As the rhythmic sound of Wily’s soft breathing filled the workshop, Andy’s mind wandered back to a time when things were simpler—before the weight of the city and its problems had anchored itself to his soul.

  Andy stood in Wily’s workshop, the scent of old metal and machine grease thick in the air. Half-finished projects, stripped-down tech, and something humming in the background cluttered the place. He should have focused on the present, on the work ahead, but his mind drifted—back to Bastion, back to the days before everything became so complicated.

  Back to Sparks.

  Sparks

  Her real name was Terra, but everyone in Bastion knew her as Sparks because of the small scar on her forehead, just above her right eyebrow. Red hair like fire, freckles dusting her cheeks, and green eyes that held a fierce, unyielding determination even when the world was falling apart. She was a fighter, but she was also his closest friend. Completely a tomboy, incredibly resilient, yet possessing a heartwarming spirit.

  He could still see it—Bastion’s winding alleys, the rusted-out playground where they used to run wild, playing tag between abandoned scrapyard husks. Terra had always been fast, too fast for him to catch most days, her laughter ringing through the air as she dodged around corners like a ghost. But no matter how quick she was, she was reckless, too.

  He remembered the day she got that scar. It had been a stupid game, a race across the rooftops where one wrong step could mean a nasty fall. Andy had hesitated at the edge, but Terra? She had jumped without thinking, always chasing the next thrill.

  She didn’t make it.

  The moment she slipped, time had slowed. He remembered the way her fingers scraped for purchase, the terror in her eyes before he caught her wrist and pulled her back up. But not before the sharp edge of a metal beam had left its mark, a thin scar just above her right eyebrow.

  She hadn’t cried. She never cried. Instead, she laughed, breathless and exhilarated. “That was so stupid,” she had said, grinning even as blood trickled down her cheek.

  He had called her Sparks that day. Maybe it was because she had always been a live wire, crackling with untamed energy. Or maybe it was because, in that moment, she reminded him of the tiny bursts of light when metal struck metal—brilliant, fleeting, impossible to hold on to. The name had stuck, and she had worn it like a badge of honor.

  But what stayed with him more than anything was what she had said later, when the adrenaline had faded and they were sitting in the old warehouse, watching the city lights flicker in the distance.

  “I thought you’d be mad,” she had admitted quietly, tracing the fresh scar with her fingertips. “For being reckless. For messing up.”

  Andy had just shrugged. “You’re still you. A scar doesn’t change that.”

  For the first time, she had looked at him with something unreadable in her eyes, something softer. “Yeah,” she had murmured. “Guess it doesn’t.”

  She never talked about it again, but from that day on, he had noticed—whenever she caught her reflection, whenever someone asked about it, she would just smile. Like it didn’t bother her. Like it never had.

  And now, standing here in Wily’s workshop, surrounded by the weight of everything they had lost and everything they still had to fight for, Andy wondered if she still felt that way. If she still carried that same unshaken confidence.

  Or if, after everything, she was just as unsure as he was.

  His fingers traced the edge of a workbench absentmindedly as his thoughts drifted to the last night he spent in Bastion. The black storm had come out of nowhere, an angry, ferocious thing, tearing through the town with unnatural speed and power. It wasn’t just the weather that had turned violent that night, though—it was everything. People screaming, running, the air thick with the stench of burning buildings and the sounds of frantic footsteps. It was as if the world itself had snapped, and the world outside the city’s walls had come crashing down on them.

  The storm was the signal.

  And then came the chaos. The madness of the destruction. The city of Bastion, once a hopeful outpost in the wasteland, was no more. Crumbling buildings and erupting fires filled the night with the cries of the survivors. But amidst the destruction, Andy’s memory zeroed in on one face, one person who had shared the same terror as him.

  Andy remembered it vividly. The storm had hit hard and fast, sweeping through the town with unimaginable fury. As the streets filled with chaos, Terra and Andy had found themselves trapped, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. The howling wind and the rumbling thunder made it hard to hear anything, but Andy could still see the terror in Terra’s eyes as they dashed down the darkened alleyways, trying to avoid the falling debris and the fires that were quickly spreading.

  But it wasn’t just the storm that terrified them. It was what came after.

  The creatures. The monsters that came out of the night like twisted, broken versions of humanity. They were the worst of the horrors the wasteland had birthed—nightmarish abominations of metal, flesh and the remains of old-world technology. They were fast, relentless, and as savage as the storm itself. Their glowing yellow eyes burned through the darkness, and their jagged, mechanical limbs scraped against the ruined streets. Their cries—half growls, half human screams—echoed off the buildings, sending a chill down Andy’s spine.

  Terra grabbed Andy’s arm, her face pale and eyes wide, and together they stumbled toward an old maintenance grate partially hidden in the debris. Without hesitation, Terra pried it open with trembling hands, and they both slid down the rusty ladder into the sewer tunnel below. The rancid air smelled of rot and damp decay, but it was their only chance.

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  As they landed on the slick, uneven ground, Andy caught Terra’s hand, pulling her close. Her entire body was shaking, her breaths shallow and ragged. Andy wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against his chest. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his throat. “I’m here. I promise.”

  Terra nodded against him, her grip on his jacket tightening. The faint light from above cast long shadows across the damp walls, while the echoes of battle rose over the creatures’ unholy screams. The metallic shriek of weapons clashing with machinery reverberated through the tunnels, punctuated by bursts of gunfire and guttural howls.

  They didn’t dare move. Terra’s trembling hand clutched Andy’s, and he held it in return, the weight of the world pressing down on them both. Their breaths were shallow, each one a mix of fear and the desperate need to stay quiet. Andy could feel Terra’s heartbeat against his chest, the rapid thrum the only thing tethering him to the moment. They huddled together in the cold, damp darkness, listening as the sounds of combat raged above them.

  The fight seemed endless, each explosion and scream dragging the moments into eternity. But slowly, the chaos shifted. The inhuman wails of the creatures grew fainter, retreating in disjointed shrieks, driven away by the relentless assault of their attackers.

  Finally, a tense silence fell over the night, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the crackle of flames above.

  Andy was the first to move, loosening his hold on Terra and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We have to go,” he murmured, his voice soft but urgent. Terra met his gaze, her lips pressed into a thin line, and nodded. Together, they climbed out of the sewer and stepped into a new nightmare.

  The ruins of Bastion lay all around them, smoke rising from the charred remains of homes and buildings. The once-vibrant streets were silent, the air thick with the acrid stench of destruction. Andy and Terra stood frozen, their hands still clasped as they took in the devastation.

  And then they came—the Vanguard.

  Black-armored figures moved with precision through the wreckage, their insect-like, sleek exoskeleton armor gleaming in the fire’s flickering glow. Sharp-edged plating interlocked seamlessly, giving them an otherworldly, predatory grace. They drew their weapons, holding them with practiced ease, while their distorted voices crackled through their helmets, barking orders in clipped, mechanical tones. They were both a harbinger of salvation and a chilling reminder of the world’s fragile state.

  For Andy and Terra, the Vanguard’s arrival was both a relief and the end of something they couldn’t quite name. They were no longer alone, but they knew their lives would never be the same.

  They were an elite force—elite soldiers who answered the call when the city was under attack. They were a force of their own, known for their brutal efficiency of quelling any threat to the city.

  The soldiers moved methodically through the wreckage, their black armor gleaming under the flickering fires. They halted when they found Terra and Andy huddled against a collapsed wall, covered in dirt, their wide eyes reflecting exhaustion and fear.

  At first, there was hesitation. One soldier kneeled, scanning them, then turned to his companion. A quiet exchange passed between them. Andy and Terra heard only fragments. No survivors.

  The kneeling soldier exhaled, then, with a soft whir, his helmet retracted, revealing a face lined with fatigue but softened by something else—understanding. His voice, no longer distorted, was steady, almost gentle.

  “Hey… it’s going to be okay,” he said. “We’ll get you back to the city. There are people there who can help.”

  Andy said nothing, his throat tight. He didn’t have a city. He didn’t have a home.

  Beside him, Terra remained silent, her hands gripping the fabric of her torn sleeves. She didn’t cry. She just stared at the ground, as if she could sink into it.

  The soldier glanced up at his comrades and gave a small nod. “Orphanage,” he said. “Someone will take care of them.”

  But even as he said it, Andy wasn’t sure if that was a promise—or just a procedure.

  And that was how Andy and Terra found themselves in the Vanguard’s care, taken to an orphanage within the city, the only place they could go after Bastion fell. The Vanguard soldiers didn’t ask many questions, but they kept them under their watch, as if waiting for the right moment to send them somewhere else.

  At the orphanage, they were outsiders—Outer-born, a label that clung to them like a stain, whispered with disdain by the other children. They hadn’t been born within Aurelia’s walls, and that was enough to set them apart.

  For Andy, the orphanage was both a refuge and a prison. It gave him a roof over his head, a place to sleep—but it also stripped away everything that had once been his. Someone tore Terra away as easily as they took Bastion.

  But the memory of that night, of holding Terra close in the sewer, of surviving against the madness, would never fade. And deep down, Andy knew he would never forget her.

  As the hours slipped away, Andy continued to work under the flickering candlelight, the only source of illumination in the otherwise dark shop. The city outside had long fallen into its strict energy-saving routine, its lights dimmed to conserve power. The shadows stretched long over the walls, creating an almost surreal atmosphere inside the workshop. But for Andy, it was perfect. It was quiet, isolated. Just him, the parts, and the machine.

  Andy’s hands moved with practiced precision, the faint clicks of his tools the only sound against the low hum of the device. The black market tech Mr. Turner had given him felt different. Not just unfamiliar—something about it settled under his skin, like a faint vibration in his chest.

  As he worked, the parts seemed almost… receptive. The cool metal didn’t just warm under his touch—it felt like it recognized him. Or maybe it was just in his head. He’d always had a knack for machines, an instinct that made repairs and assembly second nature. But this was different. The pieces fit together too easily, his fingers moving without hesitation, as if they knew the exact places to be.

  A quiet shift passed through him, subtle, but undeniable. He barely noticed at first—the way his movements became effortless, how the assembly felt more like remembering than learning. His breath slowed, matching the rhythm of the device’s soft hum, his heartbeat falling in sync with the pulse of energy beneath his fingertips.

  It was probably nothing. Just focus, just muscle memory.

  And yet…

  The machine seemed almost eager, each piece clicking into place with an uncanny smoothness. The more he worked, the stronger the sensation became—like he wasn’t just assembling it, but following something unseen, something that had been waiting for him to put it back together.

  Then a shift. Barely perceptible, like the moment before a storm.

  Andy hesitated, his fingers resting on the last component. The room was silent, save for the steady whir of the machine. A familiar hum. Almost familiar.

  He swallowed and pressed the last piece into place.

  The device powered on, a quiet spark of life flickering through it, and for a moment—just a moment—Andy could swear he felt something stir in response.

  A smile tugged at the corner of Andy’s mouth as he looked down at the device.

  Building, creating, and fixing things had always drawn him not just because it was his craft, but because he could hear and feel them.

  The device hummed louder, and Andy felt a sense of triumph surge through him. He could see it now, the path forward, clearer than ever. This was the key. The device was the answer to stabilizing the bio-engineered vat tanks, to bringing stability to the city’s food supply. They could make this work. He could make this work.