Played

"A bunch of useless trash!" Zhalas cursed furiously, hurling the communicator in his hand onto the sofa. After pacing back and forth for a moment, he closed his eyes. Soon, a pale golden light appeared not far beside him, and an elderly man in a gray robe slowly materialized. Before the newcomer could speak, Zhalas strode forward anxiously, staring into his eyes and pressing aggressively. "Your people screwed up again! Why do you keep making me say 'again'?! Can't you bastards come up with some decent weapons?! Or do you literally have no one left to use besides those scaly fishmen?!" Arzu's expression was just as sour. He was, after all, not a true Forerunner, but an apostle residing in the "Second Sanctuary." He could not completely screen out human emotions to achieve purely rational thought. Even so, he waited patiently until the man finished complaining before voicing his own displeasure in an icy tone. "I must remind you that the sea is your domain. You have lived here for two centuries, while we only arrived recently. I can indeed help you resolve troubles you find inconvenient to handle personally, but surely you don't think we are just as omnipotent in the ocean as on land? If that were true, what would we need you for?" Zhalas's expression faltered. "Even so—" This time, Arzu did not wait for him to finish, snapping sharply: "Spare me your 'even so'! Must I spell it out for you? You're moving too slowly!" Zhalas stared at Arzu's sudden outburst in astonishment, briefly forgetting who was supposed to be holding whom accountable. Taking a deep breath, Arzu settled his heaving chest, fixed his gaze on the stunned Federation chief of staff, and continued: "The Alliance is trying to construct an encirclement around us. Our time is running out. We must carve open our strategic space into the ocean before that encirclement forms. Research on the broodmother aboard the Tianting space station is imperative. Where is the Coral City you promised me? Another two months have passed! When on earth can we begin our research?!" Hearing Arzu suddenly bring this up, Zhalas looked somewhat awkward and coughed softly, attempting to explain. "It takes time... There are still voices of concern within the Federation. I've already tried my hardest to speak on your behalf." He needed to use his friends from the north to take care of some troubles for him, but that did not mean he intended to throw himself entirely into their camp. To put it bluntly, this was merely mutual exploitation. Granted, he yearned to attain eternity alongside power, but he had his own pace for doing so, and this was the safest way. "Too slow." Arzu shook his head, his face rife with disappointment. "I trusted you and gave you our utmost support. Whether you wanted technology or aid, we held nothing back—we even provided you with our most precious 'psychic interference technology.' And what have you given me? Two months spent playing your tedious political games? Do we have to wait until you sit in the president's chair before we can take the next step?" Without giving Zhalas a chance to explain, he pressed on bitterly: "If I had even a single submarine or warship, we wouldn't have to rely on those hideous fishmen. Why did our plan fail? It's all because of you, Zhalas! Because of your weakness and incompetence! Time and again, you left my subordinates out on their own! If you had given them even a shred of support—" "Enough!" His composure finally broke, and Zhalas angrily interrupted his berating. "I have already helped you to the fullest extent permitted by my authority! Do you expect me to bypass high command and order the Federation fleet to fire on Alliance targets? No one would obey an order like that! This isn't your territory! There are no puppets here with their brains scooped out by Na fruit. I cannot simply do whatever I please—I must operate within the rules—" "Operate within the rules to do things outside the rules? That is your most fatal flaw. You want every benefit, yet refuse to shoulder a shred of risk. If you ask me, if you truly revere that ridiculous set of rules so much, you shouldn't have borrowed our power in the first place. You should have gone and rallied the majority's support like your beloved Mr. President." Arzu gave a soft chuckle, stepped up to his dear ally, gazed into those wavering pupils, and said in a deliberate drawl: "I can tell. Your subordinates have already begun to suspect you." Taking a subconscious step back, Zhalas frowned. "My subordinates?" Arzu nodded, his vacuous gaze drifting casually toward the window as he continued offhandedly: "That destroyer is heading toward the scene of the incident... Let me guess: first of all, he certainly isn't going there to help us. If he had planned to do that, he wouldn't have waited until after our fight was over." "A destroyer? You mean Dongwen?" Zhalas stared at him in surprise, murmuring to himself, "Didn't I order him to return to Anle Island and stand by?" "Looks like I guessed right." Watching Zhalas's changing expression, Arzu merely sneered coldly at his ally. "What a pity, Mr. Zhalas. Regrettably, your little political game has spun out of control. You have no chance of becoming the Federation's president anymore—none at all. But you aren't completely without a chance to grasp the authority you crave... How about considering the title of Supreme Leader?" Before the flabbergasted Zhalas could speak, Arzu dropped his parting words. "This is your last chance. Let me see whether you truly have the courage to bear the consequences of your choice." "If you turn out to be a coward, I can switch allies all the sooner. Heh." As those words fell, the golden phantom began to fade, melting into the air like a wisp of dissipating smoke. Zhalas started violently and cried out hastily, "Wait—wait!" Yet the phantom did not wait, not even bothering to listen to what he had to say. It vanished straight from the room, leaving no response no matter how he called. "That bastard!" Zhalas clenched his fists. At that moment, a drop of cold sweat welled on his forehead and plopped onto the carpet. He had been played! From the very beginning, that bastard had calculated that the mutants were bound to fail. And Zhalas, who did not entirely trust Torch, would certainly do as before—station a warship nearby to observe the final outcome. Now, his subordinates had begun to suspect his motives, even questioning whether what they were doing was right. Just as that charlatan had said, he no longer had the luxury of sitting on the fence and playing the opportunist. This time, the suspicious gazes did not come from the moderates, but from right beside him—the officers who had supported him in this gamble. Now, he had only two paths forward. Either confess everything to both his supporters and his doubters, and accept the punishment dictated by the rules they had made... Or, while the initiative was still in his hands, drag those who still supported him into one final gamble... Zhalas felt his palms drenched in cold sweat. Just then, footsteps came from outside the door, followed by a knock. Almost on reflex, he spoke up, "Come in." The door pushed open, and an officer stepped inside, saluting respectfully. "Mr. Zhalas, Mr. President wishes for you to visit the presidential palace. Regarding the investigation into the *Golden Coast*, there are a few points of doubt he would like to discuss with you." The *Golden Coast*? Zhalas blinked, taking quite a while to recall that it was the research vessel sent to Haiya Province to establish an outpost. Realizing this, he almost felt like laughing. What time was it now, and these fools were still investigating that thing? With an outsider present, however, he refrained from laughing out loud. After steadying his breath for a moment, he turned toward the officer at the door and said with suave courtesy: "Please convey to Mr. President that I still have a few matters to handle here. I will head over to meet him before dusk." "Understood!" The officer saluted again, turned, and left the room. The door shut. Gazing at the room, quiet once more, Zhalas stood motionless for a brief moment before walking over to the sofa and picking up the communicator lying there. Dialing a sequence of numbers cleanly and decisively, his eyes no longer harbored a shred of hesitation, nor did his voice hold any doubt. As order after order was dispatched, he swiftly finalized every deployment necessary before initiating this grand gamble. In truth, there was nothing to hesitate over. Arzu's assessment was entirely accurate: he was indeed a weak, incompetent man. Yet as fate would have it, the officers and warmongers who pushed him to the forefront were hardly "iron-blooded tough guys" either. They were all fence-sitters taking things one step at a time. Was he the only one who wanted benefits without bearing responsibility? At least he had one small advantage over them: when it came time to make a decision, he could still make one. He had no reason to lose this gamble! ... Ring Island Harbor. The water commissioning ceremony progressed smoothly to its conclusion. Governor Chaning read aloud the statement of friendship between Ring Island, Port French Fries, and the Alliance before everyone present, while Midnight Chicken Slaughter represented the Alliance in reading the Administrator's blessings to the local survivors. And in the end, just as the Alliance had promised, the freshwater supply pipeline remained completely unaffected by the suddenly sounded alarm. Crystal-clear plumes of water continued to pour uninterrupted from the tip of the inverted hammer handle, as unyielding as rock-solid order itself. If anything, the abrupt alarm had begun to feel like a false alarm. Initially, the crowd surrounding the square had been panicked, thinking some major incident had occurred. Yet when they saw the band play on and the ribbon-cutting proceed, they gradually calmed down, re-immersing themselves in the celebratory atmosphere. The celebration concluded. Standing by the fountain, Midnight Chicken Slaughter grinned and said to Governor Chaning, whose face still held a look of disbelief: "See? Told you it'd be fine." Harboring a bellyful of questions and noticing that this Alliance corps commander seemed to know something, Chaning finally could not hold back: "What on earth was that explosion just now...?" Midnight Chicken Slaughter paused for a moment before answering candidly: "Mutants, most likely." "Mutants?!" Chaning was taken aback, staring at him in bewilderment as the words blurted out. "How could there be mutants in the Southern Sea?!" He had indeed heard of aquatic mutants with gills and scales, but such creatures did not truly live out in the open sea; they nested along the coast. The islands of the Southern Sea lay far from the continental coastline. Without means to ward off mutant beasts, even ships floating on the surface were hardly safe. Seeing Chaning's incredulous look, Midnight Chicken Slaughter offered no lengthy explanation, simply pulling a tablet from inside his coat and handing it over. Just moments ago, Model Prone Crawler had transmitted the footage captured near the subsea freshwater pipeline to his terminal via the radio on the *Rou Rou*. Watching the combat footage playing on the screen, Chaning's Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily. It really was mutants... and so many of them! Drifting in the murky seawater were severed limbs, weapons, and aquatic mutant beasts drawn in by the scent of blood. Beyond that, a colossal sea monster—a "Kraken"—was thrashing in the water, seemingly brought along by those aquatic mutants as well. While a fabricated video could not be ruled out entirely, these people clearly had no reason to play a trick that could be debunked so easily. "Nothing strange about it. The Southern Sea is right next to Haiya Province. Ever since the Church of the Torch brought that trash into Death Coast, it's no surprise where they spread." Watching Chaning's eyes glued to the screen, Midnight Chicken Slaughter seemed to recall something and added: "Oh, right. Just two months ago, a horde of mutants tried to raid our port, but fortunately we spotted them before they ever made landfall." "That... is astonishing news." Chaning looked at him in surprise, his expression growing visibly unnatural. Mutants. This was no joking matter. The area where the explosion occurred was less than a hundred nautical miles from Ring Island. If they could swim there, they could easily swim here. Although the island had some defensive forces and could mobilize reservists if necessary, facing a surprise assault by a thousand mutants meant they probably wouldn't even have time to issue rifles to the young men. The consensus among Southern Sea settlements was to establish maritime defense, a strategic doctrine dating back to the Shelter 70 era. Namely, positioning the Federation's bastion offshore, relying on a fleet of steel to hold back threats from the wasteland. It was precisely because of this defense system that virtually no marauder speedboat had managed to approach within a hundred nautical miles of any island over the past two centuries. Yet now, this defense system seemed to have failed. Incidents had occurred twice in a row... Observing Governor Chaning's shifting expression, Midnight Chicken Slaughter continued: "And what's even more intriguing is that on that very same day, your maritime patrol units in nearby waters collectively vanished... Now, I'm not blaming you for failing to warn us; our security is our own responsibility anyway. But from the look of it, you had no idea what happened out there at all. If I remember correctly, that was supposed to be one of your patrol sectors." "Two months ago... I remember there was a drill," Chaning coughed softly. "That might have been a coincidence." The words sounded like an excuse made for the Federation, yet also like an attempt to convince himself. "That possibility can't be ruled out, sure," Midnight Chicken Slaughter paused before continuing. "Still, I imagine the Federation Navy must have known what went on. After all, the patrol units returned the very next day, before the blood on the beach was even washed away... Did they never warn you to be on guard against mutants?" Chaning's composure began to fray. "No... Our primary enemy is Shelter 70; we primarily guard against their submersibles." Pausing, his expression grew somber as he murmured thoughtfully: "There is something strange about this... Why would mutants take an interest in a subsea pipeline?" "I think what you should pay attention to is why the fleet supposed to protect you selectively ignored such a blatant threat. Letting mutants make landfall is no joke—especially those scaly ones. I hear their sick relish for torturing prey puts even the greenskins to shame." That was all he said. Midnight Chicken Slaughter did not press further on this embarrassing subject. He knew that even if Chaning kept quiet, the man understood full well. Rather than whether a specific issue was resolved properly, the crucial thing was that it had been exposed as an issue in the first place. Otherwise, having occurred twice already, it might not just happen a third or fourth time, but countless times without anyone ever knowing. The Federation fleet, without high command authorization and without the consent of the Southern Sea settlements, had for some motive secretly condoned mutant military operations within its jurisdiction. "Of course, that's just a friendly heads-up. We never pin our security on others. Whether the Federation fleet provides us with necessary support or not, we will deal with those scaly bastards our own way." Giving the governor a meaningful look, Midnight Chicken Slaughter turned around, preparing to lead the Jungle Corps brothers back to their ship. Gazing at his back, Chaning's Adam's apple bobbed. After a moment of internal struggle, he could no longer hold back: "Please, wait!" Midnight Chicken Slaughter stopped in his tracks, looking back inquiringly. "What is it?" "I believe... we need to strengthen our cooperation in security. It may be far more pressing than economic cooperation." Squeezing out an awkward smile, Chaning gave a soft cough and continued with some hesitation, "If we are attacked by mutants, I hope to receive your support... and likewise if you are attacked. Furthermore, any alert information we receive will be shared with you." Since the Alliance had the means to pinpoint the mutants' location and neutralize the danger before they could attack the pipeline, they had evidently established a patrol system encompassing reconnaissance, interception, and strikes. Whatever the reasons, two consecutive failures of duty by the Federation fleet meant he could no longer trust those people. Currently, Ring Island was exposed to the mutant threat. He needed to add a firewall for the local survivors—a far more reliable firewall. In exchange, he could share Ring Island's intelligence network with the Alliance; warning signals received by the other islands would simultaneously reach Port French Fries as well. In a sense, this was equivalent to both parties sharing map vision and verbally signing a mutual defense pact. Though Ring Island had no army or fleet of its own, the port itself could serve as a military facility. Catching the drift of Chaning's words, a look of surprise crossed Midnight Chicken Slaughter's face, followed by a hearty laugh as he agreed on the spot: "No problem! If the enemy is mutants, we'll strike anytime, anywhere—let alone for a partner like you." Pausing, he added: "Of course, there are two hundred nautical miles between us. If we only scramble after an attack happens, it'll probably be too late. I suggest you build an eight-hundred-meter airstrip next to the island, whether using concrete or steel. If our aircraft can land beside your island, we can reinforce you much faster." Taking the advice seriously, Chaning nodded. "I will have someone arrange it as soon as possible." ... At the exact moment the Jungle Corps was withdrawing from Ring Island Harbor, the Federation destroyer—having learned of the situation from the Alliance aircraft—steamed forward toward the waters where the battle had taken place. Some things could not be explained clearly over a comm channel; they had to be confirmed with one's own eyes. The bridge was dead silent. Neither Captain Dongwen nor any of the officers under his command uttered a word, silently gazing at the boundless expanse of sea stretching before them. In truth, both the captain and his crew had heard rumors that their friends from the north had been helping them settle certain troubles. Yet what they never imagined was that the actors would turn out to be mutants! What made it even harder to accept was that the incident had taken place a mere hundred nautical miles from Ring Island... "There must be some misunderstanding in this..." the first officer said, cold sweat beading on his skin. "No matter what... the higher-ups wouldn't resort to using those things." There were always better ways. If push came to shove, having the Federation fleet take action was an option too. Dongwen remained silent, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on the rolling swells in the distance. Just then, his pupils contracted slightly. Amid the churning foam, a mangled arm suddenly surfaced. Soon, he realized it wasn't just one... Mutilated corpses bobbed up and down with the waves, their blue scales and skin declaring their identity. Mutant beasts drawn by the stench of blood tore and gnawed at the corpses, paying no heed to the warship right beside them. Standing next to Dongwen, the first officer swallowed hard, straining to force out a few words: "...Mutants." And not just one or two... With so many corpses, there had to be at least a thousand! Realizing this, a cold sweat dripped from his chin. If these mutants had been allowed to follow the pipeline another eighty-plus nautical miles southeast, the consequences would have been unthinkable... Dongwen stared wordlessly at the gruesome spectacle on the water, then glanced at the pinging signal blinking on the sonar display. It was a "Kraken." Seemingly sensing the psychic interference signal emanating from the warship, it was twisting its wounded body and fleeing northward. Over a dozen bizarrely shaped submersibles were in hot pursuit behind it—Alliance contraptions, presumably. Though in less than pristine shape, having likely taken damage during the earlier battle, they evidently had no intention of letting this catch slip from their jaws. Having promised support in his earlier communication with the pilot, Dongwen turned to his first officer and ordered: "Launch torpedo." Pausing, he added: "Also, deploy the trawl net to fish up several mutant corpses." With a grim nod, the first officer saluted. "Aye, sir!" As the combat command went out, a torpedo ejected into the sea, hurtling toward the target locked on sonar. Without any suspense, the torpedo cleanly found its mark. A rising column of gas and fire instantly shredded the colossal body, dispatching the battered Kraken in a single blow. The Alliance submersibles made curious gestures, gesturing with their mechanical arms as though expressing thanks. Instructing his first officer to send an acoustic ping in reply to say "you're welcome," Dongwen stepped out of the bridge alone and walked onto the destroyer's deck. Just then, a speedboat flying the Federation flag approached from a distance, pulling up unhurriedly beside the destroyer. Dongwen glanced down at the man standing aboard the speedboat. He recognized him—named Muda, if he remembered correctly, the captain of the maritime patrol unit. As he took in the man, the man was sizing him up too, before glancing at the trawl net cast into the water. Seeming to have made up his mind, the man signaled the boat closer, grabbed the ladder along the hull, and climbed onto the deck. Dongwen did not stop him, watching in silence. "Quite a haul. Looks like you've bagged plenty of trophies. Lucky you caught the trouble in time and didn't let these master swimmers reach our little island." Squinting at the blood-stained sea, Muda walked up to him, a faint thread of mockery lacing his voice: "The folks on Ring Island are waiting for me to head back and report what happened out here. How about tossing me one so I can make my report? Saves me having to cast a net myself." Dongwen did not take the bait. After a moment of silence, he said, "Sounds like you know something." "Did I hear that right? You're asking *me*? So I was the one standing by and watching the whole time?" Muda put on an exaggerated look of shock and chuckled. "Why don't we just swap vessels? You drive my speedboat, and I'll helm your destroyer." Though it was merely an exaggerated joke, the captain seemed to treat it with complete seriousness. Pondering for a moment, he replied, "It's not out of the question." "Come off it." Muda let out a dry laugh, looking out at the vast sea. "Over a thousand mutants marching straight into our territorial waters, while our fleet stands by watching and cheering them on... You know everything, yet you want answers from me. I realized two months ago that we can't count on you people for a damn thing." Dongwen was silent for a long time before sighing: "I'm sorry, brother." "I'm no brother of yours," Muda shot him a glance. "And you don't owe me an apology. You owe it to the hundred thousand-plus survivors on Ring Island, and the millions across the Federation. They're the ones paying to keep you fed... and me too, of course." Perhaps out of shame, the captain slowly closed his eyes. Seeing that he remained silent for a long while, Muda spoke up again. "Hey." "Hm?" "Tell me the truth," Muda said, looking at the captain who turned toward him. "Were the ones who blew up the ocean current power station really people from Shelter 70?" Dongwen remained quiet for a moment before speaking slowly: "Probably not." Muda stared into his eyes. "Was it you people?" "No." Dongwen shook his head, then paused before sighing again: "...Though there's not much difference." Muda frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" Without answering directly, the captain spoke in an oblique tone: "We, who should have put out the fire, allowed the spark to burn, expecting it to handle troubles we found inconvenient to deal with ourselves. Back then, I should have realized that sooner or later, our hesitation would become a trouble of its own." Muda couldn't help asking, "So why did you do it?" Dongwen said calmly, "Because there was only one chance. If we weren't decisive, the Federation's survivors would never unite to drag those charlatans off their altar. And once their Administrator returned and retrieved the weapons stored inside the shelter, this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity would be lost forever." "And what about now? Are we more united?" Muda stared fixedly into his eyes. Seeing him unable to utter a word for ages, disappointment gradually crept into Muda's gaze. "We have our own hands and feet, yet we need someone else to shit for us and another person to wipe our asses, all because you keep secrets from me and I keep secrets from you." Working his lips for a long while, he forced out the bitter conclusion in utter disappointment: "...How do you expect me to convince myself to keep trusting you?" Dongwen looked into the distance, avoiding those disappointed eyes, and reached up to straighten his officer's cap. "The only reason I'm telling you this is because I know it was wrong. I don't expect you to keep trusting me... but please, give me one more chance." Muda could sense that the words weren't really addressed to him, but rather to the survivors of Ring Island behind him. The disappointment and mockery in his eyes gradually receded, and he asked in a serious tone, "What do you plan to do?" "Make amends for past mistakes." At this point, Dongwen paused, drew a thumb-sized card from inside his coat, and pressed it into the patrol captain's hand. It was a memory card containing audio recordings of his calls with Zhalas, as well as an audio log he had recorded afterward. It contained matters that everyone across the Federation fleet knew something about, yet none dared mention openly. He knew this alone wouldn't convince everyone. But he believed it would convince at least some who felt the way he did. Muda looked at him quizzically. "What's this?" Looking into his eyes, Dongwen said solemnly, "Take it to the port of Anle Island and deliver it to the people waiting for me there." Gazing at the memory card in his hand, Muda went silent for a moment before looking up. "Why don't you go yourself?" "I have to go to North Island." Gazing toward the north, his eyes gradually hardened with resolve, his voice devoid of hesitation. In this moment, he seemed like a true captain. "A crack has appeared in our hull." "Before that crack widens past the point of no return, someone has to step forward and right the wrongs that have been committed!"