Six-Gun Vixen and the Machinist of Doom Valley [Part 2]
The sun was sinking toward the horizon like a brass penny dropped in muddy water by the time I rode back into New Providence. My Halfie’s mechanical shoes struck sparks off the metal road plates, each impact sending little jolts of pain through my spine. Those hours of riding and tracking had taken their toll, but it wasn’t the kind of tired that sleep could fix. The kind of weary that comes from knowing too much, seeing too clear.
Content warnings 3
body-horrorgoreviolence
Quasar links out; the story lives on Lightspeed, where the author gets the click.