Supreme Disassemble: Rebuilding the World in the Iron Wastel

Chapter 16: The Gravity of Bad Decisions

The silence that followed the explosion of the Hive Core wasn't the peaceful kind. It was the heavy, suffocating silence you get when you’ve just accidentally insulted a mob boss at his own mother’s funeral. Suger stood in the center of the pitch-black laboratory, his chest heaving, his right arm glowing with a rhythmic, violet pulse that looked like a neon sign for a bar that had long ago gone out of business.

​Congratulations, Suger. You’ve officially upgraded from ‘annoying scavenger’ to ‘walking ecological disaster,’ the Voice crackled inside his skull. It sounded like a late-night talk show host who had just finished a bottle of cheap scotch. I hope you’re happy. You didn't just break the machine; you personally offended the entire concept of electrical engineering. Look at your hand. You look like a rock star’s bad trip.

​"Shut... up," Suger croaked. His voice felt like it had been scrubbed with a wire brush and rinsed with battery acid. He tried to flex his fingers, but they didn't feel like flesh and bone anymore. They felt like a collection of cold, expensive kitchen knives clicking against each other in the dark. "I’ve had worse... hangovers than this. At least the room stopped spinning."

​"Suger?" Claire’s voice came from the shadows, trembling with the kind of raw fear you save for when you realize your Uber driver is actually a serial killer. She stepped into the dim, pulsing violet light, her tactical rail-pistol wavering in her grip. "Your arm... it’s radiating enough heat to cook a steak. You’re literally glowing, you idiot. Even a blind sniper could find us from three sectors away."

​"Consider it a free flashlight, Soldier," Suger said, forcing a smirk that felt like it was tearing his face in half. "I always wanted to be the center of attention. Now, quit staring at me like I’m a museum exhibit for 'Modern Failures' and help me find the stairs. My legs feel like they’re made of wet cardboard and broken promises."

​Above them, the building groaned—a long, agonizing metal shriek that sounded like a giant finding out his rent just doubled and his cat just died. The emergency backup systems finally kicked in, but they weren't the comforting white lights of the Inner City. Instead, the hallways were bathed in a frantic, strobing red, the color of a fresh wound.

​Hate to interrupt the bonding moment, but the Inner City garrison is currently ten floors up and they’re definitely not coming down to bring us a ‘Get Well Soon’ card, the Voice added, its snark sharpening into a razor edge. We have about four minutes before they seal the vents and turn this whole sector into a giant, airless Tupperware container. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’d taste very good as leftovers.

​"Grab the data drive," Suger barked, leaning heavily against a shattered console that was still sparking with blue electricity. "We didn't just turn off the lights for the fun of it. I want those blueprints. If I’m going to turn into a purple lawn ornament, I at least want to know what the warranty covers."

​Claire hesitated, her eyes darting between his monstrous, crystalline limb and the smoking ruins of the room. Then, with a curse that would have made a shipyard worker proud, she lunged for the terminal. Her fingers flew across the holographic interface, her cybernetic eye twitching as she bypassed the final layers of security.

​As they stumbled out of the lab and into the maintenance corridors, Suger felt a terrifying new sensation. The pipes in the walls, the wiring under the floor, the structural beams holding up the ceiling—it all felt… loud. Not with sound, but with presence. He could feel the stress in every bolt, the rust eating every hinge. It was like he was suddenly fluent in the language of things that were broken.

​"The lift is dead," Claire gasped, looking up the dark, vertical throat of the service shaft. "It’s a twelve-story climb. In the dark. With every Enforcer drone in the city looking for a reason to earn a promotion. Suger, you can't even stand straight."

​"Good," Suger growled, his crystal hand sparking as it accidentally brushed against a steel railing, leaving a melted groove in the metal. "I always hated taking the stairs. It gives me more time to think about all the better things I could be doing with my life. Like being literally anywhere else, drinking something that didn't come out of a recycled waste pipe."

​They began to climb. It was a rhythmic hell. Suger had to use his left arm for the heavy lifting, while his right arm—the violet monster—seemed to want to pull him toward the metal walls. Every time his crystal fingers touched a rung, the metal groaned and sagged, weakened by the raw disassembly energy leaking from his pores.

​Careful there, Captain Destructo, the Voice whispered. If you accidentally disassemble the ladder we’re currently standing on, we’re going to have a very short, very final conversation with the floor. Try to keep the ‘God-like power’ on a leash, will you?

​"I’m trying!" Suger hissed, sweat stinging his eyes. "It’s like trying to hold a conversation with a landslide! It doesn't want to listen!"

​They reached the halfway point when the sound of humming turbines reached them from below. Three red scanning beams began to dance across the walls of the shaft, moving upward with terrifying speed. The Scythe-Drones. These weren't the clunky street-sweepers they’d seen before; these were the Inner City’s private hitmen—sleek, silent, and programmed with the empathy of a tax auditor.

​"They're gaining," Claire whispered, her hand going to her holster.

​"Don't shoot," Suger said, his blue eye flaring with a dangerous, violet spark. "The muzzle flash will just give them a target. I’ve got a better idea. It’s a stupid idea, but it’s mine."

​He reached out with his mind, tapping into that new, buzzing awareness of the world’s flaws. He didn't look at the drones. He looked at the massive, rusted counterweight for the elevator system hanging just above them.

​Oh, I see where this is going, the Voice cheered. Crushing your enemies under several tons of iron? It’s a classic. A bit ‘Old Testament’ for my taste, but it gets the job done. Do it, Suger. Let’s see if you can hit the ‘Delete’ key on these bastards.

​Suger didn't respond. He just focused on the four massive bolts holding the counterweight in place. He didn't pull them. He just… asked them to stop existing.

​Skill Activated: Remote Disassembly.

​With a sound like a thunderclap, the counterweight tore free. The drones didn't even have time to beep before the massive slab of metal erased them from the shaft, screaming down into the darkness in a shower of sparks and crushed circuitry.

​Suger slumped against the ladder, his vision swimming. "See? Who needs... bullets?"

​"You're a maniac," Claire said, but she reached down and grabbed his collar, pulling him toward the next hatch. "But you're my maniac. Now move, before the rest of the building decides to fall on us."