Explosion and Tantrum

The metallic behemoth, the pogodozer, sat before Anna like a slumbering, mechanical dragon. Its colossal treads, wider than she was tall, promised untold power, a power General Stokes had apparently seen fit to bestow upon her. A gift from their sworn enemy. The irony was a bitter pill, but the thrill of its potential was undeniable. “Mark,” she’d called, her voice brimming with an excitement that had been dormant for far too long, “Look at this!”

Mark, as usual, had been a shadow in the periphery of their lives, a constant enigma. He’d materialized from his self-imposed exile, a grim expression etched onto his face, his eyes darting around as if expecting an ambush. He never shared, not truly. Not the brush with danger, not the near misses, and certainly not the rare moments of triumph. Even when Anna and Serina had pulled him from the brink, he’d offered only a curt nod, a tightening of his jaw, and then retreated back into his fortress of secrets.

He’d approached the pogodozer with the same wary suspicion. “What is that thing?” he’d grunted, circling it like a wary wolf.