Heavy transport trucks shuttled along wide subterranean arteries, and in the distance, Ethan could see a massive hangar apron and a dedicated rail line plunging even deeper into the earth. At the very center, a futuristic silver architectural complex rose toward the ceiling, swarming with researchers in white coats and fully armed soldiers.
This was no mere base; it was a subterranean city built for the end of the world.
"The Astra Command Hub," Ethan whispered to himself. Is this the true power of the Federation's infrastructure machine?
As the car came to a smooth halt, a familiar figure appeared. Marcus Zhang stood there in full dress uniform. Though his eyes were shot through with red veins from a lack of sleep, he seemed to be vibrating with an electric, restless energy.
"Ethan, you're here."
Zhang strode forward, checking Ethan over with a paternal grin. "Looking at your color, I take it you slept well?"
"Thanks to you, Uncle Marcus, I slept like the dead," Ethan said, shaking the General's hand firmly.
"Good. That's good." Zhang patted his shoulder and, skipping the small talk, led him directly toward the silver complex. "Come. We're heading to the main assembly hall. There's a pre-war briefing you need to preside over."
Zhang spoke rapidly as they walked, his efficiency bordering on the frantic. "Ethan, the Prime Minister has issued a 'Death Order.' As of today, the Astra Command Hub is the nation's highest strategic priority. Every research institute and military industrial base in the Federation must obey our commands unconditionally."
"This means if you want an orbital satellite to shift its trajectory, the Aerospace Administration has exactly sixty seconds to execute your whim."
Ethan's heart tightened. This wasn't just authority; it was the keys to the kingdom.
"Additionally," Zhang continued, "Regarding your concept for the 'Block' weaponry, the Academy of Sciences worked through the night. They've already produced the first prototypes. During this meeting, I want you to lay out your specific needs—modifications, talent requirements, everything. We're identifying the gaps and then launching a full-scale assault on that world."
"And the security?" Ethan asked.
Zhang sneered. "Don't worry about that. Everyone in this base—from the Nobel-level physicists to the janitors—has had their lineage traced back eighteen generations three times over. Not even a mosquito gets in or out without SSS-clearance."
They arrived before a set of gargantuan reinforced steel doors.
"They're waiting," Zhang said, taking a deep breath and pushing the doors open.
Boom.
The sound of a thousand conversations rushed out to meet Ethan, only to be cut into a dead silence the moment he stepped inside.
It was a massive, tiered auditorium. Every seat was occupied. Sitting in the front row were dozens of white-haired elders—faces Ethan recognized from textbooks and evening news. There were the fathers of the Federation's nuclear program, the chief engineers of the manned spaceflight missions, leading authorities in genetics, and national-treasure designers of small arms.
Behind them were rows of uniformed generals and staff officers, their golden shoulder stars forming a brilliant, metallic galaxy.
Thousands of eyes—representing the absolute peak of the Federation's intellect and military might—were fixed on the eighteen-year-old at the entrance. The pressure was a physical weight, surging like a rising tide.
Zhang stood beside Ethan and barked: "All units, attention!"
Swish!
Thousands of people stood in perfect unison. The soldiers snapped to a salute; the scholars looked on with rapt, silent intensity. Zhang made a gesture of invitation, his eyes full of pride.
"Chief Commander, the floor is yours."
"The Federation's top brains and sharpest fangs await your command."
Ethan walked with steady, unhurried steps up to the podium, bathed in the white heat of the spotlights. As he gripped the lectern, the silence in the hall became absolute.
He looked out at the sea of faces. These were the people who had designed the J-20 Wraith stealth fighters, the men who had lived in the deserts for decades to build the nation's shield. They were the backbone of the country.
Ethan felt no nervousness—only a profound, bone-deep respect.
He adjusted the microphone. His voice, amplified throughout the massive hall, was steady and heavy with intent.
"Good afternoon, respected seniors and leaders."
"Welcome to the Astra Command Hub."
Ethan didn't start with a bombshell. Instead, he slowly scanned the entire room.
"I believe everyone here is full of questions. Why are biologists sitting with nuclear physicists? Why are tank designers gathered with exoskeleton researchers? Why were you pulled from your homes in the middle of the night?"
"You are the brightest minds we have. You've likely already guessed the truth."
Ethan's voice rose, cutting through the air. "The Federation is facing a crisis of civilizational proportions. You could have stayed in your labs, enjoyed your honors, and lived in peace. But when that order came—when the nation said it needed you—you didn't ask for a return date. You didn't ask for a reason. You just came."
"This is the spirit of our people. And it is exactly why I am confident enough to stand here and assign this mission to you."
He glanced at Marcus Zhang. At the General's signal, hundreds of guards moved through the aisles, placing sealed red folders on every desk.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Ethan's voice turned cold. "Before you is a top-level Non-Disclosure Agreement. SSS-Rank."
"This is not just a document. Once signed, your names may vanish from the academic world and society entirely. You may spend the rest of your lives in this bunker. Your contributions may never be whispered outside these walls."
"But the project you are about to join involves the ultimate destiny of our people. It is the question of whether our nation can truly rise above all others, across every realm."