Chapter3

Fifteen days before the Cataclysm. Overlooking from the bulletproof glass on the top floor of the Defense Agency, the perimeter of the Special Zone was already a sea of raging fire. After the order to forcibly requisition supplies was issued, street riots spread like a plague. Burning car wreckage blocked the main roads, and rioters' Molotov cocktails shattered one after another against the hulls of armored vehicles. Elena pushed open the heavy carved wooden doors, her rapid footsteps pulling my thoughts back to reality. The cuffs of her tactical suit were stained with dark red blood—half an hour ago, she had personally led a team to suppress a riot in District Seven.

I took the holographic tablet she handed me. On the screen, the abandoned Blackrock Prison in the West District had been transformed into a heavy fortress. Gatling guns were mounted on the watchtowers, searchlights wove into a blinding net, and three anti-armor trenches filled with steel spikes had been dug around the perimeter. It was Marcus's masterpiece, built with black money. Intelligence showed he had frantically purchased building materials and weapons at a one-to-fifty premium in the West District's underground market, expanded three levels of bunkers beneath Blackrock Prison, and stockpiled enough synthetic rations to sustain five hundred people for two years. Even more fatal, he had intercepted a list of Defense Agency field agents and used their families as hostages to coerce at least twelve senior technicians into working for him. The most important of them, Herman Wade, was currently being "protected" in a secret room on the third underground level of Blackrock Prison.

The noisy arguments from the corridor rapidly approached. I pushed open the doors of the strategy room, and several suit-clad politicians immediately swarmed me. Leading them was Councilman Smith, followed by three syndicate representatives and a garrison lieutenant colonel. "Why hasn't the 7th Armored Division advanced to the West District yet?" Smith slammed his palm heavily against the oak desk, his spit almost flying onto my tactical vest. "There are over a hundred syndicate executives and political dignitaries there! Marcus is willing to provide asylum, as long as the military clears a safe passage!"

"The outer garrison is also applying pressure." Wilson stood in the shadows, his voice gloomy. "Most of the 103rd Regiment's families are in the West District. The soldiers have begun colluding in private. They say if we don't care whether their families live or die, they won't care if the Barrier lives or dies either."

"Open the passage, take over Blackrock Prison." Smith pressed step by step, shoving a joint directive in front of me. "Sign it, Arthur. Sign it, and the army's morale won't collapse. Sign it, and those dignitaries will help you stabilize the rearguard—"

I looked down at the document bearing the gold-lacquered seal of the Defense Agency, my fingers slowly tracing across the paper. "Riiip—" I tore the document in half and threw it right into Smith's face. Before he could erupt, I drew the sidearm from my waist and slammed it onto the desk with a sharp crack. The metallic crash instantly brought a dead silence to the noisy conference room.

"Not a single soldier of the Central Barrier Defense Force is to move." My gaze swept over the astonished faces around me. "From this moment on, the West District is classified as a strategic sacrifice."

"You are insane!" Smith's eyes widened, his voice trembling. "There are a hundred and thirty thousand civilians there—"

"A hundred and thirty thousand, four hundred and twenty-two." I stated the exact number. "Among them, Herman Wade, an engineer from the Defense Agency's Tech Division, and his seven family members are currently controlled by Marcus on the third underground level of Blackrock Prison. Wade holds the critical patch for the Barrier's algorithm."

I pulled up the troop deployment map of the West District. "Marcus knows Wade's value. What he is waiting for is the rescue force. Three tons of high-explosives are buried beneath Blackrock Prison, covering a radius of six kilometers. The moment any armored unit enters that circle, he will detonate it. When that happens, it won't just be those hundred and thirty thousand people who die, but also our remaining forty percent of mobile combat power."

Smith's lips quivered, his eyes darting back and forth between the data map and my face.

"In three days, the first wave of the beast horde will launch a probing attack on the outskirts of the West District. Can Marcus's fortress hold for twelve hours? Twenty-four hours? Once the ammunition runs dry, those hundred and thirty thousand people will be the perfect bait. The beast horde will be bogged down in the West District for three whole days. Three days is enough for us to complete the final calibration of the Barrier shield."

"Elena." I turned to my adjutant. "Cut off the water and power supply to the West District. Detonate the pre-planted explosives on the cross-river bridge."

"Arthur!" Smith finally roared, his face flushed purple. "You are committing a massacre—"

"That is exactly where they belong." My fingertip rested against the trigger. "Marcus thinks he has built an indestructible throne of power, and you all think it is the last safe haven. But I am going to use this steel tomb, packed with outlaws and elites, to satiate the appetite of the first wave of the Aberrant Beasts."

The conference room fell completely silent. The only thing left was the flashing red light of the West District map on the holographic screen.

"Whoever suggests deploying troops again," I surveyed the room, my voice flat and completely devoid of emotion, "will be staying over there with them."