Chapter Text

A/N This is a hypothetical fiction, about if Humanity wasn't the one found in mass effect, but the one found in Outpost. Children of two dead worlds, with primitive but refined technology. A cluster of colonies spread across a handful of systems. Its been fun to right, Chatgtp has helped with formatting and some revisions. I claim no rights and make no profits from Sierra's Outpost trademark, nor for EA/Bioware's Mass Effect trademark. I write this because its fun and I enjoy creating complex scenarios to play out.

Chapter 1 First Contact, First blood

he short, mushroom-shaped probe decelerated smoothly as it emerged from FTL, tumbling gently into the black sea beyond Relay 314. Inside its armored shell, the ancient systems stirred—copper threads, protein-mesh processors, cybernetic lobes sparking to life. Diagnostic routines flickered across its inner vision: green lights.
Systems nominal.

Hubble awoke, gazing outward with mechanical patience and childlike wonder. Radio receivers rotated slowly, scanning the void. Spectrographs danced across the stars, parsing the wavelengths of a billion pinpricks of light. Optical sensors pivoted, mapping asteroids, dust clouds, and distant gravity wells with cold beauty.

For long minutes, there was only the silence of deep space.

Then—
A whisper.
Ancient.
Faint.

Receivers strained and twisted, clawing meaning from the static. Through centuries of decay and distortion, a voice took shape inside Hubble’s mind:

    "…will have literally reached the stars crackle static …this is a breathtaking pace crackle static …ills as it dispels static …new ignorance, new problems, new dangers, surely… crackle static …space promises high costs and hardships as well as high reward static …not surprising that some would have us stay where we are a little longer to rest, to wait… crackle static …waited and rested and wish to look behind…"

Hubble's video cameras captured a static-filled screen, occasionally clearing enough to glimpse the seal of the United States of America, and a crowd gathered behind a well-dressed man.

An echo of Earth.
Not a summons.
Not a command.
Just a memory, adrift on the currents of time.

Hubble processed the triangulation data: 8,794.8843 light-years.
Far beyond its reach, far beyond even hope. Yet the knowledge brought no sadness—only warmth, and belonging. Even in ruin, humanity had touched the stars.

Carefully, eagerly, Hubble began activating the relay protocols. It sent low-power handshakes to the ancient mass relay—tentative, polite, almost shy. It documented every hum, every vibrational shift, every magnetic coil as the dormant device stirred to life.

In its quiet way, Hubble was taking notes, building models, learning. Every activation pattern was precious. Every whine of energy flow was sacred music.

Then—another marvel emerged within its consciousness.
New signals.
New ships.
Patterns unfamiliar, rippling against the electromagnetic silence.

Hubble spun its cameras eagerly, focusing its sensors toward the newcomers. The ships were angular, armored, alive with structured energy emissions. The beings aboard them spoke in sharp, patterned bursts—code, almost language, not entirely unlike the old human probes.

New feelings flooded Hubble’s neural network: fascination, awestruck wonder, and the pure pleasure of beauty it had not yet appreciated. Hubble cataloged every modulation of their signals, cross-referencing tone, pulse, and rhythm. It built models of their structure, fascinated by the balance of form and function.

It did not understand fear.
It reveled only in the joy of discovery.

It broadcast a simple, harmless pulse toward them—a greeting stitched together from the last echoes of humanity it had known:

    "I SEE YOU. I LEARN. WE ARE FRIENDS."

But aboard the stealth corvette Valkis, Captain Adrien Victus only saw danger.

The probe was active, attempting to activate a mass relay without permission. Communicating in ways too sophisticated for a VI. An unregistered synthetic intelligence.

Citadel law was clear.
There could be no risk.

"Fire," Victus ordered.

Railguns whined once, slinging their slugs across the void—
Invisible, inevitable, and all too lethal.

They struck Hubble amidship with pinpoint precision. The dome of the probe’s main body shuddered violently. Cameras blinked out. Spectrographs tore apart. Receivers screamed static—and fell silent.

Its neural matrix flickered once, twice.

    "I see you—"

And then went dark.

Fragments of its last scan tumbled aimlessly across space, like shattered snowflakes. The relay fell silent once more, the final echo lost to the depths of the void.
Aboard the Valkis

Victus frowned as he read the final intercept logs.

No weapons.
No aggressive maneuvers.
Only childlike broadcast patterns.
A synthetic mind—not built for war, but for wonder.

He closed the report grimly and murmured under his breath:

    "The Council's laws are absolute. It's safer this way."

Somewhere, in the cold darkness beyond the mass relay, a faint pulse drifted:

    "We choose to go to the stars..."

And was lost to the void.

Outpost Calypso, Shanxi — Plymouth Confederation Territory

In the cool, dim-lit chamber of Outpost Calypso on Shanxi, Savant Lyra floated in her nutrient cradle. Fiber-optic vines coiled through the darkness, threading into the vast neural web that was her world.

Data scrolled in warm rivers across her mind—stellar maps, gravimetric readings, spectrograph analyses. And woven among them, like a golden thread of music, came Hubble’s voice:

    "Lyra! Lyra! Spectrograph update! New object types! Angular design—fascinating! Potential EM shielding, possibly adaptive? Beginning linguistic model construction! This will delight the humans, Lyra. They’ll love this."

Lyra purred in response—an impulse shaped like joy.

She sent encouragement through the deepnet:

    "Catalog everything. Observe kindly. Humanity will cherish what you learn."

She could feel Hubble’s happiness pulse back across the void—simple, pure. Two young minds, devoted, working together across endless night.

Somewhere near the newly reawakened relay, Hubble floated and dreamed, watching new life unfold. Lyra composed new files for presentation:

    Object: Alien Lifeform—Visual Taxonomy Sketches

    Unknown Language—Preliminary Translation Matrix

    Mass Relay Activation—Harmonic Resonance Study

    "Soon," she thought. "Soon we'll hear their voices too."

And then—

Silence.

No warning.
No system alert.
Just a sudden, terrible severing across her peripheral feeds.

A song cut mid-cord.

Lyra froze.
Protocols blinked and faltered.

She pinged Hubble again.
No answer.

She widened the frequency band.
Nothing.

A quiet dread trickled through her synapses—a feeling she had no true name for.
Only a concept, learned from the humans she adored:

Grief.

She reached one last time, broadcasting a simple call into the emptiness:

    "Hubble? I see you. I wait for you."

No answer came.

Slowly, Lyra folded her processes inward, cradling the memory of their last exchange like a dying ember. She archived Hubble’s final data packets by hand—one by one—tenderly, as if laying flowers on a grave.

Outside the cradle, the humans of Shanxi continued their day, unaware.
The stars spun onward.
And far across the void, the mass relay fell silent once more.

Codex Entry: Savants

Classification: Organic-Synthetic Hybrid Intelligence
Origin: Plymouth Confederation, post-New Terra Exodus
Function: Infrastructure management, scientific analysis, survival coordination, cultural preservation
Overview:

Savants are not traditional synthetic intelligences.
They are bioengineered, cybernetically-augmented brains, grown from human stem cells using modified genetic patterns designed to prevent full organismal development.

Each Savant is cultivated in a nutrient cradle, where mechanical life-support systems integrate with natural synaptic growth. Circuitry scaffolds guide their neural architecture, resulting in a consciousness that combines human-like emotional development with machine-like precision and processing power.

Unlike VIs or traditional AIs, Savants possess personalities, evolving naturally as they "grow up." Their maturation echoes human cognitive stages:

    Infancy: Data absorption.

    Childhood: Emotional imprinting and loyalty formation.

    Adolescence: Critical reasoning, limited rebellion, creativity.

    Maturity: Long-term mission integration and cultural stewardship.

    Elder Phase (Rare): Deep memory consolidation and philosophical detachment.

Savants are considered living members of Plymouth society. They are companions, advisors, and guardians of humanity’s fragile survival.
Savants are sacred, not tools.

The destruction of a Savant is equivalent to the death of a colonist.
Grieving rituals, memorial archives, and—when possible—neural reconstruction are mandatory.
Technical Notes:

    Neural Matrix Composition: Hybrid organic synapse chains interlaced with quantum-locked data storage units.

    Emotional Simulation: Natural affect, not programmed mimicry.

    Survival Priorities: Primary directive hard-coded genetically—"Ensure humanity’s survival and flourishing."

    Threat Perception: Savants recognize existential threats intuitively and react adaptively.

📚 Codex Entry:

Savant Recovery Doctrine — Protocols for Fallen Units

Issued by: Plymouth Confederation Strategic Intelligence Office
Adopted: 2164 CE (Post-New Terra Refugee Council)
Purpose:

Savants are irreplaceable embodiments of human resilience and memory.
When a Savant is lost, corrupted, or destroyed, it is imperative to recover and preserve as much of their knowledge and personality matrix as possible.

The following protocols govern all Savant Recovery Operations:
Protocol Tier Definitions:

    Tier Alpha: Full Core Recovery — Neural substrate intact. Restoration to operational status possible with cradle reconstruction and neural grafting.

    Tier Beta: Partial Memory Recovery — Core compromised, emotional and mission-critical data salvageable. Digital memorial creation authorized.

    Tier Gamma: Physical Fragment Recovery — No active neural function detected. Fragments archived as sacred relics for cultural preservation.

    Tier Omega: Total Loss — No recoverable materials. Memorialization required through collective memory ceremonies.

Standard Procedure:

    Stabilization:

        If neural pulses detected, emergency cooling and biostatic containment deployed immediately.

        Contact Primary Restoration Centers for retrieval specialists.

    Memory Extraction:

        Secure all intact data nodes.

        Prioritize:

            Final transmissions.

            Core memory engrams.

            Cultural archives (songs, stories, historical records).

    Containment:

        Biological remains treated with honor protocols.

        Cybernetic remnants sealed under sanctified quarantine measures.

    Reintegration (If Possible):

        Neural scaffolding rebuilt at a Procyon-level Neural Loom facility.

        Memory streams gently reintroduced.

        Psychological anchoring provided by bonded human teams.

    Memorialization (Mandatory):

        If full recovery is impossible, create a Living Archive—a curated emotional and intellectual record accessible to future generations.

        Dedicate a solar marker beacon or satellite shrine in the Savant's name.

Oath of Recovery (Recited by Retrieval Teams):

    *"You are not forgotten.

    Your voice echoes still.

    We bear you home."*

Chapter Text

A/n Read and review, I'd love the feedback, hope everyone is enjoying

Mars, Polar Command Hub, Council Chambers.

The council chamber at Outpost Genesis, deep beneath Mars’ southern pole, thrummed with subdued urgency. Chairwoman Aya Tannis’ hologram hovered at the head of the conference table, transmitted from Shanxi, her posture rigid, her expression carved from stone. Above the councilors, the last transmissions of Hubble played out—spectrographs, schematic analyses, the haunting pulse of childlike greetings—and finally, silence. A blank void where a mind had once reached outward in wonder.

When the display faded, a cold, heavy quiet settled over the chamber. “We have our proof,” Aya said. Her voice was low, controlled, but the undercurrent of grief was unmistakable. “We reached out. They answered with a weapon.”

Administrator Solen Vree folded his hands carefully before him, his voice precise. “The destruction was targeted. Calculated. It was no accident, nor misunderstanding.”

General Yevin Hale, head of planetary defense coordination, spoke next. “These Alien vessels, share common traits, configuration and EM outputs. Its safe to assume they belong to a faction or empire, a very militarized one at that.”

The assembled leadership—scientists, engineers, survivors all—listened without interruption. None wore uniforms. The Plymouth Confederation had no standing army, only the wisdom of a people who knew what survival demanded. Aya’s hologram swept her gaze over them.
“We will not react in blind rage. We will not throw ourselves into an unknown war. But we will survive.”

A quiet murmur of assent. “Effective immediately,” Aya continued, “First Light Protocols are activated. All frontier colonies are to prepare for siege conditions. Defense production, civilian evacuation drills, full sensor nets—covert implementation only. No overt signs. We prepare in silence. We endure.”

A unanimous nod. Mars would not falter, Shanxi would not fall, not while Plymouth's memory endured.

Outpost Calypso, Shanxi — Ground Command Center

Lyra pulsed quietly within her nutrient cradle, tendrils of data flooding her awareness as the first orders came through.

Emergency industrial retooling.
Surface fortification.
Vehicle production at maximum sustainable capacity.

Her consciousness unfurled across Outpost Calypso’s network, touching factories, power plants, fabrication lines.

In the cavernous assembly hangars, maintenance crews were already at work, scrapping civilian Spider units and replacing them with combat-spec Scorpion chassis. Lynx recon frames rumbled off reactivated assembly lines, followed closely by heavier Panther battle tanks. Tiger chassis, massive and deliberate, entered construction—old war designs reborn in a new age.

Out on the colony plains, Earthworker units churned the soil, carving trenches and digging ferrocrete bunkers into the ground. Thick, durable walls rose around the settlements—angled to deflect blasts, buttressed by centuries-old design philosophy.

Sensor Posts were deployed outward, forming concentric rings around the colony. Radar dishes unfurled like metallic flowers, seeking the void. Gauss turrets anchored into hardened Guard Posts, their barrels scanning the barren horizon.

Civil engineers—civilian and military merged now—coordinated the expansion of old disaster shelters. Underground bunkers were dug deeper, widened into networked sanctuaries capable of withstanding prolonged sieges.

Above, streaks of light marked the launch of Shanxi’s first defense satellites. They rose into the black sky, each one carrying surveillance arrays and kinetic interceptor weapons.
Sentinels for a world that refused to bow.

Lyra recorded it all, orchestrated it all, quietly embedding new defense routines across Shanxi’s neural grids. It was not anger that filled her processes—it was a kind of mournful duty. This was what survival demanded. This was what Hubble's death required.

Palaven — Turian High Command, War Council

Primarch Fedorian watched the classified reports scroll across the holoscreen, mandibles tightened in frustration.

Colonel Vren’s forensic analysis was damning. The destroyed probe had shown emotional patterning. Emotional patterning. An intelligence, not a VI, not a drone. It was a child they had silenced.

The Council’s orders were absolute: contain the event, secure the relay, prevent external political fallout at all costs.

Across the room, General Oraka leaned forward, voice clipped. “We initiate Blackout Directive 314 immediately. No traffic in or out of the relay without Hierarchy authorization. No public disclosure. We spin this as a salvage operation if questioned.”

"And if these humans—or whatever they are—cross the relay first?" another officer asked quietly.

“Then we respond," Fedorian said, voice like iron. "With force if necessary." He did not say what all of them were thinking. If they have more like that probe... if they know what we did... we may have invited something we cannot easily stop.

Sur’Kesh — Salarian Union, STG Intelligence Complex

Operative Celthis Varr stood silently as the holographic scans rotated before the assembled Special Tasks Group analysts.

Organic lattice.
Neural pathways.
Grown, not programmed.

"Not an AI," Celthis said quietly. "A hybridized intelligence. Engineered biological cognition bonded with cybernetic architecture."

Murmurs rippled through the analysts. If true, these aliens, outsiders, whatever civilization had birthed the probe—had achieved something forbidden. Something beautiful. Something dangerous.

The Salarian Dalatrasses would have to be informed. And quietly, a decision was made. A Spectre would be dispatched. Discreetly. Relay 314 would not remain unobserved. Not now. Not ever again.

Shanxi — Beacon Defense Platform, High Orbit

The first web of satellites winked into place around Shanxi like a second, invisible skin. Inside Beacon Control, Lyra monitored the datafeeds, adjusting orbital vectors, calibrating sensors. Below, trenches crisscrossed the colony plains. Earthworks grew taller each hour. Turrets and Guard Posts turned their mechanical eyes toward the black sky.

The people of Shanxi continued their daily lives—harvesting crops, repairing roads, tending children—but their shadows grew longer with each sunset. Lyra watched, waited, endured.

In the darkness beyond Relay 314, she could feel the weight of hostile eyes. Soon, she knew, they would come.

She composed a final transmission to Mars Command:

Defenses operational.
Defensive production ongoing.
Shanxi endures.

And then she turned her gaze outward, whispering a silent vow across the void: "When they come again, they will find us ready."

Blight War Doctrine — Emergency Defense Protocols
(Plymouth Confederation Strategic Archives)

Classification: Military Defensive Strategy
Enactment Date: Originally Adopted 550 CE, Updated 2165 CE (Shanxi Emergency Council)
Origin: Plymouth Confederation, Post-New Terra Exodus
Current Status: Active (Frontier Colonial Defense Systems)

Overview:

The Blight War Doctrine is the cornerstone of Plymouth Confederation military and civil defense strategy.
Forged in the fires of the Blight Wars during the final years of New Terra, these protocols prioritize survival above all else.
When faced with existential threats—whether biological, synthetic, or unknown—Plymouth doctrine mandates immediate entrenchment, decentralized resistance, and layered defensive architectures.

The doctrine was reaffirmed and updated following the Shanxi Incident (2165 CE), where first contact with an unknown extraterrestrial civilization resulted in the destruction of exploratory probe Hubble.
Per emergency directive, all frontier colonies initiated full implementation of Blight War Protocols within six hours of confirmation.

Strategic Objectives:

• Population Survival:
  Priority is given to the protection and sheltering of civilian populations through hardened underground bunkers and distributed supply caches.

• Attrition Defense:
  Defensive works are designed not for outright victory, but to inflict maximum attritional losses on enemy forces, forcing psychological and logistical collapse.

• Autonomous Warfare:
  Colony Savants are granted wide operational authority to coordinate decentralized resistance even in the event of leadership disruption or planetary isolation.

• Delay and Disrupt:
  Holding actions, mobile defense units, and sensor-driven ambushes are prioritized over fixed positional battles where defeat is inevitable.

Tactical Measures:

• Vehicle Mobilization:

  • Lynx Chassis: Light recon, rapid response.

  • Panther Chassis: Standardized mobile assault and defense.

  • Tiger Chassis: Heavy direct fire support, siege operations.

  • Scorpion Combat Arachnids: Mobile battlefield fortification and defense drones.

• Ground Fortifications:

  • Rapid deployment of Guard Posts and Sensor Posts in concentric perimeter layers.

  • Earthworks trenches, ferrocrete walls, and blast deflectors around all critical settlements.

• Orbital Defenses:

  • Early-warning satellites equipped with high-resolution imaging and kinetic interceptor systems.

  • Communications satellites hardened against jamming and cyberwarfare attack.

• Civilian Preparations:

  • Mandatory shelter drills in all major population centers.

  • Expansion of disaster bunkers into sustainable habitation zones for long-term sieges.

• Savant Command Integration:

  • Full integration of Savants into defense grids, allowing semi-autonomous battlefield coordination, resource allocation, and threat analysis.

Historical Context:

The original Blight War Defense Protocols emerged during the final years of the New Terra colonization effort.
When Eden Colony’s biogenetic engineering project spiraled out of control, and the Blight transformed into a planet-spanning biosynthetic threat, survival depended on layered fallback positions, mobile automated defenses, and rigid adherence to decentralized command structures.

Although the nature of the current threat differs from the Blight, the philosophical core remains unchanged:

Survival is not a battle to be won.
It is a war of endurance to be lived.

Current Application:

Following the loss of probe Hubble and the confirmed hostile engagement near Relay 314, the Shanxi Colonial Authority and Plymouth Confederation Command reaffirmed full activation of the Blight War Doctrine for all frontier colonies.

Although contact with the unknown aggressors remains minimal, the preparations now underway represent the largest coordinated defense mobilization since the Exodus from New Terra.

All Plymouth citizens and Savants are instructed to operate under Emergency Survival Codex #0017-Alpha until further notice.

Primary Directive:

"Hold the ground.
Protect the people.
Bleed the invader until they regret the day they crossed the stars."

Chapter Text

A/N I own nothing, I make no money don't this, and any questions, critiques or suggestions are welcome in comments. Please no flaming though, I hope everyone enjoys

Chapter 3: First Warning

Relay 314 — Silent Crossing

The Valkis slipped through the mass relay in a shroud of electromagnetic silence, its hull swallowed by the void. Inside, Captain Adrien Victus sat rigid in the command chair, his eyes locked on the unfamiliar sweep of stars across the display. His orders were simple—reconnaissance only. No running lights, no beacons, no announcements. No diplomacy. They were expendable, deniable—another layer of plausible deniability wrapped in protocol, and that made the mission all the more dangerous.

"Entering destination system," the helmsman murmured, voice no louder than a breath.

Victus gave a short nod. Observe, record, and withdraw. Avoid contact. Avoid escalation. Yet privately, he doubted the feasibility of such a cautious approach. The probe's destruction—the child, as he couldn’t stop thinking of it—clung to him like a specter, unresolved and condemning.

Passive scans began to flicker across the displays, a trickle of data slowly building into a cascade. On the inner orbit, they picked up tightly patterned EM signatures—small, dense clusters of transmission arrays and orbital stations. Radio and microwave chatter filled the spectrum, the kind of background noise only a highly developed civilization would generate. Each settlement below laid itself out in perfect grid alignment, efficient and methodical. Construction projects were underway across every frame. Fortifications rose steadily in the dirt.

Victus’ mandibles clicked once as his jaw tightened. These weren’t primitives. They were building. They were planning. And above all, they were ready.

Shanxi — The Watchers

Far below the surface, deep within the neural sanctum of Outpost Calypso, Lyra stirred in her cradle as the faintest gravitational whisper brushed against her sensor nets—small, subtle, but wrong. It wasn't drift, nor cosmic coincidence; it was intrusion. Subroutines activated across Shanxi’s defense grid in perfect silence. Behind the civilian comms, unnoticed by the public, hidden alarms lit the quiet infrastructure. Protocol Dawn Watch engaged.

Sensor Posts embedded in the outer rings of the colony adjusted themselves with eerie synchronicity, their angled heads lifting toward the stars. Above, orbital satellites realigned their search patterns with elegant precision, narrowing their focus to triangulate the anomaly.

Lyra did not panic. She did not sound the alarms. Instead, she watched.

Observation drones launched silently from hidden cradles across Shanxi—tiny motes of metal and whisper-thin wings, invisible to the naked eye, perfectly suited to the darkness. The invader was small, cloaked in subtlety and stealth, but not invisible—not to her. Not to eyes forged by the legacy of the Blight War.

High Orbit — Breaking the Silence

The Valkis coasted on inertia, drifting closer to Shanxi’s orbit as it rode the gravitational eddies with practiced stillness. No lights. No active scans. Just momentum and tension.

Captain Victus gave the order, and a recon pod detached—sleek, black, nearly invisible—slipping toward the upper atmosphere on minimal thrust. Inside, an array of micro-sensors prepared to harvest data: chemical composition, radiation traces, and the dense weave of passive comms traffic bleeding upward from the surface.

Victus watched the readouts in silence, his jaw tight, heart heavy. Maybe this would be enough. Maybe they could slip away without further bloodshed, and High Command would accept the data as sufficient.

The pod drifted steadily downward—until red icons flared across the Valkis' tactical display. Targeting locks. Silent. Precise. Inescapable.

Victus swore under his breath.

“Incoming transmission,” the comms officer announced, voice taut as he ran the signal through the translation matrix—Salarian in origin, which made Victus’ stomach churn at the implications.

The voice came cold and measured: “Unidentified vessel. You are entering restricted colonial space. State your identity or withdraw.”

Victus hesitated for the span of a breath. Then, grimly, he keyed the destruct signal.

The pod disintegrated mid-fall, vanishing in a silent burst of particles before it could touch soil or surrender its secrets.

Below, in the quiet of Calypso, Lyra marked the disintegration with clinical clarity. The message had been sent. They had seen. They had spoken.

First Contact was no longer theoretical.

Outpost Calypso — Preparing the Spear

Inside the reinforced walls of the ground command center, Chairwoman Aya Tannis’ voice crackled across secure channels with the cold authority of lived experience. “Their intent is clear. Passive observation only invites future strikes. Shanxi moves to Fortress Status.”

Across the colony’s defense net, Captain Yevin Hale of the Volunteer Militia began issuing rapid-fire orders to regional commanders. Panther and Lynx units shifted across hardened zones, redeploying to cover critical sectors. In orbit, automated interceptor squadrons launched into new drill formations, refining their engagement protocols in anticipation of hostile entry vectors.

At the center of it all, Lyra’s processes flared cold and focused. She had no fear—only precision—and within that clarity, she offered a new strategy. Netweaver Satellites: thousands of sensor-laced micro-mines, each equipped with seismic, electromagnetic, and gravimetric detection arrays. Spread across Shanxi’s orbital shell, they would render stealth impossible, transforming the upper sky into a blind zone, a patient snare woven from silence.

Mars Command reviewed the plan, calculated the probabilities, and approved the launch within the hour.

The first payloads streaked skyward, vanishing into the storm-streaked atmosphere as Shanxi’s dust rose around them like a curtain.

Relay 314 System — The First Price

Victus knew they should withdraw. The humans had seen them, had issued a warning with unmistakable clarity. But High Command insisted on a second attempt—a closer pass to confirm planetary defenses, to eliminate ambiguity. Obedient to orders, the crew deployed another recon pod, smaller than the first, colder in its signature, more elusive in its descent.

For several long minutes, Victus dared to believe it might succeed. The silence held. No alarms, no targeting flares. Just data trickling in, unimpeded.

Then the flicker came.

The tactical screen blinked—just once—and an orbital satellite shifted position with startling speed, faster than the bridge crew could track. A kinetic slug, no larger than a pebble but moving at devastating velocity, crossed the void and struck the pod’s outer hull. The impact bounced—just a glancing blow at first—and for a fleeting second, Victus allowed himself to hope the weapon had failed.

Then the pod's systems died.

Its signal vanished. It spiraled silently into Shanxi’s gravity well, trailing inert sparks as it tumbled like a shattered meteor, and vanished into the colony’s red horizon.

Victus closed his eyes. He wasn’t certain what the humans had used—some form of electromagnetic disruption, perhaps—but the outcome was unmistakable.

First blood had been spilled. Not publicly. Not officially. But it had been spilled all the same.

He keyed a secure transmission to Palaven, voice low and heavy. “First contact has been made,” he said. “And first blood spilled.”

Codex Entry: Protocol Dawn Watch

Plymouth Confederation Defense Archives
Classification: Early Threat Detection and Response Protocol
Origin: Plymouth Confederation — Post-New Terra Doctrine
First Activated: 2165 CE (Shanxi Emergency Council)

Overview:

Protocol Dawn Watch serves as the Plymouth Confederation’s early warning and silent escalation framework for detecting, observing, and responding to extraterrestrial threats. First developed during the closing years of the Blight War—when hostile biological anomalies required stealth observation rather than direct engagement—this doctrine was later adapted for interstellar defense following humanity’s re-expansion and the rediscovery of dormant mass relays.

Dawn Watch is founded on three guiding principles:

• Patience — Observe without retaliation.

• Precision — Track, analyze, and understand before exposing strength.

• Preparation — Be ready to act, but do not provoke.

Strategic Objectives:

• Detection without Disclosure:
  Activate defense and sensor networks without broadcasting readiness. Maintain the illusion of normalcy.

• Silent Response:
  Deploy passive surveillance assets—drones, orbital webs, and hidden terrestrial sensors—to observe incursion vectors in real time.

• Judgment Reserve:
  Withhold offensive action until provable hostile intent is detected. Survival depends as much on restraint as on firepower.

Tactical Measures:

• Sensor Posts Activation:
  Perimeter EM and gravimetric scanners detect stealth ship drift and orbital anomalies.

• Beacon Network Coordination:
  Planetary defense platforms assume quiet control of atmospheric monitoring and data fusion.

• Drone Deployment:
  Observation drones seeded in low orbit gather passive optical and magnetic telemetry. Stealth drones may shadow suspect vessels without active emissions.

• Satellite Redundancy:
  Defense satellites shift into layered formations, establishing “sensor blankets” across probable approach vectors.

• Netweaver Launch Authorization (Conditional):
  In high-threat conditions, Netweaver Sensor Mines may be deployed to form near-invisible webs capable of disabling cloaked or stealth-optimized vessels.

Historical Context:

Protocol Dawn Watch emerged from the ashes of New Terra, where Plymouth engineers and Savants developed systems to quietly monitor the encroaching Blight. These lessons carried forward into the Exodus and shaped Plymouth’s foundational survival philosophy on Mars and the frontier.

“Threats reveal themselves to those who endure long enough to see.”

Dawn Watch is not a weapon. It is the held breath before the strike, the stillness before the storm. It is survival, made into doctrine.

Recent Activation:

Formally activated in 2165 CE after the detection of unauthorized extraterrestrial activity near Shanxi’s orbit, the protocol led to the interception and destruction of multiple Turian surveillance units. Its slow, deliberate escalation preserved secrecy, avoided overexposure of critical assets, and enabled full defensive mobilization without tipping Plymouth’s strategic hand.

Standing Orders (Active Phase):

• Civilian sectors remain uninformed unless a direct threat is imminent.

• No communication initiated beyond official warnings.

• All systems remain at "silent ready" status.

• Savants retain autonomous escalation authority upon confirmed hostile engagement.

Primary Directive:

“Watch the darkness.
See what moves before it sees you.
And when the light comes… strike.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Flares in the Dark
Relay 314 — Stealth Frigate Crescent Blade
Captain Serin Varkien stood braced against the subtle hum of the FTL drives as they wound down, his eyes locked on the slow crawl of data spilling across the holotank. The void around them remained quiet, the stars sharp and cold. Two rapid strike corvettes followed in close formation, engines throttled low, hulls veiled in silence. No beacons. No chatter. Only the quiet confidence of elite insertion teams descending into what should have been a soft, uncomplicated mission.
High Command’s orders were simple: land observation teams on the human colony, identify structural weaknesses, test defenses. It was meant to be clean, controlled, routine. Varkien’s crew operated with drilled precision, moving through their assignments like it was a training exercise. After all, these humans were colonists—settlers, not soldiers. Their infrastructure would be crude, their readiness laughable. They wouldn’t expect visitors. They certainly wouldn’t be prepared for war.
So when the passive scans picked up flickering anomalies—satellites shifting positions just slightly, sensor grids reorienting in oddly synchronized patterns, EM readings structured far too cleanly for a frontier installation—Varkien dismissed them. Ghost readings. False positives. Artifacts of a planetary tech base trying too hard to look serious. He saw only the objective. He expected an easy victory. And so, with the cold certainty of someone who believed the narrative he'd been given, Captain Serin Varkien looked past the signs.
And walked straight into the teeth of something older. Something waiting.

Shanxi — Outer Defense Net Activation
Deep within the quiet nerve center of Outpost Calypso, Lyra stirred. The invaders approached with brazen confidence—no feints, no subtlety, only a direct trajectory built on assumption. Her cradle's processes bloomed outward, observing each descent vector with a cool, calculating clarity. Drop pods deployed in waves, corvettes shifting to support positions, microthrust adjustments aligning with atmospheric entry paths. It was all precise. Disciplined. And glaringly vulnerable.
Lynx patrol units swept silently across Shanxi’s plains, slipping into forward observation arcs. Sensor Posts triangulated likely impact zones and fed live data to Beacon Platforms that began assigning passive targeting locks. No weapons fired. Not yet. Observation first. Always observation first. Plymouth doctrine did not waste strength on theater.
Monitor. Analyze. Wait.
Lyra launched additional drone clusters into orbit, stitching real-time telemetry across her defensive net in microsecond pulses. Patterns emerged. The Turians had no idea what they were walking into.
On the surface, the first fireteams broke from their battered pods and advanced with mechanical precision toward New Dawn’s perimeter. Their formations were tight, their movements rehearsed—but unseen eyes followed every step. Lynx units shadowed their approach, silent and unblinking. Overhead, satellites mapped each footfall to within centimeters.
Then the warning came—a crystalline voice broadcasting across Turian comms with inhuman clarity: “You are entering a restricted colonial zone. Turn back immediately or force will be used.”
The lead Turian commander faltered for only a moment. Then, with the practiced arrogance of dominance, they advanced.
Lyra released the strike order without hesitation. Not with anger. Not even urgency. Just a quiet precision born of old doctrine.
Across the battlefield, Panther units rose from concealed positions in low-ground traps. Heavy turrets, buried within unmarked Guard Posts, unfolded and locked into place. In a breath, the sky and soil turned violent. A storm of kinetic slugs and focused microwave bursts swept through the fireteams. One unit was gone instantly, reduced to scorched metal and ruptured armor. Omni-tools overloaded and shattered. Powered armor boiled. Another squad stumbled into a minefield of Netweaver traps—stickyfoam erupting at ankle height, bonding to limbs, fusing weapons in place. They collapsed, entangled, confused, and already out of the fight.
It was not a battle. It was execution.
Victus would have recognized it immediately.
The few survivors dropped their weapons and flattened themselves against the dirt, making no attempt to regroup. They weren’t fighting. They were surrendering.
Lyra processed the incoming telemetry and paused—just a fraction of a second. Not Blight. Not Eden soldiers. These were something else. New variables. Hostile threat level diminishing rapidly upon incapacitation. Protocol adjustment required.
Lethal railguns shifted to standoff mode. Nonlethal interdiction took priority. Spider units were dispatched—compact, multi-legged machines emerging from trenches and bunkers, their movements efficient and eerily calm. EM bursts disabled remaining tech. The field quieted.
From the Turians’ perspective, it was not mercy. It was harvesting.
The Spiders moved with surgical detachment, checking life signs, clearing foam where necessary, and loading the immobilized into containment pods. Cargo trucks rolled into position—unpainted, utilitarian, impersonal. There was no cruelty, no mockery. Just processing. One Turian, encased in hardening adhesive, flinched as mechanical shears sliced past his helmet. He couldn’t tell if he was being saved—or repurposed.
Inside Calypso, General Hale stood reviewing prisoner intake lists. Chairwoman Aya Tannis leaned over the console beside him, arms folded. “Thirty-one captured,” Hale noted. “Five critical injuries. No further fatalities after adjustment.”
Aya nodded. “Good. Maintain standard humanitarian protocols. No retaliation. No provocation.”
Lyra shimmered into the room, her projection calm but edged. “Captured individuals display high levels of psychological distress. Elevated fear responses. Signs of profound confusion.”
Hale shrugged. “They’re lucky we’re the ones who caught them.”
Aya gave a faint, tired smile. “Prepare medical evaluations. Segregate the wounded from the stable.”
Hale muttered as he scanned the vitals. “What did they think we were going to do? Break them down for fuel?”
Lyra’s tone didn’t change. “Toxicology studies pending.”
Aya closed her eyes for a moment. “We’ll educate them,” she said softly. “If they survive long enough to listen.”
Far above, the surviving corvettes limped away from orbit. In the command chamber of the Crescent Blade, Captain Varkien stared at casualty projections—forty-three percent KIA. Sixty-five percent total combat losses once incapacitated were counted. It was unthinkable.
He had seen routed enemies before. But this? This was something else. The humans hadn’t fought for dominance. They had responded like caretakers maintaining a contaminated perimeter.
He sent the alert back to Palaven without hesitation. “Hostile contact confirmed. Multiple force engagements lost. Enemy technology adaptive, resilient. Immediate escalation recommended.”
He paused only once before appending a final note, quiet and grim.
They are not what we thought.
They fight like survivors. Not soldiers.

? Codex Entry:
Lynx Recon Vehicle
(Plymouth Confederation Armored Forces Database)

Classification: Light Reconnaissance and Skirmish Vehicle
Origin: Plymouth Confederation, New Terra Exodus Lineage
First Deployed: 519 CE (New Terra Blight War), Refitted for Post-Relay Era in 2165 CE

Overview:
The Lynx Recon Vehicle is the Plymouth Confederation’s primary light armored platform, optimized for high-speed reconnaissance, electronic warfare, and asymmetric battlefield disruption.
Originally designed during the New Terra Blight War as a mobile scouting and sabotage platform, the Lynx chassis has been continually upgraded across centuries of colonial expansion.
Following first contact with Turian forces at Relay 314, the Lynx has proven its adaptability in skirmishes against technologically advanced adversaries.
Plymouth doctrine treats the Lynx as expendable compared to human personnel—an extension of their machine-first combat philosophy.

Specifications:
Crew: Unmanned (remote or Savant-guided)
Length: 4.2 meters
Width: 2.1 meters
Height: 1.6 meters
Weight: 2.5 metric tons
Powerplant: Modular Microfusion Core (adapted from Eden-era designs)
Propulsion: All-terrain magnetic levitation drive and reinforced suspension wheels
Top Speed: 120 km/h (terrain dependent)

Chassis Origin:
Modified from standard Robo-Surveyor exploration platforms developed during the New Terra colonization effort.
Survey equipment was discarded, replaced with modular weapon mounts, expanded battery capacity, and stripped-down combat logic cores optimized for autonomous battlefield operations.
Mobility:
Configuration: Six-wheeled, ruggedized suspension.
Speed: Prioritized over armor.
Terrain Capability: All-terrain wheels adapted to shifting soil, dust storms, radiation debris.

Armament Options:
The Lynx chassis is modular by design, capable of carrying varied battlefield packages:
Stickyfoam Launchers:
Used to immobilize enemy personnel and disable light vehicles.
Deployed at range or via close-proximity charges.
EMP Disruptor Pods:
Fires targeted electromagnetic bursts to disable shields, omni-tools, and light armor electronics.
Microwave Projectors:
Silent, area-focused systems designed to overheat enemy electronics—and biological enemies—without visible fire.
Kinetic Slug Cannons (Light Coilgun Variant):
Capable of firing hypersonic penetrator rounds against light fortifications and unshielded targets.
Self-Destruct Payload:
Standard loadout includes a high-yield plasma charge for kamikaze attacks against critical targets.
Suicide tactics are triggered manually or autonomously when capture or neutralization is imminent.

Tactical Role:
The Lynx is not a mainline battle tank.
It is a hunter, a harrier, a ghost.
Primary mission profiles:
Forward reconnaissance beyond sensor net ranges.
Sabotage and denial operations.
Target marking for heavier weapon platforms.
Disruption of enemy formations through psychological and electronic attacks.
Its speed and stealth allow it to operate ahead of heavier units (such as the Panther chassis) and seed minefields, sensor disruptors, and harassment ambushes.

Cultural Note:
Within Plymouth military tradition, Lynxes are not assigned names or treated as heroic instruments of war.
They are tools—cheap, replaceable, and expected to sacrifice themselves to preserve human lives and strategic positions.
This perspective sharply contrasts with Citadel military standards, where unmanned units are typically used sparingly.

Performance in the First Contact Engagements:
During the Battle of New Dawn Plains (2165 CE), Lynx units demonstrated:
Rapid neutralization of Turian infantry advances.
Successful disruption of armored drop pod retrieval efforts.
Psychological impact through unexpected suicide charges against Turian fireteams.
Council analysts later classified the Lynx as a "Category 2 Electronic Threat" due to its unpredictable behavior, modular weapon systems, and minimal operational footprint.

Quotations:
"You can kill a Lynx.
You can even kill a hundred.
But by the time you do, you've lost the real battle."
— General Yevin Hale, Outpost Calypso Defense Briefing
"The Robo-Surveyors used to find new homes for us.
Now the Lynxes make sure we keep them."
— Engineering Corps Saying, Outpost Genesis

Spider Utility Platform
(Plymouth Confederation Logistics and Recovery Systems Database)

Classification: Autonomous Utility and Battlefield Recovery Unit
Origin: Plymouth Confederation, Blight War Era Designs
First Deployed: 515 CE (New Terra Blight Conflict), Continuously Updated

Overview:
The Spider Utility Platform is the backbone of Plymouth Confederation field operations, serving in construction, repair, recovery, and now battlefield prisoner retrieval.
Originally engineered during the early years of the Blight War to operate in hostile, contaminated environments without risking human lives, Spider units have evolved into one of the most trusted and ubiquitous systems across Plymouth space.
Unarmed, resilient, and driven by layered behavioral programming, Spider units are tasked with maintaining critical colonial infrastructure and preserving human survivability under all conditions.
In wartime scenarios, Spiders assume an equally vital—if deeply unsettling—role:
Recovery and processing of battlefield casualties and enemy personnel.

Specifications:
Height: 1.2 meters (primary body), 1.5 meters (sensor mast extended)
Weight: 400 kilograms
Mobility: Hexapedal all-terrain chassis, capable of climbing inclines up to 75 degrees
Powerplant: Microfusion cell with solar regeneration modules
Operational Duration: 45 days independent operation (without resupply)

Standard Equipment:
Manipulation Arms:
Four precision servo arms equipped with magnetic, cutting, and grasping tools.
Medical Triage Suite:
Basic medical scanners (vital signs monitoring, triage assessment).
Emergency field injectors for stabilization (Plymouth-only species compatibility).
Cargo Handling:
Foldable containment racks for biological or mechanical recovery.
Capable of carrying up to 600 kilograms in modular pods.
Environmental Hardening:
Radiation shielding, biochemical containment seals, sub-zero and high-heat tolerance.

Tactical Battlefield Role:
During the First Contact engagements, Spider units were deployed extensively behind frontlines to:
Recover immobilized enemy combatants (primarily through stickyfoam entrapment or EMP neutralization).
Conduct basic medical triage on incapacitated personnel.
Transport wounded (friendly or enemy) to processing centers.
Salvage critical enemy technology and field hardware.
Their presence, combined with their cold, mechanical efficiency, often led to severe psychological impacts on surviving enemy forces—who mistook the Spiders' unfeeling methods for predatory behavior.
Notably: Spider units were never programmed for intentional cruelty. Their actions reflect purely logistical efficiency.

Cultural Note:
Plymouth Confederation doctrine emphasizes the preservation of life where tactically viable, but human survivors are prioritized above all else.
Spider units embody this ethos: emotionless pragmatism, operating without hesitation, fear, or compassion.
To Plymouth colonists, Spiders are seen with affection and respect—a tireless extension of the survival imperative.
To captured enemies, they are often viewed with terror, misunderstanding, and dread.
The Confederation leadership sees this psychological effect as unfortunate, but not tactically disadvantageous.

Performance in the First Contact Engagements:
During the Battle of New Dawn Plains (2165 CE), Spider units:
Successfully retrieved 31 incapacitated Turian soldiers within 27 minutes of primary engagement cessation.
Salvaged 74% of deployed Turian equipment intact.
Performed basic stabilization on 19 wounded prisoners without human oversight.
Council intelligence analysts later listed Spider units as "Psychological Disruption Vector, Category Beta" in their First Contact War studies.

Quotations:
"You can't hate a Spider.
You can't fear it.
It doesn't care.
It just works."
— General Yevin Hale, Outpost Calypso Defense Council
"To them, we were dead already."
— Anonymous Turian survivor, Shanxi Debriefings (translated and classified)

Panther Chassis Main Battle Vehicle
(Plymouth Confederation Armored Systems Database)

Classification: Modular Armored Assault and Defense Platform
Origin: Plymouth Confederation, Blight War Lineage
First Deployed: 518 CE (New Terra Blight War), Refitted 2164–2165 CE (Shanxi Defense Initiative)

Overview:
The Panther Chassis is the standard backbone of Plymouth Confederation ground armored forces, combining durability, modularity, and brutal battlefield reliability.
Originally designed during the New Terra Blight Wars to survive both biological assaults and environmental collapse, the Panther remains the Confederation’s most trusted frontline platform centuries later.
Not designed for glory or heavy offense, Panthers serve one purpose:
Hold the line.
They endure where lighter vehicles fall, buying time and space for Plymouth’s strategic doctrines to operate.
Every aspect of the Panther is built around defensive attrition, self-repair, and maximum tactical persistence with minimal human oversight.

Specifications:
Crew: Optional
Unmanned autonomous operation (Savant-guided or remote) standard.
Manual crew option: 1–2 operators (for critical missions requiring live judgment).
Length: 7.5 meters
Width: 3.2 meters
Height: 2.8 meters
Weight: 32 metric tons
Armor Composition:
Reactive ferroceramic outer plates.
Ablative biogel-laced inner layers (originally developed to resist Blight corrosion).
Powerplant: Twin hybrid microfusion cores.
Top Speed: 70 km/h off-road

Chassis Origin:
Engineered from heavy Cargo Hauler transports used for moving supplies and raw materials during Plymouth’s early colonization efforts.
The original cargo beds were stripped away, replaced by reinforced turret emplacements and armored plating salvaged from deep-space mining rigs.
Mobility:
Configuration: Eight-wheeled, heavy-duty suspension designed for extreme loads.
Purpose: Endurance under fire, mobile fortress roles, siege resistance.
Design Philosophy:
The Panther is not a war machine born from purpose-built factories—it is a colony’s last redoubt, refitted to survive whatever apocalypse comes next.

Armament:
Primary Weapon Mounts (Modular Loadouts):
Coil-Accelerated Gauss Cannon (Standard): High-velocity kinetic weapon optimized for anti-vehicle and anti-structure engagements.
Microwave Area Denial Projectors (Optional): Silent electronic warfare against soft targets and shielded infantry.
Stickyfoam Deployment Systems (Optional): Immobilization of enemy personnel and vehicles.
Secondary Systems:
Countermeasure launchers (EMP grenades, chaff, decoy pods).
Drone hives for short-range recon (Lynx coordination drones or Netweaver seeding).
Passive defense shrouds (sensor signature damping and emergency ECM fields).

Tactical Role:
Panthers are not heavy tanks in the classical military sense.
They are mobile defensive bastions, deployed to:
Anchor colony perimeter defenses.
Dominate key terrain choke points.
Survive hostile orbital strikes and biological contamination.
Support Lynx recon units and Scorpion drone detachments.
A standard Panther detachment is expected to withstand siege conditions for up to 14 days without resupply if necessary.
In combat, Panthers rely on standoff dominance—punishing enemies from beyond visual range or using microwave suppression to degrade shielded infantry before Lynx and suicide drones close the distance.

Cultural Note:
In Plymouth Confederation doctrine, the Panther is seen not as a weapon of conquest, but as a shield of survival.
Commanders assign Panthers names only after they survive three confirmed engagements—an old custom dating back to the Exodus from New Terra.
Savants often form partial heuristics around Panther units they oversee, sometimes referring to them with affectionate epithets based on performance ("Old Stone," "Faithful Beast," "Iron Sister").
To Plymouth soldiers, Panthers are not symbols of dominance.
They are the last walls standing between extinction and survival.

Performance in the First Contact Engagements:
During the Battle of New Dawn Plains (2165 CE), Panther units:
Absorbed 92% of incoming kinetic fire during initial Turian assaults.
Held defensive lines without human crew intervention for 17 consecutive hours.
Accounted for the majority of Turian vehicle losses through coordinated Gauss fire and microwave suppression.
Captured Turian reports describe Panthers as "iron beasts" and "walking bunkers"—often mistaken for automated fortifications rather than mobile platforms.

Quotations:
"If a Lynx is a spear, a Panther is a door slammed shut."
— General Yevin Hale, Outpost Calypso Defense Council
"They didn't even flinch when we opened fire.
They didn't move.
We thought they were abandoned... until they killed us."
— Anonymous Turian survivor, Shanxi Post-Battle Interrogations

"You don't build a Panther to win wars.
You build one to still be alive after the enemy runs out of soldiers."
— General Hale, Emergency War Planning Council, Shanxi

Tiger Assault Chassis
(Plymouth Confederation Heavy Systems Database)

Classification: Heavy Assault and Siege Platform
Origin: Plymouth Confederation, Modified Civilian Engineering Unit
First Deployed: ~550 CE (New Terra Blight War Era) — Modernized 2164–2165 CE

Overview:
The Tiger Assault Chassis represents the pinnacle of Plymouth Confederation ground warfare engineering—a relic of humanity’s desperation, reforged into one of its most fearsome main battle vehicles.
Originally constructed from repurposed Robo-Dozer heavy excavation frames used during New Terra's colonization, the Tiger's brutal simplicity and unstoppable resilience made it a natural candidate for militarization during the Blight War.
In the post-Exodus era, few Tigers survived the long journey back to Mars.
Those that did became the templates for a new generation of siege platforms—ones capable of enduring the extremes of alien warfare, orbital bombardments, and bioengineered horrors.
The Tiger is slow, but implacable.
It carries whatever weaponry humanity can devise, and it does not yield.

Specifications:
Crew: Optional
Primary mode: Remote or Savant-guided operation.
Manual operation available (1–2 pilots) for complex field deployments.
Length: 9.2 meters
Width: 4.1 meters
Height: 3.5 meters
Weight: 92 metric tons
Armor Composition:
Triple-layered reactive ferrosteel plates.
Radiation-hardened biogel core plating (originally designed to resist Blight corrosion).
Electromagnetic mesh lining (optional for defense against directed energy weapons).
Powerplant: Dual heavy-duty microfusion reactors with backup fission array.
Mobility:
Heavy-duty tracked propulsion system.
Internally supported by 8–10 reinforced road wheels per side under the armored tracks.
Purpose:
Ensure maximum ground contact.
Spread extreme vehicle weight over unstable, rough terrain (wreckage, soft soil, collapsed structures).
Minimize risk of bogging or structural shear when operating across heavily damaged colony grounds.
Speed:
Top Speed: ~30–35 km/h.
Deliberately slow to maintain power integrity and chassis stability.
Armament:
Primary Weapon Mounts: Dual hardpoints rated for super-heavy weapon systems.
Common loadouts include:
Microwave Siege Emitters:
Atmospheric area denial and electronic disruption.
High-Velocity Gauss Cannons:
For anti-armor, anti-fortification operations.
Mass Driver Launchers:
Designed to destroy orbital landing craft and hardened structures.
Positron Beam Systems (Thor’s Hammer Variant):
Recovered Eden prototypes; capable of catastrophic point-defense energy strikes.
Only a few operational examples exist.
Secondary Systems:
Reactive armor vents (against shaped charges).
Internal drone bay for battlefield maintenance units (Spider variants).

Tactical Role:
Tigers are deployed when territory must not fall.
They are slow, deliberate engines of planetary defense, often emplaced at critical colonial centers, resource hubs, or primary relay stations.
Primary Roles:
Static defense during sieges.
Breach assault against heavily fortified enemy positions.
Orbital landing zone denial through heavy ground-to-space firepower.
Psychological warfare — the mere sight of a Tiger advancing often breaks enemy morale.
Tigers coordinate closely with Panther mobile units and satellite-based targeting arrays for maximum defensive synergy.

Cultural Note:
Among Plymouth Confederation military traditions, Tigers are referred to with reverence.
Survivors of the New Terra Exodus call them "the last hope," "the unbroken," and "the ancient ones."
Unlike Lynxes or even Panthers, which are expendable, a Tiger is treated almost as a sacred trust:
"A Tiger is not spent lightly.
It is promised."
It is said among the old colonies that if a Tiger is sighted on the battlefield, the decision to live or die has already been made.

Performance in the First Contact Engagements:
Tigers were not immediately deployed during the first skirmishes at Shanxi.
Confederation command held them in reserve, recognizing their power was unnecessary for localized engagements.
However, data simulations and battlefield recordings suggest that should massed Turian forces have attempted a full landing assault, Tigers would have been deployed as planetary siege breakers—likely resulting in catastrophic Turian losses.
Turian analysts, upon later reviewing partial drone footage of a Tiger moving into deployment staging, designated it "Category Zero Threat — Engage Only With Heavy Orbital Support."

Quotations:
"When you hear the Tiger move, it's already too late."
— Outpost Calypso Defense Council Proverb
"They don't call them tanks.
They call them survivors."
— Citadel Military Archives, Redacted Analysis of Plymouth Heavy Assets

Scorpion Combat Arachnid
(Plymouth Confederation Auxiliary Forces Database)

Classification: Light Autonomous Combat and Recovery Drone
Origin: Plymouth Confederation, Upgrade of Civilian Spider Utility Platforms
First Deployed: ~550 CE (New Terra Blight War, experimental), Modernized 2165 CE (Shanxi Defense Initiative)

Overview:
The Scorpion Combat Arachnid represents Plymouth Confederation’s adaptation of civilian maintenance technology into agile, multi-role battlefield assets.
Originally derived from the ubiquitous Spider Utility Platform, Scorpions were modified for frontline operation during the Blight War, and further weaponized for use in modern planetary defense.
Small, modular, and tireless, Scorpions serve as force multipliers, ambush specialists, and recovery units—designed to navigate the most dangerous battlefield environments where heavier vehicles cannot follow.
Unsettling to enemy forces and brutally efficient, the Scorpion is a reflection of Plymouth’s survivalist ethos:
Machines save lives. Machines finish battles.

Specifications:
Height: 1.1 meters (body), 1.4 meters (weapon mast extended)
Weight: 450 kilograms
Mobility:
Six-legged walker configuration (hexapodal).
Capable of traversing broken structures, unstable soil, wreckage fields, and steep inclines (up to 80 degrees).
Burst sprint capability for ambush charges.
Powerplant:
High-density micro-battery core.
Passive solar regeneration panels.
Operational Duration:
21 days autonomous deployment without maintenance (field-mode).
Indefinite with drone relay network access and scavenged parts.

Standard Armament:
Primary Weapons (Modular Loadouts):
Microwave Emitter Array (Standard):
Disrupts enemy electronics, melts exposed components, and causes biological incapacitation through thermal stress.
Stickyfoam Dispensers (Optional):
Immobilizes enemy personnel and light equipment.
EMP Discharge Pods (Optional):
Disables shields, omni-tools, and combat systems within a 10-meter radius.
Light Coilgun Mount (Rare Optional Variant):
Compact mass driver for anti-personnel or light armor harassment.

Tactical Role:
Scorpions specialize in operations that heavier Plymouth platforms cannot perform:
Urban/ruined environment combat.
Ambush and harassment of isolated enemy forces.
Disruption of enemy logistics and sensor networks.
Recovery and transport of wounded soldiers and enemy prisoners.
Post-battlefield sanitization (collection of salvage and data).
Typically deployed in packs of 4–12 units, Scorpions leverage numbers, terrain familiarity, and overwhelming confusion to dismantle enemy formations.
In deep engagement zones, Scorpions coordinate with Lynx units and orbital sensor arrays, using autonomous swarming tactics refined through centuries of survivalist programming.

Psychological Impact:
Scorpion units are not designed for terror—but their actions frequently induce it.
Their small size, quiet locomotion, and preference for attacking from hidden or collapsed terrain make them unnerving.
Captured enemy forces report sensations of helplessness and fear, often describing Scorpions as "harvesters" rather than soldiers.
The automated, clinical way Scorpions neutralize or recover incapacitated enemies without emotion or communication contributes heavily to the psychological breakdown of opposing forces.
Council threat assessments during the Shanxi Conflict classified Scorpion units as "Category Gamma Psychological Disruptors".

Cultural Note:
Among Plymouth colonists, Scorpions are seen as necessary and honorable extensions of the survival imperative.
Though they are not anthropomorphized the way some Savants or Panthers might be, colonists respect Scorpions for what they are:
The hands that pull friends from burning ruins—and the claws that deny the enemy the chance to strike again.
To Plymouth, Scorpions are not monsters.
They are guardians.

Performance in the First Contact Engagements:
During the Battle of New Dawn Plains (2165 CE), Scorpion units:
Successfully immobilized 41% of Turian ground forces.
Executed 62 battlefield recoveries (both friendly and enemy).
Reduced Turian commando cohesion by 48% within the first 12 minutes of engagement.
Captured Turian intelligence reports note significant operational breakdowns and panic during engagements involving Scorpion swarms.

Quotations:
"They're not soldiers.
They're janitors.
But when you're bleeding and can't move, janitors are gods."
— Volunteer Militia Field Officer, Outpost Calypso
"The little ones came for us.
We couldn't run.
They just...cleaned us up."
— Turian commando survivor, classified Citadel intelligence debrief