"Uncle Marcus, let the General Staff handle the tactical monitors. Let's head topside," Ethan said, his voice carrying a new weight.
He gestured toward the digital readout of the storage sectors. "The mountains of gold, the high-grade coal, the refined iron... it's time to move them out. We've secured the rear and planted our flag in the Otherworld. Now, let these infinite riches transform the Federation."
Hearing this, an uncontrollable flush rose to Marcus Zhang's usually weathered, stoic face. To a soldier, fighting ghouls was the mission of tomorrow, but the transit of these resources was the victory of today.
He took a deep breath, his voice rough with an edge of adrenaline. "Right. It's high time. I'll patch through to the Federal Resource Administration immediately."
As they stepped out of the Command Hall, Marcus intercepted a communications officer at the security perimeter. "Liu!"
"Sir!" The officer snapped to attention.
"Get on the encrypted burst-line. Contact Silas Chen at the Resource Administration. Tell that old fox to stop nursing his tea and get moving." Marcus's tone was electric. "Tell him to empty his motor pools. I want every heavy-duty transport, every logistical rail-car, and every hauler they have. Tell him to bring his entire staff to the outskirts of Astra Base. And give him one specific order: they aren't allowed to leave until the last block is loaded."
Marcus was practically manic. As a high-ranking official, he knew exactly what those Minecraft blocks represented. They weren't just data points; they were 100% pure gold, smokeless coal with thermodynamic efficiency that defied physics, and refined iron that could be fed directly into a CNC machine without smelting. Once this "blood" hit the Federation's industrial veins, the nation wouldn't just grow—it would ascend.
Federal Resource Administration (FRA) Headquarters
In the Director's office, Silas Chen sat behind a mahogany desk, scowling at a quarterly report through his reading glasses.
"The rare earth export quota is blocked again? And the iron ore imports? Have those international cartels hiked the prices a third time this month?" Silas sighed, rubbing his aching temples. "When will we stop being strangled by these shortages..."
DRRRING!
The crimson telephone on his desk—a device that rarely made a sound and represented the highest level of state emergency—shrieked with a piercing ring. Silas jumped, his hand trembling so hard the report fluttered to the floor.
This was an SSS-Level Readiness Call. It only rang during existential threats to the state.
He snatched the receiver, his voice tight. "This is Silas Chen."
"Director Chen," a cold, professional voice came from the Starry Sky Base. "You are receiving a joint directive from the Military Commission and the Astra Command. Mobilize all heavy transport assets under the FRA immediately. This includes long-haul convoys and priority rail-clearance. You are to lead the team personally to the outskirts of Central Prime, Astra Sector."
Silas was stunned. "Mobilize everything? Is this a strategic oil transfer? Rare earths?"
The voice on the other end paused, then relayed Marcus's blunt words. "The General said to bring your people to load the goods."
"L-load goods?" Silas's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He was being summoned via the "Red Phone" to act as a foreman? Was this some kind of high-level prank?
"Director," the voice added, "this is an SSS-level mission concerning the Federation's industrial lifeline for the next century. The General was clear: if you don't finish the load, you don't go home."
Hearing the phrase 'industrial lifeline for the next century,' Silas's skepticism evaporated, replaced by a cold, electric shock. At this level, nobody joked. If they said 'loading goods,' then the cargo was world-shattering.
"Understood!" Silas roared into the receiver, standing so fast his chair hit the wall. "Tell the General that even if I have to requisition every truck in the Federation, I'll haul it all back!"
He slammed the phone down, ripped off his tie, and charged out into the bull-pen. "Everyone! Stop what you're doing! Requisition every heavy-lift vehicle in the city—I want the ones built for hauling tanks! Clear out the three nearest Grand Tier-1 Silos. I don't want so much as a mouse left in those warehouses! We're moving mountains!"
Back at the Astra Base perimeter, the excitement hadn't faded from Marcus's face. He rubbed his calloused hands together, looking at Ethan with a booming laugh. "Silas is probably jumping out of his skin right now. I told him to bring the best gear he has."
Ethan smiled, but then he looked around at the oppressive, "Entry-Only" security of the underground fortress. "Uncle Marcus, the FRA is coming, but what about the clearance? I saw the protocols when I arrived. Director Chen can't just roll a fleet of heavy trucks into an SSS-classified bunker."
The Astra Base was a one-way valve. External materials were screened and swallowed by the mountain, but for the sake of absolute secrecy, nothing was ever allowed to leave. This "Steel Fortress" protocol was now the biggest bottleneck for their new wealth.
"Haha, you hit the nail on the head, Ethan!" Marcus nodded, a proud, mysterious glint in his eye. "The security is absolute. Not even Silas—not even I—could take a single sheet of paper out of here without an autograph from Director Leland. The base is built to keep secrets in."
Marcus's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as he pointed to the vibrating metal floor beneath their feet. "But you didn't think we built a city this big without a back door, did you?"