NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 1: Prologue: Copper 9.
2084. Copper 9. Surface. Near Facility 12.
Stepping out of what used to be Facility 12, Sergeant Caloman surveyed the chaos. Fire raged uncontrollably across the landscape, blue beams of energy occasionally cutting through the sky. In the distance, the SES Nova Prime, a super destroyer, plummeted from the heavens in flames. Like many others, it had been brought down by the Illuminate. How they had discovered this place remained a mystery, but it no longer mattered. An hour ago, everything fell apart. Hell broke loose within the underground labs—the very project every Ministry of Science had been working on was now tearing the facility apart.
"Fuck... fuck..."
Blood dripped from his left arm in a steady line. Whether it was broken or not, he couldn't tell through the pain. But that didn't matter anymore. Limping to the control panel, he slammed his right fist onto the red switch. Flashing lights lit up over the doors as the alarms blared. The place needed to be locked down. The door slid shut with a hard clank. He glanced down the dark hallway one last time to check if anything had made it out. As the doors locked, so did every bulkhead and blast door in the facility. Anyone left inside was either dead or soon would be. That was the grim truth. And the surface wasn't much better.
His last mission was clear—he needed to get a message to Super Earth. Outpost 24 was the closest point to transmit what had happened.
"Fuck... how did it come to this?"
As head of security, Caloman had always thought they were prepared. The best weapons, the best gear. Nothing could have broken through their defenses—or so they had thought. It hadn't even slowed them down, above or below ground. Now, the only hope left was to warn the fleet, to call for a full-scale nuclear bombardment, and pray it would be enough.
The outpost wasn't far, but the challenge was surviving the journey. Each step through the woodland was agony, but there was no time to hide. The trees provided some cover, though, and Caloman glanced at his injured shoulder before reaching for his radio. He had to take the risk—maybe someone had made it topside.
"Anyone... does anyone read me? This is Sergeant Caloman. I'm on the surface, heading to Outpost 24. Does anyone copy?"
Static buzzed over the radio as he waited. Maybe someone from the underground had made it out, or maybe SEAF forces were nearby and could help.
"This is Sergeant Caloman. I need help."
At first, only static answered him, but then broken words cut through the interference. The fear set in as he deciphered the transmission.
"We're being overrun--- This is defensive line 07--- Tripods, they're overrunning--- Artillery's out of shells."
He released the button, dread tightening his chest. No help was coming. No one had survived. His only chance was the outpost's long-range comms. Pushing forward, an explosion to his left lit up the sky, the red glow growing above the trees. The SEAF was wiping out one location at a time.
Suddenly, a voice crackled through the radio.
"Hello? I heard someone calling for help."
Caloman stopped his heart racing. The static made it hard to tell if it was a man or a woman.
"Yes! This is Sergeant Caloman. I'm heading to Outpost 24 to send a message to the fleet. I'm wounded—could use an escort if you're able."
But as he listened, a cold shiver ran down his spine. The voice laughed. The static cleared, and the next words chilled him to the bone. He remembered how several of his men had been tricked by that thing. He had fallen for it too.
"I thank you for the information. Still figuring out the layout of this place... See you real soon. Oh, this is going to be fun."
A high-pitched scream echoed through the radio before it went dead. Time was running out. Ignoring the pain, Caloman broke into a sprint. He had been trying to stay quiet, to avoid detection, but now it didn't matter. He wasn't going to survive this anyway.
At last, he emerged from the trees and saw it—the tower with the radio dish. By some miracle, it was still intact.
The tower sat atop a large bunker, one of the outposts meant for early warnings and defense. Caloman hurried up the concrete steps, typing in his code at the keypad and scanning his card. He glanced behind him, through the woods. Fires and explosions tore through the landscape, but something else caught his eye—a yellow light in the distance, flickering in the darkness. Panic seized him. Dropping to his hands and knees, he slid under the blast door before it fully opened.
Inside, he scrambled to his feet and hit the controls, forcing the door shut. Just as it was sealed with a final thud, something slammed against the steel. Giggles and laughter echoed through the narrow crack.
"Come on out... I just want a taste."
For several agonizing seconds, Caloman waited, listening to the sound of scraping and banging echoing through the hallway.
"Full lockdown," he ordered. "Shut down every path, lock every door. Authorization code 247, Sergeant Caloman."
The system responded, securing every door. Nothing was getting in now—not without a serious fight. But that also meant he couldn't get out.
"Status on the tower?" he asked.
"Fully functional," came the automated response.
It was the only good news he had. For now.
Caloman rushed to the control room, where rows of monitors and consoles lined the walls. This outpost could be run by a single person or a full crew, but time was his enemy. He sat down, typing furiously with his good hand, setting up the broadcast. The monitor flickered to life, and with the camera pointed at him, he began the transmission.
"This is Sergeant Caloman, security officer. We're fucked. If you're planetside, you're as good as dead. Just radio up and order this place nuked. I'm serious. You're going to die down here. The least you can do is save the rest of humanity."
The lights flickered overhead. The power was failing. Caloman knew it was that thing at the door.
"Nuke it..." he whispered.
And then, the bunker plunged into darkness. He could only pray that the message got out before slumping in the chair, blood loss finally taking its toll.
One Hundred Years Later, 2184. Ministry of Defense.
The past few months had been grueling for Super Earth and its people. For the Ministry of Defense, keeping SEAF lines supplied and strategically positioned had become an overwhelming challenge. The Helldivers had been fighting relentlessly; some operations had borne fruit, helping them regain ground, while others had ended in disastrous losses.
Inside the Ministry's command center, a holographic map of the Milky Way flickered with zones of blue, red, and yellow, representing the contested sectors. The atmosphere was tense as the room buzzed with information and coordination for SEAF and Helldiver deployments.
"As you can see from the latest reports, the Automatons are pressing hard on our borders. While we've made gains on some worlds, it isn't enough. SEAF forces have taken massive hits, and even the Helldivers, despite their valiant efforts, are suffering heavy losses in their liberation of the occupied zones."
The numbers were staggering. Helldiver casualties had climbed to two billion, and though recruitment had surged to replenish their numbers, the loss of even a single Helldiver dealt a blow to both morale and resources.
"On the Terminid front, the Gloom continues to expand. Thirteen worlds have been lost to its spread. Nothing we've sent—drones, SEAF forces—has returned. Worst-case projections suggest supercolonies are forming on the lost worlds, meaning a massive Terminid assault could be imminent, possibly within days, and on a scale we've never encountered before."
The grim picture painted on the screen left no doubt. If action wasn't taken soon, Super Earth could face attacks beyond their wildest fears, either from the Automatons' steel or the Terminids' tidal wave of flesh. They had assumed the Automatons were eliminated during Operation Swift Disassembly, but that had only been the vanguard. The main fleet arrived shortly after, and within hours, several sectors were lost. Worse, intelligence suggested another fleet might be preparing to strike elsewhere.
"Sir, may I make a suggestion?"
One of the staff spoke up, a rare occurrence, as such boldness would typically land someone in a re-education camp. But in these dire times, their focus had shifted to survival.
"Speak your mind."
"I've been reviewing some old records from the first galactic war, searching for any lost worlds with resources that could help the war effort. I found one—Copper 9—mentioned in fragments from the Ministry of Science."
The holographic map shifted, zooming in on a planet labeled Copper 9.
"Copper 9? I've never heard of it."
"As strange as it sounds, very little remains, but it was a critical world during the first galactic war. It fell to the Illuminate, but many of its facilities were built underground, fortified. There's a chance that not everything was lost."
The commander leaned back, weighing the options. It was a long shot, and he hated the thought of pulling Helldivers off the front lines. But if Copper 9 held something vital and had been targeted by the Illuminate, it was worth investigating.
"Send 20 Helldivers not currently on operations. They've been reassigned."
Now, all that remained was to wait.
Second Galactic War, September 2184. Super Destroyer FTL towards Copper 9.
Aboard the SES Aegis of Integrity, the crew was tense. The Helldivers onboard had explained their mission, and the mere mention of the Illuminate had everyone on edge. Even the seasoned Helldivers were uneasy. The commander, though, wasn't thrilled about being pulled from the frontlines for what could turn out to be a wild goose chase. The planet hadn't been touched in over a century—surely, even the best Super Earth technology couldn't survive that long. Still, orders were orders.
"Sir, we're about to exit FTL. We'll be in orbit in just a few seconds," a crew member reported.
"Good. Have all weapons systems ready. If any orbital defense systems are still active, they might not recognize us. Be prepared to either take control or shoot them down."
The first step was to secure the skies above Copper 9. From there, they would scan the surface for any signs of activity. If nothing turned up, the Helldivers would land and explore the main facilities themselves.
"Exiting FTL in 3... 2... 1..."
The view from the bridge shifted as the stars reappeared in the window. Below them was Copper 9, a scarred and battle-worn world. Ringed and desolate, its surface still bore the marks of the war that ravaged it a century ago.
"Copper 9... it's been through hell," the commander muttered. "Begin a sweep and gather data."
Debris floated in orbit—old stations and wrecked ships, some with massive holes punched through them. One station, in particular, stood out. Its superstructure was gutted, yet it still clung to its orbit.
"No power... None of the stations have anything. It's all wreckage, sir," the crew member reported. "The atmosphere on the planet is toxic, far below breathable levels. But... I'm picking up an energy reading. It's faint, but it's coming from what we believe are the old facilities."
The Helldiver commander stepped forward, eyes locked on the holographic display. "Show me."
A map of Copper 9 appeared, highlighting the landmasses and the location of the energy reading. The layout was old—outdated by a century—and further complicated by the devastation from past battles.
"Other Helldivers report they're ready to drop. Hellpods are primed."
"Tell them to hold off. We don't need everyone down there at once. I'll go first, scout the area. If it's clear, I'll call for reinforcements. Keep the others on standby, and have an orbital strike ready just in case."
The commander stepped away from the display and moved toward his Hellpod. Climbing in, he locked his feet into place as the pod's top closed over him. With a press of a button, the pod was fired from the ship, the G-forces pressing against him as he plummeted toward the planet. He'd done this countless times, the rush of acceleration, the atmospheric entry that turned the pod into a streaking comet.
"Impact in ten seconds," the system chimed.
The engines roared to life, slowing the pod as it neared the surface. Still, the impact was hard—he braced himself as the pod slammed into the ground, piercing deep into the snow-covered terrain. The hatch popped open, and he stepped out, BR-14 Adjudicator at the ready, scanning the surroundings.
He was greeted by a desolate sight. Snow blanketed the ground, with only a few trees in the distance. The sky was overcast, clouds thick and heavy.
"I've landed... No signs of life. I see structures ahead. Moving to investigate."
The crunch of snow under his boots was the only sound as he advanced. His breath echoed in his helmet, and he kept a sharp eye on the surroundings. Memories of battles on similar worlds flashed through his mind—red glows in the treeline, Automatons lurking in ambush. The war had been brutal, and anything that could give them an edge was worth the risk.
Yet, as he trudged through the snow, one thought gnawed at him:
Were they truly alone here?
Edited thanks to ELE73CH.