A light drizzle poured down that morning, but the Fox didn't have the luxury of waiting for clear skies. The threat from M.A.R.S. still clung to her skin like cold grease. Even now, she could feel him humming at the edges of her prosthetics, pressing against her thoughts the way a hand presses against glass.
She strapped on her mask, tightened the straps on her patched jacket, and scanned the small shelter for the last time. Her turrets, her loyal, frankensteined companions, rested in their charging cradles, dormant. She traced a knuckle along the closest one.
"Stay.", she whispered, "Don't pick a fight with ghosts while I'm gone."
They whirred in sleepy acknowledgement.
She hated leaving them behind, but Jorell was right, Sector 6 didn't let anyone armed besides herself through their gates, and now, with the upped security measures, she doubted she would still be welcome unarmed let alone with a living arsenal. She needed to get in. She needed to speak face-to-face before she disappeared for however long thi nightmare would take.
She killed the power, stepped into the rain and began the trek toward the border.
_________________________________________________________________________
Sector 6's perimeter rose out of the fog like a wall of rusted fangs. A dozen scanners hummed along the gate, sweeping in steady arcs. Gaurds lounged under metal awnings, rifles across their laps.
The Fox exhaled.
"Right. Easy."
She slid down into the drainage trenches, where rainwater rushed past in murky torrents. The pipes beneath Sector 6 sprawled like tangled veins. She knew a few of them by memory, routes she'd tried long ago and failed.
But this time she was lighter. No turrets. No visible machinary. Just a scavenger in a mask.
She waded waist-deep through freezing runoff, shivering as the current dragged at her legs. The tunnel walls were plastered with mold and old political posters half-eaten by moisture. Above her, footsteps thudded across the metal grates.
She moved with the rhythm of the gaurd's patrols, ducking under rusted support beams, climbing up into a broken access hatch, and lipping into the underfloor maintainance shaft.
A breath held. Another step.
No alarms. No shouting.
For the first time in her life, she entered Sector 6 without being stopped.
She almost laughed.
_________________________________________________________________________
Jorell's workshop was tucked behind a row of semi-functioning food stalls. She pushed the door open. The smell of ozone, burnt circuits and cheap coffee hit her like a wave.
Jorell looked up from his workbench, eyebrows shooting up.
[Jorell] "Fox? That you? Where are your spider arms? DId they finally mutiny?"
[Fox] "Very funny"
She shook the water off her jacket.
[Fox] "I left them at home."
[Jorell] "Thats a first" (he leaned back on his stool) "Security didn't give you trouble?"
She shrugged as if it was nothing.
[Fox] "Guess they're getting used to me."
[Jorell] "They're terrified of you. But sure, call it familiarity."
She walked towards the counter, trying to ignore the tight coil in her chest, equal parts worry and guilt. She wasn't telling him why she'd be gone. He'd try. Worse he'd try to help.
And she couldn't risk him being another thing M.A.R.S. could use against her.
[Jorell] "What brings you here? Need parts? Food rations? A new battery pack for one fo your murder-pets?"
[Fox] "Just passing by. Wanted to... check in. I might be off-grid for a bit."
He paused.
[Jorell] "A bit as in hours? Days? A week?"
She offered a shrug that meanth nothing and everything.
Jorell sighed, pressing his knuckles into his brow.
[Jorell] "You have a talent for stressing me out, you know that?"
[Fox] "It's part of my charm."
[Jorell] "Ha"
He wasn't convinced.
He dug around and pulled out a small device, thin, metallic, vaguely shaped like a pendrive but with old-world etchings carved along its sides. The circuits faintly glowed blue beneath its surface.
She stared at it.
He held it to her.
[Jorell] "You left this behind last time. I'd forgotten until now."
She took it, carefully slipping it into a pocket, "Right. That."
He studied her mask for a long moment.
[Jorell] "You're planning something."
[Fox] "I'm planning on not freezing to death out there."
[Jorell] "You know thats not what I meant."
She didn't respond. Couldn't. Instead she stepped back toward the door.
[Fox] "I'll be fine Jorell."
[Jorell] "You always say that"
[Fox] "And I'm always right"
[Jorell] "Barely."
She lifted a hand.
[Fox] "See you."
[Jorell] "Just come back in one piece."
She didn't promise. She just left.
_________________________________________________________________________
Getting out was easier. The gaurds were looking the other way. She made sure not to get her pendrive wet, old tech is generally unreliable wet.
By the time she reached the outskirts, the sky had darkened into a bruised purple twilight.
Her shelter greeted her with familiar silence and the faint hum of her waiting machines.
She set the door's lock, pulled off her wet mask and placed the strange pendrive on her worktable. Its faint blue glow pulsed once. Twice. Crawler bots settled the instant the pendrive came close, a if some unseen signal soothed their rattling cores.
She stared at the small piece of tech, her fingers drumming lightly on the metal.
"Just in case.", she murmured.
But she didn't elaborate. Even to herself.
Instead, she turned to her shelf, gathering crap, rations, energy cells, packing for a trip she wasn't sure she would return from.
Outside, the storm thickened. Inside, her preparations began.
The Deepstrata Metro waited.
And somewhere in the static, M.A.R.S. watched.