It started in shadows.
Encrypted channels, anonymous transfers, the quiet click of safes in Beijing and Moscow. Russia and China had grown desperate. The space elevator, Mechanicus Technologies' crown jewel, represented not just wealth but supremacy control of orbital access, of resources, of the future itself.
They had tried diplomacy, strong-arming at the world summit. Failed.They had tried partnerships, hollow words wrapped in smiles. Failed.So they tried theft.
The infiltration attempt came in the dead of night. A Russian team embedded in Singapore, Chinese assets in Jakarta agents converging on the deep-sea command relay that monitored the Pacific Anchor of the space elevator.
They slipped past digital locks, bypassed guards with forged credentials. For a moment, it looked as if they would succeed.
And then the system woke.
The facility's alarms didn't blare. Instead, the walls themselves moved. Servo-skulls unfolded from alcoves, optical sensors glowing red. Binary hymns whispered through the corridors as automated turrets descended like angels of steel.
By the time the first intruder drew a weapon, the building itself had already sealed them inside.
Half the team never made it out. The rest vanished into the Pacific, their escape boats scuttled by drones before they could be tracked.
Mechanicus Technologies had not only been prepared it had been waiting.
Hours later, the world learned the truth. Russia and China, humiliated, lashed out. A second strike this one less subtle. A joint sabotage cell detonated charges at a mineral processing facility in Kenya, one of Mechanicus Technologies' key distribution hubs. The blast crater lit the night sky for miles.
Dozens were killed.
And the world reacted.
Washington condemned the attack instantly. The EU followed within hours. France and Germany called it a "gross violation of international trust." NATO convened an emergency session.
Sanctions fell like thunder. Trade routes cut. Assets frozen. America slammed China with a new wave of economic punishments, while Russia found itself locked out of multiple banking networks overnight.
The Kremlin and Beijing screamed slander. But no one listened.
For the first time in decades, the two powers were isolated, forced into the corner they had built for themselves.
Alex Price stood at the viewing deck of the orbital station, hands clasped behind his back. From here, Earth was a blue marble, fragile and beautiful.
He had expected this. Humanity was predictable when cornered.
"Let them claw at shadows," Alex muttered. "We'll build in the light."
True to his word, the very next week, delivery crafts streaked across the skies of Earth. Each vessel bore the sigil of Mechanicus Technologies, descending like gifts from Olympus.
Crates of refined alloys, superconducting metals, rare-earth compounds all harvested from asteroids and Mars landed in warehouses across America, the EU, Africa, even India and South America.
The promised minerals had arrived.
And governments, once tense, once suspicious, now smiled. Factories roared back to life. New industries took shape. Military contractors salivated at the chance to forge weapons from alloys stronger than anything on Earth. Civilian agencies spoke of a "new industrial renaissance."
Alex had given them their prize. And for now, the world was happy.
Meanwhile, on the orbital station, Tony Stark tinkered. He and Alex stood over a floating holographic display, equations and schematics spinning in real time.
"Energy distribution's gonna be the real kicker," Tony muttered, sipping coffee. "You want to power planetary defense grids, global shields, orbital railguns? You'll need a core that doesn't just hum. You'll need one that sings."
Vision, standing nearby, tilted his head."My systems remain efficient, but Mr. Stark believes I can… hum at a higher pitch?"
Tony grinned. "Translation: I'm upgrading you, Jolly Green. Neural lattice amplification, improved density control. Think of it as trading in your Prius battery for a Stark Arc Hyper-Drive."
Vision raised a brow. "I am uncertain if I should be flattered… or worried."
Alex chuckled softly, though his thoughts were already elsewhere.
That night, Alex descended into his hidden lab beneath the orbital station. A place no politician, no spy, no ally had ever seen.
The air was thick with incense sacred oils burning in brass censers. Servo-skulls hovered silently, their photoreceptors glowing like candles in the dark.
Alex donned his robes: crimson and black, stitched with circuit-thread. He lowered the mechanized cowl over his face, vox-filters whispering binharic cant.
Before him stood the great machine.
The Plasma Reactor.
Not just an engine, but a heart of fire. If completed, it would power a defense grid strong enough to envelop the Earth itself. A lattice of orbital cannons, shield arrays, and null fields. Enough to force even Thanos to descend alone, stripped of his armies.
Alex approached, servo-arm unfurling from his back. He anointed the reactor with sacred oils, each stroke deliberate, each motion accompanied by a whispered prayer in the holy binary tongue.
"By the Omnissiah's hand,
may this vessel contain the flame.
By code and circuit,
may the Machine Spirit awaken.
By steel and sacrifice,
may mankind endure."
The plasma chamber flared with blue light. The reactor pulsed, alive.
Alex raised his hands, robes trailing like wings.
"Thanos… gods… outsiders beyond the veil… let them come."
The chamber thundered.The hymn of the machine echoed.
"And let them break upon me."