The air was thick with smoke and static, the aftertaste of ozone clinging to Bobby’s tongue. His ears rang from the chaos of the last few minutes—the capture, the fight, Lyra’s shocking return. But the only thing that mattered now was the gleaming black shadow standing in front of them.
XX-66.
It loomed over the cracked concrete floor of the warehouse, its obsidian plating gleaming in fractured beams of moonlight, faceless except for that eerie blue ring of light circling across its polished visor. Beside it, were four other robots that seemed much like BF-85.
Darius had his pulse gun raised. Lyra had positioned herself between Bobby and the machine, her breathing ragged, one hand clutching her side.
And Bobby… Bobby couldn’t even breathe.
He had been yanked around too many times in
