Northwest Pacific.

  A sea shrouded in a low-hanging silver haze. Cutting through the mist was a silhouette like a moving cliff—the mobile command vessel USS Orion. Once an aircraft carrier, the massive steel fortress remained the most powerful symbol of organized violence in a world without satellites.

  Inside the bridge, an eerie, ancient stillness reigned. Where holographic displays had once floated, enormous paper maps were now pinned to the walls with metal tacks. Communications officers clutched wired telephones, relaying messages through crackling, distorted lines.

  The smell of ink and oil permeated the air, punctuated by the relentless, rhythmic clatter of old typewriters.

  At the center of this analog heart stood Major General Marcus. In his late fifties and impossibly straight-backed, his eyes were as sharp as a freshly honed blade. As the Commander-in-Chief of the Pacific Reconstruction Fleet, he was effectively the god of these fractured waters in the year 2031.

  Holding a magnifying glass, Marcus traced complex geometric lines across a hand-drawn map.

  “Sir,” an aide reported crisply, breaking the silence. “The low-frequency signal detected near the hydrothermal vent field has vanished. Blue Shark Three lost sonar contact after a localized seabed collapse.”

  Marcus lowered his pen and looked up slowly.

  “Dr. Ethan Cole…” he murmured. “As expected.”

  There was no hatred in his voice. Five years ago, when Ethan had pressed the button to activate the Aegis System, Marcus had felt something closer to admiration. To a man like Marcus, a world blinded by the loss of satellites was not a tragedy—it was fertile ground. Chaos was the perfect environment to impose a new, harder order.

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  “He isn’t running,” Marcus continued, his gaze returning to the map. “He’s advancing. Would any of you dare cross a hellish vent field in a sixty-year-old scrap submarine?” He smiled faintly, a expression that didn't reach his eyes. “Ethan is a mathematical creature. He understands that the most dangerous path is often the statistically safest.”

  Marcus pressed a gloved finger onto the South American continent. The Andes.

  “The hard drive—Seed—isn’t just an environmental recovery program,” he said, his voice dropping to a cold baritone. “It contains the final control authority over the remaining orbital weapons. With it, America stands at the top of the world again.”

  He looked up, his eyes locking onto the aide. “Ethan will head for the Icarus Platform. He has no other choice.”

  “Sir,” the aide hesitated. “With the Silver Veil, optical drone efficiency is below fifteen percent. We don’t have the manpower to search the entire Andes mountain range.”

  Marcus’s lips curled into a thin smile—the certainty of a predator.

  “Who said we need to search?”

  He strode to the red command console, a manual system that required the commander’s direct physical authorization.

  “Activate Star-Fall,” Marcus ordered. “Synchronize the ground-based laser arrays. Target the orbital debris directly above the Andes.”

  The aide’s face went pale. “Sir! The technology hasn’t been fully tested. If we lose control of the impact zones—civilian areas could be incinerated! This could constitute a war crime.”

  “Law?” Marcus replied coldly, his voice echoing through the bridge. “Law was a luxury that existed when the sky was open.”

  He leaned closer to the console. “The light from the burning debris will be the perfect illumination for our drones. Whether Ethan crawls into a hole or drags a mountain-sized machine uphill, he won’t be able to hide beneath falling fire.”

  He turned to a typewriter and began hammering out the order himself, the keys striking the paper with the force of small gunshots.

  “To all units,” Marcus dictated. “Declare the Andes a Hunting Ground of Light. Capture Ethan Cole alive. If he resists, secure the hard drive and terminate him.”

  He paused, then added a final line. “For humanity’s future, the man who caged us will be offered as the sacrifice.”

  Marcus signed the document with a sharp flourish and handed it to the stunned aide. Outside, the silver dust fell like snow over the Pacific night as the Orion cut through the black waves, turning its predatory prow toward the south.