Feral on the Ice
"Even if you can't shift, those 'Glitched' organs of yours are the most powerful batteries on the planet. Give me one of your cores to power my scrap-fleet, and the water flows."
"If we give you a core, that person dies," Elara said, her eyes turning a cold, sharp gold—not a glow, but a reflection of her unwavering will.
"Then we play for it," Daxos said, gesturing to a massive, circular pit in the center of the market. It was filled with knee-deep industrial sludge and jagged scrap metal. "A game of Ash-Puck. My best five against yours. You win, the water is free. You lose... I pick who goes under the knife."
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