In the cold operational matrix of Fort Resonance, TRU-3 is the tip of the spear for worlds that have never seen a human footprint. They are not soldiers in the traditional sense—though each member is capable of defending themselves if the Leyweb demands it. Instead, they are scientists with rifles, surveyors with pulse beacons, and data-hunters willing to step into the most inhospitable corners of the lattice.

Where other units may chase signals or conduct first-contact diplomacy, TRU-3’s mandate is to decode the raw truth of a world before the rest of Earth’s presence follows. From atmospheric integrity to resonance-active fauna, from deep soil harmonics to biochemical toxicity, they build the blueprint that determines whether a planet is habitable, hostile, or something in between.

Their archetype—data-centric surveyors—means that in a crisis, they rely on precise readings and methodical evaluation over brute force. This scientific mindset is not weakness; it is their shield against chaos. They are the cartographers of danger, the architects of safety, and the gatekeepers of environmental certainty.

Caleb Strain’s leathery skin speaks of years in open sunlight across worlds with too little atmosphere to soften the burn. His salt-and-sand hair is always kept short, and a cracked visor hangs from his collar like a lucky talisman.

A former terra-mapping contractor for the Mars Reclamation Corps, Caleb’s instincts for terrain readouts are uncanny. He can sense wind shifts before drones register them, and his mental map of toxic mineral veins often outperforms full-scale scans. In the field, he moves with the patience of sediment drifting downriver, letting data accumulate before committing to a decision. He rarely wastes words—unless he’s talking about soil density, atmospheric particulates, or the growth pattern of crystalline toxin blooms. When chaos rises, his calm steadies the team like bedrock.

The youngest in TRU-3, Niko Verrin is a burst of kinetic energy in human form. His freckled, youthful face is framed by a lopsided smile that somehow survives even the most grueling assignments. His boots are always scuffed, his gear perpetually mid-repair, and a pulse-link glove never leaves his right hand.

Originally a Leyfield intern, Niko’s field promotion came after he corrected a harmonic drift that nearly ruptured a corridor mid-mission—an action that saved the lives of two senior operatives. His specialty is pulse stability: tuning micro-drones, aligning field harmonics, and repairing diagnostic relays under impossible conditions. While still learning the discipline and formality of TRU operations, he thrives when given room to improvise. Machines, it seems, trust him instinctively—and more often than not, so do people.