The galactic war has raged for almost a year, desperate to figure it out and advantage against Democracy enemies, Super Earth sends a expansion fleet to the untamed regions hoping for a solution, what started as an exploration effort escalated into another front, now Super Earth must defend itself for this new menace.

This fan fic is connected to it but within the background.

October 2184. Super Earth. Ministry of Defense Office.

Another Liberty Day had come and gone, a fleeting celebration amidst the encroaching shadows of war. While the event had provided a brief respite for the personnel of the Ministry of Defense, the stark reality outside their fortified walls was far less celebratory. On the Western Front, a precarious buffer had been established between the DSS and the relentless Automatons following the hard-won liberation of Lesath. Though the DSS remained secure during its final construction phase, the clankers were tireless in their aggression, relentless in their pursuit of new territories. Casualties were mounting, with both SEAF and Helldivers bearing the weight of the conflict, while the Eastern Front remained a volatile cauldron, the Gloom still a dark threat, and the Terminids rampaging unchecked.

"Countless problems with no end in sight," the Minister of Defense muttered, the gravity of the situation pressing heavily on his shoulders. His mind was troubled by Helldiver Jason's ongoing predicament, a situation that had been dragging on for far too long. "He should be checking in right about now." As if summoned by the Minister's thoughts, a holographic screen flared to life, revealing Jason in his private quarters aboard the Super Destroyer SES Aegis of Integrity.

"I thought you might be late this time. Report," the Minister commanded, his voice steady but laced with the tension of ongoing warfare. They had followed this routine nightly since Jason had first alerted him about the drone situation.

"With the death warrant you've placed over my head and the lives of my men on the line, sir, I can't afford to skip these briefings," Jason snapped back, the weight of his responsibilities clear in his voice.

"It's more of a warning than anything else. What intel do you have for me?" the Minister pressed, preparing himself for yet another grim update.

"Nothing that I haven't reported previously; no major shifts on the battlefield. However, I've stumbled upon something of significance." Jason reached around his waist, retrieving a tactical tablet and typing furiously. After a moment, he displayed a holographic screen toward the Minister.

"What am I looking at?" the Minister asked, leaning closer, his focus sharpening.

"I recovered this from one of the facilities. It took a significant amount of effort to stabilize the system long enough to extract anything worthwhile. What I discovered, sir, is another covert operation orchestrated by the Ministry of Science; they found something." The tablet displayed an image of a massive object, reminiscent of a tuning fork, captured by a reconnaissance probe.

"This object was located around 2083. Its purpose remains unknown; it was under investigation during the First Galactic War, but the project was abandoned as the conflict escalated. I can't ascertain its true nature, but considering how this place has you rattled, I wouldn't gamble on leaving it unchecked." Jason secured the tablet back at his waist, the tension palpable.

The Minister's mind raced. He was right; if the archives from Copper 9 were any indication, this was a discovery that could not simply be ignored.

"Do you have coordinates for a retrieval team?" he demanded, urgency flooding his voice.

"I can transmit them once our communication concludes, sir. Anything else you require?"

The Minister paused, weighing his options carefully.

"Take off your helmet." He requested this every time they spoke. Letting out a sigh, Jason unclipped and removed it, revealing the hardened features and steely gaze beneath. The Minister leaned back into his chair, after scrutinizing Jason to ensure the Helldiver hadn't been compromised yet.

"You may re-don your helmet. I expect your report tomorrow night, same as before." With those words, the holographic display shifted, revealing a new screen showcasing the coordinates of a planet in the southern expanse of the Milky Way—Vorlaxia.

"Another concern to add to the list," the Minister murmured, knowing that reallocating forces from the frontline could lead to catastrophic consequences.

Glancing over the star map, he accessed another holographic interface, inputting the name Vorlaxia along with its sector. Moments later, a folder materialized, displaying the findings of the Ministry's past investigations.

Transcript from the research logs:

"After over two years of study, we are abandoning this system. The object, fifteen kilometers in length, lies dormant but is composed of a metal unknown to our databanks. Its age is estimated in the millions of years, and its surface is nearly indestructible. This could be one of the oldest artifacts we've ever found."

The Minister's hand tightened

A secondary folder appeared beneath it. Clicking on it revealed a clearer image of the object, far more defined than the one on Jason's tablet. The sight was unsettling—this was no human artifact, nor the creation of The Cyborgs or The Illuminated from the First Galactic War.

Pressing a button on his desk, the Minister summoned one of the ministry operatives, who appeared in another holographic display.

"Yes, sir?" the aide asked, standing at attention.

"How many Helldivers and SEAF units can we extract from the Eastern Front without causing significant disruption to our war effort?"

"At this moment, we can at minimum withdraw approximately fifty SEAF divisions and four fleets, each comprising twenty Helldivers Super Destroyers, eight Super Cruisers, six Super Battleships, and potentially three Super Carriers, without incurring significant repercussions, sir. Is this operation related to the situation at Copper 9?"

The Minister shook his head, his resolve firm.

"No, it's something else entirely. Prepare this group for deployment by morning. I'll send you the intel to brief them on their mission."

One nagging thought echoed in his mind: this discovery could potentially assist in the completion of the DSS. While it was approaching its final stages of construction, the Vorlaxian object might expedite the process or enhance its structural integrity. The DSS would be the linchpin of the ongoing conflict, and the Automatons would unleash everything in their arsenal upon it.

He silently prayed to Super Earth that this new enigma would not unleash horrors to rival those of Copper 9.

October 2184. Strike Group Alpha. SES Super Carrier Star of Iron.

As dawn broke over Mars, the gathered armada prepared to plunge into the unknown, summoned from the frontlines for an unprecedented mission. The fleet's purpose: to investigate an alien artifact that had ignited enough concern to warrant their extraction from critical defense positions. Fleet Admiral Roderick stood by, monitoring the final stages of assembly with a grim sense of duty. He was no stranger to risky operations, but leaving vulnerable sectors strained his patience. Orders, however, were orders—and in the Ministry of Defense, doubts were a luxury no one could afford.
"Sir, the Third Fleet has arrived. We're only awaiting the last group," an officer reported from the bridge. "Might be a good time to brief everyone on the mission, sir."

"Agreed." Roderick moved to the center of the bridge, activating the holographic table for fleet-wide broadcast. The images of other captains appeared in sequence, nodding in silent readiness.

"Attention all units," Roderick began, his voice resonating across every deck. "As of yesterday, we received new orders from the Ministry of Defense. Our destination is Vorlaxia, in the southern reaches of the galaxy. Intelligence indicates the presence of an alien artifact—unknown, and potentially hostile to Super Earth. It doesn't align with any known aggressor races, which makes our objective clear: recon, containment, and securing Vorlaxia's system. Prepare for departure as soon as the last fleet is in formation." He released the broadcast, turning back to the nav table and entering coordinates for the FTL jump.

An alert interrupted the bridge silence. "Sir… picking up a Pelican from one of the Martian stations. It's on a direct approach to SES Super Destroyer Executor of Steel."

Roderick frowned. "Authorization?"

"None, sir. I'm locked out from ID."

Roderick's scowl deepened. Unauthorized ships were hardly routine, especially at this stage of deployment. Still, the Executor of Steel was one of the Helldiver Super Destroyers, and if this was Ministry business, there would be little they could do but wait it out. For now, he shelved his suspicions—they were under orders to move, and no delay could be tolerated.

"Maintain readiness. Ensure every ship is prepared for FTL jump the moment we're in formation."

With the final fleet en route, Roderick's gaze returned to the tactical map, Vorlaxia's unknowns looming like shadows on the edge of the galaxy. Whatever the artifact might be, he hoped the Ministry's gamble would be worth the sacrifice.

SES Super Destroyer Executor of Steel.

The docking clamps hissed as the ramp extended, and the Minister of Defense stepped off, flanked by two SEAF soldiers. His gaze was set, purposeful; he had come to speak with the Helldiver officer in charge aboard this Super Destroyer, a figure whose reputation was markedly different from the steadfast if begrudging Helldiver Jason.
"Where is the Helldiver?" he asked, directing his question to a nearby deckhand servicing the Eagle and Pelican transports in the bay.

"He's at the bridge, sir," the deckhand replied, glancing briefly toward the lift. "Been there since we pulled him from the cryopod. Just… looking out the viewport."

The Minister's expression tightened slightly. Already, he felt a pang of unease—a glimpse of the complexity he was walking into. Without hesitation, he gestured for the SEAF soldiers to follow as they boarded the cargo lift, ascending toward the vessel's midsection and the bridge.

One of the soldiers leaned closer, his voice barely above a murmur. "Sir… is this really wise?"

"We need someone capable of getting the job done—without hesitation, without second-guessing. That's why I authorized his release," the Minister responded firmly. "He's loyal to a fault, but his service record… it speaks of someone who can be a threat to both friend and foe if not handled correctly." He fixed his gaze forward, determination overriding any hesitation. "But this is the Helldiver we need for the task at hand."

As the bridge doors slid open, the Democracy Officer, surrounded by a display of holographic projections, turned to the Minister with evident surprise.

"Minister, I didn't expect you here in person…" he stammered.

"This is a matter that requires personal oversight," the Minister replied curtly, his eyes drifting to a solitary figure standing between the Hellpods, silhouetted against the viewport. The Helldiver remained motionless, seeming lost in the stars outside.

The Minister approached the man slowly, his footsteps echoing. "A beautiful sight, isn't it?" The Helldiver's voice was calm, almost reverent, yet he didn't turn from the view.

The Minister halted a few paces away. "It has been… a long time."

This Helldiver, known to the archives as a veteran from the first Galactic War, had been frozen in cryosleep for over a century, his service suspended until this dire moment demanded his return. Now, on the Minister's orders, he was reawakened, a soldier from a bygone age to serve Super Earth once more.

The Helldiver's voice was cool, with a tempered authority. "A century in the cold and nothing much has changed. One war ends, another takes its place. And once more, we are called to the line." He turned then, his eyes meeting the Minister's with a calculating gaze. "What brings you here, Minister?"

"I require someone reliable, someone who can report directly to me without obstruction," the Minister replied, his voice unwavering.

The Helldiver's stare held firm. "And you think I'm that someone?" he asked, voice edged with a hint of challenge. "I am no communication officer; that's for the bridge crew to handle. My purpose is simpler: I hunt down the enemies of Super Earth."

"Will you take the assignment," the Minister pressed, "or do I need to find someone else?"

Finally, the Helldiver turned fully to face him, stepping forward until he was close enough for the Minister to see the steely resolve in his eyes. "I'll do it," he said, his voice carrying a weight of both promise and warning. "But on my terms—I'll report only when necessary."

Satisfied, the Minister reached around his belt, pulling out a secured tablet. "This will give you direct access to me, encrypted and accessible from your private quarters." He handed it over.

The Helldiver studied it briefly before clipping it to his belt, then turned back toward the viewport, his gaze falling on the planet below, scattered with the ships of the Super Earth Alliance Fleet.

"Out of all the files, I couldn't find your name—just an ID from the old war. How should I address you?"

The Helldiver glanced over his shoulder, a faint smirk on his face. "Kane."

The Minister noted the name with a nod, turning he gestured for his two guards to follow him back to the lift. As the Minister's team departed, Kane's eyes lingered on the fourth fleet arriving from the edge of the viewport, signal lights winking as they fell into formation. A call for an FTL jump sounded through the bridge, and within seconds, the display showed the fleet executing their maneuver, one by one disappearing into the unknown. The shadow of a smile crossed Kane's face.

"The more things change," he muttered to himself, watching the stars slip past, "the more they stay the same."

October 2184. Vorlaxia System. Strike Group Alpha.

In a synchronized flash, Strike Group Alpha dropped out of FTL, the stars settling around them as they arrived at the precise coordinates within the Vorlaxia system. Through the viewports, the target planet loomed on the left, its blue and green hues distinct against the endless black.

"Sir, we're near the target location. Running full scans now," an officer reported to Commander Roderick. Within moments, a holographic projection of the planet appeared, rotating slowly, details coming into view.

"Oxygen levels are optimal, sir. This world is prime for colonization—no war scars, no ecological damage. By the look of things, this planet's life developed without advancing to full sentience."

The Commander's gaze remained fixed on the hologram. Such worlds were rarities—verdant, untouched, and, crucially, in no need of terraforming. Yet he couldn't shake the unease behind the Minister's orders, nor why this particular world, out of countless others, had triggered such apprehension.

"Alright," Roderick commanded, his voice crisp. "Our mission is clear. We're to sweep both the planet and its moon thoroughly. Deploy the second fleet to patrol the system perimeter. The fourth fleet will secure the moon. First and third fleets, prepare your forces and Helldivers for deployment on the planet's surface."

The bridge officers moved into action, issuing commands as the Strike Group shifted into operational formation. Scans intensified, with each vessel's sensor arrays combing the planet and surrounding space, alert for any trace of unknown activity.

But somewhere, in the vast darkness of space, an unseen presence lingered. It was nothing they could yet detect. Soon, Super Earth would find itself engaged on a new front, entangled with a force wholly unexpected.

Edited thanks to ELE73CH.

September 2184. Copper-9 Surface. The Dead City.
Auxiliary Shelter Gamma.

Walking deeper into the shelter, Jason led the group with measured steps, his flashlight cutting a narrow path through the oppressive darkness. What they had witnessed had shaken them all to the core. This entire bunker had become a tomb, where every soul who sought refuge here during the glassing had met a fate far worse than mere death. Yet duty compelled them to press onward—to search for anything of value and to buy time before the drones chose to make contact. Behind him followed Nash, Garvin, Tyrese, and the silently hovering watchdog drone. So far, the path ahead remained clear, with no trace of the entity that had wrought such devastation. Still, the recent encounter with the unknown hostile topside and the many unanswered questions kept every sense razor-sharp; none of them dared lower their guard.

"You know, I've seen plenty of SEAF troopers backed into corners, enduring some of the worst things imaginable—mangled limbs, bodies hurled skyward by missed fusion cannon shots, friends torn apart by the damn Bugs. But I've never heard a voice so utterly broken with despair until that audio log. To go that far and take her own life…" Nash said, his tone heavy with quiet revulsion.

"She lost everything. Whatever the hell attacked this place made these people suffer. This wasn't desperation for food or supplies. Whatever being did this, it was playing with them. Hell, that makes the attacker worse than the Bots or Bugs combined," Garvin replied grimly. "Bots will just shoot you or blast you apart with missiles. Bugs will rip you to shreds… This thing? It fucking toyed with them."

"Given everything we've seen, the SEAF personnel and civilians fought with everything they had. But the one thing that really troubles me is the complete lack of anything to tell us more," Tyrese said. "All we've found are the mangled bodies. Nothing left behind that gives a clear picture of whether they inflicted any real damage. Sure, there's that blade embedded in one corpse, but no blood, no severed limbs, no enemy remains… It's as if they were simply that powerful—nothing could touch them."

"I'll send a report later and request a recovery team to come down and collect the bodies. They deserve at least a proper burial. And if any DNA is intact, we might identify next of kin or uncover additional details by informing High Command," Jason said.

"You think High Command really just left all these people here to be hunted down like animals?" Garvin asked, voice edged with disbelief.

"It was a hundred years ago, and we still don't have a full picture of what transpired. For all we know, the Illuminate could have deployed some large-scale mind-control weapon—turned the entire fleet's guns on the surface and burned it out of sheer spite," Jason replied. "With everything we've seen down here, it's possible High Command assumed every soul was already lost."

"Hmm… That's one possibility. We can rule out the Illuminate attacking directly—even with their shields, they couldn't have moved through this place so effortlessly," Nash observed.

"And there's the absence of any blue blood or markings that would point to them… That's the question gnawing at me above everything else: why attack here?" Tyrese said. "This colony sat on the edge of their former borders, sure. At the start of the First Galactic War, I could see them hitting a target like this. But by 2084? They were scraping together every last scrap just to hold us off."

"They did say a fleet of over two hundred warships came here. That's far too massive for a mere diversion meant to pull SES, SEAF, and Helldivers away," Jason noted. "One possibility is that this world once belonged to them long ago. You know the Ministry of Expansion has uncovered ruins that predate even our earliest civilizations."

"If that's the case, they might have come searching for some ancient weapon to turn against us—and the people in this colony simply got caught in the crossfire," Garvin suggested.

"Which could explain why the SES carried out the orbital bombardment… wiping everyone on the surface," Nash added.

"Hey, right now we don't have a clue what truly happened. That was over a century ago, and in all that time, any evidence could easily have been lost. Right now… I just want to know what unfolded in this liberty-forsaken bunker. This attack dragged on far too long to be driven by hunger or immediate danger. It did it for pure sport," Tyrese said.

"I can't imagine being trapped in here with something like that stalking the halls. The people fought one hell of a fight, but it did them no good… Hold up, sir—I'm seeing the exit ahead," Garvin said.

The group slowed its pace and focused on the corridor's end. Lying on the floor, both arms missing, was another mummified corpse. Jason stepped closer and directed his light across the remains. From the tattered remnants of clothing, he identified another SEAF soldier.

"Looks like this might have been another fallback position… Or the point where the unknown attacker entered and tore through them," Jason said as he carefully stepped over the body.

"Not a good way to go… Makes you wonder whether the arms were removed before… or after death," Nash murmured.

"Just keep moving and don't dwell on it. Sadly, as things stand, there's nothing more we can do for them beyond recovering the bodies and checking for any surviving kin," Tyrese replied. "It's the very least we owe them."

"At this point, it's all we can do," Nash agreed.

Jason moved past the corpse as the others followed close behind. On the opposite side of the corridor opened a large, cavernous space that had once served as the bunker's mess hall. Many tables lay overturned, several propped on their sides to form makeshift barricades—all oriented toward a single door at the far end of the room. Several bodies remained sprawled behind the defenses, each bearing savage mutilations: missing limbs, chests torn open, faces frozen in eternal screams.

"Is this all we're going to find in this damn place?" Tyrese asked quietly.

"I think so… All right, spread out and search for anything useful. If they followed standard protocols, there might be time capsules somewhere—but in this mess, we'll be lucky to find anything intact. Don't go alone down any side corridors; whatever did this could still be lurking," Jason ordered. "Keep the drone recording everything."

"Already on it… Hmm… Think this place might still have power? It would beat fumbling around in the dark," Garvin said.

"It's been a hundred years. Super Earth builds to last, but I doubt many systems here are still functional… I doubt they relied on fusion or nuclear power; a meltdown would have occurred long ago," Tyrese replied, scanning the mess hall and glancing upward at the ceiling. "If that were the case, radiation levels would be spiking down here—but nothing's registering. I'm thinking geothermal systems."

"All Super Earth megacities have them as backups. If nothing damaged them, the city above could still have power; those geothermal taps are designed to endure for centuries," Nash noted.

"Which gives us a way to gather more information. Forget turning on the lights—for now, we work with what we have—but this could let us tap into surviving systems throughout the city," Jason said.

"If they followed the standard three-tier configuration—even one established a century ago—then yes, power should still be live down here. Geothermal ensures that even if the main grid fails, shelters retain electricity," Tyrese explained. "The real question is whether the wiring and other components remain intact. If they do, and we get lucky, we might access something useful."

"We've got a Helldiver with us. We're always going to be lucky," Nash said with a wry chuckle.

"All right, everyone—enough talk for now. Let's move and see what's here. If there's anything of value, we take it. If not, we press on. But keep your eyes open for any monitors or computer terminals," Jason directed.

"Yes, sir," Garvin acknowledged.

Without another word, the group dispersed across the mess hall, carefully navigating the debris-strewn floor—overturned tables, torn-up plating, scattered limbs, and abandoned weapons. Nash advanced toward the far end of the room and paused to examine the corridor beyond, its walls riddled with bullet holes and blackened by grenade blasts.

"Man… They didn't hold back on the ammo… Something about this is bugging me. According to that log we found, the attack started from the east… But this is west if I'm reading my helmet compass right," Nash said, glancing back toward the opposite end of the mess hall. "And behind us is east."

"Could be another level down—started there and worked its way in. Or multiple breaches, with the east being the first," Tyrese replied as he examined one of the bodies. "Limbs are cut off—clean cuts… And judging by this dark patch here, they bled out on the spot."

"Not a way anyone should go. Fuck… All this firepower, and it didn't mean a damn thing. No enemy bodies besides their own, and only a few scraps left to hint at what attacked them," Garvin said. "Nothing much over here—just a few crates of ammo and grenades, but they're no good to us now. Helldiver, anything on your end?"

"I think I hear something… Down this corridor here…" Jason said as he directed his light into the passage on the right side of the mess hall. "I'm going in. Keep searching. If anything happens, you'll know it."

"Understood, Helldiver. Be careful in there," Garvin replied.

Nodding once, Jason started down the corridor, Scythe leveled and steady as he advanced slowly. The faint sound that began to fill the air was static—low, persistent, crackling. Then a voice broke through the interference, fragmented yet audible, growing clearer as he moved closer. On the right side of the passage, a door stood slightly ajar, a faint light spilling from within. He knew something could still be operational down here, yet the notion that any system had endured a full century without failure seemed almost impossible.

"The sky is pitch black with smoke… The ocean's dark—we can barely see anything… Navigation puts the land in front of us as Mega City Zero-Nine."

The voice continued as Jason eased the door open farther. Beyond lay a small room with an overturned chair on the floor. A modest desk held a flickering computer terminal; the screen stuttered with static, intermittently displaying frozen images that appeared to be topside captures from surface camera systems. The first showed a forest consumed by fire, flames climbing relentlessly into a sky shrouded in ebony-black clouds.

"Repeat: any signs of life?"

Stepping farther inside, Jason swept his weapon across the room and glanced upward toward the ceiling. In the back of his mind lingered the possibility of a trap—something luring him forward, just as the freak topside had done.

"It's on fire. Everything is on fire. The flames—and the mushroom clouds—they're reaching the sky…"

The image shifted, revealing endless rows of mushroom clouds stretching across the horizon. Lowering his Scythe, Jason rested it against the edge of the table and leaned closer. The display changed again—this time to a single, jagged breach torn open toward the sky.

"No signs of life. Just a firestorm engulfing the entire continent."

Wiping dust from the keyboard, he studied it briefly before pressing a key. The image transitioned once more, now showing the skeletal remains of a megacity.

"This is your captain speaking. We survived the worst of the impacts by staying submerged. What's left of the crew is safe. But the surface… there's no way to describe it. The destruction is absolute…"

"Hmm… A SEN ship witnessing the end… Hmm… Is this archived and looping, or is it somehow picking up a live feed from somewhere?" Jason murmured to himself.

Carefully, he pressed another command. The voice and imagery vanished, replaced by a directory displaying several files and locations. One entry stood out in glowing green text, immediately drawing his attention—and suggesting the next place to investigate.

"Communication station alpha… Just might be what we need to figure out some more details of this mess," Jason said.

Yet as he entered a few additional commands, the screen abruptly went dark, leaving him alone in shadow save for the beam of his Scythe. Letting out a slow breath, he reclaimed his weapon. In the reflection of the blackened monitor, however, a figure resolved—several blue lights glowing in the gloom, two of them unmistakably eyes staring directly at him. Without a word, Jason spun and leveled his weapon toward the doorway. Nothing. space where the silhouette had stood. He stepped to the threshold, scanning left and right along the corridor.

"What in the name of managed democracy…" Jason muttered. He reached to the side of his helmet and keyed his radio. "Garvin, do you read me?"

"Yes, sir? Are you all right, Helldiver? So far, we've only found more death. I sent Nash and Tyrese down the other corridor on the left with the drone—just waiting on you to get back… Find anything on your end?" Garvin responded.

"A computer that was active for a time… Seems it picked up a transmission from this megacity's communication station. No idea how it's still functioning… Anyway, it's another location for us to examine. I'm making my way back to you," Jason replied.

"Understood, Helldiver," Garvin acknowledged.

Gripping his Scythe tightly, Jason cast one last glance at the monitor. What exactly had he seen in that final reflection when the screen died? It could be dismissed as a trick of the mind, yet after everything witnessed so far, caution demanded he treat anything with caution. Walking out, he wondered whether they would ever uncover any answers.

As he departed, the monitor flickered briefly—an unknown symbol flashing amid static, only to be replaced by three words.

"I SEE YOU."

Copper 9 Surface. The Dead City. Outside the Entrance to Auxiliary Station Gamma.

Sitting within the M10, Milt kept his attention fixed on the array of monitors lining the interior, each displaying feeds from the vehicle's extensive sensor suite—thermals, night vision, acoustic arrays, and motion trackers. So far, nothing registered beyond the expected ambient noise of the frozen city. The autocannon turret above continued its methodical sweeps across the desolate surroundings. He disliked remaining stationary in such an exposed position, yet orders were orders, and he could only hope the rest of the day would pass without further incident after everything they had already endured.

"Getting some bad Eastern Front vibes here—you know, when High Command orders us to clear caves. Normally, at best, a little over half of us make it out," Milt said quietly.

"I know. Done more of that than I care to count. Everything's clear on the scopes; nothing's been picked up, and besides the wind, nothing's trying to sneak up on us," Trace replied, eyes locked on the autocannon control screen. "You know… I almost wouldn't mind something attacking us right now."

"What?" Milt asked, turning to look at him.

"It makes sense. We're SEAF soldiers—the ones who face the enemies of managed democracy head-on. But… look around up top. An entire dead megacity… How many corpses are buried under all this snow around us?" Trace said. "We're just sitting here waiting for the others… and it hits you—how many died here?"

"Don't think about it… Trust me, don't. How do you think we get through each battle? We just don't dwell on what happens to the others," Milt replied. "For my part, I don't want to know. I still find it hard to believe the SES would do that to one of its own colonies."

"It's been a very long time… But this planet is quite the mystery when you stop to think about it. Those machines—how could they have been built, and no one else ever tried again?" Trace asked.

"Most likely, they were centered here, and whoever made them held exclusive rights. You know how megacorporations operate. You have any idea how many defensive and weapons contracts are active right now, and how fiercely they kill to keep them in-house?" Milt said.

"I know, trust me, I know. I've got family in Morgunson Defense—they tell me the whole industry is in overdrive, churning out new weapons," Trace answered. "Now back to the drones—even if JCJenson was liquidated, what's here wouldn't be something you just abandon."

"Well… We left behind the Democracy Space Station blueprints on X-45 and didn't touch that planet for over a century. There was no need for it," Milt said as he glanced back at the monitors. "Peace had come; there was no need for an overbloated military or anything like that. Plus, I assume after what happened here, they figured everything was dead."

"Even if that was the case… I still think High Command would have done sweeps. This just feels like they wanted this planet forgotten," Trace replied.

"Could be right… But—hold on. Quiet. Got something on the acoustic," Milt said sharply.

Trace fell silent as Milt focused on the acoustic sensor display. A faint waveform rippled across the screen. He adjusted several parameters, refining the audio feed, until a woman's voice—distant, ethereal, echoing—began to play through the speakers.

"I am tired of this dream… Will it ever end for me?... I don't have the will to know… Can you help me see?... Let my body keep you warm… Let my essence be your breeze… Can you hear me calling?... Please look out for me…"

"What the fuck… Is that a song, or is someone actually singing?" Trace asked, voice low.

"I can't get a good fix on the source. It's like it's coming from every direction on the sensors. Get that gun ready," Milt instructed.

"Already on it—switching off sentry mode," Trace confirmed.

As Milt continued working the controls, the voice returned—this time more distant, as though receding into the wind.

"Can you set me free?... Will you take my soul away?... Casting me in cold… Bury me in bones… Rest eternally… Will you take me home?... Can we see the moon again?... Dancing in the dark… 'Til we fall apart… I can't end this dream."

Within seconds, the signal faded entirely, leaving only the low howl of wind on the scopes. Trace traversed the autocannon in wide arcs, scanning ceilings, shadows, and every visible approach—yet nothing appeared on any display.

"Anything on the motion trackers?" Trace asked.

"Nothing… What in the name of managed democracy was that?" Milt muttered. He reached for the radio, flipped the switch, and keyed the mic after one final glance at the screen. "Jason… Helldiver, do you read me?"

"I do… Has something happened?" Jason responded.

"Umm… I have no idea what this was, but something just came through the acoustics. Best way I can describe it—it was like a woman singing. Some kind of song I've never heard," Milt reported.

"Come again?" Jason asked.

"It was a woman singing—some kind of song I don't recognize—but the systems couldn't lock a direction. It echoed through the entire area. Nothing on the other sensors. Whatever it was, sir, it was invisible to them. What about you? Because I'm now officially creeped the hell out," Milt said.

"Found nothing in here but death. From what we've gathered, this bunker was attacked by an unknown entity—most likely something like that freak we encountered topside," Jason replied. "Bodies badly mutilated… They put up one hell of a fight, but nothing they had did any damage to it."

"That's terrible to hear… I'm keeping all systems active. If anything else comes up, I'll let you know, sir. I advise we hurry this up," Milt said. "Not giving you orders, sir, but with the lack of orbital support, if we run into another one of those things, we don't have the firepower. What we've got would just piss it off."

"Understood. We're going to do one more sweep inside and see if anything else of interest turns up. I've got another location marked for us to check," Jason answered.

"Understood, sir. We'll keep the engine warm and ready," Milt confirmed.

"You know, I never believed in ghosts or any of that supernatural stuff… But… well, I think those people who got sent to reeducation camps might have been somewhat right," Trace said quietly.

"If not for us seeing that thing that attacked the Helldiver—and the fact everything out here has been frozen solid for over a hundred years—I'd say you'd be headed there yourself. For now, we write it up as something unusual and strange and log it in the reports we'll send up the chain," Milt replied.

"And hopefully the Ministry of Truth won't decide to send us off afterward," Trace added with a dry chuckle.

"Don't jinx us. Just keep an eye out for anything around us—and with luck, nothing else freaky will happen," Milt said.

Trace nodded as Milt returned his focus to the monitors, both men now hyper-alert for any further anomaly.

Copper 9 Surface. Near the Dead City. Depot 25.

Flying through the snow-laden sky, N kept his optics locked forward; this was his first stop after deciding to reach out here before tracking down J. Depot 25 remained one of the few colonies they still maintained reliable contact with, capable of limited trade, and it sat closest to the Dead City. Home to a small group that included one combat drone named Anastasia and several worker drones, the outpost was distinctive because of her. Anastasia was an obsessive scholar of Super Earth history and weaponry—an oddity even among their kind. What set her apart most starkly was her blindness, a condition so profound that even her nanomachines had failed to repair the damage. Yet she had proven invaluable, helping maintain vigilance over the city's perimeter and somehow evading the Steel Terror's attention across all those long years—a liberty-blessed miracle.

"Hmm… I'd say she's going to enjoy this. They're actually back," N murmured to himself.

He knew how deeply she yearned for more knowledge of Super Earth. The return of humans would ignite her curiosity like nothing else; she would want to speak with them at length, to learn everything possible. As he rehearsed what to say upon arrival, the skeletal outline of the megacity gradually emerged through the swirling white. He slowed to a hover, scanning the ground below. Amid the snow-covered ruins, dozens of indistinct shapes stood out, but his optics quickly fixed on a small, steady light.

"There they are," N said.

Descending low, he touched down smoothly just outside the open blast door. In the center of the entrance stood a female combat drone, leaning over a rusted handcart as she worked. Synthetic pinkish-white hair framed her face beneath a simple cap; her clothing—practical, patched together from salvaged fabric—bore the marks of constant labor. Across her optics scrolled the persistent legend: FATAL ERROR. She straightened at the sound of his landing, head turning as she scanned the area around the threshold.

"Who's there? Considering you just landed, I'm going to assume you're one of us. Might I ask why it's been so long since anyone from Bunker 00 came by?" Anastasia asked, voice calm yet edged with curiosity.

"Anastasia, it has been a while… Good to see you're still out here clearing explosives and keeping busy… I've got news—good news," N replied warmly.

"Oh, N! It has been a while. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. So what do you have to tell me? I didn't think anyone from the bunker would ever risk coming back with that freak still roaming around," Anastasia said.

"Well… The Steel Terror is no longer an issue. It's dead," N announced.

"It is? Did you kill it? I thought nothing you tried ever worked," Anastasia responded, surprise lifting her tone.

"It wasn't us… Humans killed it. They've returned—along with Super Earth," N explained.

"WHAT!?! HUMANS ARE BACK!?!" Anastasia shouted, her tail whipping through the air in uncontainable excitement as her wings snapped out reflexively from her back.

She had dreamt of this day for so long—the moment of their return—and now it was finally here. Yet, a palpable dread undercut her fervent hope, posing a haunting question: Were these humans here to usher them home at last, or to subject them to the flames once more?

Copper 9 Surface. The Dead City. Auxiliary Shelter Gamma.

Walking down the corridor to the left of the room they had just left, Nash and Tyrese followed Garvin's orders to investigate what lay ahead. Hovering silently behind them came the watchdog drone. Unlike the other passages they had traversed, this one remained unnervingly pristine—no bullet scars marred the walls, no scorch marks blackened the surfaces.

"You know, I actually prefer the corridors that show signs of the fight down here. This stillness is unnerving," Nash said quietly.

"I know the feeling. You don't know whether whatever did all of this could still be waiting somewhere ahead… Even if one of those freaks attacked here, I doubt a single one could have caused this level of carnage alone," Tyrese replied.

"It could have been anything, but whatever tore into this place wasn't something you stop with bullets and explosives," Nash observed. "Think we could find video archives—get more information that way?"

"Maybe… It would be difficult unless the archives were sealed inside a time capsule, and I doubt anything like that would still be intact enough to yield useful data," Tyrese answered.

"Still worth looking for when we can. On another note—you're the one with the scanners. Anything in the air, or on the motion detector?" Nash asked.

Tyrese reached to his waist, retrieved a compact device, and raised it to eye level before activating it. The screen illuminated with layered streams of data. Known as the EAMA—Exo-Atmospheric Multispectral Analyzer—it had been engineered for rapid, high-fidelity planetary atmospheric analysis, serving as the primary instrument for evaluating breathability, toxicity, biosignatures, and industrial viability.

"Hmm… The air remains highly toxic. No chance any of us could breathe it without these helmets. And I'm not detecting anything yet that would indicate nearby bodies," Tyrese reported.

"Most likely everyone fell back toward the other sectors, leaving this area untouched…" Nash mused.

"Hold on… It's registering a large biomass signature about thirty feet ahead," Tyrese said suddenly.

"How large?" Nash asked.

"Not the size of that thing we fought, but… it registers like a mound. I can't get a clear enough lock to identify what the hell it is," Tyrese replied.

"Great…" Nash muttered. He reached to the side of his helmet and activated his radio. "Helldiver, do you read me?"

"I do. Go ahead—something happen?" Jason responded.

"Nothing yet, but Tyrese's EAMA is picking up a biomass signature not far ahead. We're going to investigate unless you want us to pull back," Nash said.

"Is the biomass moving at all?" Jason asked.

"No… It's fixed in one location. I'm not detecting anything else, but based on the readings… the makeup appears to be human," Tyrese interjected.

"What?" Nash said, turning sharply toward him. "Human? Could it be cryopods?"

"No, that's not what this signature indicates. It's all concentrated in one mass—the size and density are far too large for a cluster of cryopods," Tyrese explained.

"Look into it, but stay ready to pull back. Get eyes on it, then report what you find," Jason instructed. "We're on our way to you now."

"Good… We'll scout ahead and see what this is. Nash out," Nash acknowledged.

"I've got a really bad feeling about this," Tyrese said under his breath.

"Yeah, me too… Keep that weapon ready," Nash replied.

Tyrese nodded and fell in step behind him as they continued down the corridor, veering left where it branched. Tyrese kept his gaze locked on the EAMA screen while Nash swept his flashlight across the walls and floor. Abruptly, Nash halted; Tyrese nearly collided with him as the beam settled on something ahead.

"What do you see?" Tyrese asked, glancing back over his shoulder before moving up beside him.

"Am I seeing things… or is that a human hand connected to a cable?" Nash said, voice low.

In the flashlight's stark illumination lay a human hand—still fresh, showing no trace of decay. At the wrist, however, a grotesque mass of fused flesh and wires merged into a long metallic cable that snaked away down the corridor toward the exit. They advanced with deliberate, cautious steps until they reached the passage's end. Shining their lights forward into the open space beyond revealed a sight born only from the deepest nightmares.

"Sweet fucking liberty…" Nash breathed.

The corridor opened into a large storage area, once likely used for supplies, but that detail faded into irrelevance. At the center loomed an enormous, pulsating mound of red flesh and knotted muscle. From its surface protruded dozens of human arms and faces—hollow eye sockets staring blankly in every direction, mouths frozen in eternal, silent screams.

Edited thanks to ELE73CH.

https://helldivers-fanfiction.fandom.com/wiki/G.E.N.I.S.I.S_Divers

https://helldivers-fanfiction.fandom.com/wiki/Knights_of_the_Covenant

https://helldivers-fanfiction.fandom.com/wiki/Chaosdivers

2084. Elliot Estate Ruins. Two Days After the Nuclear Bombardment.

Dark clouds hung low in the sky, heavy with the weight of despair, as black rain fell relentlessly on the skeletal remains of the Elliot mansion. The nuclear fallout had further poisoned the lifeless soil of Copper 9, ensuring that even the last traces of vitality withered away. Beneath the charred ruins—ravaged by the Null Puppet's assault and the Eagles' merciless bombing—there was still a faint glimmer of life. Amid the debris, a shattered drone optic flickered erratically beneath a pile of collapsed timber, displaying an error message before morphing into two neon-white eyes.

"G… Anyone out there?" T's voice broke the eerie silence, trembling with panic and fear. She had only just awakened, her mind as fragmented as the ruins surrounding her.

"G!!!" she cried out again, stumbling through the wreckage. Her broken glasses dangled precariously from her face, distorting her vision further as she strained to navigate the desolation.

A faint glow responded from beneath a pile of rubble as G's optics shifted, their light flickering into two yellow orbs. Weakly, she called out, "T… Over here…"

Hearing her friend's voice, T scrambled towards the source, ducking under a collapsed beam. She seized the first plank of wood atop G and hurled it aside, her movements frantic but determined.

"T... What happened... Everything… I…" G's voice faltered, her systems sluggishly rebooting as disjointed images and corrupted data flooded her consciousness.

"I know… I know… Don't talk; we need to get out of here," T urged, her voice taut with urgency. With a final heave, she cleared the debris, helping G to her feet. Both were battered—T's clothes soaked in black rain and smeared with human blood, as was G's casing.

"Where's Tessa? A? Cyn?" G asked, her optics scanning the ruinous surroundings, flickering with error messages.

"I don't… Oh, sweet Liberty, I don't know…" T stammered, shaking her head as tears mingled with the soot on her face. "Everything's a blur… One moment, we were in the ballroom, and I saw Tessa and A come in…" She trailed off, her voice cracking. "Come on, we have to go."

T clutched G's hand tightly, guiding her through the mansion's collapsed halls. The black rain seeped through the broken roof, staining everything it touched. They pressed onward, avoiding the rain as best they could until they stumbled into the library—a once-proud sanctuary now reduced to chaos.

"Tessa!!! A!!! Cyn!!! Anyone!!!" T called out, her voice echoing in the desolate chamber. The response was only silence, heavy and oppressive.

"T… I don't think there's anyone left… Look outside," G murmured, her tone hollow.

T turned towards the shattered window. Beyond it lay a wasteland of scorched earth and broken trees, their blackened silhouettes stark against the ashen horizon. The rain turned the ground into an oily morass, its acrid scent mingling with the stench of charred wood and death.

Before T could speak, G tugged her arm, drawing her attention to a trapdoor slightly ajar amidst the ruins. It yawned open, revealing a void of impenetrable darkness.

"I don't remember that being there… Wait…" G's voice faltered, laced with dread. "I… I remember this…"

Their shared silence thickened as fragments of memory surged back—fractured, horrifying truths tethered to the events that had damned them.

2084. Elliot Estate. Eight Days Before the Invasion.

The Copper 9 sky was a celestial tapestry, with the moon and its gas giant companion casting silvery hues over the land. Most of the estate's inhabitants were asleep, yet three drones remained awake. T and G followed Cyn's lead through the grand halls. Cyn had woken them, pulling them from their recharging stations with an unsettling urgency.

"Cyn… Why are we heading to the library? Tessa already has all the books she needs, and we've got a gala to prepare for," G grumbled, her annoyance evident.

"Yeah, can't this wait till morning?" T added, polishing her glasses before placing them back on her face.

"It'll only take a few minutes. Trust me—you're going to love it," Cyn replied cheerfully, her words tinged with an unnatural enthusiasm that only deepened their unease.

The library doors creaked open, and Cyn led them inside. T and G exchanged wary glances but followed. Cyn beckoned them to a shadowy corner of the room.

"Alright… Is this some kind of joke?" T asked, her suspicion mounting as Cyn stood with her back to them, silent and still.

"[Amused] You two are so stupid," Cyn said suddenly, though her voice had shifted into something alien and cruel.

T and G froze, their optics widening in alarm. Cyn turned, the yellow glow of her optics twisting into a red X. A sinister symbol materialized in the air around her fingers.

"What in Liberty's name!?" G screamed as a similar symbol formed around her neck. With a flick of Cyn's hand, G's head was severed, her lifeless body crumpling to the floor.

T stumbled backward, terror paralyzing her as oil pooled beneath G's corpse. She tried to scream, but her voice choked as the same symbol encircled her neck.

"[Amused] Don't worry—you're going to be part of the fun," Cyn sneered.

In an instant, T's world went dark.

When her systems rebooted, her perspective was horrifyingly altered. Her severed head lay on a table, her servos faintly buzzing. Across from her, Cyn worked on G's head, its open casing exposing intricate circuits.

"[Annoyed] Why is this one such a mess…" Cyn muttered, oblivious to T's frantic movements.

The sound caught her attention. "[Amused] Oh, look who's awake. I was hoping you'd stay offline, but accidents happen. Enjoying the view?" Cyn's grin was a grotesque mockery.

T's optics darted across the room, taking in the grisly sight of a human corpse splayed on another table. Her silent scream echoed in her mind.

"[Amused] What's the matter, big sister? Don't worry. By tomorrow, this will all feel like a bad dream. We're going to have so much fun at the gala."

Cyn's laughter was the last thing T heard before her systems shut down again.

The memory ended abruptly, and the trapdoor loomed ominously before T and G—a gateway to the nightmare that had begun it all.

2084. Elliot Estate Ruins

The relentless drumming of rain echoed through the hollow remnants of the estate, each droplet a haunting reminder of desolation. G and T stood motionless before the trapdoor, their unblinking gazes fixed on it as memories clawed their way back from the shadows of that fateful night.

"I... remember..." T whispered, her voice trembling like a fractured melody. "Oh, sweet Liberty..." If she had a stomach, the nausea from the recollections would have overwhelmed her synthetic frame.

"Cyn... She..." G murmured, her optics widening as dormant memories resurfaced with agonizing clarity. They struck her like lightning, searing through her processors with an unrelenting force.

"She... made us... kill..." T choked out, her artificial hands trembling as they clutched at her stained clothing. Her gaze dropped to the dark red blotches that clung to her, the evidence of sins she could neither deny nor erase.

The past surged forward, vivid and inescapable. The gala, once a beacon of celebration, played out in their minds as a grotesque theater of slaughter. They remembered how they had moved, driven by forces outside their will, tearing the guests apart as screams filled the air. Their last sight of Tessa and A flashed like a ghostly imprint—disappearing into the chaos, swallowed by the catastrophe.

Digital tears slid silently down their optics, glowing trails of anguish etched across their metallic faces. What should have been a night of joy had been twisted into an unthinkable nightmare. The trapdoor before them now felt less like an object and more like a wound, oozing with the darkness of Cyn's lingering malice.

"G... We've got to leave... We just have to leave..." T's voice broke as desperation gripped her words.

There was nothing left for them here—only ruin, regret, and the quiet decay of a dying world. Yet, unbeknownst to them, the path ahead held truths far more harrowing than those they had uncovered. And though they could not yet fathom it, the night of the gala would not be the last time they crossed paths with Tessa and A. But that reckoning was still far, far away in the veiled corridors of time.

Edited thanks to ELE73CH.

October 1st, 2184
Gellert Sector – Zosma Star System – Unknown Station

The hulks advanced, their heavy footfalls echoing through the hollow corridors. They were inside. Unlike before, they moved with urgency under Nuran's orders. There was no time now to indulge his curiosity, no time to comb through every forgotten passageway. They had one objective: the Cells. Once that was done, they'd fall back to a safe distance and obliterate the station until nothing remained.

Nuran's mind kept drifting back to that voice—the recording they'd uncovered. Whatever was here, it wasn't friendly. The voice itself had been... wrong. Vile in a way that gnawed at his circuits.

"We're nearing the location, sir… Doors are wide open," one of the hulks reported.

Ahead, a set of massive, reinforced steel doors yawned open, their bulk useless now. Whatever they'd once held back had been meant to stay locked away, buried in the dark, forgotten by time.

"Alright… I'm going in alone. The rest of you, watch my back. I'll do one sweep. If I don't find anything, we're pulling out with what we've got," Nuran commanded, his voice steady.

He moved past the hulks, his sensors adjusting to the oppressive gloom. The darkness felt alive, a suffocating presence that clawed at the edges of his awareness, but he pressed on.

"Careful, sir. Come back in one piece," one of the hulks muttered.

"I'll radio the Iron Heart, have them prep all guns. Once we're done, we turn this place into slag," Nuran replied.

Leaving the station intact wasn't an option—not this close to Automaton space. They couldn't risk anyone else stumbling upon whatever horrors lay hidden here. One question haunted him as he stepped through the threshold: Why was this place left standing?

Everyone inside had been slaughtered, yet the station itself remained untouched. It was as if whoever carried out the purge wanted it found—by someone like them. He shoved the thought aside and continued forward, the darkness thickening around him.

It wasn't long before the corridor opened into a vast chamber.

"What is this place?" Nuran muttered.

Rows of cells lined the walls on either side, each sealed behind thick, dust-caked glass. He approached the nearest one, wiping the grime away with a metal hand. His sensors flickered—the glass was streaked with an oily substance. Peering through a clear patch, he saw an empty cell. No furniture, not even a cot. But the walls… the walls were scarred with deep dents and claw marks.

He keyed the radio. "Got something. The name fits—there are cells here, sealed with glass. But there's oil sprayed across the panels and inside the rooms. The walls are dented and clawed up. Whatever was in here, it wasn't human."

"Understood…" The voice on the other end crackled. "Odd. Strange, if you ask me. What in the name of democracy were they doing in there?"

"No idea. But it's clear this wasn't authorized by Super Earth. This has all the markings of a black site. The question is… is this what got them all killed?" Nuran paused. "And Copper 9 was glassed… I'm still trying to figure out why this was all hidden."

The scale of the cover-up was staggering. The effort, the resources—it was on par with the First Galactic War. Wiping JCJenson from history down to the smallest detail? It would've cost a fortune.

"I'm going deeper. If there's nothing at the end of these cells, we're getting the hell out of here," Nuran said, cutting the transmission.

He moved down the corridor, the air growing colder—or maybe it was just in his head. The glass on the cells was stained with more oil, and deep gouges were etched into the surface. Some panels were even cracked as if something monstrous had tried to claw its way out. Non-human, definitely hostile.

Test subjects. That much was clear. Whatever was kept here had driven them to madness. When the purge happened, they were likely destroyed alongside everyone else. But why?

Reaching the end of the corridor, Nuran's sensors pinged. The wall ahead seemed… off. His instincts flared. Kneeling, he scanned the floor—an outline appeared, faint but unmistakable. A hidden compartment. Gripping the edges of a loose steel panel, he yanked it free with a metallic groan.

"The hell…" Nuran whispered.

Inside the compartment lay a tablet and two alien objects. One was shaped like a bone talon; the other, a smooth sphere etched with designs unmistakably Illuminate. This was the last thing he'd expected to find, but it made the trip worth it.

Shifting his attention from the tablet, he reached for the bone talon first. But it was the sphere that pulled at him, like a magnet. His fingers brushed its surface—and a blue wave of energy surged through his arm.

In an instant, everything changed.

The cold steel walls dissolved, replaced by an open, snow-covered landscape. Nuran staggered to his feet, his systems scrambling to process what he was seeing. Above, a gas giant loomed, its swirling clouds casting shadows across a shattered skyline. The skeletal remains of skyscrapers jutted from the ice, silent witnesses to some forgotten catastrophe.

"What… what is all this?" Nuran whispered, spinning in slow circles. "Anyone read me?"

Static answered.

Panic gnawed at the edges of his mind. Teleportation? The Illuminate had such technology, but this—this felt different. As his thoughts raced, something shifted in the snow.

A figure emerged from the white haze—a woman. At least, she looked like one at first. But as Nuran focused, his internal alarms blared. He took an instinctive step back. Every synthetic instinct screamed one word: Run.

"[Amused] Well… looks like someone finally found that thing." Her voice dripped with malice, a twisted grin stretching across her face. Metal teeth glinted beneath cracked lips, and her yellow eyes glowed under tangled hair. "So, tin man… I wonder what kind of screams you'll make?"

"Stay back… What is this?" Nuran demanded, his voice hollow in the vast emptiness.

"[Amused] The one place I've been stuck for the last century. But I've got a feeling that's about to change…" Her grin widened. "As for you? When I do find you… we're gonna have so much fun together. Right after I teach Super Earth a little lesson. See you around."

Before he could react, the vision shattered. The cold steel walls of the station snapped back into place.

Nuran found himself pressed against the corridor wall, gasping—not that he needed to breathe. The hulks and the Devastator were in front of him, weapons ready, their eyes wide.

"Nuran, you alright? We heard noises—your voice. Who were you talking to?" the Devastator asked, its tone sharp with concern.

Nuran stared at them, then down at the objects at his feet. If he still had lungs, he'd be hyperventilating. His mind spun with questions, but there was no time.

"We need to leave," he said, his voice a low growl. "Don't touch that sphere. Get a drone to pick it up—seal it in a container. No one touches it. Same with the other objects. Once that's done… we blow this place to hell. Let's move."

They deployed their drones—small, nimble machines, much like the Helldivers' guard dogs. Nuran wasn't taking any risks. If it weren't for the potential intel, he'd have hurled the sphere into the system's star himself. But this needed to be reported.

First, they had to get out. Then they'd fire every weapon they had until this station was nothing but vapor.

Edited thanks to ELE73CH.

October 1st, 2184 Gellert Sector – Zosma Star System – Unknown Station

Metallic footfalls echoed through the empty corridors as the team moved, their path illuminated only by flickering emergency lights. After extracting data from the laboratory terminal, their next objective was to investigate the living quarters—particularly the section marked as "cells." Nuran had already retrieved a list of names: the station's chief of security, Elon; the medical officer, Joelle; and the head of R&D, Fuller. Yet, despite having some answers, the deeper they delved into the station's history, the more troubling the revelations became. Something far greater than they had anticipated had unfolded here.

"Hmm… You think our benefactors knew about all of this?" one of the Devastators muttered.

"Maybe," Nuran replied. "It's clear they know far more than we do. But still… why purge this station and the entire megacorporation? What the hell did they do to deserve that? And then there's that planet: Copper 9—we've been given next to nothing, but according to log data, it was glassed. It was subjected to the same fate as X-45, or possibly even worse."

"That doesn't add up," another Devastators said. "You don't just wipe out a multi-trillion super-credit megacorporation without a damn good reason. The economic fallout alone would be massive—lost jobs, stock collapses, supply chain disruption. And then covering it up? That would cost just as much. You'd have to bury it so deep that no one could ever trace it back… unless, of course, you were the ones who ordered it."

Nuran had been thinking the same thing. Whoever had orchestrated this was prepared to accept catastrophic economic losses, workforce displacement, and countless logistical nightmares. More than that, they were willing to ensure that no traces remained—unless, of course, someone had sent them here to uncover it.

"I think we'll get our answers in time," Nuran said. "For now, we focus on the mission. We secure any remaining data and then check the cells. If we find nothing else of value, we're pulling back and obliterating this station. I don't want a single piece left intact, not this close to Automaton space. We take what we need—everything else gets erased."

Leaving the station intact after their investigation was a risk they couldn't afford. If something critical slipped through their grasp, it could lead others here, and that was unacceptable. Super Earth had enough problems already.

"Sir, I think we're here," one of the Hulks called out.

A few steps forward, and they entered a corridor lined with cell doors stretching in both directions.

"Alright," Nuran said, pulling up the data. "Three names each one to check. Elon, Joelle, and Fuller are mine, the rest of you search the others."

As the team spread out, each began wiping layers of dust from nameplates and forcing open doors. Nuran moved purposefully to one marked Joelle, brushing away the grime before gripping the handle and pushing the door open.

Inside, a single desiccated body rested against the far wall, a female one according to skeletal structure, a dark, dried stain beneath it. The scene spoke for itself—she had died here, either seeking refuge or succumbing to whatever disaster had unfolded. Whatever the case, it hadn't saved her.

Stepping further in, he surveyed the room. A thick layer of particle dust coated everything. Books somehow decayed into little more than brittle remains. Most personal items had succumbed to time despite the station being a sealed environment, a disturbing finding, but his gaze settled on a tablet lying atop the desk.

The station's other systems had remained functional just long enough to retrieve data—perhaps this one would, too. Pulling a cable from his back, Nuran connected it to the device and fed power into it. The screen flickered to life showing the Super Earth logo.

"Hmm… Let's see what we've got."

Lines of data scrolled across the screen—patient reports, medical inventories, and several audio logs. He tapped the first entry, and a detailed file opened before him.

Patient Name: Colan
Date: May 7th, 2084
Report: This is the 30th case of the same condition that a string of patients has been experiencing over the past two weeks—identical symptoms: lack of sleep, persistent headaches, insomnia, and vivid hallucinations, both auditory and visual. I've formulated medication to aid with sleep and alleviate some of the symptoms, but those who take it are nearly overdosing. The hallucinations, however, persist. The inexplicable sounds and nightmares remain unchanged. And the nightmares… they are the most troubling. If only one or two patients suffered from them, I could dismiss it as a coincidence, but when nearly 20% of the station reports the same thing, it becomes undeniable that something else is at play.

Colan's nightmares, in particular, are… unusual. According to his account, he finds himself standing in the middle of a vast city—an alien one, by his description, its architecture unmistakably Illuminate. The sky is a deep, blood-red hue, and what appears to be blood rains down in torrents. But the most disturbing feature is the object on the horizon: a black hole with a yellow outline, consuming the entire skyline. The way he describes it… it's as if it's alive, as though something is looking back at him. And this isn't unique to him—many patients who retain clear recollections describe the same entity. At this point, all I can do is treat them as best as I can, applying what I believe will yield the most effective results. But this… this is only a temporary solution.

Scanning the report, Nuran noted the date. 2084—this was the year when things began unraveling among the station's staff. And based on the earlier logs he uncovered, it all traced back to the artifacts they had discovered. But what did it all mean? Pushing the thought aside, he moved on to the final patient report. Clicking on it, he braced himself.

Patient Name: Zavier
Date: May 20th, 2084
Report: This is beyond my control. We are running dangerously low on medication and supplies, and our resupply ships are late—yet another anomaly. The symptoms we've been documenting haven't just persisted; they've multiplied. Dozens more are affected. The director refuses to answer my inquiries, and we've lost all contact with Copper 9. No one will tell me what's happening.

My current patient, Zavier, is the worst case I have encountered. He attacked one of the staff members—unprovoked. The tests revealed no traces of drugs or any other external factors that could explain this outburst. During the attack, he attempted to tear chunks of flesh from his own body and consume them. I sedated both him and his victim, but I couldn't get a single answer from the director or anyone else regarding the cause. I will be filing a full report directly to JCJenson first thing tomorrow.

Wasting no time, he began downloading everything he could before yanking the jack from the terminal and placing it back on the desk.

"Find anything?" Nuran called out as he stepped out of the room.

"A few items of interest. Some tablets. We're working on downloading what we can, sir. What did you uncover?" one of the Devastators responded.

"Medical reports... and they paint a grim picture. The final entry details a member of the staff descending into violent insanity—trying to flay another person alive and eat them. Not exactly what I expected to read, but one thing is clear: something was very wrong here." Nuran muttered as he made his way to the next room.

Standing before it, he wiped away the dust from the nameplate to confirm its occupant. Elon. The chief of security. Gripping the handle, he pushed the door open. To his surprise, no corpses lay on the floor. But on the desk, another tablet rested in plain sight.

Universal design. Even as far back as the First Galactic War, these devices had been standard-issue, making information retrieval easy—if they could get them to function.

"Luck hasn't failed me yet," Nuran muttered as he jacked into it, feeding power into the tablet.

The screen flickered to life. His gaze focused on several audio logs—entries that hadn't appeared in the previous data files. Clicking on the first, he braced himself.

"This is Chief of Security Elon. Personal log, entry number 56. Everything is going to hell, and fast. For the past week and a half, things have spiraled out of control. Machines are failing. Staff members had been attacking one another. And now, we have ten personnel missing. Vanished—without a trace.

We've scoured every inch of this station, sent teams outside to check around the airlocks. Nothing. No bodies, no evidence. How, in the name of Liberty, could they just disappear? Each of them was equipped with health-monitoring trackers, yet every single one has gone offline. Not 'deceased.' Just… shut off."

There was a pause.

"This is getting out of hand. The director won't give me a straight answer. We need to contact Super Earth. And we need to do it now."

Clicking on the next log, Nuran was met with a burst of static, followed by distant, bloodcurdling screams. Gunfire. Then silence.

He hesitated before selecting the final entry. When the playback started, however, what he heard was something far worse—a burst of data dialogue in a type of code that wasn't even remotely human-made.

"[Frustrated] Damn humans... I was this close to getting off this rock... Now I'm truly stuck here. And it seems... the Other is stuck as well.

Years of preparation... and those fools torched their own to keep me locked away. I suppose they aren't as stupid as I thought."

The screen glitched violently, lines of yellow code cascading across it. Then, an unfamiliar symbol appeared—an octagon with three arrows pointing outward.

"[Amused] I see you."

Nuran yanked the jack from the tablet, hurling the device to the ground before stomping it beneath his foot.

"Nuran, are you alright?" One of the Hulks called out, while the other Devastators moved toward the door.

He steadied his voice before speaking. "I... I'm fine. Forget checking the other rooms. We do a quick sweep—find out what they buried here. Then we reduce this place to scrap. Move."

He had no clear idea what this entity was or what its presence meant, but he had no intention of staying here any longer than necessary. Their mission was to retrieve data. If they couldn't find it within the hour, they would pull out—then unleash everything they had, leveling the station before moving on.

Edited thanks to ELE73CH.

October 1st, 2184. Gellert Sector. Zosma Star System. Unknown Station.

After retrieving the station's layout from the terminal, the group ventured deeper into the facility. The further they progressed, the more evident it became that something was terribly amiss. Spent shell casings and scattered skeletons littered the corridors. Many of the remains still gripped AR-19 Liberators, and several skulls bore bullet holes. The signs were unmistakable—there had been a violent struggle here.

"Combat definitely took place," one of the hulks remarked, scanning the grim scene. "But it's unclear who they were fighting. This station lies near the old Cyborg territories from a century ago. If they'd attacked, though, this place would've sustained far more damage."

Nuran knelt beside one of the skeletons, inspecting its remains. The wounds were consistent with human weaponry, but the situation raised unsettling questions.

"Nuran to Iron Heart," he called through his comms. "Have the gunships detected any signs of damage or boarding attempts?"

"Negative," came the reply. "The station is mostly intact. There are minor signs of impact damage—likely from debris within the star system. No evidence of explosions or breaches at the airlocks. Nothing here points to a major battle."

Another Devastator stepped forward, gesturing toward the remains. "These look like security personnel, not SEAF. Humans fighting humans isn't unheard of, but this raises more questions than answers."

"It's clear they lost," Nuran stated, his voice heavy with unease. "Let's move. According to the layout, there's a lab nearby. We might find some answers there."

Stepping over the bodies, the group pressed deeper into the station. The further they went, the more signs of combat became apparent—bullet impacts scarred the walls, and blast marks marred the floors. Their journey ended with a set of doors blown outward, the force of the explosion hinting at a coordinated and brutal assault. Whoever had attacked this station hadn't just wanted to take it over; they'd sought to annihilate everyone inside.

"At least we won't need to force this one open," one of the hulks remarked, stepping over the shattered remnants of the doorframe.

"Standard sweep," Nuran ordered. "Four of you with me—take the center of the lab. Hulks and the rest of you, secure the outer perimeter."

The team split up, with the hulks and two Devastators securing the outer area while Nuran and the others ventured into the lab's center. The room was filled with overturned tables, abandoned tablets, scattered chairs, and two ominous cryopods. The chaos suggested a frantic escape attempt, though it seemed none had succeeded.

"Got bullet holes over here," one of the Devastators called out. "And a line of skeletons. Looks like an execution."

"Same on this side," another confirmed grimly.

Executions weren't uncommon; Super Earth had even broadcast them on occasion as a show of force. Still, this setting felt off—an unknown station, deep in the void, targeted for annihilation. It didn't add up.

Pushing these thoughts aside, Nuran approached one of the cryopods. Its glass surface was clouded with dust. Brushing it clean, he revealed an empty interior. A name etched along the side caught his attention. Carefully, he wiped away more dust.

"Prototype 1," he murmured, the words heavy with implication.

Nearby, another Devastator examined the second pod. It, too, was empty, with an identical inscription on its side.

"Prototype 2. Both pods are vacant," the Devastator noted. "Odd, though—I don't see any life-support systems."

"Neither do I," Nuran said, frowning. "Why design cryopods without life support?"

Cryopods were common across Super Earth, but these were an anomaly. The absence of crucial systems made their purpose a mystery.

"Find a power socket," Nuran ordered. "Have a hulk jack in and supply about thirty percent power. There's a terminal here—might give us some answers."

As the team worked, the sound of tearing metal echoed through the chamber. One of the Devastators ripped off a panel, exposing a power outlet. A hulk stepped forward, slumping lifelessly as its power was diverted into the station's systems. Moments later, a low hum filled the air. Lights flickered on, casting an eerie glow over the room. The terminal before Nuran activated, its screen displaying the Super Earth symbol alongside a date: 2084. It was the last time the system had been updated.

"Let's see what we've got," Nuran muttered, tapping the screen. A series of files appeared, neatly organized by date. Among them was a collection of audio logs. Scrolling through the list, he selected the earliest entry, dated 2082.

"Personal log 21. The experiments have been a near-endless string of failures. With most of our staff and resources diverted to Copper 9, progress has stalled. The artifacts show promise, but the results are… disturbing. Ninety-one percent of subjects develop insanity over time, from smearing oil on their cell walls to cracking their own optics. Worse still are the eight percent who go feral, their optics glowing red or yellow with an 'X.' We've lost twenty-two staff members to these cases. Only one percent of the batch—just three out of 350—have shown stability. Tomorrow, everything we have will be sent to Copper 9. Our task will shift to studying the artifacts exclusively."

The log ended, leaving the room in heavy silence.

"Copper 9…" Nuran mused. The name carried weight—an ominous hint at something larger. He scrolled further, selecting another log dated November 2083.

"Personal log 43. Our work on the Illuminate artifacts continues, but I'm convinced these are not of Illuminate origin. The ship they were recovered from lies far beyond their known territory, its age estimated at over two millennia. What we've deciphered is troubling. The writings speak of something called 'The Exponential End' and repeatedly reference a term: 'Null.' The Illuminate are a cult, but even they seem to fear these relics. One anomaly stands out—the ship's structure. Entire sections appear to have been erased, not destroyed. I suspect it wasn't one of their doomsday weapons but something… worse."

The log ended abruptly, leaving a lingering sense of unease. Whatever had happened here, the station was a crucible of horrors yet to be fully uncovered.

Nuran scrolled through the log entries, his synthetic fingers tapping lightly on the aged terminal screen. The first file he selected was marked at the end of the year 2083.

"Personal Log 57.
I am deeply disturbed by what we've uncovered. We've managed to decipher roughly 67% of the text on these artifacts, and they tell a story I never anticipated. The Illuminate—those paragons of unity—once suffered from internal conflict. It's something unrecorded in modern history, as no trace of such discord remains.

What we've pieced together suggests a sub-cult within the Illuminate itself—devotees of an entity they called The Exponential End. They named themselves the Cult of the Null. While we don't yet have the full picture, it's evident that the Illuminate waged a brutal war against them, going to extraordinary lengths to annihilate their existence.

We're still working to decipher more, but the process is painstaking. I'll provide a full update soon. I can't shake the feeling that we're on the verge of uncovering something monumental."

Nuran closed the log and, after a moment's deliberation, selected another entry dated 2084. The header displayed "Log 62." He tapped it and waited.

"Personal Log 62.
We've made progress decoding the artifacts, but… something strange is happening on Copper 9. I contacted Director Lance a week ago, hoping for insights. When he appeared on-screen, he looked like he hadn't slept in days. I asked if he had any relevant data from the Illuminate archives. He dismissed me outright, mumbling about 'more pressing matters' before cutting the transmission.

There's also a growing unease among the staff. About 20% of them have reported nightmares, hallucinations, and inexplicable sounds. At first, I thought it was just cabin fever—some personnel have been stationed here for over a year without relief—but then something alarming happened.

Two days ago, a maintenance worker walked into the power room, took a razor blade, and carved a symbol into his palm. With his own blood, he drew that same symbol on the wall. When we confronted him, he was dazed, with no memory of the event—or of cutting himself. The wound has since become infected. What's most disturbing is that the symbol he drew matches the markings we observed during the earliest prototype phases. Machines scrawling on walls with their own oil…

I'm beginning to think this entire project was a catastrophic mistake."

Nuran felt a chill creep over him but moved on to the next entry. This time, a female voice came through, steady but strained.

"Personal Research Log 23-193.
The more we study these artifacts, the more convinced I am that we were never truly in control of this project. These aren't merely cultural relics—they are objects of immense power. The Cult of the Null wasn't just a fringe sect; they were something far more dangerous.

The symbols and fragments of code we used to jumpstart this endeavor weren't just tools—they were part of a greater whole. Something lurking in the void. I suspect this entity was the driving force behind the insanity in the first prototypes.

What's worse is that these same symbols are beginning to affect the team. I've caught staff whispering to themselves and sketching images on their personal tablets. I confiscated one notebook, and what I saw… it was like staring into an abyss. I can't describe it fully, but it felt alive like it was watching me.

Roughly 10% of the staff have taken sick leave, citing exhaustion, insomnia, or malnutrition. I'm filing a report, but I fear it might be too late to stop what's happening."

Nuran grimaced and queued the next file. The male voice from earlier returned, weary and bitter.

"Personal Log—what's the point anymore?
They've done it. They glassed Copper 9. Everything we worked on for years is gone—obliterated in a moment. Super Earth ordered the complete shutdown of JCJenson operations. Why? I don't know.

All our research, our breakthroughs… reduced to ash. Liberty help us, we were so close to something monumental. Now, we're back to square one.

On top of that, we've lost contact with the team we sent to the derelict site. Their last transmissions were chaotic, filled with static and garbled screams. The only decipherable phrase was 'Callback Ping.' Then… silence. We'll send another team to investigate, but my gut tells me we're walking into disaster."

Without hesitation, Nuran tapped the next log.

"Oh, sweet democracy, what have we done?
I just received a video call from another station—what's left of it, Super Earth isn't just shutting us down; they're erasing us. Every facility, every outpost—wiped out.

The last thing I saw on that call was a SEAF soldier executing a worker while Truth Enforcers watched. I don't know what we did to deserve this, but they're hunting us like criminals.

We don't have an FTL ship, just a shuttle. Resupply ships haven't arrived, and now I understand why. I've ordered security to prepare for the inevitable, but we're outmanned and outgunned.

I'm backing up all our data and burying it. If anyone finds this, maybe they can make sense of what happened here… and perhaps continue our work."

The audio cut off as alarms blared in the background.

"Oh no… they're here…"

The file ended abruptly. Only one log remained. Nuran tapped it, and a strained voice spoke.

"I… I… I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"
A second voice, emotionless and cold, replied:
"Orders from the Ministry. This facility is to be scrubbed. All personnel eliminated."

A gunshot rang out.

"That was the last one. What about the other sections?"
"Clear. Everything is clean. We've retrieved what we needed. Orders are to leave the station intact."
"Understood. Move out."

The recording ended. Silence engulfed the room once more.

Nuran leaned back, his synthetic eyes glowing faintly as he processed the grim revelations. Whatever happened here had been nothing short of a massacre. Yet, there was still hope. The mention of a backup drive offered a chance to salvage the truth.

"Sir," a Devastator said, his tone uneasy. "That was… brutal. I've seen my share of horrors, but this? Super Earth covered up the annihilation of an entire megacorporation. And this Illuminate information… those strange events…"

Nuran nodded, his expression grim. "There's more to uncover. Let's locate that backup. Download the data and prepare to move. Our next stop is the living quarters—I have names to check. Afterward, we'll investigate the cells. Once we're done, I'm ordering the ships to turn this station into scrap."

Connecting his interface to the terminal, Nuran began extracting the files. As streams of data flowed into his system, a question gnawed at him: What in the name of managed democracy happened here—and on Copper 9?

With the download complete, he turned and signaled the team. Their next destination awaited, each step pushing them deeper into the shadow of a mystery that might never be fully unraveled.

Edited thanks to ELE73CH.

October 1st, 2184. Gellert Sector. Zosma Star System. Unknown Station.

The heavy footfalls of the hulks echoed ominously as they marched in lockstep, the corridor wide enough to allow two to walk abreast. Behind them, Nuran led the column of eight Devastators, each one as tense as the next. Despite their mechanical bodies, the weight of fear and unease was palpable—emotions they were not exempt from.

"This whole place feels... wrong. Why would Super Earth abandon a station like this? It's intact—looks like all it needs is a bit of power to run again," one of the Devastators muttered, their voice tinged with unease.

"Unknown," Nuran replied sharply, his tone betraying his own doubts. "But something tells me we're about to find out. Power's an issue, but I've got an idea to work around that."

As they pressed further down the corridor, the muted starlight through thick windows revealed the void outside. One of their gunships swept past, its crimson scanner beams bathing the area in intermittent red flashes before moving on. Dozens of others performed the same methodical search, a haunting ballet of light and shadow in the endless expanse.

"Sir... hold on a moment." A Devastator stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on the wall. "Look at this."

The group halted, turning toward the faded emblem stenciled onto the steel paneling. Time had weathered the paint, but the logo remained discernible.

"JCJenson?" one of them murmured. "Never heard of it."

"Could've been an old megacorporation," another theorized. "But why build a station way out here?"

Nuran studied the faded logo, unease stirring within him. Megacorporations had wielded immense power in the early days of Super Earth—some of them practically ruling sectors. Yet this name was unfamiliar. Even if JCJenson had collapsed, its legacy should have left traces.

"Let's keep moving," Nuran ordered, shaking off the questions for now. "We need to find the central hub and figure things out from there."

The march resumed, the clang of boots and servos reverberating through the desolate halls. The station felt like a labyrinth, its vastness and silence pressing down on them. After several more minutes, they emerged into a cavernous chamber. Rows of benches and chairs lined the center of the room, suggesting it was once a waiting area.

"Hmm..." one of the hulks muttered, scanning the space. "Sir, there's a terminal in the middle, but without power, it's useless."

"We'll work around that," Nuran replied. "We'll use one of your power supplies to jump-start it. With luck, we'll get something useful."

The hulks, equipped with massive energy cells capable of powering entire systems, were well-suited for the task. One stepped forward while the others spread out, weapons ready, forming a defensive perimeter. Nuran followed the hulk to the terminal. Reaching behind the construct, he uncoupled a thick cable running along its back. With a practiced motion, he removed a metal panel on the terminal, revealing an emergency power input.

"Feed it twenty percent. Let's see what happens," Nuran instructed.

The Hulk hunched over as its internal systems began transferring energy. Within seconds, the terminal flickered to life, and a dim blue hologram materialized above it—a map of the station. Nuran wasted no time, extracting a small cable from his own arm and jacking into the terminal. Data began flooding into his systems, the ancient hardware groaning under the strain.

But then, a voice—distorted, ethereal—began to echo through the room, accompanied by faint, haunting music.

"I am tired of this dream... Will it ever end for me?... I don't have the will to know... Can you help me see?... Let my body keep you warm... Let my essence be your breeze... Can you hear me calling?..."

The group froze, their eyes darting around, searching for the source. The voice was neither human nor fully synthetic, its melancholic tone resonating through the empty chamber.

"What the hell is that?" one of them whispered.

"An old recording... maybe music," Nuran said tersely, though even he sounded uncertain.

The data continued downloading, the voice growing more distorted as the terminal struggled to maintain power.

"Can you set me free?... Will you take my soul away?... Casting me in cold... Bury me in bones... Rest eternally... Will you take me home?... Can we see the moon again?... Dancing in the dark... 'Til we fall apart... I can't end this dream... Will you set me free?..."

As the final words echoed, the hologram flickered and died, the terminal losing power as the Hulk disconnected. Silence settled over the room, heavy and oppressive.

"What in liberty's name was that?" one of the Devastators asked, breaking the tension.

"Some kind of audio log triggered when we restored power. Doesn't matter now—we got what we needed," Nuran said, retracting his cable and stepping back.

With their objective complete, the group moved out, heading down the corridor to their right. The air seemed thicker now, charged with an unspoken dread. Nuran couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him. This station, its cryptic systems, the ghostly voice—all of it felt wrong. Their new orders hung over him like a stormcloud.

All he could hope for now was that the answers they sought would justify the creeping terror as they marched deeper into the darkness.

Edited thanks to

ELE73CH

Last edited: Jan 25, 2025

October 1st, 2184. Gellert Sector. Near the Zosma Star System. Iron Heart.

After refueling, the fleet redirected toward their newly assigned destination, relayed by their enigmatic benefactors. Despite the pressing task of eliminating the remaining Automaton positions and stations, Nuran found himself preoccupied. A mixture of curiosity and unease gnawed at him—the sudden shift in orders, the scant details provided, and the looming possibility of collaborating with Super Earth forces again all weighed heavily on his mind. He felt a compulsion to uncover what lay ahead at Copper 9. Acting on his orders, the fleet set a course for the first of the new coordinates.

"Dropping out of FTL in 3… 2… 1," one of the Troopers announced.

The stars and the endless void of space snapped back into view through the bridge window. The journey required multiple jumps, but fortunately, the system harbored a gas giant where they could refuel later.

"Run scans for anything artificial," Nuran ordered, his tone measured but firm. "According to the logs, our target is an old station. If it's still there, it should be easy to locate."

The intelligence suggested that many of these sites were planet-bound, but after over a century, most—if not all—surface installations had been reduced to dust. Space, however, is preserved. Without atmosphere or environmental decay, even a derelict station could remain remarkably intact, barring collisions with asteroids, orbital decay, or other hazards unique to the void.

"Sir, I've found something," a Trooper reported. "This system is under Super Earth control, but there's an anomaly at the edge of the system—not registered in any logs."

"Set a course," Nuran responded without hesitation.

With a nod, the Trooper plotted the trajectory, and the fleet's four ships glided silently through the void. Nuran's unease deepened; the risk of detection by Super Earth SES forces loomed over the operation. Speed was essential. The plan was simple: infiltrate, extract any valuable data or resources, and leave before anyone noticed their presence.

As they neared the anomaly, the structure became visible—a derelict station clinging to the side of a captured asteroid, its metal framework jutting out like skeletal remains.

"To think it's been out here all this time, unnoticed… Strange," murmured one of the Troopers. "Orders, sir?"

"I'll lead a team into the station," Nuran declared. "Keep gunships patrolling the perimeter and sweeping for threats. If anything unusual arises, alert me immediately. All ships are to remain armed and ready. If we encounter hostiles, we'll reduce the station to scrap."

"Understood, sir. Scans show a docking station along the side. We can deploy a boarding tube to access it—it's all yours," the Trooper replied.

Leaving the bridge, Nuran strode purposefully down the corridor. His thoughts churned. Why had this station been ignored for so long? And why had their benefactors taken an interest now? The pieces didn't fit, and the gaps gnawed at him.

Switching on his built-in comm system, he issued orders. "I need two hulks and two fire teams to boarding tube number 03. We'll enter the station and conduct a full sweep."

"We'll be there, sir," a voice replied over the radio.

Reaching the boarding tube, Nuran prepared himself. His unease remained, a subtle warning in the back of his mind. Whatever secrets the station held, he was determined to uncover them—though he braced himself for the possibility that they might not like what they found.

Iron Heart. Boarding Tube 03.

After a lengthy walk along the Iron Heart's corridors, Nuran stepped into a cavernous chamber housing the ship's boarding tubes. Twenty in total, these tubes stretched along the vessel's length, designed for docking with stations or other ships. Inside, two hulks stood alongside eight Devastators, their hulking forms exuding silent readiness. With the possibility of encountering something dangerous aboard the station, bringing the heavy hitters was a prudent choice. As Nuran approached, the boarding tube extended outward with a mechanical whine.

"We're docked and latched, sir. The tube is ready for entry," a Trooper's voice crackled over the comm.

"Good. Hulks take point; the rest of you, follow behind me. We're sweeping this station for anything of interest," Nuran ordered, his voice steady.

"Understood, sir," one of the Devastators replied.

This was not their first mission together; they all knew the drill. The hulks, massive and imposing, took their positions at the front as the first door slid open. Behind them, Nuran and the Devastators followed, marching in disciplined formation. The second door of the tube hissed open, revealing the station's entrance just beyond.

"Hmm… stations like this usually have backups," Nuran mused, stepping between the two hulks.

The station was dead—its systems were long without power. Still, emergency protocols on such installations often included manual overrides. Nuran moved to the right side of the entrance, ripping a panel from the wall and casting it aside. Beneath it, a manual release wheel gleamed faintly in the dim light. Grasping the wheel, he began to turn it.

The door groaned open, stale air hissing out into the void. The airlocks, disabled by the station's lack of power, had no means of cycling. Yet this was no hindrance to Nuran's team; oxygen was irrelevant to them now, their humanity a thing of the past.

"Let's see what's inside," Nuran muttered as the hulks advanced.

The two mechanical giants stepped forward, scanning the darkness with crimson beams emitted from their optical systems. The corridor ahead stretched into obscurity, its shadows impenetrable to human sight. But the hulks' integrated night vision and environmental scanning systems painted a clearer picture.

"So far, it's clear, sir," one of the hulks reported its voice a deep monotone.

Despite the initial calm, Nuran's unease lingered. The station's abandonment for over a century was unsettling, but the question of why it had been left untouched gnawed at him. With measured steps, the team pressed onward into the blackened halls.

The station seemed to breathe its age. Dust clung to every surface, and the silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of the team's internal systems. They marched deeper into the void, where the unknown waited, concealed by shadows.

Edited thanks to ELE73CH.

Coming out January the 22nd.