In the distance, someone shouted. Metal rattled loudly. June’s head snapped over, and she frowned. That’s the gate. Is Arelia okay?

Turning to stare after Sasha, she hesitated just a second. Then she shook her head and ran toward the gate.

The closer she got, the louder it became, from a rumble to a low roar. As she crested the last scrap pile before the gate, a mob came into view. Dressed in rags, clutching strange tools, men and women shouted at Arelia, who stood on the gate post, nervous.

“I don’t know where he is, okay? He ran away. Hey! Calm down! Stop shoving! I don’t know, I’m not in charge! Calm down!” She caught sight of June, and relief washed over her face.

“What’s going on?” June asked.

The mob turned toward her. A dozen people began shouting over one another at the same time.

Arelia hopped down from the gate and ran to June. “They’re the scrappers who worked here. They want to know why they’re locked out of work.”

June furrowed her brows. “Don’t they know the Block’s being demolished?”

“They, uh… some of them just want to get some scrap on their way out.”

“Looters,” June realized, nodding slowly. She nodded at Arelia. “I’ll take care of this. You run to the tent and grab up my and Sasha’s bags, and anything else you want to keep.”

Arelia nodded and ran off.

June walked to the gate, hands on her hips. “Alright, listen up!”

The mob shouted back, louder than ever. Their words merged into meaningless noise.

“I said, listen up!” June repeated, louder.

Some of the mob started beating on the gate, crashing the metal over and over.

June took a deep breath. “Shut up!”

As she screamed, the black exo-harness crouched on the scrap behind her smashed its fists into the scrap. Crashing metal rolled out like thunder, louder than even the mob.

Shocked silence fell over the mob. A few of the people in the front staggered back, afraid.

“Is that…?”

“It can’t be. It’s not possible.”

“A battle harness, here?”

June took a deep breath. “You’re all scrappers, am I right? Strider’s scrappers.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“This is our scrap, not yours!”

She grinned. “I ran Strider out. It’s mine now. All mine.”

A hush fell over the crowd. A few exchanged confused glances. Greed glittered in the eyes of more than one as they contemplated what she’d just said. She could see the gears turning: if she ran Strider out, and they ran her out…

“Listen. This scrap is shit to me. I don’t need it. I’m not here to be a scraplord like Strider. In a minute, I’m going to open this gate and let you in. You’re free to take whatever you like.”

Instantly, babble rushed up from the crowd, building to a roar again. June raised her hand to interrupt, and they fell silent again.

She closed her eyes to compose herself. When she opened her eyes, resolve shone in their depths. “I’m here to save the Block. You’re free to take the scrap and go. But if you love your home, if you love this Block, if you don’t want your property, your home, your entire life’s effort taken from you by some asshole in a nice suit, then stand with me. Take up your guns and stand by my side. I will give my all to defend this Block, and keep it out of the Regis Group’s filthy hands.”

Silence. June stared at the crowd, trying to gauge the response, but it was impossible. Some looked bored. Others frowned, considering deeply. A few laughed amongst themselves. One or two looked angry.

“Regis Group? I don’t want to die.”

“The Regis Group is behind this? The hell have I been paying protection for?”

“Shut up. Let me at the scrap already.”

“Who cares? I don’t give a shit.”

“Open the gate!”

She bent and pressed a green button. Even as the gate rattled open, the scrappers rushed in, squeezing past. They flooded around her into the scrap, eyes wide with excitement.

Watching them go, June smiled wryly. I didn’t expect much. Scrappers were motivated by money, not ideology. Most drifted from one scrapheap to the next, quick to abandon any scrapheap that dried up. To the hardcore scrappers, the destruction of the Block was a windfall. That much destruction would generate scrap beyond their wildest dreams. On top of that, they’d get the cream of the crop, being right on top of the scrap when it was torn down, rather than dredging it from a heap while fighting other scrappers tooth and nail and paying a scraplord tithes to boot.

But a few glanced at her as they passed by, hesitation in their eyes.

“Hey! Touch Nightmare and die!” June shouted. The exo-harness lunged to its feet at the same time, eyes glowing. The scrapper who’d been probing it jumped back, startled, and fled into the heap.

She shook her head. “Damn. They’ll really take anything that isn’t nailed down.”

Someone tapped on her shoulder. She turned. A dirty-faced scrapper stared up at her, eyes wide like a child’s.

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“Are you really going to protect the Block?” he asked.

“If I can,” June replied.

He took a deep breath. “If I help you, will you give me part of the heap?”

A few other nearby scrappers looked up at that.

June laughed. “You can have the whole thing, if you like.”

The scrapper’s eyes went wide. He nodded eagerly and rushed off into the heap. All around her, the scrappers who’d been listening in followed him, scattering to share the news.

“What are you doing?”

She turned. Sasha perched atop a nearby scrap drift. He glared disapprovingly at the scrappers with slitted eyes.

“Recruiting,” June replied evenly.

He frowned. “They don’t look very recruited to me.”

June laughed. “Give it a few hours. You’ll see.”

Sasha grunted. He turned to face Regis Tower instead, eyes still narrowed. “It won’t be enough. They have too many men.”

“I know. But we have to try.” June set her teeth, arms crossed.

“I can help.”

June furrowed her brows. “I figured you would.”

He shook his head. “I don’t mean like that.”

“Then like how?”

He met her eyes, and she stared back. Suddenly, the bloody scene of the local Regis HQ popped into her head, the bodies draped down the stairs, the blood pooled in corners.

She’d wanted that. Wanted a partner who could stand by her side, who wasn’t afraid of blood, of fighting, of war. But now they were here, she didn’t want that. If I throw him into battle, force him to spill blood, how am I any better than Seirios? I don’t want to do that to him. He was more than a weapon to her. More than someone to follow her into battle. He was a friend. He deserved more than a bloody, uncertain future.

June shook her head. “Not like that.”

Irritation flickered in Sasha’s eyes. “That was a failure. I was only sent to kill one man. The rest… just got in my way, after I decided to free the kids to piss off the higher-ups.”

Understanding flickered across her face, then pain. June’s face fell. She shook her head, slowly. “I won’t ask you to do that. Never again.”

Emotionless, he blinked, slowly. His hair caught the wind and danced across his face. For the first time, it looked more mask than face to her, plastic and flat. “They built me as an assassin. I can end this before it begins.”

“No, and that’s final.”

Sasha turned away, scoffing. He hopped off the scrap pile and vanished.

The sun crawled across the sky. Scrappers came and went, carrying piles of junk out of the yard. As the sun began to set and the two moons rose, the stream finally died off to a trickle. Twenty or so scrappers remained behind, but compared to the men in the Regis Group, it was a drop in the bucket. June surveyed them, a grim expression on her face. Weathered men and women, some old, some kids. All skinny, none well-fed or well-built. One of the boys was so thin it seemed any breeze would knock him down. A few sported old, poorly-patched harnesses.

One of them, the one who’d asked about the scrapyard earlier, edged up to June and offered his hand. “They call me Pock.”

“June.”

Pock licked his lips. “You, uh, you that Sole Survivor lady?”

She shrugged.

“Right. Right. Yeah.” Pock nodded nervously.

“Don’t worry about who I am. I’m going to give my all to defend this Block, and that’s all you need to know.”

Pock sucked in a breath and nodded. “No, no, I’m good, it’s just… some of the scrapfolk’re getting antsy.”

June glanced over her shoulder at the hunched forms, most clutching patched up, rusty weapons. They huddled subtly together in return. A few cast looks at her war harness, as if judging if she could get to it before they could shoot her.

I should say something. If they don’t trust me, we don’t have a snowball’s chance. She stepped forward.

Before she could open her mouth, a loud DONK rang out through the scrapyard. A second later, a woman shouted, “Oyyy, this where the resistance at?”

June’s brows furrowed. Something about her voice sounded familiar. Raising a hand to ask the scrappers to wait, she turned and jogged for the gate.

A mob awaited her, full of leather, shiny spikes, and hair in every neon shade of the rainbow. Harnesses of all size, shape, and description bristled on and over the crowd, from recurve legs to a swishing wolf tail, fur and all to a bright gold arm. Some were themselves spiked or pulsed with LEDs.

The girl in the lead paused in the middle of swinging her crowbar at the gatepost a second time and grinned at June, blue hair raked forward and gelled into a sharp V on her forehead, both arms in red harness from the elbow down. In an instant, June remembered: she’d been one of the ones in the back of the scrap heap, the one who’d climbed onto the bulldozer.

“Heard there were some madmen looking to take on those Regis assholes. That you?” Hefting the crowbar over her shoulders, she nodded at June.

“That is. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Naemi. And these are the Loners.” She nodded at the punks behind her. They grinned. A few stuck out their tongues or raised their eyebrows. Naemi turned and pointed. “’Cept that one, that’s Charl. He’s educated.”

“I read a single damn philosophy book, will you let it rest?” a blond punk grumbled, brushing his flopped mohawk to the other side of his head. Unlike the rest of the punks, who slouched or crouched, he stood bolt upright, shoulders squared, posture perfect. He wore a leather jacket, but it didn’t really suit him. Round, innocent eyes, high cheekbones, and clear skin made him look more at home among the Asteri dancing in billboards than here, among the scrap.

“Not before you do,” Naemi replied without skipping a beat. She gave June a knowing wink.

June nodded at them, amused despite the tension. “I take it you’re good for a fight?”

Naemi looked at her, aghast. “Are we good for a fight? Are we good for a fight?”

A ragged cheer went up from the punks behind her.

“We run these streets down southways. North’s mostly the Spinecreeps, but they won’t make a move ‘less you fuck with the Spine. These boys right here are the toughest motherfuckers you’ll find in the whole Block. There isn’t a fool out there who’d dare disrespect us.”

Charl sighed. “Which is precisely why you should read some philosophy. We have power. It is our duty to wield it responsibly.”

“Shut the fuck up, Charl,” Naemi said casually.

“Thanks for showing up,” June said honestly. There were at least fifty punks, a vast improvement over the sad showing of scrappers she’d gotten so far.

Naemi shook her head. “It’s not me you should thank. Thank the mech who convinced me to stand and fight.”

June frowned. She almost spoke, but hesitated, almost afraid to guess the truth.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Here I am. Hi, June.” Tooly stepped out from amid the punks, hair pulled back into a puffy ponytail.

“I… I thought you left,” June breathed.

Tooly scratched the back of her head. “Ah, yeah. You know, I thought about it. I really did. But, uh… I can’t leave you behind.”

“Tooly,” June said, overcome with gratitude. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She really does care.

“More importantly, where’s Nightmare? It’s been years since you’ve brought her out, poor girl, I need to give her a tune up.” Tooly peered over June’s shoulder, as though she could have hidden the giant war harness behind her.

June sighed, half-chuckling. “Did you come here for me or my harness?”

“Don’t be stupid. Where’s the kid? That shoulder needs a looking at.” Tooly clapped June on the shoulder before heading off deeper into the scrap.

Naemi smiled. “Aww, that was sweet. Hey, where’s Strider? I’ve got some beef with the old man.”

“Took off last night,” June said.

Naemi pressed her lips together, disappointed. “Ah well. There’s still Regis heads to bust, so I guess it’s all fine.”

“Why do we call it beef? Beef is expensive,” Charl mused. His eyes lit up. “Or is it because beef is expensive…”

“That’s our Charl.” Naemi reached up and patted him on the head.

“Go ahead and familiarize yourself with the heap. You’re going to need it,” June advised.

Naemi nodded, and the punks scattered.

“June, where should I put the bags? The scrappers keep giving me looks—” Arelia’s voice cut off as she came around the corner and saw Naemi. Shock passed over her face, then confusion, and she gave June a pleading look.

“Is this the Regis princess? The hell’s she doing here?” Naemi burst. She hefted her crowbar threateningly.

“Streetpunks? Are we really…?” Arelia asked, frowning.

Naemi narrowed her eyes. “Really what, princess? Go on, finish that sentence. I’ll wait.”

Arelia scowled. “I’m not a princess.”

“Sure thing, rich kid,” Naemi said with all the vitriol of a deadly insult, drumming her fingers on her crowbar.

June took a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy.