Jumpdrives were an odd thing to behold.
Looking out of the viewing glass of the transport, Samael saw nothing but a swirling abyss of warped space. It wasn't black - it was a stark, unnatural white, where the very fabric of reality seemed to buckle and fold in on itself. The stars beyond were no longer pinpricks of light, but distorted, black smudges against the inverted canvas of slipspace. Colours he couldn't name shimmered like oil in water, rippling in jagged currents across the void.
It seemed bizzare that a jumpdrive capable of producing this effect was made by one single man.
"Heinrick, you really were a genius," Samael praised, his voice nearly drowned by the faint hum of the engines straining against the impossible forces outside.
The ship lurched, a tremor rippling through the hull as the distortions thickened. The stars smeared into jagged streaks, space itself convulsing as though protesting their presence. Then, in a single blink of violent stillness, it ended - the universe snapping back into order with a sharp jolt that rattled the glass and sent a metallic groan echoing through the ship's frame.
Before them hung a star, pale gold against the cold reach of space, orbited by two immense planetary masses. The worlds loomed in the distance like ghostly titans, silhouettes against the glare of their sun. The first, Demeter, shimmered with a faint cerulean glow from its atmosphere, while the second, Gridiron, was a vast, rust-hued wasteland closer to the star, its surface cracked and scarred like the dried husk of a dead world.
Samael's gaze lingered. This system should be bristling with war fleets, he thought. Fifty supercarriers, ten thousand orbital defense platforms. Every inch of space should have been clogged with warships and automated gun arrays. The Demeter system was that important to the IMC.
Blisk's heavy boots clanged against the metal floor as he strode from the cockpit, the sliding door groaning open. The stale air of the cargo bay carried a faint tang of oil and scorched metal.
"Oi, rich kid, we're here." He thumbed a glowing touchpad beside Samael's seat, releasing the locking harness with a sharp hiss. "Get ready - we hit dirt in ten."
"Oh, and try not to stand in the sun."
Ten minutes later, Surface of Gridiron...
"Why…" Samael muttered, sweat matting his hair and stinging his eyes. His coat was discarded over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up in a futile attempt to fend off the oppressive heat. The sun above wasn't just a distant ball of fire, it was a blazing inferno, devouring the sky itself. Its glare was so fierce it drowned out everything else, turning the air into a shimmering curtain of liquid heat.
Fortunately, they had applied advamced Sunscreen before hand, so they could atleast survive for now.
They walked alone across a plain of cracked earth and coarse, shimmering sand. The air shimmered in heat mirages, warping the horizon and conjuring phantom pools of water that vanished the moment you blinked. Dust devils coiled lazily in the distance, like serpents slithering through the arid wasteland. Each breath was like inhaling dry ash.
"Told ya, kid," Blisk grunted, his weathered face impassive though rivulets of sweat darkened his collar. "Gridiron barely has an atmosphere. Everything worth anything's built underground."
Samael grimaced. "I… I can see why they built the facility here. No way the Militia could launch an assault without months of prep."
He stumbled, catching himself before falling. The ground here was treacherous and patches of hiden jagged stone and old landmine craters. The horizon rippled like glass under the merciless heat, and in the distance, a squat, square shape emerged - an unassuming shack that might've passed for an abandoned outhouse anywhere else.
"Wow. How secretive," Samael muttered, squinting against the glare. It was so ludicrous it almost made sense. "Let me guess - that's the Atlas Titan facility's entrance."
"Grand, huh?" Blisk sidestepped neatly around a half-buried mine, its sensor barely visible beneath a layer of dust. "IMC's a creative lot. Better get used to it."
Samael smirked, then sighed.
Up close, the shack was a weathered, rust-stained box of corrugated metal, half-sunken into a dune. Its door hung slightly askew with paint peeling. Without waiting for permission, Samael grasped the handle and yanked it open.
Inside was exactly what one might expect - a grimy, outdated toilet bowl with a sloshing, oddly iridescent fluid of questionable origin. The air was thick with the stink of heat-cooked chemicals.
Blisk squeezed in behind him, his broad shoulders nearly filling the entire cramped space. "If I'm remembering right…" he muttered, grabbing the toilet's rusted flusher. He gave it a hard yank.
The floor jolted beneath them, and Samael's stomach dropped as the space seemed to fall away. In truth, they weren't falling, the shack was actually an elevator, descending deep into the earth. Faint mechanical hums vibrated through the walls, and a cheerful tune crackled from an old speaker in the corner, the sound tinny and grating. Beside it, a camera focised in on them, but did not respond in any other way.
Samael grimaced, pulling a flask from his belt and draining it in a single go, savouring the cool sensation of its contents.
Finally, a soft chime sounded. The descent slowed with a shudder, and the crude outhouse door slid open once again, only now the desert was gone.
They stepped out into a pristine corridor of sterile grey metal, spotless white lighting reflecting off superconcrete floors. The hallway stretched to a balcony overlooking a cavernous expanse of technological marvels. A sweeping multi-level complex of floors and balconies descended deep underground, each floor interconnected by intricate elevator platforms and suspended bridges.
At the heart of it all stood a waterfall of clear, synthetic water, cascading from the ceiling into a basin several stories below, its surface shimmering with refracted light. Engineers and lab-coated scientists flitted between workstations and terminals, data pads and holonotes in hand, chattering away with eschover about all mammer of topics.
In one corner, a towering, skeletal Titan chassis stood under the scrutiny of a team of technicians, its half-finished frame under focused spotlights. The air here smelled of coolant, fresh recycled air, and ionized circuitry.
Samael took it in, eyes lingering on the multi-tiered elevators that crisscrossed the floors like veins of steel.
Fortunately, he wouldn't have to venture deeper yet. A bridge led directly to a suspended observation tower with black-tinted windows obscuring any view inside. Red warning lights pulsed softly along its frame, casting a ruddy glow over Samael's face and attire.
He crossed the bridge quickly, his footsteps a creating a pleasant rhythm on the metal grating. Reaching the blast door, he rapped his knuckles against it amd knocked three times.
Moments later, the door's security panel beeped, and the heavy barrier slid aside. A petite, black-haired woman awaited them, flanked by two IMC troopers armed with light machine gun Spitfires. Her gaze was sharp and her expression brittle with forced civility.
Behind her, holographic blueprints flickered across rows of monitors and dozens of incomplete Titan schematics and failed prototypes with doomed designs were on full display.
"Mr. Hammond. Cuben Blisk," she greeted through gritted teeth. "It's an honour to host such distinguished guests. However, I must remind you - this facility is a research site first and foremost. I ask that you refrain from… interfering."