The air in the banquet hall shimmered with violent heat distortion. The mahogany table, already charred, finally burst into open flame.
Gluttony stood frozen in the center of the inferno, a statue of molten rage. His cherry-red armor plates had softened, drooping like wax.
"System... failure..." Gluttony's voice synthesizer glitched, producing a sound like tearing metal.
With a final, titanic effort of will, the giant tried to move. The hydraulic pistons in his legs screamed as they forced the expanding metal to grind against itself. But the safety lockout was absolute. To prevent a nuclear-scale explosion that would level the district, his chassis had locked every joint.
CRACK.
The reinforced glass of the stomach chamber finally gave way.
The superheated bioplastic slag spilled out. It glowed with a blinding white intensity, melting through Gluttony's abdominal plating like acid through paper. The giant's torso collapsed inward. The metal legs buckled.
Gluttony didn't scream anymore. His processor melted. He slumped forward, dissolving into a puddle of slag, wiring, and white-hot polymer on the ruined floor.
The God of Feast was gone. All that remained was a pile of industrial waste.
Vance watched from his chair. The heat blistered his skin, but the neurotoxin in his veins made him numb to the pain.
He tried to stand, but his legs refused to obey. He slid to the floor, his vision tunneling to a pinprick. The Blue-Ringed Fugu toxin had reached his heart.
Thump... thump.... thump.
His pulse was fading. He was freezing to death in a room that was on fire.
I have ten seconds, Vance calculated sluggishly. Maybe five.
He crawled toward the bubbling remains of the giant.
He saw it. Amidst the molten steel and plastic, a small, triangular chip pulsed with a steady, heat-resistant blue light. It was embedded in the shielded casing of Gluttony's neural drive, the only component designed to survive a meltdown.
Vance reached out. His hand trembled uncontrollably. He picked up a blackened silver fork from the floor.
He hooked the chip.
He flicked his wrist, sending the chip flying out of the slag. It landed on the cool concrete near his knee with a clink.
Key No. 2.
Vance grasped the hot bio-chip. It burned his fingertips, but he didn't feel it. He felt only the encroaching darkness.
He didn't put it in his pocket. He jammed it directly into the secondary slot of his neural port.
CLICK.
[Hardware Detected. Source: Administrator Gluttony.][Analyzing...][Unlocking Partition: Autonomic Nervous System Override.]
"Unlock," Vance gasped, the word barely a breath.
[Ability Acquired: Overclock.]
It felt like being kicked in the chest by a mule.
A command signal shot from his brainstem to every cell in his body. His mitochondria were ordered to ignore safety limits. His basal metabolic rate spiked by 400%.
Heat.
This time, the heat came from inside.
Vance arched his back and screamed. His body temperature rocketed from a hypothermic 35 degrees to a feverish 42 degrees in seconds. His heart, which had been slowing to a stop, suddenly hammered against his ribs like a piston engine redlining.
The metabolic firestorm swept through his blood. It hunted the neurotoxin molecules binding to his nerves and burned them. It found the waste products and purged them.
Vance retched. He leaned forward and vomited violently onto the floor. It was a black, acrid bile that smelled of chemicals and death—the physical expulsion of the poison.
Sweat poured from his pores, soaking his suit instantly, steaming in the hot air.
He gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of oxygen. The numbness in his lips vanished, replaced by the stinging pain of the burns on his face.
Pain was good. Pain meant the nerves were firing again.
Vance wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He stood up. He was shaking, dehydrated, and exhausted, but his eyes were clear. The Overclock had burned the poison out of his system.
"You survived."
The voice came from the corner of the room.
Greed's holographic projection was still active. The banker stood amidst the flames, untouched, watching Vance with a look of clinical fascination.
"Gluttony is dead," Vance said, his voice raspy but strong. He held up the second Key. "Our deal is complete. Give me the third Key."
Greed looked at the slag pile that used to be his partner. Then he looked at Vance—a man who had just cheated death through sheer biological force.
The banker's expression shifted. The scent of Opportunity vanished, replaced by the cold, metallic smell of Risk Assessment.
"You are too dangerous," Greed said softly. "I thought you were a tool. A disposable knife to cut out a bad partner. But a tool that refuses to break... is a threat."
"The deal," Vance repeated, stepping toward the hologram.
"The deal is terminated," Greed tapped his datapad. "I have acquired Gluttony's assets by default of his death. I don't need you anymore."
KLANG.
Heavy blast shields slammed down over the banquet hall's exits.
"The factory's self-destruct sequence has been initiated," Greed said, checking his watch. "You have five minutes before this room becomes a crater. Consider it a severance package."
Greed smiled, a thin, cruel expression.
"Goodbye, Mr. Vance."
The hologram flickered and vanished.
Vance stood alone in the sealed room. The red emergency lights began to flash. The siren wailed.
[SELF-DESTRUCT IN T-MINUS 5 MINUTES.]
Vance adjusted his sunglasses, hiding the bloodshot intensity of his eyes. He didn't panic. He inhaled the air.
He smelled the Ozone of the locking mechanisms. He smelled the Fear of the droids outside shutting down.
"Nyar," Vance spoke into the empty air. "Are you still with me?"
"Always watching, boss," Nyar's voice giggled from the burning ceiling speakers. "That was a nasty trick."
"Greed wants to burn the evidence," Vance walked toward the blast doors, his mind already calculating the next move.
"Let's see if his bank vault is as tough as his factory."