They found the machine half-buried in a rail yard at the edge of the city.
Freight cars lay overturned, metal warped and split from whatever battle had passed through years ago. Between two rusted locomotives stood the target, tall, angular, and unmistakably military.
[Ilya] "Centurion-class, heavy patrol unit."
They hid behind a stack of concrete tiles.
The Centurion stood nearly three meters tall, built on reverse-jointed legs with thick stabilizers at the hips. Its arms ended in modular mounts currently fitted with a long-range pulse rifle on one side and a reinforced breaching blade on the other. A narrow headpiece housed a rotating sensor crown that glowed a dim blue.
Unlike the last machines they'd faced, this one wasn't wandering.
It was waiting. For something.
The Fox adjusted her gloves, eyes tracing the machine's stance. It wasn't pacing or scanning in wide sweeps. It stood still, as if filtering distant frequencies.
[Fox] "What's it doing?"
[Ilya] "Waiting"
[Fox] "For what?"
He didn't answer.
They moved low between rail cars, keeping metal between themselves and the Centurion's line of sight. Rain had stopped, leaving the air heavy and metallic.
When they were close enough to hear the faint hum of the machine's core, Ilya signalled halt.
[Ilya] "We won't destabilize it first. Too much armor. We go quiet."
The Fox nodded.
He produced a narrow spike device from his pack, sleeker than the previous EMP tool.
[Ilya] "Signal tap, we'll piggyback onto its sensor diagnostics."
They split.
The `Fox circled wide along the rail yard's perimeter while Ilya approached from the opposite side, staying within the blind arc beneath the Centurion's shoulder mount.
He slid the spike along the ground, guiding it with careful pressure until it attached magnetically to the machine's rear ankle assembly.
a faint pulse emitted, too subtle to hear, but visible on Ilya's wrist display.
The Centurion's head tilted further.
Its blue sensor crown flickered once.
Ilya's voice whispered into her hear through her mask. He had fitted it with a magnetic strap and a microphone after having seen the mundanity of the thing.
[Ilya] "Map desync initiated. You've got maybe twenty seconds before it corrects."
The Fox moved.
She crossed the open space in a low sprint, boots silent against gravel. Up close, the Centurion's plating bore deep scoring marks from previous engagements.
She vaulted onto a low coupling joint and pulled herself along its back.
The machine didn't react.
She located the maintenance seam beneath the right shoulder mount. Smaller than the Bastion's. Better concealed.
She wedged her pry tool and forced it open.
Inside, a recessed access port blinked steadily blue.
[Ilya] "Inject the crash loop first, don't let it call for help."
She inserted the flash drive.
The Centurion's posture shifted subtly.
The blue flickered.
Then—
Its head snapped backward with violent precision.
[Ilya] "It corrected!"
The Centurion's pulse rifle rotated impossibly fast toward her position.
She ripped the crash-loop drive free and dropped off its back just as the rifle discharged. The shot vaporized the rail where she'd been crouched.
Ilya fired from cover, striking the rifle's barrel assembly. Sparks erupted, forcing the machine to recalibrate its aim.
[Ilya] "Jammer!"
She activated it mid-roll.
The interference washed over the yard.
The Centurion's rifle stuttered, firing erratically into empty air. Its blade extended fully, slicing through a nearby freight car as it attempted to pivot.
The machine stepped forward, crushing gravel beneath reinforced feet, and locked onto Ilya's muzzle flashes.
The Fox drew her rifle and fired into the rear knee assembly. The rounds dented the plating but failed to penetrate.
The Centurion adjusted instantly, shifting weight without losing stability.
The jammer's pulse weakened.
The Centurion's systems stabilized.
Its rifle loaded again.
Ilya dove behind a rail car as metal shredded above him.
[Ilya] "We need that panel open again!"
She moved back in, using the Centurion's own bulk as cover from its limited rear articulation. As it tracked Ilya, she leapt and caught the edge of the open maintenance seam, hauling herself up.
The machine twisted violently, trying to shake her off.
She slammed the white pendrive into the port without preamble.
The Centurion convulsed.
for a split second, they thought they had it.
Then the rail yard erupted.
A sharp, synchronized hum filled the air.
The Fox looked up.
Drones poured over the surrounding warehouse rooftops. At least forty.
The first volley struck the ground around them, precise and suppressive.
The Centurion beneath her stopped resisting.
Its blue sensor flickered for half a second—
— then returned to blue.
[Fox] "It rejected the injection!"
She tore the drive free as a drone descended low and fired point-blank into the Centurion's exposed back panel.
The rail yard became chaos.
Pulse rounds streaked from every angle. Freight cars exploded in showers of sparks. The drones moved like a living cloud, diving into attack laned that boxed them in.
[Ilya] "They're protecting it,"
More drones flooded in from the west end of the yard.
A wall.
[Ilya] "We're surrounded."
He fired upward, downing one, then two. But for every drone that fell, another slid seamlessly into formation.
[Ilya] "Fall back"
They sprinted toward the eastern rail break, using derailed cards as intermittent cover. Drones dipped low, herding them with suppressive bursts.
One clipped the Fox's shoulder plate, spinning her sideways.
[Fox] "I'm good!"
Ilya tossed a fragmentation charge behind them. The explosion tore through a cluster of pursuing drones, scattering debris across the tracks.
It barely slowed the swarm.
The drones tightened formation, driving them toward a narrow tunnel cut through a wall.
[Ilya] "In!"
They dove inside just as a pulse fire raked the entrance.
Darkness swallowed them.
The drones halted at the threshold.
Outside, the Centurion stepped forward into the open yard, intact and unclaimed.
The drones regrouped above it, hovering in silent alignment.
It was as if they came to an alliance to resist becoming a slave to the White Swarm.