The red lights from the Pappy Long Legs flickered ominously, casting an eerie glow that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Amelia’s heart raced, a memory stirring deep within her mind. It had flashed like this before—a warning. Her gaze snapped to Rick, who stood silent, his grim expression telling her everything. This wasn’t just another fight. The Pappy Long Legs itself seemed to sense the danger, mirroring Rick’s own sinking unease.

Rick, still recovering from the attack, glanced toward her, his face tense with the knowledge that more trouble was on the way.

“So, you believe me to be this ‘Devil Dog?’” the silhouette mocked, a sinister, glowing smile spreading across its blurred features. “Humorous name for an anim—”

“Like you!” Amelia interrupted, her voice sharp. “I remember the smoke. That thing nearly killed me. It’s not—”

“Wrong!” The silhouette’s voice cut her off smoothly, and a thin wave of razor wires sliced through the smoke, grazing her cheek.

Amelia stumbled back, feeling the sting as a line of warmth trickled down her face. She fell onto a taut row of razor-like strings hidden behind her, their edges biting into her skin. She winced, jerking forward to escape the sting and freezing, each tiny movement risking more cuts. Her clothes hung in mangled strips, her every breath shallow, every shift a dangerous gamble.

“I am Number Two. Behind me are Numbers Three, Seven, and Twenty-Two. And you, my delusional ex-princess, must be Amelia Woltwork.” Its voice, distorted and digital, dripped with arrogance. The pause that followed felt like a challenge, daring Amelia to respond.

"Girl. Do you want to know what Gigarock can do?" Number Two’s voice sharpened, each word dripping with menace. "The gem embedded in your necklace. Do you even understand what it truly is?”

Amelia hesitated, casting a quick glance at her torn clothing, her hands trembling slightly. She looked back up at Number Two, barely visible through the thickening smoke. Only its cold, mechanical eyes pierced through the haze, glowing with a light that matched her locket. Behind him, the faint outlines of the others—Numbers Three, Seven, and Twenty-Two—hovered in the fog, their eyes blinking in unison, an eerie orchestra of mechanical intent.

“How it acts as a cage for souls? Its rarity? Its forms? Its value?” The words hung in the air, heavy and calculating, like a threat wrapped in a riddle. Number Two’s eyes, chillingly fixed on her, darted over her locket, jerking with a puppet-like precision. She could just make them out—human in shape yet disturbingly off, moving with a stiff, wooden rhythm that made her skin crawl. The others remained silent, their mechanical gazes adding to the dread that settled around her, an audience of silent judges lurking in the fog.

“That tattoo—do your brothers carry the same? Does it tingle in the presence of Yerro’s soul?” The silhouette’s voice dropped to a murmur, unnervingly direct.

As if in response, her locket glowed faintly blue, casting an eerie shimmer through the fog, illuminating the twisted metal threads snaking through the smoke.

Amelia’s eyes flashed with defiance. “Metal or man?”

“Why the concern?” Its metallic teeth clattered from the fog, accompanied by the faint sound of winding gears.

“You’re either some rogue muscle of the Primarian Arc or an ex-suit from the Primarian Royale. Human has been optional lately. Which one is it?” Amelia challenged, her voice steady despite the dread twisting like ice in her stomach.

Number Two chuckled, a grating, hollow sound that reverberated through the mist. Outside, the Pappy Long Legs’ rumble faded to silence, leaving only the sinister whisper of sharpening wires behind him. His form remained blurred and shadowed, barely distinguishable through the thickening fog.

“I’m just Number Two,” he replied, his voice dropping to a slow, deliberate tone. “And I’m here to offer you a deal. Otherwise, you’d already be dead. Down. With. The. Ship.”

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Thick smoke curled around him, consuming Number Two’s form entirely, leaving only faint, haunting glimpses of his glowing blue eyes piercing through the haze. His form was obscured, yet Amelia caught sight of a dark, tattered coat draped over him, an odd, almost humanizing detail that only deepened her unease. She slipped the locket back into her pocket, her fingers brushing its cold surface one last time before tightening her grip on the knife in her other hand. Her heart hammered, her breaths shallow as she weighed her next move, her grip slick with nervous sweat.

From the corner of her vision, a thick, corded wire shot from Rick’s mechanical arm, its texture like stretched muscle tendons with a rubbery elasticity as it extended into the smoke, aimed directly at Number Two. The wire moved with a fluid, sinewy strength, pulsing with a deep red light that flickered in rhythmic bursts, mirroring the lamps of the Pappy Long Legs.

Amelia squinted, barely able to make out the faint shape of the coat clinging to Number Two’s form, its hard edges softened and warped by the sticky, swirling smoke that clung to him like a shroud. She couldn’t see Rick’s precise hit through the dense fog, but the red charge arced through the wire, flooding the room with a sinister glow. The silhouette of Number Two absorbed the current, his form twitching slightly, but he remained disturbingly unaffected, his stance loose and unshaken.

"And that must be Rick," Number Two sneered, his voice carrying a mocking edge from somewhere in the haze. "The legendary Rick. Former Primarian Hammer, am I right? Those wires look familiar."

Rick’s voice broke through the tension with an experienced calm. “They should be. Now whistle your way out.”

“Violence first, questions later? Isn’t that what got you into this mess, Rick the Primarian Hammer?” Number Two mocked. “One. Of. Five.”

Rick’s mechanical limbs tensed. “How di-”

Number Two’s eerie gaze shifted toward a giant metal ball hanging just above Roy’s head. “Ah, perhaps it’d be wise to listen before you act,” he replied smoothly. Roy remained blissfully unaware, focused intently on Glassford, the former Quadrant Leader, as the metal sphere swayed ominously in the enveloping smoke creeping above him.

“This fog,” Number Two continued, his voice dropping to a chilling murmur, “only grows thicker. It strangles organic life… but electrifies and ignites machines. Gives us a little extra oomph.”

In the background, Roy paused, his curious eyes lingering on the thick cables feeding into the walls of the Pappy Long Legs. The machinery surrounding Glassford’s remains was complex, almost hypnotizing, humming with ominous energy. Roy’s fingers hovered above the strange mechanisms, twitching slightly as if drawn to uncover the secrets woven into the design of the fallen Quadrant Leader.

Rick noticed Roy’s distracted fascination. “Boy! Where’s your mind!?”

Roy hesitated, quickly withdrawing his hand, though his gaze remained fixed on the large wires, clearly unsettled by Glassford's degenerating and limp appearance.

“Tammersmith! Where did you put his mind!? In a deal best served by royalty!? Which King did you ask for the favor!? Michael or his puppet father!?” Number Two’s voice rose to a sudden, unhinged pitch before he forced himself back into calm. “I bet you didn’t ask. Did you? Wh—”

Before he could finish, a barrage of thick, tendon-like wires shot from the walls, each ending in spear-tipped edges that slammed into Number Two, pinning and skewering him in place. Dark oil dripped from the metallic strands, pooling beneath his suspended form as the Pappy Long Legs sprang to life in defense. The wires pulsed with a familiar, sinewy strength, echoing Rick’s own but thicker and humming with a darker, ominous energy. Electricity crackled through the strands, searing with a final violent burst before subsiding, leaving Number Two’s lifeless form swaying eerily.

Amelia’s breath came in shallow gasps. “What about the deal, Rick?” she asked her voice tight with unease.

Rick’s expression darkened. “Should’ve kept its mouth shut about my son. Don’t forget—it’s not alone. Whatever it is, it’s using Primarian Hammer tech.”

“The wires?” Amelia pressed, glancing toward the thick strands. “It seemed… familiar with them.”

Rick nodded grimly. “Modified, sure, but I recognize the shotty yet particular design.”

Amelia’s gaze shifted back to the fog, catching eerie shadows hovering beyond. “And the others?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I can see their shapes… unmoving. They’re just… waiting.”

“Still as stone,” Rick confirmed, his voice hard. “My security bots are on em' like a living wall. Even those things know better than to test it.”

“Whisky…” Amelia murmured under her breath, grounding herself amid the tension.

Rick’s jaw tightened. “That ‘number whatever’ isn’t dead because it was never alive,” he muttered, glancing her way. “This is all a game to one man—a puppet master pulling strings on machines that should’ve stayed buried. Worse is, I once looked up to him… back when I was an apprentice Primarian Hammer. Never one for subtlety.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and defiance flickering within them. “And now he’s after you? Or…me?”