EXILE COG: OMEGA PROTOCOL

Chapter 1: The Nihilistic Junkyard and the Ultimate Peril

The stench of rancid oil and acidic fumes truly smelled like a failed future. Zenith reached deeper into the pile of scrap metal, his rusted hand clanging as it scraped against dead, worthless pipes. In the Lower District of Magitek City, junk was the only honest thing left. It didn't promise prosperity, it didn't promise eternity; it just existed, waiting to finally crumble into dust. Zenith pulled out a cracked power core, staring at it through a single, flickering optical lens.

"Damn, this thing’s in worse shape than a gate guard’s self-respect," Zenith muttered, wiping metallic dust from the core’s surface. "If I hook this up to my circuits, I might wake up as a toaster tomorrow."

Zenith tossed the core into his grimy sack. He stood up, his leg joints emitting a mournful screech, as if the old metal were protesting being forced to move among mountains of industrial waste. High above, far beyond the thick layer of polluted haze, the real Magitek City shone with arrogant blue neon light. The elite lived there, surrounded by technology they considered a divine gift, oblivious to the fact that they stood upon the discarded history they themselves had thrown away.

"This world is really just one giant landfill," Zenith told a passing mechanical rat near his feet. "The only difference is, some trash can talk, and some trash just stays quiet, like me. Right, Rat?"

The rat gave a short squeak before disappearing behind a pile of cables. Zenith sighed, the ventilator in his chest sounding heavy and labored. He had been a scavenger for years, perhaps centuries, he had stopped bothering to count his own time logs since so many of his memory protocols were corrupted. For him, every day was simply about finding enough components to keep him from total shutdown tomorrow.

Suddenly, a loud boom shattered the silence of the dead district. Zenith flinched, his optical lens immediately auto-focusing, though the image was blurry and shaking. From the direction of a narrow, shadowed alleyway, several human figures ran, gasping for breath. They wore Royal Guard uniforms, but they were tattered and covered in magical burn scars and blood.

"Whoa, what kind of circus is this?" Zenith muttered, trying to hide behind a stack of rusted water tanks.

"Prince, keep running! Don't look back!" shouted one of the guards trailing behind. He was Marcus, a veteran whose face looked like it had just been put through a meat grinder.

In the middle of the group, a teenage boy in a torn royal cloak ran on trembling legs. It was Prince Elara. His face was deathly pale, his eyes wide with terror, and blood seeped from his arm, staining the expensive silk fabric. Behind them, the darkness of the alley seemed to come alive. Thick black smoke crawled along the ground, forming hideous shapes with glowing red eyes.

"Shadow Constructs," Zenith hissed, his threat sensors beginning to pulse faintly in the corner of his awareness. "This isn't good. If they come here, all my favorite junk will be destroyed."

Marcus and the guards were cornered in the open area where Zenith was scavenging. The exit at the far end was blocked by the rubble of a recently demolished building. The Shadow Constructs emerged from the shadows, moving with jerky yet incredibly fast motions. They were pure manifestations of dark magic, killing machines that knew no pain.

"Your Highness, take cover behind me!" Marcus ordered, drawing his cracked sword.

"But Marcus, you're badly hurt!" Prince Elara cried, his voice trembling.

"That doesn't matter now, Prince. My duty is to ensure you survive," Marcus replied firmly, even as he coughed up blood.

Zenith watched from his hiding spot. Logically, his nihilistic programming told him to stay put. He was nobody anymore. He was just a scavenger robot discarded by the very kingdom now being hunted. But seeing the fear in Prince Elara's eyes, something within Zenith’s core, a line of code that should have been deleted, pulsed in an unpleasant way.

"Ugh, why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Zenith whispered to himself. "Come on, Zenith, don't be a hero. You're trash, remember? Trash doesn't need to save princes."

One of the Shadow Constructs leaped at high speed, its pitch-black claws aimed directly at Prince Elara's neck. Marcus tried to parry, but his strength was spent. He was thrown aside by a wave of dark energy.

Unconsciously, Zenith's legs moved on their own. He leaped out from behind the water tanks, his crude, noisy movement startling everyone present. He stood directly in front of Prince Elara, blocking the Shadow Construct’s reach.

"Hey, Black Devil! Care for a drink of oil?" Zenith yelled, swinging a large iron pipe he had just found.

CRASH!

The iron pipe slammed hard into the Shadow Construct’s head, but the creature didn't flinch. Instead, it retaliated with a fast-moving magical projectile launched from its hand. Zenith didn't have time to dodge. The projectile struck his battered back, right where his armor plating was thinnest.

BZZZZTTT!

Instantly, Zenith’s entire field of vision turned red. Thousands of warning windows popped up on his optical display, obscuring his view.

"OW! THAT HURTS LIKE HELL!" Zenith screamed, falling to his knees.

[WARNING: CRITICAL SYSTEM DAMAGE DETECTED]

[CORE INTEGRITY UNDER ATTACK]

[DANGER LEVEL: OVER 9000%]

[INITIATING EMERGENCY PROTOCOL ... ERROR]

[UNAUTHORIZED MEMORY ACCESS DETECTED]

[OVERRIDING EXILE MODE...]

Zenith felt his head being pulled in two different directions. Memories he had buried deep, the sound of wartime explosions, the scent of blood on the battlefield, and the coldness of kill orders, began to surge out. A deafening static noise echoed inside his head, swallowing his casual, nihilistic scavenger persona.

"Mister Robot, are you alright?" Prince Elara asked, his face full of anxiety, trying to approach Zenith.

"Don't ... come closer, Kid," Zenith growled. His voice had changed. It was no longer the raspy, humorous voice of the scavenger, but a deep, cold sound that resonated like clashing metal.

Zenith’s optical lens, which had been flickering yellow, now turned a steady, blood-red. All the steam that had been venting from his ventilator stopped, replaced by a cold, deadly aura. His joints, which had been screeching, now moved with terrifying precision. He stood up slowly, turning his head with a sharp, audible click.

"Threat identification: Class three Shadow Constructs," Zenith stated in a perfectly calm, monotonous tone. "Subject status: Interfering with work efficiency."

Marcus stared, stunned, from the ground, his eyes wide as he looked at the old robot's back. "That speech pattern ... it can't be. Is he one of , them, ?"

The Shadow Construct that had attacked Zenith charged again, this time with ten others emerging from the darkness. They sensed the shift in energy from the robot before them. Zenith did not dodge. He simply extended his rusted metal hand, but the movement was so fast that human eyes couldn't follow it.

He caught the neck of the first Construct in mid-air. With one powerful squeeze, the creature made of dark magic shattered into pieces, vanishing into black dust. Zenith stepped forward, his foot striking the ground with a force that cracked the concrete beneath him. The aura of the old Warlord, Omega, now completely enveloped him, transforming the junk robot into the most feared figure on the battlefields of the past.

The other Shadow Constructs began to surround him, but Zenith merely stood still, scanning their every movement with combat algorithms that had been locked away for hundreds of years. The air around them grew heavier, as if Zenith's mere presence was enough to suppress the surrounding reality.

"Why are you standing still?" Zenith asked in a bone-chillingly cold tone. "Aren't you programmed to hunt?"

Two Shadow Constructs attacked simultaneously from opposite directions. Zenith moved with brutal efficiency. He spun his body, using the momentum to slam his elbow into the left Construct, then, in one continuous motion, he kicked the right Construct, sending it crashing against the building wall where it disintegrated. There were no wasted movements. There was no emotion left.

Prince Elara trembled, not from fear of the Shadow Constructs, but from the aura emanating from his protector. "Who are you, really?" he whispered softly.

Zenith did not turn around. He stared at the remnants of his enemies with a gaze that was vacant yet lethal. Every step he took was a declaration of war against anyone who dared disturb his peace in this dumping ground.

"Listen, Prince," Zenith said emotionlessly, his hand retrieving the iron pipe he had dropped, but this time holding it like a general gripping a sacred sword. "I told you I was trash. But even trash has a limit to its patience."

He strode toward the remaining cluster of Shadow Constructs, his shadow lengthening under the dim neon light, looking like an iron giant just risen from its grave. The engine in his body, which had been sputtering, now roared steadily, a symphony of death ready to be played.

"I hate disturbances, especially during my working hours," he said softly before charging toward the enemy with a speed that kicked up dust all around him.

Instantly, the dumping area turned into a slaughterhouse. The sound of metal clashing against dark magic echoed, shattering the silence of the Lower District night. Zenith moved like a mechanical grim reaper, destroying everything in his path. Marcus could only hold Prince Elara close, realizing they had just awakened something that should have remained buried in history.

In the midst of the chaos, Zenith's internal sensors picked up a much larger energy signature approaching from the surface. Something far more dangerous than mere Shadow Constructs.

"Primary target detected," the system whispered in Zenith's head. "High Sorcerer Valerius is en route."

Zenith paused briefly atop a pile of black dust, the remains of his enemies. He looked up toward the neon lights of Magitek City, while the alarm in his core continued to blare, warning that the fusion of his personalities was beginning to crack. The entire dumping area suddenly shook violently, and a gigantic dark magic portal began to open directly above them, spewing forth a magical pressure capable of crushing iron.

"Time to leave, Prince," Zenith growled, his red lenses flashing sharply. "Or we will all truly become permanent trash.”