Are You Out of Your Mind?
"What do you want?"
Scarlet's voice was as bold and unrestrained as her looks, though a thread of irritation ran through it.
"I don't take sightseers. Stop getting in the way of business and get out if you don't have anything for me."
She seemed to figure I was just some gawker who'd wandered in by mistake.
"Sorry to barge in. You're Scarlet, right? I came looking for you after hearing the rumors."
At that, one of Scarlet's eyebrows lifted a fraction. Still not dropping her guard, she looked me over again, more carefully this time.
"Yeah, you found the right place. I'm Scarlet."
She crossed her arms as she admitted it. The pose only made the spider tattoo on her arm and the deep line of her cleavage stand out more.
Damn, those are big.
"But looking at you… you actually got any credits on you? You know my work doesn't come cheap, right?"
She jerked her chin toward the inside of the workshop.
"As you can see, I've got no interest in patching up half-assed scrap heaps for pocket change."
Her words were blunt, but somehow that only made her more trustworthy. She was nothing like the hustlers who plastered on fake smiles just to rip you off.
"I brought plenty. Don't worry about that."
I shrugged and added,
"It's just that my machine's in a… special condition, and the work I want done isn't exactly standard. That's why I came to you. On Terminus — hell, maybe on this whole planet — you might be the only one who can pull it off."
At those last words, something subtle shifted in Scarlet's eyes. The wariness and irritation eased a little. She uncrossed her arms and perched on the edge of a workbench.
"Special condition? Work that isn't standard?"
She echoed it back, sounding intrigued. A faint smile even tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Interesting."
She tipped her head toward me.
"Talking about it's slower than just looking. Well? Want to show me?"
Scarlet stared at me for a beat, then shrugged and stood up from the bench.
"Fine. But if this turns out to be a waste of my time, you're gonna pay a steep consultation fee."
She stripped off her protective coveralls, leaving her in a sleeveless top, and headed for the workshop door.
We cut back through the noisy, chaotic junkyard alley and made for the landing bay. Scarlet stopped at the entrance to the docking zone, crossed her arms, and started looking over my Bugbear.
I waited for her reaction with my nerves wound tight.
At first she studied the machine without much change in expression. Her gaze tracked over the shoulder armor scored by beam rifle fire, the abdomen caved in from a kick, and the crude armor patches I'd slapped on overnight. Then her eyes lingered for a moment near the reactor booster and high-performance actuators I'd installed in a hurry.
A second later, the faint spark of interest that had been hanging at the corner of her mouth vanished completely.
"Ha…"
She let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"This… this is the special machine you were talking about?"
Her voice was colder and sharper than before, dripping with undisguised scorn.
"A third-generation mass-produced Bugbear? Are you kidding me right now?"
She jabbed a finger at the Bugbear and raised her voice. Other mechanics and mercenaries nearby started glancing our way, wondering what the noise was about.
"You drag this pile of scrap in here and have the nerve to come looking for me? And the condition is a complete disaster!"
She took another step closer and kicked the Bugbear's crumpled armor with her boot. A dull clang rang out.
"Look at all this patchwork junk! Far as I can tell, the only thing this is good for is feeding it into a trash compactor and turning it into a cube."
She kept pouring it on, clearly worked up.
"This rag of an armor plating, this outdated frame — looks like you bolted a few things on recently, but those boosters and actuators don't even match this piece of junk."
At the time, that had been the best I could do. Not much I could say to that.
"Did you even think about balance when you stuck those on? What the hell are you trying to do with this thing? Come here to show off your scrap metal?"
Scarlet's scathing critique wasn't wrong. To an expert like her, it must have looked like a joke.
"You're right. In its current state, it's basically a hunk of scrap."
I admitted it without hedging. Her eyebrows ticked up slightly — she'd clearly expected me to argue.
"But this is… just the base."
"The base?"
Scarlet repeated it like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"Base for what? Scrap recycling?"
"No."
I shook my head firmly. Then I called up one of the core pieces of my Asura build from Galaxy Titans — the one that had been a grand romance for me and a nightmare for my enemies.
I took a breath and spoke the name exactly as it had been known in the game, a symbol of overwhelming destructive power.
"The GX-Final Impact Pile Bunker. And a dedicated high-output capacitor to drive it."
The moment the words left my mouth, even the sneer vanished from Scarlet's face. She stared at me with wide eyes, as if she either didn't understand what I'd just said or had decided I was insane.
The snickering from the people around us cut off cold.
Maybe it was the weight that came with the words "pile bunker" — especially that infamous model name.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Scarlet's flat voice rang through the hangar.
"The GX-Final Impact Pile Bunker? That insane thing that can punch through battleship armor — and you want to mount it on this third-generation scrap heap?!"
She raked a hand through her hair like she couldn't process it.
"Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to fire that thing? That cheap booster you just slapped on won't even come close. And where the hell are you going to put a dedicated capacitor? You think this paper-thin frame can handle the weight and the energy load?"
She stepped up to the Bugbear again and flicked a finger against the hull like it disgusted her.
"And let's say you somehow manage to mount it. What about the recoil when it fires? I don't see a reinforced frame or any shock-absorption system anywhere — and I've got eyes."
Scarlet clawed at her red hair in frustration.
"Your machine will tear apart like wet paper the second you pull the trigger! No — your neck will snap before that even happens!"
Her anger spilled past the technical problems into the tactical ones.
"Think for two seconds, you lunatic. You really believe you can close with the enemy while hauling that massive, cumbersome thing around? Who in this day and age is just going to sit still and let you walk a pile bunker into range?"
Open contempt filled her voice.
"Beam rifles and missiles raining down from every direction, and you're going to push through all of that in this slow-ass scrap heap?!"
She jabbed a finger at me and shouted,
"You'll be Swiss cheese before you ever get close. You idiot! You're not a mercenary — you're a suicide volunteer. Are you even sane? Or are you just that desperate to die?"
She spun on her heel like I wasn't even worth talking to anymore.
Every single one of her points was correct. By common sense, by engineering, by tactics — my plan was basically a suicide run.
If you only followed the rules of this reality, that is.
But I had information that could blow past this world's common sense. The vast database in my head from being a veteran of Galaxy Titans. And inside it were the keys to every problem she'd just listed.
"Wait!"
I called urgently after her retreating back. If I lost her here, the plan would be dead before it started.
Scarlet stopped with an irritated huff and glared at me over her shoulder. The silent pressure to get lost was unmistakable.
I kept my voice steady.
"You're right. As it stands, a pile bunker is impossible. Not enough energy — and more than anything, no way to control the recoil."
I conceded her points first. Scarlet just kept staring at me with that same contemptuous look, like she was willing to hear whatever nonsense I was about to spout next.
"But that doesn't mean there's no way."
I looked her straight in the eye. I dug up the memories of hunting down every rare part in the game — especially the legendary components you could pull from Terminus Station's black market or hidden quests.
"The recoil problem. What if there was a part that could solve it?"
"A recoil-control part?"
Scarlet snorted.
"Like something like that is just lying around in this junkyard alley."
"Not lying around, no. But I have information that it's sleeping somewhere on Terminus."
I spoke with absolute certainty.
"The Atlas V Graviton Damper."
The instant the name left my mouth, Scarlet's eyes went wide. Surprise and deep disbelief flashed across her face for the first time.
"A graviton damper? Atlas V?"
She repeated it like she couldn't believe it. So she'd heard of the part too.
"You're buying into some empty rumor?"
"I said information, not rumor."
I was firm. I remembered the route to get that part in the game. It hadn't been easy — but it hadn't been impossible either.
"And I intend to go get it."
I threw the challenge straight at her.
"If I bring it and put it right in front of you — will you take my commission then? The job of transplanting a GX-Final Impact Pile Bunker onto this Bugbear."
Scarlet stared at me in silence for a long moment. Fierce calculations seemed to be running behind her eyes — the truth of what I'd said, the odds of success, and the fallout if I actually showed up with that part.
"Fine. What's your name?"
She crossed her arms again.
"Kang Jinwoo."
Her eyes still treated me like a madman, but there was a different kind of interest in them now.
"Jinwoo? All right. Go ahead and dig up that legendary part with your fancy information."
She pointed a finger at me and declared,
"If you actually deliver an Atlas V Graviton Damper to me, I'll play along with your insane plan for free. Pile bunker or whatever else — I'll mount whatever you want."
Her voice went cold again.
"But if you fail or come back empty-handed, don't even think about crossing my workshop threshold a second time. Got it?"
The offer was crystal clear. Succeed and get everything. Fail and get nothing. High risk, high return. A contract that was pure mercenary.
I nodded without a second's hesitation.
"Got it."