The transport halted outside the factory, and with a brief farewell, the pilot lifted off and disappeared into the haze. Vic, accompanied by a squad of rangers and a team of vanguard soldiers, moved into the factory's depths, descending via a massive elevator capable of transporting a hundred tanks.
As they rapidly descended through each level, Vic surveyed the machinery lining each floor, realizing this was a factory producing automatic rifles. He held no fondness for the facility; in his view, Agripinaa should exclusively produce its signature laser rifles, though these automatic weapons were undeniably a local specialty.
"The gunfire is drawing nearer. Once we reach the lower floor, please position yourself behind us," advised the Vanguard Alpha, stepping close to Vic. Radiation flared across Vic's cybernetic eye from the Alpha's proximity; the levels emanating from him rivaled those found in some reactors.
Vic, however, was immune, his body already modified to withstand radiation's deadly grip. "I am no weakling," he replied coolly, signaling the rangers to stand back from the elevator doors. Understanding their inferiority in combat, the rangers obediently complied, allowing the vanguard soldiers to take the lead.
With a thundering halt, the elevator stopped, and the heavy alloy doors parted. The factory's depths had transformed into a battlefield. Hundreds of machine servitors and over a hundred rangers battled waves of plague zombies, some of whom, though rotting, retained the ability to wield weapons, blurring the line between corpse and combatant.
These infected, unlike their counterparts on other worlds, bore crude mechanical implants grafted into their flesh, granting them a fleeting resistance against the relentless barrage of gunfire.
"Cover their retreat!" Vic ordered as he stepped out of the elevator. The vanguard moved forward, forming a wall of firepower as they unleashed their radiation carbines, which not only shredded flesh but also tainted the ground with radiation in their wake.
Vic, stooped and unspeaking, unleashed an array of firepower from the eight servo-arms emerging from beneath his red robes. Projectiles, lasers, and crackling radiation rounds rained upon the horde, pushing them back with the unyielding force of a hundred guns.
"Regroup around me!" he broadcast in binary code, and every combatant on the factory floor received his command, beginning their retreat toward him. His purpose was clear: gather everyone for a unified escape.
The factory's defenders, initially left behind to safeguard vital production machinery, were now called to withdraw. The upcoming assault would be merciless, and each life preserved now could return to fight later.
While personally covering the retreat, a holographic transmission from Sewin suddenly flickered into Vic's field of view. "I assumed you'd be aiding them in eliminating the undead rather than retreating. I need them to stay and eradicate this plague," Sewin remarked.
"Is it the plague or the production line that needs protection?" Vic countered. Sewin paused, a brief silence betraying his priority. Vic knew his friend too well; for Sewin, the production line held supreme importance, warranting any sacrifice to preserve it, even when such a cost was futile.
"These production lines are worth more than lives; their protection is an honor," Sewin insisted, hinting at Vic's generous distribution of STC data. "This isn't a waste; it's duty."
"Are you inviting a debate?" Vic's tone was icy, and without a word, Sewin terminated the link.
With more troops crowding into the elevator, Vic and the vanguards held the line, their fire intensifying to contain the advancing infected. As Vic assessed the controls, the elevator's mechanism activated, the doors creaking as they began to close.
Suddenly, a monstrous roar shook the floor. A grotesque, massive abomination crushed everything in its path, lunging toward the elevator. Vic observed the writhing monstrosity with the cold precision of a mind unfazed by fear, its chaos unable to penetrate his machine-altered brain.
"Concentrate fire on it!" he commanded, and all available forces focused their attacks on the creature, abandoning the lesser zombies that infiltrated the elevator. While the combined assault riddled its hide with wounds, it lumbered on, undeterred. Alpha fired a high-explosive grenade from a compartment in his arm, the explosion barely slowing the monster, while shrapnel scattered back, killing unprepared servitors.
Vic reached into a compartment at his chest, pulling out a small, potent explosive and throwing it toward the creature. The bomb homed in on its target, attaching to the creature's torso before detonating in a phosphorescent burst, sending its remains across the battlefield.
As the elevator doors sealed shut and the ascent began, the distant rumble of artillery filtered through their audio devices. Once near the surface, they could hear the cacophony of gunfire and klaxons blaring—a stark reminder that the earlier rumblings were not thunder but cannon fire.
Upon reaching the top, Vic looked out over the battlefield beyond the factory, feeling a strange sense of displacement as he gazed upon the horizon. The silhouettes of warships crowded the sky, exchanging fire with the orbiting defenses of Agripinaa. Vic's cybernetic eye zoomed in, analyzing the data: it was only a matter of time before orbital control fell, leading to cataclysmic bombardments and waves of drop pods descending.
Compared to the impending invasion, the plague zombies below were mere insects. Amid the impending devastation, no one could escape the sense of their own insignificance.
"Why did they arrive so swiftly?" Alpha murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Vic had no answer; even he was struck by the rapidity of the enemy's advance.
"The invasion has begun," he said solemnly. "We must return to the tower immediately." With those words, Vic led the others, navigating through the labyrinthine corridors of the vast factory toward their next confrontation.