The scrapyard sprawled like a battlefield of broken dreams—twisted copper wires snaking through heaps of sparking talismans, shattered crystal vials leaking faint glows, and failed constructs piled into rusted towers groaning under their own weight. The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of burnt ozone and scorched metal, laced with the tang of rust and old oil. Every step kicked up dust flecked with shimmering mana residue.

S.A.B.R.E. scuttled ahead, its legs clinking softly over shifting rubble, climbing a jagged heap of discarded spell-drives. Its green sensor eyes blinked, scanning with mechanical precision.

"There?" Neon followed quickly, brushing past a shattered levitation ring that still hummed with residual power. He shoved debris aside—broken gears scraping his palms—and blinked in surprise.

Wedged beneath an old stabilizer was a Rime-plated gear, its surface gleaming faintly with icy blue frost. Nearby sat a thaumic converter humming with latent magic, a spectral hinge shimmering with ethereal light, and a partial mana siphon pulsing a low beat.

Jackpot.

Neon pocketed what he could. The metal was cool, reassuring. His pouch clinked with barely enough coin.

At the scrapyard booth, a clerk peered over soot-smeared goggles. Neon dropped the coins without a word. The clerk shrugged and waved him on.

Dusk stretched purples and bruised oranges across the sky as Neon pulled the trolley home. The cobbles echoed underfoot, wheels rattling in the quiet. The ache in his shoulders reminded him of the grind—but a flicker of satisfaction lit in his chest.

Iron Ember Works rang with metal and magic. Sparks danced from the forge. Neon dumped the salvage onto the iron table—copper gears, fractured cores, mana-touched alloys clattering in a sharp rhythm.

Calder looked up from his scrolls. Detection runes in his monocle flickered.

"You're a lifesaver."

Neon pointed to a misaligned part. "That stabilizer's reversed. It'll overheat and rupture."

Calder squinted, then grunted—half annoyance, half impressed. "You’re no half bad, lad. If ye had alchemy in yer blood, ye’d be a damn master."

Neon’s usual confidence faltered. "I wish I had alchemy… instead, I got arcane. Cruel world, huh?"

Calder’s crooked grin cracked through soot. "Aye, real tragedy. Go on then—pray to the gods. Maybe they'll trade it in."

Neon smirked. Calder picked up a battered wrench.

Later, Neon yanked the trolley loose and called back, "I'm checking the other yards. Maybe the port. Might charm a merchant into giving me their junk for free."

"Stop buying junk! Half of it’s bloody useless!" Calder’s voice bounced from the rafters.

Neon spun, mock-offended. "How dare you. All trash is useful. Just… not today."

Calder shot him a look that could curdle milk. "Ma spirit’s sayin’ tae chuck ye an’ yer trolley off the pier."

"Spoken like a true visionary."

"Go pick through folks' rubbish next, why don't ye!"

"That's not actually a bad idea! I knew you still had it in you, old man!"

Neon vanished into the fog, the trolley squealing behind. Calder peeled a blueprint off his shoe.

"Oi, I was jokin’, dammit…"

---

Neon and S.A.B.R.E. weaved through Cairnhelm’s cluttered streets—past bins buzzing with glowflies, alleys perfumed with fish and fire-oil, rooftops patched with rusted sheet metal and arcane tarp.

Neon tapped his mask’s latch. It unfolded over his face with a hiss, twin lenses flaring orange. The world shifted—mana traces glowed, metals outlined in hues. S.A.B.R.E. clinked beside him.

"Wait… what about that old building outside the wall?"

S.A.B.R.E. blinked and projected a grainy map. Neon pointed to a sagging silhouette beyond the limits.

"Untouched. Jackpot."

They crept to the city's fringe. Fog thickened. Weeds overtook broken cobbles. The warehouse loomed ahead—its sign dangling from a single hinge:

Northspan Storage Co. – Entry Restricted.

Flickers of pale green pulsed inside.

"Loot," Neon whispered. S.A.B.R.E. chirped, projecting:

Hostile entity probability: 23%. Recommendation: Tactical retreat.

Neon smirked. "We’ll be fine. Probably."

Inside, dust and silence ruled. Rusted limbs jutted like grave markers. Spell-rings hummed faintly.

They scavenged fast. Neon pried open crates. S.A.B.R.E. extracted rare alloys with surgical grace.

Then Neon froze.

Matte-black limb plating. Sigil-threaded. A sealed threadcore module. He grinned.

"You're getting an upgrade."

S.A.B.R.E. exploded into a happy jig. Text flickered:

STATUS: JOYFUL. UPGRADE PROTOCOL UNLOCKED. CONCLUSION: NEON = GENIUS.

Neon laughed. "Finally. Some proper recognition."

ADDENDUM: 47% of previous complaints revoked. Maybe 50%.

"You’re too kind."

---

Rain pattered on the roof. Thunder rolled beyond the hills.

Neon installed the new part. Orange light pulsed as wires fused.

SYSTEM EFFICIENCY +14%. DANCE AGILITY +27%. SNARK CAPACITY: UNCHANGED.

"Figures," Neon muttered, tightening the last bolt.

They packed up the haul and turned to leave.

Then he saw it.

Just a twitch—movement beneath a scrap heap.

Neon stepped closer. Something dark and slick shimmered beneath twisted rebar. He crouched.

A scrap of black flesh, textured like wet leather, pulsed faintly.

He reached out.

It moved.

Not scurried—burrowed.

The ground shifted as the thing disappeared into the heap.

Neon blinked. "Weird rat."

S.A.B.R.E. didn’t notice—busy arranging parts into neat, color-coded piles.

Neon rose slowly, eyes scanning the shadows.

Too much weird junk lately.

Outside, thunder cracked. Behind them, from the far corner of the warehouse, a tall silhouette shifted—silent, watching.

Neon didn’t see it.

They left.

The shadow didn’t.

From deep in the rubble, something let out a low, wet growl—more vibration than sound, as if the very air hesitated to carry it.

Neon paused.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing behind the mask's orange-tinted lenses. "...Did you hear that?"

S.A.B.R.E.'s lenses flickered.

For a moment, one turned red—static-ridden, buzzing faintly—before resolving back to green.

STATUS: SYSTEM NOMINAL. NO THREAT DETECTED.

Neon waited. The wind stirred the broken rafters above. Rain tapped the shattered glass.

"Huh," he muttered, shaking it off. "Must’ve been my imagination."

But as they vanished into the fog, the silhouette shifted again—closer this time.

And watching.