“Nope.”
“It’s headed for the wreckage.”
We both know what that means.
It’s not after us.
Not yet.
It’s after them.
“Engaging,” I growl.
“Do it.”
I drop Whiplash into assault posture, whips unfurling from their holsters with a satisfying snap of charge. The mech crouches, shifting weight. Aria reroutes energy from auxiliary systems into the forward drive and stabilizers. Her hands fly over the panel, even as I focus on the target.
We’re about to strike?—
Then the first roar hits.
And itshattersour comms.
Not just scrambles.Shatters.
The entire internal link goes dead. Sound cuts out like someone yanked the power. No Aria. No telemetry. Just the thrum of raw noise and the echo of that monstrous voice vibrating through Whiplash’s frame.
I try to call out—nothing.
Try to signal her through the Meld?—
It’sfuzzy. Disjointed.
Still there... but thinned. Like static over blood.
But I feel her panic spike. Just a flare—then control again. She’s still there. Stillwithme.
I shift into defensive stance, shielding the wreckage with Whiplash’s body as the megafauna circles, kicking up walls of sand and rage. The thing’s tail cracks the air like a thunderclap. The storm hurls itself at us with renewed fury.
We are alone again.
Just like always.
But this time, we’re not falling apart.
She routes emergency power to the rail spikes. I trigger the anchor launchers into the bedrock. We lock into the ridge with a jolt that shudders through the cockpit.
Then I hear her. Faint. Glitchy.
Buther.
“...one shot... flank… stabilize…”
I nod, even though I know she can’t see it.
Doesn’t matter.
Iknowwhat she’s thinking. We’ve trained for worse.
