The lift hangs motionless in the shaft, all hum and rattle gone. Emergency lights flicker red-white over Clover’s crimson suit, Max Exterminus, and the ruined console below.
Clover flexes her gloved fingers. The fabric is split at the knuckles, and the sticky residue on her boots strings a little when she shifts her weight.
Max lies cuffed and still, breathing shallowly, one shoulder twitching as the last of the stun fades. His insectoid face is slack with exhaustion rather than fury.
Clover Ewing
The gloves are shot. The boots are worse.
A long shadow slides across the wall as the light blinks. Dust drifts in the shaft, silver in the brief glow, and the silence feels almost spacious after the fight.
Max Exterminus
You really came alone, Clover. I have to admire the commitment.
He tips his head toward her, testing the cuffs with a weak pull, then stops. For the first time, there is no scheme in motion, only two battered opponents sharing the same small pocket of quiet.
✓ Quest Accepted
Repair the torn gloves