A section of the facility’s outer wall shifted, revealing a hidden entrance. From the yawning abyss emerged something massive—eight feet tall, humanoid in shape, but unmistakably synthetic. A security mech, its body plated in corroded black armor, worn by time and tropical rot. But despite the decay, its single eye still burned bright red, and the twin rotary cannons mounted on its arms span up with a grizzly whir.

  “Shit—mech!” Hunter snapped, instincts kicking in as she dove for cover. A hail of bullets ripped through the trees, shredding bark and foliage into an explosion of splinters and pulp.

  Gravel’s pulse spiked. He hit the ground, adrenaline drowning out the pain. His fingers twitched—thank fuck, still moving. He gritted his teeth, pushing past the sharp pang in his lower back.

  “This was defo not in the briefing,” he groaned. Their client would have to give them another twenty million, at least.

  “Move!” Priest barked, already shoving Gravel deeper into the underbrush.

  Hunter sprinted sideways, zigzagging to avoid the incoming fire as she drew her gun. “I don’t suppose that thing’s got an off switch?”

  “Yeah,” Gravel grunted, hitting the dirt as rounds whizzed past his head. “It’s called ‘blow it to fuckin’ pieces!’”

  The mech stomped forward, its metal frame creaking with each step. Its red optics flickered, scanning the jungle for targets. Then, without warning, a cylindrical compartment on its shoulder hissed open.

  “Missiles. How 2500,” Gravel muttered.

  Twin projectiles shot out, cutting through the dawn sky with eerie precision. The first one shot straight at Hunter.

  Without breaking stride, she vaulted over a fallen tree and twisted midair. Her gun flared—a single shot—striking the missile’s casing just as it neared her. The explosion sent her rolling across the ground, but she was alive.

  The second missile screamed toward Gravel and Priest.

  Priest raised his other cybernetic hand. Blue energy crackled to life. With a sweep of his fingers, the missile’s trajectory warped. It veered off course and smashed into the facility’s outer wall. The impact shook the ground, sending debris raining down.

  “Gravel?” Hunter crawled from the ground. “Now’s the time for a tanker.”

  A chunk of debris the size of a motorcycle hurtled toward Gravel. He raised an arm and swiped it aside like a thrown can.

  “Okay, I felt that one,” he admitted, shaking his hand loose.

  The mech, struggling against its time-ravaged servos, whirred back to life. Despite its battered frame, its eye flared red again, and a low, synthetic growl rumbled from its speakers. It wasn’t done yet.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Neither was Gravel.

  “Alright, you tin-plated shitstain,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles. “You wanna go? Let’s go.”

  Before Hunter or Priest could react, Gravel charged.

  The mech swung a massive arm at him. Fast, but not fast enough. Gravel ducked low, shoulder-checking its rusted knee joint with enough force to dent the armor. The machine staggered, drowned under the flashes of its own red lights.

  Hunter groaned, already swapping mags, repositioning behind it. Priest, standing off to the side, shot her a glance before deciding to keep watch for other hostiles instead.

  Hunter lined up a headshot. But she did not shoot.

  Gravel was doing fine.

  The mech tried to counter, raising one of its rotary cannons point-blank. Too late. Gravel seized the entire arm, his bulging muscles hardening into pitch-black as he ripped it clean off with a metallic screech. Morkanium was the name. Nobody else in this galaxy could control this material the way Gravel could. Ten times harder than diamond with only a fraction of the weight, he claimed. If only he was able to coat it around his skin faster than the sabertooth tiger’s pounce earlier.

  However, utilizing Morkanium would take a toll on his physical and mental capabilities. That was why he would only use it when absolutely needed.

  “Mind lending me an arm?” He grunted, flipping the severed limb in his hands like a club.

  The mech reeled, sparks spraying from its damaged joint. It lunged, swinging wildly. Gravel caught the punch with one hand, fingers crushing the metal as if it were wet clay. His Morkanium-infused muscles tensed like coiled steel cables, and when his fist connected, the kinetic energy traveled up his arm like a hammer striking an anvil.

  With a grunt of effort, he twisted—snapping the mech’s remaining arm at the elbow.

  Hunter whistled. “Damn, boulder boy. That is not how physics works.”

  Gravel took a step back, wound up, and swung the severed cannon arm like a baseball bat.

  The arm disintegrated. The eight-foot war machine crashed into a nearby tree, embedding itself in the trunk with a deafening crunch. For a second, it twitched, motors whirring in protest. Then its eye spasmed one last time before going dark.

  Gravel exhaled. “Handled that.” He tossed the broken cannon aside, dusting off his hands.

  Hunter and Priest just stared.

  “What?” Gravel frowned. “You saw the size of those rounds. It wasn’t gonna run out of ammo. Figured I’d just take the whole damn thing apart.”

  “At least tell us what you’re gonna do, Captain,” Hunter exhaled. “You always do this. You never remember my birthday, but I do expect you to remember we’re a team.”

  Gravel was the Captain of the Black Fang, at least in name. He enjoyed being the public face of the crew—soaking up the attention, the occasional compliments, and the hassle that came with it. But out on the ground, formal titles melted away. Authority here wasn’t handed down from some chain of command; it was claimed by whoever could best read the situation. As the old saying went, a sergeant in motion outranks a captain who’s still figuring out the plan. And Gravel? He was always in motion.

  They were more like a group of crewmates rather than a rigid hierarchy. Or, in other words, a bunch of chaotic, self-destructive goofballs.

  Before Gravel could respond, the ground trembled beneath them. Faint, then rumbling. The trees rustled as something heavy moved in the distance.

  Hunter snapped her gun up, eyes narrowing. “Tell me that thing didn’t just call for backup.”

  Priest adjusted his wrist device, scanning the area. His resting face did not do well to disguise the concerns in his eyes. “More heat signatures. Larger.”

  “Fantastic,” Gravel muttered. He rolled his shoulders, still feeling the residual heat from his fight with the mech, then let out a hiss after a pang to his lower back. “How much larger?”

  A guttural bellow cut through the jungle, sending a pack of mutated deer stampeding away. Then, through the vines and glowing fungi, they saw it.