Echo In the Machine - Chapter 13
An expanded tale written from prompts while playing ECO MOFOS!!
Start from the beginning of my ECO MOFOS!! Solo Playthrough story HERE!
CHAPTER 13: EIGHTEEN HOURS AND COUNTING
To be honest, the machine shop didn’t look like much from the outside. Just another reinforced box wedged between larger structures with metal walls that were patched and repatched. There was a faded stencil on the door that said something about “authorized personnel.” But inside was a different story.
The air was hot and alive with the smell of oil, burnt wiring, and a metallic tinge that clung to the back of your throat. The space opened up into a wide work floor littered with half-built machines, stripped frames, and tools laid out across work stations in precise chaos. Sparks flashed from somewhere in the shop. There was a constant clanging and voices echoing, but no one paid us much attention.
Siren didn’t slow. She half-jogged over to a heavyset woman leaning against a workbench.
“Minx!” she called, cutting through the noise
The woman wiped her forehead with a rag, already halfway into a hug as we approached.
“Got your message on the intake manifest. You’re late,” Minx said flatly after the embrace.
“Yeah,” Siren shot back. “We got held up because of this,” pointing to me and the cart.
Minx’s eyes landed on me. Then the cart. She froze like she was calculating something in her head.
“Wait…,” she said slowly. Her gaze sharpened, bouncing between my face and the droid like pieces were snapping into place.
“Are you Brax?”
I didn’t answer, but it seemed I didn’t have to. Her eyes dropped to the droid. Then back to me again. If she knew who I was, she knew Bob.
“…and that’s it?” she muttered as she pointed to the droid. “That’s the one?”
A strange look crossed her face. Something in between relief and panic.
“Shit,” she breathed.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Minx let out a quick breath and ran a hand through her hair. She looked around at the scattered Corpos patrolling the place. They all seemed to be more interested in fraternizing with the mechanics than actually keeping an eye on anything. Minx’s focus shifted back to us and she began to talk like she didn’t have time for this conversation but had no choice.
“You really came,” she said. “He said you might, but I didn’t think…”
“What’s going on?” I asked again, firmer this time.
This time she looked right at me. “Bob’s in trouble.”
That hit harder than I expected.
“What kind of trouble?” I asked.
She hesitated long enough that she was carefully choosing what to say and what not to say.
“He took on something he shouldn’t have,” she said finally. “Got himself mixed up where he doesn’t belong.”
“Corpos?” I asked.
Her mouth tightened. It wasn’t an answer but not a denial either.
“How bad?” I asked.
Minx stepped closer, lowering her voice just a touch.
“He’s on a clock,” she said. “And it’s almost out.”
My grip tightened on the cart handle.
“How long?”
She glanced toward the far side of the shop, like she was picturing a clock ticking somewhere.
“Eighteen hours. Maybe less,” she said.
The number sat there. Too short… way too short.
“What happens when eighteen hours is up?” I asked.
Minx didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her silence answered for her.
I exhaled slowly. “And this?” I nudged the cart with my foot. “How does this fix it?”
She looked at the droid again.
“It’s his way out,” she said. “Or at least part of it. He was counting on this.”
That was enough for me.
“Then let’s get to it,” I said.
Minx gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Yeah,” she said with a tiny smile. “You guys get to it then.”
She glanced toward the far door.
“I’m already late for my shift.”
Siren stiffened. “How late?”
Minx didn’t answer. She was already moving.
“Siren knows the paths,” she said over her shoulder. “She’ll handle it.”
She broke into a jog toward the door. I watched her go.
“What happens if she’s late?” I asked.
Siren didn’t look at me. “It’s different in the other shop. If she’s not at her station on time, someone else steps in,” she said. “Minx gets locked out. We lose access and… your friend runs out of time.”
That landed just as hard as anything else.
“Alright,” Siren said, snapping out of it. “We’re doing this fast.”
She dropped to a knee, already peeling back the tarp, eyes scanning the droid like she was reading it.
“Power’s dead,” she muttered. “Let’s hope the core’s stable… Good, good.”
She scanned the workstations, eyes jumping from one setup to the next until she found someone. A scruffy-looking kid. Teenager or early twenties, maybe.
“Hey, Toad,” she called. “Can you clear some space and get the tools ready? This is priority scrap.”
Toad didn’t move. He just stood there, staring like he couldn’t be bothered. Siren stepped closer, urgency creeping into her voice.
“C’mon, man…” she said. “I don’t have much time. Please?”
Toad sighed like it physically hurt him. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.
He dragged a crate aside then started clearing off the nearest bench, slow and sloppy at first.
“Priority scrap,” he grumbled under his breath. “Everything’s priority scrap…”
But he was moving and that was enough.
“And you,” Toad said.
I looked over at him. He was watching me now, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like I’d just walked into his space uninvited.
“…who the hell are you?” he asked.
“I’m Brax,” I said.
“That don’t help me none,” he muttered. His gaze dragged over me again, slower this time. “You don’t look like you belong here.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I seem to be getting a lot of that.”
“That’s ’cause you don’t,” he shot back. “So try harder.”
I frowned. “Meaning?”
He jerked his chin toward the shop floor.
“Meaning you don’t wander. You don’t stare. You don’t ask questions.”
He pointed lazily toward a stack of scrap near the wall.
“Go lean on somethin’. Look like you’re waitin’ on trade or a pickup or whatever boring crap keeps people from lookin’ twice.”
I glanced around. People were working. Moving. Focused. No one noticed what didn’t stand out.
“Right…,” I said.
Toad shrugged, already turning back to the bench.
“Good,” he muttered. “’Cause I ain’t explainin’ you.”
Siren chuckled just a little.
“Go stand over there,” she said, pointing toward the scrap pile Toad had marked. “Try to look like you’ve been here your whole life.”
I walked over, leaned back against the metal, and folded my arms. Around me, the shop kept moving. Grinding and sparking, totally unbothered. Everything looked normal. Like nothing in this place had any idea something very, very wrong was about to happen.
I kept my eyes low and waited as Siren and Toad got to work.
CHAPTER 12 - A PASSAGE TAX | CHAPTER 14 - DEAD WEIGHT
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