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shut. He’d shed his crocodile tears for her with promises that the abuse would end, which it would for a few weeks. When he predictably, yet somehow unexpectedly, snapped she’d crawl back to that storm drain.
    Sometimes, as Maximillia sat in that fortress of solitude, that nurturing ring of metal,
she’d glare out through the curtains of drizzling rain at the glimmering lights of Mandra Bay in the distance as she’d sink into this serene, almost supernatural sense of calm. The world around her melted away and all that was left was the sound and the lights. The glaring, judging eyes of her peers, the lustful eyes of the male Bruisers, the watchful eyes of the local police, it was as if the world were bearing down on her, refusing her an inch of peace.
    A growl of distant thunder would remind her that strife was never more than a moment away from intruding on her serenity. With rueful regret she’d tread that familiar path back into Mardo’s arms and into his bed.
    Weeks later, after healing completely, Maximillia ginned up the courage to find her way back to her father’s house to collect some of the few items she wanted to take with her back to the compound.
    Gareth wasn’t one to let something simple like losing the use of his legs in the Mechanized Infantry stop him from earning an honest living. Vintage hovercycles were popular amongst the old-timers in Mandra Bay. The largest concentration of cycle gangsters in the region set up shop in Mandra and they tended to treat their bikes the way they treated their women, guaranteeing Gareth plenty of work. It kept him employed. It kept him sane. Confined to a hoverchair wasn’t going to keep him infirm. Maximillia’s absence weighed heavily on him, though. A good father’s mind is never far removed from thoughts of his child but she was always on the outside. He pursued while she fled. The cycle would’ve been too much for most, but Gareth was never one to give up on anything, least of all her.
    She knew her way back to the shop. The garage was a glimmering beacon, a unique block of old world architecture amidst the tedious, glossy corporate decay. With an empty bag slung over her shoulder she traipsed up to the open door and found her dad hovering over a Castor- Trach reverse magnatron capacitor. Ancient engineering by modern standards but the old-timers favored vintage over state-of-the-art.
    “Hi, dad.”
    Gareth looked up from his bench. Maximillia looked as thin as a shardflower, almost unrecognizable, but still his daughter. Awestruck, he reached out to her with a quivering hand. “Maxie?”
    She cracked a smile and walked up to him, bending down to hug him. In disbelief he wrapped his arms tightly around her, not letting her go. He could feel her rib bones rolling under her skin as he hugged her. She tried not to let the bubbling emotion overcome her.
    The shop doubled as the family home growing up. Maximillia was always comfortable around technology. Her childhood bedroom was a miniature shop in its own right, complete with child-sized workbench. She never quite grew out of it, but make-up and clothes started to crowd out the outdated mech parts that were typically strewn about her room. When she left, Gareth didn’t disturb a speck of dust there. She hadn’t set foot in the room for almost a year. It felt like an alien environment. Too still and peaceful. She had grown a disturbing symbiosis with the chaos inherent in the Bruisers’ compound. It reminded her of a cruel early life, as well.
    Maximillia’s father heaped love and affection on her but she’d soon come to realize that the outside world wasn’t as welcoming. The kids always teased her during those formative years. They said her eyes were too big for her head and that she belonged off-world on some alien colony. This successfully alienated her and she sank into herself, preferring the safety of solitude where that room offered its best utility. She burned away thousands of quiet nights in