Chapter 18 Dune’s Gambit

Dune strutted into the room, her steps deliberately slow, exuding confidence with every sway of her hips. She threw a flirtatious wave toward Capone, her lips curling into a sly smile.

“Well, well, Capone. It’s been a while. You’re looking as dashing as ever. I trust this meeting isn’t just to hand us a dusty old trophy. Maybe you’ve got a fine bottle tucked away to toast our victory?”

Capone pushed back his chair, starting to rise, when the wiry bodyguard stepped forward, his smirk turning smug.

“Oi, oi, oi!” he barked, “Listen here, bitch! Who the hell do you think you are? You better watch that pretty little mouth of yours, or I’ll make sure you lose it.”

Dune was about to deliver one of her cutting retorts, but before she could speak, Capone moved.

The gang boss backhanded the bodyguard with a force that sent him to his knees. The room fell deathly silent as Capone drew a sleek, pearl-handled 1911 from his jacket, leveling it at the man’s forehead.

“You filthy worm,” Capone snarled, his voice low and dangerous.

“You dare to speak before me? You dare to address my guests as if you have the right? Scum like you forget your place too easily.”

The bodyguard quivered, sweat beading on his forehead as the barrel of the pistol pressed against his skin.

But before the tension snapped, Dune moved. She sauntered toward Capone, her every step deliberate and alluring. She leaned in close, her hand sliding gently over the barrel of his pistol. Her voice was soft, teasing, and full of dangerous charm.

“Now, now, Capone,” she purred.

“Let the poor boy go. He’s just trying to impress his boss, isn’t that, right?” She turned her gaze to the trembling bodyguard, smirking.

“It would be such a shame to waste a young, ambitious man like him. Besides, do you really want to ruin that gorgeous marble floor? Blood is a nightmare to clean out of those cracks. I like it the way it is, no need to paint it red.”

Capone’s eyes flicked to her; his anger momentarily abated by her audacious calm. He straightened, holstering the pistol and adjusting his hat.

“You always did know how to cool a man’s temper, Dune,” he said, stepping back toward his desk.

The bodyguard slumped in relief, wiping his brow as Dune flashed him a cheeky wink. As Capone took his seat, he gestured to the chairs opposite him, his cigar smoke curling lazily in the air.

"Please, sit. Let's talk business, just like old times, Dune. Though I have to admit, your arrival was... unexpected. Beating Rex, my pride and joy? Quite the upset."

Dune smirked, settling into a chair and crossing her legs.

"Oh, come on, Capone. You know me—I love a good challenge. Besides, Rex was falling apart before we even touched him. I did you a favor taking him off your hands."

Capone’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"A favor, huh? That's one way to spin it. But see, that hunk of junk brought me business, respect, and a steady income stream. Now, thanks to you, everyone’s whispering that the big bad champion was nothing more than a pile of rust. Now I have to find a new act to keep the crowds happy."

The larger bodyguard, stoic and silent, shifted slightly, his presence alone a looming threat. Meanwhile, the younger one, still nursing his bruised pride and jaw, glared daggers at Dune from the corner.

Dune twirled a loose strand of her hair, her lips curling into a sly smile as she fixed Capone with a playful yet knowing look.

“Oh, come on now, Capone. You and I both know that little fight was the best thing to happen to your books this month. Nobody in their right mind thought the champ would go down to that ‘tiny scrap heap’ of a robot.” She winked, the emphasis on her words playful.

She leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk as she tapped a manicured finger on the glossy surface.

 “And when he bit the dust? Well, let’s just say the house always wins, doesn’t it? I’d wager you made enough profit to buy a dozen new champs and still have change left over for your... finer tastes. So, really, isn’t this a golden opportunity? Time to refresh the inventory, get a shiny new toy that’ll pack the crowds in even tighter. Call it... an investment in future profits. Besides, you’ve always had a knack for turning a loss into a win, haven’t you? Or has the great Capone lost his touch?”

Capone leaned back in his chair, a slow smirk forming on his lips as he puffed on his cigar. The smoke curled around his head as he regarded Dune with a mixture of amusement and menace.

“You know what, sweetheart? You’re not wrong. That little stunt of yours did haul in a tidy sum. Made more in one night than I would’ve if that rust bucket kept stomping on Abominators.” His voice was smooth but carried a dangerous edge as he leaned forward, tapping ash into a crystal tray.

“But let’s get one thing straight,” he continued, fixing her with a steely gaze.

 “If it’d been anyone else pulling a fast one on me like that, they’d already be wearing concrete shoes and taking a nice long swim in the quicksand. You? You get a pass. Once.” He jabbed a finger in her direction, his tone hardening.

 “Try anything like that again, and not even your silver tongue’s going to save you.”

Capone snapped his fingers, and the hulking bodyguard by his side stepped forward, placing a small, polished briefcase on the desk in front of Dune. Capone gestured toward it with a flick of his cigar.

“Here’s your cut. Don’t say I never did anything for you.” His smirk returned, but it was razor-sharp.

 “Now get out of my office before I change my mind and decide you’d look better decorating the bottom of a dune somewhere.”

Back at the scrapyard, Dune and her team sifted through the wreckage of Rex, the former coliseum champion, carefully loading what remained of its massive frame onto their buggy.

At the bunker, they got to work disassembling Rex. Sparks flew and metal groaned as they stripped the mech down to its bare bones. Hours of labor later, Ulrich finally pulled a small module from its chest cavity.

“This is what you are looking for. It is a pre-war tech. An ECU.” he said, handing it to Sable, who immediately plugged it into Dune’s workstation.

The screen came alive with scrambled data—codes, maps, and logs buried under layers of encryption. Sable worked for hours to encrypt it. Reed hovered nearby, offering unhelpful commentary.

“You’re taking forever, man. Just hit the big red button that says ‘hack’ and let’s move on!”

Mia, sitting on the armrest of the couch, threw a wrench at Reed’s head.

 “That’s not how it works, genius.”

“Got it!” Sable shouted. A set of coordinates flashed on the screen, alongside fragments of a report detailing a faction responsible for the theft.

“It’s all here,” Sable said, leaning back in his chair.

 “The device wasn’t just stolen—it was confiscated by military, at a location about 200 clicks from here. Looks like pre-war military base. But the coordinates we will be going to shows Ironclad territory.”

Dune studied the coordinates. 

“So, Ironclads. Great. They’re not exactly known for their hospitality.”

Reed grinned. 

“What’s the worst that could happen? We smash a few heads, grab the tech, and ride off into the sunset.”

Mia crossed her arms.

 “Or we walk straight into a death trap. They’re not going to let us pass just because we ask nicely.”

Dune smirked.

 “Then we’d better not ask nicely. Pack up, everyone. We’ve got a road trip ahead of us—and a device to reclaim.”