Chapter 1: Memories of Apophis

Mission Briefing: The void screamed silence. Drifting between dying systems and blood-soaked viewports, Major William Falck relives the catastrophic countdown to comet Apophis and the founding of Neo Helsinki.

The void screamed silence.

Falck's consciousness drifted somewhere between the black of space and the deeper darkness behind his eyelids. His Robot Core tumbled through the debris field, sparks cascading from ruptured armor plating like dying stars. Dire Wulf's systems flickered erratically—damage reports scrolling across interfaces that Falck could no longer read, warnings blaring in a cockpit he could no longer hear.

Blood floated in crimson spheres inside his helmet. His own, he realized distantly, though the pain felt like it belonged to someone else.

As his mind retreated from the trauma, memories not his own began to surface—fragments of humanity's collective consciousness preserved in the Soul Prisms, or perhaps just the dying dreams of a brain starved of oxygen. The boundaries between past and present dissolved.

"This is Jordan Tellfast reporting live from NHNN—Neo Helsinki News Network."

The memory crystallized with unnatural clarity. Falck saw through eyes that weren't his—millions of eyes, all turned toward screens across the globe. The anchor's practiced calm barely contained the gravity of her words.

"Special news coming from the United Aerospace Division in Helsinki. A comet named 'Apophis' has been confirmed that it's on a trajectory toward Earth. Impact estimated in six years, but scientists are saying that the comet poses no threat to humanity with its current trajectory. The United Nations is, however, developing a comprehensive defense strategy involving multiple nuclear warheads to alter the comet's course to minimize all risks."

The world's first reaction: disbelief. Then, gradual acceptance. Then, hope.

Scientists became celebrities overnight. Children learned new words—trajectory, deflection, extinction. Governments promised solutions. The megacity projects, already underway in forward-thinking nations, accelerated. Neo Helsinki's foundations were laid that year, its architects dreaming of a dome that could shelter millions.

The memory shifted, darkened.

"Civil unrest continues across forty-three nations," A male TV reported talked. Behind him, footage of burning streets, looted stores, makeshift barricades. " We have multiple reports of civil unrest around the world from extremists who are waiting for the end of the world. The world is turning chaotic by the minute as word from the United Nations is that they may not be able to divert completely the comet Apophis from earths trajectory."

Static. Another memory intrudes.

A child—was it Falck?—watching through a window as neighbors fought over water rations. The skeletal framework of Neo Helsinki's dome rising in the distance like the ribs of some massive beast. His mother's hand on his shoulder, grip too tight.

"Soon we'll be safe inside," she whispered, though her voice carried no conviction.

Construction crews worked through the night. The memory tasted of welding sparks and desperation. Seven megacities nearing completion worldwide—Neo Helsinki, New Eden, Pacifica, others—each a monument to human ingenuity and fear.

"Megacities are being built around the globe, but some might be too late," United Nations Apophis Prevention projects main scientist reported. "There are only six or seven megacities worldwide that began their construction work in the 2020s. These shield domes will protect against the likely tsunamis and radioactive fallout from comet Apophis, but a direct hit will not save the population. " a scientist explained to a half-empty press room. The reporters who remained looked hollow-eyed, their questions perfunctory.

In the memory, someone laughed bitterly. "A dome won't stop a direct hit."

"No," the scientist agreed quietly. "But it's better than nothing."

The final memory hit like a physical blow.

The President of the United Nations stood at a podium, his face carved from granite and grief. Behind him, no flags, no emblems—just black.

“My fellow citizens of Earth, this is the president of the United Nations speaking. “

Our efforts to stop the comet Apophis, have failed.

The words echoed through every speaker, every screen, every Soul Prism that would one day preserve this moment.

“We were able to divert portions of the comet, but the main body will impact Earth within eighteen days.

Hold your loved ones.

For these are the final days.

Pray to any gods you believe.

Even if they won't answer.”

The transmission ended. Humanity held its breath.

In the memory, a young couple stood on a hill overlooking the skeletal frame of Neo Helsinki. The man wore a military uniform—early Robot Core prototype division. The woman's hand rested on her stomach, protecting something precious.

"Peter, please. Don't go. Not tonight."

"I have to. The Core needs—"

"I need you. We need you."

But he was already walking toward the waiting transport, toward his destiny as Lord Commander Ares. Behind him, Audencia Dura stood alone, watching the stars that would soon bring apocalypse.

Falck's eyes snapped open.

Red warning lights painted the interior of his tumbling cockpit. Through the cracked visor of his helmet, Mars spun lazily below—or was it above? His inner ear had given up trying to determine orientation.

"Dire Wulf?" His voice came out as a croak.

Static, then: "Systems… compromised. Structural integrity at eighteen percent. Driver vital signs… critical."

Ahead, growing larger with each rotation, loomed the NHS Manala—Ares' battlecruiser. Its point defense lasers had torn through his Robot Core's armor like paper. He should be dead. Would be dead, if not for the Divergent changes already rewriting his biology.

"Can you stabilize our trajectory?"

"Negative. Thruster control offline. Impact with Manala hull in… forty-three seconds."

Falck tested his limbs. Pain lanced through his left shoulder—dislocated. His legs responded sluggishly. Blood loss, probably. The medical systems were trying to compensate, flooding his system with combat stims and coagulants.

Through the spinning viewport, he caught glimpses of the battle. Explosions bloomed soundlessly in the void. The Ghost Squad's Robot Cores engaged Neo Helsinki forces, outnumbered three to one. Ace's unit wove between laser fire with desperate grace. Terror's heavy weapons platform was taking hits but still fighting. They needed him. Mars needed him. But first, he had to survive the next forty seconds.