Cobalt Command Station. Martian Fleet. Command Center.
The hum of systems and the chirping of machines echo in unison—like the nervous pulse of the station itself. Neon light seeps through the blinds, slicing through darkness. The floor seems to breathe. The air in the control room is cold—not physically, but psychologically, like the stillness before something breaks forever.
Only three people inside.
President Marcus stands frozen before the main screen, carved from obsidian itself. His gaze doesn't look—it drills into the coordinates, the signatures, the tracks.
Admiral Tyler stands behind him, straight as a blade, jaw clenched like stone.
Agent Ani is more silhouette than person, cast from shadow. She doesn't move. Even her eyes stay still. Only the tremble of time seems to pulse around her.
The silence grows heavier—like molten lead. It rings in their ears, like the moment before a shot you can't escape.
"Mr. President..." Tyler's voice slices the tension, yet sounds muffled, as if underwater. "Encrypted transmission received. Captain Hirota. The Platform is damaged. Explosive sabotage."
He pauses. "But one object launched. Unknown. Speed—beyond thresholds."
Marcus doesn't turn his head. His face is expression carved at the cliff's edge.
He narrows his eyes slowly. On the screen, amidst the torrent of data, one minuscule dot is moving away from Earth. Steady. Certain. Dangerous.
"What is it?" His voice is nearly a whisper, but it chills the blood. "How dangerous?"
"Too early to confirm," Tyler nods shortly. "We have two options. Reconnaissance. Or..." —he glances at Ani— "Interrogation."
Ani turns her head. Soundlessly.
No emotions. Only the tension under her eyes, like a crack in glass.
She already knows what to do. No questions needed.
Marcus speaks without raising his voice, but the phrase lands like a sealed decree:
"At any cost.
Find the truth."
Ani steps forward—and vanishes into the corridor.
Her footsteps—metallic and precise, like the ticking of an old mechanical heart.
"No hesitation. No doubt. Just move. As long as there's a chance to stop it."
**
Detention Block. Interrogation Room.
The ceiling quivers under dim flickering lights.
Here, time seems frozen.
The walls look like burned pages—scorched marks, peeling paint. The air is stale. Heavy. Unforgiving.
Magnetic restraints bind two androids—Veronica and Ragnar.
They look human. But only on the surface.
Their eyes don't hold a gaze. They process. Evaluate. Cold artificial minds.
They watch. Compare. Stay silent.
Ani enters.
Soundless. The door slams shut behind her, like the final countdown.
"The launch is complete," she says immediately. Her voice is flat, emotionless. Only the edge of meaning cuts through.
"The object has left the Platform. Maximum velocity. We don't know what it is. But I believe—you do."
Veronica smirks.
Her smile—thin as a needle.
The venom isn't in her words, but in her certainty.
"It came when called. A servant of Kyros. And for you—this is the end.
No weapon you possess can scratch even its shell."
"Really..." Ani leans closer, her eyes glinting like glass under pressure.
"And you speak like the last of the fanatics."
Ragnar turns.
His voice is low. Tense.
Not a threat—a warning.
"This isn't even the beginning.
If you reject Hanaris' protection—you'll vanish. All of you.
He's the only one who can stop Kyros.
Wear the amulet. Or at least consider it. Before it's too late."
Ani says nothing.
She stares into Ragnar's eyes.
But she's looking through him.
Her silence is colder than any words.
And then, slowly, like a point-blank shot:
"Offer rejected."
She turns.
Each step is a nail hammered into a coffin.
The room seems to contract behind her. The air freezes. Even the prisoners go still.
There is no time here.
Only the wait for the end.
**
Station corridors.
Ani walks.
Not just walks—cuts through space.
In her eyes—fire. Not panic. Not fear. Decision.
"That's it. The masks are off. Illusions are dust. Only one thing remains—act. Faster than them. Bolder than them. Harsher than conscience demands."
The gods are already on stage.
But now—they don't decide.
Now—it's the humans.
The Platform isn't just a weapon.
It's a portal.
It's the answer to the question no one dared ask.
This isn't simulation. Not politics. Not strategy.
This is the war of gods.
And she—
is ready to accept it.
As the final decision that can never be undone.