Blood on the Asphalt biker
The heavy, humid air of the glowing jungle smelled of ozone, scorched armor, and the metallic tang of blood.
Dax didn’t lower his SMG. He took a slow, deliberate step toward the lowered ramp of the Dreadnought-Crawler, his boots sinking an inch into the bioluminescent mud. Beside him, I kept my hand hovering near my data-deck, the sapphire Origin-Code still humming in my veins from the feedback loop I’d just broadcasted.