It appears I forgot to upload this chapter on WN yesterday...
The House of the Reaper has opened its arms to welcome:
Novices Anthony Bua, Empi3, xNight_OwLx, Jammmin S, Chippopo, and Isaiah.
Operatives Nicholas Giancola and rainingspark1.
Their contributions and dedication to our cause will be honored through the Net and through the Stars.
---
Mark blinked, his enhanced pupils adjusting to the harsh blue light of the digital text only he could see floating in his cornea. He instantly noticed that instead of the dull blue it had once been, its color had become sharper and more vibrant. The glitching name of the system teased him, the corrupted letters clearly spelling out a title that carried a suffocating amount of pressure.
Shepherd of Humanity
But he barely had time to process that before a second prompt immediately pushed the first aside.
This Quest has an Additional Reward:
A true leader cannot forge an empire with bare hands alone. Ideals are carried by words, but order is enforced by steel. No one can be a leader, let alone an emperor, without the manpower to do so.
Reward Granted: 7 Elite Guards (Absolute Loyalty)
Reward Granted: 70 Peacekeeper Infantry (Shifting Loyalty)
Mark sucked in a quiet breath, his chest expanding as he read the text over and over again to ensure he wasn't hallucinating from the sheer stress of the atmospheric drop.
He stared at the blue box, his brain struggling to process the absolute absurdity of what he was reading. For years, the system had been practically dead. Outside of the very first day he had arrived in this universe, when it had granted him a basic "Welcome Package" that only held a month's worth of MREs, the uniform in a form of a pendant, the ability to use his spatial inventory, a rifle he still kept safely stored away, a pistol he had lost three years ago when he fell over a kilometer from the edge of a cliff, and sending a notification of a completed hidden quest here and there, it had never rewarded him with a single other thing.
And now, standing in the dirt of a newly discovered alien world... it was handing him a small standing army.
Seventy-seven fully armed and fully equipped soldiers that were capable of being pulled right out of thin air. However, the text explicitly noted that the seventy infantrymen possessed 'Shifting Loyalty,' meaning they were essentially regular human beings. Their dedication would fluctuate depending on how Mark treated them, the decisions he made, and the conditions of the camp. They were men and women who could bleed, doubt, and desert if pushed too far.
But the seven Elite Guards held absolute loyalty to him. The system had just handed him a squad of super soldiers, individuals likely operating on a physiological level akin to the legendary heroes of old comic books, men and women built like Captain America who would follow his orders without much hesitation.
Mark quickly dismissed the notification. He couldn't just summon seventy-seven heavily armed combatants right here in the middle of a terrified, weeping crowd. The Horizon had just been atomized against a mountain peak. The people were raw, traumatized, and deeply on edge. If an army materialized out of thin air in the purple grass, the surviving mercenaries would instantly panic, and chaos would ensue. He needed a cover story and a distraction.
Mark reached down to his pocket and pulled out his G-comm device. He tapped the side of his earpiece. "Marcos. Patch me through to the remaining six ships. I want an audio link with all surviving captains immediately."
"Routing the connection now, Mark," Marcos replied in his ear.
A moment later, the G-comm chimed, and the localized channel opened. The audio was thick with the harsh breathing of terrified bridge crews and the mechanical groaning of cooling thrusters.
"How's everyone holding up?" Mark asked, his voice an immovable pillar of authority that cut through the panic on the comms.
"This is the Ironclad," the Vanguard captain responded, coughing slightly. "Our ship held, and although the civilians are shaken, we are safe."
"This is the Aegis Prime," the bearded civilian captain said, his voice trembling violently. "We... we made it. But the Horizon... my god, Mr. Shephard. They just..."
"Yeah, I saw," Mark interrupted, deliberately keeping his tone devoid of panic to prevent a spiral. He looked out across the ten-kilometer clearing. The chaotic landing had resulted in a uniquely structured perimeter. The three surviving freighters had overshot the center of the clearing, slamming into the dirt far ahead of the Shepherd. Meanwhile, the three Vanguard frigates had flared their reverse thrusters early, landing in the grass behind him. Together, the massive, smoking vessels formed a near-perfect six-point star formation, with the Shepherd resting directly in the dead center.
"Listen to me," Mark said into the comms. "You all did exactly what you had to do. You brought the fleet down. Now, establish your perimeters. We are designating the Shepherd as the central staging area. I want the people in your ships to begin making the trek to our position. It should take them thirty minutes to an hour to cross the clearing on foot. With the supplies we have in the Shepherd's hold, we are going to begin construction of a centralized base camp immediately."
A heavy silence fell over the comms.
"Mr. Shephard," the captain of the Stellar Dawn finally spoke up, her voice thick with disbelief and rising anger. "Are we... are we not going to organize a rescue detail for the Horizon? We can't just start building tents. There are five of our people up on that mountain."
"What rescue?" Mark asked bluntly, the cold pragmatism of the frontier hardening his words.
A shocked murmur broke out amongst the freighter captains over the radio. Mark could hear their outrage bubbling up. They had just risked everything, ridden massive bricks of steel through an inferno to bring the colony's supplies to the dirt, and they felt like Mark was casually dismissing the lives of their colleagues.
"Mr. Shephard, that is completely unacceptable-" the captain of the Iron Will started.
"I said, what rescue?" Mark repeated, his voice dropping an octave, and instantly silenced the call. "You all saw that impact. At the velocity that the Horizon was traveling, and judging by the sheer, pulverized debris field currently scattered across the northern foothills of our landing zone, the chances of there being any survivors are minimal to absolutely none. The only thing left of that ship is raw, shredded metal that can eventually be fed into the nanoprinters to help us build."
"You don't care at all, do you?" the Stellar Dawn pilot whispered.
"I care that the rest of you are still breathing," Mark stated firmly, softening his tone just a fraction to walk them back from the edge. "I am not dismissing their sacrifice. I thank every single one of you for the risk you took today. Because of you, we have a chance to survive. But look up. We have three suns, and we have no idea how long a standard day-night cycle is on this planet. We are burning daylight on an uncharted, alien world whose wildlife and predator ecosystems we still do not know. If we send hundreds of exhausted civilians marching into the foothills to sift through smoking rubble for ghosts, people could get picked off in the dark. I say we first establish the camp. After all, the security of those still alive is paramount to searching for those who are most likely gone."
The brutal logic of his argument slowly set in. The murmurs died down. As much as it hurt to abandon the crash site, they knew he was right. They were sitting ducks in the open grass.
"Understood, Mr. Shephard," the captain of the Aegis Prime conceded heavily. "We will begin the march to the Shepherd. But we have no security detail. The mercenaries are all with you."
"I have it covered," Mark lied smoothly. "I have a contingent of crew members currently cryo-frozen in the advanced medical bays of my ship. Some of them are former Special Operations, like I was. The rest are highly trained infantry who volunteered to join me because they wanted a chance to fight for something they truly believed in, rather than dying as corporate lapdogs for the IUC."
The awkward silence on the comms returned, this time thick with apprehension. The civilian captains were suddenly very off-put. They were refugees and industrial workers. Finding out that their new leader had a private army of hyper-lethal spec-ops soldiers sleeping in cryo-tubes aboard his personal frigate sounded terrifyingly close to a warlord's setup.
"They aren't psychos," Mark assured them, easily reading the room. "They are just men and women wanting to fight, defend, and keep order for the right cause. They are here to protect you. I am going to go wake them up now, and once they are thawed and armed, I will take a small detachment to help me personally search the Horizon crash site for any miraculous survivors, while the rest establish a perimeter around the camp."
The captains seemed slightly more assured by the fact that Mark was still willing to search the wreckage himself, though the doubt still lingered in their voices.
"We will begin the march, Mr. Shephard," the Ironclad captain confirmed. "See you at the center."
Mark ended the call, clipping the G-comm back in his pockets. He looked down at Lyra, who was staring up at him, her small face deeply worried by the explosion and the tension of the conversation she had just overheard.
Mark knelt down, his massive frame dwarfing the little girl. He offered her a warm, gentle smile, entirely contradictory to the cold, pragmatic coordinator he had just been on the radio.
"Hey, bug," Mark said softly. "Do you want to see your Papa do something cool?"
The worried frown instantly vanished from Lyra's face. Her eyes lit up, and a tight, excited little smile spread across her cheeks. She nodded vigorously. "Yes!"
Mark chuckled, scooping her up into his left arm. He turned to face Sister Elara and Commander Juan, who were currently busy directing the flow of civilians away from the Shepherd's cargo ramp.
"Sister Elara, Juan," Mark called out, his voice easily carrying over the murmuring crowd. "You two are in charge for the time being. Start organizing the supplies that spilled out of the hold. I'm going back inside to wake up the remaining passengers."
Juan frowned, pausing his logistical directions. "Remaining passengers? Mark, the Shepherd is completely empty. We evacuated everyone."
"Not everyone," Mark said cryptically, flashing the mercenary commander a knowing look. "You'll see."
Before Juan could ask another question, Mark turned toward the suspended cargo ramp. The heavy metal lip hung a sheer ten feet above the torn-up alien dirt. For a normal man carrying a child, it would be an impossible climb.
But Mark wasn't a normal man. Standing at seven feet tall, with a massive, naturally wide wingspan, he didn't even need a running start.
With Lyra held securely in his left arm, Mark simply stepped up to the edge, reached high above his head with his right hand, and gripped the thick steel lip of the ramp. His enhanced biceps and lats flared, and with absolute ease, he pulled his three-hundred-and-twenty-pound frame, plus the weight of his clothes and Lyra, straight up into the air in a single, fluid motion. He swung his boots onto the ramp and stood up, not even breathing hard.
Lyra giggled, burying her face in his shoulder.
Mark turned and walked back into the cavernous, shadowy interior of the Shepherd.
Because the ship was resting heavily on its crumpled port side, the deck plating was pitched at a treacherous angle. Mark navigated the maze of shifted cargo crates, maintaining perfect balance despite the incline, his heavy boots locking and unlocking magnetically with every step.
He moved through the empty, silent corridors of the lower decks, eventually reaching the massive, open expanse that connected the advanced medical bay to the faux-greenery atrium. Designed to comfortably accommodate the crew's recreation and medical needs, the area was quite spacious. With the civilians having evacuated outside, the cavernous, beautifully lit room was completely empty and silent, save for the hum of the ship's idling life support and reactor.
Mark carefully placed Lyra down on the inclined floor, keeping a hand on her shoulder to make sure she didn't slide.
"Okay, Lyra," Mark said, crouching down to her eye level. He looked into her bright, trusting eyes. She had quickly become more prized to him than any material possession, any ship, or any weapon in his arsenal. He didn't want to hide something this monumental from her. He wanted her to understand the reality of their new world. "Can you keep a very big secret for me?"
Lyra nodded seriously, clutching her stuffed animal tight to her chest. "I can keep a secret, Papa."
"Good," Mark whispered.
He stood up and mentally assessed his inventory, where his rewards had been sent. He targeted the first reward tier and summoned the 7 Elite Guards.
The air in the spacious atrium instantly crackled with a sharp, heavy dose of static electricity. The temperature dropped a few degrees. Suddenly, brilliant flashes of dense, blue-white digital light began to weave together in the empty space in front of the medbay doors. Millions of microscopic, glowing nanites swirled in a mesmerizing, physics-defying vortex, rapidly compiling flesh, bone, and heavy armor out of thin air.
Within seconds, the light solidified, fading away to reveal seven towering figures standing in the atrium.
They were massive. Not quite as tall as Mark's staggering seven-foot frame, but they all stood comfortably over six-foot-six, possessing broad and immensely powerful physiques. They were clad in thick, hyper-advanced combat armor that looked like a terrifying evolution of medieval plating crossed with deep-space tactical gear. The armor was composed of interlocking, heavy composite plates painted in a matte, non-reflective black, accented with deep, gunmetal grey. The plating was angular and brutally functional, offering maximum protection to vital organs without sacrificing mobility, closely resembling the mythical Spartan armor of ancient Earth video games. Faint, glowing blue nodes dotted their pauldrons, indicating the presence of active, personal energy shielding.
Their heavy helmets completely obscured their faces behind opaque, gold-tinted visors.
They were armed to the teeth. Every single one of them had a heavy, large-caliber sidearm magnetically holstered to their right thigh, loaded with specialized armor-piercing ammunition. But their primary weapons varied wildly, showcasing their specific fields of expertise. One carried a massive, shoulder-mounted Recoil-less Rifle. Another gripped a sleek, humming K-272 Energy Rifle. A third held a terrifyingly long Anti-Materiel Sniper Rifle, while a fourth wielded a heavy, blocky Railgun. The rest carried the formidable AK-947-AWS, the Advanced Weapon System variant of the legendary assault rifle. Ten heavy magazines were strapped across their respective chest rigs.
The moment they fully materialized, a soft, mechanical hum echoed in the room. The nanotechnology inherent in their helmets activated. The heavy metal instantly dissolved, pulling back and flowing smoothly down into the thick collars of their armor like liquid mercury, revealing their faces.
There were four men and three women. Their faces were hardened, sharply contoured, and completely devoid of fear. They bore the scars of veterans, their eyes carrying the cold, calculating weight of true super soldiers who had seen countless battles.
In perfect, terrifying unison, all seven Elite Guards dropped to one knee, bowing their heads toward Mark.
"My name is Valerius," the man wielding the K-272 Energy Rifle stated, his voice a deep, resonant baritone.
"I am Cassius," the sniper added softly, his eyes blue as the sky.
"I'm Octavia," the woman carrying the massive Railgun announced, her tone sharp and precise.
"You may call me Lucius," the CQB specialist said.
"I am called Aurelia," the woman with the AK-947-AWS stated firmly.
"Titus," the heavy weapons specialist carrying the Recoil-less Rifle growled.
"I am Severus, my lord," the final man finished.
Together, their voices echoed through the tilted atrium. "We swear our absolute loyalty to you, Commander. Our lives are the shield wall upon which your enemies will break."
Lyra stood beside Mark, her jaw completely unhinged. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she stared at the kneeling giants. She forgot all about the crash and the fear, completely captivated by the impossibly cool warriors who had just appeared from nowhere.
Mark looked down at the kneeling soldiers, his eyes tracing the angular, brutally functional plates of their armor. A sudden wave of nostalgia hit him. In his previous life on Earth, before he had been dropped into this universe, he had been an avid gamer. How had he never thought to use this design before? It was the absolute perfect blend of mobility and heavy kinetic defense.
With a mere thought, Mark mentally commanded the pendant, and immediately, the clothing he currently wore began to hum. To the silent awe of the kneeling Elite Guards, Mark's clothing liquefied, the material rapidly shifting and folding over his massive frame, the nanites seamlessly reconfiguring themselves to perfectly replicate the Spartan-like design of his new super soldiers. However, instead of their matte black and gunmetal grey, his newly forged armor retained its original, signature color palette: a deep, void-like black intersected by aggressive, blood-red accents. He looked like an apex warlord.
"Stand up," Mark ordered, his voice carrying the calm, absolute authority they were programmed to obey.
The seven Elite Guards rose in perfect synchronization, their heavy armor grinding softly.
"You will stand beside me, not beneath me," Mark told them, meeting each of their gazes. "You are my personal guard, my elite commanders, but you are not mere subordinates. You are the foundation of what we are building here."
"Understood, sir," Valerius replied, stepping back slightly to give Mark his space.
Lyra couldn't contain herself anymore. She bounced on the toes of her boots, pointing a small finger at Aurelia's heavy armor. "Papa! Are they... are they like Uncle Miller?"
Mark couldn't help but chuckle at the reference. Sergeant Miller, the hardened IUC soldier who had been assigned to escort them after the bloody courthouse incident back on Mechanicus, had left a massive impression on the little girl. To Lyra, anyone in heavy armor was instantly categorized under 'Uncle Miller'.
"Yeah, bug," Mark said, placing a hand on her head. "They are exactly like Uncle Miller. Only a lot stronger."
"Whoa," Lyra breathed, her energy spiking. She practically vibrated with excitement, wanting to touch the glowing blue shield nodes on Titus's armor. "Even the girls?"
"Yes, even the girls," Mark smiled, gently pulling her hand back. "Now calm down, kiddo, because there's more."
Lyra gasped, her eyes going impossibly bright. "More?"
Mark nodded. He turned his gaze toward the wide expanse of the atrium, ensuring there was enough physical space. He accessed the inventory for the second time and summoned the 70 Peacekeeper infantrymen.
This time, the materialization process was a massive, blinding wave of digital energy. The air pressure in the room physically spiked, popping Mark's ears as a massive vortex of blue light swept across the faux-greenery and the medbay junction.
When the light faded, the spacious area was entirely packed.
Seventy soldiers stood in perfect, rigid formation. They didn't kneel, and they didn't bow. The moment they fully materialized, seventy right hands snapped up in a sharp, unified motion, the hands balled into tight fists that slammed against their chests, resting directly over their left shoulders. Simultaneously, their left arms snapped behind their lower backs, locked at a sharp ninety-degree angle at the elbow.
It was a completely unique, incredibly crisp military salute that Mark had never seen in any corporate or IUC manual. This simple action cemented the idea in Mark's mind that this should be the official salute of the IRS.
They were organized into five distinct squads of fourteen soldiers. Standing at the head of each squad was a captain, their rank denoted by a subtle silver stripe on their helmets. There were men and women alike, their faces hidden behind advanced tactical visors.
While they weren't wearing the impossibly thick, physics-defying Spartan-like armor of the Elite Guards, they were still incredibly well-armed and armored. They wore heavy, durable plate carriers over deep burgundy red and black combat uniforms that perfectly mirrored the colors of the alien forests outside. On their left shoulders, a pristine, embroidered patch was proudly displayed. It was a black background featuring three overlapping red suns, accurately mimicking the orbital path of the trinary system they now called home.
Every single one of them was holding an AK-947-ASR, All-Situation-Rifle, gripped firmly across their chests. Eight long magazines, each carrying sixty rounds of armor-piercing ammunition, were neatly organized across their tactical webbing.
They looked like a professional and highly disciplined army.
Mark stepped forward, his massive frame radiating command as he addressed the seventy peacekeepers.
"Listen to me," Mark's voice boomed across the atrium, commanding the absolute attention of every soldier present. "You are not a conquering force. You are not mercenaries fighting for profit. You are among the first armed forces of the Trisolis Rubrae System, the Peacekeepers of the home of the future Imperium Rubrarum Solium. Your absolute purpose is to help the people outside these doors, to keep the peace, to ensure their safety from whatever horrors we may encounter, whether they be alien or otherwise, and to firmly enforce order in a world that has yet to have any laws."
Mark's gaze hardened, the apex predator bleeding into his tone. "You will protect the weak and defend the camp. Disobey me, or turn your guns on the innocent, and you will answer to my Elite Guards."
"Sir, yes, sir!" the chorus of seventy voices roared.
"Well, look at that," Marcos's voice suddenly echoed from the atrium's localized PA system, laced with his signature synthetic smirk. "Here you go, pulling an entire standing army out of your prison pocket again."
Lyra tilted her head, her brow furrowing in adorable confusion as she looked up at the ceiling speakers. "Papa, what's a prison pocket?"
Mark shot a withering glare at the nearest camera, sighing heavily. "Ignore Marcos, bug."
"Okay," Lyra nodded innocently before emotion won her over, and she was once again absolutely over the moon, grabbing Mark's armor and tugging on it excitedly. "Papa! You are so cool! You can make people appear from nowhere! It's like magic!"
Mark knelt down quickly, tapping her nose and giving her a pointed, knowing look. "Hey, what did we talk about, bug? To everyone else, they were just sleeping in the medbay. Understand?"
Lyra giggled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She put a small finger to her lips, doing a dramatic, extremely cute shush sign. "It's our secret, Papa."
Mark smiled at her antics, the heavy weight of leadership momentarily fading. He stood up and looked at Valerius. "Get them in line. We're moving out."
"All of you! Fall in!" Valerius barked.
The seventy peacekeepers seamlessly broke their salute, shouldering their rifles and forming a perfect, double-file marching column behind the seven Elite Guards.
Mark led the way. With Lyra walking proudly beside him, completely unafraid of the towering super soldiers at her back, they navigated the tilted maze of the cargo hold.
When Mark finally appeared at the edge of the ten-foot cargo ramp, followed immediately by the towering, terrifying Elite Guards and a seemingly endless column of seventy heavily armed, uniformly dressed infantrymen, the clearing went dead silent.
The commotion was instantaneous. The civilians gasped, backing away from the ramp in awe and slight fear. Juan and the surviving Vanguard mercenaries instantly tensed. Muscle memory kicked in as their hands instinctively dropped to their hips, grasping at thin air where their holstered weapons would be had they had the chance to look for them rather than pray for survival when their ship was sheared in half. Even unarmed, they were informal soldiers, and the sudden appearance of a perfectly equipped, unknown military force triggered every combat reflex they had.
Mark jumped down from the ramp with Lyra in his arms, landing with a heavy thud, and immediately raised his free hand to quell the rising tension.
"Stand down!" Mark ordered, his voice echoing across the clearing. He looked directly at Juan and the defensive mercenaries. "These are my people. They are the crew I had in cryo-stasis. They are former special operations and volunteer infantry. They were meant to be peacekeepers and ensure everything ran smoothly while getting a new life on Aurelius. But now they are the Trisolis Peacekeepers, and they are here to ensure that nobody in this camp dies in their sleep from some unknown alien lifeform."
The civilians visibly relaxed, a wave of profound relief washing over them. Having a protective, highly disciplined armed force standing between them and the alien tree line made the terrifying world suddenly feel a lot safer. The Vanguard mercenaries, however, remained deeply on edge. They recognized how the Elite Guards moved with the fluid, terrifying grace of apex killers. Armed or not, the mercenaries knew they were hopelessly outmatched.
Mark ignored the tension and walked over to Sister Elara, who was staring wide-eyed at the burgundy-clad soldiers gracefully dropping from the high ramp without a single sprained ankle. He set Lyra down in front of her.
"Elara," Mark said softly, placing his hand gently on Lyra's back. "I need to leave Lyra with you for a few hours. You know how curious she and children her age are. Ensure she doesn't wander off."
Sister Elara blinked, tearing her eyes away from the massive railgun strapped to Octavia's back. She looked down at Lyra and nodded, her instincts instantly overriding her shock. "Of course, Mark. She'll be safe with me."
"Thank you," Mark said. He crouched down, tapping Lyra's nose. "Be good for Elara, bug. I have to go to work."
"I will, Papa," Lyra promised, clutching her plushy.
Mark stood up. The warmth vanished from his eyes, and Mark felt himself slipping into the IUC Captain he had once been. He turned to the seven towering super soldiers standing at the base of the ramp.
"Valerius, Octavia, Titus," Mark ordered, pointing to the Elite Guard commander, the railgun specialist, and the heavy weapons expert. "You are with me. The rest of you, organize the peacekeepers and establish a three-hundred-meter perimeter around this clearing. Make sure that nobody wanders too far off the camp."
"Yes, Sir," the Elite Guards replied in unison.
Without another word, Mark turned and began walking toward the front right side of the Shepherd, moving away from the crowded cargo ramp and into the quieter, unoccupied section of the crash site. The three towering super soldiers fell into perfect, silent step behind him, their heavy boots crushing the purple grass.
"Kenji," Mark called out over his shoulder, stopping near the crumpled, torn-up metal of the Shepherd's starboard bow, completely out of sight from the bustling crowd.
Kenjiro paused his frantic pacing, handed a logistical datapad to Juan, and jogged over through the thick grass. As he approached, Valerius, Octavia, and Titus seamlessly shifted, forming a massive, heavily armored wall that entirely blocked the two men from the rest of the camp's view.
"What's up, Mark?" Kenjiro asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were wide and running on pure adrenaline.
Mark looked down at the shorter man. Over the course of the last several months, nearly a year now, they had been through hell and back together. Mark had given the brilliant engineer the absolute freedom to experiment, create, and push the boundaries of science without the suffocating red tape of corporate oversight. In return, Kenjiro had become fiercely, undeniably loyal to him.
"We've gone through a lot of shit together," Mark said, his voice dropping to a low, serious rumble. "And I need to know I can trust you with something deep. Something that changes everything."
Kenjiro stopped wiping the dirt from his jacket, sensing the profound gravity in Mark's tone. He looked up, his expression hardening with absolute certainty. "You gave me a lab, a home, welcomed me into your little family, and gave me a reason to actually use my brain instead of learning how to remake the same shit with barely any improvement for profit. You can trust me with anything, Mark. You know that."
"Very well," Mark nodded.
He mentally opened his inventory.
The air in front of them warped with a sudden, violent distortion of light and gravity. With a heavy series of metallic thuds that shook the dirt, the three smaller 3x3-meter nanoprinters Mark had stored suddenly materialized directly out of thin air. A split second later, the air rippled again, and a swarm of one hundred drones, the ones Mark had stowed away after repairing the fleet in the dark, appeared, neatly stacked in dormant rows.
Instantly, the drones' optical sensors flared from dull grey to a bright, synthesized blue as Marcos seamlessly established remote control over the swarm, the machines lifting off the ground with a synchronized, mechanical hum.
Kenjiro froze.
He did a violent double-take, his mouth falling open. He slowly reached up, took his glasses off, and aggressively rubbed his eyes. He put the glasses back on. The massive, impossible machinery was still sitting there in the grass.
"I am entrusting you with a very deep secret of mine, Kenjiro," Mark said quietly, watching the engineer's mind absolutely short-circuit. "I have access to a pocket dimension."
"That's... that's scientifically impossible," Kenjiro stammered, taking a stumbling step toward the nanoprinters, his hands hovering over the metal without touching it. "The energy required to theoretically fold localized spacetime into a stable, accessible storage pocket without causing a catastrophic gravitational singularity would require the output of a star! The spatial compression alone would violate the laws of thermodynamics, not to mention the mass-displacement..."
Kenjiro was rapidly spiraling into a frantic, hyperventilating tangent of absolute scientific denial.
Mark stepped forward and softly placed his heavy hand on the shorter man's shoulder, instantly anchoring him.
"Kenji. Breathe," Mark said gently.
The engineer stopped rambling, looking up at him with wide, terrified, awestruck eyes.
"Over the time we've known each other, I've come to see you as more than just a friend," Mark told him, his voice thick with genuine emotion. "You're like a little brother to me."
A bitter, deeply hurt smile touched the corners of Mark's mouth. "I am entrusting you with information that absolutely no one outside of my Elite Guards knows. So, please, don't betray the trust I've just given you."
The frantic panic in Kenjiro's eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a profound, grounding realization of exactly how much weight Mark had just placed on his shoulders. He looked at the bitter smile on Mark's face, looked at the towering super soldiers guarding their perimeter, and finally looked at the impossible machinery floating in the grass.
Kenjiro took a slow, deep breath. A genuine smile spread across his face as the sheer, chaotic potential of their new reality set in.
"Just how many things are you carrying in there, Mark?" Kenjiro asked, adjusting his glasses.
Mark's bitter smile shifted into a familiar smirk. "A fuckton of shit."
---
As you all know, the dreaded Patreon exists for those of you who want to read 30+ chapters ahead:
https://www.patreon.com/Crimson_Reapr
Join us on Discord where you can discuss my work, meme about, fuck around, just don't be an idiot. This link is permanent:
https://discord.gg/qzAgV2vahM
Crimson_Reapr is the name, and writing Sci-fi is the way.