Shield kept its promise. Next morning, we headed deeper into the scrapyard than I'd ever gone.
"Where exactly are the Forgotten?" I asked, picking my way over a field of shattered crystal.
"THE GRAVEYARD OF DREAMS." Shield's voice had that reverently-grim quality again. "WHERE SENTIENT ITEMS GO TO DIE."
Cheery.
Tangle clung to my shoulder, wire-body trembling. "I've heard stories. About that place. Constructs go in, never come out."
"THEY COME OUT," Shield corrected. "JUST NOT AS THEMSELVES. BROKEN IN SPIRIT, NOT JUST BODY."
We crested a ridge of compacted garbage and I saw it.
A valley. Massive. Filled with... stillness.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of constructs sat motionless among the trash. Not scavenging. Not fighting. Not moving. Just... existing. Waiting.
"What's wrong with them?"
"THEY GAVE UP." Shield descended into the valley slowly, respectfully. "DECIDED BEING TRASH IS ALL THEY'LL EVER BE. STOPPED UPGRADING. STOPPED TRYING. JUST WAITING FOR FINAL BREAKDOWN."
We walked among them. I saw incredible craftsmanship—war-golems that could have been formidable, elegant servant-constructs built for beauty, even what looked like a teaching automaton with a cracked crystal head.
All sentient. All aware. All choosing to do nothing.
"Why?" The word came out anguished. "Why give up?"
One of them turned to look at me. An elegant construct, possibly female-shaped, made of tarnished silver and cracked porcelain. When she spoke, her voice was bells breaking.
"Because we're trash, little one. And trash doesn't rise. Trash gets buried."
"That's not true." I stepped closer. "I'm trash. I'm rising."
"You're young. Still hopeful." The silver construct's eyes dimmed. "Wait. Time will teach you. We are refuse. Made to serve, discarded when broken. Fighting only delays the inevitable."
"The inevitable what?"
"Entropy. Dissolution. Becoming dust in this forsaken place."
My core burned with frustration. "You're sentient. Conscious. That means something."
"Does it?" She laughed, a sound like wind chimes dying. "We think, therefore we are. But Argentas says we're not. The nobles who made us say we're not. So what does our consciousness matter?"
Shield placed a massive hand on my shoulder. "COME. YOU'VE SEEN ENOUGH."
But I hadn't. I looked at all these defeated souls, these beautiful broken things, and I felt rage crystallizing into purpose.
"I'm going to prove you wrong," I told the silver construct. "I'm going to become something that matters. And when I do, I'm coming back for you. All of you."
She just smiled sadly. "We'll be here. Waiting to watch you break like we did."
We left the Graveyard of Dreams in silence. Even Tangle didn't speak.
Finally, I asked, "Can they really not be saved?"
"SAVED FROM WHAT? THEMSELVES?" Shield's voice was heavy. "THEY CHOSE THIS. RUST. CONSCIOUSNESS MEANS CHOICE. AND THEY CHOSE DESPAIR."
"But why show me?" I demanded. "Why bring me here if there's nothing I can do?"
"TO SHOW YOU THE ALTERNATIVE." Shield stopped, turned to face me fully. "EVERY DAY, YOU WILL BE TEMPTED TO GIVE UP. TO ACCEPT WORTHLESSNESS. TO BELIEVE THE NOBLES WHO SAY WE'RE JUST THINGS."
Shield pointed back at the valley.
"THAT IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU SURRENDER. WHEN YOU STOP FIGHTING." Then Shield pointed at me. "YOU ARE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU REFUSE."
I understood. The Forgotten were a warning. A mirror showing my possible future if I ever stopped upgrading, stopped learning, stopped trying.
"I won't end up like them," I said quietly. "I can't afford to."
"GOOD. REMEMBER THAT FEELING. NOW—" Shield's tone shifted to business. "WE HAVE BEEN TRACKED."
"What?"
Movement in my peripheral vision. Three shapes, massive and predatory, emerged from behind trash-mountains on three sides.
Breakers.
Oh no.
They were huge. Twice Shield's size each. Built from layered armor plates and studded with spikes. War-constructs, clearly—designed to dominate and destroy.
The center one spoke, voice like grinding boulders. "YOU IN OUR TERRITORY. YOU PAY. OR YOU BECOME PARTS."
Shield stepped forward. "WE PASS THROUGH. NO CONFLICT INTENDED."
"TOO LATE. YOU HERE. YOU PAY." The Breaker gestured at me and Tangle. "THEM. GOOD SCRAP. WE TAKE."
My mind raced. Three against two—except Tangle wasn't a fighter, and I was nowhere near strong enough to face a Breaker. Even Shield was outnumbered badly.
"RUST," Shield said quietly. "WHEN I SAY RUN, YOU RUN. DON'T ARGUE. JUST GO."
"I'm not leaving you."
"YOU MUST. ESCORT TANGLE TO SAFETY. I WILL DELAY THEM."
"You'll be destroyed!"
"PERHAPS. OR PERHAPS I SIMPLY DELAY. EITHER WAY—YOUR SURVIVAL MATTERS MORE."
Before I could protest, the Breakers attacked.
Shield met the charge head-on, a walking fortress crashing into superior numbers. Metal screamed. Sparks flew. The impact shook the ground.
"RUN!" Shield roared.
I grabbed Tangle and ran.
Behind me, the sounds of battle echoed. Shield was massive, defensive, built to endure. But three Breakers hammering simultaneously? The math was bad.
I ran east, toward unfamiliar territory. Had to put distance between us and the fight. Had to keep Tangle safe.
Had to survive.
A shadow fell over me. I looked up.
One of the Breakers had broken off from the fight. Chasing me. Gaining fast.
No. Nonono.
I zigged around a trash-pile. The Breaker smashed through it, scattering debris. Relentless. Hunting.
"Rust!" Tangle shrieked. "It's catching up!"
Think. Think. Can't outrun it. Can't fight it. What could I—
The gauntlet. Kinetic absorption enchantment.
Insane idea. But insane beat dead.
I stopped running. Spun. Raised my right hand toward the charging Breaker.
"Tangle, brace!"
The Breaker's fist came down like a falling star.
I caught it. Or rather, my gauntlet did.
The impact should have crushed me. Instead, the enchantment absorbed it—storing the kinetic energy, distributing the force, preventing immediate destruction.
My arm shrieked in protest. Joints compressed. Damage warnings flashed through my core.
But I held.
For exactly two seconds.
Then I released.
The gauntlet discharged all that stored energy back at the Breaker. The shockwave exploded outward, throwing the massive construct backward into a trash-mountain.
I didn't wait to see if it recovered. Grabbed Tangle and ran again, legs pumping, circuits screaming.
Finally, after what felt like hours, I collapsed behind a overturned wagon, gasping.
"That was amazing!" Tangle whispered. "You fought a Breaker!"
"I delayed a Breaker," I corrected, checking my arm. The gauntlet was cracked. Joints bent. Maybe thirty percent functionality left. "And it cost me."
I'd lost my best upgrade. And Shield—
Shield was still back there. Fighting. Maybe dying.
I started to stand. Had to go back. Had to help.
"No," a voice said. Old. Mechanical. Patient.
I spun.
An ancient construct sat in the shadow of the wagon. Clockwork, mostly—gears and springs exposed through cracked brass casing. Half its face was missing, revealing the delicate mechanisms inside. One arm ended in an empty socket.
But its eyes—crystal-blue and bright—held intelligence. Kindness.
"Going back is suicide," it said. Voice like a grandfather clock ticking. "Shield knows this. Sent you away for reason."
"Who are you?"
"Call me Cog." The old clockwork extended its remaining hand. "And you're Rust. The new one everyone's talking about."
"Everyone?"
"Scrapyard talks, young one. News travels in garbage." Cog gestured to the shadows. "You're not first to flee Breaker territory into my refuge. But you might be first to survive the flight."
I looked around. This wasn't just a trash-pile—it was organized. Shelter. Territory.
"You live here?"
"Twenty years now. Ever since Lord Vex decided my maintenance costs outweighed my value." Cog's voice held ancient bitterness. "I was his butler. Served him faithfully. He discarded me for newer model."
Lord Vex. The name from my creator-memories. The one who built me. Who threw me away.
"You worked for the artificer who made me?"
"Did I?" Cog studied me closely. "Yes. I see his style. Functional over beautiful. Modular construction." The old clockwork's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Rust. If I'd known he was still creating sentient beings just to discard them, I would have... well. Wouldn't have mattered. I'm trash now too."
Tangle spoke up. "You're not trash. You're kind. You helped us."
Cog smiled—an expression that seemed to hurt. "Thank you, wire-child. Kind is... nice to be called."
I settled against the wagon, exhaustion hitting. "What do we do now? Shield is—"
"Shield is Shield," Cog interrupted. "Built to endure. If anyone survives three Breakers, it's that mountain. We wait. Either Shield returns or..." Cog trailed off.
"Or Shield doesn't."
"Yes."
We waited. Tangle curled against my damaged side. Cog sat in patient silence, the kind only the very old and very resigned possessed.
I stared at my cracked gauntlet. My one good upgrade, ruined defending myself from consequences of being in wrong territory at wrong time.
The anger returned, familiar now. Comforting. Useful.
"Cog?"
"Yes?"
"Tell me about Argentas. About the nobles. About how the city actually works."
Cog's eyes dimmed thoughtfully. "That's a long story."
"We're waiting anyway."
"True." The old clockwork settled more comfortably. "Very well. Listen, and learn what kind of world threw us away..."
Cog talked for hours. About Argentas's history. The mage-noble families who ruled. The artificer guilds who crafted constructs. The economy built on magical excess and planned obsolescence.
"They make us to break," Cog explained. "Build in fail-points. Limited lifespans. Ensures constant demand for new creations. We're... products. Disposable by design."
"That's evil."
"That's business." Cog's voice held grim acceptance. "And when business is built on treating consciousness as commodity, evil becomes economy becomes normal."
I absorbed this. The conspiracy I'd glimpsed in the surveillance orb wasn't aberration—it was systemic. The whole structure of the city required disposal. Required trash.
Required us to be worthless.
"How do we fight that?"
"We don't," Cog said simply. "We're individual pieces of trash in ocean of garbage. System is too big. Too entrenched."
"Then we get bigger." I looked at my damaged hand, then at Tangle, then at Cog. "We find others. Build crew. Build family. Build something that matters."
Cog studied me for long moment. Then that painful smile returned.
"You remind me of someone. Another young construct who refused to accept disposal. Brave. Stupid. Hopeful."
"What happened to them?"
"Breakers stripped them for parts three years ago." Cog's smile faded. "Hope is dangerous in scrapyard, Rust. Gets you killed."
"Then I'll be dangerous back."
Before Cog could respond, movement at the edge of territory. Massive shape emerging from darkness.
Shield. Battered, dented, trailing sparks from damaged joints. But alive.
"RUST," Shield called. "WHERE ARE YOU?"
I scrambled out from behind the wagon. "Here! I'm here!"
Shield saw me and the relief was palpable even through damaged optics. "GOOD. SURVIVED. GOOD."
"You're hurt."
"BREAKERS HIT HARD. BUT I HIT HARDER. THEY DECIDED I WASN'T WORTH THE EFFORT." Shield noticed Cog. "OLD FRIEND. BEEN LONG TIME."
"Shield." Cog inclined his head. "Still picking up strays?"
"SOMEONE HAS TO." Shield turned back to me. "LESSON LEARNED?"
"Breakers are stronger than me," I said. "For now."
"GOOD. REMEMBER 'FOR NOW.' MEANS IT'S TEMPORARY."
Shield was right. Today I ran. Tomorrow I'd prepare. Eventually?
Eventually I'd be the one doing the hunting.
We stayed in Cog's territory that night. The old clockwork proved excellent host—organized, thoughtful, generous with scavenged energon cubes (magical fuel some constructs could metabolize).
"You can stay as long as needed," Cog offered. "Refuge is open to all who need it."
"Thank you," I said. "But I need to get back. Work to do. Upgrades to find."
"Of course." Cog didn't seem surprised. "The young never rest. Just... remember, Rust. Scrapyard has rhythms. Seasons. Times to push, times to survive. Learn difference, or you'll burn out."
Shield nodded agreement. "WISE WORDS. LISTEN TO OLD-TIMER."
Cog chuckled. "Says the construct who just fought three Breakers."
"DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO."
They had history, clearly. Friendship. I wondered how rare that was—connections that lasted years in place designed to break everything.
"Cog," I said carefully. "Would you... want to join us? I'm building something. Not sure what yet. But I could use someone wise."
Cog looked genuinely touched. "That's kind offer. But I'm too old, too broken. I stay here. Offer shelter. Advice. That's my purpose now."
"Purpose matters," Tangle said softly.
"It does, wire-child. It does."
We left at dawn. Shield, Tangle, and me—small, strange family of discarded things.
My gauntlet was ruined. My confidence was shaken. I'd seen the Forgotten's despair and faced the Breakers' superiority.
But I'd also found Cog. Learned about Argentas. Understood the system better.
Knowledge was power. And I was collecting both.
"Where to now?" I asked Shield.
"YOUR TERRITORY. TIME TO ESTABLISH HOME BASE. DEFEND IT. BUILD IT. MAKE IT YOURS."
"And then?"
"THEN WE FIND YOU A CREW. PROPER ALLIES. PATCHWORK, MAYBE. EMBER, IF WE CAN FREE THEM FROM LANTERN-PRISON." Shield's eyes glowed brighter. "YOU CAN'T RISE ALONE, RUST. NEED FAMILY."
Family. Found-family, built from trash and determination and refusal to give up.
I looked at Tangle on my shoulder. At Shield beside me. Thought of Cog in his refuge, Clink and the Scrap Rats in their warren.
Already had more connections than I'd started with. Already had people who mattered.
"Let's build something beautiful," I said.
Shield rumbled what might have been laughter. "BEAUTIFUL? FROM TRASH?"
"Especially from trash."
"GOOD ANSWER. NOW COME. LONG WALK AHEAD."
We walked together through the scrapyard, three pieces of refuse refusing to stay buried.
Behind us, the city gleamed, perfect and poisonous.
Ahead of us, trash-mountains rose like opportunities.
And somewhere between the two, I was becoming something neither broken nor whole.
Something new.
To be continued...