Any lingering tendrils of guilt for Mecha Torqueburn dissolved, evaporating into the fragrant steam as she submerged herself into the blissful tranquility of the hot tub at Kayla’s spa. Ah, this is how one should relax, she thought, a contented sigh escaping her lips. The effervescent bubbles rushed to cover the surface, and for a glorious moment, Mecha completely disappeared. She couldn’t remember the last time she had truly bathed, the soapy liquid greedily releasing all the oil and grime accumulated from endless days toiling in her workshop. Such luxuries were rare for Mecha. The Torqueburn family, for all their engineering prowess, were not the best stewards of their coin. Iron’s escalating scarcity had led to price hikes, which their eldest sister, Forgea, had vehemently insisted they not pass on to their loyal customers. Forgea’s generous heart had also extended to adopting more sisters, which, of course, meant more mouths to feed.
Even the recent challenge that had landed Mecha in this opulent spa was not, financially speaking, their wisest decision. Mecha had challenged her twin, Techa, to a race. Both had to build their own motorcycle and then race through the treacherous wasteland and back. It was incredibly dangerous, and for that very reason, it had drawn an enormous crowd. Many had gathered on the city wall, watching as the twins darted into the zombie-infested district, only a few truly believing they would return alive. The race had been a blur of speed and terror, the roar of their engines attracting the abominations. One had even charged them, its mutated limbs flailing, but their bikes had been too fast, twin streaks of defiance against the desolate landscape. Elodie Petalcrest had, surprisingly, thrown her support behind the event, declaring it a testament to the unparalleled power of steam. Techa, Mecha grudgingly admitted, was a genius to create such a small, yet incredibly powerful steam engine. If Mecha hadn't snuck into her workshop late one night to glimpse the designs, there was no way her own would have been a match. Techa was the technical wizard; no one could compete with her designs. But Mecha was the mechanical maestro; no one could build better than her. Before their rivalry had consumed them, they had worked in seamless tandem, creating some of the most incredible machines Cape Lumous had ever seen. They had updated the Gnome Drillers, making them twice as efficient, and together they had created a formidable fighting robot for their sister Robina, a machine that had become the cornerstone of the Defense Force. But rivalry, bitter and divisive, had separated them, forcing them to work alone.
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Mecha, gasping for air, eventually reemerged from the steaming water, her face covered in millions of tiny, glistening white bubbles. Kayla, the spa owner, stood ready with a plush towel and a tall glass of iced tea. “Anything else I can get you, dear?”
Mecha couldn’t stop staring at the enormous, intricate butterfly wings attached to Kayla’s back. She knew they were merely for show, part of the spa’s whimsical fairytale theme. But Mecha, the engineer, immediately began to calculate. How much power would be needed to give them the ability to fly? She envied the delicate bee wings Nikola had crafted for Honeya, and a fierce desire ignited within her to create her own. But Kayla was significantly larger and more… voluptuous than little Honeya. Mecha was certain Techa could design a motor, but steam wouldn’t be enough. Another, more potent source of energy would be needed. But what?
“Anything else, dear?” Kayla repeated her question, taking a step closer to place the iced tea on the edge of the tub.
Mecha couldn’t help but stare at her hostess’s revealing cleavage. Instead of blushing, a familiar impulse, Mecha decided to try her luck. “Well, you could always join me.”
Kayla, accustomed to such advances from her clientele, first teased, dipping a hand into the warm water, her fingers tantalizingly close to Mecha’s naked thigh. Then, with a gentle, slow pull back, she gracefully declined. “Too hot, perhaps another time. I’ll be back later, dear.” As she walked out, Mecha admired her figure, and the impressive butterfly wings she supported. Yes, four small motors, one for each part of the wings, would allow for balance and maneuvering in the air.
Mecha felt a powerful urge to discuss her burgeoning ideas with her twin, Techa. But then, the harsh reality of their situation hit her like a cold wave. Techa had lost the race, and was now forced to enter the Arena, risking her life. The money she made from that brutal spectacle was, in fact, what was paying for Mecha’s luxurious spa experience. A wave of shame washed over her, quickly followed by a surge of hope. Perhaps, if Techa was open to forgiving her, then together, they could work on these wings, harnessing the ultimate freedom of flight.
