Adam’s systems came back online in pieces as he lay in a pile of ash and broken stone. For a single, brief moment, he was confused he was confused as all he could remember was static and error prompts. Then the memories began to return. The attack. The swarm. The impact. His internal clock was still syncing, but enough of his systems had stabilized to confirm the obvious: he was no longer inside the shuttle.

  With effort, he pushed the Hoplite frame upright. The right leg dragged slightly, damaged from the fall and sparking every few seconds due to a busted wire. His armor, dented in various places and having a small hole in one area, scraped against the rubble as he stood and scanned his surroundings. Through his cracked HUD, he saw that the crash site wasn’t far. The shuttle had carved a wide gouge into the ground, its hull blackened and torn open along the spine. Around it were the scattered remains of the flying demons—bodies twisted, split, or flattened under the weight of the impact. Smoke drifted lazily from the wreckage, and the only sound was the faint hiss of cooling metal.

  He made his way slowly toward the shuttle, its torn fuselage looming like the husk of a dead beast. One of the wings had been sheared off completely, and the rear hatch—what was left of it—hung twisted and open. The trail leading to it told the story well enough. The shuttle had hit hard, skipped across the terrain, and plowed through anything in its path before settling in a small crater.

  Near the edge of that crater, half-buried under scorched debris, he spotted movement. A Hoplite unit—armor scorched, one leg bent at an unnatural angle—was trying to pull itself upright. Its left arm had been torn off, and its weapon was missing, but its core systems were still active. As Adam approached, the unit raised its head slightly, visor flickering as it recognized him. Looking at the damaged hoplite, a realization dawned on him.

  Where was Dave?

  “Dave, respond,” he ordered over the short-range link, pushing the signal through their internal network. No answer. “Guardian to A43-1. Status report.”

  Still nothing.

  Adam’s posture shifted as he immediately began scanning the surrounding wreckage. If Dave had been in the front section when the shuttle tore open, he could’ve been thrown farther than the rest. Or worse—pinned inside. Without another word, Adam left the crippled Hoplite behind and moved quickly toward the crumpled midsection of the downed shuttle.

  Adam moved down the slope into the crater, his damaged leg grinding with each step as the servos struggled to keep pace. The terrain was unstable—shards of hull plating and broken reinforcement ribs jutted out in all directions like bones. The shuttle lay like a broken shell, half-buried in the ground, its main body split down the center. The nose was caved in completely, and had there been a human pilot, they most likely would have died instantly.

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  He climbed over a collapsed support beam and dropped into the torn-open cargo hold. The interior was a ruin. The emergency lights barely held, strobing in uneven intervals. Wiring hissed from the walls, and fluid, whether it was oil or blood, he wasn't sure, dripped steadily from somewhere overhead. The other five Hoplites were scattered through the wreckage—three unmoving, two attempting to right themselves, one missing its entire upper half. The CRAB units had fared no better. One was crushed entirely beneath a collapsed stowage rack, another looked inert but intact, and the last was still trying to unfold, one of its legs bent at an unnatural angle, which prevented it from opening.

  Adam stepped through it all. The only threats were long dead or too broken to finish what they'd started. He pushed deeper into the twisted remains of the midsection, calling out across the internal net.

  “A43-1, respond. Dave, I need your location. Broadcast on any channel.”

  Again, no answer.

  And then he saw it—buried near the forward bulkhead, beneath a collapsed ceiling beam. A single Hoplite unit. One arm was pinned. The right leg looked crushed from the knee down. The visor was cracked, dim, but still glowing.

  Adam moved fast, kneeling beside the damaged unit and clearing away debris. "Dave?" he said again, quieter now. "Come on. Talk to me."

  Dave didn’t respond at first. Its visor flickered weakly, the light behind it barely holding. Adam pried loose a warped support strut pinning the Hoplite’s arm and shoulder, letting it fall to the side with a loud clang. The body beneath was mangled—hydraulic fluid leaked steadily from ruptured lines along the torso, and one of the back servos was venting smoke in short, rhythmic bursts.

  Just as Adam reached to stabilize the unit’s chestplate, the visor flashed. Not fully—but enough.

  “…Adam…” The voice was distorted, broken by static and processor lag, but unmistakably Dave’s. “I… am operational. Systems… compromised. Damage… extensive.”

  “You’re not done yet,” Adam said. “I’ve got you.”

  Dave's voice was intermittent now, barely registering above the static. “Systems… failing. Guardian… recommend asset abandonment…”

  “Not happening,” Adam said, fingers already working a service panel loose near the base of the skull unit. “You’re not an asset, you're my friend.”

  The panel finally gave, revealing the core slot buried deep within the reinforced housing. The memory unit—thick, octagonal, pulsing weakly with standby data—sat locked in place. A few of the leads were scorched from the crash, but the containment seals were still intact. Adam disconnected it carefully, ignoring the damage reports scrolling across his HUD.

  As he pulled the core free, Dave’s voice crackled one last time, low and faint:

  “...Thank you.”

  The moment the memory unit was disconnected, the hollow shell of what used to be Dave slumped against the floor. The unit’s visor dimmed to black, and the subtle hum of its servos faded into silence. One by one, the internal motors shut down, lights going out across the frame until it was utterly still. It was now little more than scrap metal.

  Adam stared at the remains for a moment, the memory core warm in his hand. Then he tucked it into his chest compartment with the care of a parent holding their newly born child. He locked the compartment shut, double-checking if it was secured before finally looking up. He gave the broken chassis of his friend one last look, then turned back toward the wreckage and what was left of the team.

  It was time to move.