New Vance City

Helion Rampart C-4 is one of the oldest still-operating defense walls within the Perimeter Bastion—an elevated overlook positioned precisely where the wasteland winds are strongest. Initially designed as a flare amplification platform, it has since been retrofitted with solar capacitors, kinetic charge nets, and motion-triggered beam emitters. The Guardians maintain it as a frontline sanctum, where only the most disciplined squads rotate in. The light here never dims; high-intensity reflectors bathe the area in constant solar glare, day or night, creating an artificial dawn that never blinks. Intruders don’t see soldiers—they see silhouettes outlined in fire. Beneath the wall, melted craters mark the fate of those who tested the light’s reach. C-4 isn’t just defensive infrastructure; it’s psychological warfare. The Guardians built it to blind the enemy with faith, to make the sun a weapon. Out here, heat is doctrine—and Helion is scripture.

Helion Rampart C-4 juts from the solar-baked terrain like a blade of light—tall, angular, and haloed in persistent solar glow. Its walls are faced with mirrored plating, catching even the weakest rays and refracting them into blinding beams that cut through the dust-choked haze. The platform’s upper deck is lined with automated flare turrets, each one crowned by amber lenses that gleam like captive suns. Bronze-toned Guardian sentries move with deliberate precision, their armor throwing long, wavering shadows across the superheated walkways. Power conduits snake along the structure’s underside, pulsing with stored energy and emitting a low, steady hum like a restrained engine. The surrounding earth is scorched and cratered, pocked with vitrified scars where deterrent beams have fired. Even the sky above feels tense—painted in pale orange and ash-gray, always reflecting that omnipresent light. Helion doesn’t just glow. It glares.