The silence in the Manufactorum was a raw, open wound after the cacophony of battle. Isaac stood before the Control Node, the price of its activation glowing in his vision like a bill from a particularly brutal contractor.
Repair Cost: 75 Essence, 40 Salvage (Stone/Metal), 20 Salvage (Advanced - Conductive Crystal).
He had the Essence—150 Units, a king's ransom paid in Gloom-blood. He had the Advanced Crystals—all 20 he needed from the depot, plus a few extra. The stone and metal salvage was the bottleneck. His stockpile back in the Barracks was at 15.6 after the recent production and the shield fabrication. He needed to more than double it.
He turned from the node, his boots crunching on spent cartridges and brittle Gloom-chitin. His surviving Militia were already at work. M-002 and M-003 were systematically looting the fallen, prying Essence Cores from dissolving flesh with their bayonets. M-005 and M-006 were using their knives to harvest salvageable parts from the fallen Brute and the other mechanical amalgamations—chunks of un-corroded metal plating, lengths of intact chain, the Brute's shattered hydraulic piston. M-004, its left arm hanging useless, used its good hand to collect the smaller bits, moving with dogged persistence.
Isaac went to Shield-1's body. The unit was a wreck, its neck snapped, its synthetic flesh torn where acid had splashed. But the Heavy Barrier Shield, though mangled, was still a single piece of metal and composite. He placed a hand on it.
Salvageable Material Detected: Reinforced Ferrous Composite. Estimated Yield: 5 Salvage (Stone/Metal).
"Add it to the pile," he ordered M-004, who nodded and began the awkward process of dragging it.
He walked the battlefield, directing the harvest. Every broken machine part, every piece of untainted stone from a smashed pillar, was a resource. The System's tally climbed with agonizing slowness.
Salvage (Stone/Metal): 18.4… 22.1… 26.7…
They were stripping the place bare. It felt less like a victory and more like field dressing a corpse. After thirty minutes of grim work, the tally read 38.9. Close, but not enough. His eyes fell on the silent, dormant machinery surrounding him—the lathes, the drill presses, the inactive conveyor belts.
"Can we salvage the non-functional machinery?" he asked the air.
The System interface flickered over a nearby lathe.
Analysis: Precision Lathe (Standard Grade). Salvaging for raw materials would yield approximately 8-10 Units (Stone/Metal). Salvaging would permanently destroy the machine. Note: This machine may be repairable and brought back online with a functional Manufactorum.
A choice. Raw materials now, or potential future capability. It was no choice at all. He needed the Manufactorum online to repair anything. The future was worthless if he didn't secure the present.
"Do it. Prioritize the most heavily damaged equipment."
M-002 and M-003 used the Brute's own heavy hydraulic piston as a crude ram, battering apart the casing of a shattered steam-hammer. They broke down a collapsed conveyor support. They harvested metal from the trolley Isaac had dropped. It was industrial vandalism, but with every crash and clang of metal, the number ticked upward.
Salvage (Stone/Metal): 45.3.
He had it. Barely, with a scant 5.3 units to spare, but he had it.
"All units, fall back to the node. Bring the salvage."
They formed a rough semicircle around the Control Node, piling the harvested materials—chunks of metal, stone, crystals—at its base. Isaac placed his hands on the cool console surface.
Resources Verified. Initiate Manufactorum (Level 0) Repair Protocol? Y/N
Yes.
The process was more dramatic than the Barracks repair. The Essence didn't just stream in; it flooded. A vortex of violet light erupted from the pile of cores at his feet, swirling into the node. The physical salvage didn't dissolve quietly; it was atomized, breaking down into streams of glittering particulate that were sucked into ports at the node's base. The sound was a deep, resonant hum that climbed in pitch, vibrating the floor plates.
Across the vast room, a change began. Patches of the moss and fungal growths withered and fell to dust, starved of the ambient Gloom-energy that fed them. Dead, darkened sconces along the high walls flickered, then ignited with a steady white light, banishing the last of the green and blue gloom. Most importantly, deep in the bowels of the factory, something groaned. A great, hidden furnace ignited with a whoosh of superheated air. Pipes hissed. Gears, frozen for centuries, gave a shuddering turn.
The hum from the node reached a peak, then settled into a powerful, steady thrum. The console's dark screens lit up, displaying complex schematics, temperature readouts, and material inventories. Conveyor belts gave a jerking start before settling into a slow, idle crawl.
Manufactorum (Level 0) – ONLINE.
Core Facility of the Bastion Military Industrial Complex now operational at 12% capacity.
Functions Available: Basic Material Refinement, Standardized Equipment Production, Ammunition Fabrication.
New Schematics Unlocked: Standard-Issue Plasma Pistol Cartridge (4-Shot). Flintlock Musket Cartridge (Paper, 20-Pack). Basic Grenade (Fragmentation).
Ammunition. The word was a balm to Isaac's soul. He pulled his depleted pistol, the grip showing four dark crystals. He placed it on the node's interface plate.
Weapon: Commander's Sidearm, Model 1-A. Status: Power Core Depleted.
Required for recharge: 1 Essence, 0.1 Units Conductive Crystal Dust. Recharge? Y/N
One Essence. A trivial cost. He confirmed. A port opened on the console. A manipulator arm with fine tools emerged, detached the pistol's power core—a small, cylindrical crystal housing—and retracted it into the machine. Thirty seconds later, it re-emerged, slotted itself back into the pistol, and the weapon's grip lit up, all five crystal segments glowing a healthy blue.
Recharge Complete.
Isaac holstered the weapon, feeling whole again. But the Militia needed resupply more desperately. He navigated the production menu.
>> PRODUCTION QUEUE:
· Musket Cartridge (20-Pack): Cost: 0.5 Essence, 0.2 Salvage (S/M). Time: 2 min/pack.
· Plasma Pistol Cartridge (4-Shot): Cost: 2 Essence, 0.5 Salvage (Advanced). Time: 5 min/cartridge.
· Frag Grenade: Cost: 3 Essence, 1.5 Salvage (S/M). Time: 8 min/unit.
He allocated Essence and salvage. The Manufactorum whirred to life. On a nearby conveyor, crucibles of molten metal poured into bullet molds. Presses stamped out casing components. In a cleaner, separated section, crystalline dust was alloyed under energy fields to form new plasma cores. It was mesmerizing, a ballet of automated industry.
But one line was greyed out. Unit Production. It required the Barracks. The two facilities were linked, a symbiotic relationship. The Barracks produced the soldiers; the Manufactorum armed them.
He had the factory. Now he needed to feed it, and feed the army it would supply.
A new, golden objective pulsed in his vision, replacing the previous one.
Strategic Objective Updated: Establish Bastion Economic Baseline.
Sub-Objective 1: Secure a steady Essence income. Passive harvesting from secured territory insufficient. Identify and secure a Leyline Nexus.
Sub-Objective 2: Establish permanent resource extraction. Locate and secure mineral deposits.
Sub-Objective 3: Upgrade Barracks to Level 1 to unlock specialized units and increase production capacity.
The tutorial was over. The game had just begun. He was no longer just surviving or clearing rooms. He was being tasked with building an economy, a logistics chain that could fuel a war machine.
He looked at his battered units. M-004 was critically damaged. The others were scratched and depleted. He had seven functional Militia, including the wounded one. He had a working pistol and a factory that could make bullets and grenades. And he had a door leading out of the Bastion's interior—the great, sealed portcullis in the Core Chamber.
The outside. The blasted plain under the green moons. The source of the Gloom.
To find a Leyline, to find resources, he would have to go out there.
First, he needed to fix his army.
"M-004," he called. The unit with the mangled shoulder turned its blank face to him. "Report to the Manufactorum's medical annex." The System had highlighted a small alcove with a basin similar to the Barracks' production slurry. It was for repairs.
The unit obeyed, walking its lopsided walk to the alcove and submerging its damaged arm in the silvery liquid. Isaac watched as the substance worked, knitting synthetic muscle and sealing breached skin. It would take time and a trickle of Essence, but it was repairable. Units were not disposable; they were renewable. The thought was cold, but stabilizing.
As the first pack of twenty musket cartridges clattered down a chute into a collection bin, Isaac gathered his five healthy Militia.
"We're not done," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the newly lit space. "The Bastion is a body. The Core is the heart. The Barracks and Manufactorum are the hands. But we need blood. We need energy. That energy is out there." He pointed a thumb back toward the Core Chamber, toward the sealed outer gate.
"We resupply. We repair M-004. We produce grenades. And then," he said, his gaze hardening, "we open the front door."
The Manufactorum's pulse was a constant, reassuring thrum against the soles of his boots. It was the sound of capability. Of projected power.
He had a factory. Soon, he would have an army. And then, the dead world outside would learn the meaning of industrial warfare.