The Longstrike Rail Rifle lay across Isaac's lap in the Core Chamber, humming with a low, anticipatory charge. Its weight was perfect, its lines a brutalist poem of form following function. In its scope, he had watched M-004 practice reload drills, the crosshairs settling over the unit's chest plate, tracking its movements with eerie, frictionless precision. The rifle wasn't just a weapon; it was a statement. It said: I see you. You are already dead.
But a single precision tool, no matter how potent, didn't win wars. It won moments. To win the war, he needed to understand the enemy's center of gravity. The Major Gloom Convergence pulsed on his map, four kilometers east, a swollen, angry red blotch. The source of the patrols, the energy feeding the corruption. The heart of the local infection.
His graveyard raid had yielded critical intelligence beyond loot. The Armadillo's seismic scans and the behavior of the Effigies suggested a pattern. The Gloom wasn't a mindless horde. It had a crude hierarchy, a flow of energy. The Nexus had been a feeder node. The Convergence was a hub. Destroy the hub, and the local network might collapse, or at least fracture.
But a direct assault was insanity. It was a "Major" convergence. His brief, long-range scans from the Nexus link suggested scores of contacts, likely including Tier-2s and possibly something higher. His eleven Militia, a mortar, and a sniper rifle were a pinprick against a fortress.
He needed to degrade it. Systematically. He needed to wage a campaign of attrition, not a battle.
He called up the strategic interface, a feature that had unlocked with the secure Nexus link. It allowed for rudimentary wargaming simulations, fed by his gathered intelligence.
"System, simulate a sustained harassment campaign against the designated Major Gloom Convergence. Parameters: Utilize available assets—Militia squads, mortar teams, scout drones. Primary objective: Eliminate patrols, destroy outlying structures, disrupt energy flows. Secondary objective: Identify and map weak points in the Convergence's defensive perimeter. Avoid decisive engagement."
The system processed, Essence trickling away to fuel the complex calculation. A holographic map of the eastern plain bloomed, showing the Convergence as a dark mass with tendrils of influence reaching out. Dots representing his units moved like ghosts, striking at the tendrils, then fading back into the grey terrain. The simulation ran, showing probable outcomes: losses of drones, occasional Militia losses to ambushes, a slow but measurable degradation of the Convergence's outer patrol density over a projected timeframe of ten "cycles" (day/night periods, a meaningless measure here but a unit of time).
It was viable. It was also slow, costly, and reactive.
He needed to be proactive. He needed to force the Convergence to make mistakes.
The cache from the graveyard provided a new option. The Portable Field Generator. It could project a small, temporary energy barrier. Not for defense. For misdirection.
A plan, cold and layered, began to assemble in his mind. It was a three-act play of death.
Act I: The Bait. He would use the Field Generator. Not at the Bastion or the Nexus, but at a third, strategically useless point—a prominent rock spire two kilometers from the Convergence, visible from its location. He would activate it, creating a powerful, anomalous energy signature. To the Gloom, it would look like a new, vulnerable Bastion outpost flickering to life. He would even leave a scout drone nearby, broadcasting faint, mimicred Bastion system pings.
Act II: The Ambush. While the Convergence's attention—and more importantly, its mobile reserves—were drawn toward the decoy, he would strike a different tender spot. His enhanced scans from the Nexus, combined with the simulation data, suggested a weaker "feeder vein" of energy leading into the Convergence from the north-east, less patrolled. He would take his main force, under cover of the distraction, and sever it. The Longstrike would be key here, eliminating any lookouts or command creatures silently from extreme range.
Act III: The Harvest. The severed vein would be a wound. It would leak energy—corrupted, but energy nonetheless. He would deploy the Purification Beacon (rapidly becoming his multi-tool) not to purify the massive Convergence, but to cap the severed vein, syphoning the leaking energy and converting it into usable Essence at a dangerous but potentially high rate. A temporary, aggressive mining operation right under the enemy's nose.
It was arrogant. It was incredibly risky. It involved dividing his already tiny force, relying on the enemy's predictability, and dancing on the edge of total annihilation.
But it was also active. It wasn't waiting for the storm to hit. It was sneaking into the eye of the storm to steal its power.
He stood, the ache in his healed ribs a reminder of consequence. He walked to the Manufactorum console. The new high-grade components from the graveyard were already being broken down. He had 28 units of Advanced Salvage now. The Barracks Level 1 upgrade cost 10. He would use the rest.
"Fabricate two additional Scout Drones. Skitter variant." Fast, expendable eyes for the decoy and the ambush site.
"Fabricate three extra Power Packs for the Longstrike." He wouldn't run out of shots at a critical moment.
"Fabricate a Remote Detonation Kit for the Field Generator." When the bait was taken, he would turn it into a bomb.
His resource counters bled, but purposefully. He was investing in a decisive move.
Next, he addressed his personnel. He couldn't create Grenadiers yet, but he could specialize his existing Militia.
"M-002," he said to the Garrison Commander. "You have shown tactical initiative. You are redesignated as Fireteam Alpha Lead. M-003 and M-006 are your team. You will operate the Thumper Mortar when it is built, and handle demolitions."
"M-001, you are Fireteam Bravo Lead. M-004, M-005, M-013 are your team. You are the assault element."
"M-007, M-008, M-010, M-011, M-012. You are Garrison & Reserve. You hold the Bastion and the Nexus. Your duty is absolute."
He kept M-014, the freshly repaired unit, and the two new Skitter drones with him as his personal command element.
The units acknowledged, their programming updating with the new designations and protocols. They were the same blank slates, but the structure gave him clarity, a chain of command.
Finally, he went to the Barracks console. The upgrade icon glowed, prerequisites met. He had the Essence. He had the Crystals. He had the salvage, just barely, after his other fabrications.
This was the pivot. The moment his army evolved from a mob into a military.
He placed his hand on the console. "Initiate Barracks Level 1 Upgrade."
Warning: This will consume significant resources and render the Barracks inactive for 120 minutes. Confirm? Y/N
Yes.
A deep thrum resonated through the Bastion, deeper than the Manufactorum's hum. The light in the Barracks chamber shifted from steady white to a pulsating amber. The production basins drained, and nanite streams began deconstructing and rebuilding the facility's internal structures on a fundamental level.
Barracks Upgrade Commenced. ETA: 01:59:58.
Essence: -100. Salvage (S/M): -50. Salvage (Advanced): -10.
He was all in. Resources plummeted to emergency reserves. But in two hours, he would have the capability to produce Grenadiers and Scouts. The tools for his ambush.
He picked up the Longstrike, feeling its balanced weight. He looked east, through the stone walls, toward the pulsing red heart of the Gloom.
The Convergence thought it was the hunter, the inevitable tide. It thought his Bastion was a stubborn piece of carrion to be picked clean.
Isaac Travis adjusted the stock of the rifle against his shoulder, the cool alloy a promise.
He was about to teach it the meaning of a surgical strike. He was going to perform an operation, and the Convergence was the patient on the table. And he had just sharpened his scalpel.