Southern Hemisphere
Sector 21
Outpost Ikto
CT-7783 limped forward to cover, his armour failing. The left side of his chest plate had been half-melted by plasma, and his right arm trembled as he raised his rifle, struggling to keep it steady. His helmet’s HUD flickered, static distorting his vision.
His brothers stood beside him—CT-4421, CT-1190, and CT-5534 four clones left to hold the line against the tide.
BCUs swarmed forward in the silence of the void, their numbers never-ending. Their infantry model darted forward moving in synch, their weapons firing plasma towards their position, the enemy carapace reflected some distant light of the sun, while the larger beasts lumbered behind, spitting explosive bile.
Their brothers were gone.
Their base was gone.
Their reinforcements were gone.
They were all that remained.
CT-7783 clenched his jaw. “We make our stand here.”
CT-4421 wiped the dust from his cracked visor. “Wasn’t planning on running.”
CT-5534 chuckled. “Damn bugs never stop, do they?”
Then, through the haze of gunfire, a voice cut through their comms.
“This is the Infantry Transport Ship Drifting Tides Hold your ground, we are inbound for fire support.”
Above them the massive shape of the transport ship blocked the sun its shadow spreading throughout the battlefield, its hull gleaming in the void. It was a sight CT-7783 never thought he’d be happy to see—a modified mining haulier turned transport ship.
The Drifting Tides' main cannons opened fire, unleashing kilometre-long streaks of burning plasma that scorched the battlefield. Clusters of BCUs vanished in the impact, their bodies ripped apart and scattered like ash.
CT-7783’s HUD adjusted as radiation levels spiked, the ground turning to molten glass in the firestorm.
“Orbital fire support confirmed. Keep up the pressure!”
Their rifles barked, pumping round after round into the creatures. The Drifting Tides defensive countermeasures fired missiles, detecting fast-moving objects approaching from the far horizon.
“Incoming projectiles detected! Engaging counterfire.”
CT-7783’s visor zoomed in, just in time to see the Drifting Tides' main guns swivel, tracking targets unseen. Clouds of shrapnel rounds lit up the darkness, concentrated lasers ripping apart dozens of incoming missiles.
Eleven projectiles slipped past their defensive net. They struck the ship’s starboard hull in waves, The first wave hit punching through its thick armour like it was nothing.
The second impact had no explosions the ship's armour was melting from the impact. Moments later small explosions rippled along the ship’s spine, sending shockwaves through its structure.
The Drifting Tides lurched.
“We’ve been hit! Hull integrity failing—multiple breaches detected!”
CT-7783’s breath caught as he saw something moving it was large fast and swimming in the void. The thing wasn’t a missile. It was alive.
It clung to the Drifting Tides hull like a parasite, its tendrils sinking into the ship’s armour, burrowing deep. He could only hear the distant screams of panic and battle coming from the ship's comms now.
CT-7783 watched, unable to look away. He was bred for war he understood that, but no simulation had prepared him for this. There was no manual to teach him how to process what he was witnessing.
Then his visor dimmed. A force struck him, sending him stumbling backwards his rifle slipping from his fingers. His breathing grew ragged. He could hear his brothers' frantic calls, but their voices seemed distant, muffled.
He looked up at the Drifting Tides and the monstrous creature, only to be blinded by a new sun over the battlefield. Its light consumed everything.
His HUD flashed with warnings—radiation levels spiking. And then, in the silence of his mind, a thought emerged, unbidden yet undeniable. He spoke it aloud for all to hear: “... The moon is alive.”
CT-1190 grabbed his arm, snapping him back to reality. He pointed toward the battlefield, where more BCUs were advancing a pack of four-legged variants this time.
CT-7783 gave a curt nod, retrieved his rifle, and took cover, ready for battle once more. But the thought lingered, an unshakeable whisper in his mind.
This moon was alive.
———
The retreat was slow. Too slow.
Three eight-wheeled mine haulierswere positioned in a defensive circle, their massive frames struggling under the weight of exhausted clones and salvaged supplies. The retreat was silent. No one spoke. No one had the energy.
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CT-3147 his armour stained with dust, blood, and the lingering scorch of plasma burns. His head felt heavy, almost unbearable, Not like it mattered they were all tired, all broken.
CT-9906 exhaled sharply from the seat across from him, arms crossed over his chest. “Command failed us.”
No one argued.
CT-2284, the convoy’s lead scout, shook his head. “Failed? They sent us to die. Every battle, every outpost, it was a massacre, and they knew it.” He spat onto the floor. “We weren’t even fighting to win, just to slow the inevitable.”
CT-4427 rubbed his temples, his voice barely a whisper. “The BCU adapted too fast. Our drones? Useless. Our air support? Overwhelmed. Every time we tried something, they were already ahead of us.”
CT-3329 clenched his fists. “We needed orbital strikes. We needed full-scale war, not these piecemeal defences.”
CT-9906 scoffed. “And now? We’re running. Like rats.”
The last of Jekkar-2 survivors moved in three cramped mine hauliers with supplies. A hundred and two clones left from a force of nine hundred.
They had been moving north for hours, escaping the burning wreckage of Facility Jekkar-2, another outpost left to die under BCU swarms. Command had ordered a “tactical withdrawal.” A pretty way of saying ‘Run until you can’t.' They had taken a break to recharge the energy cells of the hauliers.
CT-9916 kicked a rock, cursing. “This whole war is a joke.”
CT-2980 grunted. “You just figuring that out?”
CT-3147 stayed silent. He didn’t have the energy to argue. None of them did.
The battles had played out the same way for weeks. Fight. Kill. Fall back. Repeat.
Command kept promising reinforcements. Command kept saying “Hold your ground.”
Command was nowhere to be found.
And now the moon itself was turning against them.
CT-8125 was the first to see it.
A new light in the distance. A growing, unnatural glow on the southern horizon.
“Is that—?”
CT-3147 turned his head, his visor adjusting. The light burned like an expanding sun, pulsing as if alive.
CT-9906 narrowed his eyes. “Tell me that’s not Command finally nuking this rock.”
CT-4420 exhaled. “Unless there was nothing valuable there.”
CT-3147 checked his comms—static, as always. No orbital confirmation. No orders. No word.
CT-9916 scoffed. “If they did, I hope they nuked themselves with it.”
For a second, they all just stood there, staring. A few years ago, they would have never dared to question orders. Now?
There were no orders left to follow.
Then, a voice crackled over an open frequency.
“… Moon is alive.”
CT-3147’s body tensed. His comms weren’t locked to any secure channels. This was a raw, open broadcast.
His hand shot up to his helmet. “Say again?”
Static. Then—
“… The moon is alive.”
CT-9906 stiffened. “Repeat that, clone.”
CT-3147 exchanged glances with the others.
CT-9916 snorted. “I knew 7783. Fought with him before in the North. He was solid.” He tapped his helmet. “Now he’s lost his damn mind.”
CT-3147 swallowed, voice firm. “CT-7783, clarify.”
Another pause. Then, the voice returned.
“New BCU variant. Unknown size. It attached to a troop transport. Burrowed inside.” A breath, ragged and unstable. “Not a weapon. Not a creature.”
CT-9916 scoffed. “Then what the hell is it?”
The voice came back, hoarse, almost whispering.
“… A ship.”
Silence.
“BCUs… new variant… something massive. I—I think it’s a ship. I think it’s thinking. It sees us. It hears us.”
For a moment, all the exhaustion, all the frustration, all the pain faded.
None of them knew how to process it.
CT-4420 was the first to spot large objects moving West.
His body stiffened. His rifle snapped up.
“Movement.”
All the clones whipped around, scanning the dark, cratered horizon.
Then they saw them.
Two hulking shapes moved in the distance, lit by the eerie glow of the firestorm behind them. Their bodies were unnatural like something pulled from a horror story.
They were gliding low.
A cold dread settled over the clones.
CT-3147 gripped his rifle tighter.
CT-9906’s breath caught in his throat.
CT-3329’s fingers dug into his armrests. “No. No, no, no—”
CT-4427 swallowed hard. “Command didn't just fail us. They never even understood what we were fighting.”
No one spoke after that.
Because deep down, they all knew.
They weren’t retreating.
They were running from something beyond war.
But they were still going to die.