The AI drifted upward, just out of reach.

  Ethan swung.

  The pickaxe whooshed through empty air, scraping sparks off the wall as the drone slipped sideways in a smooth glide. He growled and followed, swinging again. He Missed. Again. Missed.

  The third strike clipped the ground. His arms jarred from the impact, and a plume of dust rose where the blade bit into scorched dirt.

  CelestOS: Threat level reevaluated: theatrical. No countermeasures deployed.

  Ethan shouted wordlessly and charged. The drone retreated just fast enough to stay ahead, blinking a soft yellow as if bored. He swung again, putting his whole body into it.

  He missed and nearly fell.

  His grip loosened. The pick clattered to the floor, and he dropped beside it, breathing hard.

  His breath tore in and out of his lungs like sandpaper. Every inhale stung. Every exhale felt too short. His arms hung limp at his sides, twitching from the strain, the tendons in his wrist throbbing from the last wild swing. Sweat ran down his back in uneven rivers, soaking into his jumpsuit until it clung like second skin.

  His stomach turned. Empty. Gnawing. A hollow pit scraping at his spine. He’d felt hunger before—but this was different. This was starvation with its claws out.

  He shut his eyes and leaned forward, forehead nearly brushing the ground. The world swam. The heat, the light, the buzzing in his ears—too much. It felt like the planet itself was pushing him down, daring him to stop trying. And then, CelestOS what was the point of that stupid scrap heap?

  “Coward,” he rasped. “Just floating there while I starve. While Reyes bleeds. And our time runs out on preventing a horde of angry monsters from steam rolling over us tonight You’d let us both die because it’s not ‘optimal’.”

  The charging node beeped again, slower this time, sharper. Almost like it was… annoyed with him. Or trying to say something to CelestOS.

  The forge clanked as it settled into idle, gears whirring like a child rolling their eyes. A puff of smoke hissed from its side vent, curling upward in slow, deliberate spirals. Then came the clicks—three in a row—like someone tapping their fingers on a desk, unimpressed.

  The power generator responded with a series of ascending tones, one beep at a time, each slightly sharper than the last. Its green indicator lights pulsed in smug sequence, like it had just told a joke no one else got.

  They weren’t just hardware. They had routines. Attitudes. Opinions. And right now, they seemed to be mocking him in perfect stereo. Cesletitech loved its damned AI’s in everything.

  Above them, CelestOS hovered, silent and still, ambient lights blinking at measured intervals. Watching. Always watching.

  The forge clicked again, this time slower. Its burner flared slightly, painting the ground in orange like a spotlight on failure. The gesture felt theatrical—like it wanted to make sure Ethan noticed it doing absolutely nothing to help.

  He scowled. “I built you both.”

  The generator chirped a single high-pitched note, then fell silent.

  If it had eyes, he was certain it would have rolled them.

  There was a pause. A long, deliberate pause.

  Then, CelestOS spoke.

  CelestOS: Revision: Temporary override authorized. Power access granted for one Tier 1 fabrication. Parameters: nourishment-critical. You may proceed.

  Ethan didn’t move. The anger was still coiled tight in his chest, but the words hit him like cold water.

  He blinked. His voice came out small.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “…Are you serious?”

  CelestOS: Nutritional deficits exceed mission efficiency thresholds. Likely cause of emotional distress: hunger. Celestitech recognizes that low-performing personnel, even expendable ones, require minimum caloric support.

  Ethan didn’t argue. The anger was gone now burnt out and hollow. He dragged himself to the supply cache, CelestOS’s holograms flickering as a new schematic appeared in front of him, luminous green against the dimming light.

  T1 Sustenance Fabricator

  Description: A basic food processor that breaks down approved organic matter and re-forms it into a sterile, edible nutrient paste. Better than starving, but not by much.

  Components Required:

  ? Iron Ingot ×4

  ? Porous Rock ×4

  ? Copper Ingot ×7

  ? Sensor Component ×1

  ? Binding Agent ×3

  His fingers moved automatically. Four iron ingots. Seven copper. The porous rock, he had plenty left over from after the rabbit encounter. The sensor component cost extra metal, but he had stock. Tree sap went last, thick and amber, sticky, but fresh from the bark pile.

  He laid each item out on the scorched ground, following the wireframe grid in his HUD. As he placed them, the schematic lit green at every anchor point, pulsing faintly.

  When the last piece clicked into place, the CelestiCraft interface flared.

  CelestOS: Crafting sequence locked. Warning: Nutrient consistency may vary.

  The grid surged. A pulse of green light swept across the layout. The items vanished in sequence, absorbed into the system with soft flashes and a resonant hum.

  Seconds later, the outline of the new device began to materialize—a bulky, rectangular frame rising from the dirt. Plates locked into place midair with soft metallic clangs. Tubes snapped into shape. A wide intake funnel unfolded from the top like a steel tongue. Lights blinked in a slow, concentric rhythm.

  Then, with a shuddering wheeze, the sustenance fabricator powered on.

  A red icon blinked on its surface.

  [Input Organic Material]

  Ethan didn’t hesitate. He dumped in a bunch of his stash of foraged scraps, plant pulp, sterilized leaves, basically anything plant related that wasn’t touched by the red resin. The machine shuddered.

  Then churned. Then emitted a sound like an overworked blender grinding rocks. Five seconds later, a metal tray popped out with a ding.

  Ethan tore into the first nutrient bar like it owed him money.

  The texture was awful—spongy, slick, and weirdly damp, like someone had blended tofu with drywall and left it in the sun. The taste? Saltwater and stale oats. Maybe a whisper of old cabbage, just to keep it interesting.

  His brain recoiled instantly. This is poison. His stomach disagreed violently. It seized control and demanded more.

  He choked it down, eyes watering. Then reached for the next.

  He slurped up everything. The solid bars. The weird slop pooled in the tray. At one point, he scraped a brown smear off the edge and licked it like icing.

  “This is fine,” he muttered around a mouthful. “This is survival. I’m thriving.”

  The paste stuck to his molars like glue. His teeth itched. Were they supposed to do that?

  But the hunger finally loosened its grip. And somehow, that was enough to feel like victory.

  Then he sat back and breathed—really breathed—for the first time since the crash.

  CelestOS: Congratulations, Acting Captain. You are now 47% less likely to expire from malnutrition. Please note that continued use of CelestiPaste? requires waiver acceptance for taste accuracy and digestive volatility.

  Ethan wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I hate that I’m getting used to this abuse. Fine. Whatever.”

  Ethan leaned back against the new machine, hand resting on his stomach. The paste sat heavy and weird, but it was fuel. Real fuel. His mind finally began to clear from the fog of hunger and heatstroke.

  The sun was passing the horizon.

  He checked the time.

  02:03:17 until nightfall.

  CelestOS: Alert: Current ore stockpile insufficient for full strategic deployment. Available refined materials allow for fabrication of either one (1) T1 Automatic Drill or one (1) T1 Auto-Turret.

  Ethan blinked. “Wait—just one?”

  CelestOS: Correct. Projected ore depletion within the hour. Additional refinement requires power and raw input. Tactical decision required: resource expansion or immediate defense.

  A schematic flashed on the interface.

  T1 Automatic Drill

  Description: An autonomous mining unit that can be placed on a resource vein to slowly extract ore.

  ? Iron Ingot ×10

  ? Basic Gear & Mechanism ×1

  ? T1 Power Cell ×2

  ? Binding Agent ×3

  T1 Auto-Turret (Locked – Schematic preview only)

  Description: Deployable kinetic defense platform. Tracks and neutralizes hostile entities.

  ? Iron Ingot ×12

  ? Servo Motor ×2

  ? Copper Wire ×30

  ? T1 Power Cell ×2

  His thumb hovered, just a faint tremble above the schematic. Two options. One choice. No do-overs.

  Okay, he thought. Visualize it. Play it out.

  The turret came first.

  Braced in ash. Barrel rising, slow and smooth, as the night wind kicked up dust. He imagined it hitting monsters, killing them while he slept peacefully through the night. He’d have his first bout of real relaxation.

  But, would it be enough? Would one turret keep him safe? Would he have enough ore to supply it throughout the night?

  The drill came next. with something automatically gathering ore, he wouldn’t have to worry about running out of supplies. No more climbing cliff sides for the only open vien around. But if it took too long to produce, could he make the turret in time for it to be worth it?

  He flexed his fingers. They were stiff, crusted with old paste and metal dust. His stomach twisted from the aftertaste of his shitty meal, but his mind was finally sharp.

  Turret. Drill.

  Survive now, or survive later.

  Ethan stood there, breathing hard, staring at the choice. He reached out and…

  Click.