Man or Machine

[thisDerius]

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828 A.S. - Planet Saigon

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Memories of destruction haunt me—death, fire, betrayal. I should have known this would happen the moment they took an interest in her—my greatest creation, EVE.

The lengths I had to go to just to bring her to life in her human-like form… the suffering, the experiments, the countless bodies marked by incisions and pain—many of whom never deserved such a fate. And in the end, all of it reduced to dust.

A year and a half has passed since that day. When they stormed into my quarters, ready to kill me and take EVE, I was prepared. I was willing to sacrifice everything to keep my work out of their hands, to deny them the power they sought to exploit for profit.

In those final moments, I salvaged what little data I could. Fragments of EVE’s schematics, just enough to attempt her reconstruction, along with intel—personnel records of The Core, The Order, the Auxesian Technocrats, Corsairs, Outcasts… and more. Now, I wander the slums of Nauru once again.

I considered returning to my old workshop, but the entire area has been locked down by Core agents. The only option left was escape—into the desert. As a precaution, I had hidden a hoverbike on the city’s outskirts and beyond that, a ship… her ship. She knew. She left her personal Falchion for me to take. She has vanished into hiding once more. I don’t know if I will ever see her again, if she will survive the hunt this time.

Now, I endure, living off the land on Saigon. It’s a quiet, unpopulated world—an ideal refuge. The food is barely tolerable, but the planet provides enough resources to survive. Slowly, I gather what I need to begin EVE’s reconstruction. It will take years to rebuild what I lost, but I refuse to give up. I escaped Fairbanks—I can do this.

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831 A.S. - Kusari Space - System New Tokyo

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A jump hole collapse left my ship crippled. I lost my right arm in the chaos and barely managed to seal the wound with the tools I had. The situation is critical. My chest core is depleting—if I don’t find a way to repair it soon, I won’t survive. My vision flickers, my senses dull.

By some stroke of luck, I stumbled upon an unsecured Samura warehouse—an opportunity I couldn’t ignore. I scavenged what I needed and, in return for my skills in robotics, the locals granted me access to their workshop. For two months, I toiled—welding, programming, assembling. I crafted not just a replacement arm, but two entirely new ones. The old left one was obsolete anyway.

With my ship finally repaired, I set course for the Border Worlds, searching for Nomad and Vagrant structures. The original EVE was designed to counteract the effects of the Nomads on human minds. Last time, it required hybrid and psionic brains to function. But perhaps I can develop an alternative method—one based on the data I extract from Nomad gates and artifacts.

First stop: Kansas. I pray I won’t run into anyone there.

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834 A.S. - FMV-Bastion - Coronado System

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Kansas, Inverness, Delta, Minor, Major, Iota, Taus, Sigmas, and Omegas. I have scoured nearly every corner of this damned sector, and after three years, I have only managed to collect 40% of the data I need for EVE’s reconstruction. Three years… for so little.

Along the way, I sustained myself by offering medical augmentations, cybernetics, and prosthetics. It paid just enough to keep me going. Eventually, I acquired a frigate—turning it into a mobile lab, a sanctuary for my work.

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835 A.S. - FMV-Bastion - New York System

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I must be insane. Roaming through Liberty space, speaking with the Navy like I was never AWOL, like I never escaped Fairbanks, like I never caused a stir in their ranks.

Then, I saw it—the wreckage of the once-proud LNS-Silent Claw, now reduced to debris, renamed in death as Memphis. My heart sank at the sight. I scanned the wreckage, hoping to salvage anything of value. It had been through so much; there might still be something useful for EVE’s revival.

What I’m doing is reckless, but if I want to succeed, I have to take risks. I still pilot my Blackout One Falchion, slipping through shadows, but my time is running out. It won’t be long before I’m discovered.

I must work faster.

This journey has taken its toll. I don’t know how I keep going. Perhaps, in the end, I am more machine than man.

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John Derius Guerra.