The town of Crowpoint was in ruin, the air thick and cold. Fear was palpable, mixed with the scent of damp earth and sweat. Lantern light flickered, casting long shadows that made the ruins seem alive.
People whispered prayers, clutched makeshift weapons, and stared numbly at the dark cave opening.
Captain Hessa stood near the front, face grim with exhaustion and dread. The silence from below felt worse than the earlier chaos.
Then, the ground trembled. A deep rumble vibrated up through their boots.
Panic rippled through the crowd. Women gasped, men cursed, weapons tightened in shaky hands.
Was the cave collapsing? Was something else coming out? Something worse than the monster from before?
But as the rumbling grew, the twisted clouds overhead thinned rapidly, dissipating, vanishing into the bright blue sky. The clear midday suddenly felt jarringly real after the oppressive gloom. A gasp went through the survivors. Hope flickered in terrified eyes.
The rumble clarified. It was mechanical: a powerful engine roar from within the cave, mixed with crashing rockfall.
Intense white beams cut through the darkness of the cave – headlights. Twin suns boring out of the darkness.
With a final roar that shook the air and a screech of tires on stone, Betsy burst from the cave mouth. Dust and rocks flew. The enormous red-and-chrome semi-truck, scarred but solid, rolled out before the survivors.
Hissssss-CHUNK.
Air brakes engaged. The engine settled into a deep thrum, vibrating the ground.
Stunned silence fell over the clearing. Awe mixed with disbelief painted every face.
Then, Betsy's voice boomed from external speakers, loud and clear, perhaps smug. "Whoo-ee! Little dusty in there. Hope I didn't scuff my gorgeous chrome, hotshot. Exit was a bit tight."
Inside, Ryder let out a long, shaky breath. Sweaty hands loosened their grip on the steering wheel. Now the immediate danger was past, exhaustion slammed into him, not just physically but mentally. The past few hours was catching up.
He glanced at the dashboard. Warning lights were off, alerts cleared.
[STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY: 87%]
[ANCHOR STABILITY: NOMINAL]
[NEW TITLE UNLOCKED: THE 2ND FRACTURE FIXER]
[NEW TITLE UNLOCKED: THE SAVIOR OF CROWPOINT]
Good enough.
He looked at the passenger seat. Rigg stirred, groaning, blinking his eyes open. He looked pale and confused, eyes struggling to focus.
"Wha... Ryder?" Rigg mumbled, voice hoarse. "That light... the crash... felt like... falling... Are we...?"
"We're out, kid," Ryder said, voice rough with fatigue and relief. "We're out. Hang tight. You took a knock back there."
"Passenger consciousness returning," Betsy's voice came through from the speakers. "Minor turbulence during transit is standard."
Ryder cut the engine. The rumble died, leaving a silence that amplified the truck's presence. He pushed open the driver door and hopped down, legs threatening to buckle.
He stretched, muscles protesting. He sure looked rough, fatigues torn, face covered in dirt. But still, he was standing. He was out.
Captain Hessa stepped forward from the crowd, flanked by two men with crossbows. They stopped, weapons ready but not aimed, eyes wide as they took in Betsy, then flickered to Ryder.
Hessa's gaze lingered on the truck, her expression a mix of shock and something else – recognition, perhaps, overlaid with profound disbelief.
"By the Ancients..." Hessa breathed, voice thick with disbelief. She swallowed, finally looking at Ryder. "You... she... the sounds... we thought..." She couldn't finish. "You did it."
"Damn right, we did," Betsy's speakers replied before Ryder could form a coherent thought. "Though 'she' has a name, darlin'. Betsy. And you're welcome."
Slowly, carefully, a couple of the townsfolk approached the passenger side, looking uncertainly at the strange metal box. Before they could touch it, there was a soft click and the heavy door swung open smoothly on its own, revealing Rigg blinking inside.
The townsfolk exchanged startled glances, then reached in to help the kid out. Rigg leaned heavily on them, looking bewildered and shaky as he took in the familiar faces, the ruined town looking even starker in the daylight. He spotted Hessa and a wave of relief washed over his pale face.
Hessa turned back to Ryder and Betsy, her military bearing returning slightly, though her eyes still held that mix of wonder and caution.
"We heard the fight... the crashing... the explosions..." Her gaze flickered to the cave mouth. "Then nothing. For too long. We feared the worst."
She looked Ryder in the eye. "You saved Crowpoint. Both of you." Her gaze shifted respectfully towards Betsy's imposing form. "We owe you a debt we likely can't repay."
She shook her head, shivering despite her tough exterior. "Stopping a primordial takes incredible power. Doing it alone..." She trailed off, looking between Ryder and Betsy again. "It's... beyond anything I've witnessed."
"Just doin' what needed doin', Captain," Ryder said, shifting his weight. He felt the stares of the townsfolk, a mixture of gratitude, awe, and perhaps a healthy dose of fear directed at the talking war machine beside him. He wasn't used to being the center of attention like this.
"Well," Hessa said, managing a weary smile. "Whatever you call it, Crowpoint stands because of you today."
The hours following their emergence blurred into a haze of shock and activity. The bright midday sun beat down on the ruined square as survivors began the task of assessing the damage, tending to the injured, and searching for the missing. The initial stunned silence gave way to hushed conversations, the occasional cry of grief, and the practical sounds of people trying to salvage what they could from the wreckage.
Ryder, after ensuring Rigg was stable and resting with some townsfolk tending to him near a makeshift aid station, found himself leaning against Betsy's side, the metal warm under the sun.
He felt detached, the adrenaline fading, leaving a deep well of exhaustion. He watched the townsfolk moving through the debris, their faces etched with loss and determination.
A middle-aged woman with kind eyes hesitantly approached him, offering a waterskin and a chunk of hard bread.
"You... you should eat something, sir. Rest a bit." Ryder accepted with a grateful nod, the simple gesture grounding him slightly.
He found a relatively clear spot near the truck and sat, forcing himself to eat and drink, the quiet presence of Betsy beside him a strange comfort amidst the quiet chaos. He closed his eyes for what felt like only a moment, the sounds of the town a distant murmur.
When he opened them again, the sun was lower, casting long shadows.
The sharp edge of midday terror had softened, replaced by the heavy weight of grief and the weary relief of survival. As evening deepened into night, the atmosphere shifted again. The immediate danger was gone. They had survived.
Someone got a bonfire going in the town square, flames lighting weary faces. Others brought salvaged supplies – ale, dried meat, bread. Lanterns were lit, creating islands of warmth.
It wasn't a celebration; too many were missing, too much lost. Quiet weeping could be heard from some corners, families huddled together mourning their dead even as others murmured thanks for their survival. But it was life, enduring.
Ryder felt awkward, an outsider amidst their shared grief and relief. A few people offered him bread or ale with hesitant smiles and wide eyes, which he accepted numbly.
They watched him with awe, whispering amongst themselves, their gazes flickering between him and the massive, silent truck parked nearby.
After uncomfortable silence, he retreated to lean against Betsy's warm front tire again, the solid presence a familiar comfort now.
"Getting friendly, hotshot?" Betsy's voice murmured quietly from his shoulder, pitched low enough for only him to hear. "Or admiring my treads? Can't blame ya." He shifted his weight. "Easy there. Buy a girl some gifts first."
Across the fire, Rigg sat with Hessa, looking better but still pale. Rigg recounted fragments from the cave – the strange sterile tunnels, the hound made out of scrap, the final battle. His testimony, punctuated by gestures towards Ryder and Betsy, added fuel to the growing legend of the soldier and his impossible, talking Anchor.
As the night wore on and the gathering thinned, Hessa found Ryder leaning against the truck, staring into the fire.
"You look ready to drop, soldier," she said quietly. "Rigg, too. The inn's mostly standing. We cleared rooms near the back. Warm and dry. Least we can offer."
A real bed. Sounded like heaven. "Yeah," Ryder nodded, "Sounds good. Appreciate it, Captain." He pushed himself off the massive tire.
As he stepped away, Betsy's imposing form shimmered in the firelight. The red-and-chrome metal dissolved into tiny points of blue light.
For a moment, the ghostly outline of the truck hung in the air, before the lights swirled inwards, flowing towards Ryder like mist and sinking into his chest.
Ryder felt the familiar buzzing warmth spread through him as Betsy settled back into him. He took a steadying breath, ignoring the lingering stares.
The room was simple. Rough walls, narrow bed, small table, basin with water. Lantern light cast shadows. Through the window, he faintly heard the bonfire and murmur of the town.
Ryder walked in, and exhaustion washed over him completely. He felt hollowed out, running on fumes. He splashed cold water on his face, the shock doing little.
He sat heavily on the lumpy bed, boots scraping the floorboards. Staring at his hands, knuckles scraped raw.
One minute, he was in a firefight, trying to save his squadmate. The next… this. Killing monsters in another world with Betsy, the truck he'd only ever dreamed of owning.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Right. Weary disbelief warred with a strange sense of purpose, but mostly, he was bone-tired.
What now? Where did he even begin? That was a problem for tomorrow Ryder. Or maybe the day after.
Her voice echoed softly in his head, a quiet presence, no longer needing external speakers. "Get some rack time, soldier. You earned it. Try not to dream about other trucks, though. I get jealous."
A faint smile touched Ryder's lips. He managed to kick off his heavy boots, the thuds muffled on the wood floor, before collapsing back onto the mattress. Outside sounds faded. The world narrowed to the room, the lantern light, and the overwhelming need for sleep.