'FOUND IX'

  The wagon came into full view after a few seconds of awkwardly awaiting its arrival, and it's safe to say that Lila did not look happy. Which is just great, because the only thing that follows these sorts of situations is bad news, after which, more bad news.

  If we had any amount of time it was longer than anticipated, even Lila managed to reach us with a bullet wound and a whole collector's horde before the reaver got here. Look's like he's decided to take his time, or maybe something's missing.

  "Hiya' scrapper. Cheers for having the courtesy to close the door, before blowing up the tunnel way, and attracting a fuckin' rust-bucket." Lila sarcastically complained,

  She should be happy I locked the door more than the fact a rust-bucket was stuck behind it. But, never underestimate a SC's ability to complain.

  "No problem. Got scared by the usual inhabitants of this shithole?" I mockingly reply,

  "The deal ain't done yet. How's the cart? Wait, where the fuck is your helmet?" She asked,

  "Where did he go?" Kip interrupted, still captured by the sight of the missing corpse,

  "Who is he?" She quickly questioned, beginning to direct the podling parade to roll the wagon into the open cart,

  "We don't have time to explain, let's get the cart moving." I sharply answer,

  "Trust me, with the main path gone, we have plenty of time to get out of here." She tiredly assured,

  She walked past me to the console and didn't seem impressed by its state, naturally. Luckily, she has used this before, after all that's how they got here I presume.

  "I'll leave the fixing up to you." I calmly state,

  I move over to the wagon she brought over, a well quality helmet ripe for the taking, so I took it, it was only slightly bloody. Well, I can't be expecting the world now- so, I put it on.

  "What the fuck happened to this?'" She stated, waving over a podling who had instinctively brought over a box,

  She opened the toolbox, and it had the standard sets of tools. Though it had an impressive set of electrical tools as well, which isn't exactly standard in the outskirts.

  Particularly drills are few and far between. You mostly see them in the possession of cleaners or mechanists, but they're quite specialist- it's practically a required tool for them, but for an SC? Not quite.

  "Where'd you get those tools?" I inquisitively inquire,

  "My mentor was a generous asshole. Besides, it's not like he was goin' to use them- post-mortem." She dismissively replied,

  "The usual then." I flatly comment,

  She used the drill to open up the frontal panel and looked into the internals of the console in amazement for a couple of seconds. Then abruptly closed it with a look of shock.

  The podlings and the kid had decided to being their own jabbering. Nothing worth listening too beyond some humorous remarks, but the kid seemed quite excited to tell them about that strange missing man we've just met.

  "I can't fix that." She admitted, before banging on the top of the console,

  "You can't shoot and can't fix anything? So you're just a professional swindler then?" I half-heartedly state,

  "I'm a collector, not a fuckin' artificer. Don't forget who stitched your little wound up, scrapper." She angrily replied,

  "We made it all the way here, just for it to be broken, and you to not be able to fix it. I'd be better off bleeding out, would have died with more scrap value too." I boorishly rebut,

  "Value don't mean shit when you're dead. I'll see if we can get the cart to jump from its end." She explained, moving over into the cart with haste,

  She stepped through the door of the cart and went over to check the control panel of it. Carts function strangely, and as far as I'm concerned, moved by magic, or magnets, maybe both. It's not my job to understand technology that doesn't blow people up, or riddle them with holes.

  The cart is stripped of most interior design, and missing large portions of external features- but, it looks robust enough to function for the most part, at least across small distances. Though if something is wrong with it, then it might not even achieve that.

  It had no seats, no functioning cameras for viewing, and most certainly no safety measures remaining. Not out of the ordinary, still harrowing to say the least.

  "So, what's this den we're going to end up in? Does this go straight to it or will we need to go further?" I interrogate,

  "I've only been there twice before, it's a bit of a walk from the station, but it ain't too bad. Last I was there it was a giant clusterfuck of arguments, and that was 'bout a month ago." She explained,

  "Should be an easy trip via caravan to the centre then?" I jovially ask,

  A caravan would be mighty convenient, I've already been walking along for months at a time, even scrappers need a break from pure travelling once in a while. They can even carry some good equipment on them, could be good to transfer items over for some extra slips.

  Besides, getting as far away from this situation as possible just seems advantagous.

  "Na. They only have caravans to other outskirts, so you're gonna have to make quite the circuit. Didn't you have to do that to get here anyhow?" She replied,

  "No, I made the mistake of walking it here." I say,

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "Well, I'd recommend sticking around the den for as long as you're injuries are around. That's what I'll be doing for certain, maybe I'll be able to work a bit." She explained,

  "Amazing. You gonna tell me why the fuck you got a reaver with an anti-material rifle chasing us, or is that level of honesty off the table?" I half-heartedly ask,

  She looked up to me and her eyes didn't seem impressed with my question. There was something immediately unsettling about that look, until she cloaked it in a vale of confusion.

  "I told you I got nothin' to do with that, Ed told me not to worry about it." She reaffirmed,

  She managed to open up the panel to the driving control of the cart, which though about as complex, seemed in far better shape- far better than even she seemed to expect.

  "Well, my problem is, it's mighty convenient that the old shithead, who is now missing a head, was somehow the only one aware that you were being hunted by essentially a walking caravan." I brutally explain,

  "Don't you fuckin' insult him!" She snapped,

  She shook her head away from me attempting to refocus on her work. Her outburst had caused the entourage to stop their own little contest over at the other side of the cart.

  I decided to look toward them, which encouraged them to look away and pretend to be doing anything else besides listening.

  "Let's make one final deal then? You exercise some honesty and I'll stop prodding you about it." I bluntly offer,

  I'm running out of patience for the circles she's deciding to run in around this. This situation doesn't add up at all, there's something wrong with all of this. She has to know.

  "Somethin' up with your head scrapper? I ain't been hidin' anythin' from you, nothin' important anyhow." She thornily explained,

  The unhealthy mix of adrenaline, anger, and confusion was finally done bubbling. I slam the side of the cart to get her full attention.

  "Cut the shit, Lila. You don't get people like this on your ass for something you have nothing to do with." I complain,

  She looked up fully from her work, she looked quite frustrated. It could be from the fact that I'm pulling on a string that hangs off nothing, or I'm right.

  "How many times do I have to tell you 'I don't know', Rory? I've got no clue what the fuck is happenin' and-" She rudely countered,

  "If Ed was the only one, and they aren't looking for something you haven't told me about- whatever that may be, it's you. Just you." I furiously interrupt,

  After that there was a moment of silence, and she abruptly stood up. It was enough for me to place a hand on my holster, but before anything could be said;

  "Isn't there bigger problems we need to worry about?" Kip bluntly interjected,

  Like trapped air being shot through a clogged vent, there was a release about his interruption. He's right, we have a large problem and it has a large gun along with it.

  "He's right. We'll finish this later." I say half-professionally,

  "No problem." She civilly stated,

  She hands over a tool to the sad podling, whom had been silently moving across the cart the entire time- honestly it's impressive I've only noticed them now.

  "Got anything we can turn into a trap?" I ask,

  "I've think I got a couple baubles that can be some use in that field." She confidently answered,

  The sad podling began working in her stead as she waved over to the angry one, which brought over a box of wire and improvised explosives.

  "What type of explosives are they?" I swiftly question,

  "Nail bombs, I ain't rich." She gruffly answered,

  Nail bombs? Against anyone with good gear they would be an annoyance at best, even at close range. But, if we're running this close to freedom maybe an annoyance is all we need.

  "Oh! I know how to set up some traps." Kip quickly proclaimed,

  "The last time you tried that Kip you almost gave us a massive bucket issue. Leave it to our resident explosives expert." She rebutted, pointing her thumb over to the oblivious podling,

  "You're sure about that? He's been staring at the ceiling for the past, well, since this whole thing started." I question,

  "He'll figure it out, he always does, somehow." She nervously replied,

  We both look over toward the oblivious podling. As expected he was paying no attention to the entire situation. It's hard to describe an expression as empty as that one.

  "Alright." I state, snatching the box from Lila's hands and giving it over to Kip,

  "Wait so do you want me to do it?" Kip asked,

  "Set up explosive near the entrance, and have the strange podling help you." I strictly command,

  "Oh, ok! Yes." Kip excitedly agreed,

  He went over toward the oblivious podling, catching their attention by flashing the box in their face, which lit up in the great discovery of purpose.

  They began to set up two nail bombs on either side of the entrance into the station. The thick iron door was reassuring, but a den door was no issue for this one- so it's practically just another open entrance.

  It's honestly surprising to see podlings do things beyond just hauling and working factory machinery. That's what I was subjected to in the centre, and usually what goes on in the centre is replicated in crappier ways the further out you go.

  Lila clearly has a knack for teaching idiots how to do something useful. Well, even she seemed unsure about the oblivious one's ability to managed explosives.

  Maybe she'll blame it on Ed again.

  "So what was that about the man you shot with my charge gun?" She inquired,

  "Oh, sorry- I just have no idea what you're talking about." I mockingly reply,

  It was clear that my use of the 'I don't know' strategy was not taken it good faith as she just managed to stop herself from slapping me. If she did, I wouldn't mind returning fire.

  "Seriously, Rory." She miserably stated,

  "I'm a scrapper. I have better things I can be doing than running circles. But, the fumes in this place just manage to fog my memory." I sarcastically say,

  "Look here, I can't tell you now. You're right, I do know more than I can tell you- but now is just not the time and place. I promise I will tell you once we're outta' here." She elegantly explained,

  "He was a strange one. There was something wrong about him, in every sense, y'know? I don't even know how he just vanished." I solemnly reply,

  I can't help but look up into the terrible array of wiring and cabling which hung from the roof, and I have a strange sense just looking at it. I am half-tempted to use my multi-vision, but decided against it.

  "Why the fuck did you shoot him?" She bluntly questioned,

  "He asked me to." I simply answer,

  That's when her face dropped. She went through confusion, anger, and then back to confusion in quick succession. Before then face palming in frustration of her own confusion.

  "You wasted a charge shot on a strange rando'. He didn't die, and now he's just gone?" She summarised,

  "Yeah, that's about right." I flatly reply,

  "Sounds like a fuckin' cyborg." She stated, looking at the sad podlings progress on the cart,

  A cyborg? From what I know, they're sort of a legend, but not a far-fetched one.

  From what I know, there are three ways to enhance oneself; chemically, a temporary solution to a permanent problem, mechanically, a permanent solution to a temporary problem, and genetically, a solution only granted at birth- if you're lucky.

  But a cyborg falls out of these three categories, it's a stretch to call it an enhancement, but it's closer to converting yourself into a rust-bucket. Which, to anyone with a brain, is a fate worse then death- but, cyborgs probably traded that for a chip haven't they?

  I assumed that it was just people mistaking rust-buckets puppeteering corpses as being a person, or maybe just a heavily mechanised person. Someone being able to be more machine then man is not out of the ordinary, but man being just machine- that's just strange.

  A machine which wears human skin and can come out of it. It's pure horror, which is typical to be honest, but that's a different type of horror. One which I am lucky to not have encountered- well, now I'm not sure. Hopefully not.

  Cyborgs are usually characterized in stories by their lack of ability to communicate. That means no talking, no deals, no transactions.

  But, that's just talk isn't it?

  I was going to say something, as Kip and the oblivious one made their way back over from the doorway with the trap properly set up. The station began to rattle and the endless amount of hanging wires and cables began to shake vigorously

  My voice was stopped by the sound of screaming metal. Everyone began moving about, the sad podling still going away at the panel of the cart, the angry podling ducked behind the wagon, and the oblivious podling walked leisurely into the cart with them.

  Kip moved to the left, toward the broken station control console, and I began to turn around taking my revolver out of the holster.

  It was too late to shoot.