Icy black rain pattered on asphalt, its waters laden with the toxicity in the air. Tall palms bordering the street danced in the strong wind ushered in by the storm. A rundown, two-storeyed cottage stood incongruously at the end of the street, dimly lit from within — an inn, the only one in town. A lone hooded traveller, scrawny and slightly hunched, hobbled through the narrow street with the support of a walking stick. 

When bolts of lightning raced across the sky, the wet street screamed silently, ghastly white. The palms, too, appeared dismayed, their broad trunks a facsimile of terrified faces, their leaves like hands with extended fingers. Storm clouds waltzed dolefully, visible through the cracked roof of the gorge, within which lay the hidden town of Urgator. The deafening clap of thunder followed, spurring the traveller onwards, the cottage cracking and creaking, as he made his way across the porch. 

A cacophony of voices replaced the sound of the downpour as the traveller stepped into the inn and shut the double doors behind him. It seemed like the entire town had found itself shelter within this meagre estate. The innkeeper, a rakish young man with three mechanical arms, a semi-plated face, and a perfectly trimmed moustache, nodded his head in welcome. 

‘There’s tables upstairs, ay,’ the Mechanov called out over the noise of his patrons. ‘Or in the back if you want to try your luck and make some cash. The kids have got some good games going. Win or lose, drink’s on the house if you’re playing.’ 

‘I’m only here for information,’ came the reply. ‘I’m looking for someone.’ The innkeeper then beckoned him closer with a curl of a steel finger. Looking around from under his hood, the traveller took a few guarded steps towards the bar and continued in an undertone, ‘Keeper at the docks mentioned I could find someone called the Silent Ripper here.’ 

‘Gaia’s great bottoms! Got yourself in a pickle, have you?’ The innkeeper leaned back, folding two of his arms, and eyed the traveller with a raised eyebrow. He puckered his lips in thought, which made his trimmed moustache bristle outwards. ‘Why’d you have to go and say that name? Been years since somebody came here knocking, looking for that old bastard! Mark my words, every time I hear that name, there’s trouble! It’s bad for business!’ Then, he leaned forward again, continuing in a whisper. ‘You aren’t one of those spies from the mountains, are you?’    

The traveller did not reply. It was quite evident that he was not a spy. His cloak was shabby and whatever little was exposed of him, one could conclude that he posed no threat. His embroidered boots and gloves, however, betrayed that he was Aerozan. 

‘Go on then, ay,’ the innkeeper continued. ‘Why would an Azy, like you, be looking for a hushed-up runaway? Or rather, what are you doing in Urgator in the first place? This whole town’s full of runaways. ‘Bit disreputable for you, isn’t it?’ 

‘I’m just passing by,’ replied the traveller. He looked around, eyes narrowed, darting here and there, wary of any suspicious behaviour. ‘I was told that the Silent Ripper could help fix my friend. He seems to know a lot about… Mechanovs.’ 

‘He’s just a petulant drunk, he is! He knows nothing about fixing Mechanovs. Your friend’s got a loose screw? Take them to Aeroz. There aren’t any hypros here.’ 

‘No, you don’t understand!’ the traveller persisted, forgetting to speak in a low tone. Some of the other patrons glanced his way. He pulled his hood lower over his face, then continued, ‘My friend… she might die!’ 

The bartender eyed him again, then reluctantly said, ‘You sound like a good man, ay. You don’t sound like you’re looking for trouble. Few around town know about the Silent Ripper. Word is that if any come looking for him, they’re to be shown the door. It’s been a while now, but those hunting him are usually…,’ he paused to lean in, but it looked like he needed a break to shake off a sour memory. ‘...Usually mercenaries — assassins from the Duskwatch. They come crawling down from Asenya, ay. Mighty grim they are. You can recognise one from afar. The way they dress… and speak…’ The innkeeper shivered, his expression quaint, and his eyes wide. ‘Look... the man you’re looking for takes his drinks upstairs. He’s a regular. Should be in within the hour. Tall, big-bellied, half-Poban, half-Mechanov. You can’t mistake him for anyone else.’ 

The traveller nodded a thanks and turned, but the innkeeper whispered to him again, placing his third arm on the traveller’s shoulder, ‘You didn’t hear anything from me, ay?’ 

The traveller nodded again and sauntered away silently. 

The top floor of the tavern was less crowded, and anyone who came in deliberately turned away from the corner occupied by the Silent Ripper. Dimly lit and humid, the room felt like the inside of a cave. Lights were fitted into crevices in the ceiling, allowing only some glow to emit bashfully, illuminating the mildew-covered walls. 

The Silent Ripper was just like the innkeeper had described — a mountain of a man, dressed in dark overalls. A black cloak cascaded down from his shoulders to the heel of his damp boots. The helm he wore was smooth and shiny, as if oiled, made up of plastic or some such material, with leather straps that veiled his face. Tiny dots of luminescence within the helmet betrayed hidden gadgets — probably a part of his Mechanov apparatus. Long scruffy black fur poked out from under his helm.  

He was busy with what looked like an old book, his third pint of ale placed on the very edge of the table by the waiter, who looked absolutely terrified of him. He did not reach out to the pint, vehemently engrossed in some ancient verse. Seeing his opportunity, the traveller stood up, his stick in one hand, and made his way towards the Silent Ripper.

‘Whatever weapon you carry will do you no good,’ said the Silent Ripper casually, to the traveller’s surprise. He spoke in a baritone voice, but it was somewhat distorted, as if he spoke through a voice modulator. ‘Seventy-two percent of my body is covered by steel so strong that a bullet would naught but scratch it.’ 

‘I carry nothing,’ said the traveller as he circled to the front of the table to face the Silent Ripper. ‘My… my friend is dying. Can you help her?’

‘I offer no services,’ drawled the big man, becoming bellicose about the unexpected demand from the stranger. Something whirred under his cloak — a blue glow, where his arm could have been, was visible through the slits in his cape. ‘You’re on your own, here in Urgator. This isn’t some fancy town! And frankly I don’t care who lives or dies. Be gone, whoever you are!’

‘I’m… I’m Sinovan,’ the traveller muttered. ‘I’m just a lowly healer and farmer from Aeroz. My friend is a Mechanov. She was attacked, and… and I’ve stabilised her all I could, but if she isn’t fixed by a hyperprosthetist soon, she’ll… die. Please, can you help?’  

The Silent Ripper stood up so fast that he toppled his chair, and he grasped Sinovan by his collar. The first thing that Sinovan noticed were his steel-plated arms. Beautifully carved, polished dark-grey metal plates, put together like armour of the knights from bygone days. The few patrons who were around, looked towards them, then quickly away. ‘I am not a hypro, you hear me? You have the wrong person!’ 

Bionic eyes darting around, scanning his surroundings, the Silent Ripper released Sinovan, turned his bulk around, and exited the stairway. But Sinovan had no intention of giving up and chased him down and out through the back alley. The storm had passed, leaving everything icy cold and wet. 

‘I can’t let her die!’ Sinovan cried, seeing the helmed man waddle away. Tears streamed down his face and he let out a howl, choking as he tried to keep pace. ‘I can’t let Marana die, please!’ 

Sinovan’s tearful eyes had blurred out much of what was in front of him, and so he did not realise that the Silent Ripper had stopped abruptly and turned around. Sinovan bumped into the man’s great belly. He was sucked in and spat back out, and stumbling ridiculously, his small frame not being able to balance himself, he fell backwards into a puddle. 

The Silent Ripper hovered on top of him, glaring with his two bionic eyes that were now glowing red, ‘Who?’ 

‘“Who” what?’ Sinovan whimpered. 

‘Who did you say was dying?’ he clarified brusquely.  

‘Ma… Marana. She’s a friend of mine. She…’ 

‘She doesn’t happen to be Dr Marana Skjavok, by any chance, does she?’ The Silent Ripper bellowed. 

‘The… the very same,’ came the mumbled reply. ‘I didn’t know you were friends.’ 

The Silent Ripper surveyed the empty backyard before producing the same steel arm, but amicably this time. Sinovan took his hand and stood up, wiping dirt from the bottom of his besmirched coat. 

‘We are not friends,’ the big man rumbled. ‘She is known to all hypros. Her work has fascinated us all.’ 

‘Will you see her, then?’ Sinovan sniffed, pulling his hood over his head. 

‘I would not miss an opportunity to meet with her, but…’ he leaned in so close that Sinovan could feel his hot breath. ‘... if you are lying, and there’s an ambush waiting for me, I will rip your calspines out, one by one.’ 

‘There’s no need for threats,’ Sinovan stepped back, frustrated by the man’s inimical attitude. ‘I had not heard of you until last night. All I ask is that you help me, and I will pay… Well, Marana will pay.’ 

‘I have not agreed to anything,’ replied the Silent Ripper. ‘I want to see her first. Take me.’ 

The Gloomhog’s rear chamber had been converted into a makeshift medical bay. Though the truck was well equipped for medical emergencies, Sinovan had to rearrange a lot of the available equipment to cater to Marana’s unique bionic body. He had fastened her to the retractable stretcher, adjusting it to a diagonal position so that he could treat her abdomen, and rectify broken circuits and chips as much as his prior knowledge would allow him. 

A dull red light beamed from the ceiling above the stretcher. Perspiring profusely, Marana quivered in her sleep, her breath unsteady and rasping. Glistening beads of sweat crowned her forehead and dotted her eyelids and upper lip. Her glass body case had shattered beyond repair. Sinovan had set up multi-emitter light arcs around her abdomen, which prevented further putrefaction of her internal paraphernalia. Her vital signs were stable, and she had cheated death… for now. 

The Gloomhog had drifted lazily along River Ch’huin for three days on autodrive, until it had reached the docks of Urgator. Those days had been hell for Sinovan. Mr Murderclawz was always around Marana, and he kept coming in the way of Sinovan’s work, but he was too preoccupied to notice the cat’s interference. Now, Mr Murderclawz was seated on the top shelf, behind Marana, staring curiously at the gigantic newcomer. 

‘I should consider myself fortunate,’ said the Silent Ripper, examining Marana from a distance — not wanting to fiddle with Sinovan’s setup. ‘To set my eyes on a genius such as her… and her life’s work! Aeroz does not understand her worth.’ 

‘Yes, yes,’ Sinovan grumbled, making adjustments to Marana’s medicinal dosage. ‘I have stabilised her. It took a lot of hard work, you know. But I don’t believe she will live too long this way. I haven’t tried to wake her up — she may be in a lot of pain. The trauma to her abdomen knocked her out completely.’

‘Any signs of consciousness?’ 

‘She speaks in her sleep,’ replied Sinovan, his hands constantly working. ‘She mumbles nonsensically. But that’s the least of my concerns. I want to prioritise fixing her limbs — they’ve gone dead. The bullet pierced the glass and shattered it, but it was strong enough to stop the projectile from passing through vital organs. All her injuries were caused by the impact and by glass shards. It seems to have affected her spinal cord the most. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong!’ 

‘Well, for one, you’ve got the temperature wrong,’ bellowed the big man. ‘Her machines are typically Aerozan — elegant, but not as sturdy as Xerbian ones. Her cooling fluid has all but drained out — fix the temperature and half the circuits will come back on. She needs to be cold, not warm.’ 

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sinovan unplugged several hot plugs from Marana’s spinal sockets, which made her wince in her sleep. ‘I’ve overclocked her chips to keep her alive. That’s what’s heating her up.’ 

‘How did you know you had to do that?’ He was surprised by Sinovan’s esoteric knowhow of Marana’s complex systems, but he said nothing about it.

Sinovan took a deep breath placatingly before replying, ‘Some of my Kin had bionic organs. I’ve saved them from certain death several times.’ 

‘Ah,’ The Silent Ripper moved closer to Marana, now more confident about the situation. ‘Bring the chamber temperature down to ten degrees. That should help with her breathing.’ 

‘But her human organs can’t take that low a temperature,’ Sinovan protested. 

‘So much complexity… It’s ingenious! She truly is a marvel!’ walking up to where Sinovan was working, the Silent Ripper looked around, as if looking for the stretcher controls. ‘We will have to take her to my place. She won’t survive here.’ 

Sinovan spun on his heels, facing the rotund man. ‘No! I can’t trust you with that! She stays here!’ 

‘She dies if I don’t replace her parts!’ The Silent Ripper growled. Feeling threatened, he produced both of his metal-plated hands and aimed them at Sinovan as if they were guns. From between the hand-plates, a whirring sound issued and a blue glow emitted, just like before. ‘I can overhaul her system and make her some new limbs! But I need to take her to my workshop.’ 

‘She’s not a doll!’ Sinovan straightened up as much as his hunch would allow. ‘You can’t just overhaul her on a whim!’ 

Marana stirred, disturbed by the commotion. ‘I’d kill for a plate of scrammies on toast right ‘bout now,’ she mumbled. 

When she drifted off again, Sinovan continued, ‘Why is this important to you, now?’ He was not going to let a stranger take Marana away. Urgator was known to be a wild and lawless town in Xerbia. None could be trusted. He had been desperate to seek help, but he had to be cautious as well. This man could rip Marana apart and sell her for parts. ‘I don’t even know your name! You expect me to just let you walk out with her? And I’m not defenceless here! This truck has weapons on the inside too. You’ll be struck down before you even think of doing whatever it is with those arms!’ The Silent Ripper scoffed but said nothing. ‘And if I were you,’ Sinovan added, ‘I would be careful around the cat.’ 

The Silent Ripper eyed Mr Murderclawz who was still staring at him, unblinking, from the top shelf. Both men stood in a silent standoff as the rain pattered heavily, the din of which was audible through the roof of the truck.