwalk overlooking the "Slag-Pit"—the fiery gut of Sector 7 where molten waste was poured before being cooled.
Below them, rivers of orange slag flowed like lava. The heat was intense, distorting the air and instantly pulling the moisture from their lungs.
"The fumes," Jax coughed, checking his wrist. "Chemical burn risk is high."
"We can't walk around like this," Ryla whispered, leaning heavily against the railing, gesturing to her flashing suit and Pria's rags. "We'll be easily spotted."
"Way ahead of you," Pria said. She pointed to a row of lockers near the catwalk entrance. "Shift change. Slag-Workers leave their gear."
They moved to the locker bank. Pria popped the locks with a shim. Inside were heavy, heat-resistant rubber aprons, thick insulated gloves, and bulky industrial respirators connected to tinted welding goggles.
"Suit up," Pria ordered.
Jax hesitated. His hands went to his Aero-V2 mask. Taking it off felt like taking off his skin. It was his only barrier against the world.
"Jax," Ryla said softly. "You have to. That mask is a beacon."
Jax took a deep breath of the filtered air, then unlatched the seals. Hiss. He pulled the mask off, feeling the stinging heat of the factory air hit his face immediately.
He wrapped it carefully in a rag and shoved it deep into the inside pocket of the rubber apron, strapping it tight against his chest.
"I'm keeping it," he muttered.
"Me too," Ryla said, tucking her custom sport-mask into hers.
They pulled on the worker gear. The industrial masks smelled of stale sweat and charcoal, but they sealed.
As Ryla pulled the heavy, lead-lined rubber apron over her head, her injured knee finally gave out.
She collapsed with a sharp cry, hitting the metal grating hard.
"Ryla!" Jax dropped beside her.
She gritted her teeth, trying to push herself up, but the added thirty pounds of the worker gear was too much for her unpowered, taped-up leg to support. She fell back down, panting.
"I can do it," she lied, her voice tight with pain. "Just give me a second."
Jax looked at her trembling arms, then looked out at the massive, labyrinthine fortress of Sector 7 rising above the Slag-Pit. Somewhere in there was Silas. And Vorg. And an army of Rust-Kings.
"No," Jax said, his voice firm. "We aren't doing this."
"Jax, I'm fine—"
"You're dead weight right now, Ryla, and you know it," Jax said. It was harsh, but it was the Basin truth. He looked around frantically. Above the locker bank was an old, out-of-commission crane operator cabin, its windows dark and covered in soot.
"Pria, help me get her up there," Jax ordered.
"What? No!" Ryla protested as they hauled her to her feet. "I'm not sitting on the bench!"
"You are waiting right here," Jax said, dragging her up the short ladder and shoving her into the dark, dusty cabin. "If you try to walk through that foundry, the guards will spot your limp in ten seconds and we all die."
Ryla slumped against the control console of the cabin, furious and humiliated, but she didn't try to stand back up. She clutched the Gene-Core to her chest. "Then what's the plan, Genius? You two go take on Vorg alone?"
"No," Jax said, pulling his welding goggles down over his eyes. "We find a motor pool. I'm getting you a servo."
"Jax, we don't have time—" Pria started.
"She needs her leg, Pria!" Jax snapped, turning to the Ghost. "If things go bad in there, she's our only muscle. We need her at full strength. We are getting a servo."
Pria looked at Jax's set jaw, then at Ryla sitting in the dark. She gave a single, sharp nod. "Fine. There's an Enforcer repair bay two levels up. We're in, we strip a suit, we're out. Ten minutes."
Jax turned back to Ryla. "Keep your head down. We'll be right back."
"Don't get zeroed," Ryla muttered, looking away.
Jax and Pria descended the ladder and stepped out onto the main thoroughfare. They were transformed. Gone were the Ghost and the Rat. They were two bulky, soot-stained drones, blending perfectly into the miserable tide of shift-workers.
They moved quickly through the "Black Foundry" floor, surrounded by the deafening roar of pneumatic hammers and showers of sparks. Pria led the way, navigating the maze of machinery until they reached a set of heavy blast doors marked: ARMORY & REPAIR.
They slipped inside behind a loud cargo hauler.
The repair bay was lined with massive, hydraulic exo-suits used by the Rust-King elites. Most were battered, but Jax's eyes locked onto one in the corner. It was pristine.
His mutation felt the quiet, powerful hum of a Class-A, high-torque micro-motor in the suit's knee joint.
"That one," Jax whispered, pulling out his hydro-spanner.
He slid under the suspended armor. He worked with frantic, terrifying speed, his hands a blur as he bypassed the lockouts and unscrewed the housing.
Clank. Clank. Footsteps. Heavy ones.
Jax froze. Through the gap in the armor plating, he saw a pair of massive Rust-King boots approaching their bay.
Pria didn't hesitate. She stepped out from behind the suit, perfectly mimicking the hunched, exhausted posture of a maintenance worker, and intentionally dropped a heavy wrench right in the guard's path.
"Watch it, filth!" the guard barked, distracted.
"My apologies, sir," Pria mumbled through her mask, bowing her head and moving to pick it up, blocking his view of the suit.
Underneath, Jax gave the final bolt a violent twist. Pop. The servo dropped into his waiting hand. It was heavy, sleek, and practically humming with power.
He slid out the back of the bay. Pria backed away from the cursing guard, joining Jax in the shadows.
"Got it," Jax breathed.
"Then let's go," Pria said, already moving toward the exit.
They retraced their steps through the fiery chaos of the foundry, pushing their pace. They climbed back up to the crane cabin.
Ryla looked up, her eyes wide as Jax dropped the pristine, military-grade servo into her lap.
"You're crazy," Ryla whispered, a massive grin breaking through the grime on her face.
"Hold still," Jax said, kneeling beside her. He used the last dying spark of his igniter to fuse the connections, welding the powerful motor directly into the housing of her suit.
The moment the connection was made, Ryla gasped. The suit powered up, the neon strips flaring to life beneath her heavy rubber apron. She stood up. She didn't limp. The new servo whirred with a deep, aggressive power, easily bearing the weight of the heavy disguise.
She rolled her shoulders, drawing her vibro-knife. The Runner was back.
Jax stood up, adjusting his stolen goggles. He looked out at the massive, labyrinthine fortress of Sector 7.
"Alright," Jax commanded. "Head down. Walk slow. Let's go get our mechanic."