Elum 3 was not a world. It was a graveyard from Adam’s viewpoint. He stared through the reinforced viewport, saying nothing as the landscape slowly resolved into clarity. A rust-colored sky hung low over the earth like a bleeding wound, casting a dull, sickly light over the terrain. Jagged formations of blackened stone jutted upward like broken teeth. Fires burned unchecked in the distance, their smoke curling into the atmosphere as if the planet itself was exhaling rot.
The terrain was cratered and churned, a ruin of shattered structures and old war machines half-buried in slag and ash. In the far distance, Adam could see something moving—a subtle distortion in the haze. Shapes, maybe. Crawling. Scuttling. Watching.
“Delphi,” he finally said. “What…what am I looking at?”
The AI responded without delay. “You are observing Sector C-9 of Elum 3’s surface. Once designated a high-yield resource zone. Now designated as a red zone. Hostile activity high. Atmospheric integrity: declining. Strategic viability: minimal.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Adam said, gesturing to the hellish landscape outside. “I mean, what happened here?”
Delphi’s voice remained even. “Elum 3 was colonized in 2201 by the Eurasian Federation. It was established as a resource-rich outpost supporting deep space expansion. Population peaked at 9.4 million and was considered a highly profitable enterprise.”
“when?” Adam questioned.
“In 2299,” Delphi continued, “experiments involving FTL corridor generation resulted in a localized rupture in subspace reality. A breach had formed.”
“A breach? What's that?”
“An opening. A dimensional wound, one could say. From it, entities emerged—unknown, hostile, non-terrestrial. These beings began to infest and corrupt the planetary surface. Elum 3 became a combat zone within three months. Global losses exceeded ninety percent in the first year.”
Adam was silent for a long moment. “And now?”
“Now it is called the War World. An ongoing campaign exists to reclaim strategic territories and seal active rift points. You are a designated Guardian assigned to Alpha Complex for stabilization and suppression duties in this sector.”
Delphi's words were clinical. Adam’s mind was anything but.
“Alpha Complex,” he echoed. “Is that where I am now?”
“Correct. Alpha Complex is a forward operations base. Primary functions include mining, drone maintenance, tactical staging, and Guardian onboarding.”
Adam exhaled instinctively. There was no breath. “So this is home now?”
“For the next year,” Delphi replied. “Would you like a tour?”
***
The outpost was grimly efficient all things considered. Adam followed Delphi’s guidance through corridors lined with blinking consoles and humming walls. He “blinked,” the word he came up with to describe the sensation of switching perspectives, from camera to camera as he was shown the entirety of Alpha Complex.
His first stop was a corridor beneath the central structure, narrow and humming with unseen power. Data lines pulsed along the ceiling like veins, and the walls were lined with flickering diagnostics and status screens. Along the sides of the corridor marched dozens of machines of various makes and models as they went to their designated areas.
As far back as he could remember, robots had always interested him. He’d spent hours as a kid taking apart toys just to see how they worked. If he hadn’t enlisted straight out of high school, he probably would’ve gone into mechanical engineering. The logic of it all had always made sense to him—parts, joints, circuits, movement. It was clean. Understandable.
He looked towards the blinking machines and lines that ran through the floor. “So what's this?”
“This area handles data routing and system integrity management,” Delphi explained. “Primary command relays, backup storage, localized neural net nodes, and environmental regulation. All systems converge here before branching to their respective control clusters.”
Adam hovered for a few moments, watching the diagnostic feeds scroll by on the wall displays—thousands of parameters updating in real time: temperature fluctuations, drone telemetry, security pings, external sensor sweeps, even atmospheric readings outside the base. They appeared as lines drifting through the air and had he had hands, he most likely would have tried to wave a hand through them.
“So this runs everything huh?” he asked.
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“At the local level,” Delphi confirmed. “Alpha Complex maintains semi-autonomous function in the event of wider network loss. You may access or override any non-restricted protocols from the Command Nexus once authority is granted.”
Adam watched a trio of smaller maintenance bots glide under the server racks, performing routine checks without pause.
“Do I have access to everything now?”
“Not yet. You are still in onboarding status. Full command functions will be unlocked upon completion of combat calibration.”
Figures.
He blinked again.
***
When he opened his eyes he found himself hovering over a much larger space—high-ceilinged and loud with motion. Giant cranes moved along overhead tracks, and rows of robotic arms worked in synchronized precision across several assembly platforms. Conveyor belts rattled as they carried parts through automated workstations—armor plating, limbs, servo assemblies, weapon mounts. Everything moved without hesitation.
Even he knew what he was looking at as Delphi began to explain the functions of a factory.
“This facility handles the fabrication and repair of all autonomous units assigned to Alpha Complex,” Delphi said. “hoplite-class frames and drones, Sentinel turrets, Recon platforms, and engineering auxiliaries. Ammunition and power cores are also manufactured here, along with limited vehicular support modules.”
Adam scanned the production floor.
He watched as a hoplite drone was pieced together—its skeletal frame lowered onto the platform by a ceiling-mounted rig, where it was fitted with armor plating and actuators. Robotic welders sparked to life, fusing panels and bracing joints. No humans in sight. No oversight. Just pure process.
“How often are these units built?” he asked.
“Production operates on a demand-based cycle. Combat losses, system degradation, and command deployment determine output volume.”
“And they’re all controlled from here?”
“No,” Delphi said. “They are fabricated here. Once complete, they are integrated into your command net.”
“So I’ll be the one giving them orders.”
“Correct.”
Adam watched the hoplite’s optical sensors light up faintly as its core engaged. It sat up slowly, then remained still, awaiting instructions.
For a moment, he didn’t move on. There was something strange about watching a machine built from nothing—step by step, part by part—only to sit there, motionless, until it was told what to do. He wondered if that's how he would be.
He blinked again.
***
Now he was hovering above a wide yard segmented into neat, orderly lanes of cargo containers. Stacks of dull gray and hazard-yellow crates were arranged with military precision. Automated lifters rolled along clearly marked paths, shifting supply boxes into storage bays or hauling gear into armored trucks parked at the far edge.
“This is the Depot,” Delphi said. “It serves as Alpha Complex’s primary logistical hub. Ammunition, fuel cells, modular armor, spare components, and defensive payloads are routed through this location.”
Adam watched as a tracked supply drone pulled a crate from a locked rack, turned, and deposited it at a loading station. The crate hissed open, revealing rows of what he could have sworn were AK-47s. “Damn,” he thought as another drone arrived seconds later and took them away without stopping. “Didn’t think they would still be using them this far into the future.”
“Who gets these?” Adam asked as he realized just how many crates there were in the depot.
“Distribution is managed by operational demand. Supplies are routed to deployment platforms, repair bays, or restocked into tactical lockers. In emergency scenarios, remote drop deployment is authorized.”
“Is any of it ever sent beyond the base?”
“No. All resources are allocated for Alpha Complex defense and Guardian operations. There are no longer any resupply missions outside perimeter zones.”
Adam didn’t reply as he looked at some of the crates. They looked extremely old—scratched, dented, with faded markings he didn’t quite recognize. Most of the paint was worn off, and a few had been patched over with newer codes or sealed shut with heavy clamps. Others were recent—clean, sharp labels, some still bearing adhesive warning seals that hadn’t even been peeled off yet. A long, ragged gash ran across the side along one of the containers, as if something had clawed through the alloy plating.
“What caused that?” he asked.
Delphi didn’t respond.
He waited.
Still nothing.
“Uh, Delphi?”
A second passed.
Then another.
Finally, her voice returned. “Please redirect your focus to the front gate. You are scheduled for combat calibration. Proceed to the training yard.”
Adam narrowed his focus on the crate for a moment longer. Whatever had done that wasn’t small, and it definitely wasn’t subtle.
Without saying anything further, he blinked into the next feed, though he did it uneasily.
***
The Training Yard wasn’t much to look at—just a concrete pit surrounded by high, reinforced walls. Scorch marks and gouges covered nearly every surface, blackened by weapons fire or who knew what else. Automated turrets were mounted in each corner, dormant for now, their barrels locked in place. The air hung still and sterile, but something about the space felt… wrong. Not in a mystical or ominous way—just used. Overused. Like too many things had died here, and the floor hadn’t forgotten.
Adam hovered in the overhead feed, watching from the camera’s perspective. The emptiness made the place seem bigger than it was. Cold, quiet, uninviting. He didn’t know what he expected from a “calibration zone,” but it wasn’t this. This looked like a place built for execution, not training.
Movement caught his attention—twelve Hoplite units marched in through a rear access door, each one taking position with mechanical precision. They were identical, lined up like mannequins in armor. Weapons folded in. Faces blank. Waiting.
“Guardian 07,” Delphi said. “You are to assume control of one Hoplite unit for live combat calibration.”
Adam hesitated. “You want me to… take over one of those?”
“Correct. Direct neural synchronization is authorized. Select any unit and initiate interface when ready.”
He hovered a second longer, then selected the nearest one and shifted into it.
The change hit fast—sudden presence, weight, sensors activating, pressure feedback in the limbs. He flexed the unit’s hands, and metal fingers curled in perfect response. Movement was immediate, but unlike last time, it was far more manageable.
“I’m in,” he said. “What now?”
Delphi didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, a deep mechanical groan rolled across the yard.
The front gate—the large one he’d seen earlier but hadn’t thought much of—began to open slowly. Dust hissed in through the widening crack as the metal shrieked into the open air. The light beyond the gate was low and distorted, filtered through thick haze and ash.
Adam instinctively raised the Hoplite’s weapon, a very bulky rifle, as he scanned the gap. There was nothing visible, at least not yet.
“So Delphi, what exactly…am…I...” Adam began before the words died in his mouth. Something moved just beyond the gate—slow and hunched over. A hand—thin, gray, skeletal, with claws like rusted blades—reached out across the ground, dragging its body from behind the gate'
Delphi’s voice returned as it echoed around the area.
“Live engagement begins now.”
