Location: The Arches (Underneath Waterloo Station)

  Time: 09:00 AM

  Current Balance: ￡49,150 (After Rent)

  Money changed Cameron’s posture.

  Yesterday, his eyes tracked the ground, scanning cracks for coins and corners for dropped Charge cells. Today, his gaze stayed level. Fifty thousand Coin sat heavy in his pocket, pulling at his center of gravity, anchoring him. It felt solid. It felt actionable.

  They moved through The Arches a sprawl of stalls crammed beneath Waterloo Station, brick tunnels sweating damp into the air.

  Ozone hung low. Burnt plastic. Coffee brewed too strong to hide either. Folding tables lined the walls, cluttered with dungeon salvage: cracked shields, unevenly glowing blades, mods with warning lights taped over.

  Tony buzzed ahead, already pointing. “Look at this! Plasma katanas. Neon edge. S?Tier energy.”

  Cameron didn’t slow. “Plastic shells. Glow paint. First impact cracks the housing.”

  Tony jogged backward to keep pace. “They shine, Cam. People notice shine.”

  “You need something that survives a hit,” Cameron said. “What you’ve got barely survives you.”

  Tony glanced down at his belt. The lead?wrapped Spitfire piston hung there, scarred and blunt.

  “It’s sentimental,” he said. “Dropped a Manager with it.”

  “We’re buying tools,” Cameron said. “Hard Reset.”

  Arthur followed a step behind, dictaphone already running.

  “No licenses posted,” he murmured. “Power lines exposed. Egress routes blocked. This market stacks risk vertically.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Lenny drifted past a table and palmed a Charge battery in one smooth motion. “Liquidity,” he said. “Healthy circulation.”

  Arthur’s jaw tightened. “If my kidneys flash?boil, I need a name to write down.”

  They reached the far end of the tunnel.

  A blast door sat wedged between bridge supports, metal scored with scratches. Above it, a neon sign flickered through missing letters:

  HARD RESET — SALVAGE & SURPLUS

  Cameron pushed inside.

  The space opened into machinery. Pistons stacked like organs. Coils wound tight. Raw alloy sheets leaned against brick, chalk?tagged with prices and warnings.

  Behind a counter welded from an engine block sat Sparky.

  Grease?streaked tracksuit. Gold chain. Strawberry?sweet vapour curling around his head.

  “Closed,” Sparky said, eyes still on his magazine. “Coins talk.”

  “We cleared a bounty,” Cameron said. “Team DPS.”

  The page stopped turning. Sparky looked up, one eyebrow rising.

  “Right,” he said. “You lot. Bent the stack.”

  “We adapted,” Cameron said. “We’re fitting him.”

  He nodded at Tony.

  Sparky’s gaze traveled—burned gloves, scarred forearms, the piston?club.

  “Sonic striker,” Sparky said. “Your kit melted.”

  Tony straightened. “Output issue.”

  “Means you hit too hard,” Sparky said. “You burn charge. You need mass.”

  He vanished into the back. Metal clanged. Something shrieked. A cat bolted past the door.

  Sparky returned dragging a crate.

  It hit the floor and split open.

  Inside sat a weapon built from industrial intent.

  A hammer assembled from demolition parts. Pile?driver core. Tungsten face. Exhaust vents cut like gills.

  [WEAPON: BASS?DRIVER]

  [CLASS: HEAVY KINETIC]

  [RANK: A+]

  “Salvage,” Sparky said. “Motion?fed. Swing loads the piston.”

  He clapped his hands.

  “Impact vents everything.”

  Tony stared, breath catching. “That’s mine.”

  “It weighs,” Cameron said. “Lift it.”

  Tony wrapped his hands around the grip. His shoulders dipped. He set his feet and brought it up.

  The hammer thrummed—low, eager.

  “I feel it,” Tony whispered.

  “Forty thousand,” Sparky said.

  Arthur recoiled. “That’s...”

  “Under street,” Sparky said. “Short run. No paper.”

  Tony turned to Cameron. “Please.”

  Cameron checked the balance. Ran the numbers. Jaw set.

  “Send it.”

  PING.

  [PAYMENT SENT: ￡40,000]

  [BALANCE: ￡9,150]

  Sparky grinned. “Enjoy it. Clear out. I’ve got trouble inbound.”

  They were halfway back into the tunnel when Tony swung the Bass?Driver onto his shoulder. The exhaust ports ticked, heat cycling.

  “I’ve ascended,” Tony said.

  “You’ve emptied us,” Cameron said. “Armor next.”

  Tony rolled the hammer once.

  The air screamed.

  A black van skidded sideways at the tunnel mouth.

  Four figures stepped out gear clean, logos fresh. Kensington B?team.

  The lead Rogue smiled. “Big purchase.”

  Cameron unclipped his staff. “Keep moving.”

  “Tax zone,” the Rogue said. “Hand it over.”

  Tony looked at Cameron. “Demo?”

  Cameron stepped aside. “Test it.”

  The Kensington team rushed.

  Tony planted. Fed vibration into the handle.

  VZZZT.

  The piston locked back.

  “DROP THE BASS.”

  He drove the hammer into the concrete.

  BOOM.

  The shockwave tore the ground apart. The Rogue lifted and slammed into the van.

  The rest froze.

  Dust rolled.

  Tony stood at the center, hammer venting smoke.

  “That,” he said, chest heaving, “worked.”

  Arthur stared at the crater. “Structural damage. Extensive.”

  “Exit?” Lenny asked.

  “Now,” Cameron said.

  They vanished into the tunnels.

  The balance was zero.

  The loadout was verified.

  The city began to recalculate.