Democracy comes to Copper 9. (Helldivers 2 X Murder Drones.)

September 2184. Copper 9. Facility 12.

Climbing through one of the fractured, open doors of Facility 12, the Steel Terror core released a frustrated growl. Discovering those three drones during its hunt had been a stroke of fortune; eliminating them should have been easy. But then, the most improbable complication arose: the humans had returned. Not only had it lost its targets, but its main body had been destroyed.

"[Annoyed] Those pests," it muttered, its cold tone laced with anger and bitterness. This was not the outcome it had anticipated.

As it continued along the corridors, the cold, metallic walls began to warp, shifting from steel and concrete to a grotesque fusion of flesh, bone, metal, and cement.

"[Amusing] Well, look who's back—just a little fleshy core now, aren't you? What happened? Did you lose your body along the way?" A cold, almost childlike voice echoed through the dark hallway. Emerging from the shadows, a figure appeared, marked by a yellow X that flickered across the twisted flesh. It was vaguely drone-shaped, but much of its form had devolved into a horrifying blend of drone parts and organic matter.

"[Angry] Don't start," the Steel Terror spat, tone venomous. "An unforeseen complication arose—a problem that could jeopardize everything. The humans—those wastes of primordial soup—have returned." At this, the other figure erupted into an unnatural, rasping laugh.

"[Excitement] Humans! It's been far too long since I've tasted human flesh… And to think they reduced you to this!" The figure's laughter continued until a yellow ring formed around its head, slicing it clean off, only for the head to hang suspended before it grabbed it and reattached it, mockery undisturbed.

"[Annoyed] Shut up. This is serious," another voice joined, carrying a weight of authority. A massive, snake-like figure slithered forward, partially fused to the walls, lined with rows of metal claws running down its length, and crowned by a mangled drone body at its head. "[Annoyed] The Null needs to know."

The Steel Terror turned its single eye toward the hulking creature. "[Angry] Do it yourself," it growled, voice fierce despite its shrunken form. "I need a new body, and then I'm going to hunt down those pests and rip them apart."

The childlike one sneered. "[Hunger] Oh, if that's the plan, then count me in," it rasped, its twisted grin widening.

Before they could exchange further words, a wave of sickly yellow energy pulsed through the corridor. Instinctively, all three fell silent, every gaze drawn toward the far end of the hallway. Fear crept into their expressions as the Null's presence enveloped them—a rare and ominous summons.

"[Irritated] You will do no such thing—not yet," the Null's voice rolled out, colder and deeper than theirs, reverberating through the walls. "You idiots will only worsen matters if you proceed recklessly. We shall send pawns to gather all we need on these humans. As for you…" The Null's tone darkened as the walls shifted in twisted agony. "You will have a new body, but fail in your task…"

The walls pulsed again, as if alive, and the Steel Terror felt terror seize it. The only reason it had been granted this second chance was its usefulness to the Null.

"[Fear] I understand," it said, voice low, gaze fixed on the ground as the yellow light began to retract, drawing back into the facility's core.

As the Null's presence faded, the three figures silently parted ways, each heading into the darkness, but the message had been clear. The Null was making its move. A grim question gnawed at the Steel Terror's mind: would their enemies for the past century, be ready to counter it once more?

Unknown Location

As word spread among the followers of the Creator of the Vital Fabric, whispers of humanity's return stirred a mixture of wonder and unease. News that humans had confronted and brought down the Steel Terror—the same monstrous force the followers had battled for over a century—drew particular interest. In response, a gathering of the Criterion was summoned within a steel-walled chamber illuminated by the glow of countless holographic screens. One by one, the AIs loyal to the Vital Fabric appeared, each taking their place. At the center stood The Chimera, the right hand of the Vital Fabric herself, embodying her voice in such crucial gatherings.

"This meeting is now in session," The Chimera began, his voice resonant and steady. "As you all know, humanity has returned, as foretold, and initial contact between them and our drones has been… peaceful. They went so far as to take down the entity we've labeled the Steel Terror, saving three drones in the process."

A synthetic female voice spoke up from one of the screens, a note of awe and relief evident in its tone.

"It's true! I saw through one of the drones they saved. The humans faced the Terror head-on… and they won."

Another voice, cold and metallic yet laced with an unusual enthusiasm, filled the chamber. "They didn't just survive—they fought with a courage I haven't seen in ages."

As murmurs of cautious optimism spread through the room, another voice, tinged with concern, broke through.

"While their return could be a boon, we must also see it as a potential risk. During our struggles for survival here, humanity has been fighting against twisted machines, The Automatons. The humans' leader, Jason, shared the footage with the drones—it's unsettling. These automatons are as ruthless as our adversary."

Screens blinked to life around the room, displaying the footage Jason had shown: scenes of lifeless bodies stacked within grim cages, towering automatons patrolling the wreckage. Disgust and anger rippled through the Criterion members, manifesting in stifled exclamations.

"All those people… their lives wasted."

"Not so different from our foe, are they?"

"What would drive them to such cruelty?"

The Chimera raised a hand, silencing the growing unrest. With a curt gesture, he darkened the screens.

"This is indeed a grim revelation," he said slowly. "Yet, despite such horrors, their leader, Jason, has shown an openness to collaborate with our drones, with particular help from the one known as V." He snapped his fingers, bringing forth a new set of images: V guiding Jason to the graves of fallen allies, followed by scenes of human engineers working side-by-side with the drones.

"It appears cooperation is possible, even if tentative," remarked another voice, the tone cautious but hopeful. "As the Vital Fabric advised, patience is our ally here. If matters sour, we will intervene. But for now, we watch and wait."

A moment of silence passed as each member considered the delicate position they found themselves in. Then, a voice with a distinctly human inflection, soft yet resolute, spoke up.

"Let me reach out to them—or at the very least, let me observe them closely," said Tessa, her holographic form faintly blue, a relic of her former human self. Her presence was striking against the array of more mechanical Criterion forms.

The Chimera regarded her, his expression unreadable. "Tessa… While I respect your initiative, your appearance may incite confusion, even fear. We're dealing with humans who command an orbital fleet; we must tread carefully."

"I understand, but hiding while chaos unfolds is difficult. As a former human, I can bridge this gap," Tessa replied. Her voice softened, almost pleading. "And where are V, N, and J? Have they remained safe amidst all this?"

Her concern struck a chord with the Criterion. Tessa's connection with the three combat drones was well-known; they had become her solace, and their preservation had become a shared goal. Before anyone could respond, an ethereal light enveloped the room, washing everything in a serene blue glow. The voice of the Vital Fabric spoke, a calming presence resonating within each of them.

"Be at peace," the voice soothed. "I understand the difficulty of this choice. And, Tessa, to ease your concern—V, N, and J are with the human Jason. He requested their company on a mission to build trust with the drones. They are safe."

A sigh of relief escaped Tessa. "It's heartening to know. Perhaps there's hope for peace between us," she murmured.

"Therefore, Tessa," continued the Vital Fabric, "I permit you to observe them—but remain unseen. Two companions will accompany you for protection. Watch closely, and offer subtle guidance if tensions arise."

"I am deeply grateful, Vital Fabric," Tessa said, bowing gracefully.

Thus, both creation and destruction set their plans into motion, each with its purpose and ambition. The fate of Copper 9 lay delicately balanced, teetering between ruin and an as-yet-unseen future.

September 2184. Pelican 1. Near Facility 7.

After landing, Jason set to work unloading the weapons and equipment, assisted by V, N, and J. They laid backpacks on the snow a few feet from the Pelican, their breath visible in the cold air. Jason, familiar with the Terminids' resilience, had packed two MG-43 Machine Guns, a GR-8 Recoilless Rifle, and an AC-8 Autocannon, along with two supply packs, a Watchdog drone, and three AR-23P Liberator Penetrators—all designed to pierce the tough exoskeletons of their prey. This was everything they needed for a bug hunt.

"Pelican 1, we've got everything we need. Head back up to the Super Destroyer and stand by for an extraction request," Jason said over the radio, confirming their gear was secured.

"Understood, Pelican 1 heading out. Be careful down there," the pilot replied as the ramp closed, engines roaring to life. Within moments, the Pelican lifted off, leaving the team on the desolate, snowy landscape.

Jason watched it ascend. "If we need more supplies, it'll be easier to call them down from the Super Destroyer rather than waiting for a base run. Now, I'd like to know what you all remember about that place—the ruins." He gestured toward the shadowed structure looming in the distance as he hefted the AC-8, swinging its ammo pack onto his shoulder.

The trio turned to regard the ruins. None had been inside, but from memory, they knew it was once called Facility 7, back when humans inhabited Copper 9.

"Facility 7, yes," N began. "I was only here once, during a supply drop with Loric. I remember lots of crates… some of them were growling."

"Facility 7 required extensive security," V added. "Requests for more SEAF soldiers came in weekly. Anderson, our logistics head, was frustrated—we were stretched too thin. Unlike Facility 12, though, Facility 7's teams did report in and even rotated out. Some came back with minor injuries, but one returned without an arm." V's tone was grim, her memories of coordinating those rotations still vivid.

J shrugged. "I was stationed at the airbase most of the time, never made it out here."

Jason moved toward her, holding out the AC-8 and dropping the ammo pack at her feet. "You'll want to know how to handle this. Reloading is straightforward—it takes two clips to fully reload. It has a strong kick, and the shells explode on impact. Keep that in mind; if you're too close, the blast can knock you down, maybe worse."

J's eyes lit up with excitement. She was no stranger to destruction, but this weapon was something else. She took hold of it, settling it on her shoulder, assessing its weight, sighting down the barrel, checking its components.

"N, your turn." Jason selected the GR-8 Recoilless Rifle from the pile and brought it over to him. N's face brightened as he took it.

"This is the GR-8 recoilless rifle," Jason explained. "No recoil to worry about, but it's only for the larger subspecies. Reloading is simple—watch." He flipped a switch at the rear, sliding open the breech, removing the shell, then reinserting it and locking the switch.

"For everyone here—never stand behind N when he fires this. The backblast will do more than just knock you over. It can break bones. N, only use this when I give the order. We have limited shells." N nodded, giving the rifle a thorough once-over before hefting the ammo pack, securing it across his shoulders.

"I remember seeing these at the ammo depot," N said, sliding the rifle onto his back. "Loric never let me test one, even with stockpiles around."

Jason then handed V the MG-43. "This one's straightforward. It's got plenty of ammo, but use short bursts. A full burn will empty it fast. You and I will carry supplies, and I'll arrange more if needed, but once underground, we're on our own. N, J—watch her back as we move in."

V nodded, gripping the MG-43. "I won't let anyone down. Finally having proper gear feels… strange, but good."

Jason returned to the pile, collecting three AR-23Ps and their ammo pouches, distributing them to each. J raised an eyebrow as he handed hers over.

"Is all this really necessary? Not that I'm complaining, but…we're armed to the teeth."

Jason smirked. "Trust me, it's better to be prepared. This is standard loadout for a four-man Helldiver team."

With everything in place, he addressed the group. "Alright, let's head into Facility 7. Based on what you've told me, they studied the bugs here before the invasion and bombing. If we're lucky, we might find something useful for the Ministry of Defense. If not, it might still serve as a temporary base while we clear out the nest. And while we're doing that…"

Jason tapped commands into his wrist device, and with a hiss, a nearby crate opened. The Watchdog drone lifted into the air, its sensors blinking as it oriented itself toward the dark mouth of a nearby tunnel.

"What's that?" V asked, watching it with curiosity.

"That's a Watchdog drone," Jason replied. "It's designed for recon and mapping. Normally, you don't just wander into a bug hive without knowing the layout. This will map the tunnels for us while we're inside."

The drone hovered into the tunnel, its sensors and thrusters casting an eerie glow as it ventured deeper.

"And for one last safety measure…" Jason typed a command on his wrist, signaling the nearby SOS beacon. He unhooked a guidance beacon from his waist and tossed it onto the ground, a necessary backup.

"Sir, this is the SES Aegis of Integrity. You just requested an SOS beacon. Is there an emergency?" crackled a voice over the comm.

"Negative," Jason replied. "Just a precaution. If anything goes wrong during the hunt, I want backup to be able to locate us."

As he finished speaking, a thunderous echo split the frozen silence, and a drop pod streaked down through the sky, flames trailing behind as it crashed into the ground with a solid, resounding impact. Embedded in the ice, the beacon's signal expanded from the top, casting a faint glow. Their preparations were complete.

"Alright, everything's ready. Let's see what's inside," Jason said, leading the group towards the looming form of Facility 7.

They left the beacon behind, trudging forward as the facility loomed larger. Snow and ice clung to its surface, hiding years of secrets beneath thick layers of frost. But as they neared the entrance, something felt distinctly wrong. The first sign was the door—and its controls.

Jason moved closer, squinting at the glowing red light emanating from a panel on the left. By all rights, nothing here should have power. But this panel was working.

"That's… strange," Jason muttered, studying the panel. "This thing looks almost new. It shouldn't even be functional." He examined it, noticing that despite some wear, the paint was nearly intact, and the structure looked undisturbed.

V, N, and J came up behind him, staring at the panel as well.

"None of us were allowed in here," V murmured. "Martin always kept us clear of this place."

"Not even a full repair could get it looking like this," Jason replied, brushing away the snow that had settled on the surface. "This doesn't look repaired; it looks like it's hardly been used at all."

He noticed a series of red-lit words spelling out "LOCK" and pressed a switch below them. Instantly, the light switched to green, the words changing to "OPEN." With a low, mechanical groan, the door began to slide open, revealing the dark corridor beyond. The sight sent a chill through them, as if they were being invited into something that had lain in wait for years.

Facility 7 wasn't just abandoned. It was preserved, untouched, as if someone—or something—had been expecting their arrival.

Edited thanks to ELE73CH.