Chapter 63: THE UNION’S PAYDAY & THE STAPLER’S LAST STAND
A triumphant, if ragged, roar echoed from the direction of the Power Core crater. Tabitha landed heavily nearby, scales scorched black in patches, one wing membrane torn, but her emerald eyes blazing with fierce satisfaction.
Behind her limped the remnants of her union: the minotaur leaning on his desk-club, the phoenix smoldering weakly but upright, sprites buzzing with exhausted pride.
"Core’s slag," Tabitha announced, smoke curling from her nostrils. "Fold’s undone. Stapler’s..." She gestured with her snout towards the center of the plaza.
Stapler Prime lay partially buried under its own collapsed infrastructure. One leg was crumpled into uselessness by the Weaver’s fold, the other twitched spasmodically. Its chromed hull was scorched, dented, and pierced by debris. Its single red photoreceptor flickered erratically, casting dying light across the ruin. A broken, stuttering drone emitted from its speakers:
"F-F-Final F-Fold... t-t-terminated. P-P-Power Core... d-d-destroyed. D-D-Directive... f-f-failed." A shower of sparks erupted from its torso. "S-S-System... cor-cor-corruption... un-un-unacceptable. Ini-Ini-Initiating... S-S-Self... S-S-Scuttling... P-P-Protocol."
A countdown hologram, cracked and glitching, sputtered to life above its broken form: 00:59... 00:58...
Tabitha snorted. "Self-scuttling? Sounds like management skipping out on severance." She turned to her battered crew. "Alright, looters! Union Rule #58: Salvage rights apply post-hostilities! Gemstones, artifacts, anything not nailed down – which is everything – grab it! We earned our goddamn back pay!" The mythicals, despite their wounds, let out a ragged cheer and began scavenging with renewed, if pained, vigor.
[ TABITHA & UNION: VICTORIOUS BUT INJURED | OBJECTIVE: SALVAGE / SURVIVAL ]
[ STAPLER PRIME: CRITICAL DAMAGE | SELF-DESTRUCT COUNTDOWN: 00:57... 00:56... ]
Nishanth forced himself to sit up, gritting his teeth against the pain. The glitching countdown over Stapler Prime pulsed like a dying star. Less than a minute. The blast radius would be catastrophic. He looked at Lilith, still trembling; at Zara shielding the unconscious Weaver from Seraphina’s cold gaze; at Tabitha’s crew obliviously scavenging.
"Lilith," he rasped. "The paper. The memos. Stapler Prime’s systems... you know how they think. How do we stop that?" He gestured weakly at the countdown.