Twenty Five

“Sorry, sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to come in that hot!”

Wildfire crouched in the middle of the road. A circle of slagged cars, melted asphalt, and burning storefronts stretched out in a hundred-foot ring around the mortified beastkin.

Zane calmly surveyed the collateral damage.

It was mostly superficial. Some property loss, likely covered by insurance. Silvejia had extracted the civilians upon first arrival. Not gently–there hadn’t been time to coddle them–but whiplash and fractured bones were a small price to pay for survival.

There’s nothing to worry about. Colly’s voice whispered in his mind.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said breezily, waving a gauntleted hand. “You did good, eliminating the bulk of the attacking ****.”

Glancing about, Zane had to admit the term “attacking ****” may have been an exaggeration.

The plethora of scorched metallic husks surrounding the flaming fox girl lacked any heavy hitters. No armed security droids or hauler hulks. Only standard service models. Common as dirt and almost as cheap. Designed to perform basic tasks like bagging groceries, not storming city hall.

There were a lot of them, though. And strength could be found in numbers.

Wildfire’s rather dynamic entrance had sent them running, scooting, and flying for cover. Only reforming ragged ranks at a safe distance in preparation for another ****.

“You can’t escape the long arm of the law!”

Sally Putty bounded after them in brainless pursuit, lashing a straggling waiter bot aside with her elongated limbs. It crashed into a wall, reduced to spare parts.

“Or the jugs of Lady Justice!” She added, sucking in air like a vacuum.

Her rubberized tits exploded outwards, suddenly the size of bouncy castles, bowling over a squad of gardener droids wielding pruning shears and hedge trimmers.

Zane turned to the rest of the team.

Colly—currently wearing her Kinetica face—and Dr. Ruthless, sealed inside her signature ****-glam power armor, hovered lazily overhead. Silvejia, AKA Silver Streak, stayed glued to Zane’s side, closer than strictly comfortable, blushing furiously as she clung to his steel-plated elbow like a newlywed.

Wildfire still hadn’t moved, paralysed by shock over the destruction she’d wrought.

“What’s the game plan, babe?” Zane called up to Colly. “Are there protocols? A handbook? You’re the pro—direct us to the best course of action!”

She couldn’t see the scowl hidden behind his visor, but she clearly felt it. She answered with a cherubic shrug, palms raised in faux-helpless innocence.

“It’s your show, sugar. Your big debut. I wouldn’t dare tarnish your grand entrée into the hero world by stealing a single photon of spotlight. Just do what feels right. I believe in you.”

Zane gritted his teeth in frustration, then felt the tension whisked away.

She only wanted what was best for him.

His face slackened into mild concern. The sensation was unnerving. A lightning-fast mood shift was utterly alien to him–contrary to his usually level-headed nature.

Well, psychological diagnostics could come later. The enemy was rallying, and he had a city to protect.

Be bold. Be daring!

“Ruth 2.0, activate crowd suppression, lock onto hostiles, and engage.”

“Mmmm… anything for Mommy’s big strong boy.” The AI purred as though he’d stroked it somewhere intimate.

With a clank of servos, a swarm of miniature missiles erupted from the launcher on his back, streaking skyward before curling earthward into the oncoming robots. They touched down in a fiery barrage, shredding metal and plastic like confetti at a Mad Max festival—knocking Sally Putty flat on her backside.

“Whoops! My bad!” She shouted, springing back up. “Wasn’t watching my six!”

“Fucking hell,” Zane snapped. “You call that crowd suppression?”

“They appear thoroughly suppressed to me, sweetie,” Ruth 2.0 crooned.

Fortunately, the green-haired heroine looked no worse for wear. Her skintight green-and-gold costume had a few new holes, but any wounds healed immediately, the flesh resealing like silicone gel. She bounced on her toes, throwing mock punches.

“Did you see me, sir? I was like—biff! Pow! Blamo!”

“You’re doing great, but don’t be afraid to go hands-on,” Colly instructed. “The media loves fisticuffs. Also? Use your whole team. They’re not here to dangle off you like arm candy.”

“Speak for yourself,” Silvejia grumbled, literally hanging off Zane’s armoured bicep. “I’m perfectly content where I am.”

Zane tuned out the chatter and surveyed the battlefield. The robots were still advancing—slower now, but persistent. And suspiciously… underwhelming.

A man-sized teddy bear mascot shambled at the front, half its fur burned away, revealing a nightmare of exposed circuitry and bad stitching.

“Uh, Silver Streak? I’m going to need that arm back.”

She reluctantly released him. “If you insist, betrothed. But I shall expect remuneration for my generosity.”

“Yeah. Can’t wait.”

Pacified, the xeno princess lived up to her name, becoming a blur in the same shade as her silver bodysuit. She zipped about, gauntleted fists flying at blinding speed, pulverizing foes in showers of sparks.

Zane clanked forward to face the scorched nightmare teddy, rolling his shoulders.

“News drones incoming,” Dr. Ruthless announced from above, anti-grav boots humming as she scrolled through holographic menus. “Give them a good show, sweetie.”

“Some of us could be contributing more.” He grumbled, bracing.

The malicious mascot launched itself at Zane—only to rebound instantly, pinging off his armored chest like a fuzzy, malfunctioning pinball. He snagged it mid-bounce and drove his strength-augmented arm up to the elbow in its plump belly. Gears and servos cracked like brittle bones, and the hideous thing sagged in his grip.

Stomping forward, he almost tripped over a rogue Samba carpet sweeper, then used the lifeless bear as an improvised warhammer to flatten several janitor droids rushing him with mops and buckets raised like medieval halberds.

A tsunami of sudsy water splattered across his visor as the last cleaner met its end. Zane shook his arm vigorously, trying to dislodge the smoldering wreckage.

“Maybe aim for heroic instead of vaudeville, sugar,” Colly stage-whispered. “You only get one chance at a first impression.”

He waved the dead android ursine at her in desperation. “It’s stuck on my arm! Could you not just…?”

Colly giggled, flicked her wrist, and telekinetically yeeted the ruined plush-mech into a nearby dumpster. A news drone drifted in for a close-up, its camera clicking eagerly.

“I’m, uh… cleaning up the streets,” Zane quipped, despite a mountain of evidence to the contrary. He hoped the drifting smoke wouldn’t mar the footage. “Who’s next?”

A phalanx of mobile pizza carts rolled in, tank treads churning the asphalt. Zane engaged them with gusto, only to be baptized in marinara as their sauce tanks ruptured. They blasted him with oven heat but shattered like ceramic eggshells under a single punch.

“I’m working up an appetite?” Zane hazarded, wiping the tomato slurry off his plating and silently congratulating Ruth on choosing matte black armor. “Dammit, at least it doesn’t show.”

“My external sensors are tingling under your rough handling, sweetie,” Ruth 2.0 moaned in his helmet. “Get me extra filthy so you can… scrub me later.”

Zane fully intended to never acknowledge that.

Luckily, a sudden gout of flame signaled Wildfire’s re-entry into the fray, sparing him from having to formulate a response.

“Brava, foxy sister!” Sally Putty hollered, suplexing two self-driving delivery vans into each other with her gigantified hands. Their horns bleated in perpetual agony. “Give ’em hell!”

Wildfire gave her a small, anxious smile before torching a flock of predatory hover-scooters swarming overhead.

“Atta girl!” Zane called, pumping a fist.

Fuck, he hated those scooters. Menaces on wheels. They followed pedestrians around like **** sales interns, begging for attention and offering unsolicited discount codes.

All things considered, the battle was going great. His sexy, badass team of ladies was crushing robot butt, and nobody important had taken real damage.

There was nothing to worry about. Zane was acting bold and daring. He deserved the best and was getting it, here and now!

Except…

Except one gritty little suspicion kept grinding at him like a pebble in his boot.

Colly and Dr. Ruthless.

Both world-class powerhouses… and both had conveniently opted for the “hover in place and look pretty” strategy. Colly’s attention never once drifted from him, totally focused, and Ruth barely glanced up from her floating holoscreens, fingers dancing over the projections with the precision of a concert pianist.

They were up to something. Had to be. Arch-rivals–even exes–don’t just… collaborate.

The puzzle pieces began arranging themselves with unpleasant speed:

An AI rebellion sparked at the ideal moment.

Robot insurgents who were, frankly, glorified floor buffers.

News drones arriving with suspicious punctuality as soon as Zane took the stage.

Fuming and cracking his knuckles, Zane prepared for a very awkward, very public conversation when a new player entered the field.

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