The silence after the collapse was profound, a ringing vacuum filled only by the soft groan of settling stone and the pained, intermittent whir of damaged Militia. The Bastion had survived its first true test, but the cost was etched in broken machinery and sealed gates. The outer yard was lost, a no-man's land of rubble and buried Gloom corpses. The postern gate was gone, buried under tons of debris. The only way in or out was through the maintenance shafts or the Manufactorum's lower access—a chilling thought.
Isaac moved through the Inner Keep, the new command post. The air was thick with dust and the sharp scent of ozone from overstressed weapons. M-004 was overseeing the two critically damaged Militia, their bodies submerged in the portable repair slurry from the Manufactorum, a slow, Essence-draining process. The turret was a silent hulk on the wall, its mounting cracked, its barrel warped from continuous fire. The Thumper mortar was a write-off, its precision gears shattered by the Behemoth's spine.
He had won a defensive victory. But in warfare, a successful defense was only a pause. The enemy would adapt. The rubble outside was a barrier, but also a ladder. The Gloom would find a way over, or through, or under.
He couldn't just repair. He had to evolve. The siege had changed the fundamental equation. He could no longer project power outward to gather resources. He was trapped, reliant on the trickle from the Nexus and whatever he could scavenge from the Bastion's own guts. It was a siege economy: rationing, recycling, and ruthless prioritization.
His first action was a triage of his assets. He pulled up the full System status.
Bastion Integrity: 31% (Structural Damage: Gatehouse Collapse, Western Wall Compromised).
Essence Reserves: 67.
Salvage (S/M): 3.
Salvage (Advanced): 11.
Active Units: 8 Combat Effective. 2 Under Repair.
Facilities: Core (Online), Barracks L1 (Online), Manufactorum (Online), Logistics Depot (Offline), Geothermal Tap (Contaminated/Hostile).
Eleven advanced salvage. The Machine Parts and Regulators from below. They were his most valuable currency.
He couldn't build another turret. He couldn't afford the Grenadiers or Scouts he desperately needed. But he could improve what he had.
He went to the Manufactorum design interface. The Militia were his backbone, but they were obsolete. The Gloom had too many answers for massed musket fire. He needed to upgrade them, not replace them.
"Design a weapon retrofit kit for the Militia platform," he instructed. "Base weapon: replace flintlock musket with a breech-loading, magazine-fed carbine. Prioritize rate of fire and reliability over extreme range. Use available advanced components."
The system churned, incorporating the salvaged actuator arms and regulator units. It presented a design: the 'Pioneer' Carbine Conversion Kit. It turned the long, clumsy musket into a shorter, sturdier rifle with a ten-round internal box magazine, loaded with metal-cased cartridges. The rate of fire would triple. The cost per kit: 2 Advanced Salvage, 1 Essence.
He could upgrade four Militia with his current stock. He designated his most experienced units: M-001, M-002, M-003, and the recovered M-005. "Manufactorum, fabricate four Pioneer Carbine Kits. Begin immediately."
While the kits built, he turned to fortifications. The wall was damaged, the gate a ruin. He couldn't rebuild it, but he could make it a more lethal obstacle.
"Design a deployable area-denial weapon. Utilizing volatile crystal fragments as a base. Goal: Creates a persistent hazard zone. Flame, acid, or disruptive energy."
The system proposed the 'Cinder-Fall' Mine. A pressure-plate device that, when triggered, shattered an encapsulated volatile crystal, spraying the area with superheated, corrosive crystal shrapnel and leaving a pool of energy-disruptive residue. Area denial and crowd control. Cost: 1 Volatile Fragment, 2 Salvage (S/M).
He had fragments. He ordered the Manufactorum to produce six, using the last of his basic salvage.
His final, and most critical, upgrade was for command and control. The battle had shown the limits of his personal oversight. He needed a lieutenant, a node to process data and execute orders when he was occupied or out of contact.
The Barracks' Unit Veterancy Protocols were unlocked. He accessed them. It wasn't about making a unit smarter; it was about dedicating System resources to create a dedicated Command Subroutine within a chosen unit's processing core. It would allow the unit to interpret broader objectives, manage small teams, and react to tactical changes within set parameters. It would consume Essence continuously to maintain, and require a significant upfront investment in advanced salvage to install the upgraded cognition crystal.
He chose M-001. His first unit. The one with the most operational hours. The one that had led assaults and held the line.
"Initiate Veterancy Protocol for Unit M-001. Designation: Sergeant. Install Command Subroutine."
Warning: This will consume 15 Advanced Salvage and 25 Essence. Unit will require continuous Essence upkeep (0.1/hour). Proceed?
It was a staggering cost. It would consume nearly all his remaining advanced salvage and a huge chunk of his Essence. But a Sergeant wasn't just another rifle. It was a force multiplier.
"Proceed."
The Barracks chamber lit up. M-001 was recalled. A port opened in the ceiling, and a manipulator arm descended, carefully extracting the unit's standard cognition core and replacing it with a larger, more complex crystal that glowed with a soft, steady blue light. The process took thirty minutes. When M-001 stepped out, there was no physical difference. But when its grey eyes met Isaac's, there was a subtle shift—a sense of processing, of waiting for more than a simple order.
"Unit M-001 online. Command protocols installed. Awaiting designation of operational parameters, Commander."
The voice was the same monotone, but the words were different. It had initiated communication.
"Your designation is Sergeant. You are second-in-command. Your parameters are the defense and expansion of the Bastion. You are authorized to issue tactical orders to other units in my absence, within the bounds of standing directives."
"Acknowledged, Commander. Establishing unit hierarchy and threat-response matrices."
As the Sergeant integrated its new role, the Pioneer Carbine Kits finished. Isaac watched as M-001 (now Sergeant), M-002, M-005, and M-003 underwent the retrofit in the Manufactorum. Their old muskets were broken down for parts. Their new carbines were sleek, deadly things. They practiced loading, firing, and maneuvering with the new weapons, their movements faster, more confident.
The Cinder-Fall mines were placed by S-001, the Scout, who crept out through a ventilation shaft to seed the rubble field outside the collapsed gate. Any attempt to climb or clear the wreckage would now be a fiery, corrosive nightmare.
Days passed in a tense, watchful rhythm. The Gloom forces outside probed, but the mined rubble and the watching turret (now partially repaired, its arc limited but functional) kept them at bay. The Essence trickle from the Nexus continued. The salvage drone, SD-001, still worked its lonely circuit, now the Bastion's only external lifeline.
Isaac sat in the Core Chamber, the Sergeant standing at a respectful distance, its enhanced sensors passively monitoring all Bastion systems. The siege economy was stabilizing. He was producing more than he consumed, barely. He had a better-armed core of troops, a tactical officer, and a lethally trapped perimeter.
But he was still in a cage. The Convergence was still out there, a festering wound on the land. And below, the Magma Drudge waited, a sleeping dragon under his floorboards.
He had weathered the first storm by turning his fortress into a porcupine. But porcupines didn't win wars. They just survived attacks.
He looked at the map. The Convergence pulsed. The geothermal tap icon glowed a sullen red. Two hearts of the infection. To end the siege, he would have to stop one of them from beating. And to do that, he needed more than carbines and mines.
He needed to go back on the offensive. From the inside out.