Wasteland Periphery

CHAPTER 1:

Wasteland Periphery

The air was heavy with the scent of decay—metallic rust mingling with the dry, ashen taste of a world long past its prime. The dying red sun cast jagged shadows across the ruins of Solara Prime, a forgotten metropolis now choked by twisted metal and skeletal structures. The only sounds that broke the oppressive silence were the faint whirring of mechanical joints and the muted crunch of boots on desolate ground.

Radon Sykes adjusted the patchwork of rusted plating on his forearm, his movements calculated yet strained. Each step he took sent an electric jolt through his deteriorating core processor, a bitter reminder of his own fragility. His body was a patchwork quilt of outdated tech and scavenged enhancements, the legacy of a life lived on the edges of survival. The mechanical hiss of his breath betrayed the wear on his internal systems. Every component in him felt like it was on the verge of collapse, and Radon knew the truth—his time was running out.

The wasteland stretched endlessly before him, painted in muted reds and browns. Jagged ridges framed the horizon, the ruins of Solara Prime looming like a distant specter. This was no ordinary city of the past; it was once the seat of human innovation before it became a graveyard of ambition. Somewhere within its labyrinthine depths was the source of the ancient signal he had intercepted—a pulsing frequency that felt less like a message and more like a heartbeat calling out from the void.

Radon glanced at Karys, who trudged a few paces ahead. Her sleek movements, a seamless fusion of grace and efficiency, made her seem almost untouched by the harshness of their surroundings. But Radon knew better. She bore her own scars, both seen and unseen, and her confidence hid a history as fractured as his own. The two of them made an odd pair: Radon, with his failing body and cynical demeanor, and Karys, with her sharp wit and a determination that burned brighter than the dying sun.

“Still think this is worth it?” Radon asked, his voice grating through his vocal modulator.

Karys shot him a glance over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “If it wasn’t, would you still be standing here?”

Radon smirked, or at least the closest thing to a smirk his cybernetic faceplate could manage. She was right. He didn’t have the luxury of doubt. The signal was his last hope. Whatever lay at the heart of Solara Prime could be the key to fixing his failing core processor—or it could be his undoing.

But survival wasn’t their only purpose. They both knew it, though neither had spoken the words aloud. The Eidolon Rite would never let them leave this place alive if they found what they were looking for. The machine overlords ruled with precision and terror, and the thought of them losing control over the ruins was unthinkable.

As the wind picked up, carrying with it a fine dust of ash and nanite debris, Karys crouched low and gestured for Radon to follow. Ahead, the ruins loomed larger, and faint flickers of motion betrayed the presence of sentinels patrolling the outskirts. The Eidolon Rite’s enforcers were here, as expected.

Radon tightened his grip on the salvaged plasma axe strapped to his side. His mechanical joints whined softly, betraying their wear and tear. Karys unsheathed her own weapon, a sleek hybrid of blade and energy core, its edges glowing faintly in the dying light.

“Whatever happens,” she said, her voice low, “we stick together.”

Radon nodded, the faint hum of his processor buzzing like a distant warning. Together, they stepped into the shadow of Solara Prime, their silhouettes blending into the ruins as the red sun dipped lower on the horizon.

They were walking into the unknown, but in a world like this, what else was left to lose?

**FLASHBACK**

The Time of Platoons & Transformation

**2037**

The Legacy of a Champion

The battlefield was chaos incarnate—a sea of fire, steel, and the deafening roar of artillery. Twelve-year-old Radon Sykes sprinted across the charred earth, his small frame a blur amidst the carnage. His arms strained under the weight of an Anti-Tank prototype, a hulking weapon that no child his age should have been able to lift. But Radon wasn’t just any child. He was the son of Captain Nexara Voss, a man whose very name commanded reverence.

Captain Voss was a legend—a warrior who earned titles like The Champion of War and The Albatross Over Raging Seas. His victories were the stuff of myth, his leadership unshakable. But legends, too, must fall. The captain’s death in 2035 had left a void that Radon felt every day, a chasm he sought to fill with sheer determination.

“Sykes! Move it!” bellowed the Superintendent, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Radon adjusted his grip on the weapon, his legs pumping like pistons as he navigated the treacherous terrain. Smoke and ash filled his lungs, but he didn’t falter. His task was clear: deliver the prototype to the front line, where his unit was pinned down.

He dove into a trench, narrowly avoiding a barrage of enemy fire. The Superintendent yanked him to his feet. “You’re a damn fool for coming this far, kid, but you’ve got guts. Now get back and stay down!”

Radon didn’t argue. As he retreated, his mind was already racing ahead. One day, he vowed, he wouldn’t just be a courier of weapons. He would be the weapon.

**2040**

A Son’s Defiance

The sleek hum of a Superbike echoed through the winding roads of Giliath’s outskirts. Radon gripped the handlebars tightly, his jaw set in defiance. The argument with his mother, Archabbey Nova Sykes, still rang in his ears.

“You’re not ready for this, Radon!” Nova had shouted, her voice breaking with frustration. “The platoon fleet beyond the Walls is a death sentence. Those Sophonts won’t hesitate to kill you!”

Radon’s reply had been cold. “They didn’t hesitate to kill Dad, either. Someone has to finish what he started.”

Nova’s eyes had softened, but her resolve remained. “You’re my son, Radon. I won’t watch you destroy yourself.”

But Radon was already halfway out the door, his heart pounding with equal parts anger and determination. That night, he joined the fleet, leaving behind the safety of Giliath’s walls.

The mission beyond the Walls was a disaster. The Sophonts were merciless, their hatred for Biomekas evident in the scorched earth and mutilated bodies left in their wake. Radon’s unit was ambushed, and he found himself face-to-face with death.

An explosion tore through the battlefield, sending Radon flying. When he woke, his body was broken, his left arm mangled beyond repair. As he lay in the dirt, bleeding and gasping for air, he realized his father’s path wasn’t one of glory—it was one of sacrifice.

**2043**

A New Ally

The training yards of Giliath were a blur of motion, the clash of metal and the grunt of exertion echoing in the air. Radon, now 18, moved with precision, his newly augmented body a marvel of biomechanical engineering. His left arm, replaced with a Bio-synthetic limb, hummed with latent energy. Integrated processors enhanced his reflexes, while his supersonic hearing allowed him to pinpoint even the faintest sounds from miles away.

He had become what he had always dreamed of: a weapon. But the price had been steep.

It was during one of these training sessions that he met Karys. She was a whirlwind of skill and charisma, her every movement calculated yet fluid. They were paired together for a simulation, their mission to infiltrate a simulated Eidolon base.

At first, Radon was skeptical. Karys was confident, almost too much so, and he mistook her confidence for arrogance. But as the simulation progressed, her resourcefulness and tactical brilliance became apparent. By the end of the exercise, they had not only completed the mission but had done so with a level of synchronicity that felt almost… natural.

“That was impressive,” Radon admitted as they exited the simulation chamber.

Karys smirked. “You’re not so bad yourself, tin man.”

From that day forward, they became inseparable, their bond forged through countless missions and shared struggles. Karys became his anchor, her strength and wit balancing his cynicism and self-doubt.

But even as they grew closer, the shadow of the Eidolon Rite loomed large. Radon’s enhancements, engineered by Sophonts under the Eidolon’s command, were a constant reminder of the enemy’s reach.

As they prepared for their next deployment, a sense of foreboding settled over Radon. The world was changing, and he could feel it in his very core—both human and mechanical.