Chapter 2 – First Command
Shawn awoke to the soft hiss of hydraulics and the low, muffled heartbeat of the Barracks. For an instant, he lay perfectly still, feeling the weight of what he had built. He didn't remember falling asleep—he had collapsed in the sand outside the power plant, with the construction drones scuttling around him like patient insects.
Now, in the cold predawn glow of the base's floodlights, he rose to his feet. Sand sifted off his fatigues. He brushed a hand across his cheek and felt the dried salt of sweat.
[Cycle complete.]
[Clone Infantry production successful.]
[6 units awaiting deployment.]
The system's voice had become oddly comforting. He keyed open the Barracks.
Inside, six transparent pods stood in two neat rows. The pale light illuminated the clone soldiers within—tall, broad-shouldered men, each nearly six and a half feet tall, their musculature flawless. Genetically engineered to obey, to fight, to kill.
One by one, the pods hissed open. The fluid drained away. The clones' eyes snapped open in unison—featureless blue, like glass. They stepped out and knelt before him, fists pressed to the floor.
Shawn regarded them for a long moment. This was it: the first flicker of an army, born from technology and necessity.
"Designation," he said quietly.
Their voices emerged in perfect synchronization, deep and toneless:
"Unit designation: Alpha Squad."
He paced down the line, studying them. They were almost identical, but he noticed subtle variances—slight differences in jawlines and scars inked into their synthetic skin, markers to tell them apart in combat.
"Stand," he ordered.
They rose in one fluid motion.
A small panel slid open on the Barracks wall, revealing racks of matte-black rifles—pulse carbines that could chew through armor at close range. Shawn gestured, and the clones armed themselves without hesitation.
A thrill of command ran through him. He could feel, in his bones, how easy it would be to expand this force. He had the plans for tanks, aircraft, and mechs already waiting.
But he needed more infrastructure—and, he realized, he needed a defensible perimeter before other factions discovered his presence.
Outside, dawn was rising over the desert. The air smelled of ozone and iron.
He walked to the construction console, the clones marching behind him in precise formation. The Red Alert System displayed his current options:
War Factory (still locked)
Defense Turrets (Available)
Airfield (locked)
Terraform Node (Experimental)
Shawn tapped the Terraform Node. A schematic unfolded in midair—a tower-like structure that could seed vegetation, alter local climate, and generate living fortifications. The design glimmered with unfamiliar glyphs.
[Warning: Partial schematic integration. High energy consumption.]
He didn't care. He had something no one else did—Hashirama's power. He could supplement the node with his own chakra.
"Queue Terraform Node," he commanded.
[Confirming… resources allocated.]
Construction drones unlatched from the Barracks and glided toward the empty ground west of the base. Metal struts plunged into the sand. A tall, spire-like frame rose slowly, etched with conduits and vents.
He felt the drain almost at once—a tug at the wellspring of chakra in his belly. He gritted his teeth and pressed a hand against the frame.
"Wood Style…" His voice was raw, his fingers trembling as seals shaped the energy. "…Deep Forest Genesis."
The ground heaved.
Roots burst from the sand, entwining the tower. Flowers and moss spread in seconds, converting barren soil into fertile loam. A ring of saplings erupted around the Node, growing so fast their trunks creaked and split.
His Sharingan flickered, analyzing the transformation. It was not just camouflage—this was a living bulwark.
When the Terraform Node powered on, a surge of cool air washed over him. The local temperature dropped by ten degrees. Moisture condensed into dew.
[Terraforming successful.]
[Defensive growth initiated.]
Shawn stumbled back, breath ragged. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth—he'd overtaxed himself, but the result was worth it.
Already, the oasis was forming.
Alpha Squad watched him impassively. One stepped forward.
"Commander. Threat detection."
He turned, following the clone's outstretched arm.
A plume of dust was rising beyond the dunes. Through his Sharingan, he could see six heat signatures—humanoid. Armed.
His pulse quickened. So soon?
He keyed open the defensive menu.
Autoturrets:
Cost: 15 alloy each.
Status: Ready to build.
"Deploy two."
Drones darted across the clearing, dropping turrets onto hardened platforms. Their barrels swiveled, tracking the approaching figures.
Shawn gestured to Alpha Squad.
"Form a firing line," he said, voice steady. "Wait for my signal."
The enemy came into view—a ragged patrol in piecemeal armor, faces hidden by rebreathers. Their rifles were crude, scavenged from alien wrecks. When they saw the base, they faltered—clearly surprised by the new structures and the growing oasis.
One of them lifted a makeshift loudspeaker.
"This is Reaver territory," the voice crackled. "Surrender your supplies."
Shawn stepped forward, Sharingan glowing scarlet.
"No."
He raised a hand, fingers curling.
"Wood Style: Binding Roots."
The sand detonated beneath the raiders. Roots snaked around their legs, yanking them to their knees. Two fired wildly—pulse bolts streaking past his head.
"Fire," he ordered.
Alpha Squad opened up in disciplined volleys. The lead raider's chest exploded in a burst of bone fragments and blood. Another dropped as a turret stitched rounds into his spine.
The others shrieked, struggling against the roots.
He strode forward, feeling no pity. His Sharingan dissected every twitch and breath. He was watching prey thrash before the kill.
With a flick of his wrist, he let the roots tighten. Wet cracks echoed across the clearing. The final raider gurgled, eyes bulging, before going limp.
Silence fell.
Shawn exhaled slowly, letting the chakra fade. He turned back to his clones.
"Dispose of the bodies," he said. "Strip them of anything useful."
"Acknowledged."
Alpha Squad dragged the corpses toward the perimeter.
He walked among the dead, collecting scavenged weapons and ration packs. A crude datapad lay in the leader's pouch. He scanned it—maps, rough coordinates of other camps. Rival factions were closer than he'd realized.
He closed his fist around the device.
"I need armor. Vehicles. A real army."
As the clones worked, he returned to the console. The War Factory was still locked—but his resources were climbing steadily.
Current Reserves:
Alloy: 80 units
Power Cells: 22
Credits: +400 per cycle
Enough to build more barracks and prepare for vehicle construction soon.
His gaze lifted to the horizon. In the violet sky, a glimmer of a falling star streaked past—no, not a star. A ship.
Somewhere beyond those dunes, others were arriving.
He smiled thinly, exhaustion washing through him.
Let them come.
He would be ready.
He turned to watch the Terraform Node. Trees were already spreading outward, roots cracking through the sand.
In time, this place would become an impregnable fortress—a symbol of his will, his empire.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, feeling the ancient power thrumming in his blood. "Tomorrow we expand."
END OF CHAPTER 2