The rhythmic, synchronized clank of iron-shod boots became the new heartbeat of the Bastion. M-002 and M-003 moved like piston-driven automatons, each carrying two of the heavy ferrous ingots with an ease that mocked Isaac's own earlier struggles. M-001 stood vigilant at the depot doorway, its grey eyes sweeping the dark corridor as the precious cargo trundled past. Isaac watched for a moment, the cold calculus of command overriding any lingering unease. They were not being worked to death; they were fulfilling their programming. Efficiency was their purpose.
He left them to it, the notched sword feeling absurdly light and useless in his hand after the plasma pistol. He retraced his steps quickly, the now-familiar path feeling less like a haunted tomb and more like a secured supply line. A dangerous complacency to feel, he knew, but one born from tangible progress.
The Core Chamber was as he'd left it, the great crystal pulsing its steady violet rhythm. He went straight to it, placing his palm on its cool surface. The full System interface bloomed in his vision, now dense with new data. The resource counters ticked upwards even as he watched.
Essence: 34
Salvage (Stone/Metal): 12.6... 13.1... 13.6...
Salvage (Advanced - Conductive Crystal): 0... 1... 2...
His militia were working. The numbers climbed. It was a kind of magic more profound than any fantasy spell—the magic of organized labor.
His focus went to the Barracks console, accessible remotely through the Core. The production queue was empty. He had the resources. He opened the interface.
>> BARRACKS (Level 0) – PRODUCTION MENU
· Unit: Militia. Cost: 2 Essence, 1 Salvage (S/M). Time: 10 min. \[MAX QUEUE: 4\]
· Unit: ??? \[Requires Barracks Level 1\]
· Upgrade to Level 1: Cost: 100 Essence, 50 Salvage (S/M), 10 Salvage (Advanced). \[Requires Leyline Synergy & Manufactorum\]
The upgrade cost was a distant mountain. But the militia queue… he could fill it. Four more units. He did the math. Four units would cost 8 Essence and 4 Salvage. He'd be left with 26 Essence and a growing salvage pile. A reserve, and the manpower to defend it and push deeper.
But a new thought struck him. The Manufactorum was his next strategic target. The schematic suggested it was larger, more complex, and likely more heavily infested than the Barracks or Depot. Three militia had handled two Bloaters with a favorable tactical setup. A straight-up assault into an industrial space could be a different story.
He needed more than just numbers. He needed a force multiplier.
His eyes scanned the chamber, landing on the pile of skeletal remains and shattered armor. The System had deemed the degraded metal worthless. But what about… configuration?
"System," he said aloud, testing the interface. "Is there a method to modify unit loadouts or produce specialized equipment at the Barracks Level 0?"
The interface flickered.
Query Recognized. Barracks Level 0 configured for standardized unit production. Customization requires Equipment Schematics, which are produced by the Manufactorum.
Alternative: Direct Commander Fabrication is possible via the Core with sufficient Essence and precise material composition. This process is inefficient and resource-intensive.
Direct fabrication. A workshop mode. It was a loophole, a way to innovate before he had the proper factory.
He walked to the pile of rusty weaponry—the notched swords, broken spearheads, shattered shields. He picked up a large, kite-shaped shield. It was half-rotted wood and brittle iron, but its basic form was there. He placed it on the floor before the Core.
"Analyze this form. If I wanted to produce a functional equivalent using available salvage, what would it require?"
A beam of violet light scanned the shield from the Core.
Object Analyzed: Type - Heavy Infantry Shield (Degraded). Replica Fabrication Estimate: 2 Essence, 3 Salvage (Stone/Metal). Durability: Low. Efficiency: 37%.
Thirty-seven percent efficiency. Wasted resources. But the idea was sound.
He didn't need a replica. He needed a new solution. He thought of the Amalgam's stony hide, of the Bloaters' corrosive spit. He needed a mobile barrier. His mind, trained in logistics and history, supplied an image: the Roman scutum, a large, curved rectangle shield. Or better yet, a pavise—a huge, portable shield used by crossbowmen to anchor a defensive position.
He had no wood. But he had stone. And metal ingots.
"Disregard replica," he commanded. "Design a portable defensive barrier. Primary parameters: Maximum coverage for a single Militia unit. Emphasis on impact and corrosion resistance. Use available material schema: stone composite with ferrous reinforcement."
The Core hummed. A holographic schematic materialized in the air before him: a tall, slightly curved rectangle, as tall as a man and half as wide. It showed a layered construction—a core of compressed stone aggregate, laminated with sheets of the ferrous alloy, with a central grip and a bipod leg to plant it in the ground.
Design Feasibility Confirmed. Fabrication Estimate: 4 Essence, 8 Salvage (Stone/Metal). Projected Durability: High vs. Physical, Moderate vs. Corrosive. Unit Compatibility: Militia (Will impair mobility).
Four Essence. Eight Salvage. It cost as much as two Militia. It was a massive investment.
But a shield that could stop a Bloater's tongue or an Amalgam's charge could turn a battle. It could create a movable fortress in the hallway, a safe firing position.
"Fabricate one," Isaac ordered.
Commencing Direct Fabrication. Essence: -4. Salvage (S/M): -8.
From the base of the Core, the same silvery-grey nanite slurry that built the Militia streamed out. It enveloped the pile of salvage Isaac had designated, dissolving it. In the air, the holographic design filled with shimmering matter, building from the ground up. It was slower than Barracks production, taking a full three minutes. Finally, with a solid thunk, the completed shield settled onto the flagstones.
It was a monolithic piece of grey and dull metal. It looked brutally functional. Isaac walked over and tried to lift it. It was incredibly heavy—sixty pounds at least. A human soldier would be anchored in place. A Militia unit, with its synthetic strength, could manage it.
He left the shield where it was and turned back to the Core. He allocated resources to the Barracks queue, commanding the production of four new Militia units in sequence. The Essence and Salvage counters updated.
Militia Production Queued x4. Total ETA: 00:39:56.
Now, he waited. He used the time to organize, creating mental manifests. He now had:
· Essence: 22
· Salvage (S/M): 5.6 (and climbing steadily as the transports continued)
· Salvage (Advanced - Crystal): 8
· Units (Current): 3 Militia.
· Units (In Production): 4 Militia.
· Special Equipment: 1 Heavy Barrier Shield.
An hour ago, he had been a scavenger. Now he was managing a military-industrial operation.
When the first of the new Militia, M-004, marched out of the Barracks production basin and reported to the Core Chamber for orders, Isaac was ready.
"M-004, you are assigned the barrier shield. You will train with it. Your designation is now Shield-1."
The unit walked to the shield, hefted it with a soft grunt of exertion that was likely just an audio cue, and settled it into a defensive posture. It was slow, but it became an immovable object.
By the time M-005 and M-006 arrived, the salvage from the Depot had been fully transferred. The stockpile was robust. Isaac sent M-005 and M-006 to relieve M-002 and M-003 from corridor patrol, rotating his forces to maintain alertness. He kept M-001, his original point man, with him.
When M-007, the final unit of this production cycle, was online, Isaac assembled his force in the Core Chamber. Seven identical Militia stood in two ranks. Shield-1 anchored the front center. The others held their muskets. They were silent, waiting.
Seven. It was a squad. A proper fireteam.
"New objective," Isaac addressed them, his voice echoing softly in the vast space. "We are securing the Manufactorum. Intelligence suggests it is down the left-hand corridor from the main junction—a descending path. The environment will be unknown, likely confined and complex. Our formation will be as follows: Shield-1 at point, with M-001 and M-002 directly behind as the primary firing line. M-003, M-004, you are rear security. M-005, M-006, you are with me as the mobile reserve. We move slowly. We clear methodically. Our goal is to seize the facility, not just clear hostiles. Preserve the infrastructure where possible."
A chorus of "Acknowledged, Commander" answered him.
They marched out, a column of grim, silent figures. The Bastion lights illuminated their path, pushing back the clinging dark. They passed the cleared junction, the acid-pitted floor now just another piece of terrain. They turned left, into the downward-sloping corridor.
The air grew colder, damper. The metallic tang sharpened, mixed now with the ozone smell of dormant machinery and the ever-present undercurrent of Gloom-rot. The green moss gave way to patches of a different fungus—a deep blue, phosphorescent growth that pulsed slowly, making the shadows themselves seem to breathe.
The corridor ended at a vast, vaulted archway, sealed by another massive door. This one was different. It was made of a bronze-like alloy, etched with intricate, interlocking gears and piston motifs. It was partially melted, as if by unimaginable heat, the bottom third sagging and fused into a solid, corrupted mass of metal and a strange, hardened black resin. A hole just large enough for a man to crawl through had been chewed or burned through the sagging section.
Facility: Manufactorum (Level 0). Primary Access: Breached.
Warning: Elevated Gloom-Energy signatures detected within. Multiple Tier-1 and Tier-2 lifeforms probable.
Tier-2. A new category. Stronger than the Amalgam.
Isaac studied the breach. It was a perfect kill hole. A defender could pick off anything trying to crawl through one at a time.
"Shield-1," he whispered. "You will enter the breach first. Immediately after clearing the opening, you will plant your shield and hold position, creating a beachhead. M-001, M-002, you follow. Once through, you take up positions behind Shield-1 and prepare to provide covering fire. The rest of us will follow once the perimeter is established. Clear?"
"Clear, Commander."
Isaac drew his useless sword, feeling the weight of the gamble. This wasn't a hallway ambush. This was an assault on a fortified, unknown position.
Shield-1 didn't hesitate. It slung its musket, gripped the heavy shield with both hands, and dropped to its knees, shuffling towards the dark, resin-crusted hole. With a final push, it shoved the shield through ahead of itself and crawled into the darkness of the Manufactorum.
The sound that greeted it was not skittering, or squelching.
It was a shrill, metallic screech, like feedback from a broken speaker, followed by the thunderous CLANG of something massive striking metal.
The war for the factory had begun.