The battlefield crackled with the warped energy that rippled from the portal. Icarus stood at the breach, his stance firm as his HUD processed a constant stream of data: heat signatures, structural weaknesses, threat levels, and encrypted commands all overlaid onto his field of vision. He could see the faint outlines of the "Invaders" emerging—a formidable wall of figures with glistening armor and shimmering weapons that bent the very air around them.

"Target locked," his system whispered in a tone devoid of emotion.

His movements were flawless, a deadly choreography of efficiency as he led his squad in swift, practiced strikes. They moved with him, a wall of human-like frames, each crafted with painstaking realism: subtle expressions, traces of wear and tear, all carefully designed to be indistinguishable from flesh and blood.

As he blocked a surge of arcane energy, Icarus couldn't help but notice the strangest thing—there was no one behind him. No panicked civilians, no human soldiers, no signs of the very people he and his squad existed to protect. Only the empty, debris-littered streets stretched out, silent and lifeless.

Who am I protecting? His thoughts twisted momentarily in confusion. How come we never see the people we are ordered to protect?

The HUD flickered in response, lines of code scrambling across his vision, and then…silence. His last thought dissipated, erased like chalk swept from a board, and his HUD returned to the combat interface. Targets reacquired. Icarus's focus sharpened as his weapon swung down with a resonating hum.

The invaders pressed forward, their forms blurred by spells and illusions, but his sensors adjusted quickly, tracking every movement. They were powerful, mysterious beings from another realm—a force sent here by desperate sorcerers, each attack they unleashed crackling with magic that made the ground tremble. And yet, he never questioned why his weapons, designed by humans, could withstand such otherworldly power.

A notification blinked in his field of vision.

[Protect Humanity]

It was a mission reminder, standard protocol to ensure compliance, and yet, this time it felt strangely hollow, like a well-rehearsed lie. The reminder blinked again, in a bold white script, before fading. Icarus shook off the thought, focused again on the encroaching forces, and delivered another precise blow to a cloaked warrior who stumbled back, leaving sparks of dissipating energy in his wake.

His HUD registered the fallen foes as data points, cataloging them as mere threats neutralized, not as lives lost. And still, no voices came from behind him, no calls for safety or retreat. He pressed on, wielding his blade with the same mechanical purpose that had guided him since the day he was first activated. But a thought lingered—a whisper beneath the layers of code, a question barely audible in the chaos.

Before he could linger on the thought, his system gave a brief hum, his memory logs wiped again, leaving only the mission.