The first staple struck with a sharp metallic report.
KA-CHUNK.
The hardened naval brass wire punched through the blue register paper of Store Credit Slip Number Zero and the Six-Warden Writ. Its twin prongs buried themselves deep into the scorched black polyester of Layer Three Hundred.
Captain Laminate roared.
The seven-foot monster didn’t surrender. Pinned by his right wrist against the intake bed, the titan twisted his torso with terrifying, mechanical violence. The three hundred layers of laminated armor across his chest grooved against the iron safety rail with a sound like iron wheels skidding on dry gravel.
His left arm came around like a swinging crane boom.
The sharpened steel flukes of his three-pronged boarding grapnel whistled through the steam, aimed straight for the side of Julian’s neck.
Julian couldn’t dodge. Both of his hands were clamped down on the chrome handle of the heavy brass stapler, his entire body weight pressing the hardened steel anvil against the vibrating roller bed.
