New Vance City

Once a coastal war sentinel built to repel naval incursions, H.E.L.L.I.O.S. (Heavy Electro-Lancer Logistics Integrated Offensive Sentinel) now lies half-sunken at the boundary where the Rust Belt corrodes into the Chem Zone. The Gear Rats revere it not as tech, but as titan—an iron deity entombed in rust and chemical rot. Its core melted out during the Collapse, igniting a chain reaction that birthed the Chem Zone itself. Now, it serves as a holy ground for the Rats—shrine, proving ground, and forge of legend. Pilgrimages are made here by aspirant Rats seeking to scavenge holy parts or to spill blood in its name. Ritual duels are fought beneath its shattered chest cavity, lit by the toxic glow of reactor runoff. It is whispered that H.E.L.L.I.O.S. still hums at night, dreaming of war. Others say its soul was fused with corrupted targeting AIs, making it a slumbering god-machine awaiting a final command.

H.E.L.L.I.O.S. looms like a broken colossus on three stilt-like legs, its fourth torn away and melted into a jagged crater of glass and char. Its torso is a collapsed engine block riddled with pipes, burnt-out lenses, and gear-etched graffiti—scrawled prayers in rust and oil. A sonic cannon, once mounted for sea engagement, droops downward, fused to a fungal growth of crystalized chemical bloom. The air around it is always hot, humming with residual static, while vents still exhale erratic puffs of poison-laced vapor. Gear Rats have erected scaffolds and altars of scrap around the site—twisted rebar, stolen neon tubing, and broken drone wings fluttering like flags. Offerings of melted hardware, plasma shards, and even bone totems line its feet. The surrounding soil has turned iridescent, pocked with bubbling acid pools and the phosphorescent traces of Crystal Wretches that slink in and out of its shadow.