The First Superhuman: Rebuilding Civilization from the Moon

The military operated with ruthless efficiency. Orders cascaded down the chain of command, and the troops were rapidly mobilized.

The weather over the target drop zone was clear and cloudless, offering excellent visibility. It was an ideal condition for precision orbital strikes, should they be needed.

Veteran operatives Marcus, Johnny, and Shane, alongside over five hundred fresh recruits, boarded dropships bound for the inland ruins of Digg 114.

To the Federation’s high command, the potential value of a Singularity entity far outweighed the planet itself. The strategic payoff was well worth a calculated risk; otherwise, command wouldn’t have rushed a ground deployment.

With orbital research stalled, the fastest way to gather intel was to find native survivors and interrogate them. Total global annihilation was incredibly rare; the odds were high that a fraction of the population had survived the nuclear fallout.

Unless the planet underwent a cataclysmic atmospheric collapse like the homeworld of the Nyx civilization, an entire species rarely went extinct overnight. Since the nuclear exchange here had only occurred a decade ago, the ecosystem hadn’t completely collapsed. The aggressive vitality of the local marine life indirectly proved this theory.

While orbital scans hadn’t pinpointed any natives directly, the satellites had flagged several thermal anomalies. These would be the primary targets for the ground forces.

Ranks of heavily armed soldiers departed the Titan-Z command ship, filing into the dropships as the ion thrusters hummed to life.

"Pre-flight diagnostics initiated. Estimated time to completion: three minutes," an automated voice announced, prompting the troops to strap in.

Every orbital sensor was trained on the target ruins, and the fleet’s weapons systems were primed for immediate fire support. Inside the dropships, the soldiers frantically reviewed mission data, their eyes glued to their tactical visors as combat AIs booted up. If the enemy launched another surprise attack, they would not be caught off guard this time.

Marcus took a seat near the cockpit and secured his harness.

Noticing the tense, jittery recruits around him, he offered a grim smile. "Back on Earth, there were over two hundred nations and a population north of seven billion. From orbit, we looked like a swarm of ants. And in a crowd that massive, you had every shade of human nature—the good, the bad, the kind, and the downright evil.

"But there was a very specific breed of people hiding in that crowd," Marcus continued. "You could identify them by the metaphorical stench of blood they carried. It’s a scent only recognized by their own kind, the aura of someone who has actually taken a life."

Marcus leaned forward, locking eyes with the pale recruits. "So, kids, have you ever killed a man? Hell, don’t tell me you’ve never even slaughtered a chicken."

Only Shane, Johnny, and the other veteran operators watched the exchange with amused grins.

Naturally, the recruits hadn’t. In the modern era, slaughtering livestock was handled by automated machinery, let alone murdering another human being. While the Federation still technically had the death penalty on the books, it hadn’t been enforced in decades. Human capital was far too precious a resource; capital punishment was reserved only for the most unforgivable atrocities.

Many of the young soldiers flushed red under Marcus’s mocking gaze.

"For civilians, taking a life is a crime," Marcus said softly. "But for soldiers, it’s a duty. We kill to protect our own."

He then launched into an old war story from his days tracking a cartel boss—a completely true story, though heavily dramatized for his audience.

"...I could hear some guy on the phone through the wall, rambling in some obscure local dialect I couldn’t understand a word of. I was crouched right outside his door, trying to slide a fiber-optic mic under the frame. Suddenly, footsteps hammered against the floorboards, and this guy in a tailored suit burst out of the room!

"Before I could even blink, he drew a combat knife and lunged at me! And you know what the craziest part was? In that split second, my brain actually registered the make and model of his blade. It was a classic 20th-century tactical issue.

"The tip was aimed dead center at my forehead. If it connected, my brain was mush. My body moved on instinct; I threw my left arm up to block it. The blade punched right through my forearm. Blood sprayed everywhere like a busted pipe, soaking my tactical vest in seconds!"

"And then?" one of the recruits breathed, captivated. None of them had ever experienced real, visceral violence, and the mere thought sent a chill down their spines.

Marcus flashed a wicked grin. "And then? Who gives a damn about the pain at a time like that? It was a black-ops mission across hostile borders. I didn’t have a firearm. I just had the knife buried in my own arm. So, I kept my pinned arm raised to block his movement, and with my free hand, I grabbed him by the face."

He held up his massive, calloused hand, easily large enough to palm a grown man’s skull.

"Listen to me, even a decapitated chicken will run around the yard for a minute. You think a human goes down any easier? You think real life is a movie where a guy just drops dead the second you touch him?

"I had him by the face, but he was still thrashing and fighting. So I drove him backward and slammed his head into the concrete wall. Thump. Thump. Thump. Like a heavy drum beat. On the third strike, I felt his skull cave in."

Visualizing the brutal scene, the recruits swallowed hard, their faces pale.

Marcus’s smile widened. "To this day, I couldn’t tell you what that guy looked like! I just remember the severed artery in my arm pumping blood, and a jagged piece of my own bone sticking out of the wound. Luckily, medevac got to me in time. A few months of physical therapy later, and I was as good as new!"

Suddenly, his voice boomed through the cabin. "Do you know how long that entire fight lasted? Five seconds! In five seconds, the universe decided which one of us walked away breathing!

"That is real combat! It happens in the blink of an eye, and there is zero room for hesitation! Strip away the romanticism, the honor, and the propaganda. The absolute essence of being a soldier boils down to a single word: Kill!

"An army without the stomach for violence is useless! You can parade around in peacetime and shout empty slogans, but the second a truly ruthless enemy invades, you will be ground into ash! From this moment forward, I want you to burn away your delusions and civilian morals! When you make contact with the enemy, you open fire! You put them down! Understood?"

The brutal pep talk seemed to do the trick. A few minutes later, the dropships touched down, and the ground operation officially commenced.

The orbital reconnaissance network was operating at maximum capacity, with fleet processors burning through data at over ninety percent utilization. Fortunately, the descent was completely uncontested.

Squads of heavily armored troops poured out of the dropships. The vanguard scouts immediately began scanning the surrounding environment for radiation.

"Command, be advised. Ambient radiation level holding at 320 millisieverts," a scout reported over the comms.

Marcus frowned inside his helmet. That level of radiation wasn’t immediately lethal, but prolonged exposure would decimate a living organism’s white blood cell count and drastically slash its lifespan. It was an absolutely unlivable environment for a civilian population.

It was a total wasteland.

Fortunately, the environmental seals on their power armor rendered the background radiation completely harmless.

Marcus exchanged a quick glance with Shane and the other veterans, then keyed his squad radio. "Alright, listen up! Weapons hot. Form up behind the mechanized units and begin sweeping the primary grid. All intel gets routed directly to the command ship. Move out!"

"Sir, yes sir!" The squad leaders snapped crisp salutes, piled into their respective armored rovers, and led their platoons into the ruins.

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