Plans Never Keep Up with Changes

North Island, the Presidential Palace. Outside the window, dusk had begun to tint the sky with a faint yellow hue. Standing before the desk, Meng Ge did not look at the map on the wall. Instead, he gazed intently at the manifesto lying on the desk, barely a finger's breadth thick. Or, to be more precise, the code of laws. Four months ago, they pledged allegiance to Shelter 70; now, they were loyal only to this code signed by everyone together. In truth, had it not been for this damned war, this would not have been a bad thing for the residents of Shelter 70. Though they had lost the boundless authority inherited from their forefathers, they were also relieved of the boundless responsibilities thrust upon them by ancient oaths. From then on, there would no longer be any distinction between blue coats and ordinary survivors; whether former members of Shelter 70 or residents of the islands, all would bear shared obligations and duties as citizens of the Federation. Never again would anyone trip on their way to work and blame the blue coats for laying the pavement crooked. The blue coats no longer existed. Everyone had to take responsibility for the path beneath their own feet, and each person had to carefully make choices for their own future. In fact, they should have done this long ago; for a century, they had received the exact same education. If there had still been differences in knowledge and experience between the first generation of vault residents and the wastelanders who had drifted across the ruins for a hundred years, by now, reaching the fourth or even fifth generation, they had fundamentally become the same kind of people. And yet— There was always a gulf between ideals and reality. He had anticipated that this road would be fraught with hardship, but he had never imagined that a single momentary lapse would plunge them into an abyss of no return. It truly was just the blink of an eye. A flawless pretext for war could place them, as victims, on an impregnable moral high ground, skipping over disputes that might not have reached a conclusion even after years of arguing. Capitalizing on this perfect opportunity, they could make the conservatives and hawks set aside their differences and reach an agreement immediately, bringing into existence with a snap the Federation that had been waiting only for that final push. And he hadn't needed to do anything at all—merely lapse in judgment for two seconds when he ought to have been suspicious, letting the hawks clamoring for war stoke the already ignited flames even higher. The ocean current power station was already destroyed anyway, so why not use its wreckage to accomplish something meaningful? Why not just pin it on Shelter 70 for the time being? After all, if it had been some foolish stunt pulled by a hotheaded soldier or even an officer, the survivors' enthusiasm for establishing a new authority would undoubtedly plummet, rendering the efforts of countless people completely wasted. Once the war ended, if the residents of Shelter 70 were willing to open their doors and cooperate with the investigation, it wouldn't be too late to clear their names and bring the real culprits to justice. He admitted that he really had thought that way back then. And now... Only regret remained in his heart. Footsteps echoed from the corridor outside the office; it didn't sound like just one person. Meng Ge tore his gaze away from the code inscribed with countless signatures and looked toward the office door. There stood his Chief of Staff, Zhalas, flanked by two soldiers clad in silver-white exoskeletons. "Mr. President, I hear you were looking for me?" Without the slightest hint of remorse on his face, Zhalas stepped into the office with a smile. Meng Ge fixed his gaze upon him without blinking, speaking after a long moment. "Do you have anything left to say?" "I..." Gazing into those righteous, unyielding eyes, Zhalas was momentarily at a loss for words, but soon burst into laughter. "What do I have to say? I don't want to say anything... That question should come from me. Mr. Meng Ge, do *you* have anything left to say?" Watching Zhalas laughing out loud, Meng Ge said calmly, "You violated the manifesto we jointly signed. You betrayed not only me, but everyone. Effective immediately, I relieve you of your post as Chief of Staff of Naval Headquarters, and you are no longer my Chief of Staff—" "Is that all you wanted to say?" Zhalas shrugged with an indifferent look. "Isn't it a bit too late for that?" Meng Ge looked him straight in the eye. "The destiny of the Southern Archipelago Federation's survivors should be determined by all survivors—neither Shelter 70, nor you or me." Meeting the president's gaze without flinching, a mocking smirk curled on Zhalas's lips. "You are too naive. This war has been going on for four months. If the citizens of the Federation learn that this was a fraud from start to finish, our Federation will collapse in an instant! The same way they invited us in here, they will throw us out." A tinge of sadness crept into Meng Ge's eyes. "You call that naive?" Zhalas's gaze gradually turned cold. "Yes, that's what I think. And I believe this naivety of yours will drag us into an abyss of no return. We have always been on the wasteland. Some fools think our wasteland era is over, but the truth is, we have never left this damned wasteland for even a single second! Not once! Across the sea are hyenas that swallow people whole without spitting out the bones! If we harbor naive notions like yours and engage with them while bound by rules we tied ourselves with, we will be devoured until not even scraps remain! Every last one of us!" His voice grew louder and louder, the muscles on his face contorting, his roaring laced with a touch of hysterical madness. Yet soon, he abruptly calmed down again, took a deep breath, and spoke in a slow, measured cadence. "The survivors of the Southern Sea don't need a president. Leave that kind of nonsense for after the wasteland era ends—when that day comes, if they want ten presidents, I'll give them ten. For now, at least, they need a strongman with greater foresight, competence, and sense of duty to lead them forward... That is what I believe, and so do the people who support me." As he spoke to this point, a flicker of disappointment surfaced in Zhalas's eyes, looking at the old friend who had once trusted him unconditionally. "...Actually, it wasn't as if you had no chance. If, a few hours ago, instead of summoning me, you had sent someone to put a bullet through my head, things would never have come to this." "That would have only led us into a different hell. It's futile..." Meng Ge shook his head, looking at his friend standing before him, a hint of pleading suddenly entering his eyes. "We already made a mistake once; there won't be a second chance... Stop this, my friend." The disappointment in his eyes faded. For some reason, Zhalas lost even the interest to feel disappointed, feeling only dull boredom. He had thought this fellow would put up a fight, but after waiting all this time, all he got was a plea for mercy. What a pitiful creature. Perhaps Alzu was right. There was no need for delicate tact with a flock of sheep. So long as he acted just a fraction tougher than them, he could lead them by the nose. Giving this pathetic middle-aged man one last look of pity, he reached out, took the pistol handed by the soldier beside him, and racked the slide cleanly. "Too late. My supporters have already entrusted their lives and fortunes to me. Praise their loyalty. I have won this gamble, and won without question. I will lead them on the road ahead until the wasteland era comes to an end. As for you, go to hell clutching your manifesto and repent there. "Farewell." *** *Bang—!* An abrupt gunshot shattered the tranquility aboard the destroyer *Glory*. The flashing muzzle blast rattled the bulkhead doors on both sides of the corridor, sending out a buzzing groan. Twenty-seven sailors had suddenly mutinied, capturing seven logistics personnel on board. Under the leadership of Lieutenant Sa Li, they swiftly seized the compartments and companionway near the broadcast room, engaging in a firefight with sailors rushing to the scene. Both sides held opposite ends of the corridor, taking cover behind cabins and hatch doors as they poured fire into each other. The entire passage was filled with sparking ricochets and the deafening roar of gunfire. "Stop! Are you... fucking crazy?! Ahhh—" Shot in the arm, the executive officer collapsed in agony, hauled back behind cover by a sailor stationed at the doorway. Watching the bullets whizzing down the hall and the muzzle flashes blinking opposite, his wide eyes were filled with utter disbelief. A mutiny! He had never imagined such a thing would occur aboard his ship! "You're the crazy ones! You and the captain!" Crouching across the corridor as he slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle, a man roared, "Why didn't you follow Mr. Zhalas's orders?!" "Zhalas..." The executive officer closed his eyes in pain, seemingly mourning his past trust, and yelled despairingly at his former subordinate, "What the hell did that bastard promise you?!" Without a shred of hesitation, the man roared right back at him: "A greater Federation!" The clamor of gunfire drowned out his hoarse bellow. As more and more armed sailors converged on the scene, the mutineers went from having the upper hand to being steadily pushed back. Although Lieutenant Sa Li had secured the broadcast room early on, the broadcast that the mutineers had been waiting for never sounded. Instead, the sailors loyal to Captain Dongwen fought with increasing vigor, retaking the seized corridors one by one under the executive officer's lead. Evidently, the captain had foreseen this and cut the power to the broadcast room the moment it began, preventing Lieutenant Sa Li from inciting more sailors to join their mad scheme. The battle swiftly drew to a close. With the surrender of the two sailors guarding the hostages and the rescue of the seven captured logistics personnel, the area held by the mutineers had been compressed from the entire aft section to merely a cramped corridor and the broadcast room. Including Lieutenant Sa Li, the ringleader of the mutiny, only three mutineers remained. Seeing yet another mutineer go down under gunfire, the executive officer pressed his wounded arm and shouted behind cover, "Surrender! You have no chance left! Facing trial by law is your only way out... Confess your crimes, and you might still have a hope of surviving!" "Then where is the Federation's hope?! Resting on weaklings like you?!" Clamping his left hand over his bleeding thigh as he leaned against an iron hatch, Sa Li yelled back. The executive officer stared with wide eyes. "What hope? What nonsense are you talking about?!" "What am I... saying? Look at what you're doing!" Sa Li spat in fury. "Carrying mutant corpses to North Island? Are you trying to tell the survivors there that a pack of spear-wielding beasts blew up our power station?!" The executive officer roared back, "I haven't investigated, so I can't say for sure! But someone among us turned blind when they shouldn't have blinked! That person is likely Zhalas and his cabal... I trusted him once too, but the truth is he lied to every single one of us, and he plans to weave even more lies for his personal selfish desires! Wake up, damn it! How long do you intend to keep deceiving the survivors who trusted us?!" "Keep deceiving them? Hahahaha! All they lost was the truth! Look at what they gained! For an entire century, we have never been so united—" Before Lieutenant Sa Li could finish speaking, a deafening roar erupted from beneath everyone's feet. Standing or crouching, everyone was violently thrown off their feet by the sudden jolt. *Creak—crunch—!* The agonizing shriek of fracturing steel vibrated through the bulkheads, followed immediately by the torrential rush of seawater surging through the ruptured hull. Scrambling up from the deck, the executive officer's face drained of color. Feeling the tremors coursing through the walls, terror filled his eyes. The sailors behind him were the same, gripping the listing bulkheads as they stumbled backward in sheer terror. A torpedo! Someone had fired a torpedo while they were plunged into chaos! They had been hit! "Evacuate! Retreat!" the executive officer bellowed, shoving the soldiers behind him and urging them toward the companionway. Meanwhile, backed into a corner, Sa Li released his bleeding wound. Bracing against the wall, he pulled himself up with a sinister grin. "No one can judge me!" A fanatical frenzy twisted his blood-drained face. Facing the retreating cowards, he limped out of the broadcast room and jammed the barrel of his gun against his blood-smeared chin. While it was a pity he had failed to seize control of the *Glory*, an end like this didn't taint his mission. The mission in his heart. "For the Federation!!" Veins bulging on his neck, he roared and pulled the trigger. Amid a blinding muzzle flash and a spray of blood, he was engulfed by the surging flood of seawater... *** On the bridge. Watching the vessel steadily capsize amid thick black smoke, Dongwen stood up slowly against the console, a trace of shock etched into his resolute face. He had envisioned that Zhalas might have informants aboard his ship; after all, even he had once been a supporter of that man. He had even considered that the madman's supporters would stop at nothing to prevent him from returning to North Island with evidence, not hesitating to betray their oaths beneath the Federation's flag to stage a mutiny... Yet what he had never expected was that to secure victory, that madman would go so far as to order the Federation's own fleet to slaughter one another... There was no doubt that the torpedo had come from friendly forces. Flames burned across steel. The churning waves, like boiling water, dragged the towering hull down into the bottomless abyss. When a systemic failure occurred, it was rarely because of one or two bad calls made by one or two individuals; rather, it was because the vast majority, acting out of their own interests, instinctively and unfailingly picked the worst option among good, mediocre, and bad. For that very reason, once a systemic failure became reality, one or two corrective actions became as trivial as the one or two original errors themselves. So it was with the ocean current power station. So it was with the *Golden Coast*, sunken beneath the waves. And so it was with the other freighters, research vessels, and their crews who had drawn infinitely close to the truth—even including himself. "...It seems Mr. Zhalas has made up his mind." Taking off the cap on his head, Dongwen set it upon the console of the bridge. This road was perhaps even more tortuous than he had imagined. Just as he prepared to spend the last moments of his life, an acoustic signal suddenly registered on the communication sonar. The origin of the sound wave seemed very close to them. Startled for a moment, Dongwen reached out to press the connection switch on the console and donned the headset. At that exact moment, a staticky voice came through the headphones. "This is the *Dolphin*... Acknowledge if you read me..." *** Ten kilometers away in the open sea. A submarine surfaced slowly, exposing its upright conning tower. Gazing toward the distant plume of smoke and the steel hull gradually sinking into the sea, the submarine captain standing inside the conning tower said calmly, "This is the *Cold Night*. The *Glory* has sunk. Requesting further instructions." A voice came over the comm channel: "Command acknowledges. Upon mission completion, return to North Island and stand by." The submarine captain asked, "Are we not rendezvousing at Anle Island port?" After a brief silence, the reply came through the channel: "Change of plans... There has been a bit of an incident there." "Understood." Once the transmission ended, the captain turned to his heavy-hearted officers standing behind the console and issued the order to return. The conning tower breaching the waves began to submerge slowly. Just then, catching the sonar display out of the corner of his eye, the captain frowned slightly. Was it an illusion? In the waters where the destroyer *Glory* had sunk, the return echo on active sonar seemed to flicker for an instant. The flicker lasted only a split second. Frowning, the captain stared at the screen for a moment. Seeing no further anomalies, he tore his eyes away. Perhaps it was just clutter echoing off the wreckage... *** The official *Wasteland Online* website. During peak hours when players logged on and off, the forum was as rowdy as ever. Especially the boys of the Jungle Corps—the moment they logged off, they rushed to the forum, chattering and making a ruckus. "Motherfucker! This NPC is such a dirty dog, stealing our kill!!" "Stealing the kill was bad enough, but then he honked his horn to taunt us!" "Seriously! What total bullshit!" "Count your blessings, you guys at least saw the mob. We didn't even catch a shadow of a monster; just strolled around the port and headed right back. (Side-eye)" "At least you guys showed your faces in the new map's promo video! All we got was the butt of a King Crab; couldn't see anything besides the final explosion shot." "Nah, we didn't show our faces either—we had helmets and goggles on." "Hahahaha, damn it!" "Looks like Brother Mosquito hogged all the glory. (Funny)" "By the way, am I the only one wondering if that Kraken tastes good? (Funny)" "Uh... An NPC blasted it to bits with a torpedo. I didn't salvage the carcass. Want the coordinates so you can go check it out?" "Right, like I could... By the time I get there, not even bones will be left. But seriously, weren't you curious enough to take a bite? (Funny)" "How the hell do you eat it in a place like that?!" Today's top headline was without question won by the Southern Sea: the Jungle Corps, representing the Alliance and Port Fries, had paid a friendly visit to Ring Island. In a relaxed, pleasant atmosphere, both sides jointly released a statement of friendship, pledging closer cooperation across a wider range of fields. Governor Chaning of Ring Island stated that citizens of the Alliance were welcome to visit and invest on the island, rather than merely confining themselves to trading at the harbor. In simpler, gamer-friendly terms— *Wasteland Online* had unlocked another new map! Although the total area of Ring Island was only thirty square kilometers—equivalent to four Wake Islands—over the past two centuries, the local survivors had maximized every inch of those thirty square kilometers, much like the residents of Shelter 100 who spent their whole lives inside the "Well." Ring Island's hyper-dense industrial model and heavily automated production methods left even Boulder City's most advanced factories trailing in the dust. Of course, comparing productivity and manufacturing costs was another story altogether. For now, Daybreak City's extensive, rough-and-ready industry remained the fastest and cheapest; at least two-fifths of the Alliance's total industrial output value was supported by the factories there. Both had much to learn from each other, whether in engineering or sociology. Particularly given that both were societies co-founded by vault dwellers and wastelanders; though their paths differed, their developmental trajectories shared numerous parallels. An interlude occurred along the way: a pack of "fishmen" swam near the undersea pipeline intent on sabotage. Fortunately, back when construction on the undersea pipeline began two months ago, players at Port Fries had already been guarding against threats from the Death Coast. With merely a single bombing run, fifty W-2/H naval attack planes wiped out over a thousand aquatic mutants herded to the surface. After witnessing the Alliance's formidable combat strength and determination to preserve regional order, the Governor of Ring Island immediately supplemented the friendship statement with a mutual defense agreement. Going forward, Ring Island would not only open its port for Alliance military vessels to dock, but also agreed to construct an airfield beside Ring Island for Alliance air forces to use. All of these achievements were credited not just to the undersea freshwater pipeline, but in part to the Church of the Torch and the Federation authorities as well. After all, if those factions hadn't stirred up so much trouble, the residents of Ring Island would never have turned around to trust a group of outsiders who had arrived less than two months ago. As for now, having tasted freshwater at 0.8 silver coins per ton, the residents of Ring Island could only admit that the agreement signed with skepticism was utterly irresistible. In a certain sense, much like the Moon Clan refugees who had fled to Port Fries, they had unwittingly been reshaped into the mold of the Alliance... Thunder King Professor Yang: "Sigh, watching you guys make money hurts worse than losing money myself. T.T" Proud Lord What Can You Do: "Lame, so lame. Trash game! Two whole years waiting for a reservation and still can't get in. Once Daddy gets in, I'm blowing all of you sky-high! (Rage)" Jieyan: "Holy crap, it's been two years. Is Brother Proud Lord still collecting New Year's pocket money? (Surprise)" Ye Shi: "Brother Guang, just let him in. The red-name system has been out for so long, shouldn't we stress-test it? (Funny)" No Family: "Don't, man. Without closed-beta access, you can at least shitpost on the forums. If your account gets banned, you won't even be able to get on the forums. (Funny)" Midnight Umbrella No Knife: "Bro, why are you so experienced at this?" No Family: "Cough... I just heard about it." Mole on the Run in the Canyon: "Strongly demand that Baiyue Company go public! Damn it, if you let these guys keep snowballing, they're gonna buy out the whole Alliance!" Fang Chang: "You're exaggerating way too much. A lot of our business is financed by borrowing from the Alliance Bank. Do you think you can get loans for just anything? But if we could go public, I'd support it with both hands. We make a lot, but we spend a lot too. If we could raise capital via IPO, we wouldn't have to jack up our debt ratio to expand operations. (Smirk)" Brother Edge: "Holy shit, your business isn't big enough already? How else do you want to expand? (Shocked)" Fang Chang: "This is just the beginning. Setting aside the Golden Gallon Port project, looking just at the Southern Sea, our planned undersea freshwater supply network currently only has one operational pipeline, and Ring Island is our only customer. Relying on this single pipe is far from enough to supply the living and industrial water needs of a million survivors; we need to build many more." Brother Edge: "How much can you make just selling water?" Fang Chang: "Selling water alone doesn't earn much, of course, but the trust we build by 'helping locals solve water shortages' brings in far greater returns. In particular, the locals are well-educated survivors. Many among them possess knowledge and expertise on par with experts from Camp 101, especially in their specialty of 'marine land reclamation and modification.' These talents are exactly what we need—or rather, desperately lack." Brother Edge: "666!" Commander Spring: "Holy hell, you sure know how to poach talent. (Surprise)" Fang Chang: "Tsk, how can you call it poaching? Did I tear down any walls of their house? They need freshwater, I give them freshwater; they need electricity, I give them electricity. I even provide overseas employment opportunities for their idle workforce, and the price is merely things the locals temporarily don't need or have in surplus... I prefer to call it rational allocation of resources." Ye Shi: "Holy mother... *Survivor Daily* should hire you as an editor." Brother Edge: "66666!" In Debt God: "Motherfucker, other corps commanders lead the boys to get rich; our corps commander can only type 666." Construction Site Boy and Bricks: "Seriously! Our commander is such dead weight!" Brother Edge: "??? What the fuck, I invested money, what's wrong with typing 6?!" In Debt God: "? When the hell did you secretly invest?!" Lao Bai: "I roped Brother Edge into investing—that was two months ago. (Grin)" In Debt God: "??? Holy fuck!" Midnight Chicken Slaughter: "By the way, the Governor of Ring Island also promised to build an 800-meter airstrip next to the island. Our air force brothers can touch down there in the future—that counts as another perk brought by that pipeline. (Grin)" WC Really Has Mosquitoes: "After all, they'll depend on us for water and power down the road anyway; parking a few planes there along the way hardly seems unreasonable. (Smirk)" Battlefield Atmosphere Group: "Isn't 800 meters a bit too short?" WC Really Has Mosquitoes: "Not short at all. For the W-2, 300 to 400 meters is plenty. Oh, by the way, I heard a new aircraft model is dropping soon. You guys can look forward to that. (Funny)" Fang Chang: "In short, since infrastructure is showing great results, our next phase will remain focused on infrastructure. So long as all or most of the Federation's thirteen islands are connected to the freshwater and power grids originating from Port Fries, we can gain control over the region through indirect economic means even without stationing troops there." Lao Bai: "Like Silver Moon Bay?" Fang Chang: "Pretty much." Although the Xilan Empire's frequent irrational actions had prompted the Camel Hump Kingdom to request that the Alliance dispatch garrison troops to Silver Moon Bay—even offering to cover all expenses—there had been no follow-up on the matter for the time being. The Alliance had recently been restructuring its military system, disbanding the original 10,000-man myriad formations and reinstating the Human Alliance era's order of corps, divisions, brigades, regiments, battalions, companies, platoons, and squads. Of course, this mainly applied to NPC corps; player corps could still call their commanders "Boss" or "Chief" as they pleased. And so, while painting ambitious visions of the Southern Sea's future for the forum crowd, Fang Chang egged them on to bombard the devs and persuade Ah Guang to open the first casino in River Valley Province—oh wait, stock exchange. In truth, if one overlooked the fact that the Southern Sea bordered the Church of the Torch, it was indeed a place of boundless investment potential, and Baiyue Company's various ventures were unquestionably low-risk, high-return. Yet just as his grand pitch reached its climax, one of Baiyue Company's own shareholders suddenly popped out. Tail: "Shocking! Huge news! Σ(°Д°;)っ" Jieyan: "What's going on?" Luo Yu: "?" Tail: "Port Fries' neighbors! They're fighting!" Lao Bai: "...?" Fang Chang: "???" Ye Shi: "Holy smokes, Ah Guang flipped the table. (Funny)" In less than a minute... The entire forum erupted into a frenzy!