Damon Blackwood strolled closer, his uniform immaculate, his power—Obsidian Barrier—radiating a smug, impenetrable defense. "Stealing? No. Just retrieving something I have an evolutionary obligation to find," Kenji retorted, wiping grime from his face.
Damon laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. "Evolution? You're a Scrapsmith, Tanaka. You don't evolve. You sweep. This facility houses volatile remnants. It's sealed for a reason. You break in, you die."
"I'm running out of time, Blackwood. I need that scrap."
Damon's smirk widened. "Need it? Fine. Let's make a deal. My father needs a new transport route cleared through the old industrial park. It's littered with minor residual static fields that play havoc with our expensive Grav-Trucks. A high-ranker could blow it all up, but that's too crude. You, however, you can vacuum it."
Damon gestured to his guards, who placed a heavy, rusted, mag-alloy shield at Kenji's feet. "Clear a 500-meter path by dawn. Use only your pathetic Scrapsmith hands. Prove that your power is at least good for something. Do this, and I'll open the Residual Gate Area for one hour." Kenji knew it was a cruel, humiliating task—the most boring, tedious work imaginable, beneath even a Rank 1. But the pulse of the unstable High-Rank Scrap in his chest gave him no choice.
"Deal," Kenji spat.
For the next four hours, Kenji meticulously scoured the industrial yard. He scraped, clawed, and absorbed endless, minute amounts of residual electrical, thermal, and kinetic energy. He couldn't generate power, but he could move it.
He used the electrical static to subtly repel the dust and grime off the road. He used the thermal residue to briefly heat and dissolve hardened slag. It was less magic and more complex garbage disposal, but it worked.
By the time the sun rose, a clean, 500-meter corridor stretched through the industrial blight.
Damon was waiting, a look of genuine shock on his face. "You... you actually did it. You are a truly spectacular waste of talent, Tanaka. Fine. A deal is a deal."
Damon punched a code into the vault door. The heavy steel door groaned open, revealing a dark, spiraling staircase leading down.
"Your hour starts now. Don't die, Scrapsmith. I'd hate to think I wasted a whole morning on your last request."
Kenji didn't respond. He sprinted down the stairs, the vibrant, high-frequency sound of the Echo of Resonance growing louder with every step.
He reached a basement level, the air humming with sonic energy. The Primary Scrap was in the center of the room, protected by a simple, angular automaton construct made of shimmering, solidified kinetic energy.
The construct's head turned, two red optical sensors locking onto Kenji. [INTRUDER DETECTED. AUTHORIZATION: NONE.]