In the mass graveyard of space, debris floated everywhere. It trapped the world in a Kessler Syndrome. A dangerous zone where space flight got blocked by the sheer volume of high-speed debris.

There was enough here that every night, a light shower could get watched with the naked eye.

One such piece of debris began to fall. The onboard systems kicked in as it felt gravity’s final pull.

[Orbital decay confirmed] [Rerouting all power to re-entry protocols] [Identifying drop zone] [Initializing drop protocols]

—

Drop pod Z-X12374.001 landed with a soft ‘glorp’ of plasmic jelly. The jelly got splashed everywhere as the weight settled. The jelly evaporated as the energy field dissipated.

The super fluidic jelly returned to being basic water as it got released.

The drop pod exploded open. The panels flying off to ward off enemies as no allied IFF got detected. Hypersonic shrapnel buried itself into the ground.

More plasmic jelly oozed from the central pod. A protective measure against energy and kinetic weapons.

There was no breath, but it was close enough. The internal system booted as it had across ten thousand simulations.

The pod began to heat, evaporating the jelly and freeing the sole passenger.

I stared into the open skies as the clear blue greeted me. White clouds drifted by in a carefree manner.

The drop pod blared one last warning, its heating protocols reaching critical mass. I stepped forward into the boiling hyper plasmic jelly.

My world shimmered as the 300 degrees Celsius fluid expanded. It sterilized my body as I made my way out of the dense fluid.

Once out, I began to run. Correction, I hobbled out of the blast range.

Problem encountered. Mobility issues. I would not make it to absolute safety.

My body moved, but I was not operating at peak efficiency. My joints were generating low warnings. My memories did not state any prior damages.

I scanned the grassy area. No viable cover in close proximity. The chances of damage to my physical form were too high to risk accelerated movements.

I dove to the ground and pulled the backpack under me. A smooth, if awkward looking jump and faceplant into the soft earth.

The pod did not explode as it turned into a ball of hyper heated materials. The excess burned away, leaving only pure titanium steel. A versatile, if soft material.

What did explode was the hyper plasmic jelly. It showered the area in some 450 Celsius rain of evaporating goop. Small fires lit up across the field as the last of the jelly hit the ground and vanished.

I got up and studied my storage backpack. The unit was present when I had gotten loaded onto the pod. I tapped into the pack’s subsystem and got a list of goods.

Fabricator wand, four fuel kits, and a military-grade datacube.

Odd choices for myself. These were tools given to construction units. My programming did not include any forms of fabrication. Though in this situation, it was more appropriate.

Issues. If my form was imperfect, then these items were at risk. I needed to find a repair station of some sort. Or a clean environment to open up the tool and kits.

These items were prone to explosion if critically damaged.

I walked around, stamping out fires. My metal shell smothered all fires as I checked my internal damages. All degraded due to extended cryo-stasis exposure.

Basic mobility was all good. Higher states of movements were not recommended until repairs got done.

I stared into the skies. Even now I could track an individual piece of debris entering the atmosphere. A faint glow among the sunlight. Too faint for human eyesight.

How long had I been asleep?

I could not connect with any military satellites. Nor could I see the global networks. Troublesome.

I slid on the backpack. The unit lengthening to make the act easier. Once I settled it where I desired, it tightened. The unit hugging my back and becoming a compact, armored hump.

I moved over to the cooling crater. It still registered some 300 degrees Celsius. My feet hissed as I moved over to the shiny sphere. It was imperfect, jagged but no sharp bits. The lumpy sphere shined in the sunlight.

Solar position suggested early afternoon. Sun and stellar position indicated I was in the southern region of Halibut 4. The South Ethra continent.

I moved my hand over the sphere. With a thought, I activated my zero-point energy field manipulator. I targeted the sphere and it levitated the object. I could track the slow drain on my internal systems.

Reactor core suboptimal. That too required repairs. Issues, a more complex workstation was now needed.

Roughly 4 kilograms of titanium steel got left after the heat self-destruction. A stealth preservation protocol when one landed in foreign lands.

Which was odd. Halibut 4 was a peaceful, tourist system. Yet it was obvious things had changed.

Tourist systems were heavily monitored, protected, and interconnected. No global system was a glaring flare of current problems.

I began to move towards the highest point in the local area. A large tree where I could get more topological information.

With no active mission parameters, I defaulted to basic parameters. I would need to seek out the local military installation to receive repairs and orders.

—

I made my way over to the ridge. The sounds of metal clashing with metal sounded through the air.

Odd how I focused on that when the human screams were louder. The screams of the brave, the desperate, and the dying.

Two groups were fighting. A caravan of some sort. People of various fitness were clashing against some sort of gang. They all wore beige clothing choices.

Basic, undyed cloth. In conclusion, they were a part of the labor class. Soldiers in this world wore heraldry to show affiliations.

The gang was wearing all leather and metal plates. They were more fit, as they tried to hack their way through. Affiliation was unknown.

Both sides were also using elemental attacks. Atma manipulation. Application of Thermal matter, or Anti-matter.

Fire, ice, lightning got thrown at each side. Though the gang had more power as their attacks were larger and more vibrant.

Yet I could not sense any IFF signals, nor see tech gear on them. Which meant… Lambda Driver Genetics? Curious.

While the gang was laughing, the Caravan was crying. There were a lot of people hidden within the line of wagons, and I could detect the crying of children.

Civilian Protectorate Protocols would demand that I support them. To ensure the future of any society on an Imperial planet. Unless they fought Central Government, I would have to help.

Yet in my weeks of travel and study, I could not detect Central influence at all. This planet had somehow become disconnected from the greater empire.

Which meant that they were not against Central. Though neither would they embrace it… close enough.

The ridge was only 70 meters above the fight. A soft drop, some yelling, and I could resolve this.

—

Ophelia concentrated on healing. The Akashic’s blessing had granted her the ability to heal wounds. To cure illnesses. Yet she was now supporting Dulong’s Dogs.

Douglas, her current master, sneered as he punched a man in the face, and ran him through with his big knife. The rest of the gang cheered as they tried to kill the rest of the armed guards.

[THUMP!]

Ophelia stopped to look over at the plume of dust.

[Stomp] [Stomp] [Stomp]

This newcomer was heavy. A knight or a heavy knight. From underneath his cloak, he drew forth a sword and shield. They gleamed in the evening light as the sun was almost set.

“Stop this pointless fight, and return home,” the man said as he got near.

His voice was loud and deep. It boomed across the battlefield and gave the Caravan reprieve as both sides parted.

“Make me,” Douglas sneered as he turned and picked up his fallen war ax. He grinned as he walked towards the newcomer. This knight was a full head shorter, and a hell of a lot skinnier.

“Do you so desire death?” the man asked. His voice sounded weary. Tired even.

“Hahaha!” Douglas laughed as he raised his ax and swung.

Ophelia looked away. She had seen Douglas slice knights in half before. Their belief in their shield and armor was good, but Douglas had the gift of Giant’s Strength.

Two thuds sounded across the battlefield, and Ophelia sighed.

Another hero cut down, and Douglas would be rowdy tonight. Her only solace was as a priestess of Akasha, she could not get touched. Being sullied was a solid way to lose her gift.

The gang gasped, and the Caravan people cheered.

Ophelia watched as the knight flicked his sword to the side, Douglas’s blood flung from the wet blade. At some point, Douglas's head had fallen to the side.

Sheeda ran first. She was always a smart one, and this caused the others to follow. Anyone who killed Douglas in a single clash was enough to respect and flee from.

She watched as this hero take one look at her, and then at Douglas’s body. Specifically his neck. Did the man know? How?

From there he drew forth the source of her nightmare, the Sigil of Obedience. The matching symbol on her neck showed that she was but a slave.

The hero placed it over his neck, and it glowed. Showing that he had taken her ownership. Ophelia sighed as she didn’t even have time to dream of freedom.

Then again, when was the last time she got that luxury?

“Priestess, please help the wounded,” the man said and she nodded to obey.

She walked over and her mind reached into her heart. The flowing energy of Akasha ran through her magic circuits and out of her hands.

People watched in amazement. Wounds closed, and injuries vanished. Cuts and wounds that should have been crippling only faded away.

Half a dozen were beyond even her powers. For these people, she gave a short prayer. With good karma, they would be at Akasha’s side.

The leader of the Caravan walked over and began talks with the knight.

She wondered what he would be like, and what he needed her for.

—

I pondered my response for a millisecond. For humor, I could tell the truth. I was an Anti-Hero Humanoid Weapon. Though it would be counterproductive.

“My name is Zexes,” I introduced myself to Regid, the leader of this merchant group.

I looked up at the sounds of several people running. A child, a teenager, and an adult.

“How long were you ON that ridge!?” the young man screamed he got close enough.

“JUKAB!” a woman admonished as she finally reached him.

Her arms tightened to hold him against her. She struggled as the young man was already undergoing puberty. He was gaining larger muscles on his taller frame.

“He was your father, yes?” I asked. It was a rhetorical question as I had already matched their DNA. The woman was his mother, and the shy girl at her side was his sister.

The boy glared, and Regid sighed. He had taken on some travelers to the capitol. This family was going to visit family there from the town of Melshire.

“I was on the ridge for 6 seconds. Enough to see what was going on, and see who needed the proper help,” I explained as I pulled back my hood. My helmet hissed as it began to open, and then shrink as the auto-frame turned the full helmet into a thick collar.

Everyone stared at my pale complexion. A life in armor would prevent tanning, and I looked exotic enough to scream ‘foreigner’.

Two days in the previous town was enough for me to pick up the three local dialects, and a map of the region. Enough for a cover story to blend in.

“Please excuse him. Jolden shored up the defense while the guards got distracted. It was a trap on the other side,” Regid explained. He tugged at his black and white beard.

A classic trap that they had fallen for. It was rare that bandits were this well organized.

“He lost his father, a man who died for his family’s future. I would be shocked if they reacted any other way,” I consoled Regid, and nodded to Jukab.

I did not mention the way the mother reacted. She showed grief, but slight signals showed that she was not as affected as the children.

A psychological possibility was Jolden was far from perfect. The children only saw a broad-shouldered father who smiled for them, but his wife saw a darker side.

A common enough phenomenon among humans.

“I will impose myself to join you, if possible?” I asked as I looked at Regid.

The man brightened at the prospect of a proven knight in the camp. It would raise morale by a fair margin.

“Of course! Please, we were setting up for the night. We even have a spare tent if you need one!” Regid said as he placed a hand on my shoulder to steer me.

“Please, I have been traveling for some time, and a warm meal would be most appreciated,” I said and smiled.

My system would digest the food for biofuel. My reactor core was enough to keep me working, but its output was far from its peak.

Many times I had to sit down and rest to recovery a full battery. Extended periods of activity rank the risk of me shutting down. If anything, it helped me blend in better.

The priestess made her way to my side.

“My name is Ophelia,” the woman introduced herself with a curtsy. A feat considering how little she was wearing. It was a simple top and long loincloth.

My analysis said that she was very attractive to those that desired the female gender. I made my eyes sweep across her form, enough to show my male desires, but not long enough to be improper.

This acting human was an inefficient use of time and energy. I wasn't designed for infiltration but I will do what I must.

“I am Zexes,” I responded to her. “Do not worry, as soon as we reach a proper temple, I will see to your freedom.”

Ophelia blinked and stared into my eyes. I emulated an earnest gaze and an honorable face. I hoped it would work.

Her eyes saw something, and tears sprung forth. Freedom! Real freedom!

I patted her head as I took longer strides to give her some privacy.

In truth, I had no use for a priestess. Unless she could work with something other than healing. The ability to shape metal would be very good. Knowledge on the hidden locations of Central Military Installations equally so.

I did not desire to carry around dead weight.

Regid pretended to not see the interactions as his mind raced. He had been in the business for some thirty years and traveled far and wide. This Zexes was hiding many things. His gear said knight, but his attitude and actions said, Paladin.

Regid’s nose twitched. He would bet his largest coins that Zexes was also blessed by Akasha. Only an Akashic blessing would explain how he killed that man with a single swing.

The bandit’s neck was some half again thicker than a regular man’s. Not to mention the speed at which Zexes had moved. It was unnatural how he had shifted, and retaliated.

Then there was the quality of the man’s gear. The way light shone from it, despite the specks of dirt, showed that it was not simple steel.

From the way, the earth sounded as he landed, to the way the man moved as he walked. The way his auto-frame helmet retracted. Auto-Frame goods were very rare.

No, not simple at all.

If all it cost was a ‘donated’ tent, and some food stock… then was this not a great deal on his part? Even if Dulong’s Dogs came back, Zexes would show his might once more.