His voice was steady, but his eyes never stopped scanning the soldiers. “It was simply a precaution. We didn’t know you were soldiers.”
He stood a little ahead of the others— Fit, middle-aged, with a lean build and straight posture, his body showing discipline rather than age. The way the rest of the group instinctively looked to him made it clear he was their leader.
Luken lowered his weapon first.
“We should be the ones apologizing,” he said. “It took us too long to reach you.”
Man shook his head slowly.
“No. We understand,” he replied. “The whole world is suffering. We can’t blame anyone for being late anymore.”
The words carried no bitterness. Only exhaustion.
Luken nodded. “Are there any more survivors?”
The man hesitated.
“Yes,” he said at last. “But the answer isn’t that simple.”
He took a breath, steadying himself.
“You’ll have to understand everything first.”
“I’m listening,” Luken replied. “Tell me everything that’s necessary.”
Man nodded.
“As you’ve probably noticed,” he began, “all those… freaks out there move only when a signal is transmitted.”
“Would you stop calling them freaks?” a younger man snapped from behind him. “I told you to call them Rustwalkers.”
The man waved him off. “It doesn’t matter what I call them. They’re freaks, and I’ll keep calling them freaks.”
He turned his gaze to Luken. “What do you call them?”
“We call them Lostbonds,” Luken replied.
The younger man grimaced. “That’s a total downgrade. Rustwalkers sounds way cooler.”
“Agree,” Bran muttered under his breath.
Luken shot both Bran and the boy a look sharp enough to cut steel.
They immediately went silent.
He continued.
“They’re being controlled by the manager,” he said. “Those poor souls still listen to their manager… even after death.”
Something broke in his voice.
He laughed.
At first, it was quiet. A breathy sound that didn’t quite belong. Then it grew louder—too loud—until he was laughing hard enough that tears welled in his eyes.
No one interrupted.
Eventually, a young woman stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll explain,” she said softly.
She looked at the soldiers.
“The strongest monster here is the Manager. He’s all pistons and machinery. We call him Piston.”
She paused.
“But he’s not the main threat.”
The room felt smaller suddenly.
“The real danger,” she continued, “is what we call the Iron Surgeon.”
“You thought of that name too?” Bran whispered to the boy beside him.
The boy nodded solemnly.
“I would save you with my life,” Bran said, tapping his fist against the boy’s in approval.
The girl ignored them.
“The Iron Surgeon operates this factory,” she said. “He modifies Lostbonds. He kidnaps humans.”
Her jaw tightened.
“We were twenty-five when this started. Now there are only six of us.”
“What does he do to the others?” Luken asked.
She didn’t answer immediately.
“He has an ability,” she said carefully. “He can extract the parasite from a Lostbond, fuse it into steel… then implant it into a living human.”
The room went still.
“To reach the furnace—or the Iron Surgeon—you’ll have to face Piston and the modified humans,” she continued. “He has complete command over them.”
“And if you target Piston,” she added, “every Lostbond in the area will attack you at once.”
Luken opened his mouth to ask how strong this Piston was—
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And then the ground shook.
A heavy, rhythmic vibration passed through the ceiling above them. Dust fell in thin streams from the pipes. The walls hummed faintly.
Something walked overhead.
Each step landed with mechanical precision.
Luken didn’t need an explanation anymore.
“I told you, Lieutenant,” one of the soldiers whispered nervously. “We should’ve waited for backup. We still have time. We should retreat and rescue these people first.”
“How long would backup take?” the girl asked.
“Fifteen days,” Luken replied.
“They produce nearly five hundred armored Lostbonds daily,” she said flatly. “They’d have an army by then.”
Silence.
“Do you have any plan?” Luken asked.
“We do,” she said. “But it depends on you.”
She looked directly at him.
“If you tell us all your abilities, we can refine it.”
“Abilities?” Riven echoed, incredulous.
She squinted at him. “You don’t have abilities?”
Riven didn’t answer.
“They survive,” Luken said simply.
The girl blinked, momentarily speechless.
Then Luken added, “Now tell me. What abilities do you have?”
She hesitated, then sighed.
“We never properly introduced ourselves.”
She straightened.
“My name is Aera,” she said. “I can connect to any electronic device. Cameras. Terminals. Sensors.”
She pointed to a heavyset middle-aged man beside her.
“And his name is—”
“I’m not a child,” the man interrupted. “I can introduce myself.”
He cleared his throat.
“My name is Voss. I can stop any machine for a short time.”
He swallowed.
“When the disaster happened, something asked me what I wanted most. And an old memory came back—one from childhood. I was being electrocuted. I couldn’t move. All I wanted was for it to stop.”
He paused, shuddering slightly.
“Even now, remembering it gives me chills.”
Luken nodded. “I respect your choice.”
Another man stepped forward—lean, broad-shouldered, hands steady.
“I’m Holt,” he said. “I can strike with perfect accuracy.”
He scratched his head awkwardly. “I used to hit my fingers with a hammer a lot. Hurt like hell. Now I don’t miss.”
“I’m very happy for you,” Luken said, deadpan.
Then a skinny adult, barely past college age, spoke up.
“My name is Milo, and I can see through anything.”
Bran immediately cut in. “Yeah, we definitely don’t want to hear your story. We know what kind of man you are.”
“It’s not like that,” Milo said quickly. “Let me tell you—”
“I hate to admit it, but I agree with Bran this time. Please don’t sweat it.” Luken says calmly
The last survivor stepped forward.
“My name is Mira,” she said. “I can summon insulating walls from the ground.”
She gestured around them.
“This room is made of them. They block sound. They’re stronger than normal walls.”
The middle-aged man was still laughing, unable to stop.
Aera looked at him and said to Luken,
“And you won’t believe it—but he’s the director and major shareholder of this land. The only one who walked out of the furnace room alive.”
She paused, glancing at his twisted posture.
“His back’s completely ruined,” she added.
The crackling laughter burst out again.
“Yeah,” she finished flatly. “Very alive.”
Aera turned toward Luken.
“What about you, Lieutenant?” she asked. “What power do you have?”
Luken smiled faintly.
“I like the scent of blood.”
The room fell silent.
“Okay,” Aera said slowly, breaking the silence, “that wasn’t a proper response.”
Her eyes stayed on Luken—not judging, not mocking. Measuring.
“But,” she continued, “I can feel it. You’re strong enough to face Piston.”
The words settled heavily in the room. Not encouragement. Not flattery. More like recognition.
Aera took a breath and straightened her posture, shifting from survivor to strategist.
“Now listen,” she said. “I have a plan.”
Everyone leaned in, instinctively quiet.
“First, we divide into two teams,” she said, raising two fingers. “One team handles Piston. The other goes for the Surgeon.”
She paused briefly, making sure everyone was following.
“Around this time each cycle,” she went on, “Piston walks directly above the sewer line. We’ve observed it enough times to be sure.”
Mira stepped forward slightly. “I can melt the ground beneath him,” she added. “Drop him straight into the sewer.”
Aera nodded. “Once he’s down here, Mira seals the ground again. Completely.”
She turned to Voss. “You won’t be able to shut him down,” she said calmly, “but you can disable his speaker.”
Voss folded his arms. “For about two minutes,” he said. “No more.”
“That’s enough,” Aera replied. “With the sewer sealed and his voice cut, his commands won’t escape these tunnels.”
She looked back at Luken.
“But you have to defeat him in that window.”
There was no hesitation.
“I will handle it,” Luken said.
Nothing dramatic in his tone. No bravado. Just resolve.
Aera studied him for a moment, then continued.
“While that’s happening,” she said, “we’ll need another team to engage the Surgeon. No matter how careful we are, he will be notified.”
A faint unease moved through the group.
“But,” she added, “there’s an advantage. We have a passage that leads directly to the furnace.”
She tapped the map.
“If we move fast enough, we can reach him before he finishes mobilizing his modified units.”
She stepped back.
“Now,” Aera said, voice steady, “you decide, Lieutenant. How do you want to proceed?”
Luken turned slowly, looking at every soldier present.
“What do you think, boys?” he asked. “Is this winnable?”
The room stayed quiet for a second too long.
Then Luken spoke again, softer this time.
“I made a huge mistake last time.”
Kael stepped forward immediately.
“That mistake was ours, sir,” he said. “We were careless.”
His grip tightened around his spear.
“We won’t disappoint you this time.”
A beat.
Then—
“YES!”
The response came in unison. Loud. Sharp. Full of energy that hadn’t existed in the room moments ago.
Luken nodded once.
“Then it’s decided,” he said. “We proceed.”
As the room began to stir, Kael leaned in close to Luken’s ear.
“Is it okay to trust these strangers?” he asked quietly.
Luken didn’t answer immediately.
“It’s the cause that unites people,” he said at last. “A bond forged by the same goal doesn’t break easily.”
He glanced around the room.
“All we had half a month ago ,was a team made of random peoples ,” he continued, “and look at them now , they are ready to die for one another.”
Kael followed his gaze.
Soldiers sat against walls, sharing quiet jokes, checking gear, helping each other adjust armor. Laughter echoed softly—strained, but real.
Luken spoke again, almost to himself.
“Cause is a strong weapon,” he said. “Because, cause bends the human will.”
He turned back to Kael.
“And human will,” he added, “can bend anything.”
Kael nodded slowly.
He understood.
And yet—
“Doesn’t this work the other way too?” he whispered to himself.
Luken heard it.
He patted Kael’s back.
“And besides,” he said lightly, “we were going to fight them anyway. Won’t hurt having extra support.”
With that, Luken stepped forward and began outlining the attack plan in detail.
Time passed strangely after that.
Plans were proposed. Adjusted. Rejected. Revised again.
Arguments flared—short, sharp disagreements over positioning, timing, fallback routes. Each was resolved quickly, efficiently. No ego. No shouting.
Only necessity.
Eventually, the teams were finalized.
The team assigned to Piston would consist of:
- Luken, as the main combatant
- Voss, to disable the speaker
- Mira, to open and reseal the ground
They would strike fast, decisively, and without room for error.
The second team would head toward the furnace.
Aera would lead them.
With her would go:
- The remaining soldiers.
- Holt, the hammer wielder
- Milo, to monitor the area through x-ray
Their objective: confront the Iron Surgeon, disrupt his operations, and shut down the furnace.
Finally, it was decided—
The Director would remain behind in the hidden room.
As he is wounded and isn’t suited for direct combat.
No one argued.
The room fell quiet again, but this time it wasn’t fear that filled it.
It was focus.
Outside, above layers of concrete and steel, the pistons continued to move.
And beneath them, plans hardened into resolve.