The Coilhunter wasn’t much of a talker. He liked to keep things short and sweet, just like the lives of criminals. Well, the short bit anyway.

If you didn’t have your guns, you still had your mouth. Of course, you had to be careful how you fired that off.

He wondered if they knew fear, and thought that maybe if they didn’t, he could teach them it, like he’d taught manners to the foul-tongued and the red-handed.

If the Wild North were a living place, as the local tribes often claimed, then these were the embodiment of its dark subconscious. The spirits of men could haunt you, so why would the spirits of machines be any different?

Some criminals said fighting Nox was like fighting ghosts. He seemed to come from everywhere. Most criminals who fought Nox never said anything at all.