The descent on London has begun for CC Fighting Falcon frigate. London, now a sprawling urban colossus, has absorbed surrounding towns like Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire, and Epping, its growth rivaling even Papülonis. Historic landmarks like the Tower of London and the Parliament building lie tucked between towering megastructures—relics of a bygone era, overshadowed by humanity’s relentless progress. North of Peterborough stretches the astro dock, vast and bristling with warships, a sobering reminder of Earth’s readiness for a prolonged space war of attrition.
Onboard the ship, the air is thick with the unspoken weight of recent events. While in cryo en route to Terram, Eurus installed the Pneuma of Mirra—a neural echo of the woman who had left an indelible mark on him. Now it lies dormant, silent in his psyche. His emotions are subtle yet unmistakable: the super soldier is grappling with a profound defeat. Astraeus, Boreas, and Kalopsia exchange fleeting glances of concern, uncertain of the toll these burdens may take on him. On the edges of his eyes, something flickers—a trace of humanity once thought purged – it’s as if his soul is pushing on them, fighting its way to the surface. For now, he operates at peak capacity, but the question lingers: how long before the strain takes its toll?
The outside armor of CC Fighting Falcon glows as the atmospheric pressure from the descent heats up the vessel, but inside the ship is cool and calm. No longer do modern ships follow the six degree angle of atmospheric entry as the physical and kinetic barriers redirect scorching heat away from the interior. Each patch of superheated surface area absorbed meticulously by another cooler one as the V-matter reactor in the ship’s stern generates a bubble of supercooled particles to balance the massive barrage upon its outer layer.
“We have you on radar CC Fighting Falcon, the landing site is cleared for landing – marking your descent,” a male voice on the speaker on the bridge blares.
A few dozen kilometers above ground, the ship lurches and momentarily the G-forces inside spike, overpowering the gravity generators as the V-matter engines fire to slow down the ship’s descent. Outside a deafening roar of continuous explosions from its exhaust ports fills the air. The warship finds its landing pad, blasting dust and debris into a thick, gas-like cloud that envelops the astro dock in a haze of fine particles.
After declaring their cargo like Cell equipment and going through decontamination protocols, the party makes their way to London aboard an H-craft, a large H-shaped vessel designed to carry heavy cargo or weaponry, like the current day C-130 Hercules. A silent ship when not inside it, the quiet hum of its electrostatic engines carries them towards their target. Loud in a Vulcan 5 but the size of their craft neglects the noise otherwise sharply felt. Their destination is Cell HQ London, a giant tower near the Parliament designed to house hundreds of Cells and their equipment. Thames beneath them is a tiny vein of water compared to the massive structures built around it. The H-craft is large, several schoolbuses in every dimension, but compared to the headquarters it’s as if a children’s toy, insignificant compared to the scope of the gigantic structure.
The supersoldiers and Kalopsia go to their quarters, to wash and freshen up, Eurus stands alone in his room, peering down at the parliament building – now a mere tourist attraction as its physical location holds no significance compared to the scope of the Solar Empire. He keeps waiting for the Pneuma in his mind now to give him a sign – anything – to signify that his final actions on Martis weren’t for nought. But alas Mirra remains quiet in his mind, only continuing her existence in his memory. Eurus decides to put that out of his mind for now and to focus on the task at hand. Just like that, his woes are silenced. As it turns out, a Cell Circuit can switch off intrusive thoughts at will. In the case of Eurus, he wanted to keep them going for a little longer than normal, feeling a certain weight of debt to her for what she uncovered in him. But now the mission takes priority and it must be completed without personal distractions.
As agreed upon before, Astraeus, Boreas, Eurus and Kalopsia meet up in an hour at 4 in one of the briefing rooms in Cell HQ. Their equipment has been automatically slotted to the equipment roster in the structure upon entry. They intend to discuss the next plans of action. First they check the capacity of Cell HQ. Eerily, they’re the only occupants with the rest of the few Cell Circuits on Terram being deployed elsewhere. A city the size of modern London rings hollow without any prior Cell presence. As established before, it is unusual for not even one Cell to be deployed there as its size would expect at least 10 to be present aside from them.
“The lack of Cell Circuit presence is alarming,” Eurus says, his voice breaking the heavy quiet.
“Indeed,” Boreas nods, his tone measured. “It is unusual.”
Kalopsia speaks up, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty. “Should we contact Notus? We know he’s in London as well.”
Astraeus leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “Perhaps. But might I suggest an alternative approach?”
Eurus gestures for him to continue. “Go ahead.”
“Considering the anomalous underrepresentation of Cell Circuits in London, we’re operating in the dark,” Astraeus begins. “We don’t know if this is an intentional deployment pattern or an oversight. I suggest leaving one of us here with Kalopsia while the rest of the team makes contact with the Vakkar Institute and the local police force. We need a tactical assessment of the situation.”
Boreas steps in. “Might I suggest Eurus stay? He’s the mission lead, and his rapport with Kalopsia could provide better emotional support. Would that be acceptable to both of you?”
Kalopsia glances at Eurus, who gives a brief nod. “Yes,” they reply almost simultaneously.
“Is the briefing concluded?” Astraeus asks, his tone brisk.
“Yes,” Eurus replies. “Execute as discussed.”
The super soldiers stand. Astraeus and Boreas collect their gear, moving with deliberate efficiency. Eurus lingers for a moment, his gaze flicking to Kalopsia as she adjusts her gloves, her unease palpable. The faint echo of their departing footsteps fills the room, leaving Eurus and Kalopsia alone in the oppressive stillness.
Eurus invites Kalopsia with him to visit a restaurant with him to take her mind off the ordeal she will face. They pick a place near what was once the Piccadilly Circus but now has risen far above the ground in its megastructure landscape. It’s a BBQ place that still uses real meat and fire to prepare its meals. She accepts his offer.
Eurus and Kalopsia walk through the Cell HQ to its vehicle bay. Since no Cells are in the area, all the vehicles are available there to use. Only two of the dozens of Vulcan 5s have left – Boreas and Astraeus. There are bespoke tanks with neural links to offer optimal integration for Cell Circuits, hovercrafts and a few H-crafts parked in there. Eurus walks with her to a Phoenix Nova hovercar. It’s a purpose built vehicle based on a sports car originally made for civilian use. It has only two seats but it’s extremely fast and even faster than Vulcan 5s. They take their seats, Eurus in the driver’s seat and Kalopsia right beside him. Compared to the thunderous rumbling of the Vulcan 5, the Phoenix Nova purrs to life in a much higher pitch, noting use of several electro-static engines operating in tandem.
“So many different kinds of vehicles here,” says Kalopsia before they leave.
“Yes, it underscores the scarcity of Cells. In a healthy environment, most of any type of vehicles should be in use as Cells excel in active situations and grow weaker when idle,” says Eurus.
The Phoenix Nova, purpose built for usage by the Cells rises off the floor of the vehicle bay and Eurus directs it to the outward tunnel of the structure.
“I did not know that,” says Kalopsia, and lets out a little “woah” as the Phoenix soars left through the tunnel into ongoing traffic at blistering speed.
“I’ll tell you, it’s faster than it looks,” she said while gripping the armrest on the door.
“Everything you saw in the building was purpose built. Not a single bolt or coat of paint was applied absent-mindedly. This very car is meant for near-orbit interceptions if need be, so it needs to be able to catch up to a leaving space craft. No human could handle such a machine,” says Eurus.
“You talk about it like it’s a weapon,” says Kalopsia.
“What do you think I am? Like myself, everything you saw was either built for direct combat or to deliver a Cell Circuit directly onto the battlefield,” says Eurus as the city around them turns into a slight blur of lights, buildings, neon signs and draw bridges connecting the megastructures. Cars whiz by them as if standing still. After less than a minute the megastructure they’re going to comes into view and Eurus slows down his car.
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“What does that make me? I’m purpose built, I’m faster than my friends were, stronger too, but I’m no weapon,” says Kalopsia.
“Long ago, humanity waged war against an evil genocidal regime during what they called World War II,” says Eurus, “Do you think the factories and facilities that built them were any lesser in terms of weaponry than the Enola Gay B-29 Stratofortress or the Little Boy it dropped? You’re the most dangerous weapon of them all, albeit not like a bomber.”
They fly onto the vehicle bay of the tower, with a sign reading “PC-1” on it for Piccadilly Circus 1. Eurus drives slower now, looking for a good spot to set the Phoenix Nova down.
“So I’m like a factory. A big fat baby factory,” says Kalopsia. She doesn’t sound sad to Eurus, but to him it seems she’s combating something inside herself, brow furled.
“I wouldn’t say you’re fat, quite skinny in fact,” Eurus says, seeing Kalopsia chuckle, “Look, Kalopsia, when you think about it, that’s what all women are. At the end of the day none of this means anything if there are no more humans around.”
“It sounds like you’re saying humans are nothing more than bags of instincts looking for a way to make a baby,” says Kalopsia, “Isn’t that a let down? At least for them it’s a choice they get to opt out of.”
“They fumble around in the dark refusing to accept they know where the light switch is. For you it’s been spelled out. Yes, it’s depressing on the one hand…” says Eurus.
“But on the other?”
Eurus sets the Phoenix Nova down at a free spot and its doors hiss open upwards, allowing the duo to climb out. Eurus motions Kalopsia to follow him. Unlike his visit to OG-1 where he was followed by suspecting and hostile eyes, in PC-1, the people look at him with admiration and respect. A notable difference.
“Imagine if for every person you see there was a timer on their heads noting a countdown until the last of their offspring died off. For some it would be 20 years like an only child being hit by a public transport vehicle, for others it could read thousands of years. You’re the only one here who knows yours will always outnumber them. Given enough time you’ll be the first ancestor of all that’s left of humanity.”
“That’s depressing,” says Kalopsia.
“Is it? The same purpose you carry with you as any other human. But you can know with certainty that its results will carry on in practical eternity. I think it’s something to consider. And it’s not like you can’t have regular children if you so please. You’ve got unique foreknowledge of some of their fates unlike anyone else.”
“Huh… I’ve never thought about it like that,” says Kalopsia, “It seems banal though.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know…,” says Kalopsia slightly mumbling, “I thought there was more.”
“Just because it’s simple and real doesn’t mean it’s little or banal. The purpose of simply continuing to exist is fundamental. I find it rather beautiful myself. Do we disparage gravity or a river when their purpose is to simply carry water to a lake or a river? After a while, it’ll mark a canyon and a valley around it, staples of natural beauty. Humanity flows in some direction too, but look at what it’s accomplished. Simply by continuing to exist, it’s brought great change into the universe.”
“Huh… The purpose is in the flow,” says Kalopsia, “Kinda beautiful indeed.”
“Exactly,” says Eurus.
They arrive at the BBQ place. Even while Cells are more accepted in London with its relative wellbeing compared to Martis, the packed establishment still halts for a second as the duo enter the restaurant. Their eyes are drawn onto Eurus, an exceedingly rare sighting on Earth, him being a Cell. They don’t even notice Kalopsia’s precence as a girl with blueish skin.
They walk towards the wide counter on the far side of the room, dividing the establishment in half. Beyond it lies a large chamber with tubes leading the smoke away from indoors, acting as tentacular chimeys. There are multiple devices with charcoal burning, some burning real wood and foliage with moist leaves to smoke the meats in various ways. The smell almost betrays the wonderful flavors.
As they pass the tables they can hear the faint mumblings of the patrons:
“Wow,” says one, “A real Cell Circuit. I thought those died out or something?”
“No, silly,” says another, “They’re just off-world.”
They walk a little inward. Kalopsia is used to eyes on her at times, but she’s quite invisible standing next to Eurus, a welcome change. She can’t imagine what it’s like walking around with this constant aura of mythology around him.
“I heard they can kill a man by stopping their heart with a single thought,” says one of the patrons.
“Why would a Cell need to eat beef at all,” another one says.
They arrive at the counter. The workers are in white clothes but covered in occasional blotches from grease and sauces etc. The server there at the register says:
“Hello, sir. How can we help you?”
“We’d like a table for two,” says Eurus.
“I’m sorry, but you would’ve needed to book it in advance,” says the guy at the register. Someone darts from the far end of the kitchen to the register, puts a firm hand onto the server’s shoulder and says in a typical Londonian accent:
“Nonsense,” with a note of what-the-hell-are-you-doing-bro in his voice, “I see we have VIP seats available. I won’t have a Cell Circuit be turned down in MY restaurant. Sorry for my employee,” he says. The manager is a stumpy fellow, with a round and fat face and a twirled moustache. He smiles to the duo amicably and a little nervously.
“It’s quite alright,” Eurus says.
“I’m Jaguar,” says the manager, “allow me to direct you to the tables.”
He leads them to a booth with a chain linked onto it on both sides to disallow any randos sitting there. When they sit down, the manager brings them their menus.
Boreas and Astraeus are nearing the London Metropolitan Police Department (LMPD) megastructure on their Vulcan 5 statbikes. The skyscraper towers over half a kilometer in height, with a width and length exceeding a hundred meters. It services several hundred thousand policemen. They intend on landing on the highest vehicle bay. They drive in there and ride to the specially allocated part of the bay beyond the cruisers that is assigned to the Cell Circuits. The policemen walking around to and from their police cars stand and stop what they’re doing to view the legends from centuries ago ride past them to their designated parking spots.
They park in their suspiciously empty area and dismount the statbikes. Their helmets attach neatly to the handlebars of the bikes. They start walking towards the entrance into the offices of LMPD and notice the eyes of the officers on them staring in disbelief. “They’re… Cells,” one whispers, the disbelief clear in his voice. Another officer shifts uneasily, his gaze lingering on the statbikes as if they held secrets from another era. It’s something they’ve grown used to but can’t help but notice themselves.
As they enter a large hallway branching out to different elevators and leading to a variety of departments and facilities, they’re already welcomed by a woman waiting at the threshold, bipedal armed robots at her side.
“Hello, gentlemen,” she says, standing smartly at the threshold. Her voice, high-pitched but steady, carries a mix of confidence and nerves. “I’m Detective Julia Carson, the LMPD’s Cell Circuit liaison.” The bots flanking Carson were humanoid in shape, their sleek, gunmetal frames bristling with mounted weaponry. Their optics glowed faintly, scanning the Cells with mechanical precision.
“Hello detective, my name is Astraeus,” says Astraeus.
“Greetings, I’m Boreas,” says Boreas, “It’s quite the welcome.”
“Yes, we like to make our distinguished guests feel safe,” says Detective Carson. She motions them to follow her to her office.
“I assure you, we felt quite safe upon arrival, but are now feeling less so on the account of encountering armed bots,” says Boreas.
“Don’t worry, they’re totally different from the ones you encountered in the Machine Revolt, being only limited AI’s and decoupled from a central control system meaning they’re completely safe,” says Carson.
“Every disaster occurred shortly after complete safety,” Astraeus says.
They’re lead into an office where the bots are left outside to stand guard. Carson huddles her tiny frame around the desk and takes a seat, and motions at two chairs on either corners of the room opposite her computer and says:
“Take a seat, gentlemen.”
“Thank you,” says Boreas, “But I’ll stand.”
“As will I,” says Astraeus.
“As you wish,” says Carson, “What is it I can help you with?”
“We’ve just arrived from Mars, and we have noticed an alarming ratio of Cells per population on Earth. Why is this the case?” asks Boreas.
“Thank you, we’re very proud of the progress we’ve made on Earth. Crime is low and though we do find work for every constable here, it’s nothing like it was a few decades ago before Governor Notus took over.”
“And where are the Cells?” asks Boreas.
“They’re deployed on the border worlds where they’re needed most,” says Carson.
“Don’t you see the obvious problem here? You might need Cells but if they’re not here, you’d be left bare?” Astraeus asks.
“Not at all. We’re no longer in the 21st century, apocalyptic machine threats are no longer around us. We’ve managed just fine without Cells by implementing other resources of security. You have nothing to worry about,” she says.
“How did Notus achieve this?” asks Boreas, leaning forward in his chair. Astraeus remains leaned back, observing intensely every reaction and tiniest change in demeanor in Carson.
“With the Dynamo program and mechanized security, we’ve achieved a level of efficiency that Cells can’t even match,“ Carson says, ?Dynamos are designed to handle anything from insurgencies to high-threat combat scenarios. They’re the perfect complement to our automated systems, and together, they’ve eliminated the need for a Cell presence.”
“You believe that a Dynamo outclasses a Cell Circuit in operational capacity?” Astraeus says, leaning back in subtle disbelief.
Carson nods confidently and continues: “I do. Cells are... iconic, but they’re outdated. Dynamos are faster to produce, more adaptable, and—most importantly—cost-efficient.”
“Cost-efficiency won’t matter when Earth faces an existential threat,” Boreas points out.
?Oh, haha, but governor Notus assures us,“ she laughs, ?that we’re well past existential threats. We’ve evolved beyond the need for Cells. Earth is secure.”
“Understood,” says Boreas, “Thank you for meeting with us. We’ll be leaving now. Have a nice day.”
“See you,” says Astraeus.
The Cells walk out of the office and rush past the people staring at them. The cold air generated by the naiveté of Carson is putting them on higher alert. They jump on their Vulcan 5-s and blast away.
“You realize what’s going on, right,” Boreas says into his helmet radio.
“They’ve sent away their Cell Circuit presence and are handing over Earth’s security to second-rate super-soldiers and machines,” Astraeus answers.
“Yes,” says Boreas, “Just what the hell is Notus doing?”
“Strange.”
They floor their statbikes and go westward.