Aiden woke up to the sharp cry of an alarm cutting through his sleep.
His eyes snapped open as the sound repeated, steady and urgent. The wall panel near his bed was no longer blinking calmly. It was flooded with urgent notifications.
Red warning lights pulsed across the display, stacked on top of each other until there was barely any empty space left. Notification boxes kept spawning faster than they could clear, plastering the panel in warning text. The alert sound overlapped itself, turning into a harsh, continuous noise that drilled into his skull.
This was not a system error.
This was not a glitch.
Every warning meant the same thing.
[Motion detection.]
[Motion detection.]
[Motion detection.]
[Motion detection.]
[Motion detection.]
[Motion detection.]
[Motion detection.]
[Motion detection.]
[Motion detection.]
[Motion detection.]
The alerts kept coming, filling the screen, pushing older warnings aside as new ones replaced them. Whatever had triggered the system was not passing by. It seems that he had a visitor.
The external cameras had picked up movement. It was not drifting debris. It was not the wind brushing past sensors. The system classified it as unnatural movement, the kind that could only come from a living organism.
Aiden felt his blood turn cold.
A bad thought forced its way into his mind, one he had been avoiding for days. The system he built did not trigger easily, and it never reacted like this for small animals or harmless movement. It came with a feeling he did not want to name. A quiet premonition he hoped was wrong, that this was nothing more than an error.
He checked the time.
3:00 AM.
His body moved before his thoughts caught up. He swung his legs off the bed and bolted down the narrow corridor, bare feet slapping against the metal floor. His breath came fast as he reached the cockpit control room and slammed his hand onto the console.
The main external feed lit up.
And he froze.
The creature stayed just outside the firelight, close enough for the camera to record it clearly. It was long and heavy, around ten meters from head to tail, with a body shaped like a large serpent resting low to the ground. Unlike a true snake, it had four legs supporting its length.
The legs were short but thick, built to hold its weight. Each step pressed firmly into the ground, leaving deep marks as it moved. Its body was covered in hard, rock like scales that fit tightly together. The scales were dull and rough, forming natural armor along its back and sides.
A line of solid spikes ran along the center of its back, starting behind the head and continuing toward the tail. The spikes were thick and dense, rising from between the scales and growing smaller near the end of its body.
The head was wide and heavy, with a broad mouth filled with blunt teeth made for crushing. The neck was thick and reinforced, able to support the weight of the head without strain.
It had four eyes. Two faced forward toward the fire, while the other two watched the darker areas around it. Its tongue slid out slowly as it tested the air.
The creature moved in a slow circle around the fire, keeping its distance while it watched and listened.
It did not step closer to the fire, keeping a careful distance, yet it did not retreat into the darkness either. It moved in slow, heavy steps around the edge of the light, its massive weight pressing into the ground with each motion.
The movement felt measured, deliberate, as if it was both curious and cautious at the same time. Each time the fire crackled and the flames jumped higher, the creature paused, its four eyes catching the dull orange glow before it resumed its slow circling.
Aiden did not breathe.
Minutes passed.
Then, almost suddenly, the creature stopped.
Its head turned toward the south side of the forest. The plates along its neck shifted as it lifted its head higher. Its posture changed. The slow curiosity vanished, replaced by focus.
It had heard something.
The muscles in its legs tightened. Its body leaned forward.
Then it ran.
The ground shook as it launched itself into motion, its massive form exploding forward with shocking speed. Trees blurred past the camera as it crashed through undergrowth without slowing. For something that large, it moved far faster than Aiden expected.
He estimated it could reach nearly thirty miles per hour, maybe more, its heavy legs driving it forward in long, powerful strides.
And then it was gone.
The forest swallowed it whole.
Aiden leaned back in his chair and finally exhaled. Cold sweat soaked the back of his shirt. His hands trembled as the tension drained from his body.
That was too close.
Only then did he realize how careless he had become over the past few days. He had grown comfortable in a place that had never promised safety. Routine had dulled his caution, and familiarity had replaced vigilance. He had started moving as if nothing truly dangerous could appear.
Seeing the creature shattered that illusion.
If something like that had attacked him while he was out exploring, he would not know how to fight it. His tools were not made for creatures of that size and strength. There was no plan, no weapon, no practiced response. One mistake, one wrong step, and he would not have a second chance.
If that creature had charged the ship, even once, his body would not survive the impact. The force alone would crush him before the hull ever failed. He had trusted the ship to shield him, trusted its structure and layered plating, but seeing the monster clearly through the camera feed stripped that confidence away.
The display focused on its side.
Scars crossed its hide. Not shallow marks, but deep wounds that should have torn muscle apart. Instead, the flesh had healed thick and uneven, layers grown back into hardened ridges. Whatever had injured it before had broken through armor like that, and the creature had survived.
Aiden picked up the pistol from beside the console and weighed it in his hand. He pictured the round striking those plates, imagined the impact, the spark, and then nothing.
"I don't think this pistol could even pierce that monstrosity." Aiden said quietly.
The thought pressed down on him.
"I need to do something about it.." he added, his grip tightening.
Sleep was no longer an option.
The creature was active at night. That meant it likely rested during the morning. He needed to act while he had the chance.
He stood and moved deeper into the ship, heading toward the workshop bay. It was the place where damaged parts were repaired and repurposed, where broken systems were turned into usable tools.
Inside, he reached for the items laid out on the worktable.
The crystal-like core taken from the mutated deer. It glowed faintly even now. Beside it lay the antlers, twisted and unnatural, their surface hard and sharp.
Aiden closed his fingers around them.
"It is time to make something..." he said quietly.
Tools.
If he wanted to survive, he could not wait anymore. It was time to put his training as a Mech and Autonomous Systems Engineer to use, to build something that could keep him alive.
******
It was exactly 1:00 PM.
The clock on the wall confirmed it again and again, but Aiden already knew. He had been awake the entire night and all through the morning. His body felt heavy and dry, but he had no intention of sleeping anytime soon. After what he had seen, rest felt like a luxury he could not afford.
He started with the pistol.
The weapon was standard issue, the kind given to crew members for emergencies rather than combat. Its frame was light, its internals compact, and its design favored reliability over power. It was never meant for sustained fighting.
The internal components could not handle high energy output for long periods, which was why the pistol had a built in limiter.
Aiden took it apart carefully on the workbench.
Piece by piece, he laid out the parts and studied them. The limiter regulated how much energy flowed into each shot, keeping heat buildup low and preventing damage.
He adjusted the design so the limiter could be manually disabled if the situation demanded it. In that state, the pistol would release all available energy in a single discharge. The consequences were clear the moment he finished the calculations.
Output at that level would overwhelm the internal rails, overload the chamber, and burn out the focusing unit almost instantly. The weapon would destroy itself the moment it fired. There would be no repairing it, no replacing warped components or scorched circuitry.
Aiden held the pistol in his hands for a moment longer than necessary.
"I hope I never have to use it like this..." he said quietly. He did not finish the thought, but it lingered all the same. Needing to fire without the limiter meant he would already be in a situation he did not want to face.
He sealed the casing and set the pistol aside. Even so, the weight of it felt different now. If that moment ever came, he would not be helpless. It was not much, but at least he now had something that could give him a chance to defend himself.
Next came the core.
The crystal sat on the table, faintly glowing, its surface smooth but uneven like frozen light trapped in solid form. Aiden had already tested it before. When he shaved off a small portion earlier, the energy output had not collapsed or destabilized.
Instead, the output dropped in proportion to the amount removed. That meant the core behaved as a divisible energy source rather than a fragile one.
That discovery changed everything.
Using his multi tool, he carefully cut the core into sixteen equal pieces. Each fragment was shaped into a small circular unit, smooth around the edges, stable, and warm to the touch. He tested them one by one. Every piece produced consistent energy, exactly as his calculations predicted.
Each fragment held one sixteenth of the original output.
That meant each one carried 0.0625 percent of the ship's total power.
In full cruise conditions, a single fragment could sustain the ship at maximum output for roughly ten to eleven hours. When operating in energy saving mode, the same fragment could keep essential systems running for nearly two full days. On their own, the fragments felt controlled and usable. Combined, their potential became far more terrifying.
He ran the numbers again, slower this time.
A full ship core failure could devastate everything within a five mile radius. Even a single fragment, despite holding only one sixteen hundredth of that total energy, could still level nearly half a mile if its power were fully released.
Trees would be torn apart, the ground shattered, and anything too close to the center would not survive.
Aiden did not have the means to unleash that level of destruction, and he was grateful for that limitation.
For now, the fragments were nothing more than controlled power sources, tools meant to keep him alive rather than weapons of mass ruin. Even so, the weight of what they could become stayed with him.
He took one fragment and integrated it into the pistol's power system.
The upgrade was immediate. Instead of relying on internal reserves, the weapon now drew from the fragment directly. He tested the firing limits and recalibrated the output. With this setup, the pistol could fire around sixty shots before needing the fragment replaced.
It was a significant improvement. Aiden was satisfied with the outcome.
Finally, he moved on to the trees.
The metal trees stood tall outside the ship, their trunks thick and unyielding as they rose straight from the soil like solid pillars driven into the ground. The bark was dark and uneven, formed from hard overlapping layers that ran vertically along the trunk. Each ridge felt cold and heavy to the touch, closer to forged plating than anything that could be called wood.
When he had scraped the surface earlier, the tool had not shaved it cleanly. Instead, it produced thin fragments that struck metal with a faint ringing sound as they fell. The material was dense and heavy, lacking any softness or fibers. It felt mineral rich, as if the tree had grown by drawing solid elements from the earth rather than water and soil alone.
He brought one of the backup thrusters from the research vessel into the workshop.
The main body of the thruster became the grip and power housing, reinforced to withstand sustained energy flow. As he worked, Aiden kept the original purpose of the part in mind. A thruster was never meant to cut. It was designed to push, to direct force in a controlled way. That idea became the foundation of his design.
If the power could be focused instead of dispersed, it could be turned into something else.
He reshaped the exhaust channel, narrowing it toward the front so the released energy would compress into a tight stream. Instead of spreading outward like normal thrust, the output was forced forward and held together. His goal was not to create a flash or a burst, but a steady, controlled beam that could be maintained without losing stability.
At the front, he installed a circular emitter ring lined with hardened teeth. The ring did not rotate. Its purpose was to guide the energy and keep it aligned as it exited, shaping it into a thin, blade-like edge. When activated, the focused output formed a narrow cutting plane that relied on constant heat and pressure rather than raw impact.
He knew it would not slice through a tree in a single motion.
This tool was meant to cut slowly but reliably.
When he tested it against one of the trees, the energy edge pressed into the trunk like a controlled laser. The outer bark heated first, darkening and glowing faintly before it began to soften. Sparks flew as the material tore apart under sustained pressure. The trunk resisted at first, then slowly gave way as the cut deepened.
It took nearly ten minutes to bring the tree down.
Aiden shut the tool off and checked the power draw. With three core fragments feeding the system, the output remained stable. Based on the rate of energy consumption, he estimated the setup could fell roughly fifty trees before the fragments needed to be replaced to new ones.
That was enough for now.
He did not cook any food.
The memory of the creature circling the fire was still fresh in his mind, and he had no intention of lighting one again so soon. Instead, he relied on what he already had. He opened a pack of nutrition paste and ate it slowly, washing it down with water. The paste was bland, thick, and filling, designed more for function than taste.
He added something new to it.
From his last exploration, he still had a few of the strange apples he had gathered outside. He crushed one carefully and mixed it into the paste. The result surprised him. The sweetness cut through the flat flavor, and the texture became easier to swallow. It was not good, but it was better. Good enough to repeat.
He made a note of it for later.
After eating, he went through the ship one more time. He checked the tools he had built, reviewed power draw, and confirmed that all systems were stable. Nothing was overheating. Nothing was draining faster than expected. The pistol held steady. The cutting tool remained within safe limits.
By the time he finished, the light outside had shifted.
Evening had come.
His body was exhausted, muscles tight and heavy from hours of nonstop work, but his mind felt sharp. The progress he had made kept him moving. It was the kind of tiredness that did not slow thought, only the body.
He reviewed the core fragments again.
Four had already been put to use. One powered the pistol. Three fed the cutting tool. He set aside five fragments and sealed them in a secure container marked for emergencies only. Those were not to be touched unless everything went wrong.
That left seven fragments.
They were for the exoskeleton.
Aiden pulled up the ship layout and highlighted several unused rooms. Storage spaces that served no purpose anymore. Sections of wall plating that were overengineered for areas no longer in use. He planned to strip them down piece by piece, reclaiming the material for armor.
The exoskeleton needed more than protection.
He sketched reinforced joints to improve grip strength, thicker plating along the forearms and chest, and better load distribution through the legs. He added notes on balance, torque limits, and stress points. The frame would need to support sudden force without locking up or tearing itself apart.
Then came the movement systems.
He began outlining simple autonomous responses for combat, not full control, but supportive assistance layered over his own movements.
The system would handle weight shifting, absorb sudden impacts, and predict motion to prevent overextension or loss of balance. It would not fight for him, but it would help him react faster and move with more precision than his body alone ever could.
This was his field. Mech systems, autonomous control, and practical design under pressure were what he understood best, especially when failure was not an option.
Night had fully settled outside the ship, but he did not slow down. The day still felt incomplete, as if stopping now would mean losing momentum. There was too much left to do and too little time to waste.
He drank more water to hydrate himself, then turned back to the workbench.
Sleep could wait. Tonight, he would keep building.