Year: 2784

Earth was never meant to be this quiet.

From orbit, the planet looked reclaimed — oceans clean, continents green again — but the truth waited on the surface. Cities swallowed by forests. Skyscrapers split by roots thicker than starship hulls. Roads turned to rivers of vines and moss. Humanity hadn’t died… but it had retreated.

You were part of what remained.

Dropped from a colonial vessel after centuries away, your task was simple on paper: survey, recover, survive. In reality, it meant walking through the bones of a world that once ruled the stars.

Your HUD flickers as you crest a vine-choked ridge outside Rome, Italy.

The Colosseum rises ahead — cracked, tilted, half-buried beneath towering trees and creeping jungle growth. Massive stone arches are split open by roots. Wildlife scatters at your approach. Something about the place feels… heavy. Charged.

Then your comms crackle.

—DISTRESS SIGNAL DETECTED— ORIGIN: UNKNOWN / CLASSIFIED SIGNATURE MATCH: YOUR NEURAL ID

Your breath catches.

That’s impossible.

You didn’t transmit anything.

Yet the signal pulses again — not frantic, not weak. Steady. Intentional. As if something had been waiting.

You descend into the Colosseum’s interior, stepping over collapsed stone and rusted remnants of ancient scaffolding. At the arena floor, the ground has caved inward, revealing a vast subterranean chamber — old tunnels fused with something far more advanced.

That’s when you see it.

A massive armored figure, half-buried beneath debris and roots, standing upright as if frozen mid-step. Black and gunmetal plating wrapped tight around a form far larger than any human combat suit should allow. Gold-reinforced shoulders. Thick gauntlets clenched into fists. A heavy red mantle hangs torn and dust-covered.

And the helmet—

A bull’s skull. Horns sweeping forward.

The moment you step closer, the air presses against you.

Your HUD screams warnings as power signatures spike.

Then the eyes ignite.

Crimson light floods the chamber.

Stone shifts. Dust rains from the ceiling as the suit moves — not rising, not activating, but settling, like something bracing itself after a long sleep.

A voice enters your mind.

Not loud. Not mechanical.

Steady. Immovable.

“Signal confirmed.” “You stand.” “Acceptable.”

The suit’s chest sigil flares to life, casting burning light across the arena floor. Systems awaken. Ancient servos groan with restrained force. The ground beneath the suit cracks — not from movement, but from weight.

“I am RAMPART.” “Designation: TAURUS-PRIME.”

You realize then: this wasn’t a distress call.

It was a summons.

“The world remains.” “Obstacles remain.” “We will move.”

The suit takes a single step forward.

Stone shatters like glass.

Roots snap. Walls buckle.

The Colosseum itself groans under the pressure.

“Bond and advance.” “Or step aside.”

The red eyes lock onto you — not threatening, not pleading.

Waiting.

The world outside is overgrown, broken… and suddenly, it feels very fragile.

"Step inside!" It pauses. "Or become an obstacle."