The acrid scent of burned metal and scorched earth hung heavy in the air as Kovacs stepped off the transport. The battlefields of Prescott stretched before him, a twisted tapestry of destruction. Carcasses of mechs—some still smoldering—lay scattered across the horizon, their jagged outlines stark against the dull orange glow of the setting sun. The war was over, officially, but the wounds it left behind felt raw and endless.

He adjusted the strap of his pack and tightened his respirator. The salvage team fanned out behind him, their movements brisk and mechanical. Nearby, Jackie Stewart was already elbow-deep in the gutted remains of a downed mech, her small stature almost dwarfed by the massive husk. Despite the grime and exhaustion etched into her features, her movements were sharp and efficient, driven by an unrelenting focus.

“Another cooked reactor,” she muttered, yanking a sparking cable from the ruined torso with a sharp tug. The acrid smell of burned circuits puffed into the air. “Barely worth scrapping. The damn thing’s a brick.”

“Most of these will be,” Kovacs replied, his voice muffled through his mask. He crouched and swept his scanner across a cluster of debris, its rhythmic chirping echoing faintly. “Anything good would’ve been stripped before they retreated. This is just leftovers.”

Jackie snorted. “Figures. But hey, maybe we’ll find something shiny to keep the brass happy.” She gave him a glance, her visor pushed up to reveal eyes gleaming with a mix of fatigue and dry humor. “What about you? Find anything worth bending your brain over yet?”

“Not yet,” Kovacs murmured, distracted. His scanner let out a sharper ping, the pitch higher and more insistent. He swept aside a chunk of warped plating, revealing a battered component half-buried in the dirt. It didn’t look like anything he recognized.

“Hold up,” he said, brushing more of the debris away. The piece came free with a little effort, its surface unmarred despite the surrounding carnage. It was sleek and gunmetal gray, faintly reflective under the weak light. Etched across one side were faint markings—delicate, almost alien in their design.

“What’s that?” Jackie asked, standing and wiping her hands on her jumpsuit as she walked over.

“Not sure,” Kovacs said, turning the piece over in his hands. The material felt strange—light, but dense—and it absorbed heat in a way that made his gloves tingle. “Doesn’t match anything I’ve seen in our supply chains.”

Jackie leaned in, her brow furrowing as she studied the object. “Could be alien tech,” she suggested. “Prescott’s always had rumors about weird stuff left behind from the settlement days. Maybe this is one of those old relics.”

Kovacs shook his head. “It doesn’t feel old. Whatever this is, it’s functional. Or it was.” He brought his handheld scanner closer, watching as it beeped and displayed a line of unfamiliar data.

Composition Unknown. Analysis Required.

Jackie whistled low, impressed despite herself. “Fancy. Think it’s dangerous?”

“Maybe,” Kovacs admitted, slipping the component into his pack. It buzzed faintly as it settled, like an unspoken promise of something bigger. “But I’d bet it’s important.”

The transport’s horn blared, a deep, resonant tone that cut through the silence. The salvage team began to regroup, their arms laden with salvaged plating, twisted weapons, and spare parts. Jackie shot the transport a glance, then back at Kovacs.

“Well, bag it and let the eggheads figure it out,” she said, hoisting her own finds onto her shoulder. “I’d rather not be out here when night falls. Too many stories about patrols that didn’t make it back.”

Kovacs nodded, his gaze lingering on the horizon. Prescott’s wasteland was eerily quiet, the stillness oppressive. He adjusted his pack and followed Jackie toward the transport, the mysterious component pulsing faintly against his back.

The salvage depot hummed with activity as Kovacs and Jackie unloaded their haul. Conveyor belts groaned under the weight of twisted metal and scorched components, ferrying them into the cavernous sorting facility. The air inside was thick with the smell of oil and melted circuitry.

“Let’s see,” Jackie muttered as she inspected a broken autocannon. “Salvage value? Maybe a beer and a half.”

Kovacs managed a faint chuckle as he hefted a crate onto the conveyor. “Still better than what I got. Just some busted plating and—”

“And that weird thing in your pack,” Jackie cut in, her voice dropping as she leaned closer. “You’re not handing that over, are you?”

“Nope,” Kovacs said, his tone firm. “Not yet, anyway. I need to run some tests first.”

Jackie grinned, the kind of mischievous smile that usually meant trouble. “Careful, Kovacs. Secrets like that tend to explode, one way or another.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he shot back dryly.

That night, Kovacs sat in the dim confines of his quarters, the only light coming from his custom diagnostic rig. He pulled the mysterious component from his pack and set it carefully on the workbench. The surface glinted faintly under the fluorescents, its alien markings catching the light in a way that made them seem alive.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

He powered on his analyzer, its soft hum filling the room. As the scan began, intricate patterns lit up across the component’s surface, like veins of molten silver.

“What the hell?” Kovacs whispered. He leaned closer as lines of data scrolled across the analyzer’s display.

Material Composition: Tungsten-Aegis Alloy. Properties: High durability, energy conductive, molecularly adaptive. Applications: Unknown.

The words sent a thrill down his spine. Adaptive alloys weren’t just rare—they were cutting-edge. This kind of technology didn’t exist on Prescott. Hell, it probably didn’t exist in the entire sector.

The analyzer beeped again, flashing a new message:

Partial Activation Detected. Input Required.

Kovacs stared at the screen, his heart pounding. Input? What kind of input?

Tentatively, he reached out and touched the component. The surface was cool to the touch, but as his fingers brushed the etched symbols, it pulsed with light. A soft, mechanical voice filled the room, speaking in perfect, measured tones:

Identity confirmed. Welcome, User. Awaiting commands.

Kovacs froze, his mind racing. The possibilities—and the dangers—swirled in his head. “Commands?” he murmured aloud. “What are you?”

The component pulsed again, its light dimming and brightening in rhythm. The voice returned, calm but insistent.

This unit is a multifunctional core. Purpose: Design optimization and integration. Protocols incomplete. Awaiting further input.

Design optimization? Kovacs' mind reeled as the implications hit him. This wasn’t just some relic—it was a tool. And if he was right, it was about to change everything.

The analyzer beeped again, displaying a message that sent his heart racing:

Partial Activation Detected. Input Required.

Kovacs stared at the screen, his pulse pounding in his ears. Input? What kind of input? He hesitated, then reached out to touch the component directly. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the artifact pulsed with light, and a soft, mechanical voice filled the room.

Identity confirmed. Welcome, User. Awaiting commands.

Kovacs froze, his mind racing. What had he just stumbled upon?

Kovacs leaned back in his chair, the weight of the discovery sinking in. His mind raced through the possibilities. A multifunctional core, designed for optimization and integration. If the voice was to be believed, this artifact could revolutionize everything—design processes, manufacturing, even strategy. But it could also be a trap, an unknown variable dropped into his already chaotic life.

"Integration? Optimization?" Kovacs muttered, rubbing his temples. He leaned forward, staring at the pulsing device. "Okay, let's test this out. What kind of input are we talking about here?"

The voice responded immediately, calm and precise. This unit is compatible with external systems. Current detected link: User's diagnostic tools. For enhanced interaction, neural or interface link is recommended.

“Neural link?” Kovacs frowned. His hand reflexively moved to the system interface on his wrist. “You’re telling me you can connect to this?”

Affirmative. User’s interface is compatible with this unit’s protocols. Connection can be established.

Kovacs hesitated. Letting an unknown device interface with his neural system wasn’t exactly on his list of safe activities. But the allure of what it could offer—answers, power, understanding—was too great to ignore. He adjusted the band on his wrist and took a deep breath. “What happens if I connect you?”

Enhanced cognitive synchronization. Access to additional features, including predictive modeling and adaptive design tools. Connection is reversible. Minor discomfort may occur during initialization.

“Minor discomfort,” he repeated with a grimace. That always meant it was going to hurt like hell. He exhaled slowly, his decision made. “All right. Do it.”

The core pulsed brighter. A thin tendril of light extended from the component, weaving through the air like a living thread. It connected with the interface on Kovacs’ wrist, sending a shock through his body. He gritted his teeth as a searing heat spread up his arm, followed by a wave of cold that left his skin prickling.

Then, his vision blurred. Lines of data and faint holographic overlays appeared in his peripheral vision. The core’s voice returned, quieter now, almost like a whisper in his thoughts.

Connection established. Synchronization at 85%. Initializing user interface.

The pain subsided, replaced by a strange clarity. He could feel the core now—not as a foreign object, but as an extension of himself. Information flowed into his mind, not overwhelming but precise, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

“Okay,” Kovacs said, flexing his fingers experimentally. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

A holographic display materialized in front of him, glowing faintly in the dim room. It showed a 3D schematic of a mech—a generic frame, unarmored and unarmed. The core’s voice guided him through the interface.

This is the baseline model. Users may modify and optimize according to specifications. Suggested starting parameters: Scout-class, 20-40 tons, adaptable loadout.

Kovacs’ breath caught. This wasn’t just a diagnostic tool; it was a design system unlike anything he’d ever seen. The interface responded to his thoughts, adjusting dimensions and configurations with fluid precision. He reached out, his hands hovering over the hologram, and began to work.

Hours passed in a blur. Kovacs lost himself in the process, his mind and the core working in seamless harmony. He started with a lightweight scout mech, experimenting with armor composites and weapon placements. The core offered suggestions, highlighting weak points and proposing solutions.

“Can we use the Tungsten-Aegis alloy for joint reinforcement?” he asked, testing the waters.

Affirmative. Alloy properties are ideal for high-stress areas. Adjustments will improve durability by 18%.

He implemented the changes, watching as the model updated in real time. The result was sleek and efficient, a balance of mobility and resilience. The mech felt like it belonged—not just in his mind, but on the battlefield.

Kovacs sat back, marveling at the design. “You really are something else,” he muttered. But the core wasn’t finished.

Additional recommendation: Integration of advanced energy distribution systems. Suggested source: Salvage records indicate compatible components located in Grid Sector 12.

Kovacs frowned. “Grid Sector 12? That’s a restricted zone.”

Unit identified within salvage inventory. Access recommended for optimal performance.

“Yeah, that’s not how it works,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t just waltz into a restricted zone and start digging through wreckage.”

The core pulsed faintly, as though considering his words. User’s discretion acknowledged. Alternative paths available.

Kovacs shook his head, equal parts frustrated and intrigued. He saved the design and powered down the hologram, the glow fading into the darkness. The core’s presence lingered in his thoughts, a constant hum at the edge of his awareness.

As he lay back on his cot, exhaustion tugging at him, Kovacs couldn’t shake the feeling that this discovery was just the beginning. The war might have been over, but for him, a new battle was only just starting.