The conference room in Washington D.C. was a box of glass and steel, suspended high above the city. Afternoon sunlight slanted across the polished table where leaders from half a dozen allied nations sat, their faces tense, their voices sharp.
The Americans had called the summit. They had not expected the tone to turn so quickly against them.
"…You cannot continue to insist these machines are the product of some private contractor," said Minister Laurent of France, his accent cutting across the room like a blade. "You fielded them on the frontlines in Nevada within days. No corporation can manufacture with such speed. No corporation has ever hidden technology of this scale."
The British delegate, a tall woman with sharp eyes, leaned forward. "And yet, every time we ask for the company name, you deflect. If this is truly private sector innovation, then share the name. Let the market decide. Unless..." she let the word hang like a knife, "you're lying, and these are U.S. Army prototypes you refuse to share with your allies."
The U.S. Secretary of Defense, Martin Hayes, clasped his hands together on the table, his jaw tight. "We've already explained. The automaton program is being spearheaded by an independent contractor. Their identity is classified for security reasons. Given the nature of the insect threat, and the speed of production, anonymity protects them from sabotage, espionage, or worse."
Russia's envoy snorted. "How convenient. You unleash an army of machines the likes of which we've never seen, then hide the inventor behind 'national security.'" He tapped the table with one finger, eyes narrowing. "If this were truly private, you'd have no right to conceal them. No right to hoard this technology."
The Japanese representative adjusted his glasses, his voice calm but firm. "The insects are not a problem unique to America. They are global. If you possess the means to exterminate them, then withholding it endangers the rest of us. We demand transparency."
Murmurs rippled across the table. Pressure mounted like a slow crush of gravity.
Hayes exhaled slowly, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "With respect, our position stands. The automaton program will remain under American oversight until further notice. Distribution is not on the table. The company is not on the table. What is on the table is cooperation deployment of our units to support your theaters of war, when and where we can spare them."
"Deployment on your terms," Minister Laurent snapped. "Control remains yours. Always yours. That is not cooperation. That is monopoly."
The room broke into overlapping arguments voices rising, hands slamming against polished wood. Hayes sat still, weathering it, his face unmoving.
When the shouting finally ebbed, it was China's envoy who spoke, his voice quiet, dangerous in its calm. "If you will not share, then you force our hands. You cannot expect the world to believe in this phantom contractor forever. If you hide the truth, we will find it ourselves."
---
Later that evening, in embassies scattered across Washington, the quiet work began.
Encrypted calls hummed. Orders were given in careful tones.
A Russian attaché passed a slip of paper to his subordinate. "Find out who builds them. Whoever they are, bring them to us. Alive."
In a Parisian-owned townhouse, a French intelligence officer leaned over a map of the city. "No names, no companies. Then we dig. Supply chains. Resource shipments. Military contractors. Somewhere, a trail exists. Follow it."
In a hotel suite overlooking the Potomac, a Iraq handler poured two glasses of whiskey and slid one across the table to her operative. "If this inventor exists, they'll be courted first. If they refuse…" She sipped her drink. "Then we take them. America has no monopoly on survival."
---
And in the Pentagon, Hayes stood in a dim office, staring out at the city lights. His deputy entered quietly, carrying a folder.
"Word from our liaison in Nevada," she said. "Production has tripled. Hundreds more machines are ready."
Hayes didn't turn. "And the world is circling like wolves."
"Yes, sir." She hesitated. "How long can we keep the lie? About the contractor?"
Hayes's jaw clenched. He didn't answer immediately. The truth weighed heavy in his chest the truth that there was no company, no private sector miracle. There was only one man. One man and his impossible machines.
Finally, Hayes said, his voice low: "As long as we can. If they find him… we lose everything."
---
Back in the outpost, far from the marble halls of Washington, Ethan worked in silence, unaware of the storm gathering across the world.
But Serap… she had read the encrypted messages on her tablet, seen the way HQ phrased their warnings.
She knew.
Foreign eyes were coming. And not all of them would ask politely.
---
The forge roared like a furnace that would never sleep.
Inside the sealed chamber, Ethan worked tirelessly, gauntlet blazing as constructs stepped from the lines one after another Scouts, Workers, a tide of steel that never tired, never complained. The Workers clanged about hauling plates and stacking ingots, sparks flying as welding limbs cut through the air.
Ethan's hood hung low, shadows hiding every trace of skin, his mask hissing faintly with each breath. His movements were methodical yet restless, as though the act of creating more and more machines wasn't enough to silence the gnawing inside him.
Dozens of new Scouts stood lined in rigid formation, optics dimmed to waiting mode. The floor vibrated faintly with each new Worker coming online.
But even as he forged, his mind churned.
There has to be more. I can't just build the same thing forever.
He raised his gauntlet toward a freshly assembled Worker, its chest plate still glowing from residual heat.
"Scan: Worker Construct."
The HUD blinked.
---
[Worker Construct Detected.]
Alloy Plating: Reinforced Standard
Hydraulic Actuators: Stable
Tool Arms: Cutter / Welder / Drill / Clamp
Energy Core: Tier 1 – Basic
Editable Parameters: Limited
---
The options appeared, small adjustments only plating density by a few points, calibration of welding efficiency, clamp torque. Nothing revolutionary.
Ethan exhaled through his mask, a hiss of disappointment. "That's it? Just… tweaks."
He rubbed the back of his neck beneath the hood, eyes scanning the dull wireframe that floated before him. The Worker stood still, lifeless until commanded, almost mocking in its simplicity.
He stepped back, muttering. "I was hoping for more."
But then his gaze fell upon the Initiate Frame resting in the corner of the forge. His suit. His second skin. Slim, functional, still carrying the faint scorch marks from the battles.
A thought struck him like lightning.
If I can scan them… what happens if I scan myself?
Ethan hesitated. His hand hovered, his pulse quickening. Then, slowly, he raised the gauntlet and spoke:
"Scan: Initiate Frame."
The response was instant.
His visor flooded with data. Options bloomed across the HUD, cascading like a tidal wave. Armor plating values, servomotor amplifications, neural-sync levels, weapon integration slots, sensory arrays, dormant blueprint branches all alive, editable, waiting.
Ethan froze, eyes wide behind the mask. His voice cracked with awe.
"…Holy hell."
The Worker had been a cage of locked doors. But the Initiate Frame… it was a library, every page begging to be rewritten.
He scrolled through, each adjustment possibility sparking fresh ideas. Stronger alloys. Layered plating. Servo amplification. Optical recalibrations. Aura projection modules. His gauntlet trembled in his hand as the potential spread endlessly before him.
This was what he had been waiting for.
"Alright," he whispered. "Let's see what you can become."
---
For hours, Ethan experimented.
He pulled plates, reforged them, swapped modules, welded new plating with the aid of dutiful Workers. Sweat soaked his shirt under the hood. Sparks illuminated the forge, casting monstrous shadows of his four-armed frame as he toiled like a mad sculptor.
Piece by piece, the Initiate Frame changed.
By the time he stepped back, the suit was no longer the slim thing it had been.
The frame loomed broader, armor layered thick across its torso, shoulders rising into angled slabs that looked as if they could shrug off artillery. The helm no longer had soft optic clusters but sharp, red slits that glowed like the eyes of a predator in the dark. Each gauntlet was thicker, more brutal, the plating ridged with intimidating grooves.
It radiated presence.
Ethan's chest tightened, not with fear but with a thrill he could hardly contain. He reached out, palm brushing the heated armor.
"…A wall," he whispered. "Stronger. Harder. Unstoppable."
He named it quietly, reverently.
The Bulwark Variant.
---
But he didn't stop there.
As he stared at the armored giant, his mind turned. Not everyone fought the way he did. Not everyone needed to be a wall.
He pictured Talia sprinting across the track, her stride fluid, her speed unmatched. He pictured Valeria vaulting a gym bar, light and precise as a blade dancer. Jack, broad and unyielding, the kind of guy who carried his strength like a natural shield. Nick, not the strongest, not the fastest, but balanced—steady, reliable, a body built for endurance.
They flashed across his mind's eye, and the HUD filled with another possibility.
What if the suit wasn't a wall? What if it was a blade?
Ethan stripped the plating in the schematics, shaved alloys, shifted servo calibrations. He rewired balance centers, boosted sprint speeds, angled plating into sleek surfaces. The frame thinned, its four arms narrowing into precise, aerodynamic limbs.
By the time the second frame stood complete, it looked nothing like the Bulwark.
It was lean, fast, its optics gleaming white with sharp motion-tracking nodes. The plating hugged tight, smooth and angled for speed, its silhouette like a predator poised to strike.
Ethan breathed out slowly.
"…The Swift Variant."
---
Tier 1 – Initiate Frame
Description: Four-armed exosuit, slim alloy plating, enhances human speed, strength (2× baseline).
Features: HUD-linked Material Scan, basic weapon integration (melee blades or claws).
Limit: Can be produced alongside constructs for personal commanders.
Variants:
Bulwark Variant
Description: Heavily plated version of the Initiate Frame, designed for endurance and frontline stability. Bulkier armor reinforces torso and gauntlets, trading mobility for resilience.
Features: Doubled armor density, kinetic stabilizers reduce recoil and impact damage.
Special: "Shield Anchor" mode – increases defense by locking down stance, but slows movement dramatically.
Swift Variant
Description: Streamlined frame with reduced armor weight, designed for speed and agility. Its plating is thinner but curved for maximum aerodynamics.
Features: Enhanced servo mobility, increased agility and climbing ability.
Special: "Ghost Step" – temporary burst of acceleration, allowing rapid dodges or wall-scaling maneuvers.
---
Ethan stood between them, sweat dripping beneath his hood, the forge's glow painting both frames in molten light.
Two visions. Two paths.
He clenched his fists. "I can test both alone but..."
His friends' faces burned in his mind again Talia, Valeria, Jack, Nick. They were capable. They were strong. They were his only real circle.
He whispered their names, the mask hissing faintly with his breath.
"Talia. Valeria. Jack. Nick."
His voice was low, almost trembling. "You'd each be perfect. But… how do I convince them to step into this?"
The Bulwark loomed at his left. The Swift at his right. Both waiting. Both promises.
Ethan's hood shadowed his hidden face as he turned away, whispering into the silence of the forge:
"I'll have to ask."
The forge burned on. Serap stood outside, tablet in hand, watching encrypted warnings of foreign hunters closing in.