Power died roughly two years before the first alien ships breached the atmosphere. His downfall began when the government pushed him too far, staging a "compliance test" to see if he would execute a civilian on command. Power didn't just refuse; he retaliated. Fearing a total systemic revolt, the military was forced to decommission him permanently. While Power was fighting for his life, his brother, Safei, was miles away at Safe House #4. He was in the middle of a delicate synchronization process—physically and mentally merging his consciousness with the building’s infrastructure. When the handlers finally delivered the news of Power’s "termination," Safei’s grief instantly curdled into a cold, digital rage. Using his newly integrated senses, Safei locked down the facility. He hunted the twelve technicians inside with surgical precision, utilizing every camera, internal defense system, and automated lock at his disposal. Three days passed before the government realized the team at SH #4 had gone silent. A recovery squad of seven was dispatched to investigate, leaving a lone soldier named Winter to pull guard duty at the entrance. Inside, the facility was eerily pristine. Fox, the sergeant, clicked his radio as he stepped into the unnerving silence. "All clear," he signaled to Winter. "Stand by." [Sorry about all this yapping, I need to tell you in case something changes.] The seven soldiers pushed deeper into the SH, their boots echoing against the cold floor until they reached the containment chamber. Safei sat motionless in the center, a hulking mass of silent machinery. Fox keyed his radio, his voice a low crackle. "We’ve located the unit. Looks like it’s in standby mode. Over." Safei wasn't on standby. Behind his powered-down lenses, his processors whirred, watching and waiting. He tracked the group as they split up; four headed toward the cafeteria while the remaining three approached his platform. One of the soldiers reached for the corner control panel and flipped the primary toggle. Safei staged a slow boot-up, his joints whirring with artificial sluggishness. "Oh... hello, humans," he said, his voice smooth and deceptively polite. "State the location of the personnel stationed here three days ago," Fox ordered, stepping closer. "I’m sorry," Safei replied. He tried for a tone of helpfulness, but a jagged edge of annoyance leaked through the synth-voice. "I don’t seem to have any record of that." The Sergeant grunted, clearly unimpressed. He gestured for the others to stay put while he headed toward the cafeteria to regroup with the rest of the squad. Vine stayed behind, his eyes locked on the machine. He leaned toward Sharp and whispered, "I don't buy it. I think this thing is lying through its teeth." "It’s just a security bot, Vine," Sharp muttered, though he didn't sound convinced. "Yeah, but The Boss built this one differently. It’s got way more power than a standard guard unit." Safei’s head tilted—a sharp, bird-like motion. "Oh? You truly believe I killed them?" The suddenness of the question made Sharp recoil. "No... I wasn't... I mean, maybe..." "Sure. Maybe," Safei echoed. His voice dropped an octave, the "nice" facade evaporating. "What if I told you I did? What would you say then?" "I would—" "You would say nothing," Safei interrupted, leaning forward until he strained against his mountings. His optical sensors began to glow a deep, predatory red. "Because you’d be dead." Sharp’s eyes widened. "So it was you!" he yelled, lunging toward the control panel to hit the emergency shut-off. Vine scrambled right behind him, but they were too slow. Before their fingers could even graze the switches, the air seemed to hum. Both soldiers went rigid for a fraction of a second before their bodies collapsed, falling limp to the floor like puppets with their strings cut. The four soldiers returned to Safei’s room to find the floor swept clean of the two previous bodies. “Where did they go?” Kane asked, his eyes scanning the empty space. Fox keyed his radio. “Soldiers Vine and Sharp are unaccounted for. Over.” “What happened to them?” Vance searched the shadows, eventually catching Safei’s gaze. “Welcome back, humans.” Safei’s voice was level, but his expression held a cold, lethal intensity. “Where are the others?” Fox demanded. Kane began to edge toward the control panel, his hand hovering near the interface, though he never looked away from the machine. “I suggest you stay away from that,” Safei said, pivoting smoothly to face Kane. Kane stopped a few feet short. “Why?” “You’ll die,” Safei responded, his face a mask of perfect indifference. !!!Continue below!!!
“Is that what happened to the others?” Vance’s voice remained steady, despite the tension in the room. “Did they try to shut you down, only for you to end them?” Fox turned his head slightly, whispering into his shoulder mic while Safei was occupied with Kane. “Winter, the asset is hostile. If we aren't out in ten minutes, return to base. Tell The Boss to put this facility on lock down. The original team is dead; bodies un-recovered and likely unrecoverable. Will report again if possible. Over.” Safei remained focused on Kane, the robot’s sensors locked on the man threatening his controls, seemingly oblivious to the transmission. Outside, Winter was spiraling. He paced a frantic line in the snow, torn between rushing inside to help or honoring the final six minutes of the clock. He pressed the radio against his ear, shielding it from the biting December wind. Static hissed, then Fox’s voice broke through—strained and desperate. “Winter—I need y—tell the Boss—robot is powerful—” The line went dead. “Oh no…” Winter’s legs gave out, and he slumped into the snow. “Sir? Are you there? Mr. Fox, answer me!” Suddenly, the heavy doors of the SH swung open. Fox stumbled out into the cold. “You’re alive!” Winter scrambled up, but Fox didn't offer a greeting. Instead, he lunged forward, grabbed Winter’s arm, and dragged him toward the truck. “Sir? What’s happening?” Fox shoved him into the passenger seat without a word. As Winter fumbled with his seat belt, he noticed something chilling: Fox’s radio was gone. So was the Sergeant patch he always wore with pride. “We’re going back to base,” Fox said, his voice flat. He stared straight through the windshield as he cranked the engine. “What about Kane and Vance?” Winter asked, his voice trembling. “They didn’t make it.” Fox’s expression didn't flicker. Winter fell silent. As they pulled away, he couldn't take his eyes off the massive, jagged cut on Fox’s arm. “Are you okay?” “I’ll be fine.” Fox didn't turn his head. The drive was hours of suffocating silence. When they finally reached the base, Fox marched Winter toward the main building. A swarm of people immediately surrounded them, shouting a barrage of questions: What happened? Where are the others? Mr. Fox, your arm! Fox didn't slow down. He gripped Winter’s shoulders, steering him through the crowd like a shield. “Don’t answer them,” Fox hissed. “Keep moving.” The two slipped into the elevator at the far end of the lobby. Winter retreated to one corner while Fox punched the ‘6’ button with enough force to make the panel rattle. He pulled back, claiming the opposite corner and leaving a heavy silence between them. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice cutting through the hum of the lift. “Yeah,” Winter said, his eyes drifting to the cut on Fox’s arm. The bleeding had finally stopped, but his uniform was a wreck; sleeves shredded at the cuffs and the fabric scorched where Safei’s lasers had grazed him. “What about you?” “I’ll be alright,” he muttered, adjusting his torn sleeve. “Good...” The word hung in the air, followed only by the awkward mechanical whir of the climb until the elevator let out a lonely ding for the third floor. "We should probably clean up before reporting to the boss," Fox suggested. "True. He wouldn’t appreciate you showing up in tatters," Winter replied, gesturing vaguely at Fox’s shredded uniform. The elevator chimed as they reached Floor 6, the residential level for the soldiers. Fox headed toward Cabin 18—the Sergeant’s quarters—while Winter’s own space, Cabin 15, sat just a few doors down. Winter offered a small wave as Fox reached his door. They were only a few yards apart, yet Winter felt a lingering urge to double-check if his friend was truly alright. Inside, Fox made a beeline for the bathroom. He winced at his reflection; the damage to his gear was one thing, but the gash underneath was worse. Damn, I need to patch this up, he thought. After a quick shower to clear the grit from the wound, he threw on a black shirt and cargo pants—a temporary fix until he could grab a fresh uniform. He was heading back out when he nearly collided with another soldier. "Oh! Hello, Sergeant Fox," Wolf said, quickly adjusting his stance. As the unit’s primary messenger, Wolf was the link between the boss and the boots on the ground. "Hi, Wolf. What’s the word?" "I’m actually looking for Winter. Have you seen him?" "He should be in his cabin," Fox said, nodding back toward the hallway. "Thank you, sir." Wolf gave a sharp, abbreviated salute and hurried off toward Cabin 15. That's all I could fit for now! Hope y'all like it so far, I'll keep adding, don't worry. (Comment "Ping" If you want me to tell you when I share the next part.) Next: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1317735531
