Chapter 17 Dangerous Dandy

As Dune and her team left the city, Henry stood on the edge of the rooftop, looking at the amber horizon. He glanced at his men.

“Well? Is it done?”

One of his soldiers stepped forward, holding up a small, blinking device. 

“Yes, sir. The tracker’s in place. They’ll lead us right to it.”

Henry took the device from the soldier’s hand, studying the pulsing signal with satisfaction.

 "Good. Let them do all the hard work. Once they have what we need… we’ll swoop in and take it. No loose ends this time."

He turned back to the cityscape, his grin widening as the sun dipped below the horizon.

 “Let them think they’re ahead. The game’s already ours."

Back at Dune's bunker, the group sat around Dune’s workshop as they stared at the half-finished blueprints strewn across the table. They’d brainstormed for hours, but none of the designs seemed plausible, let alone capable of taking down a champion bot built to crush.

Reed leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back legs as he tossed a wrench into the air and caught it.

 “You know, maybe one of us should just wear a suit of armor, stomp into the ring, and pretend to be a robot. Wouldn’t that be a show?”

Mia didn’t even look up from where she was cleaning her rifle. 

“Reed, do you even hear the garbage that comes out of your mouth? You’d get squashed in five seconds. Or worse, the crowd would figure it out, and we’d all end up as target practice.”

Sable sighed, his fingers massaging his temples.

 “At this rate, we won’t even make it to tomorrow’s fight. We’re out of time, out of ideas, and frankly, out of our minds if we think we’re going to pull this off.”

But before Sable could continue, Dune’s voice silenced the room.

“Reed, you’re a genius!”

The room froze, all eyes on her as she shot to her feet.

 “We don’t have to build a robot. We just have to look like we did. I’ll do it—I’ll wear the armor, I’ll be the robot!”

Reed’s chair slammed back onto all four legs as he sat up, his face lighting up.

 “Wait, for real? I was joking, but this… this is gonna be awesome!”

“Wait, what?” Sable spluttered, his voice rising in panic.

 “That’s insane! You’ll be fighting a machine three times your size, built to pulverize anything in its path! It's just a utility mech patched up with garbage, yes, but still, it's a mech.”

Dune was already moving, her hands grabbing spare parts. 

“We don’t have time to argue, Doc. If we’re going to do this, we do it now. Start piling up all the junk that looks like robot plating. Reed, you’re on welding duty. Mia, get the wires out of the storage. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

By dawn, the workshop was littered with scraps of metal, sparks still flying from the welder as Reed put the final touches on the makeshift armor. The contraption was a patchwork of plating, wires, and hydraulics—barely holding together, but convincing enough to pass as a scrapyard-built fighter bot.

Dune stood in the center of the room, now encased in the hulking suit. Despite its clunky appearance, the exoskeleton moved surprisingly fluidly, thanks to her combat suit.

“How do I look?”

“Awesome!” Reed shouted with a smile.

 “Like a junkyard nightmare. But let’s hope that’s enough,” Mia muttered, still skeptical but clearly impressed by the group’s effort.

Sable looked her over, still wringing his hands.

 “I don’t like this. But if you’re going through with it, just… be careful.”

 “Carful’s not my style, Doc.”

The coliseum was packed with a roaring crowd, the arena buzzing with anticipation. Dune and her team waited in the contestant’s area, her armor drawing more than a few curious glances.

When their turn was called, the team pushed her into the arena. The announcer’s booming voice echoed across the stands. 

“And now, a surprise challenger! A newcomer from the Wastelands! Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… Smoll Titan!”

Dune took a deep breath, “Alright, team,” she muttered through the comms, “time to make some noise.”

The gates slammed shut behind her, and the announcer’s voice declared, “Let the fight begin!”

The crowd roared as Rex, the champion bot, stomped forward. He wasted no time, its massive, rust-covered frame lunging forward. Its fist, the size of a car engine, crashed down toward Dune. She sidestepped out of harm's way. The ground where she had been standing cracked under the impact.

Dune slammed her armored fist into Rex’s side. The impact sent a shower of rust and loose bolts flying, a section of its plating peeling away to reveal a web of sparking wires underneath.

The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps as Rex stumbled slightly but quickly regained its footing. It responded with a wild swing of its massive arm, grazing Dune’s armor and sending her skidding across the arena floor. Sparks flew as her makeshift armor scraped against the metal ground.

“Dune, you alright?” Sable’s voice crackled over the comms.

“I’m fine!” she snapped, hauling herself upright.

 “This oversized tin can hits like a truck, but it’s held together with spit and tape!”

Rex charged again, this time swinging both arms in a devastating overhead smash. Dune raised her arms just in time, the impact shaking her suit to its core, but her armor held. Taking advantage of Rex’s momentary pause, she delivered a powerful uppercut to its chest.

The champion staggered backward, pieces of its patched-together armor clattering to the ground. Exposed hydraulics sprayed oil, and a section of its left arm dangled uselessly.

Dune didn’t let up. She lunged forward, slamming her shoulder into Rex’s midsection and knocking it into the arena wall. The collision sent a cloud of rust and debris flying, and the crowd roared with excitement.

But Rex wasn’t done. With a screech of its metal, it swung its good arm, catching Dune’s suit in the side and sending her sprawling. 

“Dune! Get up! It's coming!” Mia’s voice cut through.

“Working on it!” she muttered, gritting her teeth.

As Rex stood over her, its massive hand raised for a crushing blow, Dune pushed her combat suit to max, launching herself upward. She soared above Rex’s head and came crashing down on its back, driving both fists into its spine.

The champion crumpled with a loud crash, its legs giving out as Dune’s assault severed key components. Sparks flew, and steam hissed from its ruptured joints. With one final kick, Dune sent Rex collapsing face-first into the ground, its glowing eyes flickering before going dark.

The crowd erupted into an uproar, half cheering, half booing, as the announcer declared, “We have a new champion! Smoll Titan wins the fight!”

Inside her suit, Dune took a shaky breath. 

“Alright, team. This should be enough damage for them to throw it away into scrap yard. Let’s go collect our prize and then recover this pile of junk.”

Back in the maintenance room, Dune shed the last armor of the robot disguise and let out a breath of relief.

 “Remind me not to volunteer for this kind of stunt again,” she muttered, shaking off a gauntlet.

Before anyone could respond, the door burst open. Four punked-out gang members swaggered in, their neon-dyed mohawks and mismatched cybernetic limbs glinting under the room’s dim lights. The leader, a wiry man with a skull tattoo stretching across his face, stomped over and gave the discarded armor a sharp kick. His cybernetic boot sparked on impact.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he yelped, while the others snickered.

“Fellas!” he said while mockingly clapping.

 “Congrats on the big win! Really. So impressive that the boss wants to see you in person! Says he’s got a special reward lined up for you.” His grin stretched wide, sarcastic and threatening.

Reed leaned over to Mia and whispered, “Wow, did you hear that, Mia? Boss himself will hand us the reward. How awesome is that? And it's special too.”

“Shut up,” Mia hissed, elbowing him.

The group was escorted down a long, poorly lit hallway until they reached an imposing set of double doors. The punks stayed behind, snickering to themselves as Dune and her team walked inside.

The room beyond was a stark contrast to the grime of the coliseum—a pristine office lined with polished wooden panels and flanked by marble columns. A massive, ornate desk dominated the center, with a panoramic window behind it offering a smoggy view of Scrap city’s skyline.

Seated behind the desk was Capone, the gang’s leader, a man of sharp suits, sharper cigars, and a reputation that could freeze a desert. He wore a perfectly tailored black ensemble, a fedora cocked at a rakish angle, and a fat cigar smoldering in his gloved hand. On either side of him stood his bodyguards.

One was a hulking behemoth with shoulders that seemed to scrape the ceiling, his immovable stance reminiscent of a statue carved from granite. A top hat perched on his head and a black shade to hide his deadly stare.

The other bodyguard was a lean man with slicked-back hair, rings gleaming on every finger, and a golden chain that caught the light with every slight movement. His sharp suit and smug expression screamed “dangerous dandy.”