The call came just before midday, when even the workshop felt too quiet.

Tamsy Caines checked the mission board, read the assignment once, then let his hand drop to his side like the paper itself had annoyed him.

“Sector Eleven again.” He said, already sounding tired.

The Cleaner stationed nearby handed over the route details and quickly stepped away, as if not wanting to be involved in whatever mood he was carrying.

The lower district smelled like rust and burned plastic by the time he arrived. A collapsed service lane blocked half the road, fresh debris still sliding into the narrow gap below. The assignment had called it routine disposal.

Tamsy stared at the crater.

“Routine.” He repeated, flatly.

A sharp metallic scrape answered him.

Something moved under the broken concrete—slow at first, then sudden. A twisted heap of scrap forced itself upward, dragging pipes and shattered plating with it. One arm looked like welded blades, the other dragged loose wire like tendons.

Tamsy rolled one shoulder, already looking done with the entire situation.

“Of course.”

The thing lunged.