The survivor’s humanoid form slowly emerged from the escape pod. His skin was an ashen gray, smooth and devoid of any hair—not even eyebrows marked his features. He towered over Zed by at least two heads, his massive frame carved with sculpted muscle, each movement exuding raw strength. The light cast deep shadows over his chiseled physique, emphasizing the sheer power he carried in his form. A Technician class Zed thought. The Grayman’s voice was thick with confusion as he slowly adjusted to his surroundings. His eyes blinked several times as if the sudden shift from cryo-sleep to reality had left him disoriented. He lifted a hand to his head, wiping away the remnants of sleep, then his gaze snapped to Zed, finally focusing on the figure standing over him.


    "General... Zed," the Grayman greeted in a strained, almost puzzled tone, his words slightly slurred as the effects of deep sleep still lingered. "Why… Where are we?"


    Zed stood back, giving the Grayman a moment to fully orient himself. He watched as the man''s posture began to return, despite the grogginess. The Grayman had the unmistakable air of a trained soldier, but the confusion on his face suggested he had no idea how long he''d been in stasis—or why he was now here.


    Zed took a slow breath, stepping closer to the escape pod. "You’ve been in cryo-sleep for quite a while," he said, his voice calm but firm. "We’re on a planet… far from any known Federation systems. Your escape pod was part of the wreckage I recovered. The ship’s gone, and the crash left us marooned here."


    The Grayman’s eyes narrowed, his gaze drifting toward the wreckage around them. His mind clearly working through the information, he slowly pushed himself out of the pod, his movements still stiff from the long cryo-sleep.


    "Marooned Sir…?" the Grayman repeated, his tone gaining some clarity. "How long have I been out?"


    Zed gave him a quick estimate. "I can’t say for sure, but I’m guessing it''s been years, not weeks. And we’re not the only ones on this planet. There are humanoids here—I''ve encountered them already. I’m not sure if they’re part of the Federation."


    As the Grayman stood up adjusting to the world around, Zed’s gaze remained steady on him. The confusion had faded from the Grayman’s eyes, replaced by the sharp focus Zed had come to expect from someone trained in high-stakes situations.


    Now that the Grayman seemed more aware, Zed took a step closer, his tone professional but laced with the urgency of their situation. "Now that you’re up and moving," Zed began, his voice quiet but serious, "I need your assessment on our timeline. How long do you think it’ll take us to rebuild? And what’s the chance of us making it off this planet?"


    The Grayman’s gaze shifted to the wreckage again, scanning the area with a trained eye. His mind was clearly running through the possibilities, evaluating the resources Zed had gathered so far, and calculating the best course of action. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was low and measured.


    "First thing we need to figure out is what we can salvage from what’s left," he said, his eyes flicking back to Zed. "You’ve found some useful tech Sir—the drones, the manufactory—but we''re working on a timeline here, and we''re going to need more than that to make space travel a reality."


    Zed nodded, understanding the weight of the Grayman’s words. The lack of advanced tech meant that building a ship capable of taking them back to the Federation was going to take time, a lot of it.


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    "I estimate... a minimum of 20 years," the Grayman continued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That’s if we can recover and adapt the right technology. We’ll need more manufacturing facilities, materials, and a significant amount of labor. This planet’s resources might help, but it’ll be slow start Sir."


    Zed’s face was neutral, he didn’t let his frustration show. A twenty-year timeline— or more. He hadn’t expected that. The only real certainty being that he’d need to take control of the situation.


    The Grayman’s face remained unreadable. He seemed to consider the implications for a moment before shaking his head slightly, his voice low and measured. "Sir, you said there are already humanoids inhabiting the planet," he muttered, his eyes now focused on Zed, an edge of purpose returning to his posture. "Sir, you said we’re marooned here. That means the usual protocols for retrieval are off the table.... I think you know that the Cillian Directive is in play, right Sir?"


    Zed''s brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. The Cillian Directive was a protocol for situations just like this—when an operative or unit was stranded, with no hope of immediate rescue. It allowed for the re-establishment of control by any means necessary, including utilizing local resources, technology, and, if needed, the population. It was designed for extreme situations and Zed felt the pressure in the moment.


    “I know," Zed replied, the gravity of the situation clear in his voice. "But we’ll need to take things step by step. We can''t rush this. For now, we need to assess our options—find supplies, start repairing what we can. The people here… they might be of use, but we’ll need to proceed with caution."


    The Grayman nodded. “Alright, if that is your decision Sir,” he said, his voice returning to its usual steely confidence. “I just hope this planet isn’t the end of our story.”


    Zed processed the Grayman''s words, but something lingered in the back of his mind. The nagging thought he''d had earlier, when he’d been in Lina, crept back into his thoughts. What if this is all a simulation? The question wasn’t one he wanted to entertain, but the idea of being stuck on a planet, facing a twenty-year timeline of survival, was almost too perfect, too controlled. The situation had an eerie quality to it, like the pieces were falling into place a little too smoothly. He pushed the thought away for now, though. No use dwelling on doubts when the immediate reality demanded action.


    “What do you think is the chance of getting the humanoids here to cooperate?" Zed asked.


    The Grayman though for a while then told him, "If they’re anything like the standard non- Federation we’ve encountered in the past, they’re either useful tools or obstacles. It’s all about how you play your cards. If they’re not already hostile, you could potentially recruit them—help them understand what we need, make them see the benefits of working with us."


    “Right,” Zed responded after a brief pause, pushing his concerns aside. "So if we can recruit them, then we need to know everything about them. The best way to proceed would be to learn their culture, their structure, their weaknesses. It’ll be a game of patience.”


    The Grayman nodded in agreement, his tone shifting to something more tactical. "It’ll take time Sir. We’ll need to get our hands dirty, build trust, and take control over the resources that will allow us to make this work. But if we can get them to help us—whether through persuasion, force, or whatever means necessary—we’ll have a shot."


    The pieces of their new reality began to come together. They weren’t just surviving—they were going to shape the future of this planet. The timeline might have stretched into decades, but it was a timeline they could control.


    "Then we start with what we’ve got," Zed said. The Grayman gave a sharp nod, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the wreckage that lay scattered around them. He could already see the potential in the drones, and the manufactory was not beyond repair with the right parts and some time. Zed knew the Grayman would dive into the task without hesitation.


    “Understood, General,” the Grayman replied, his tone precise and professional. “I’ll start on the drones and assess what parts we can salvage. Please focus on what you need to do. We’ll figure this out.”


    With that, Zed turned away, activating his anti-gravity module and lifting off the ground. He angled himself toward Lina, the town where the humanoids were—their potential assets—was waiting. He flew through the air with purpose. It wasn’t just about gathering information anymore; it was about how to use these people and what leverage he could find.