Rustport Requiem: A Gripping Cyberpunk Thriller in the Dystopian World of Planet Ape

SFP#3

Rustport Requiem

Chapter One – Echoes of Faith

Rain hammered Rustport like a vengeful god, pounding on its corroded bones and pooling in grimy gutters. This wasn’t the kind of rain that refreshed; it was the kind that dragged the city’s sins into the open. Neon signs sputtered weakly, their light bleeding into puddles that smelled like a mix of rust and regret.

Jax Morrow stood under the sagging awning of a long-dead dive bar, his coat absorbing more rain than it repelled. His cybernetic arm twitched—a persistent glitch that had been getting worse. He flexed his hand, and the grinding sound of protesting gears joined the rhythm of the rain. Sparks flickered along the seams like dying fireflies.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his voice flat. “City’s rusting out, and I’m not far behind.”

He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a battered matchbook. The flame was small and defiant, a weak beacon in Rustport’s gloom. He took a drag, the cheap tobacco scraping against his throat like sandpaper. Jax didn’t smoke for the taste—he smoked for the rhythm of it, a pause in the endless grind. These days, pauses were all he had.

Tonight’s job wasn’t like the usual ones. No bounty, no underworld debt. This was personal. His systems were breaking down, and he was running out of time to get them fixed. Wren, a black-market techie buried deep in the Ruined Core, was his last shot. If they couldn’t patch him up, he’d be dead weight in a city already sinking under its own.

Still, the whispers in the gutters gnawed at him, like rats on a carcass.

“They call themselves the Augmented Rebirth,” someone had muttered at a bar two nights ago, their voice cloaked in dread. “Not a gang. Not a cult. Something worse.”

At first, Jax had waved it off. Rustport bred conspiracy theories like mold. But the stories kept coming: people disappearing, found later as hollowed-out husks or worse—drones. The whispers had grown louder, and they carried a name that hit Jax like a punch to the gut.

Darian Cross.

Once, Cross had been a name tied to hope, back when hope still flickered in Rustport. They’d fought side by side in the resistance, both willing to bleed to save the city. But Cross had leaned too far into the tech, chasing some twisted salvation. Their parting had been messy. Jax hadn’t heard the name in years, but now it stuck to him like a scar that refused to fade.

Jax stubbed his cigarette out against the cracked concrete, his boots grinding the ember into oblivion. He didn’t want to think about Cross or whatever nightmare they were building. He had enough problems trying to keep his own pieces together without worrying about someone else’s apocalypse.

Rustport, though—it didn’t let you forget.

The Ruined Core was the city’s dying heart, where its decay throbbed the loudest. The rain felt thicker here, blending with the chemical stench in the air. Twisted steel girders clawed at the sky, while sagging neon signs blinked in fractured rhythm. The streets were a labyrinth of jagged edges and broken dreams.

Jax navigated the sludge, his coat weighed down by rain and grime. His cyber-arm twitched harder now, the malfunction spreading. By the time he reached Wren’s Mod Shop, the gears in his wrist were grinding loud enough to rival the rain. The building looked ready to collapse, with a faded sign above the door barely clinging to its rusted frame.

He stepped inside, greeted by the acrid smell of burning circuitry. The shop was a chaotic mess of parts, tools, and half-built projects. A wiry figure worked at the back, sparks flying from their workstation.

“Jax Morrow,” the figure called, not bothering to turn. Their voice buzzed like a frayed circuit. “You look like drekk.”

“Wren,” Jax replied, stepping closer. “Still kicking. Didn’t expect that.”

Wren pulled off a pair of smoked goggles, their face illuminated by the faint blue glow of a cybernetic eye. Scars and metal blended seamlessly across their features. “Rustport’s got a way of holding onto its trash,” they said with a smirk. “What do you need?”

Jax raised his arm, the gears screeching audibly. “A miracle.”

Wren snorted. “Miracles cost extra. Sit down and let me see the damage.”

The chair creaked ominously as Jax sank into it. Wren went to work without another word, their hands moving with mechanical precision as they dismantled the arm. The smell of ozone thickened, and Jax winced as sparks danced across his skin.

“This thing’s held together with spit and stubbornness,” Wren muttered, examining the frayed wires and scorched circuits. “What have you been doing, fighting scrap drones barehanded?”

“More or less,” Jax said dryly. “Can you fix it?”

Wren sighed, setting down their tools. “I can patch it up. Might buy you some time, but you’re overdue for a full replacement.”

“Time’s all I need,” Jax replied. “The rest can wait.”

As Wren worked, Jax leaned back, letting the hum of the machinery dull the edges of his thoughts. He couldn’t shake the whispers—Cross, the cult, the stories of tech-fueled zealotry. He tried to dismiss it, but the unease clung to him like oil.

And then the door slammed open.

Three figures stepped inside, their faces hidden behind sleek, insect-like masks. Their movements were unnervingly precise, and their voices buzzed with static as they spoke.

“Wren,” the leader said, their tone devoid of warmth. “You’ve been summoned by the Augmented Rebirth. Refusal is not an option.”

Jax’s hand slid to his pulse pistol, his voice low and sharp. “Wren,” he said, not taking his eyes off the intruders. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Chapter Two – The Edge of Steel

The hum of Wren’s machinery struggled to cut through the tension hanging heavy in the shop. The intruders’ insect-like masks shimmered faintly under the neon light bleeding through the rain-slicked windows. Their movements—too precise, too synchronized—made Jax’s gut tighten. He didn’t need to see beneath the masks to know these weren’t ordinary street thugs. Their minds were long gone, swallowed by Augmented Rebirth’s twisted obsession.

Wren froze, still holding the soldering iron, their expression caught between defiance and calculation. “Assimilation, huh?” they said with forced bravado, flicking a glance at Jax. “Sounds like a real party.”

The cult members didn’t reply. Their leader stepped forward, a sleek chrome blade snapping out from their forearm like the grin of a predator. Their voice, jagged and mechanical, buzzed through the mask. “Your expertise is required. Refusal is illogical. Step forward.”

Jax tilted his head, letting a lazy grin spread across his face as he stood. His patched-up cybernetic arm twitched, a painful reminder of its fragility, but he flexed it anyway. “Sorry,” he drawled, drawing his pulse pistol with deliberate slowness. Its soft hum filled the room. “Wren’s busy. You want to chat, you’re stuck with me.”

The leader’s glowing eyes locked on him. “Interference will not be tolerated.”

“Yeah?” Jax raised his pistol, its faint glow cutting through the haze of ozone. “Good. I’m not known for my tolerance.”

He fired.

The pulse blast struck the leader square in the chest, sending them staggering back. Sparks flew from the impact, but the cultist didn’t fall. The others moved as one, chrome limbs slicing through the air in a blur of precision.

Jax ducked the first attack, the blade missing him by inches and carving a deep gash in the wall behind him. “Fragging machines,” he muttered, throwing his elbow into the nearest cultist’s torso. His cybernetic arm groaned in protest, gears grinding, but the hit landed with a satisfying crunch. The attacker dropped, limbs twitching like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Try not to wreck my shop, Morrow!” Wren yelled from behind an overturned workbench. “This drekk isn’t insured!”

“No promises!” Jax fired again, but his shot ricocheted off a chrome limb, missing its mark. A second cultist lunged, their blade aiming for his throat. He spun away, his boots sliding on the oil-slicked floor. The air buzzed with the static hum of their synthetic voices.

The leader was faster than Jax had anticipated. They closed the distance in a blink, their jagged blade slashing toward his chest. Jax blocked with his arm, the reinforced plating sending sparks flying, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling back into a stack of spare parts.

“Deficient,” the leader hissed, their voice crackling like corrupted data.

“Story of my life,” Jax growled. He drove his knee into their midsection, but they barely flinched. The cultist’s clawed hand shot out, closing around his throat. The pressure was immediate, crushing, cutting off his breath as they lifted him effortlessly off the ground.

“Assimilation is inevitable,” the leader droned, their glowing eyes burning like molten steel.

Jax clawed at their grip, his vision flickering as his enhanced eye struggled to process the input. His pulse pistol lay somewhere across the floor, useless. His malfunctioning arm twitched uncontrollably, spasms of pain jolting through his shoulder.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Wren dart out of cover. They held a modified plasma cutter, its blade glowing a vicious white-hot. With a shout, they lunged, driving the cutter into the cultist’s arm. The chrome limb fell away in a shower of sparks, and Jax hit the floor, gasping for air.

“Frag me, Wren,” Jax rasped, rubbing his bruised throat. “You ever consider a career in timing?”

“You’re buying the drinks after this,” Wren shot back, the plasma cutter still humming ominously in their grip.

The remaining cultists hesitated, their synchronized movements faltering as if recalibrating. Jax wasted no time. He scrambled for his pistol, gripping it tight as he fired twice. The first blast struck a cultist in the chest, sending them crashing into the wall. The second shot hit its mark, frying circuits and dropping the last attacker.

The leader, now missing an arm, staggered toward the door. Their voice distorted as they rasped, “Resistance is futile. The Rebirth is inevitable.”

Jax stepped forward, his pulse pistol humming low and deadly. “Yeah? Well, frag your inevitability.”

The shot hit the leader’s head with surgical precision. Their glowing eyes flickered once before going dark, their body crumpling into a heap of chrome and silence.

For a long moment, the only sound in the shop was the faint hum of machinery and the relentless drumming of rain on the roof. Jax holstered his pistol and turned to Wren, who was leaning heavily against the workbench.

“You alright?” Jax asked, his tone gruff.

Wren nodded, though their pale face betrayed the adrenaline crash. “Yeah. You?”

“Had worse,” Jax said, though his arm twitched violently in protest. He clenched his fist, willing the malfunction to heel, at least for now. “Who the hell were they?”

Wren exhaled, their gaze shifting to the remains of the cultists. “Augmented Rebirth. They’ve been sniffing around the Core for weeks, looking for anyone who can build or fix their drekk. I’ve been keeping my head down, but…” They gestured at the carnage. “Guess they found me.”

Jax’s jaw tightened. Cross’s name buzzed in his brain like static. “They mentioned assimilation. What does that mean?”

Wren hesitated, their expression grim. “They’re taking people, Jax. Forcefully. Stripping them of their humanity and turning them into… this.” They kicked at a broken cultist limb. “Drones. Soldiers. Whatever the hell their ‘rebirth’ is supposed to be.”

Jax felt a chill crawl up his spine, colder than the rain outside. He’d seen Rustport’s horrors, but this? This was something else. Something worse.

“And their leader?” Jax’s voice dropped, steel-edged. “You know who it is?”

Wren’s expression darkened. “There’s a name going around. Darian Cross.”

The words hit like a hammer to the gut, dredging up memories Jax had spent years trying to bury. Memories of a friend turned fanatic. A comrade turned into something… unrecognizable.

“If Cross is behind this…” Jax trailed off, his thoughts racing. Cross wasn’t just a zealot. He was a force of nature when he believed in something. And this cult? It was his magnum opus.

Wren eyed him warily. “You’re not thinking of going after him, are you?”

Jax smirked, though there was no humor in it. “What do you think?”

Chapter Three – Hunted

Rain poured relentlessly as Jax left Wren’s shop, his coat a soaked weight dragging him down. Rustport’s neon veins sputtered in protest, casting fractured greens and reds across the puddles pooling in the cracked streets. The sharp tang of ozone and burnt chrome lingered in his nose—a bitter souvenir from the fight.

And then there was the name.
Cross.
It wasn’t just a name—it was a wound, jagged and raw. A ghost from another life when Jax still believed in something resembling a cause. Cross had been a zealot even back then, chasing salvation through tech like a moth diving headfirst into the flame. Somewhere along the way, that obsession had metastasized into madness.

Jax ducked into a shadowed alley, the metallic stink of Rustport’s underbelly wrapping around him. The rain here ran black, pooling in oily rivers that reflected the city’s fractured glow. His arm spasmed violently again, the glitch clawing up his nerves like a live wire. He slammed his fist into the alley wall, forcing the malfunction into temporary submission.

“Get it together, Morrow,” he muttered, his voice rough like rust scraping steel. He dragged a hand through his rain-slick hair, trying to ground himself. “You’re no good to anyone as scrap.”

His enhanced eye flickered, overlaying a grainy map of Rustport onto his retina. The Core loomed like a black hole, sucking the life out of the surrounding city. It was where everything pointed—Cross’s cult, their operations, their agenda. Every instinct screamed to stay away, but instinct and survival weren’t always on speaking terms.

He didn’t belong anywhere. That was his edge. And now, it was his curse.

Wren’s voice crackled in his earpiece, breaking through the oppressive silence. “You’ve got a death wish, Morrow. The Core’s not just dangerous—it’s fragging cursed. Cross has it locked down tighter than a Corp data vault.”

Jax smirked, adjusting the receiver as he slipped deeper into the maze of streets. “C’mon, Wren. You know me better than that. When have I ever played it safe?”

“Never,” Wren shot back. “And it’s why you’re a walking disaster.”

“Disasters make history,” Jax replied, though the humor didn’t quite reach his voice. He cut the comm before Wren could lob another quip, his focus narrowing to the task ahead.

Rustport’s usual chaos swirled around him as he made his way toward the Core. Scrappers haggled over salvaged tech, the neon glow from nearby dives throwing their faces into sharp relief. Drones buzzed overhead, their optics scanning the crowd like ever-watchful vultures.

Jax walked like he belonged. Nobody stopped him. Nobody cared. That was the trick in Rustport—look like you’re just another piece of debris in a city drowning in it.

As the Core loomed closer, the city began to change. Neon faded into darkness. The buzz of life gave way to an unnatural quiet, punctuated only by the steady drip of rain. The air grew colder, heavier, like it was pressing down on him.

Jax’s enhanced hearing caught faint noises—soft clicks and whispers in the shadows. His hand hovered over his pulse pistol as unease crept up his spine. He’d been hunted before, but this was different. The Core didn’t feel alive. It felt like it was watching.

The first pair of scouts emerged from the gloom, their insect-like masks gleaming faintly in the dim light. Augmented Rebirth. Jax’s lip curled in distaste. Their movements were too precise, too deliberate. Machines wrapped in flesh—or what little flesh remained.

He pressed himself against a wall, pulse pistol drawn. The scouts’ glowing eyes swept the street in synchronized arcs. They weren’t just patrolling. They were hunting. For him.

“Fragging zealots,” Jax muttered under his breath, his mind racing. He couldn’t take them both out without drawing reinforcements, and he wasn’t looking to be the star in tonight’s bloodbath.

His eye flickered, mapping out the area. A rusted fire escape loomed above, barely clinging to the side of a decaying building. It wasn’t ideal, but ideal hadn’t been on the menu for a long time.

Jax holstered his pistol and jumped, his cybernetic arm screaming in protest as he grabbed the ladder. The glitch flared, pain searing through his nerves, but he hauled himself up anyway. Below, the scouts continued their sweep, oblivious to his ascent.

From his vantage point, Jax could see the Core’s perimeter more clearly. Dozens of scouts patrolled in synchronized waves, their movements eerie in their precision. Drones buzzed overhead, their optics glowing like baleful stars. The Core itself loomed beyond—a jagged tower rising from the heart of Rustport’s decay, pulsing faintly with a sickly green light.

“This is worse than I thought,” Jax murmured, his breath fogging in the chill. His comm crackled to life, Wren’s voice slicing through the static.

“What’s worse?” Wren asked, the tension in their voice unmistakable.

“Cross isn’t just running a cult,” Jax said grimly. “He’s building an army. These scouts are the tip of the iceberg.”

“An army for what?”

Jax didn’t reply. The answer was obvious. Cross wasn’t trying to fix Rustport—he wanted to own it. And anyone who didn’t fit into his vision of a perfect, augmented world? They’d be wiped out.

A sound jerked Jax’s attention back to the moment. Metal scraped against concrete. He turned just in time to see a scout scaling the fire escape, its glowing eyes locked onto him.

“Drekk,” Jax hissed, drawing his pistol.

The scout moved with inhuman speed, its chrome limbs a blur. Jax fired, the pulse blast catching it in the shoulder and sending it sprawling. But it wasn’t down for long. These things never stayed down.

The second scout appeared below, its weapon raised. Jax ducked as a pulse blast scorched the wall behind him, the heat singeing his hair. He fired back, the shot clipping its leg and sending it into a sparking heap.

The first scout lunged again, its blade slicing through the air. Jax blocked with his cybernetic arm, the impact sending a jolt through his system. His arm spasmed violently, threatening to give out, but he gritted his teeth and fired point-blank into the scout’s chest. The blast tore through its core, and it collapsed, lifeless.

Jax didn’t wait for the second scout to recover. He sprinted across the rooftop, his boots pounding against the rusted metal. The drones above buzzed louder, their lights zeroing in on his position.

“Wren,” Jax growled into the comm, his breath coming in sharp bursts. “I’m going in. Got any bright ideas?”

A pause crackled through the line before Wren’s voice came through. “You’re not going to like it.”

“I never do,” Jax replied, skidding to a halt at the rooftop’s edge. Below, the Core loomed, its entrance swarming with scouts and drones.

“Head for the main tower,” Wren said. “There’s a junction—a weak point in their network. Overload it, and you’ll fry their systems long enough to get inside.”

Jax smirked, despite himself. “Sounds suicidal.”

“Isn’t it always?” Wren shot back.

Jax glanced at the Core one last time, the hum of his pistol steady in his hand. The path ahead wasn’t just dangerous—it was insane. But insane was where he lived.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s dance.”

Chapter Four – Into the Core

The Core wasn’t just Rustport’s heart—it was its rot, spreading like a malignant virus through the city’s veins. A sprawling labyrinth of metal and circuitry, it pulsed with a sickly green light that painted the streets in shades of decay. From his rooftop perch, Jax scanned the entrance below, his enhanced eye tracking the synchronized movements of the scouts and drones.

They were everywhere. Coordinated. Merciless. And they were hunting.

Jax’s cybernetic arm twitched violently, the malfunction worsening. Sparks crackled from the joints, and for a moment, the limb locked in place before he forced it back to life. His jaw clenched as he wrestled with the disobedient appendage. He didn’t have time for this.

“Wren,” Jax hissed into his comm, his voice low enough to avoid detection. “You still there?”

“Unfortunately,” Wren’s voice crackled back, dry as ever. “You in position?”

“Yeah,” Jax muttered, his eyes fixed on the swarm below. “This place is crawling with Cross’s tin soldiers. You got a bright idea, or are we sticking with ‘straight up the middle’?”

“Funny,” Wren replied. “The weak point is in the main tower—central conduit. Get there, fry it, and you’ll buy yourself some time. But, uh, you’ll need to get past the welcoming committee first.”

Jax smirked despite himself. “Piece of cake.”

“Sure, if you’re into suicide missions,” Wren shot back, but Jax had already cut the comm.

Dropping into the alley below, Jax moved like a shadow, his boots landing silently on the slick, oil-streaked pavement. The rain had eased, leaving behind a thick, suffocating humidity that clung to everything. The low hum of drones patrolling overhead mixed with the faint hiss of leaking steam from corroded pipes.

Jax pressed himself against the cold metal of the perimeter wall, his pulse pistol ready. The scouts moved in perfect rhythm, their glowing eyes sweeping the area. Jax waited, his enhanced vision calculating their intervals.

As one patrol turned, he slipped through a gap in the wall, his movements as silent as the dead city around him. Inside, the air was thick and electric, vibrating with an unseen energy that prickled at his skin. The stench of burnt circuitry and decayed wiring assaulted his senses, but he pushed forward, ignoring the oppressive heat radiating from the walls.

The Core was alive, and it didn’t want him there.

A metallic clang echoed through the corridor as a scout rounded the corner, its glowing red eyes locking onto him. Jax reacted on instinct, his pulse pistol snapping up and firing a clean shot to its chest. The scout staggered but didn’t fall.

“Damn machines,” Jax growled, firing again, this time hitting its head. Sparks erupted as the scout crumpled to the ground, its limbs twitching. The sound reverberated through the corridor, and Jax cursed under his breath. Subtlety was off the table now.

He pressed on, navigating the labyrinth of exposed pipes and flickering conduits. The Core’s throbbing pulse seemed to grow louder with each step, a constant reminder that he was deep in enemy territory.

“Jax,” Wren’s voice buzzed in his ear, strained and urgent. “You’re close to the junction, but you’ve got company. I’m reading multiple heat signatures ahead.”

Jax smirked grimly. “What’s a party without a few gate crashers?”

“Try not to die,” Wren quipped, and the line went dead.

The corridor opened into a massive chamber, its walls lined with pulsating green conduits that cast the room in an otherworldly glow. Scouts stood in formation, their weapons primed. Above them, drones hovered, their sensors sweeping in precise arcs.

Jax crouched behind a rusted console, his eyes scanning the room. He needed a distraction—something to throw them off long enough to make it to the conduit. His gaze landed on a stack of power cells, their unstable glow promising a spectacular explosion if triggered.

“Perfect,” he muttered, lining up his shot.

The pulse blast hit dead-on, and the resulting explosion rocked the chamber. Scouts were thrown like ragdolls, drones veered wildly, their sensors scrambled. Jax didn’t wait to admire the chaos. He sprinted toward the central conduit, dodging debris and the flailing limbs of disoriented scouts.

The conduit towered ahead, a column of pulsing green energy that radiated heat and power. Jax skidded to a halt at the control panel, his fingers working furiously to bypass the security locks.

Behind him, the sound of regrouping scouts grew louder. Their weapons hummed to life, and Jax’s heart pounded in time with the conduit’s pulse.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, sweat dripping into his eyes as he worked.

The final layer of encryption fell, and the conduit’s pulse grew erratic. The green light flickered, the energy within surging to critical levels. Jax slammed his fist down on the final key, and the system overloaded with a deafening crack.

The resulting shockwave sent him sprawling as the scouts collapsed, their systems fried. Drones dropped from the air like broken toys, their lights flickering out.

Jax lay on the ground, his chest heaving. His arm twitched violently, sparks shooting from the malfunctioning joints. The Core’s heartbeat was gone, the oppressive energy replaced by an eerie silence.

He dragged himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. The Core was crippled, but he knew this was far from over.

Cross wouldn’t fall that easily.

This was just round one.

Chapter Five – The Cult Unveiled

The silence after the explosion wasn’t the peaceful kind. It was the heavy, suffocating pause before something worse. Jax staggered through the conduit chamber, his boots crunching over the smoldering remains of drones and twitching scouts. Sparks from his failing cybernetic arm lit his path, each violent jolt making his teeth clench.

The destruction was thorough but not final. The Core still lived, its pulse faint but rising.

A low, resonant hum began to build, growing louder with every second. It wasn’t mechanical—it was primal, like the city itself was drawing breath.

“Wren,” Jax barked into his comm, the static in his voice matching the tension in his gut. “What the hell is that?”

Wren’s reply came through ragged and distorted. “Not sure, but whatever it is, it’s deeper inside the Core. And you’re waking it up.”

“Figures,” Jax muttered, his gaze darting to the crumbling infrastructure around him. “How do I get out of here?”

“You’re not gonna like the answer,” Wren said, their tone grim. “The lower tunnels are gone. You’ll have to climb—straight into the tower.”

Jax glanced upward, his enhanced vision flickering as it scanned the labyrinth of sparking conduits and twisted catwalks above. The Core’s spire stretched endlessly into darkness, a gauntlet of failing infrastructure and hostile tech.

“Up, huh?” Jax muttered, his jaw tightening. “Of course.”

The Climb

The ascent was pure punishment.

Every step on the corroded catwalks felt like a gamble, each rung of the ladder threatening to snap under his weight. The heat from the Core’s exposed energy systems burned against his skin, and his malfunctioning arm twitched violently, threatening to pull him off balance.

Halfway up, the hum deepened, vibrating through the metal and into his bones. Jax paused, his chest heaving as he scanned the chamber below. Shadows danced in the green haze, their disjointed movements too deliberate to ignore.

Then he saw them.

Figures emerged from the haze—humanoid shapes with veins of glowing circuitry carved into their flesh. Their eyes glowed faintly, moving in eerie synchronization.

The Converted.

They were human once. Now, they were something else entirely, built in the Core’s image.

“Perfect,” Jax muttered, raising his pulse pistol.

The first Converted lunged, its movements jerky but disturbingly fast. Jax ducked as its claws tore through the air above him. His return shot hit square in its chest, but the thing didn’t fall.

“Not enough to stop you, huh?” Jax growled, firing again. This time, the blast took the creature’s head, and it crumpled into the abyss below.

But the Converted didn’t stop.

Three more climbed onto the platform, their glowing veins pulsating with energy. Jax’s pulse pistol whined, the power indicator flashing red. With no time to reload, he grabbed a shattered conduit from the wreckage, swinging it like a club.

The improvised weapon connected with a crunch, and the next Converted fell, sparks flying from its fractured skull.

“Next!” Jax spat, adrenaline keeping him upright.

Another lunged, claws catching his coat and dragging him dangerously close to the platform’s edge. His malfunctioning arm froze, throwing him off balance as the Converted forced him down.

Jax gritted his teeth, slamming his head into its faceplate. The impact was enough to stagger it, and Jax followed up with a brutal kick, sending the creature tumbling into the abyss.

The remaining Converted hesitated, their glowing eyes flickering as if recalibrating. Jax didn’t wait. He scrambled upward, his pulse pistol finally whirring back to life as he ascended into the Core’s beating heart.

The Tower

The summit of the Core was a nightmare—a cavernous chamber where the green light pulsed like a living thing. Writhing cables snaked through the space, carrying power to the twisted machinery that lined the walls.

At the center stood a figure, their silhouette framed by the unholy glow.

“You’ve come far, Jax Morrow,” the figure said, their voice a distorted blend of man and machine. “Farther than most.”

Jax leveled his pistol, his grip steady despite the sparks flying from his arm. “Yeah, I’ve got a habit of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Who the hell are you?”

The figure stepped into the light, revealing a grotesque blend of flesh and circuitry. Metal plates covered parts of their face, glowing veins running like scars across their skin. But their eyes—those were still human.

And they were familiar.

“Drake,” Jax said, the name escaping in a breath.

The figure tilted their head, almost amused. “You remember. I’m touched.”

Jax’s pulse pistol didn’t waver. “What the frag happened to you?”

Drake spread their arms, the circuitry in their body pulsing brighter. “I evolved, Jax. While you clung to your broken humanity, I found truth. Rustport is a carcass, but from its ashes, we can build perfection.”

“Perfection?” Jax spat. “You’re carving people up and turning them into drones.”

Drake’s tone softened, almost gentle. “I’m making them whole. They were broken—like you.”

Jax’s grip tightened on his pistol, his malfunctioning arm twitching violently. For a moment, the temptation whispered to him. Drake’s promise of strength, of survival—it sounded so fragging easy.

But then he thought of the people he’d seen in the conduit. The Converted. The ones Drake had mutilated in the name of his so-called evolution.

“Yeah, no thanks,” Jax said, his voice cold.

He fired.

The Final Stand

The pulse blast hit Drake square in the chest, but they didn’t fall. Instead, they laughed—a hollow, metallic sound that echoed through the chamber.

“You’re predictable, Jax,” Drake said, their tone dripping with disdain. “And fragile.”

The cables around them came alive, lashing out like living things. Jax dodged, firing wildly as the room descended into chaos. Sparks flew, the air thick with the stench of burning metal.

Drake moved impossibly fast, their claws tearing through the air. Jax barely blocked the first strike with his failing arm, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his body.

“You’re out of your league, Morrow,” Drake hissed, their glowing eyes boring into him. “You can’t stop progress.”

Jax’s smirk was defiant, even as his body threatened to give out. “Maybe not. But I can stop you.”

With a surge of strength, Jax drove his cybernetic knee into Drake’s midsection, knocking them back. He grabbed a sparking conduit from the wreckage, wielding it like a weapon as Drake lunged again.

The makeshift weapon struck true, shattering the circuitry in Drake’s head. Sparks erupted, and the cult leader collapsed, their glowing veins fading to black.

Jax stood over them, his chest heaving. The Core shuddered around him, the green light dimming as the tower began to collapse.

“This is for the people you butchered,” Jax said, his voice low.

He turned and ran, the structure crumbling behind him.

Chapter Six – Collapse of the Core

The Core groaned like a dying beast as Jax sprinted through its upper corridors, the tremors beneath his feet growing stronger. The walls buckled, sparks raining down in a staccato burst of light and heat. The tower’s twisted infrastructure was giving up, one bolt at a time.

Behind him, the green glow of the Core faded to a dull, ominous red, its emergency systems clinging to life like the last gasps of a drowning man. Jax’s pulse pistol hung useless at his side, drained and heavy, but still a comforting weight. His cybernetic arm twitched violently, each spasm sending sharp, electrical jolts up his spine.

“This tower’s gonna fragging eat me alive,” Jax muttered, skidding to a stop at a junction. One corridor flickered with the light of failing conduits, the other plunged into shadowy silence. Both promised death.

“Wren,” Jax barked into his comm, his voice raw with urgency. “Which way?”

The line crackled with static before Wren’s voice came through, strained and hurried. “Your tracker’s a mess. Give me a second to—”

“No time!” Jax shouted, ducking as a steel beam crashed to the ground, scattering shards of debris at his feet.

“Alright, alright!” Wren snapped. “Take the left. Should lead to an auxiliary shaft. But you’ve got to move, Jax. That tower’s about to implode.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Jax muttered, bolting down the corridor. The groaning of collapsing metal grew louder, every step a race against Rustport’s death throes.

The Climb

Jax stumbled into the auxiliary shaft and immediately cursed. The lift was gone, long since rusted out and swallowed by the abyss below. What remained was a jagged skeleton of support beams and frayed cables, swaying ominously with every tremor.

“Frag me,” Jax muttered, scanning upward. Faint light from the crumbling tower above illuminated a precarious climb—a series of ladders and ledges, none of which looked remotely stable.

His cybernetic arm spasmed again, the servos grinding painfully. “You better hold together,” Jax growled at the limb as he grabbed the nearest rung. The metal groaned but held. For now.

Each step upward was a battle against the trembling structure. Debris rained down from above, shards of twisted metal narrowly missing him as the tremors grew more violent. His muscles screamed, his malfunctioning arm nearly useless as he hauled himself higher.

Halfway up, a sound sliced through the chaos—a metallic screech that sent a chill racing down Jax’s spine. He froze, peering into the shadowy depths below. There, faintly illuminated by the red emergency lights, figures were climbing. Their glowing veins pulsed with an eerie rhythm.

The Converted.

“Of course,” Jax muttered, his pulse pistol too drained to even pretend to be useful. His eyes darted to a severed power cable dangling nearby, faintly sparking in the gloom. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

The Fight

The first Converted reached him with terrifying speed, its clawed limbs scrambling over the rusted framework like a predatory insect. Jax swung the sparking cable, the live wire crackling as it connected with the creature’s torso. Electricity surged through its body, frying its systems in a violent burst of sparks. The Converted fell, its glowing veins flaring one last time before it disappeared into the darkness below.

“Next,” Jax growled, gripping the cable tighter.

Another Converted lunged, its claws raking against the metal frame as it launched itself at him. Jax ducked, swinging the cable upward with everything he had. The crackling arc caught the creature mid-air, sending it into a spasm before it crumpled lifelessly.

The tremors intensified, the entire shaft swaying as if caught in a storm. Jax climbed faster, his breath ragged as his muscles burned with every motion. His cybernetic arm jerked violently, the glitch spreading further.

“You’re not dying here,” Jax hissed through clenched teeth. “Not today.”

The Control Room

The top of the shaft opened into a shattered control room, its walls lined with sparking terminals and shattered monitors. Jax hauled himself over the edge, collapsing onto the debris-strewn floor. His chest heaved, his body screaming for rest, but the faint sound of movement in the shaft below reminded him that there was no time.

The Converted were still coming.

Jax staggered to his feet, grabbing a jagged piece of metal from the wreckage. Outside the control room’s broken window, Rustport sprawled beneath an ash-choked sky, fires lighting the ruins like dying stars.

“Almost there,” Jax muttered, stumbling toward the window.

The Converted burst into the room in a wave of claws and glowing veins. Jax turned, his makeshift weapon shaking in his hand. “Alright, you fragging rustheads,” he snarled, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The fight was brutal, a desperate blur of sparks and blood. Jax swung wildly, the jagged metal connecting with claws and circuitry alike. The Converted moved with relentless precision, their attacks leaving deep gashes in his coat and shallow cuts across his chest. His movements grew slower, his limbs heavy with exhaustion.

One lunged, its claws grazing his side and drawing a hiss of pain. Jax retaliated with a savage strike, driving the weapon through its glowing chest and twisting until its light flickered out. The others hesitated, their synchronized movements faltering.

Jax backed toward the window, his breaths ragged. “Too slow, rustheads,” he rasped, throwing himself through the shattered glass.

The Collapse

The wind howled as Jax plummeted, the shattered edges of the window slicing at his coat. The Core erupted behind him in a blinding flash of green light, the shockwave hurling him forward. He hit the ground hard, the impact slamming the air from his lungs. His vision swam as debris rained around him, choking the air with ash and smoke.

Jax rolled onto his back, coughing violently. Above him, the Core’s tower shuddered one final time before collapsing in on itself with a deafening roar. The Converted were gone, consumed by the destruction. The Core’s malevolent hum was silenced.

Jax lay still for a moment, staring at the ash-filled sky. His body ached, his cybernetic arm twitched weakly, but he was alive.

“Still standing,” Jax muttered, a faint, bitter smile crossing his face.

As the dust settled, Jax pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. The city around him was chaos—fires burning, people scrambling through the ruins—but for the first time, the oppressive weight of the Core was gone.

Jax didn’t know what came next. But for now, survival was enough.

Chapter Seven – Ashes of Salvation

The acrid taste of smoke clung to the air as Jax limped through the ruins of Rustport. The once-imposing Core lay in shattered ruin, its green glow extinguished, its metal carcass sprawled across the city like the bones of a fallen giant. Fires crackled unchecked, casting wavering shadows over the cracked streets and shattered buildings. The world felt quieter, but not in a way that brought peace—it was the silence of something broken.

Jax glanced at his cybernetic arm, now lifeless and dragging at his side like dead weight. Sparks flared briefly from the elbow joint, a last gasp of circuitry before it sputtered out. Blood seeped through his torn coat, sticking to his ribs with every labored step. Each breath burned, but stopping wasn’t an option.

“Should’ve stayed in the bar,” Jax muttered, his voice rasping as he coughed up ash. He pressed on, leaning against the skeletal remains of a wall for support, every step a battle against the ache in his body and the weight in his mind.

The crunch of boots on broken glass pulled him from his thoughts. He spun, his heart hammering, but the tension eased when he recognized Wren’s soot-covered figure emerging from the haze.

“You look like drekk,” Wren said, their voice cutting through the smoke with wry precision. Their sharp eyes swept over him, assessing damage the way a mechanic might survey a broken machine.

“Feel worse,” Jax replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Core’s down. Converted are scrap. You’re welcome.”

Wren nodded but didn’t return the humor. Their expression was grim. “Yeah, but the Core wasn’t just a cult’s playground—it was holding this city together in its own twisted way. Now the power’s out, drones are dead, and every lowlife with a pulse is crawling out of the gutters. Rustport’s eating itself alive.”

Jax let out a bitter laugh, leaning heavily against the wall. “Wasn’t much better before.”

“No,” Wren admitted, their tone softening. “But now it’s chaos. And chaos has a way of drawing predators.”

The Camp

Wren led Jax out of the city’s smoldering heart, the skyline dissolving into the industrial wasteland that once fueled Rustport’s economy. The air grew thicker with smog and ash, stinging his lungs and blurring the horizon. Jax’s boots crunched over rubble as they climbed a ridge of debris.

At the top, Wren gestured below. “You need to see this.”

Jax squinted through the haze. Beneath the ruins of the industrial sector stretched a sprawling makeshift camp, its lights flickering like fireflies in the ash-choked gloom. Tarps and salvaged materials formed tents that clustered together like a patchwork quilt, surrounded by barrels spewing warmth from burning scrap. Families huddled close, children darting between the structures with wild energy. Adults worked tirelessly, rigging salvaged machinery into crude water filters and generators.

“What the frag is this?” Jax asked, his voice low.

“A resistance,” Wren said simply, their tone steady. “The real one.”

Jax shot them a skeptical look. “Didn’t look like much resistance when the cult was tearing through the Core.”

“They’ve been underground—literally,” Wren replied, their gaze sweeping the camp. “Waiting for the right moment. You brought down the Core. That moment is now.”

Jax’s laugh was humorless. “And what are they fighting for? A city that’s already dead?”

“For a future,” Wren snapped, their voice sharp. “And maybe, just maybe, something better than the hellhole you helped burn down.”

Leadership

As they descended into the camp, Jax felt the weight of countless eyes on him. Survivors paused their work, turning to stare at the bloodied figure limping into their midst. Their faces held more than curiosity—there was fear, awe, and something harder to pin down. Hope.

“Jax Morrow,” a voice called out, steady and clear. An older woman stepped forward, her face lined with age and resolve. She wore simple clothes, but there was nothing simple in the way she carried herself—strong, upright, unshaken. “The one who killed the Core.”

“Last I checked, it was a group effort,” Jax replied, his tone dry.

The woman smiled faintly. “Humility doesn’t suit you, but I’ll take it.” She extended a hand. “Dana Ivers. I’ve been keeping these people alive since the Fade started consuming Rustport.”

Jax shook her hand reluctantly, his grip weaker than he wanted. “Keeping them alive is one thing. Keeping them from becoming targets now that the Core’s down? That’s a whole other mess.”

Dana’s smile faded. “The Core was a nightmare, but it kept the worst of the Syndicate’s greed at bay. Now we’ll be fighting a war on two fronts—against them and the chaos. And I’ve got mouths to feed, not soldiers.”

“You’ve got more than that,” Jax said, his voice flat. “You’ve got people willing to fight. You’ve got hope. But hope won’t mean drekk if you don’t hit first.”

Dana’s eyes narrowed. “You’re suggesting we attack the Syndicate.”

“I’m suggesting you don’t wait for them to bury you,” Jax shot back. “They’ve got the weapons and the power. If you want to keep this camp standing, you take what they have and make it yours.”

The weight of his words hung between them. Dana studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. “You’re suggesting war.”

“I’m saying you don’t have a choice.”

A Spark of Salvation

As the meeting broke apart, Wren caught Jax by the arm. “You’re staying, right?”

Jax hesitated, looking back at the camp. The faces of survivors—worn but determined—stared back at him. People who had lost everything but were still standing. Still fighting.

For the first time in a long time, he felt something stir inside him. Something that wasn’t anger or regret. Rustport might be broken, but maybe it wasn’t beyond saving.

“Yeah,” Jax said finally, his voice quieter. “I’m staying.”

Wren’s grip loosened, their lips curving into a faint smile. “Thought so.”

As Jax turned toward the camp, the fires burned brighter, their light cutting through the ash-filled gloom. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like he was running.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a mistake.

Chapter Eight – Echoes of the Rustborn

The camp buzzed with motion, though a heavy cloud of despair clung to its edges. Survivors moved between salvaged machinery and hastily built shelters, their hushed conversations blending with the metallic clatter of repairs. Fires burned in makeshift barrels, their flickering light casting jagged shadows on the faces of the weary and the defiant.

Jax leaned against the corner of a rusted transport crate, his battered coat clinging to his frame. The fog rolling in from the industrial wasteland wrapped around him like a second skin. He let his lifeless cybernetic arm dangle uselessly, the occasional spark dancing from its exposed wires.

“This place doesn’t run on miracles,” Wren said, breaking the silence as they appeared at his side. They handed him a dented flask, their movements brisk, practical. “It runs on grit, scrap, and prayers. Mostly scrap.”

Jax tipped the flask back, grimacing as the liquor burned its way down. “You’re gonna need more than rusted bolts and good intentions if you’re planning to take on the Syndicate.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Wren said, their tone dry but tinged with frustration. “We’ve got fighters, sure. But they’re starving, scared, and barely armed. Most of them wouldn’t know strategy if it bit them in the ass.”

Jax gestured vaguely at the camp with the flask. “You think this lot stands a chance? They’ll get torn apart before the Syndicate even rolls out their drones.”

“That’s why we have you,” Wren shot back, their voice sharp now.

Jax barked a humorless laugh. “Wrong answer. I’m no savior.”

Wren’s expression hardened, their eyes boring into him. “No, but you’ve survived what they haven’t. You’ve fought, lived to tell the tale. That makes you their best shot, whether you like it or not.”

Jax clenched his jaw, memories of the Core flashing through his mind—Cross, the Converted, the lives he couldn’t save. The guilt sat heavy on his shoulders. “What’s the plan, Wren? You want me to lead this mess? Turn them into an army?”

Wren met his gaze, unflinching. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I want.”

The Gathering

The survivors crowded into the skeletal remains of an old train hangar, the rusted beams overhead creaking ominously in the night wind. The air was thick with tension, the flickering light of distant fires casting eerie shadows on faces etched with exhaustion and fear.

Dana stood at the center of the group, her voice strong despite the uncertainty rippling through the crowd. “The Core is gone, but the Syndicate isn’t. If we wait for them to find us, we’re already dead. We have to strike first.”

Murmurs spread through the hangar—some in agreement, others filled with doubt. Jax hung back at the edges, arms crossed, his sharp eyes sweeping over the crowd.

“It’s suicide,” a burly man near the front said, his voice rough. “They’ve got drones, weapons, machines that don’t stop. What do we have? Scrap and desperation?”

Dana’s gaze didn’t waver. “We have knowledge of this city. We know its secrets, its weak points. And we have the will to fight.”

“Will doesn’t mean drekk if they outgun us,” another voice muttered.

Dana’s voice rose, cutting through the dissent. “Then we don’t fight their war. We make them fight ours. Hit their supply lines, sabotage their weapons, disrupt their systems. Make Rustport too costly for them to hold. They’ll bleed resources trying to hold ground we’ve already taken.”

The murmurs shifted, a flicker of hope sparking among the crowd. Jax could see it—people standing a little straighter, faces hardening with determination.

Dana turned to him then, her steady gaze locking onto his. “And we have Jax Morrow.”

The crowd fell silent, all eyes turning toward him. The weight of their expectations pressed down on him like the collapsing Core. Jax stepped forward, his steps deliberate, his expression unreadable.

“You think I’m the answer?” he asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “I’m not. I’ve fought the Syndicate for years, and it’s cost me more than I’ll ever get back. They don’t stop. They don’t compromise. And they sure as hell don’t play fair.”

The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, fear creeping back into their faces. Jax raised a hand, silencing them.

“But,” he said, his voice steady now, “that doesn’t mean they’re invincible. They rely on machines, on systems that can be broken. We don’t fight head-on. We hit them where it hurts, make them bleed for every inch of this city. We fight dirty. And we fight smart.”

Dana stepped closer, her voice low but firm. “Will you help us?”

Jax scanned the faces of the crowd, their fear tempered with fragile hope. He thought of Eli, of the people the Core had claimed, of the cost of doing nothing.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I’ll help.”

A Quiet Resolve

The camp had settled into an uneasy stillness by the time Jax found himself alone by a small fire. The flames danced in his tired eyes, their light cutting through the deep lines of exhaustion on his face. The flask Wren had given him rested in his hand, half-empty.

“You always this self-destructive, or is it just Rustport that brings it out in you?” Wren’s voice broke the quiet as they sat beside him, their expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

Jax chuckled, taking another swig. “Must be the city. Something about all the rot and ruin feels… familiar.”

Wren shook their head, but a faint smile tugged at their lips. “You really think we can pull this off?”

Jax stared into the fire, his mind racing with the shape of the fight to come. “I think we don’t have a choice.”

Wren nodded, their gaze distant. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”

Jax didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tipped the flask back again, the liquor burning away the edge of his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “Me too.”

For the first time in a long time, the road ahead didn’t feel so lonely.

Chapter Nine – Iron and Blood

The morning brought a dull, ashen sky, its weight pressing down on the encampment. Fires from the night before smoldered in rusted barrels, their acrid smoke mingling with the sharp bite of industrial decay. Jax stood at the edge of the camp, his coat hanging heavy, staring out at Rustport’s skeletal skyline. The city was a graveyard of ambition, its ruins a testament to what power could destroy.

Wren joined him, a salvaged datapad clutched in one hand, its screen glitching faintly. “Dana’s scouts pulled this from the outskirts,” they said, handing it over.

Jax studied the map, his cybernetic fingers twitching involuntarily as the glitch in his arm worsened. The datapad showed Syndicate activity: supply depots, troop movements, and patrol routes. It wasn’t complete, but it was enough.

“They’re overstretched,” Jax muttered, eyes narrowing. “Moving too fast, trying to lock down the city before anyone can push back.”

“That’s our opening,” Wren said. “If we disrupt their supply chain—cripple a few key nodes—we can slow them down. Maybe even force them to retreat.”

Jax’s lips twisted into a grim smile. “Small team. Fast and quiet. Anything bigger will get torn apart before we even leave the camp.”

Wren smirked faintly. “Guessing you’ve already picked your crew?”

“Yeah,” Jax said, handing the datapad back. “And you’re on it.”

The Mission

The plan was brutally simple: hit three Syndicate depots on the city’s outskirts and cripple their supply lines. Each depot was guarded, but only lightly, with automated defenses doing most of the work. The real challenge wasn’t the depots—it was getting in and out before the Syndicate could mobilize.

Jax inspected his gear in the armory, ignoring the grinding pain in his cybernetic arm. The malfunction had spread to his shoulder, limiting his movement and leaving sparks dancing along the joints. It didn’t matter. He’d fight until the arm stopped moving entirely—or he did.

“You good to go?” Dana asked, leaning in the doorway. Her combat gear was patched but well-kept, her eyes sharp and focused.

“Always,” Jax replied, holstering his pulse pistol. “What about the team?”

“Set,” Dana said. “Me, you, Wren, Kara, and Vex. They’re solid, and they know the terrain.”

“Let’s move,” Jax said, his voice like steel.

The First Strike

The first depot was buried in the ruins of an old industrial park, a maze of collapsed structures and rusted machinery. Jax crouched behind a crumbling wall, scanning the depot with his enhanced vision. Automated turrets lined the perimeter, their sensors sweeping with cold precision. Overhead, drones buzzed like metal hornets, their red optics glowing faintly in the gloom.

“Too quiet,” Wren muttered, crouched beside him.

“It’s never quiet,” Jax replied, his grip tightening on his pistol. “Kara, Vex—take the turrets. Wren, scramble the drones. Dana and I will handle the guards.”

The team moved like shadows, slipping through the ruins with practiced efficiency. Kara and Vex disabled the turrets with EMP charges, the crackle of disrupted circuits lost in the night. Wren hacked the drones’ systems, their patrol routes rerouting away from the depot.

Jax and Dana slipped inside the perimeter. The guards were few but well-armed, their Syndicate uniforms gleaming in the faint light. Jax signaled Dana to take the left flank as he crept toward the other.

The guard barely registered his presence before Jax’s cybernetic arm shot out, gripping him by the throat. The malfunction sent a jolt of pain through Jax, but he powered through, slamming the guard against the wall with bone-shattering force. Dana’s blade flashed, her target dropping soundlessly to the ground.

“Clear,” Dana whispered, her breath steady.

“Move,” Jax ordered, gesturing toward the depot’s main terminal.

Wren was already there, their fingers a blur over the controls. “Thirty seconds,” they muttered, tension lining their voice.

Jax kept watch, his pulse pistol raised. The depot hummed with suppressed energy, its machinery oblivious to the chaos about to erupt. Sparks flew from the terminal as Wren stepped back. The depot’s systems began to overload, the hum escalating to a whine.

“Time to go,” Jax said, leading the retreat as the depot exploded behind them, fire and debris painting the night sky.

The Final Stand

By the time they reached the third depot, exhaustion clung to the team like a second skin. The Syndicate had reinforced their positions, and every step felt heavier. Jax’s arm was nearly useless, the sparks constant now, but he pressed on.

The final depot loomed ahead—a fortified stronghold nestled in a decaying factory. Syndicate drones buzzed overhead, and the hum of power generators echoed through the air.

“We’re out of time,” Wren said, their voice tight. “Reinforcements are closing in.”

“Stick to the plan,” Jax said, his voice cutting through the tension. “Kara, Vex—focus on the defenses. Wren, find the terminal. Dana, you’re with me.”

The team moved with grim determination. Kara took a hit to the leg, blood staining her makeshift bandage, but she kept firing. Vex barely dodged a pulse blast, his face pale but resolute. Jax and Dana carved a path through the defenders, their movements sharp and unrelenting.

“Charges set,” Wren called, their voice strained. “But we’ve got company.”

Jax’s enhanced hearing picked up the whir of drones and the heavy steps of Syndicate enforcers. “Go,” he ordered, covering the retreat as the depot detonated behind them. The explosion ripped through the factory, sending shockwaves through the ruins.

Aftermath

Back at the camp, the survivors greeted them with cheers, their relief palpable. The depots were destroyed, and the Syndicate’s supply lines were in chaos. But Jax knew the victory was fleeting.

Wren approached him, their face smudged with grime but their eyes steady. “We did it.”

“For now,” Jax said, his voice low. “They’ll hit back harder. We need to be ready.”

Wren nodded. “We will be.”

Jax stared out at the flickering fires in the distance, his body aching but his resolve stronger than ever. The Syndicate wasn’t beaten, not yet. But they’d taken the first step.

And that was enough.

Chapter Ten – Syndicate’s Wrath

The camp’s silence was unsettling, a fragile stillness stretched too thin. Jax stood at the perimeter, his pulse pistol drawn and his enhanced eye scanning the ruins of Rustport. Shadows shifted in the faint glow of distant fires, and the air hung heavy with ash and anticipation.

“They’re on the move,” Wren’s voice crackled in his ear, taut with urgency. “Drones coming through Sector Four, and armored units aren’t far behind. Looks like a full-scale push.”

Jax’s jaw tightened. “They’re pissed. We hit them hard, and now they’re coming to collect.”

Turning, he strode toward the camp’s makeshift command post. Inside, Dana stood over a flickering console, her face hard with determination. Kara leaned against a support beam, her bandaged leg stretched out, while Vex meticulously loaded a salvaged rifle.

“They’re closing in,” Jax said. “Coming from three directions. They want to box us in.”

Dana’s expression darkened. “We don’t have the firepower to meet them head-on.”

“No,” Jax agreed. “But we don’t have to. We split their focus. Hit them where they’re weak, buy time for the civilians to get out.”

Dana’s gaze narrowed. “Evacuate? This camp’s all we have.”

“It’s not worth dying for,” Jax said bluntly. “We scatter, regroup later. If we stay, we’re finished.”

A heavy silence fell, broken only by the faint hum of the console. Finally, Dana gave a sharp nod. “Alright. Wren, get the evacuation going. We’ll cover you.”

Wren hesitated, glancing at Jax. “You’d better have a plan for holding them off.”

Jax smirked, holstering his pistol. “Always.”

The First Strike

The resistance moved swiftly, breaking into smaller units to confuse the Syndicate forces. Jax led one team through the crumbling ruins, every step calculated as they hunted their first target—a Syndicate patrol.

Three drones and two enforcers moved through the rubble, their sensors sweeping methodically. Jax motioned for his team to halt, his enhanced eye tracking their movements.

“EMP the drones,” he whispered. “Then we deal with the tin cans.”

Kara crept forward, placing the charge with steady hands. A sharp crack split the air as the EMP detonated, sending the drones spiraling to the ground. The enforcers snapped into action, weapons raised, but Jax was already firing.

His first shot struck an enforcer’s chestplate, sparks flying as the armor absorbed the impact. The second enforcer fired back, narrowly missing as Jax dove behind cover.

“Hit them!” Jax barked.

Vex lobbed a grenade, the explosion lighting up the ruins. When the smoke cleared, the Syndicate patrol was nothing more than smoldering scrap.

The Cost of Resistance

The victory came at a price. Syndicate forces pressed in relentlessly, their numbers overwhelming. Reports of casualties echoed through the comms, each one a fresh wound to the resistance’s morale.

At the camp, Wren coordinated the evacuation with frantic precision. Families moved through the shadows, clutching what little they could carry. Distant gunfire reverberated like a death knell, growing closer with every passing moment.

Jax’s team regrouped near an abandoned train depot. Kara’s injury had worsened, her pale face drawn with pain. Vex was nearly out of ammo, and Jax’s cybernetic arm sputtered violently, each twitch sending fresh waves of pain through his body.

“This isn’t sustainable,” Vex said, his voice tight. “We can’t keep this up.”

Jax exhaled slowly, his gaze sweeping the shattered remnants of the city. “We don’t need to. We just need to hit them harder.”

The Last Gambit

Jax’s plan was desperate—use the Syndicate’s own strength against them. The resistance rigged salvaged explosives into makeshift traps, choosing Sector Nine, a narrow corridor of collapsed buildings, as their battleground.

As the convoy rumbled closer, Wren approached Jax, their face pale but determined. “This is insane.”

“Insanity’s gotten us this far,” Jax replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

The Syndicate’s armored vehicles emerged from the haze, their drones hovering in tight formation. Jax waited until they were in position, his finger hovering over the comm.

“Do it.”

The charges erupted in a blinding wave of fire and shrapnel, the convoy disintegrating in an instant. The shockwave scrambled the drones, sending them crashing to the ground. The resistance charged, emerging from the shadows with desperate ferocity.

Jax was in the thick of it, his pulse pistol blazing as he moved through the chaos. Every shot counted, every movement precise. He fought as if the weight of Rustport rested entirely on his shoulders—because it did.

The battle was brutal, but the Syndicate was caught off guard. By the time the dust settled, the ruins were silent save for the crackle of dying fires. The resistance had held.

Jax stood among the wreckage, his body battered but upright. Around him, the resistance regrouped, their victory hard-won but incomplete. The Syndicate wasn’t finished. Not yet.

But for the first time, Jax felt something he hadn’t in years: hope.

And he wasn’t ready to let it go.

Chapter Eleven – Fires of Defiance

The fires still burned in Sector Nine, their light flickering against the shattered walls of Rustport’s ruins. Jax stood among the wreckage, his body aching and his cybernetic arm sparking faintly at his side. Around him, the resistance fighters worked in grim silence, scavenging what little they could from the Syndicate’s destroyed convoy.

“We bought ourselves some time,” Wren said, stumbling toward him. Their soot-streaked face was tight with exhaustion, but their sharp eyes betrayed a flicker of hope. “Not much, but enough to regroup.”

Jax nodded, though his gaze remained on the horizon. The Syndicate hadn’t been wiped out—they were regrouping too. And when they came back, it would be with everything they had.

“We can’t wait for their next move,” Jax said, his voice rough. “We need to hit them before they hit us.”

Wren’s expression darkened. “You can’t be serious. Kara’s down, the camp’s barely holding together, and you…” They gestured to his sparking arm. “You’re hanging on by a thread.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jax replied, flexing the malfunctioning limb with a grimace. “We have to keep pushing.”

“And burn yourself out in the process?” Wren shot back, their tone softer now. “What happens to the rest of us when you can’t keep going?”

Jax didn’t answer, his jaw tightening. He turned toward the fighters gathered in the ruins, their faces lined with fatigue and loss. There was no stopping now—not when they’d finally started to fight back.

A Glimmer of Resistance

The mood at the camp was somber but resolute. The non-combatants had been successfully evacuated, hidden deep within the industrial ruins. The fighters who remained knew the cost of their defiance and the stakes of the battles yet to come.

Dana met Jax in the command center, her expression hard as she gestured toward a map spread across a rusted table. “Scouts found their main operations hub,” she said. “It’s in the Core’s shadow. Heavily fortified, but if we take it out, we cripple their ability to coordinate.”

Jax leaned over the map, his enhanced eye flickering as he scanned the layout. “What are we up against?”

“Turrets, drones, enforcers,” Dana replied. “And their command unit—a fragging fortress on wheels.”

Vex snorted from the corner, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Great. So we’re storming the gates of hell with what? Sticks and scrap?”

“We’re not storming anything,” Jax said sharply. “We’re getting in, shutting them down, and getting out. Wren, that backdoor into their systems—can you still use it?”

Wren hesitated. “Maybe, but it’s a gamble. Their firewalls adapt fast. If I get caught in there…”

“They won’t,” Jax cut in. “We’ll keep them busy. Long enough for you to do your thing.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Dana asked, her tone low.

Jax met her gaze, unflinching. “Then we make sure they can’t use that hub again.”

The Last Stand

The approach to the Syndicate’s hub was a deadly maze of rubble and shadows. Jax led one strike team, with Dana commanding the other. Their goal: draw the Syndicate’s attention and give Wren the time they needed to breach the system.

Jax’s team moved like ghosts through the ruins, their steps careful and deliberate. The first obstacle was a drone patrol, its red lights slicing through the darkness. Jax signaled for Kara and Vex to move into position, his voice a whisper in the comm.

“EMP charges. Clean and quiet.”

The charges detonated in unison, the drones collapsing in a cascade of sparks. The team advanced, slipping through the perimeter before the Syndicate could react.

When they reached the hub, the real battle began. Automated turrets roared to life, forcing the team to scatter. Jax dove behind a crumbling wall, his pulse pistol humming as he fired at the nearest turret. Sparks erupted as its sensors shattered, the weapon falling silent.

“Keep moving!” Jax shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Don’t let up!”

Inside the Beast

Wren’s voice crackled in Jax’s earpiece. “I’m in, but their system’s a nightmare. I need five minutes.”

“You’ve got three,” Jax replied, blasting an enforcer that had closed in on their position. The Syndicate forces were relentless, their coordination unnerving in its precision.

Dana’s team broke through the northern perimeter, their arrival forcing the Syndicate to split their focus. It was the opening Jax needed. He led his team to the hub’s main entrance, planting an explosive charge that sent the heavy doors crashing inward.

The interior was a stark contrast to the ruins outside. The walls pulsed with glowing circuitry, the air thick with the hum of machinery. It was a machine’s heart, cold and efficient.

“Command center?” Jax asked, his grip tightening on his pistol.

“Straight ahead, down two levels,” Wren replied. “But you’ve got company.”

The Final Push

The corridors were a battlefield, Syndicate enforcers pouring in from all directions. Jax fought with brutal efficiency, his every move calculated. Kara and Vex held the line as long as they could, but the resistance was running on borrowed time.

When Jax and Wren finally reached the command center, they were all that remained of their team. The room was a fortress of monitors and terminals, the walls glowing with the Syndicate’s operational data.

“Shut it down,” Jax ordered, standing guard as Wren worked. The air crackled with tension, the hum of the servers almost deafening.

“I’m in,” Wren said, their fingers flying over the controls. “But they’re fighting me every step of the way. This system’s fragging insane.”

“Just keep going,” Jax growled, firing at the enforcers pouring into the room. His cybernetic arm finally seized, locking in place with a burst of sparks. He switched to a blade, his movements raw and desperate.

“Done!” Wren shouted, the monitors flickering before going dark.

Jax turned, his body battered but alive. “Then let’s move.”

A City Reclaimed

The Syndicate hub erupted behind them, a fireball that lit the sky over Rustport. The resistance watched from a safe distance, their cheers echoing through the ruins. For the first time, they had struck a blow that mattered.

Jax stood apart, his gaze fixed on the burning wreckage. He didn’t feel like a hero—just a man who had survived another day. But for Rustport, survival was victory enough.

Wren approached, their expression a mix of exhaustion and pride. “We did it.”

“For now,” Jax replied, his voice quiet. “But they’ll be back.”

“Then we’ll be ready,” Wren said firmly.

As the fires burned, Jax allowed himself a fleeting moment of peace. The battle for Rustport was far from over, but for the first time, they had hope.

And that was something worth fighting for.

Chapter Twelve – Shadow of the Iron Fist

Dawn came reluctantly, smothered by the ash-laden sky that loomed over Rustport. The camp stirred with grim determination, fighters preparing for the inevitable clash. Jax stood on a ridge overlooking the city’s skeletal remains, his battered coat snapping in the wind. Behind him, the camp moved like a hive, every survivor playing their part in the coming storm.

“They’re throwing everything at us,” Wren said, stepping up beside him. The glow from their datapad illuminated their weary face. “Surveillance drones are picking up heavy movement—drones, enforcers, and siege crawlers. They’re bringing their whole arsenal.”

Jax lit a cigarette with practiced ease, the small flame briefly lighting his face. “Good,” he muttered through a plume of smoke. “Means they’re desperate.”

“Or overconfident,” Wren countered, their tone sharp. “You’re not actually planning to fight them head-on, are you?”

Jax exhaled slowly, his cybernetic eye scanning the horizon as if daring the Syndicate to appear. “No. We bleed them dry before they ever reach us. We don’t just survive this—we make it hurt.”

The weight of his words lingered between them. Wren hesitated, then nodded. “Alright, Jax. But if this goes sideways…”

“It won’t,” Jax interrupted, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “It can’t.”

Preparing for War

Under Jax’s command, the camp became a fortress. Fighters worked tirelessly, erecting barricades from scrap metal and debris. Improvised explosives were rigged along the routes leading to the camp, and old machinery was repurposed into makeshift weaponry. Every resource was stretched thin, but the determination in the survivors’ eyes was unyielding.

In the central hangar, Dana called a council meeting. The leaders of the camp gathered around a rusted table, a map of Rustport spread across its surface. Jax stood at the head of the group, his presence commanding.

“We can’t face them in open combat,” one of the elders said, his voice trembling. “Not with what little we have.”

“We won’t,” Jax replied, jabbing a finger at the map. “We’ll fight smart. Divide their forces, exploit their weaknesses, and pick them apart piece by piece.”

“And the siege crawlers?” another leader asked. “Those things will crush us.”

“They’ll never make it that far,” Jax said firmly. “Wren’s rigged charges along their approach. Once the crawlers are in position, we detonate the path and trap them.”

The room fell silent. Finally, Dana broke the tension. “It’s risky.”

“It’s war,” Jax said, his voice cold. “Risk is all we’ve got.”

The First Wave

The Syndicate struck at dusk. Drones swarmed the camp’s perimeter, their crimson eyes cutting through the gathering darkness. Fighters held their positions, waiting for Jax’s signal. From a rooftop, Jax watched the swarm approach, his pulse pistol humming softly. Beside him, Kara steadied her salvaged sniper rifle.

“Wait for it,” Jax murmured, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air.

The lead drone passed over the barricade. Jax raised his hand. “Now.”

Kara’s shot was flawless, the drone spiraling out of control before crashing into its companions. Chaos erupted as fighters unleashed a volley of firepower, turning the night into a cacophony of explosions and shouts.

Jax leapt into the fray, his sparking cybernetic arm smashing through a drone that got too close. Around him, resistance fighters moved with practiced precision, their training paying off as they held their ground.

But the Syndicate was prepared.

Enforcers marched through the chaos, their heavy armor deflecting the fighters’ makeshift weapons. Jax fired a pulse blast, the shot staggering one of the machines but failing to bring it down. “Wren, where’s that EMP?” he barked into his comm.

“Almost ready!” Wren’s voice crackled back. “These systems are stubborn as hell.”

“Work faster!” Jax shouted, narrowly dodging a blow from an enforcer’s massive gauntlet. He planted a charge on its back and dove for cover as the explosion tore the machine apart.

Moments later, the EMP detonated. The remaining drones and enforcers collapsed, their systems fried. The resistance fighters let out a ragged cheer, but Jax silenced them with a sharp gesture. “This was just the first wave. Get ready for the next.”

The Crawlers

The night dragged on, each skirmish more brutal than the last. By the time the siege crawlers appeared on the horizon, the resistance was battered but unbroken. The massive machines lumbered forward, their cannons glowing ominously in the dark.

Jax stood at the front lines, his coat tattered and his body screaming in protest. Behind him, the fighters waited, their faces grim but resolute.

“This is it,” Jax said, his voice carrying over the wind. “We stop them here, or we lose everything.”

The first crawler triggered a hidden charge, the explosion shaking the ground and causing the machine to lurch. Fighters swarmed it, planting explosives and attacking its vulnerable joints. The crawler roared in defiance, its cannons firing devastating blasts that tore through the barricades.

Jax climbed onto the third crawler, his cybernetic arm sparking as he tore through its armored hull. The machine bucked, trying to shake him off, but he held firm. “Wren, I need that core exposed!” he shouted into his comm.

“Working on it!” Wren replied, their voice strained.

Fighters on the ground provided cover as Jax reached the crawler’s control core. His pulse pistol glowed faintly as he aimed at the exposed circuitry. “Frag you,” he muttered before pulling the trigger.

The explosion engulfed the crawler, throwing Jax clear. He hit the ground hard, his vision swimming as the sounds of battle faded into a distant roar.

Ashes of Victory

When Jax came to, the camp was eerily silent. Fires smoldered in the distance, casting long shadows over the wreckage. Wren crouched beside him, their face smudged with soot but their expression triumphant.

“We did it,” they said, their voice thick with relief. “The crawlers are down.”

Jax sat up slowly, wincing at the pain that radiated through his body. He surveyed the battlefield, the survivors tending to the wounded and salvaging what they could. Despite the devastation, there was a spark of hope in their eyes—a determination that hadn’t been there before.

“We won’t get another chance like this,” Wren said quietly. “The Syndicate will come back.”

Jax nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Then we’ll be ready.”

As the dawn broke over Rustport, the city stood battered but defiant. The resistance had faced the Syndicate’s wrath—and survived. The fight was far from over, but for the first time, Jax believed they might just have a chance.