Chapter 5 — Tombstones Of Cities

The night hung heavy over Spine, rain ticking against its outer plates in a soft metallic rhythm.

Karauro sat on a med-bay cot with his hands clasped between his knees. Across from him, a cracked mirror split his reflection in two: tan skin grayed with grime, uneven black hair, and a fresh cut scabbed above his right eyebrow.

The boy staring back looked older than sixteen.

Sanded down.

His shredded gray hoodie, torn jeans, and oil-stained boots looked like they had survived the ruins before he had.

The Kinetic glove on his right hand gleamed faintly beneath the med-light, dented and mismatched, more accident than treasure.

Taron had shoved him in here with one simple order.

“Get checked out before you fall apart on my watch.”

So Karauro waited, listening to the vents hum and machinery thump somewhere deep inside Spine.

Steel tables lined the walls. Glass containers sat across them, some labeled, some not. One jar held a spine segment threaded with curling black tendrils, floating in green liquid.

Every few seconds, it twitched against the glass.

Karauro leaned back.

“Don’t worry,” a woman said as the door hissed open. “It’s not alive. Not really.”

He flinched.

She stepped inside wearing a white lab coat stained with old stories. Dark hair streaked with gray was tied back with a faded red cloth. Dull red glasses caught the light over a small surgical scar on her cheek.

“So,” she said, looking him over. “You’re the rat Nera dragged in.”

Karauro winced.

“Rat.”

She leaned closer. “You look worse up close. How old?”

“Sixteen.”

“Figures.” She picked up a scanner. “Ruins love marking kids before they reach adulthood.”

The scanner blinked yellow as she brushed his hair aside. The cut near his scalp pulsed faintly silver under the light.

Her expression shifted.

“Lower tunnels?”

Karauro looked at her. “Yeah. Fell through a hole. A Griever crawled past me while I was down there.”

He hesitated.

“Wait. How’d you know?”

Whren’s hands paused.

“Because that glow comes from miasma dust beneath the lower shafts.” Her voice thinned. “And because some of us lived there before the sector collapsed.”

Karauro watched her reflection in the monitor glass. “How did you survive?”

She dabbed antiseptic onto his wound.

It burned like acid.

“Doesn’t matter now,” she said. “Luck, miracle, bad timing. We are where we are.”

Karauro hissed through his teeth.

“Don’t flinch,” Whren said. “Pain means you’re still human.”

“Yeah?” he muttered. “You test that theory often?”

“Every time someone talks back.”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

The door opened again.

Nera Caldwell stepped in, violet hair tied back and still damp from rain. Her muddy green jacket clung over black field gear, and her plated right arm flexed with a faint servo-whine.

Karauro had caught her last name from an open file on Whren’s monitor.

“How’s our stray?” Nera asked.

“Still breathing,” Whren said. “That’s progress.”

Karauro straightened without meaning to.

Nera’s gaze pinned him. “You give her trouble?”

“Nope.”

“Keep it that way.”

Whren glanced at her. “He’s sixteen, Nera. A kid, not a unit.”

“Sixteen’s old enough to pull a trigger.”

Karauro looked down.

Before Whren could answer, the door slid open again.

A tall man stepped inside, broad-shouldered and dark-skinned, with brushed-steel arms humming softly beneath his sleeves. Black-tinted glasses covered his eyes, faint blue light flickering behind the lenses.

It was Aaron only this time without wearing a helmet over his head.

Karauro recognized his voice immediately.

One with reason, compared to Nera.

Karauro remembered how Aaron had saved him from being carved by Nera's blade.

“Someone call for the miracle worker?” Aaron asked.

Whren nodded toward Karauro. “Check the head wound. It’s glowing, but not viral.”

Aaron crouched beside the cot and removed his glasses. Blue cybernetic eyes shifted like overlapping lenses as they scanned Karauro’s temple.

“Residual miasma charge,” he said. “No spread.”

He glanced at Karauro. “You’ll be fine. Somehow. You survived the Ripper and the Iron-Scavs.”

Karauro gave a weak shrug. “Yeah. More like luck.”

Aaron smiled faintly. “Better than dying recklessly.”

He stood and turned to Nera. “Arm still stuttering?”

Nera flexed her cybernetic hand. “Servo lag. Manageable.”

“Manageable turns into mangled.” Aaron pulled a small multitool from his belt. “Hold still.”

Nera gave him her arm without argument.

He worked fast. Sparks flickered once. The servo-whine steadied.

“Better,” Aaron said. “Try not to break it before next week. I’m running out of screws that match your temperament.”

Nera rotated her wrist. “Appreciate your optimism.”

“Wasn’t optimism. Sarcasm with better posture.”

Whren snorted.

Karauro blinked at them. “You people are always this cheerful?”

“Only after midnight,” Aaron said.

Nera’s gaze shifted back to Karauro, then briefly to the glove on his hand.

The glove sat dull and quiet.

Her jaw tightened.

“We’ll find out what Argos wants done with him at dawn,” she said. “Make sure he’s functional.”

“Always the gentle one,” Whren muttered.

Nera left without answering.

Aaron watched the door close. “Still cold as a vacuum.”

“Colder the longer she lives,” Whren said, adjusting her glasses. “Keeps the circuits from frying.”

The door opened a third time.

Taron leaned in, grease on his cheek and irritation already loaded into his face.

“Oi, rat. How long you hiding in here? C’mon. I gotta show you where to sleep before someone mistakes you for equipment.”

Whren pointed to the door. “Go before he builds you a bed under his worktable.”

Karauro stood, rubbing the back of his neck.

Whren added, quieter, “And if that wound starts humming again, come back before it sings.”

Karauro paused.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

Taron hooked a thumb toward the corridor. “C'mon lets go rat.”

Karauro followed him out, the med-bay door hissing shut behind them.

They crossed into Spine’s yard, where rain hissed against floodlights and metal walkways. Taron led him toward a small shack welded together from rusted plates.

It leaned against the side of the yard like even Spine didn’t want to claim it.

Taron spread his arms proudly. “Quickly made this for ya. Keeps ventilated. Spine’s synthetic wind does the rest.”

Karauro stared at it.

Feels like I’m valued less than a mutt.

He let out a quiet breath.

“Don’t stay up late, rat,” Taron called, already turning away. “Armor cleaning duty tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Karauro muttered. “Okay.”

Taron’s boots scuffed across the yard and faded into the rain.

Karauro stepped inside the shack.

It smelled like rust, old cloth, and cold metal. A thin cot waited against the wall. A cracked vent rattled overhead, breathing stale air over him.

He sat down and looked at his hands.

Maddox’s scream returned in pieces.

The rebar.

The blood.

The Ripper’s claw.

Maybe Karauro hadn’t killed him.

Maybe that made it worse.

Fatigue took him before he could decide.

---

The wrench slammed against steel with a thunderous crack.

Karauro jerked awake.

Taron’s grin hovered over him like bad news with teeth.

“Rise and shine, slum rat. You’re alive. Didn’t forget about scrub duty, did ya?”

He tossed a filthy vest onto Karauro’s chest.

Karauro sat up, every joint aching from cheap sleep and worse dreams.

“What about breakfast?”

Taron barked a laugh. “Merc pay doesn’t include breakfast in bed. Move before I toss the cot in the recycler.”

Maybe I should’ve tried my luck in the ruins.

His boots dragged toward the armor pit.

An hour later, sweat soaked through his shirt.

The armor pit felt like a furnace. Hammers rang. Torches hissed. The air wavered with heat and oil stink as Karauro crouched beside a rack, scrubbing grime from a bullet-pocked shoulder plate.

His reflection warped in the steel.

Gaunt. Smeared. Smaller than he wanted to look.

Boots clicked above him.

“You missed a spot.”

He didn’t look up. “Morning, Nera.”

She sat on the railing, violet hair tied back, eyes sharp enough to cut through smoke. “Morning, rat. Half-clean armor cracks in the next fight.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“Do better.”

Taron called across the pit, “See? He’s learning. Like a stray pup that only nipped once.”

Nera’s voice cooled. “Let’s hope he learns quicker than you did.”

Aaron strode past with a diagnostic slate, sunglasses perched in his hair. “Settle down. Some of us need hearing for field ops.”

Karauro scrubbed until his fingers went numb.

“That’s enough,” Nera said.

He looked up. “There’s still half a rack.”

“I said up.” A thin smile cut across her face. “You want out of scrub duty? You’re joining us on a core run.”

She led him across the yard toward the hangar, then into a room with a sign welded above the door.

GEAR ROOM.

It reeked of oil, stale sweat, and disinfectant.

Nera keyed open a locker and shoved an older Nexon-suit into his arms. The plates were scratched but intact. A sealed helmet waited beneath it.

“Suit up.”

“Right now?”

“No, next winter.” She snapped her fingers. “Move.”

Karauro wriggled into the suit. The inner lining warmed, tightened, and clung to him like armor trying to become skin.

His forearm seal refused to catch.

Nera slapped his hand aside and snapped it closed herself.

“Listen.” She tapped the neck ring. “This stays tight. Loose seal means spores crawl in.”

She tapped the chest pack next. “Filters. HUD. If you panic, watch the readout, not the noise.”

Then she jabbed his back plate.

“And don’t touch the thrusters. You aren’t flying. You’re breathing.”

She handed him the helmet.

Karauro slid it on. Recycled air hissed around his ears as the HUD blinked to life.

NAME: RAT

STATUS: PROBATIONARY

He stared at it.

“Probationary?”

“Better than Dead Weight.” Nera turned away. “Unit Seven’s ready.”

The hangar thrummed with idling haulers and weapons checks.

Aaron scanned the team like he was counting future problems. Roy stood nearby with an easy grin. Riven, Ilene, and the others moved with quiet efficiency, already half swallowed by the mission.

Nera brought Karauro forward like equipment.

Roy’s grin widened. “The legendary Spire kid. The rat who fell from Athereon and lived.”

Nera shot him a glare. “Keep going and I’ll volunteer you for extra core hauls.”

Aaron clicked his metal fingers once. “Save it. Cores don’t haul themselves.”

Taron tossed Karauro a rifle, handle-first. “Safety on until we’re in the zone. Nera vouches for you.”

Karauro eyed the weapon through his visor. “Heartwarming.”

Roy chuckled. “Kid’s got teeth. Approved.”

Riven’s dry voice cut in. “Admire him later. For now, he stays in formation. Predators can have him if he wanders.”

“If he bogs us down, I’ll toss him out as bait,” Nera added.

Karauro climbed into the hauler, the suit’s weight pressing harder than steel.

Adapt, he told himself.

Or the ruins claim you.

---

The ramp thumped shut.

As the hauler passed Spine’s inner checkpoint, Karauro’s collar tightened around his throat.

He swallowed hard.

Roy noticed and stepped closer. “Hold still.”

He popped the latch. The pressure eased.

Karauro exhaled. “Thanks. Thought I’d heave.”

“No problem,” Roy murmured. “Ask me next time. Nera would’ve tightened it.”

From the front, Nera didn’t turn. “Keep moving.”

The hauler crossed the barrier.

The HUD shifted from Spine-clean to ruin-dirty. Spore density climbed. Mist crawled across cracked streets in slow sheets, clinging to boots, glass, and broken rebar.

Somewhere far off, metal scraped.

Patient.

“I read multiple pings ahead,” Taron reported. “Small returns.”

Aaron’s voice stayed calm. “Split to avoid swarms. Riven, Ilene, flanks. Nera, with me. Rat, Taron, and Roy.”

Karauro fell in beside Roy as the ruined city leaned over them like tombstones.

---

They reached a broken street where five Grievers tore at each other, talons ripping through flesh, ichor spraying across the pavement.

Karauro’s stomach turned. “What are they doing?”

“Fighting for cores,” Roy said. “Winner mutates. Losers become scraps.”

Taron checked his charges. “Ready.”

Aaron’s comm clicked once. “Engage.”

Canisters popped.

Red electrical pulses crawled through the fog, snapping across the Grievers and locking their bodies mid-lunge.

Karauro raised his rifle, feeling the awkward weight of it in his hands.

“Chest. Head. Left rib,” Aaron called, tagging weak points across the shared HUD.

Nera’s shots landed exactly where he marked. Clean holes. No waste.

Roy moved.

Karauro followed because stopping felt worse.

He fired.

Recoil bruised his shoulder. Casings clattered around his boots. Burnt metal and sweet rot flooded his filters.

He missed and growled under his breath.

“Don’t worry,” Roy muttered. “You’ll get it eventually. Some week. Some day.”

“I get it,” Karauro shot back.

The last creature swelled, split, and collapsed.

Silence snapped in too clean.

“That was too easy,” Maverick muttered.

Karauro lowered his rifle.

Then his glove tugged.

A red blink pulsed at the edge of his HUD.

Not on anyone else’s display.

He raised his hand, staring as the red point beat faster.

“That’s new,” he breathed.

Roy glanced over. “Rat?”

Nera’s head tilted. “You damage your HUD?”

Karauro didn’t answer.

The earth answered for him.

A tremor shuddered through the street.

Riven’s voice cracked over comms. “Radar spike. Something big. Maybe a Ripper. Maybe worse. Evac, now.”

They ran.

Karauro’s boot vanished into a hidden pit.

“Come on!” he yelped. “I knew my luck would run out someday.”

Roy and Nera grabbed his harness and hauled him free as the ground caved in behind him.

The tremor died the moment they cleared the street.

Then a nearby building folded inward, brick and glass spiraling into dust.

The haze moved.

A dozen crimson eyes opened inside it.

A shriek tore through the air and rattled every nerve in Karauro’s body.

Wait.

Why does this Ripper feel familiar?

Smoke rolled from the Ripper in thick waves. Beneath charred hide, three cores pulsed lantern-bright.

“Shoot the eyes!” Aaron shouted. “Blind it.”

Roy fired. One eye burst, then another. Orange gel spilled down the creature’s face.

Karauro copied Roy’s stance.

His first shots went wide.

He forced his breathing down.

Squeezed.

Corrected.

His next rounds punched into ruined eyes.

“Yes,” he breathed, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

The Ripper staggered, claws swinging wide enough to split a car.

Taron’s electrical pulse grenades burst along its flank in jagged red arcs—dropping it low. Riven’s sniper fire chewed through its jawline.

Ilene’s voice came tight. “Core location tagged for Nera.”

Nera moved.

Thrusters flared once. She shot forward, blade white-hot, and carved through the belly plates. One core flashed into view, thick vessels pulsing around it.

Roy leveled his rifle.

Click.

“Damn it.”

Nera’s gaze snapped to Karauro. “Rat! Shoot the core. The bright thing.”

“I’m not an idiot!” Karauro snapped, raising his rifle.

Then he saw movement beneath the plates.

Not muscle.

Not organs.

Something writhed like a centipede under the armor.

Faces pressed against the inside of the Ripper’s skin, warped and stretched, screaming without sound.

One looked like Maddox.

Karauro’s vision bent sideways.

The face had a voice. Faint, thin, but close enough to crawl through his helmet.

YOU KILLED ME.

A sharp sting hit Karauro’s throat.

“I…”

The rifle dipped.

His finger went slack.

Maybe I wasn’t meant to live.

“RAT!” Nera shouted.

Something slammed into him from the side.

Roy.

They hit the ground hard as a claw swept over them. Karauro’s glove flared by reflex, bending the swipe just enough to miss his chest.

Roy grunted as they skidded across broken concrete.

Aaron hauled them both up a second later.

The Ripper lunged for Nera.

She dodged, carving through joints with violent precision. Taron fired missiles into its side. Riven’s next shot punched through the exposed core.

The Ripper stuttered.

Nera climbed the spikes along its back, vaulted, and dragged her blade across its flank, exposing the last two cores.

Ilene fed Riven the marks.

Two cracks.

Two cores ruptured.

The Ripper’s eyes flickered.

Then went dark.

Its bulk collapsed, shaking the street and throwing dust up like ash.

"Phew, why did this Ripper feel like it wanted payback?" Taron muttered through comms.

---

Karauro steadied Roy, whose breathing had gone sharp.

“I’m sorry. I froze. I didn’t mean to.”

Roy forced a smile. “Next time, try not to use my ribs as a landing pad.”

Nera’s shadow fell over them.

“You froze,” she said, voice flat with heat underneath. “Roy paid for it.”

“You think I wanted to?” Karauro snapped. “I’m not a soldier. I didn’t ask to play one.”

Nera grabbed his collar and yanked him forward. “Spine isn’t a shelter. You pull weight or you get buried.”

Karauro pried her wrist off.

“Then let me get buried!”

Nera's teeth clenched. "It was foolish of me to believe in a rat like you."

Aaron stepped between them before Nera’s fist became something worse.

“Enough.”

Nera’s jaw flexed.

She ripped her hand free and brushed past Karauro, shoulder-checking him as she went.

Aaron keyed comms. “Riven, Ilene, bring the hauler. Roy’s wounded. Mav and I take the main core.”

Acknowledgments crackled back one by one.

The ride home was quiet.

Roy sat braced in the back, one hand pressed to his side. Nera sat forward, visor hiding whatever she refused to show. Karauro kept his helmet on, spine straight, hands still.

He sat like a small, quiet version of Riven.

Now I get it, he thought.

Easier to blend in.

Just another piece of equipment.

Taron tapped Karauro’s helmet once. “You gonna keep that on the whole ride?”

“Yeah,” Karauro said. “No problem.”

Aaron watched him for a moment. “Karauro. Med-bay when we dock. Compulsory after every run.”

A beat passed.

“…Okay.”

The Spine shield cast a hard light across the dark sky as the gates opened.

As the hauler rolled inside, Karauro felt it again.

Every time he passed through that barrier, another sliver of himself stayed trapped outside, buried somewhere among the ruins.