Warcog and Baseddoggo 3
The Ghost of a Dead Millennium
The hospital's linoleum floor groaned under the weight of the Ghost as he stood. Every hydraulic hiss and metallic click from his suit sounded like a gunshot in the sterile quiet of the recovery room. Isaac James Walker felt the nanites in his spine pulsing, a rhythmic, stinging heat that signaled the suit was attempting to bypass his shattered ribs to provide motor function.
"You’re going to kill yourself!" Sophie cried, her tail tucked between her legs in a primal display of unease. She backed toward the door, her smartphone still clutched in her furred hand. "The doctors said your internal organs look like they went through a blender! You shouldn't even be standing!"
"I’ve been 'dead' since the 28th Millennium, dog-lady," Isaac growled, his voice a deep, vibrating rasp that seemed to rattle the medical equipment. "A little internal bleeding isn't going to stop me. Now, the station. Where is it?"
Sophie stared at him, her large brown eyes wide with a mix of terror and a strange, localized fascination. In her world, "heroes" were usually people in spandex or anthros with high social media followings. This thing—this Charcoal-gray, muscled titan of metal and tattered cloth—was something else entirely. He felt like a walking grave.
"It’s... it’s four blocks east," she stammered, pointing vaguely toward the window. "Pine Falls Precinct. But you can't just walk out there! There are cameras everywhere! You’re already trending on 'X' and TikTok. If you walk down Main Street looking like a killer robot, the SWAT team will be on you in minutes!"
Isaac paused, his red visor flickering as he accessed his suit’s internal tactical map. It was a mess of static. No Roman satellites. No orbital grid. He was blind. He looked at the tattered black cloak draped over his shoulders. He pulled the hood up, the frayed fabric shadows masking the glowing red lines of his faceplate.
"Let them come," Isaac muttered. "I’ve handled Phfor Hunters and Terramorph Slashers. Your 'SWAT' sounds like a vacation."
He moved toward the window, his gait heavy but surprisingly fluid. He wasn't a clunky machine; he was a predator. He punched the reinforced glass, the pane shattering into a thousand diamonds. The cool night air of 2021 rushed in, smelling of pine needles, car exhaust, and something sweet—like blooming jasmine. It was a smell he hadn't experienced in years.
"Wait!" Sophie called out, stepping toward the broken window. "Why are you doing this? Why can't you just stay and let us help you?"
Isaac turned his head slightly, the red LCD visor catching the moonlight. "Because the things that put me in this suit don't stop, Sophie. And if I’m here, there’s a chance they are too. You don't want to be near me when the sky starts whispering."
Without another word, he stepped out into the night, dropping three stories to the pavement below. He landed in a crouch, the shock absorbers in his greaves hissing as they took the impact. He didn't wait for a crowd to gather. He engaged the suit's passive cloaking—a shimmering distortion that bent light around his frame. He wasn't invisible, not with the power core at 4%, but to a casual observer, he was nothing more than a heat haze in the darkness.
***
**Pine Falls Police Precinct – 11:45 PM**
Chief Miller sat in his office, staring at the heavy, boxy rifle resting on his desk. It was the most beautiful and terrifying piece of engineering he had ever seen. The "Hemlock", as the markings near the receiver suggested, was built like a tank. It didn't have the sleek, plastic feel of a modern AR-15. It felt like it had been forged in the heart of a dying star.
"Ballistics came back with nothing, Chief," Sergeant Higgins said, leaning against the doorframe. He was a feline anthro, a tabby with a notched ear, currently grooming his forearm nervously. "The rounds in that magazine... they’re 6.8mm, but the casing is some kind of composite we can't identify. And that underbarrel attachment? It’s not a standard M203. It looks like it fires miniaturized thermobarics."
"And the guy?" Miller asked, rubbing his temples.
"Still at the hospital. A human kid and his Dobermann girlfriend found him. They say he fell from the sky. Literally."
Miller sighed. "Great. Just what I need. An alien invasion or a black-ops super soldier in my town. Keep the weapons locked in the evidence locker. I want a perimeter—"
The lights in the precinct flickered. A low, thrumming hum vibrated through the floorboards—a sound like a giant cat purring, but with a metallic, hungry edge.
"Higgins? What was that?"
Downstairs, in the evidence room, the air began to shimmer. Isaac James Walker deactivated his cloak, appearing like a ghost manifesting from the ether. He stood in the center of the room, his red visor scanning the shelves. There.
He reached out, his gauntlet closing around the ribbed handguard of the Hemlock. The rifle felt right in his hands, a familiar weight that grounded him in this alien time period. He checked the chamber—empty. He grabbed the thick, blocky magazines from the table and slotted them into the magnetic pouches on his thighs.
Next was the shotgun. He slid the sleek, double-barreled weapon into the magnetic holster on his back. The Malorian-styled pistol went to his hip. Finally, he reached for the compound bow. He ran a finger over the pulleys, feeling the 250-pound draw weight tension.
"Freeze! Don't move!"
Isaac didn't even turn. He heard the click of a safety being disengaged.
"I said don't move, you freak! Hands behind your head!"
Isaac turned slowly. Standing in the doorway was a young officer, a human male with shaking hands, aiming a standard-issue Glock at Isaac’s chest. Behind him stood a Fox anthro, her fur bristling.
"You’re pointing a toy at a man who has killed gods," Isaac said, his voice echoing in the small room. "Put it down before you hurt yourself."
"I... I’ll shoot!" the officer yelled.
Isaac moved. He didn't use a gun. He didn't even use his wrist blade. He simply blurred across the room, his 120 KPH reaction time making the officer look like he was standing in molasses. He swiped the Glock from the man’s hand, crushed the slide between his fingers like it was made of tin, and tossed the ruined metal aside.
He grabbed the officer by the tactical vest, lifting the man off his feet. "Where is the Naro energy signature in this town?"
"The... the what?" the officer gasped, his face turning pale.
"The Beacons. The black pillars. Have you seen them?"
"I don't know what you're talking about! Please!"
Isaac dropped him. He looked at the Fox anthro, who was frozen in place, her hand hovering over her holster. "You. Dog-lady. Is there anything strange happening? Static on the radios? People acting like they’ve lost their minds? Whispers in the dark?"
"No!" she squeaked. "It’s just a normal Tuesday! We have a fur-festival next week, that’s the only 'strange' thing!"
Isaac cursed under his breath. He was early. Or he was in the wrong place. But he knew the Terramorphs. If he was here, a Beacon was likely already dormant beneath the crust, waiting for the signal.
He pushed past them, heading for the exit. He needed to find a high vantage point. He needed to see the stars. If he could see the constellations, he could figure out where in the hell—or when in the hell—he was.
***
**Cyberpax – 31st Millennium**
The ground shook as a Romulus-class Super Dreadnought broke the atmosphere of the Automaton homeworld. The massive, 40-kilometer-long vessel cast a shadow that extinguished the red glow of the factories below.
Aetius Augustus stood on the bridge of a command dropship, his hands clasped behind his back. Beside him, a Praetorian Guard stood silent, his purple-tinted armor decorated with gems that caught the flickering light of the explosions below. The Praetorian’s face mask was a stoic, golden human visage, eyes glowing with a cold, psionic light.
"The Automatons are putting up a significant resistance at the primary core," the Praetorian said, his voice a melodic contrast to the chaos outside. "They are using the Cyborg survivors as shields. They know we will not fire on our own kind, even if they are 'repurposed'."
"The Cyborgs died the moment they turned their backs on Rome," Aetius said, his voice flat. "If they stand between us and the destruction of the factories, they are targets. Nothing more."
"The Senate will not be pleased with such... efficiency, Centurion."
"The Senate is thousands of light-years away. I am here." Aetius turned to the Praetorian. "Have you felt it? The rift near the southern core? The energy signature is Naro, but it’s fluctuating. It feels like a displacement."
The Praetorian tilted his head. "The Great Watcher of the Illuminate has been silent since the rift opened. Perhaps they have found something we have not. Or perhaps... a legend has returned."
Aetius looked at the data slate on his wrist. "Ghost. The archives say he disappeared after the Pendulum War. A post-human relic. If he is alive, he is a threat to the stability of the current Empire. He represents an era of Rome that we have moved past."
"Or," the Praetorian whispered, "he is exactly what we need to end this war."
***
**Baseddoggo Earth – Pine Falls Outskirts**
Isaac James Walker sat on the edge of a water tower, his cloak flapping in the wind. He had spent the last hour watching the town. It was a bizarre, peaceful nightmare. He watched a group of teenagers—a mix of humans and what looked like anthropomorphic cats—laughing as they walked out of a movie theater. He saw a billboard for something called "Furboys: The Movement," featuring a human man and a wolf-woman holding hands.
"Disgusting," he muttered, though there was no real heat in it. It was just... alien. In his time, the only thing humans did with xenos was kill them or enslave them. This world felt soft. Vulnerable.
He tapped the side of his helmet, trying to force the suit’s sensors to scan for deep-crust anomalies.
*SCANNING...* *ANOMALY DETECTED: 2.5 KM NORTH. DEPTH: 500 METERS.* *SIGNATURE: UNKNOWN. FREQUENCY: 4.2 HZ (BEACON-CLASS).*
Isaac’s blood ran cold. "Fuck me. They are here."
He stood up, the Hemlock’s mag-lock engaging as he secured the rifle to his back. He reached for the compound bow. If there was a Beacon, there were cultists. And if there were cultists, there were Slashers.
A sound behind him made him spin around. He drew his combat knife in a blur of motion, the mono-molecular edge humming.
"Whoa! Whoa! It’s just us! Don't stab the girlfriend!"
It was Daniel and Sophie. They were standing at the top of the water tower’s access ladder, both of them panting. Daniel looked terrified, but Sophie had a look of stubborn determination on her face.
"How did you find me?" Isaac asked, his voice dropping into that snake-like growl.
"You’re a seven-foot-tall metal man with a glowing red face," Sophie said, wiping sweat from her brow. "And you’re heavy. You left footprints in the asphalt back at the station. Also, people are posting your location on Snapchat every five seconds. You’re literally the top trending topic in the state."
"You shouldn't be here," Isaac said, sheathing his knife but not relaxing his posture. "This town is sitting on a bomb. A biological bomb."
"We know you're from that war," Daniel said, stepping forward. "The one on the news... wait, no, there is no war like that on the news. Look, man, we don't know who you are, but you’re hurt. You need a place to hide until you can fix that suit."
"I don't hide," Isaac said.
"Then call it 'tactical repositioning'," Sophie countered, her tail giving a nervous wag. "My family has a cabin up in the woods. It’s off the grid. No cameras, no tourists. You can stay there. We can get you tools, maybe some high-grade lithium for your batteries? I don't know what that thing runs on, but we want to help."
Isaac looked at them. They were so naive. They didn't know that within a few miles, a device was likely broadcasting a signal that would eventually turn their friends and neighbors into screaming piles of necrotic flesh.
"Why?" Isaac asked. "Why help a 'jerk' like me?"
Sophie looked at Daniel, then back at Isaac. "Because you look like you’ve been fighting for a long time, Ghost. And everyone deserves a break. Even seven-foot-tall scary guys."
Isaac looked toward the north, where the anomaly pulse was getting stronger. He could hear it now—the faint, rhythmic thumping in his skull.
*“Make us whole, Isaac...”*
"Fine," Isaac said, turning back to the couple. "Lead the way, dog-lady. But if I see a single black pillar, I’m leveling this forest."
"Deal," Sophie said, a small, relieved smile crossing her muzzle.
As they headed toward Daniel’s truck, Isaac looked up at the moon. It was white. Silent. But in his mind’s eye, he saw it turning. He saw the tentacles unfurling, the massive, planetary maw opening to consume the stars.
He wasn't in the 28th Millennium anymore. He wasn't in the Roman Empire. But the war? The war was exactly where it had always been. Right behind him.
"Fuckin' bullshit," he whispered to the wind.