Lawrence woke with a start, jolting up to a sitting position in his cot. His bad dreams mercifully faded away as his brain quickly followed his body in waking up. Blinking his weary eyes, he stretched out with a yawn before swinging his legs over the the side of the cot and pushing up onto his feet. The room he was renting for the week was extremely spartan - a standard-issue cot, a small stool serving as a nightstand, and a metal chair that served as a clothing rack for his equipment were the only pieces of furniture in the tiny room. Lawrence instinctively picked up his gloves from the stool and slid them on, feeling the constant low-grade anxiety of knowing that his hands were exposed fade into blissful silence. It only took him a few short minutes to don the rest of his gear before turning to the final amenity of his room: a full-length mirror built into the back of the door. For workers like Lawrence heading out of the safety of the Ark, a mirror was not a luxury but a necessity, letting him check over every aspect of his gear.
His gray jumpsuit fit snugly on his lean form, leaving little fabric that could snag if he crawled through tight spaces but still giving him enough room to allow for relatively free movement. The bottom cuffs of the jumpsuit were tucked into heavy-duty leather boots that came up to the middle of his shin, where they sealed securely against the rough fabric of the suit. Lawrence reflexively reached down and tugged his safety knife out of its holster on his right thigh, giving it a once-over before resheathing it with the confidence that it would be ready in the case of an emergency. Going over the tool belt strapped to his waist was a longer process, but it was worth making sure that everything was in its right place. The same went for the padded vest he wore on his torso, although that was more for his protection than for storing equipment. An extra pair of outer gloves went over his hands, sealing to the fabric of the jumpsuit just like his boots. Finally, he checked his mask and filter unit to make sure it was working. Not that it would make too much difference to the ever-present Dust outside the city, but every little bit helped.
Or at least, that’s what we’re told, Lawrence thought grimly as he looked at himself in the mirror. Steady green eyes stared back at him, taking in the bags under his eyes, smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, and shaggy mess of brown hair atop his head. With an annoyed click of the tongue, he swept the hair falling across his forehead away from his eyes. It would be time to get it cut again soon, but he hadn’t had time before getting called away for this high priority rush job. Taking a breath to steel himself for the long work day ahead of him, Lawrence gave his reflection a nod, pulled open the door, and stepped out of the room with a purposeful stride.
“Weaver, get your ass over here and fix these Dust conduits! You’re holding up the rest of the team!”
Lawrence grunted noncommitally over his shoulder at the foreman, rolling his eyes as the man left to go harrass someone else. He already had six other “high-priority” repairs to complete, and it didn’t help that he was the only one qualified to work on them in this quadrant. Not that it was easy work to replace the Dust-pitted metal plating and reinforce the braces underneath, but the majority of the team could work on those tasks. Lawrence was no slouch either as he kept up with the minimum physical standards, but he had a relative advantage on working on the cabling for the Dust conduits and they all knew it. That left a lot of pressure on him, but he couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
The Dust conduits were a critical infrastructure component in regulating how much of the substance went between the outside world and the Ark’s core chambers, where it was used to power the entire city of Vatraxis. A failing conduit would at best result in a lower operating efficiency of the Ark, but at worst could expose everyone inside to the insidious reality-warping substance. Succumbing to Dust toxicity was a too common fate, and Lawrence didn’t wish that slow and painful death on anyone.
Not again. Not if I can help it. Lawrence’s fist clenched before he took a shuddering breath through his mask and forced himself to relax. His introspective thoughts were cut short as a thick plume of Dust swirled past Lawrence’s face, causing his skin to tingle and eyes to itch. He sat back on his heels and looked up at the sky, frowning as he saw a thick swirl of clouds in the distance. Looking around, he saw several other workers looking up and taking note of the same phenomenon forming.
“Hey boss man! Looks like a Duststorm is brewing,” Lawrence shouted back after the departing foreman. Seeing as he had the foreman’s attention, Lawrence continued, “You think we should start packing it in?”
The foreman’s brows furrowed as he too looked up into the sky with a growing expression of concern. Lawrence could see the man struggle with the decision. Cutting the day short meant longer days in the future, and potentially reporting delays to his superiors. The Dust was fickle, and there was no guarantee the swirling mass in the sky would get worse either. But on the other hand, being caught outside the Ark during a Duststorm was a death sentence.
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Well, for most people anyway. I’m sure the Dustbound would stand a decent chance, Lawrence thought, just as a flash of red movement in the corner of his eye caused him to look up the wall to the top of the ring. Ahh, speak of the devil.
Striding above Lawrence’s team with no safety equipment or seeming care for the possibility of plummeting over 100 meters to her death, Lady Syrra Caelthorn came into view from beyond the curvature of the Vatraxis’ first ringed wall. Unlike Lawrence, she wore engraved armor made of a gleaming black metal that seemed to shimmer as Dust came into contact with it. He had heard that it provided the Dustbound with enhanced physical abilities that was passively boosted by environmental Dust.
Where Lawrence had a simple rebreather unit to keep the majority of Dust out of his lungs, Lady Caelthorn wore an open-faced helmet clearly meant to protect her head in combat. Her trademark Caelthorn red hair was braided and fell down her back past her shoulders. Lawrence had heard that she had already crystallized two of her heart chambers despite her young age, and based on the effects the Dust had on her body, he believed it. Even from this distance he could see the ashen skin resulting from the dark Dust imbued in her bloodstream and her golden eyes glowed slightly. Golden eyes that he realized were looking directly in his direction. Lawrence’s eyebrows raised as Lady Caelthorn’s head tilted in a slight nod that he returned before her gaze swept out over the wastelands again.
“Did you hear me, Lawrence? Stop staring at the Lady and put more effort into finishing up so we’ll be ready if a Duststorm breaks out.”
The foreman’s sharp tone brought Lawrence’s attention back to the man as his subconcious filled in the gaps. Apparently the foreman had decided on the more cautious approach, for which Lawrence was personally grateful. With a nod, he turned back to the open paneling that he was kneeling by. His lean arms slipped into the thin gap easily and dextrous fingers untangled the frayed cable sheath around the Dust conduit.
Finding the main tear, his right hand marked the spot while his left grabbed a pair of shears from his toolbelt. A deft couple of snips removed a swatch of the cabling around the tear as his left hand came back up and exchanged the torn material for a patch of roughly the same size. Holding the patch in place, his hand came down again, this time holding a rod engraved with geometric designs. Placing his left thumb over the activation sigil, Lawrence watched as the Dustcrystal embedded in the butt of the rod flared with light before the rod tip glowed with heat. He clicked his tongue in annoyance as a surge of swirling Dust briefly cause the rod to activate with more power than anticipated. His weld was nearly ruined, but a quick flick of the wrist let him draw the rod away before too much heat was dumped into the relatively fragile mesh material. A short moment later, Lawrence withdrew both of his hands from the gap. It was a rushed patch, but it would have to do.
Putting away his welding rod, Lawrence stood up, patted off his knees, and stepped back to let the nearby members of his team slot the thick slab of protective plating over the exposed Dust conduit. As the metal sheet came down, he back into the effort and helped fasten the plating down. With the currents of Dust quickly rising in intensity, this was no time to sit around — the sooner this was done, the sooner they would all be back inside the relative safety of the Ark.
The remaining cleanup took less than five minutes as everyone was in a hurry to get out of danger’s way. Jogging towards the nearest gate through the wall, Lawrence saw Lady Caelthorn standing by the opening. She alternated between talking in whispered words with the cohort of Dustbound Outriders on duty guarding the entrance, and shouting orders at incoming workers to not jostle and proceed in an orderly fashion.
Too bad the limiting factor here is going to be Scrubs... Oh, look at that. Lawrence’s internal monologue was cut off as another band of robed Dustbound emerged from the corridor leading further into the wall. He glanced at Lady Caelthorn with a raised eyebrow, surprised by her competency to recognize the issue and call for reinforcements so quickly — only to be met by a piercing golden gaze and the slightest twitch of her eyebrow, seeming to insinuate that she had followed his thought process and was amused that he thought she would slip up.
With a slight blush and chastised expression, Lawrence gave another quick nod before reaching out and letting one of the new Scrubs touch his arm. An uncomfortable but familiar shiver ran through his body as the majority of the Dust that had settled in his body from his exposure outside was wicked away into the Scrub. The Scrub grimaced as a visible wave of black corruption flowed up his veins as the Dust became incorporated into his bloodstream before he pushed Lawrence onwards and reached out for the worker behind him.
“Alright, we had to cut today short,” the foreman said after the group had made it further into the corridor. “We’ll have to pick up the slack tomorrow,” he continued, which was met by a chorus of groans. “I know, I know, it sucks. But the Dust will do as it pleases, and as usual, us measly humans are left bending over backwards just to survive. You all know how that goes.” A resigned silence met that statement, letting the foreman finish up with a clap. “Rest up, and see you all tomorrow.”
Behind Lawrence, the heavy steel door slid back into place with a satisfying, weighty thud. The sudden silence made it clear just how much the screaming and moaning winds had picked up over the last few minutes. With a sigh, Lawrence started trudging towards his accommodations for the night. Only a few more days and hopefully he could go on leave up a ring to the Ironstep, the ring he had spent the most time on growing up. Until then, he just had to hope the Duststorm would pass and not damage anything else. They already had too much work to do, but Lawrence wasn’t holding his breath. In his experience, things could always get worse.
