Forging a Hero's Path

The metallic tang of success, mingled with the faint but persistent aroma of burnt circuits from a poorly calibrated fusion core, filled Will’s makeshift workshop. It was a far cry from the sterile, perfectly organized labs of the established mech creation guilds, but it was *his*. And it was currently overflowing with a rather impressive collection of gleaming, newly forged mechs. He’d managed to churn out three units since the… incident. Two were standard combat models, designed for brute force, their plating thick enough to stop a small asteroid. The third, however, was a specialized reconnaissance unit, sleek and silent, its optical sensors capable of picking out a dust mote on a distant moon.

He ran a greasy hand through his perpetually unkempt hair, a grin stretching across his face. Each one represented a significant payday. The combat models were already spoken for by a rather burly gentleman who introduced himself only as ‘Hammer,’ and who paid in a briefcase full of untraceable cred-chips. The recon unit was destined for a shadowy contact known only as ‘Whisper,’ who had a penchant for delivering payment in rare, high-grade alloys. Will hummed, imagining the satisfying clink of those alloys hitting his personal vault. Greed, a comfortable old friend, settled in his gut like a warm meal.

He was so lost in his profitable reverie that he didn’t hear the soft chime of the workshop’s entrance, nor the hesitant footsteps that followed. It was Anya who finally broke his concentration.