Chapter 23: Robbery in a Gundam

This was no time for politeness. Daredevil shielded Foggy, and the two swiftly escaped through a narrow alley behind the mech.

Behind them, the armored machine was locked in combat with a horde of burly Russians wielding AK-47s.

They ran a considerable distance, stopping only when they felt adequately safe, exchanging bewildered glances. Clearly, both were eager to know the identity of their mysterious savior who had appeared so suddenly.

Foggy gasped for breath. "Looks like we've not only attracted trouble, but so have these guys—someone they really shouldn't have messed with."

"Describe the person," Matt said. As a blind man, he couldn't see, but his extraordinary senses had registered something familiar about that presence.

"It was a robot."

"A robot?" Matt was stunned.

"Yes, a flying robot," Foggy explained. "About four feet tall. It was too dark to make out its color."

"Iron Man?"

"No, definitely not," Foggy replied, certain that it wasn’t Iron Man. "This robot was much smaller."

For a moment, both were at a loss for words. Was it the world that had changed too quickly, or had they simply spent too long in Hell's Kitchen? Robots had always been confined to science fiction—so why were they suddenly emerging everywhere?

Matt listened intently to the distant sounds, a strange sense of inadequacy washing over him. Compared to the newcomer, his own abilities seemed laughably insufficient. He could hear that the Russians had been dealt with.

The aerial combat suit wobbled its hefty rear, bent down, and picked up an AK-47 from the ground. Luke examined it—undamaged. Satisfied, he stowed it in his storage compartment.

The Russians had provided him with ten AK-47s. They favored this weapon, its loud report considered the mark of a true man.

Now, these "real men" lay sprawled across the ground, barely breathing, few likely to survive.

Luke had dispatched them barehanded with his mech.

Before the fight, a sudden idea struck him: he had mastered several DNF fighting techniques, skills ingrained as second nature. Why not apply them to mech combat?

Thus, Luke adapted his DNF skills to the suit, transforming them into mech martial arts—magnified tenfold in power.

The aerial combat suit now possessed a new fighting style: close-quarters brawling.

At first, Luke’s movements were clumsy, but he quickly grew proficient, his actions fluid and precise.

A short punch—one Russian’s chest was smashed in, killing him instantly.

A low kick—another unfortunate Russian was abruptly shor