Hellscape

The world of Pittman has many names among the Terran forces, but none more fitting than “Hellscape.” From orbit, it appears peaceful — a golden brown sphere wrapped in storm belts and dust veils — but that serenity vanishes the moment you breach the atmosphere. The descent alone is an ordeal. The upper layers churn with violent winds that tear through anything unshielded. Lightning flashes so frequently that it paints the sky in bursts of orange and white.

I arrived at Pittman as part of the 38th MDF Recovery Division, assigned to assist an evacuation effort that had gone wrong. The planet had been declared uninhabitable decades earlier, yet people — desperate settlers, old miners, and refugees — still clung to the wastelands. The atmosphere eats away at anything left exposed for too long, and the heat from the equatorial regions melts the sand into glass.

Our drop pods screamed through the clouds, the hulls glowing as friction fire licked across the plating. Below us, the surface stretched out in a mosaic of rust-red dunes and blackened craters. Massive dust storms wandered across the landscape like living things, reshaping the horizon every hour.

When we landed, the first thing I noticed was the silence beneath the wind — that deep, pressing quiet that makes you feel small. The air smelled of iron and ozone. The ground was unstable, shifting under every step. Our suits’ environmental systems fought constantly against the atmosphere, filters clogging with grit and servos straining from heat stress.

We found the remnants of a settlement half-buried beneath fused glass. The colony domes had melted long ago, their metal skeletons twisted into arches like the ribs of some ancient beast. Inside one of the habitation shells, I found personal items: a toy shuttle, a cracked family photo, and a journal melted into slag. Everything left behind felt like a whisper from people who refused to surrender to a dying world.

Further inland, we reached the evacuation site. A single transport — or what was left of it — lay broken in a crater, surrounded by the remains of automated loaders and collapsed shelters. It was as if the storm had frozen time mid-catastrophe. The evac beacon still pulsed weakly, sending out a message from a crew long dead.

We stayed for three days. Each night, the horizon burned with electrical fire as dust storms rolled in from the north. Our base shook beneath the force of the winds, the ground trembling as though it were alive. I barely slept — the noise, the heat, and the constant sense that something ancient was buried beneath the desert, waiting.

On the final day, one of our sensor drones detected movement near the crater’s edge. I went out with two engineers to investigate. What we found was not human.

It was a machine — or what used to be. A humanoid frame, corroded and half-buried, its metal blackened and scarred. No identification marks. The Omnium claimed they never deployed ground units here, and the MDF logs said the same. But it moved — just slightly — like a reflex from a body refusing to die. We brought its head back for analysis.

When we departed, I looked down from orbit one last time. The storms were still moving, slow and deliberate, erasing every trace of our presence. Pittman was not just a planet; it was a graveyard of people, machines, and ambition.

Sometimes I still dream of the lightning, of dunes glowing under storm fire, and of that machine’s dim blue eye staring back through the dust.

— Lt. A. R. Casden, MDF Recovery Division

First Impressions

Day 1: Arrival in New Liberty

I have seen cities across the Terran Core, but nothing could have prepared me for New Liberty. I arrived just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden light across the towering skyline. I had read about this place, a beacon of human achievement on Terra Secundus, but seeing it in person felt surreal. The city rises endlessly upward, a forest of glass and steel where vibrant digital advertisements pulse like neon constellations against the darkening sky.

The mass transit skyway carried me to my apartment in the Quartz District, and the entire ride felt dreamlike. Hover vehicles drifted between buildings, their polished hulls reflecting the glow of enormous holographic billboards. Every few moments, a sky bridge would appear, linking tower to tower, as people moved past in quiet rhythm hundreds of feet above the streets below.

High above, two of Terra Secundus’ three moons glowed faintly, casting an ethereal shimmer across the city. They gave everything an almost mythic quality. In the distance, the third moon, larger and darker, hung like a silent observer. It is strange to think that something once invisible from Earth has become part of daily life here.

Day 2: Exploring the Streets and Skyways

The streets are a blend of the old and the new, echoes of Earth’s heritage fused with architecture unique to Terra Secundus. On the ground, the city hums with life. Vendors serve food from every corner of the Terran Core, street musicians play instruments I have never heard before, and people of every background move with a sense of purpose.

The mass transit network feels like a city within a city. Sleek maglev trains glide along invisible lines between buildings, moving with effortless speed. I boarded a transit pod to the Central Plaza, and as we soared through the sky, the view was breathtaking. The skyscrapers below caught the pale light of the moons, their mirrored facades flickering with rolling waves of color and light from the endless advertisements—fashion, art, interstellar technology, and things I could barely recognize.

The sky bridges are more than just walkways. Many are lined with digital art that shifts with the hour, serene patterns in the morning and abstract lightscapes by night. Some even respond to footsteps, glowing softly beneath each step, creating the illusion of walking on water.

Day 4: Evening in the Pulse of New Liberty

Tonight, I witnessed New Liberty in its full brilliance. As the moons climbed higher, the city came alive. Entire skyscrapers became canvases for cascading light displays, some showing scenes of distant colonies and others weaving intricate patterns that rippled across the skyline. The entire metropolis seemed to breathe, its rhythm pulsing with the life within it.

I made my way to a viewing platform in the Sapphire District, where the city stretched endlessly beneath me. Hover cars darted through the air, their lights tracing ribbons that mingled with the glow of digital billboards. The sound of the city was constant, a deep, resonant hum that felt almost alive, as though the metropolis itself were whispering.

The moons shone brighter than ever, their pale light mixing with the neon glow below to create colors I had never seen before. Cool blues, silvers, and soft violets merged in a way that felt both ancient and futuristic.

Day 6: Reflection

Each day, I find myself more captivated by this city. There is a harmony here between nature and technology unlike anything on Earth. New Liberty may be a machine, but it breathes. Its people, its towers, its lights all move in perfect rhythm, a living entity shaped by human will and imagination.

Terra Secundus was once barren, yet now it holds a city that could rival any capital in the Terran Core. New Liberty is more than a settlement. It is proof of humanity’s persistence and vision. As I stand at my window and look out over this gleaming labyrinth, the moons hanging silently above, I cannot shake the feeling that this place, with all its strangeness and wonder, is exactly where I am meant to be.

— Lian Vega

Last Dawn

Introduction

Last Dawn is a stark and desolate world located in the NN3526 star system, a region that became accessible to the Omnium during their second major wave of exploration and expansion. The planet’s cold climate, hostile atmosphere, and unforgiving terrain make it a world of endurance and perseverance — yet its strategic position and mineral wealth have made it indispensable to Omnium interests on the frontier.

Geographical and Environmental Overview

Last Dawn’s landscape is defined by extremes. With a radius of 10,308 kilometers and gravity of 0.97G, the planet’s surface is a study in rugged desolation — jagged mountain chains, glacial valleys, and frozen highlands dominate every horizon. The mean surface temperature of 250K (-23°C) and atmospheric pressure of 5.51 atm create a dense, icy environment prone to ferocious storms and blizzards. Toxic particulates from volcanic vents add further peril, forcing all life to exist within sealed or subterranean shelters.

Its Water/Ice Index of 51.26 marks a delicate balance between frozen oceans and deep permafrost layers. Seasonal tectonic heating melts limited regions into short-lived lakes and rivers before refreezing within months. Glacial fields stretch across much of the northern hemisphere, while geothermal belts in the southern regions support rare habitable pockets used by Omnium outposts.

Habitability and Use

Though inhospitable, Last Dawn’s mineral density makes it vital to Omnium industry. Rich in rare alloys and heavy metals, it supports extensive mining operations and refineries built into the permafrost or volcanic zones. The planet’s dense atmosphere offers limited radiation shielding, making it ideal for subterranean settlements that house miners, engineers, and research crews. Geothermal energy harvested from volcanic activity provides the primary power source for life support and industry.

For its residents, survival is a daily challenge against the elements — but for the Omnium, Last Dawn stands as a bastion of strategic reach and industrial perseverance along the Bootes Corridor.

Strategic and Colonization Efforts

Despite its remoteness, Last Dawn is a cornerstone of Omnium’s expansion network. With a modest population of 125,000 — primarily scientists, engineers, and military personnel — the planet functions as a forward logistics base, resupply depot, and communications hub for deep-space expeditions. Its position within the NN3526 system allows it to act as a gateway for fleets venturing into uncharted space during the Omnium’s second-wave colonization period.

Settlements are fully self-contained, relying on geothermal and nuclear generation for power, and hydroponic agriculture for food supply. Reinforced composite architecture and underground habitation are standard, designed to withstand the crushing atmospheric density and the constant presence of supercooled storms.

Challenges and Future Prospects

Harsh environmental conditions continue to define life on Last Dawn. Energy demands are immense, and maintaining habitable infrastructure requires continuous resource input. However, the world’s potential remains significant — its mineral reserves, thermal vents, and strategic placement make it ideal for future fleet staging and exploration coordination.

As Omnium colonization expands outward, Last Dawn’s isolated outposts may evolve into a full-fledged colony, serving as both a testbed for extreme-environment engineering and a symbol of the Aniran drive to transform desolation into purpose.

Conclusion

Last Dawn embodies the essence of Omnium resilience — a frozen world forged into utility through sheer will and precision. It is not a place of comfort or beauty, but of discipline and intent. Here, at the threshold of known space, the Anirans continue to push the boundaries of endurance, proving that even in the coldest reaches of the galaxy, civilization can take root.