A red, scarred moon rose over the massive, weathered earthen spires that looked like abandoned termite mounds as tall as skyscrapers. Once a city of a sprawling civilization, the complex lay abandoned for millennia. Exactly how many, was the astro-archeologist’s job to determine. Looking at his notes, he pouted slightly. Yet another crumbling necropolis added to the galactic graveyard.

Those buildings weren’t made from the local soil, but from a material that simulated it, and their squatness was the result of this material giving way, almost as if the structure was deflating. In reality, it was a non-Newtonian liquid, like glass, and gravity has done its work over the ages. Dust around the site and throughout the building complexes suggested there was once cladding on virtually every surface, but it was stripped away by the elements. A thick forest of trees with purple growths shaped like collections of maces with long, flexible spikes sprouting from helical trunks, surrounded the former outpost. The vegetation also intruded deep into the city, weaving up and through the ruins.

Thousands of years ago, humans had an inkling that they may have come along too late to witness the golden age of alien intelligence and exploration. Now, it seemed that the projections and studies were right. As they ventured outward, all they saw were ruins much like this, guarded by booby traps, machines, and, in this case, once domesticated guard monsters who have reverted to their feral ways. Hence the Prototype lounging on the cliff overlooking the site.

Prototype. He was not a fan of the designation. Whenever Fleet Command referred to something in such vague, nebulous terms, you just knew it was something very bizarre and secretive, and not in that standard on-a-need-to-know-basis way by which every military in human history operated as it created new and more complex weapons, but in a you-don’t-want-to-know way which tended to train crews like his not to ask too many questions as not to deal with the ramifications of having any of the answers.

Given that background, when told who was coming to his aid, the scientist imagined a giant perched in a perfect three-point crouch, warding off erdrich monstrosities by sheer intimidation. He knew it probably wasn’t going to be the case, but prototypes were so rare that even seeing one was an oddity in and of itself, and he allowed himself to get creative. But instead of a hulking brute with elaborate weapons, a seemingly average, unremarkable cyborg stepped out of the shuttle sent by Fleet Command. At first glance, he very much resembled a standard-issue military variant, the type that almost always accompanied the professional grave robbers during their fieldwork.

He had the same red camera eyes, and the same four identifying marks on his face; a larger personal ID tag and smaller fleet assignment on his left cheek, and a primary duty designation — according to which this prototype was trained in medicine — along with a secondary duty mark in biomechanical engineering on his right. This seemed a little bizarre for a hunter-killer no one was supposed to even speak of on record, with the 13th Fleet being the sole, odd exception, so the team coalesced around the consensus that these marks were just his cover story, and it was best not to ask for clarification. It’s not as if the Prototype would tell them anyway.

And there were other quirks. His uniform was just a simple asymmetric hooded cloak with nothing but a small fleet insignia instead of the typical combat armor. His palms bore strange red, jagged, spiral markings whose function was inscrutable. His demeanor was understated at best and he barely said a word to anyone for the entire standard week he was here, despite the seemingly polite body language. Odder still, for a supposed soldier, his adherence to military etiquette seemed spotty at best, as if he was only vaguely familiar with it and gave a half-hearted effort when in a good mood, shrugging it off completely when tired.

But chilly aloofness aside, he was quite interested in the astro-archeologists’ work. Several researchers and technicians spotted him examining artifacts, tombs, and abandoned chambers of the city with his phone in hand, reading the crews’ raw notes and comparing them to previous discoveries. It could be reasoned that he was looking for traps and warning signs, but some thought he was just curious and studying between patrols.

Now, the Prototype leisurely scanned his surroundings atop a cliffside boulder, sitting cross-legged, his armored hood drawn over his head, obscuring his face so only the faint red glow of his eyes peered from the darkness when they were open.

The cyborg wasn’t taking naps, of course. His mind was extensively integrated with the drones and mechanized infantry now skulking around the ruins, feeding him terabytes of information every second. With his eyes closed and hood drawn, the Prototype could focus on mapping data from a hundred cameras and a thousand sensors into a complete, real-time, multi-dimensional schematic of the entire valley below. The longer he was here, the more apparent it became that the prototypes weren’t just supercharged soldiers, they quickly linked up to combat machinery and commanded it by thought alone, organizing overwhelming raids and assaults on enemy positions in less than a second.

By itself, this wasn’t exactly surprising. Cyborgs at a ranked officer level could also link up with a robotic squad or summon one seemingly out of nowhere. But from even casual observation, the Prototype’s command and control abilities far exceeded that of even a major. He was working with far more machines, for much longer, and in tighter quarters, almost as if they were his private army and reconnaissance service. It must have been exhausting work trying to process so much data that quickly and control hundreds of artificial minds for days at a time, the archeologist thought.

The Prototype would’ve agreed, especially having gone 36 hours without sleep at this point. His eyelids struggled to keep from closing. With a heavy sigh, he reached into his uniform and pulled out a small dispenser. After popping a pill into his mouth, he let it dissolve under his tongue. That was much better. The stimulant was kicking in, so he’d be fine for the last six hours of the assignment. He could sleep on the transport back to home base. Reaching back into his uniform, he put away the pill dispenser and extracted a meal bar. After peeling the wrapper and biting into it, he winced. The bar had the texture of styrofoam and a flavor he would’ve identified as that of the color beige if pressed.

“Yeah, those are… not good,” empathized the archeologist as he approached.

“It’s an absolute triumph of nutrition over taste,” grunted the Prototype. “Just have to choke them down fast enough.”

He looked at the scientist.

“Is the work going smoother now?” he asked. The question and tone seemed genuine.

“Oh yeah, especially when the team knows a... umm... prototype is looking out for them. Not to seem ungrateful, but to what do we owe the favor?”

“We were shorthanded and I was in the constellation.”

“Well, we’re still thrilled, even if it’s just pure luck. We should have the area cataloged in no time...”

But the Prototype stopped listening, his head snapping to attention. His eye sockets exploded with red light, his claw slammed into the rock, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished, leaving behind nothing but a faint ghost of red sparks. Yet another surprise. Cyborgs were fast, much faster than flesh and blood humans, but this one simply vanished in the blink of an eye like a bullet fired from a gun. How did he achieve and handle that explosive acceleration? And what would make him move so quickly?

Alarmed, the archeologist looked down at the ruins. He saw orbiting drones drop lower and spiral over the site with sudden urgency. Octobots, three-meter tall, spherical robots that used eight, powerful, prehensile dark chrome tentacles and a single laser-generating eye for combat, rolled deep into the mound formations. Their larger, two-eyed, jet black and red siblings, the Berserkers, hopped between spires as a backup. Walkers, sleek siege machines the size of a small house unfolded from their similarly spherical shape and moving on eight legs like spiders, took positions along key routes.

Something underneath the site must have stirred, prompting the cyborg and the machines to jump into action. He wished he could see a Prototype fight, but by the time he would’ve made his way to the target area, the engagement was likely to be over. And there was also the warning issued by fleet officers when his support request was granted. Getting caught in the crossfire of a prototype engagement likely meant death, and even his electromagnetically protected spacesuit wouldn’t save him from the gamma-ray bursts if he watched just a little too closely for a little for too long.

...

Inside the vast catacombs under the city, researchers’ frightened screams were deafened by the sonic booms of gauss rifle rounds fired by a squad of cyborg soldiers rappelling from openings they carved out in the ceilings. The armored alien monsters found themselves pushed back, writhing in pain as direct hits cracked their carapaces and tore apart their limbs. Their long, flexible claws grasped at the rocks and ledges, trying to get back up and continue their pursuit only to be met with merciless sprays of kinetic projectiles.

“Go! Go! Move! Move!” shouted the cyborgs at the rear to the fleeing scientists, shoving them towards the exits. Their sensitive ears heard the hiss of the incoming throng. As the creatures grew closer, they exchanged panicked signals. The humans wouldn’t be out in time at this rate.

Firing round after round into dark, branching tunnels, those in the front lines were now just hoping to blunt the advance. The enemy was feral, which made this even more dangerous and difficult. They couldn’t be dissuaded or threatened, they were only out for blood after their nest was disturbed. As the swarm finally started to come into view, Octobots and Berserkers broke through the ceiling, taking defensive positions and firing powerful lasers down the cavern halls. Immediately after them, the Prototype warped into existence, his eye sockets and identifying marks radiating pure malice from the darkness under his hood.

A sudden blast of electricity almost instantly finished halting the enemy advance while also destroying the lights used by the archeologists, plunging the catacombs back into darkness. The confused monsters snarled and roared, but couldn’t seem to bring themselves to commit to an attack now, having been driven back by laser fire and a bolt of lightning, facing vague, threatening shapes glowing with a menacing red aura and radiating sparks. The Prototype took a step toward them. The machines behind him tensed up as they calculated their angles of attack, beaming them directly into the Prototype’s mind. He could see each robot’s plan as they coordinated with him and each other.

From the catacomb chambers, several large, dark butcher knife-like appendages as big as a human on flexible chains tried to extend past the snarling monsters, pushing some aside and trying to aim at the alien war machines in front of them.

With a sound like blades sliding against each other, the Prototype armed his claws. Something inside his body began to emit an ominous whine growing higher in pitch before quickly fading as something ominous writhed behind his back, flames of red and orange plasma dancing along its shifting edges. His mouth relaxed into a sadistic smirk, exposing a gleaming fang, the taught corner almost imperceptibly twitching.

Yes, these monsters were very familiar. Bilaterally symmetrical hexapods two and a half to three meters long and one and a half meters tall. Long, sleek, yet muscular limbs, four with three toes and massive claws, two with hand-like appendages resembling those of raptors from the Cretaceous Period on Earth. Angular tails with barbed spikes, heads in the shape of a crescent with six symmetrical, oval eyes arranged like those of a spider. A spiky crest stretching from their foreheads to their lower backs. Armored in strategic spots. Exactly what he was expecting. And the floating butcher knives that seemed to have a mind of their own and looked like they could effortlessly slice a person in half? Well, he knew exactly to what they were attached and what those creatures and the hexapods they commanded looked like in cross-sections.

His exhaustion was now just a distant, fleeting memory being replaced with a rush of adrenaline, and the internal hum of data being churned in his mind. This will be over quickly. As far as he was concerned, there was only one blemish on his record, the shameful mark of which he still wore on his body by choice as a constant reminder. It wouldn’t happen again. This engagement will be as quick and efficient as the last, ideally even more. As the strategy took its final shape, he issued a single order to his machine troops, now fully deployed to the front.

Exactly twenty-three milliseconds later, all hell broke loose as screaming and explosions filled the catacombs. In exactly three minutes, thirteen seconds, and six hundred fifty-five milliseconds, the caverns fell silent.

...

In a softly lit room, a group of cyborgs much like the ones who crash-landed on a distant world occupied by human explorers sat around a table in their duty uniforms. To a typical human, the lighting would appear gloomy at best, but to the large eyes of the cyborgs, it appeared almost too bright without adjustments to their apertures.

Holographic screens floated around them on one side of the room, displaying data and images from numerous solar systems. On the other side, a four meter tall panoramic window showed sleek towering buildings outside, built on top of an asteroid turned into a large spaceship, and a gas giant with sweeping auroras dancing around its poles.

“Any news on the principal or the crew?” asked a cyborg named Alice while scanning her tablet.

“Not yet,” replied her colleague Sergio. “We narrowed down the area where they may have gone down but we still have several other planets to scan.”

“There are also humans from Project Terra Firma nearby so we have to be extra careful,” added Leo, a calm, commanding cyborg seated across from Alice.

“Dot, what’s the prognosis if they crash-landed?” followed up Alice, marking something off on her tablet.

“If they’re seriously injured, they’re going to default to the standard hibernation protocol until they’re fully operational again unless there’s an immediate threat,” answered a short cyborg with a soothing voice. “The bridge’s automated systems should protect them in the meantime and those were fully functional according to the last logs we were sent.”

“That all makes sense,” nodded Sergio. “Still, let’s try to find them as soon as possible. I understand we have a special ops squadron making its way back after securing an artifact world. Let’s go ahead and divert them to do the recovery.”

“All right, sounds like we know what we’re doing,” agreed Alice. “I’ll send word to Omega Squadron.”

She shook her head and scoffed after quickly checking in with her tablet.

“Oh, he’s going to be so tired and cranky.”

“I don’t envy all the humans who’ll have to deal with him when he’s in a bad mood,” groaned Leo.

“Let’s burn that bridge when we get to it,” laughed Alice. “We have our work cut out for us. Dismissed.”