The rusty iron sheets wailed.
Zero's fingers hovered over an old pocket watch.
The fingertips were only a millimeter away from the cold metal shell.
He could feel the tiny storm lurking beneath the shell.
It's not energy, it's not magic, it's something more essential.
It's a crack in the "rules".
The mobile fortress he was in had been abandoned for dozens of cycles.
The remains of this steel behemoth were stranded on the edge of Gear City, like a dead whale.
Zero's workshop is located in the upper cabin of the fortress, filled with parts, scraps, and unidentifiable mechanical artifacts.
These things are garbage in the eyes of others.
In Zero's eyes, they are temporary anchor points.
