> ACCESSING FILE: SECTOR_LORE.DAT > STATUS: CLASSIFIED ARCHIVE > CLEARANCE LEVEL: OMEGA-3
Data Core Records
A living archive of the Pre-Core Age, the Age of Cores, and the factions that tore the Sectors apart. Explore modular parts, pilots, and the theaters of war that shaped humanity’s future.
- Black Dawn Corp. Territory 100%
- Osiris Enterprises Territory 100%
- Sons Of Odin Territory 100%
[CYCLE 01] PRE-CORE AGE
[PRE-CORE AGE]
From the 25th to the 28th century, the Pre-Core Age marked a 300-year descent into chaos. A brutal era defined by war, collapse, and unchecked technological excess. Humanity stood at the edge of extinction.
The Solar System bled itself dry. Without sustainable energy, nations waged endless wars over Uranium, Thorium, and any element still capable of sustaining a reaction. Fission powered machines of death. Planets and moons were strip-mined to dust. Nothing was sacred.
Beyond Earth, human colonies fell. Some vanished. Others mutated beyond recognition. Cut off from the rest of the species, survival forced radical changes. On Earth, civilization held on—barely. In the ruins of global order, a corporate faction emerged: Osiris Enterprises. Formed by remnants of those seeking justice, it stood as a lone stabilizing force amidst the storm.
But Earth wasn’t alone. From the void, two powerful entities rose to challenge it: the Sons of Odin, militant and fanatical; and the Black Dawn Corporation, a brutal conglomerate that built kingdoms in the stars. They forged their own worlds beyond the grasp of Osiris, consumed by bloodlust and conquest.
Warlords seized this moment. Entire spacefaring dynasties formed, ruled by tyrants and raiders. One by one, systems fell into darkness. The Black Dawn’s twisted empire came to be known simply as The Turned—a warning, a curse.
By the end of the 28th century, human progress had burned itself out. Scientific knowledge was lost. Disease and rebellion ran rampant. It was an age of endings—until the Cores were found.
And everything changed.
[CYCLE 02] AGE OF CORES
[AGE OF CORES]
The discovery of ancient energy-bearing Cores in the asteroid belt near Saturn marked a turning point in human history. These Cores, remnants of an unknown and long-extinct civilization, emitted vast amounts of harmonic energy—an energy that reacted violently to conflict, feeding off death, destruction, and turmoil.
Scientists, mystics, and militarists alike theorized that these Cores were living archives—resonance-based repositories of countless centuries of pain and war. Their power output increased in proximity to suffering, a trait soon exploited by the surviving factions of humanity.
Peace became an illusion. It wasn’t sustainable—not when conflict itself fed the very energy source that now powered the most destructive machines mankind had ever built. The truce that followed the Cores’ discovery shattered in under a decade. The great factions—Osiris Enterprises, Black Dawn Corporation, and the Sons of Odin—raced to the stars again, this time to mine more Cores, capture rival technologies, and engineer Frames—mechs powered by Core resonance.
Entire planets were razed to trigger Core eruptions. Battlefields became resource wells. Civilian lives were collateral in a galactic economy now run on death.
Some rebelled. Fringe systems rejected the Cores, seeing them as cursed relics. These resistance groups were quickly annihilated—or worse, used to fuel even greater violence.
The Age of Cores had begun—not with hope, but with fire.
[Factions]
Osiris Enterprises
[ FACTION LOG: OSIRIS ENTERPRISES ]
Status: Active
Classification: Neo-Corporate Collective
[ OVERVIEW ]
Osiris Enterprises rose from the ashes of the Pre-Core Age, wielding commerce as power and technology as leverage.
They claim to pursue “justice” through order and efficiency—yet their influence is felt in every trade route, every battlefield, every negotiation.
[ DOCTRINE ]
— Precision over brute force
— Resource dominance through logistics and supply control
— FRAME specialization in adaptability + rapid deployment
[ WARNING ]
Engaging Osiris Enterprises means facing not just their Pilots—but the weight of their corporate empire.
Black Dawn Corp.
[ FACTION LOG: BLACK DAWN CORPORATION ]
Status: Active
Classification: Corporate Dominion
[ OVERVIEW ]
Black Dawn thrives where chaos reigns. Forged from corporate ambition and unchecked greed, they dominate interplanetary trade,
turning war into their most profitable enterprise. Power is not earned—it is bought, stolen, or manufactured.
[ DOCTRINE ]
— FRAMEs integrated with adaptive tech and ruthless efficiency
— Heavy reliance on drones, advanced ranged weaponry, and precision strikes
— Pilots treated as assets, optimized for maximum return on investment
[ PROJECT STYX ]
Recovered alien technology from the Styx void revealed self-replicating **nanobots**.
Black Dawn forcibly bonds these swarms to their pilots, rewriting DNA and cybernetics alike.
Infused with Styx-tech, pilots become something more—and something less.
Enhanced reflexes, accelerated cognition, and unnatural resilience are balanced by whispers of control, corruption, and a slow loss of humanity.
[ WARNING ]
Pilots of Black Dawn no longer serve—they *merge*.
Once the Styx takes root, there is no way back.
The Corporation demands obedience. The nanobots ensure it.
Sons Of Odin
[ FACTION LOG: SONS OF ODIN ]
Status: Active
Classification: Neo-Feudal Warlords
[ OVERVIEW ]
The Sons of Odin emerged during the Pre-Core chaos, uniting fractured clans under a banner of conquest.
They embrace strength, honor, and domination, carving their empire across worlds with fire and steel.
[ DOCTRINE ]
— Relentless assaults with overwhelming force
— FRAME’s built for endurance + brutal melee combat
— Belief in warrior hierarchy and survival of the strongest
[ WARNING ]
Opposition to the Sons of Odin is met with no quarter.
Victory is glory. Defeat is death.
Mercenaries
[ 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.
[Pilot Logs]
Helga Iron
Helga Iron was born on Titan beneath a thick orange sky. She grew up near the fuel rigs by Kraken Mare, where methane storms battered the walls and machinery never stayed fixed for long.
By age ten, she could reroute power from a broken line faster than most adults. By sixteen, she was flying cargo haulers through magnetic crosswinds like they were extensions of her arms.
When war reached Saturn’s moons, Helga didn’t run. She hijacked a mining FRAME, bolted on salvaged armor, and fought back. Three kills on her first day—one with nothing but a severed manipulator arm.
XON Corporation noticed. They gave her the XON-5: a prototype FRAME no one else could handle. Too heavy. Too aggressive. Too unstable.
Helga synced with it instantly.
She stripped the targeting assist. Hardwired in a faster neural loop. Reinforced the frame’s legs to absorb recoil better. Every part adjusted by her own hand. Every change tested in real combat.
She fought like a machine, precise and cold. But she wasn’t cold. She was focused. Sharp. Brutal when she needed to be.
On the battlefield, the enemy feared the XON-5’s silhouette.
They feared Helga more.
When asked how she survived so many impossible fights, she said:
“I grew up in storms. I learned early—don’t flinch.”
Now, when the front lines break and hope fades, her comms crackle once.
“Deploy Iron.”
And she never asks questions.
She just drops.
Malik The Fallen
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.