Chapter 26: Debt of Blood

  The road to Rusty Port was deceptively calm. Marcus and Vance deliberately chose an old, dilapidated trade route, navigating through canyons of scrap metal to avoid attracting the attention of "The Gears" or roaming marauder packs. They stopped only once—at an automated, solar-powered station in the middle of the scorched desert to refuel the buggy's hydrogen cells.

  Rusty Port greeted them with the familiar, acrid stench of oxidized metal and sulfur. This settlement was significantly poorer than Steel Horizon. There were no neon signs here, only shanties constructed from corrugated iron sheets, between which wandered the shadowed figures of those whose luck had run dry long ago.

  As their buggy rolled onto the main street, initially, no one paid much attention to Vance’s battered vehicle. But the moment the doors opened and they stepped out...

  The atmosphere shifted.

  Vance emerged in his new, massive **"Bastion"** armor, looking less like a robot and more like a walking monolithic fortress. His every step caused the ground to tremble slightly.

  Marcus followed, holding the **"Iceberg"** rifle, which pulsed with a cold, rhythmic blue light, its barrel coated in a layer of perpetual frost.

  Silence fell over the street instantly. The optics of dozens of passing robots locked onto them. In their gaze, one could read a mixture of envy, fear, and awe.

  Their first stop was Doc’s workshop.

  When they entered, the old technician was in the middle of soldering a burnt-out optical module. Seeing Marcus, he froze, the soldering iron hovering in mid-air.

  "Alive!" he exclaimed, his vocalizer crackling with disbelief. "I thought you’d been disassembled for nuts and bolts in the desert weeks ago."

  Marcus silently approached the workbench and placed a credit chip on the scarred metal surface.

  "Here is 10,000. For the rescue and the repairs."

  Doc nearly dropped his tool.

  "10,000?!" He looked from the money to their high-end gear, his optical sensors widening. "Lads, did you rob a Corporation vault? Where did this come from?"

  Vance waved a massive hand dismissively.

  "No time, Doc. We are going to see Gorgan. Not all debts are paid."

  "To Gorgan?" Doc paled, his indicator lights dimming in fear. "He’s been furious lately. Be careful. He’s upgraded his security protocols."

  ### The Beast's Lair

  The walk to the gang leader's bunker felt like a parade. Robots parted like the Red Sea, giving them a wide berth. Gorgan’s gang held half the city in terror, but even his street enforcers didn't dare check the weapons of guests like these. Everyone understood: these two didn't come to beg.

  At the entrance to the underground complex stood a guard, a heavily modified loader-bot.

  "Entry fee?" he barked, blocking the path. "No contribution, no exit."

  Vance didn't stop. He walked past, clipping the guard with his shoulder. The impact sent the guard stumbling back. Assessing the sheer mass of the Tank and the glowing barrel of Marcus's rifle, the guard swallowed his pride and stepped aside.

  They descended into the main hall. It was a vast basement, resembling a warehouse of looted goods.

  In the center, behind a massive table reinforced with steel beams, sat **Gorgan**.

  He was a true monster of scrap metal. His chassis was twice as wide as a standard heavy unit, assembled from a chaotic pile of thick armor plates. Parts of his armor clearly belonged to elite mecha-beasts from the junkyard—spikes from a Crusher protruded from his shoulder, and a hatch from a military transport protected his chest. His lower jaw was disproportionately massive, like the bucket of an excavator.

  But the most terrifying feature was his right manipulator. Instead of a hand, a gigantic **Hydraulic Claw** was welded there, constantly hissing steam and glowing with a dull red light from internal heat.

  He was counting mountains of credit chips, dictating figures to a small, trembling scribe-bot huddled in the corner.

  "I will do the talking," Vance whispered to Marcus over their private link. "He is a psychopath. Do not provoke him unless necessary."

  They approached. Gorgan slowly turned. The heavy pistons in his neck groaned under the weight.

  "O-o-oh... Vance," he thundered, his voice sounding like rocks tumbling in a cement mixer. "You returned to sell yourself into slavery?"

  "I brought the debt," Vance replied calmly, his voice steady. "20,000 credits. And we walk away. Debt cleared."

  Gorgan let out a raspy, metallic laugh, but when Vance poured the chips onto the table, the laughter cut off abruptly. The leader grabbed a handful of credits with his claw, the metal screeching.

  "Real..." he wheezed.

  Then his single searchlight-eye focused on Marcus.

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  "Where did an insect like this get such money? Did he give it to you?"

  Gorgan stood up, looming over them like a mountain of rusted iron.

  "The terms have changed, Tank. 20,000 is too little. You made me wait. Interest... another 20,000. And give me that blue gun as a gift."

  Vance tensed, his servos whining as they primed for combat.

  "That was not the agreement. I brought everything. You burned my workshop, Gorgan. We are leaving."

  "You will leave here only in pieces!" the leader roared. "Seize them!"

  ### Battle in the Cage

  Heavy footsteps echoed from the corridor—the gang was rushing in.

  Marcus realized: negotiations were over. He didn't wait.

  He channeled maximum energy into the "Iceberg," aimed at Gorgan’s head from a distance of three meters, and silently pulled the trigger.

  *FLASH.*

  But Gorgan wasn't just a thug; he was an old warrior. An **Energy Shield** instantly activated around him.

  Marcus's shot slammed into the field. The shield overloaded and exploded in a shower of sparks, melting the boss's helmet, but the head remained intact.

  "The door!" Vance shouted.

  The Tank lunged backward and slammed the massive armored entrance door shut with all his strength, jamming the lock mechanism with his own body.

  They were locked in: Vance, Marcus, the enraged Gorgan, and the trembling scribe.

  Gorgan roared and charged, spinning his red-hot Claw.

  He swung at Marcus.

  "Behind me!" Vance jumped to intercept, taking the blow on his shield.

  *CRASH.*

  Gorgan's strength was immense. The Claw slammed into Vance's shield, crumpling the metal like paper and simply **tore it off** along with the mount on his left arm and a chunk of his pauldron.

  Vance was thrown against the wall. Red warnings flashed on his HUD about critical hydraulic damage to his left manipulator, but he ignored them.

  This bought Marcus time.

  Second shot.

  This time, he aimed at the junction of the neck and shoulder, where the armor plating had separated during the charge. The Cryo-Plasma beam hit true.

  An explosion of frozen metal. Gorgan staggered, dropping the remnants of Vance's shield. His shoulder servos ruptured, exposing the skeleton. The "Iceberg" effect began to take hold—the boss's movements slowed as frost spread across his chassis.

  Vance saw his chance.

  Ignoring the cascade of system errors from his mangled arm, he activated the **Plasma Cutter** on his intact right arm and dashed forward.

  "Die!"

  He drove the cutter blade deep into the breach in the armor, aiming for the Spark chamber.

  Gorgan roared, his systems glitching. But in his final agony, he swung his intact left arm, striking Vance in the torso.

  The blow crumpled the rib cage frame, knocking the Tank to the floor. Vance's sensors screamed about reactor overload and armor integrity breach; energy levels dropped to critical minimum.

  "Marcus!"

  Third shot.

  Marcus finished the enemy with cold precision. Gorgan's head, already damaged by the first impact, simply shattered into fragments from the cryo-charge.

  The gigantic body fell with a thunderous crash, shaking the floor.

  **[Experience Gained: +9200]**

  **[Level Up! Marcus: 23 -> 27 (+4)]**

  **[Level Up! Vance: 29 -> 31 (+2)]**

  ### The Defense

  "The door!" Vance rasped, trying to stand up amidst the wailing of emergency sirens in his head. "They are breaking in!"

  His left arm hung uselessly—servos disconnected by safety protocols. He ran to his torn-off shield, picking it up with his right hand. Quickly, he ripped the **Nuclear Battery** from the dead Gorgan and jammed it into his own slot, compensating for the energy loss.

  "I hold the breach! You shoot everything that moves!"

  The door flew off its hinges from a sledgehammer blow.

  A giant stormtrooper bot appeared in the opening.

  Marcus fired. He didn't even need to charge the weapon fully—short pulses were enough for the cheap bandit armor. The stormtrooper fell dead.

  Others climbed over him.

  Vance stood like a rock, blocking the entrance with the shield fragment, while Marcus methodically, like a metronome, picked off enemies over his shoulder.

  15 shots. 15 corpses.

  When a pile of scrap metal effectively barricaded the entrance, the rest of the gang fled in panic.

  ### Trophies and Liberators

  Silence returned to the dungeon.

  Marcus lowered his weapon. Vance sat heavily on a crate, initiating self-diagnostic protocols.

  "We did it..." he kicked Gorgan's body. "I am taking his armor. I am not leaving here without it."

  They quickly gathered the loot:

  * Their own 20,000 credits back + 15,000 from the boss's table.

  * Gorgan's Armor (Elite mixed plating).

  * Unique Weapon: **"Molten Claw"** (High-tier melee weapon).

  In the corner, the scribe-bot sat, covering its head with its hands.

  "Let it live," Marcus remarked. "It is nobody."

  When they began to exit, carrying bags of trophies and the mangled armor plates, Vance expected an ambush.

  But what they saw made them stop dead in their tracks.

  Almost the entire town had gathered in the square in front of the bunker. Hundreds of robots: old, rusted, with broken parts, who had been oppressed by Gorgan's gang for years.

  The surviving bandits were trying to burrow into the trash to become invisible.

  But the ordinary residents stood silently. Their optical sensors were fixed on Vance and Marcus.

  Someone raised a hand in a gesture of greeting. Someone just nodded.

  In these hundreds of gazes, there was no fear. It was pure, silent gratitude.

  The tyrant who had terrorized them for years was dead. And his killers stood before them.

  Doc stepped out of the crowd.

  He approached Vance and examined his mangled arm.

  "This is the price of freedom," he said quietly. "Come. I will fix everything. It is an honor for me."

  ### Homeward Bound

  Leaving Rusty Port after the repairs, Vance felt his processor running lighter than ever, despite the warnings about new, uncalibrated parts.

  The aura over the city had changed. The streets were calm.

  He drove the buggy with one hand, glancing at the trophy Claw on the back seat.

  "I have my revenge, Marcus. My life's work is restored."

  They drove into the sunset, returning to the Bunker. Now, nothing held them back. They were free, rich in experience, and ready for the main objective—opening the Portal.