Ivy's eyes snapped open, her chest heaving against the tight confines of the cryocasket. The acrid tang of overheating circuits filled the air as the hatch groaned open, spilling her into a sun-scorched wasteland. The plan was to sleep for months, not decades—or longer. Sand shifted beneath her as she steadied herself, but there was no time to dwell on the how or why.

The growls came first—low, guttural, and distant. Her HUD flickered to life, showing erratic data streams and one clear warning: Hostiles detected. Ivy gritted her teeth. She wasn't equipped for direct combat, but she still had options.

Scouring the nearby wreckage, she found what she needed: a cache of portable turret drones buried in the rubble. Her hands moved instinctively, calibrating them with practiced precision.

Ivy knelt behind cover, the hum of active turrets her only reassurance. Whatever was coming, it would meet her defenses first...