Data Core Records

No one can say with certainty who discovered the first Core.

Some histories credit a mining expedition working the asteroid belt beyond Saturn. Others insist it was a civilian salvage crew that found the ruins first, only to disappear before they could tell anyone what they had uncovered. By the time the competing stories reached the public, governments and corporations had already rewritten most of the record.

The only part everyone agrees on is what they found.

The Core was buried deep inside the remains of an ancient civilization. Its cities had crumbled into lifeless debris, and whatever species had built them had vanished long before humanity ever left Earth. There were no surviving records, no recognizable language, and no explanation for their disappearance.

Only the Cores remained.

At first, they seemed like a miracle.

Each one produced an extraordinary form of harmonic energy that far exceeded anything humanity had ever created. Entire colonies that had struggled with limited resources suddenly had more power than they knew how to use. Factories expanded, terraforming accelerated, and distant settlements flourished. For the first time in centuries, people believed the age of resource wars had finally come to an end.

That belief didn’t survive for long.

As more reactors came online, engineers noticed something they couldn’t explain. Identical Core reactors operating under identical conditions produced different amounts of energy. The fluctuations appeared random until someone began comparing reactor data with reports from nearby settlements.

The pattern was impossible to ignore.

Whenever violence erupted, the reactors produced more power.

It didn’t matter whether the conflict was a military campaign, a terrorist attack, civil unrest, or a large industrial disaster. Fear, suffering, and loss always caused harmonic output to rise. The greater the conflict, the greater the energy released.

No one could explain why.

Some researchers believed the Cores reacted to emotional resonance in ways humanity didn’t yet understand. Others argued they were something far older and far stranger, living repositories that had absorbed the countless wars of their creators. If that theory was true, every battle echoed through them, adding another layer to a memory that had been growing for thousands of years.

No theory was ever proven.

In the end, proof wasn’t necessary.

The Cores worked, and civilization quickly became dependent on them.

The race to control new Core deposits spread across human space. Osiris Enterprises secured the inner worlds. The Sons of Odin established fortified territories throughout the asteroid belt. Black Dawn vanished beyond the outer colonies, returning years later with technologies no rival faction could reproduce.

As competition intensified, engineers developed the first Fortified Robotic Armored Modular Exoskeletons, better known as FRAMEs.

Originally built to defend mining operations, FRAMEs revealed an unexpected capability. Their resonance systems could capture the harmonic energy released during combat, refine it, and transmit it back through planetary relay networks. Every battle became an opportunity to generate enormous amounts of power that could be distributed across cities, orbital stations, and planetary districts.

War stopped being a consequence of civilization.

It became part of its infrastructure.

A victory on one world could provide enough harmonic energy to power entire continents on another. Hospitals stayed online because a campaign succeeded. Orbital elevators continued operating because another battle had been fought. Every city depended on energy harvested somewhere beyond its own skies, and few citizens ever stopped to wonder where that energy originated.

FRAME pilots became the face of that system.

To the public, they were heroes who protected humanity and kept civilization alive. Their victories lit cities, powered factories, and ensured families had heat, clean water, and functioning hospitals. Children memorized the names of legendary pilots the way earlier generations had admired athletes or explorers. Their likenesses filled public squares, news broadcasts, and recruitment campaigns.

On some worlds, admiration evolved into devotion.

Shrines were built in honor of pilots whose campaigns had generated enough harmonic energy to prevent entire colonies from collapsing. Veterans were welcomed home like heads of state. Fallen pilots were remembered with ceremonies that resembled religious rites more than military funerals. To millions of people, these men and women weren’t simply warriors. They were the reason civilization continued to function.

Not everyone accepted that belief.

Independent systems refused to use Core technology, convinced humanity had mistaken an ancient curse for a limitless gift. Some buried the artifacts beneath their worlds. Others destroyed them or launched them into nearby stars, believing no civilization should depend on a power source tied so closely to suffering.

Most of those colonies disappeared within a generation. Some were conquered. Others simply fell behind as neighboring worlds expanded, fueled by harmonic energy they could no longer compete with.

Before long, there was no turning back.

Every city, every fleet, every industrial district, and every FRAME depended on the Cores. Peace became more than a political challenge. It became an economic threat. A prolonged period without conflict meant reduced harmonic production, weakened infrastructure, and energy shortages across entire sectors.

Few leaders were willing to accept that risk.

Whether the Cores were alive, whether they remembered the countless wars of their creators, or whether humanity had simply misunderstood an ancient form of physics remained unanswered.

The only certainty was that every new conflict produced more power.

As long as civilization depended on that power, someone would always find a reason to keep the war going.

[ FACTION LOG: MERCENARIES ]
Status: Independent
Classification: Freelance Operatives

[ OVERVIEW ]
Mercenaries reject the banners of Osiris, Sons of Odin, and Black Dawn, forging their own path through survival and profit.
They salvage, trade, and customize FRAMEs using parts from every faction, creating unpredictable builds that defy standard doctrine.

[ DOCTRINE ]
— Adaptive tactics, shifting with each contract
— FRAMEs cobbled from mixed technologies and rare finds
— Loyalty lies only in credits, reputation, or vengeance

[ WARNING ]
Mercenaries answer to no flag.
They are as likely to fight beside you as they are to betray you.

Malik the Fallen was born in the ash valleys of Cerebrus, a rogue planet orbiting just beyond Neptune’s reach. Life there was short and violent—an atmosphere thick with poison, terrain scarred by ancient wars, and no laws but strength. 

He learned early: mercy was weakness. Survival meant striking first. 

By fifteen, Malik commanded scavenger bands twice his age. He wore a helmet made from his first kill. By twenty, he built his own FRAME from battlefield wreckage, fusing it with outlaw tech and unstable cores. 

They called it the Fallen 666. No serial. No maker’s mark. Just a blue and black shell and a hum like a funeral dirge. 

When the Outer Colonies rebelled, Malik offered his service—not for politics, not for credits, but for war itself. He lived for the kill. For the silence after a blast. For the look in a pilot’s eyes the moment they knew they were outmatched. 

Draped in the skulls of his vanquished foes, Malik marches onto the battlefield—a living testament to conquest, each step a grim reminder of the fallen. 

The Fallen 666 moves like a predator. Built for brutal ambushes. Twin plasma hooks. Thermal vents glowing with residual heat. A FRAME made for slaughter. 

Rumors say he doesn’t sleep. That he talks to the skulls he wears. That he keeps count. 

Every drop, every scream, every name. 

When Malik’s icon appears on radar, one message spreads fast: 

Run. Or die like the rest.