A squad drops onto a glassed refinery moon to confirm the machines are dead and mark the ruins for salvage.

But the wreckage has rebuilt itself into something coordinated, using the refinery like a body and breaking human comms with harmonic interference.

Radiation, low gravity, unstable slag fields, and collapsing structures turn the mission into a narrowing trap. The machines begin adapting to every movement, every burst of fire, every attempted retreat.

This is "The Miscalculation" by Sascha Schmidt