In the prison shack, Lara, the bread girl, sang.

Captain Vil, the prisoner, laid back with eyes closed and listened to the sweet sounds of her voice, studying well the weaving of her words, the lyrics, the allegories, and the emotions.

The moment was quiet and still, carried only by the sound of her.

And when she finished her song, he opened his eyes.

"Well?" Lara asked. "How was it?"

"Your wordplay is strong," Vil said.

Her face flushed. "Th-thanks."

The silence returned for a heartbeat, then two, then three.

"Runaway with me," he said.

"What?" She shook back, her face reddening.

"I'm serious," he said. "Come with me to Lambston. I can get you a job as a bureaucrat, and you can moonlight as a singer until you get famous, which I'm certain you will."

She smiled, but her embarrassment deflated. Her eyes fell to the floor. "Not Lambston," she said. "Mother was killed in that city during the purge, and soon after, Father and I were arrested on suspicion of being terrorists."

He said nothing.

She continued. "They imprisoned me there, in Lambston, and they did all sorts of weird experiments on me and other girls." She shook her head. "Sorry."

Vil took a slow, deep breath and forced it out. "Sorry," he said. "About what was done to your family."

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"It's fine," she said. "I know that you once belonged to them, that they were once your comrades, but I know you're different than them."

He looked away. "Don't be so sure."

She smiled and turned to leave. "I am."

----------------------------------------

It stung a bit, but I was at least a little thankful that my body was entirely metal.

I walked along the endless green plains, the fog obscuring the horizon, the faintest smell of rain in the air. The wind had calmed to a gentle breeze, and all was well on my cute little prairie walk back home.

I glanced behind me--nothing to see.

I grunted as I slathered steaming hot iron slag across the bullet puncture wounds. It sizzled red hot, but after spreading the yellow-red goop over the holes, it cooled pretty quickly.

The guy had luckily only pierced through my storage sector, and I made a mental note to consider somehow reinforcing my inner walls. As weird as that sounded.

I checked myself. My little welding job looked gnarly, almost like a scar. Probably because I wasn't very good at welding.

It didn't matter.

I looked behind me. Nothing.

I almost regretted leaving that bear-suit behind, but I needed a decoy to help me escape. The Molt skill came in handle again.

And that reminded me. I had new shit.

Mentally, I scanned over my list of skills in search of the new recipes and abilities.

Heart of the Masochist

Gain power from incoming damage.

-5 Mana/Second

Of course, those freaky gimps would have something like this. Still, this could be useful.

Recipe: CyberLeather

+200 Piercing Defense

-50 Magic Defense

Fuck yeah. Now this was some high-quality material, fit for a noble hero such as myself. I would need to find a way to help nullify lightning-based attacks, but if this could lower bullet damage, I was all for it.

I checked behind me again. Nothing.

I wanted to spin out an entire suit for myself now, but with my... rotund trash can torso and my spindly skeleton limbs, I thought it would be good to wait. At least until I knew what my transcended form would look like.

Recipe: Cosmic Shard

Input: 1 Cosmic Cluster

Output: 3 Cosmic Shards

Whatever. At least I knew I had two extras after this was done.

I took a deep breath of the humid air. The face of the village had just broken through the fog, and I felt a wave of relief. Finally. In my heart of trash can hearts, I just wanted to rest for a day.

But that wouldn't be the case.

There, between a few village cabins, stood a gaggle of imperial soldiers speaking with one of the miners, and from their expressions, I could tell this was not a kind visit.

I groaned inwardly.

Hmmm-click.