Fire at Will [Mech Sci-Fi Military]

Chapter 114 Scouting (Book 4)



SCOUTING

Wind tugged at Will's coat as he straightened and looked over the edge of the rooftop. Beside him, Remy stepped forward, a slight grimace flashing across his face as his hand brushed the bandage wrapped around his ribs. Becca followed close behind, tucking her hair behind her ear as she joined them at the ledge.

"How are you feeling?" Will asked, glancing away from the fabrication plant.

"Like I've been shot," Remy chuckled, wincing as his breath caught in his throat.

"You shouldn't push yourself," Becca said quietly.

"Yeah, yeah." Remy waved off her concern.

Will looked between the two of them—Becca's guilt-ridden face and Remy's feigned nonchalance. Then, without warning, he said, "We should do something."

Becca tilted her head. "Something?"

"Something stupid," Will clarified. "Drinks. Food. Whatever passes for fun these days."

Remy blinked. "Really?"

Becca looked at him, brows raised, her mouth forming a small 'O'. "You?"

Will frowned. "What?"

"You never just go out," Becca said simply.

"Yeah," Remy nodded. "Whenever we do, it's always something tied to training, investigating, or building something."

"That's not true," Will said. "I can have fun. I do things."

"Name one," Becca shot back.

Before Will could answer, Remy cut in. "You know how many times I've tried to get this idiot to take a break?" He gestured toward Will with his good hand.

"Might be the signature sickness again," Becca said with a smile, covering her mouth.

Will opened his mouth, then closed it.

"We could go to the Orbital," Becca suggested. "See the sights. Eat something that isn't ration-packed or half-synthesized."

Will nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"If I knew getting him off his ass required getting injured," Remy muttered, "I would've gone to the hospital ages ago."

Stolen novel; please report.

Becca's smile faded. "Let's not make a habit of that."

Will's expression hardened as his eyes drifted back toward the plant. "You're right. There's still the Revenant to deal with. First thing we do after finishing them off—Orbital trip."

Becca shook her head, and Remy snorted, a quiet grin tugging at his lips.

"And he's back."

"No," Will grinned. "This time, it's for real. We'll finish the mission—and celebrate."

Remy paused, suddenly serious, then gave a small nod. "Alright. We will."

Together, the three turned to face the fabrication plant in the distance. About half a block away, the structure sprawled across the Undercity landscape—concrete and steel rising from the ruins. From this height, they could see the sharp, urgent movement within. Trucks pulled in, were emptied, and vanished again. Workers streamed between buildings, dragging pallets, welding containers shut, sealing off access points. The plant was bracing for something. Preparing.

Will's eyes flicked between the workers below. Even from this distance, he could see it—arms mottled with burn scars, faces marked by peeling skin and deep discoloration. Radiation exposure, most likely. It wasn't unheard of in the poorer districts, but the concentration here was too high to ignore.

"You see that?" Will muttered.

"The burns?" Becca replied softly. "Yeah. I noticed it too."

"They're in a hurry," Remy observed, squinting at the trucks and workers scrambling across the yard.

"Why, though?" Will said under his breath. "Were they tipped off? Do they know we're coming?"

"No," came a voice behind them.

Damian stepped up beside them, arms folded across his chest. "They've been at this for a week."

"Why?" asked Becca.

"There's no point using the plant as cover anymore," Damian said, jerking his chin toward a charred section of the complex. Smoke stains clung to the upper walls, long black streaks carved by fire. "The riots hit this district hard. Most of these plants won't survive the year—and the damage here is enough to justify a shutdown."

"They're using a fire they started to shut themselves down?" Becca said, aghast.

"That's right," Damian replied. "Lot of heavy machinery in there. Decommissioning it gives them the perfect excuse—trucks moving in and out day and night. No one questions the traffic."

A buzz came through Damian's comm. He tapped it on. "What do you got for me?"

Will pulled out his own communicator, letting the feed play through his earpiece.

"No change," came Trapper's gruff reply. "Yacob's running the scan now."

"How long?" Damian asked.

"Two minutes," Yacob replied curtly.

"Anyone got a bead on Lawson?" Natalia cut in.

"She's busy," Damian said. "What, you getting bored counting creds?"

"Not funny, Rye," Natalia snapped. "We're still barely out of the red."

"Nothing good from the Condors?" Damian asked.

"Barely scrap," she sighed. "Ugh. I hate pro bono work."

"Chin up," Trapper chuckled. "Payday's sitting right in front of us."

Damian leaned forward, squinting toward the plant. "What do you see, Trapper?"

"Cyborgs," Trapper answered, his voice tightening. "There are a lot of them mixed in with the workers. And as for the workers... there's something wrong with them."

"What is it?"

"Not sure," Trapper said, his voice trailing off. "I can't quite put my finger on it."

Damian paused, thoughtful. "You considering a closer look?"

"No. Too risky."

Will rested a hand on the parapet, scanning the street below. A drunk stumbled along the alley, clinging to an empty bottle. An old beggar slumped near the factory entrance, unmoving. A teenager hawked trinkets a few steps away, his half-hearted shout lost in the background noise. Will frowned. Trapper was short, but the kid didn't have the bulk to match him. The drunk and the beggar weren't a good fit either. Wherever he was, Trapper had blended in well.

"I'm almost tempted to send you in just to see their reaction," Damian muttered, before shifting his attention. "Yacob?"

"Done," came the reply. "I'm sending the data now."

Soft pings came from their slates, and seconds later, data began streaming in.


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