2

Switch to battle mode!

I rushed to the console, my fingers flying across the screen.

The outer armor plates of the ark began to reassemble, and the protective force field switched from standby mode to active defense.

Radar showed that six high-speed moving targets were approaching from the southeast.

Eight kilometers away.

I zoomed in on the image.

Those were six heavily modified snowmobiles, with thick steel plates welded to their roofs and heavy machine guns mounted on their sides. The one in front even towed an anti-tank gun that looked like it had been stolen from a military base.

"Who goes there?" My dad rushed up behind me, his voice tense.

"Wasteland raiders." I switched to thermal imaging mode. "Four to six people in each vehicle, fully armed."

Five kilometers away.

My mother came out of the room, her face deathly pale: "What...what are they going to do?"

"What else can we do?" I sneered. "Rob, kill, eat."

Tommy followed them out. He saw the convoy on the screen, his eyes flickering . "Maybe they're just passing by? We can—"

"Shut up."

I activated the external monitoring system, and six high-definition cameras started operating simultaneously.

It is three kilometers away.

The convoy suddenly slowed down.

A figure stood on the roof of the first car, holding a megaphone; his voice pierced through the wind and snow:

"Listen up, people in the flying fortress! We are the 'Skinners' advance team!"

"We don't want trouble! We just want to make a deal!"

"Open the door and let's talk! We're all civilized people!"

Tommy suddenly turned to me: "Did you hear that? They want to negotiate!"

"It's a trap," I said.

"How did you know?!" Tommy exclaimed, agitated. "You didn't even listen—"

"Because I've seen the exact same scenario thirty-seven times in Afghanistan," I interrupted him. "It always ended in bombs and ambushes."

One kilometer away.

The convoy stopped.

Then, five figures were pushed off the last two cars.

They were ragged and their hands and feet were bound as they struggled and crawled through the snow.

The loudspeaker blared again:

"These are refugees we found on the road! We can't afford to feed them!"

"If you're willing to take them in, we'll leave immediately!"

"We only want a little food in exchange! Just a little!"

In the surveillance footage, five refugees were wailing on the icy ground, their voices as pitiful as dying wild animals.

"Oh my god..." My mom covered her mouth.

"Reno, we have to save them!" Tommy rushed towards me. "Can you see? They're going to freeze to death!"

"so what?"

"What?! So what?!" Tommy's eyes widened. "We have such a huge ark! We have food! We have energy! Saving five people is nothing!!"

He reached out to press the button to open the airlock.

I grabbed his wrist.

"Let go!" Tommy struggled.

"If you touch that button again, I'll break your finger."

"You're crazy!" Tommy turned to his parents. "Did you see that? He's going to let someone die!"

My mom hesitated, looking at the screen. "Renault... maybe... we should save him?"

My dad chimed in, "Your brother is right, we do have the capability—"

"No."

I released Tommy and turned to walk toward the weapons control panel.

"What are you going to do?!" Tommy screamed.

I didn't answer; I simply unlocked the weapon system's security lock.

A red holographic interface pops up on the center console—

The close-in weapon system has been activated.

[Ammunition Type: Depleted Uranium Armor-Piercing Projectile]

Rate of fire: 6000 rounds per minute

The convoy outside seemed to have sensed something, and the sound from the loudspeakers became urgent:

"Hey! Calm down! We mean no harm!"

"We're leaving right away! Right away—"

I pressed the fire button.

The armor plates on the ark's belly cracked open instantly, revealing six close-in weapon systems. The hum of the rotating muzzles drowned out the wind and snow.

Da da da da—

Dark red flames shot out.

One hundred depleted uranium rounds per second swept across the icy plains like the scythe of death.

The snowmobile at the very front was torn to pieces in 0.3 seconds.

The steel plate was pierced like paper, and the people inside the car exploded into a bloody mist in the high-speed ricochet.

The vehicle-mounted anti-tank gun and its gunner were blasted into a bloody pulp; the gun barrel broke off and flew out, embedding itself in the ice.

"Stop! Stop!" Tommy frantically patted my shoulder.

I ignored him.

With a slight adjustment of the cannon muzzle, the fuel tank of the second vehicle was pierced, and an orange fireball instantly engulfed the entire vehicle.

The remaining four vehicles frantically turned around, their tires skidding on the ice, leaving long black tracks.

But they can't outrun bullets.

Another car's rear axle broke, and the car rolled and crashed into an ice crevasse.

I released the fire button.

The close-in weapon system slowly retracted, and the armor plates closed.

The whole process took less than ten seconds.

Three vehicles were destroyed, and three vehicles escaped.

Burning remains and scattered body parts were left on the ice field.

And those five "refugees," they lay on the icy ground, their bodies trembling violently.

But I noticed that one of the people had already untied the rope.

"Did you see that?" I pointed to the screen. "Their hands and feet don't show signs of frostbite, their clothes are tattered, but their shoes are military boots."

I zoomed in on the image. "This person has calluses on their hands, and that person has worn marks on their holster."

"They're bait. If you open the door, they'll sabotage the airlock from the inside and let the convoy in."

Tommy stared blankly at the screen, his face deathly pale.

My dad was leaning against the wall, making gagging noises.

My mother sat on the ground, her eyes vacant.

"This is the law of the wasteland." I shut down the weapon system. "Compassion will kill everyone."

I turned and walked towards the airlock, picking up my extreme cold protection suit.

"I need to check the outer armor to make sure the locking radar from earlier didn't leave any tracking devices."

"The three of you stay in the control room, and none of you are allowed to move."

I looked at Tommy, "Especially you."

Tommy didn't say anything.

He just stood there, trembling, his eyes filled with fear and... resentment.

I put on my protective suit and entered the airlock.

The heavy hatch closed behind us.

The pressurization process started, and the pressure gauge pointer slowly decreased.

The outer door opened, and a blast of minus ninety degrees Celsius wind rushed in instantly.

I activated the heating system on my protective suit and stepped onto the external maintenance access.

The ark's outer shell was covered with a thin layer of ice, reflecting the grayish-white light of the sky.

I moved slowly along the armor plate, scanning every inch of the surface with a handheld detector.

Ten minutes later—

The detector emitted a beeping sound.

I found a palm-sized metal device on the side of the Ark, which was attached to a gap in the armor with a powerful magnet.

Tracking beacons.

I pried it off with a utility knife, crushed it, and threw it into the snowstorm.

But at that moment—

hesitant voice came through the communicator :

"Renault! Your brother— he let those refugees in... "

" I'm telling you this so you won't be too angry later. Your brother meant well... and you're brothers after all... "

My

mind went blank for a moment, and I couldn't hear anything after that. I just kept running into the ark.