Supreme Disassemble: Rebuilding the World in the Iron Wastel

Chapter 2: Disassembling an Idiot

Grunt stared at his empty hands, his mechanical eye spinning so fast it made a sound like a failing ceiling fan。His Fifty-ton tank—the only thing in this hellscape that made him feel like a big shot—was gone。In its place, a soft blue glow illuminated my face, making me look a lot more heroic than a starving scrapper had any right to be。

"You... you stripped it," Grunt stammered, his voice cracking like a dry radiator hose. "That was government property! Technically!"

"Technically, Grunt, everything in this wasteland belongs to the guy who can keep it from turning into dust," I said, tossing the glowing Nuclear Micro-Core into the air and catching it with a grin。The core was warm, pulsing against my palm like a tiny, radioactive heart.

"Kill him!" Grunt screamed, stumbling back into the shadows of the rusted scrap heaps. "I don't care about the tank anymore! Just bring me his hands!"

His five thugs didn't need much convincing. They lunged forward, brandishing rusted pipes and jagged shivs. Their eyes were wide with that desperate, hollow greed that only grows in a world made of iron and hunger.

Hey Suger, I know you're enjoying the moment, but five angry men with blunt objects are bad for your health, that voice in my head chimed in, sounding far too cheerful for a survival situation. Want me to show you a trick?

"Shred their confidence," I whispered.

The first thug, a giant with a forehead like a concrete block, swung a massive iron pipe at my skull. I didn't flinch. I reached out and tapped the cold metal with my index finger.

It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. A soft click, followed by the sight of that heavy pipe dissolving into a flurry of orange sparks. It didn't shatter; it simply ceased to exist. The giant, carried by his own momentum, tumbled forward and face-planted into a pile of discarded tires.

I didn't stop there. I danced through the group like a ghost in a machine. Every time my skin brushed against a weapon, a belt buckle, or a reinforced boot-plate, the world got a little brighter and my enemies got a little more naked.

Each successful touch sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through my spine. My senses sharpened, my muscles tightened, and for the first time in years, the gnawing hunger in my gut was replaced by the cold, hard weight of power. I was Level 6 now, and the world was starting to look like a giant Lego set。

In less than ten seconds, five "hardened warriors" were standing in their mismatched, holey underwear, shivering as the toxic wind whipped against their pale skin. Their weapons were gone. Their armor was gone. Even their pride was looking a bit threadbare.

I turned my gaze toward Grunt. He had pulled a backup pistol—a rare, pre-war 9mm that was probably worth a small fortune.

"Don't do it, Grunt," I warned, my voice dropping to a low hum that seemed to vibrate the very air around us. "That gun is a piece of history. It would be a shame to turn it into paperclips."

"Go to hell!" Grunt pulled the trigger.

Instead of a bang, there was only a pathetic fzzzt. The barrel of the gun turned into a cloud of blue dust before the firing pin could even strike. Grunt stared at the useless handle, his red sensor-eye flickering in a rhythmic, panicked SOS pattern。

I walked up and grabbed him by the collar. He smelled like old ham and pure, unadulterated terror.

"You know, Suger," that voice in my head whispered, "his mechanical eye is full of gold filaments and precision lenses. It's basically a gift-wrapped prize."

"I was thinking the same thing," I muttered.

"No! Please! I need that to read the slave contracts!" Grunt shrieked.

"Too bad. I’m doing a bit of corporate restructuring." I laid my palm over his glowing red eye。

With a clean, painless vibration, the tech unraveled. I stepped back, holding a cluster of high-tech components that pulsed with a faint crimson light.

Nice work, the voice remarked. Now, how about we build that water purifier? I'm tired of you drinking stuff that tastes like a car battery. Oh, and by the way? Every raider within fifty miles just saw your little blue light show. They aren't coming to congratulate you.

I looked at the groveling, half-blind man in the dirt and tossed a single rusted screw at his feet. "Consider that your final paycheck. Get out of my sector."

As they scrambled away, I sat down on a pile of steel, clutching my new treasures. I wasn't just Suger the Scrapper anymore。I was the architect of a new world, and I was just getting started。