If a capital were ever to be chosen for tetanus, the Iron City would be the undisputed winner.
We approached the city gate. We hid the "Black Predator" (the motorcycle) a bit further away, amidst some old pipes. Entering with such a suspicious vehicle would be tantamount to screaming, "Shoot me, I have expensive loot!"
I smeared old grease and a bit of mud onto Aidos's (Eve's) face. Using "Restoration," I temporarily dulled her shiny white ceramic armor, making it look like old, worn plastic.
"This is an insult to my designer code," she grumbled in a low voice.
"This is your life insurance, my queen," I said, throwing a torn cloak over myself and smearing black oil on my face. "Now you are a 'Glitched Droid,' and I am the unfortunate mechanic taking you to the scrap yard. Get into character."
There was a line at the gate.
Ninety percent of those waiting were... Cyborgs (Halves).
Some had only an iron arm or leg. Others had turned almost entirely into robots, with only a single eye or half a brain remaining as proof of their humanity.
It was our turn.
The thing guarding the gate was a massive cyborg made of tank armor, standing three meters tall. Instead of a right arm, he had a six-barreled minigun; in his left, a barcode scanner.
His single artificial eye fixed on me. The lens focused with a whirrr-whirrr sound.
"Identification!" he rumbled. There was no human tone left in his voice, only the static of a speaker. "Purpose?"
I hunched my shoulders, standing with a slight stoop (playing the role of the downtrodden human).
"Uh, Mr. Officer. My name is... Screw. Yes, Screw. I just wanted to take this old scrap metal," I pointed at Aidos, "to the spare parts market. Her processor is fried; only her legs work. I need money for food, boss."
The guard looked at Aidos. Aidos (who turned out to be a very talented actress) tilted her head, limped on one leg, and spouted nonsensical words:
"Bzzzt... Error... System... Cheese..."
I laughed internally. "Cheese" was overkill, but the guard didn't notice.
"Soft body," the guard said with disgust. He was referring to me. "City entry tax: 50 Credits or one energy battery."
I had no credits. I had no batteries (I used the last one on the motorcycle).
But I had the Eye (Analyze).
I looked at the guard's minigun arm.
[Object: "M-Vulcan" Minigun]
[Condition: Micro-crack in the hydraulic pump. Will overheat and explode after 30 rounds.]
I approached the guard and spoke in a low voice, as if sharing a secret:
"Sir, I have no money. But I am a mechanic. I can see that the hydraulic tube on your right shoulder is getting a bit... moist. If it bursts during combat, you'll lose your arm. I can fix it in a second. For free."
The guard stopped abruptly. He looked at his minigun, then at me. His artificial eye narrowed. Arrogant cyborgs hated defects in their own bodies more than anything else.
"If you are lying," he said, pressing the minigun against my head, "I will scatter your brains on the asphalt."
I smiled and placed my hand on his shoulder.
"Restore (Micro-level)."
I spent a drop of Ether. The crack in the tube sealed. The leaking oil stopped. The mechanism's operation became smooth.
The guard moved his arm. Whirrr-whirrr. Silent and smooth.
He looked at me with a mix of surprise and suspicion.
"Pass," he said, opening the gate. "But don't let me see you in the city, piece of meat."
We walked through. Aidos nudged my shoulder.
"The 'Cheese' part was great, wasn't it?" she whispered.
"The Oscar goes to you," I said. "Now shut your mouth and look around."
The Iron City.
The view beyond the gate left me amazed and nauseated at the same time.
The sky was not visible here. The top of the city was covered by massive metal nets and pipes that endlessly spewed steam and smoke. Instead of sunlight, neon lights burned everywhere—toxic green, blood red, and dim yellow.
The streets were narrow and filthy. Houses consisted of welded metal containers stacked on top of each other, stretching up into skyscrapers.
Stratification:
The lower level we were walking on was the "Rust Sector."
Mostly poor cyborgs and humans lived here.
A group of "Soft Bodies" (humans) sat by the roadside. They were dirty, thin, and their eyes were filled with hopelessness.
A cyborg passing by them, whose body was 80% shiny chrome, deliberately kicked one of the humans.
"Out of the way, organic waste!" the cyborg shouted.
The human didn't make a sound. He simply lowered his head and remained lying in the mud.
"Being human here is tantamount to a crime," I said, grinding my teeth.
"Because humans are weak," Aidos said coolly (though there was regret in her voice). "In this world, the stronger the 'Body,' the higher the status. If you have money, you replace your arm with a laser cannon and become a 'Baron.' If you have no money, you rust and die."
We arrived at the market square.
A true cyber-medieval atmosphere reigned here.
The things being sold on the counters were unbelievable:
"Second-hand eyes" (Bionic eyes floating in jars).
"Mana-Batteries" (Magical energy storage).
Weapons: Chainsaw swords, Steam rifles, and strange "Runic Staves."
I stopped in front of a shop. The sign read "Techno-Shaman Services."
Inside sat a half-robot old man. Before him sat a young man (a cyborg) with a severed arm.
The Shaman held a tool resembling a welding apparatus, but instead of fire, blue Magical Light poured from its tip.
He was drawing strange symbols (runes) on the young man's metal arm. Each drawn symbol glowed, strengthening the metal.
"Mixed technology," I said in amazement. "Magic and engineering."
"That is 'Ether Welding'," Aidos said. "Normal welding connects metal. This gives the metal a 'Soul' or makes it lighter. An expensive service."
Just then, a commotion arose in the middle of the market.
People (and cyborgs) split in two, clearing a path.
From the other side of the street, a floating platform appeared, carrying a representative of the "High Class."
He didn't walk on the ground. He sat on an anti-gravity throne.
This being was... beautiful and terrible. His entire body was made of pure gold and platinum alloy, his face a smooth mask resembling a human's. Behind him, four mechanical "spider-legs" fluttered like a cape.
Around him were guards and... chained Mages.
Yes, humans. But they weren't ordinary humans. They were people with "choker collars" around their necks and blue light streaming from their eyes.
They were maintaining an invisible shield around the High Being.
"A 'Processor'," Aidos said in a low voice. "The rulers of the city. They have removed everything human from their bodies. They might have even uploaded their brains to a digital cloud. And those in chains... they are 'Ether Batteries.' They simply use humans with natural magic abilities as generators."
My fists clenched.
"System, analyze that Golden Boy."
[Error. Target possesses a strong Psychic Shield.]
[Threat Level: Extreme. Flight recommended.]
The High Being passed right by us. His "mask" eyes fixed on us for a second.
I held my breath. Did he see us?
No, he considered us mere background, trash, and looked away.
Once he passed, Aidos pulled my sleeve.
"Liam, let's go. We need to find the server. There is an 'Archive Tower' in the central square. My copy should be there."
We went deeper into the "Rust Sector" through narrow streets.
Weapons here were simpler, but more dangerous. Around every corner, someone could stab someone else or take them apart for parts.
At one point, a strange building appeared before us. A neon sign flickered above it:
"THE IRON STOMACH – INN & BAR"
(In small letters below: "Food available for organics too")
"I'm hungry," I said, pointing at the building. "And we need information. Bars are sources of information in any RPG."
"Are you serious?" Aidos shook her head in disapproval. "We are wanted, and you want to drink beer?"
"Not beer, information," I said and pushed the door open.
The inside was full of smoke, noise, and a strange smell (burnt oil and alcohol).
Mostly "low-level" cyborgs and a few suspicious humans sat at the tables.
On stage, believe it or not, a Four-Armed Robot was playing the drums.
We sat at an empty table in the corner.
The bartender – a fat cyborg with lenses instead of eyes – came up to us.
"What do you need? Oil or Alcohol?"
"Both," I said. "And I was hoping we could talk a bit."
I took a small gear left over from the Alpha Wolf (it was actually platinum-coated) from my pocket and placed it on the table.
The bartender's lenses "zoomed." He took the gear quickly.
"Well?" he said, lowering his voice.
"We need routes into the Archive Tower. Not through the official door. Through the 'Black Route'."
The bartender looked around, then leaned over the table.
"The Archive? You're crazy. It's guarded by 'Cleaners.' But... if you really want to, a group is gathering in the 'Lower Sewers' tonight. They call themselves the 'Restorers'."
I froze.
"What did you say? Who?"
"Restorers," the bartender repeated. "A group of insane humans who believe in restoring the old world. They want to enter the Archive and find the 'Great Code.' If you want to die, find them."
The bartender left.
I looked at Aidos.
"Did you hear that? Do I have 'Colleagues' in this world? Or is it just a name?"
"I don't know," Aidos said. "But it's very suspicious. And very interesting."
Just as we were about to make a plan, the bar door burst open.
Three Bounty Hunters entered. They were dressed like cowboys, but under their cloaks were laser pistols and plasma whips.
One of them stepped into the center and turned on a hologram projector.
An image of me (a blurry image taken from the camera in the garage) and Aidos appeared in the air.
"Attention!" shouted the hunter. "These two 'vandals' are wanted. Dead or alive. Reward: 10,000 Credits and citizenship status!"
Everyone in the bar went silent.
Then, dozens of artificial eyes and cameras slowly turned toward us.
I looked at Aidos and slowly gripped "Excalibur" under the table.
"I have bad news for you, Aidos."
"What?"
"I don't think we'll have time for beer."