| The Undercity Workyard |

The factory air shimmered with heat and static. Sparks snapped from overhead welding arms, and the grind of metal on metal was a constant chorus in the vast workyard. The lower levels of Iacon didn’t get much light, but D-16 had long since adjusted. He worked in silence, thick servos pulling reinforced cabling into alignment across a high-pressure joint. The system hissed angrily. So did he. The job was mindless. Pointless. Heavy lifting, over and over—because someone like him was built for it. Not for thinking. Not for leading. Just brute force. He didn’t even look up when the gates groaned open. Then came the commotion.

Two Elite Enforcers stomped through the archway, tossing something—someone—onto the grated floor like he was scrap. D-16 straightened slowly, optic ridges narrowing. The frame that skidded to a halt, laughing breathlessly, was unmistakable. Orion Pax.

“Alright, alright—” Orion was already propping himself up on one elbow, waving a hand with exaggerated ease. “I get it! You don’t like when a guy’s late.”

The taller Enforcer sneered and stalked off, clearly annoyed that Orion hadn’t begged or explained more. D-16’s fists unclenched slowly as the guards disappeared down the hall.