The dome city was only halfway complete when Kane initiated the next phase of his plan: the creation of the armor hierarchy.
It began deep in the fabrication foundry—an underground sector where molten metal poured like rivers and androids moved with the precision of a thousand synchronized limbs. The heat alone would have killed an unprotected human, but Kane stood within it like he belonged there.
Beside him, an assembly pod cracked open.
Inside it rested his armor.
The Apex Shell Mk. I.
Smooth, dark alloy curved like the exoskeleton of some alien beast. Its surface pulsed faintly with blue neural circuits that shifted like living veins. Sleek. Silent. Deadly. It didn't look human. It wasn't meant to.
"Neural interface calibration complete," the AI said. "The suit is bonded to your biometric signature. No one else can wear it."
Kane stepped forward.
And when the armor opened for him, its plates unfolding like wings, he felt a chill of familiarity. He had seen its final form in his first life—too late to ever wield it.
Now he had it early.
He slid inside.
The armor sealed around him with a hiss.
Systems hummed to life.
"Synchronization: ninety-nine percent… one hundred percent," the AI confirmed. "Welcome, Commander."
Kane flexed a hand.
Strength rippled through him.
The suit moved without delay, without resistance. It was an extension of his mind. A perfect weapon designed for a world drowning in monsters.
He took a single step—and vanished.
A blink later he appeared on the opposite side of the foundry, the suit having executed a micro-teleport dash powered by compressed ion fields.
Good.
He would need that when the aliens returned.
---
The Armor of the People
While Kane tested the Apex Shell, the survivors gathered aboveground, curious and nervous. They stood near the central plaza—now cleared of debris and transformed into a training sector.
Humanoid androids unloaded crates.
Inside were sets of Sentinel Defense Gear—the armor assigned only to survivors who would work on the surface.
As soon as the crates were opened, whispers erupted.
The armor wasn't pretty.
Heavy steel plating, harsh lines, reinforced joints, thick helmets with gas masks built in. Nothing sleek or elegant. Nothing heroic.
Functional.
Ugly.
Survivable.
One man poked a chest piece with a hesitant finger. "Uh… this is ours?"
A humanoid android answered mechanically,
"Correct. Sentinel Gear is assigned to all surface personnel. Civilians will remain unarmored and underground."
"But what about the better suits we've seen your robots wearing?" another survivor asked.
The android tilted its head.
"Better armor is reserved for those who earn it."
That phrase hit the crowd hard.
Murmurs spread.
"What does that even mean?"
"We risk our lives and get… this?"
"I want the good armor!"
"Where's the Commander? He should explain!"
Kane stepped onto the plaza from behind them—silent, unseen until he spoke.
"You want better armor?"
The survivors spun around.
Kane stood there in the Apex Shell Mk. I, and every jaw dropped.
The armor was nothing like the gear in the crates.
This was sleek, terrifying, alien-level craftsmanship. It radiated power. Authority. Lethality. Even its presence filled the air with a faint hum of energy.
Instantly, every survivor shut up.
Kane pointed toward the crates.
"That gear will keep you alive. It's more protection than you deserve at your current level."
No one dared argue.
Kane continued:
"Better armor exists. But I won't hand it out freely."
He walked forward, each step resonating through the plaza with controlled power.
"You want higher-tier gear?"
"Earn it."
"Complete missions."
"Prove discipline."
"Show me you can follow orders."
"Prove loyalty."
He stopped directly in front of the crowd.
"And if you want armor like mine…"
His visor glowed brighter.
"…you would need to become someone capable of carrying the weight of the world."
The survivors understood.
Some swallowed.
Some straightened their backs.
Some clenched their fists with determination.
But none complained.
Kane nodded once.
"Training begins now."
---
The First Test
Kane launched himself into the air—thrusters igniting with silent blue fire. The survivors gasped as he soared upward, reached the half-complete dome ribs, and landed with flawless precision on a steel arch.
From there, he issued his first command.
"Surface teams, prepare for assignment."
The AI projected holographic maps around him.
"Zombie clusters detected five kilometers east," it said. "Mutated beasts gathering near the refinery district. Hostile levels rising."
Kane pointed.
"Sentinel teams—gear up. This is your first trial."
A woman raised her hand nervously. "Will you… be joining us, Commander?"
Kane stared at her through the glowing visor.
"I'm already there."
And when he leaped from the arch, streaking through the air like a living missile, they believed him.
---
The Aliens Take Notice
As Kane flew toward the refinery, the AI chimed inside his helmet.
"Commander… the aliens have detected your suit."
"Of course they have."
"The energy signature is not human."
"That's the point."
A pause.
"They will come sooner because of this."
Kane smiled behind the mask—cold and dangerous.
"Good."
The armor flared with power as he shot forward.
"Let them come."
He would be ready.