Copyright 2025 Old King. All rights reserved.

  The command room of SouthSea Transport’s headquarters was an underground stronghold of cold steel and flickering StarLink feeds. Beyond the harbor, thirty-five ships of the South Sea Fleet bobbed in the anchorage, their running lights glimmering like fading stars against the black expanse of the South China Sea.

  At 0900 hours, the Foreign Ministry summoned Chan to protest the fleet’s presence. Minister Wei warned that their loitering threatened Shenzhen’s sovereignty. Chan explained the fleet’s plight: Vietnam’s blockade had severed supply lines, and Hong Kong, Guangdong, and the Philippines had shut them out, leaving the fleet nowhere to go. He secured limited humanitarian aid—fuel, supplies, medical care, and daily rotations of three hundred sailors at Plum Beach under Coast Guard supervision.

  Iron Skull’s hulking frame dominated the command room as he briefed. “LureSiren delivered. Ten million dollars and ten years of Tesla’s brain-computer interface exclusive agency for Shenzhen. We’ve got Lam’s location—Detention block Nanshan’s data center. AbyssNet was in the same building: quantum encryption, biometric locks, intensified patrols. Full security layout.” He reported, “The driver and the defector pulled intel. Li Renyi’s in Bastion’s Education Center. Soul Ore factory and servers are in Bastion’s Compound B7. We’ve got patrol routes and shift changes.”

  Chan’s eyes scanned the data, his mind racing. The intelligence was a goldmine, a chance to dig out HuaCent’s Soul Ore root. AbyssNet was the nerve center, the factory was the production hub. Ruoxi and Old Li were leverage, but their rescue was a complication. He lit another Marlboro, the smoke grounding him. “Your plan?”

  Iron Skull stood at the tactical table over a holographic map. His voice was a low, gravelly growl, steeped in the clipped cadence of the Special Operations Forces doctrine, a language of calculated lethality Chan knew well.

  “Sir, Operation Nightshade is green, awaiting your go. Four teams—Ayi, Boli, Cidian, Deyi—32 Tier One operators. Sixteen helos for infil/exfil. Eight suicide drone squads for overwatch and kinetic support. Six plainclothes recon teams in Nanshan and Bastion for HUMINT, LZ marking, and diversions.”

  Iron Skull tapped his tablet, the hologram showing two theaters: Nanshan’s AbyssNet data center and Bastion’s Soul Ore bunker. Red infil routes, blue exfil paths, green drone orbits. Hostile defenses: drone swarms, cybernetic QRF, biometric grids.

  “Dual-axis assault, H-hour 0200. Objectives split by target.”

  Objective Emao: Nanshan (AbyssNet)

  Primary: Iron Pulse-Emao

  Neutralize server vault, sublevel three. Ayi and Boli carry two EMP charges each—30-second delay. Ayi breaches via maintenance shaft; Boli secures control node. Reapers 1-4 counter drones with EMP guns, jammers. Recon spoofs sensors for 8-minute window.

  Secondary: Liberty Run-Emao

  Extract Ruoxi Lam, detention cell, sublevel two. Boli breaches with C4. Exfil to LZ Emao-One, 1 click north, via Black Hawks 5-6. Hostile response: 90 seconds, drones in 60.

  “Emao’s surgical. Vault’s priority—one EMP misfire, mission fails. Cell’s too close to QRF barracks, risks early alert.”

  Objective Fadai: Bastion (Soul Ore)

  Primary: Iron Pulse-Fadai

  Destroy server array and factory, B7. Cidian uses three EMP charges; Deyi packs thermite, C4 to collapse tunnels. Reapers 5-8 jam comms, neutralize drones.

  Secondary: Liberty Run-Faguang

  Extract Li Renyi, B5 cell. Deyi breaches with flashbangs, exfils with Cidian to LZ Faguang-Two, 2 clicks east, via Black Hawks 7-8. Timeline: 5 minutes.

  “Fadai’s brutal. Factory’s EMP-shielded—thermite’s critical. Li Renyi’s block is soft, but drones are lethal.”

  Risk Assessment

  “Nightshade’s high-stakes. Iron Pulse is the win—AbyssNet and Bastion servers cripple HuaCent. Extractions cut egress time, with QRF in 90 seconds, drones in 60, armor in 3 minutes. Dual objectives risk 30% failure. Recommend prioritizing Iron Pulse, dropping Liberty Runs if needed.”

  He met Chan’s gaze. “My assessment: scrub Liberty Run. Prioritize Iron Pulse-Emao and Faguang. The servers and factory are the endgame. Lam and Li are high-value, but they’re not worth the op. We lose the EMP window, we lose everything. Reapers can suppress hostiles, but we can’t fight a war.”

  Chan leaned forward, eyes dissecting the hologram. Iron Skull’s plan was a masterclass in special operations tradecraft: audacious, ruthless, built on calculated risk. But the cost was a butcher’s bill. Ruoxi’s defiance in the interrogation room, Amin’s broken plea for his sister, Old Li’s whispered intel—they were threads in a tapestry Chan couldn’t sever lightly. Iron Skull’s logic was a blade: cut the pawns, capture the king. Yet the fleet’s survival, SouthSea’s leverage, hung on dismantling HuaCent’s tech. Sacrifice two lives, or risk thirty-five ships.

  Before Chan could respond, Director Lin’s voice cut through, smooth as silk but edged with warning. He stood at the room’s edge. “Mr. Chan, I must object. A military strike now is suicide. The South China Sea is a powder keg—Vietnam’s blockade, Shenzhen’s emergency state. Any action will be seen as war. The fleet’s trapped, and SouthSea’s Salt Port privileges hang by a thread. We’d lose everything.”

  Chan’s gaze hardened. “Your alternative?”

  “Mr. Chan,” Lin began, “we stand at a precipice. The raid would be the spark that burns us all to ash. Iron Skull’s plan is bold, but it’s a death march. We’re not just fighting HuaCent; we’re navigating a geopolitical maelstrom.”

  Chan exhaled a curl of smoke, his eyes narrowing. “I’m listening, Lin.”

  Lin’s smile widened, tapping his tablet, projecting a holographic map of the South China Sea, its borders pulsing with data overlays: Shenzhen’s ports, Vietnam’s military outposts, the fleet’s anchorage, and international sea lanes. “Let’s start with the Shenzhen Republic, our reluctant host. They’re a paper tiger. Their economy hinges on Salt Port’s trade and StarLink’s digital pipeline. HuaCent props up their government, but they’re terrified of our fleet. Thirty-five warships parked off their coast? It’s a diplomatic nightmare. They’ve declared a state of emergency not just to crush dissent but to signal neutrality. They’re fragile. One misstep—say, a raid that destabilizes HuaCent’s grip—and Shenzhen’s economy collapses. Riots in the city, supply chains frozen. They’re stalling.”

  Chan’s jaw tightened, the cigarette’s ash falling to the floor. “They’re squeezing us. But the fleet’s got no other port. What’s Shenzhen’s endgame?”

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  “They don’t have one,” Lin replied, his tone almost pitying. “They’re a pawn, caught between giants. HuaCent pulls their strings, but they’re desperate to avoid war. If we raid HuaCent, they’ll see it as a violation of their sovereignty. They’ll call in other factions or beg the U.S. for protection, and we’ll be the ones painted as aggressors. Shenzhen’s vulnerability is our leverage, but only if we play smart.”

  Chan nodded curtly, his mind racing. “Go on. The fleet. Us.”

  “The fleet is a relic of the war, a proud but wounded beast. Thirty-five ships are our crown jewel, but they’re bleeding out. Vietnam’s blockade has cut your land supply lines through Guangxi, and without a port, we’re burning through fuel and morale. Anchoring in international waters, we’re a sitting duck. The fleet’s our strength, but it’s also our weak point. If we lose it, SouthSea Transport collapses, Salt Port grinds to a halt, and Shenzhen’s trade dies with it. We need a lifeline—supplies, a port, or a diplomatic breakthrough. Right now, you’re at the mercy of Shenzhen’s goodwill and American promises. But we’re not powerless. The fleet’s presence is a bargaining chip, a reminder to all players that we can still tip the scales.”

  Chan crushed his cigarette under his boot, the acrid scent lingering. “We’re not just a chip. We’re a threat. That’s why Shenzhen’s scared. What about Vietnam?”

  Lin’s map shifted, highlighting Vietnam’s military outposts in the South China Sea. “Vietnam’s the wildcard. They’re not just blockading our supply lines; they’re carving out a bigger slice of the South China Sea. Their troops are strangling Zhanjiang’s port, our home base. Why? Because they see the fleet’s weakness as their opportunity. Vietnam’s been cozying up to HuaCent, running a black-market pipeline for Soul Ore to fuel their robot industry. You saw the South African incident, tracing back to Vietnamese dealers. They’re building an export chain, undercutting Terminus’s AI licenses with cheap, Soul Ore-driven bots. It’s a goldmine, and they’ll do anything to protect it. The blockade’s their way of keeping you pinned while they tighten their grip. But they’re overplaying their hand. The U.S. and Britain are leaning on them to back off.”

  Chan shifted his weight, his mind piecing together the board. “So Vietnam’s in bed with HuaCent. But the U.S. isn’t sitting idle. Where do they fit?”

  Lin’s hologram flared, StarLink’s satellite grid glowing like a digital net over the region. “The United States, through Terminus Corporation, holds the whip hand, wants to keep everyone in line. They’re pushing Vietnam to lift the blockade, not out of love for our fleet, but to stabilize the region and protect their economic interests. The U.S. wants control, not chaos, and they’re betting on you to deliver.”

  Chan’s eyes flicked to the StarLink tower outside, its cold light a silent threat. “They’re playing us against HuaCent. But they’re not the only ones with an agenda. What’s the New Unity Faction’s angle?”

  Lin’s smile tightened, a flicker of caution in his eyes, but his voice remained steady. “The New Unity Faction is the shadow player. They’re Northern radicals, dreaming of a unified China under their banner. They see Shenzhen as a rogue state, a HuaCent fiefdom that mocks their vision. They’re not our friends, but they’re not our enemies either—not yet. They want HuaCent’s wings clipped and are willing to help us do it. A weakened HuaCent means a weaker Shenzhen, and a weaker Shenzhen is ripe for their influence. They’ve got channels—dark web networks, political operatives, even sympathizers in HuaCent’s ranks. They’re already whispering to me, offering to amplify our evidence against HuaCent and Vietnam. Their goal is long-term: to pull Shenzhen, and maybe our fleet, into their orbit. They’re patient, and they’re playing a game that stretches beyond this crisis.”

  Chan’s gut twisted, Lin’s words confirming his suspicions. Lin’s encrypted chatter with the North wasn’t just opportunism—it was a lifeline to New Unity. “You’re cozy with them, Lin. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. What do they get out of helping us now?”

  Lin adjusted his glasses, his tone deliberate, almost confessional. “They get a foot in the door. Short-term, they weaken HuaCent by fueling the outrage over Soul Ore—South Africa, Vietnam, the black markets. They’ll use their networks to spread the evidence we’ve got. It’ll hit the national intranet, and HuaCent will buckle under the pressure. They’ll have to release Old Li and Ruoxi to save face, maybe even scale back their operations. New Unity gets credit for tipping the scales, and they’ll expect gratitude—maybe a quiet channel to our fleet, a favor down the line. Long-term, they see our fleet as a prize. Thirty-five ships, a naval force? They’re dreaming of turning us into their maritime arm, a counterweight to the coastal warlords.”

  Chan’s fist clenched, the naval academy ring on his finger biting into his skin. “They think they can buy us? The fleet’s not some mercenary band.”

  Lin raised a placating hand. “They don’t need to buy us. They just need us to need them. Right now, you do. The fleet’s starving, Shenzhen’s a cage, and HuaCent’s got you by the throat. New Unity’s offering a way out—no blood, no war, just pressure. We can also lean on Terminus to amplify the narrative and get the U.S. to twist Shenzhen’s arm. If we take help, we’re not swearing allegiance to anyone—we’re buying time. But make no mistake: every one of them will come calling later.”

  Chan’s mind raced, Father Joe’s warning echoing faintly: “Trade the soul, lose the self.” Was he trading the fleet’s soul to others? He pushed the thought aside, focusing on the board. “And HuaCent? They’re the root of this. What’s their play?”

  Lin’s hologram zeroed in on Shenzhen’s skyline. “HuaCent’s the dragon, and we’re in its lair. They’re not just a corporation; they’re Shenzhen’s spine. Their Soul Ore tech drives the black market, from here to the world. They own the Republic’s government, from the president to the cops. But they’re not invincible. The South African fiasco exposed their overreach, and our evidence—Chest-Born, the smuggled Abais—could cripple them. They’re panicking, hence the emergency state, the depot raids, ThunderVolt’s purges. They know Terminus is circling, and they’re betting on their tech and muscle to ride out the storm. But they’re vulnerable to pressure. If we hit them with a global scandal, they’ll bend. Release Li and Lam, maybe even scale back AbyssNet to appease the U.S. and Shenzhen’s elites. That’s our opening.”

  Chan’s eyes bored into Lin, searching for cracks. “You’re saying we can force their hand without firing a shot. But what’s to stop them from hitting back?”

  Lin’s smile was cold, predatory. “HuaCent is stretched thin. The Chest-Born Project’s bleeding resources, and their internal squabbles are our edge. Hit them with evidence, and they will cut losses to protect the bigger game. HuaCent’s not suicidal—they’ll sacrifice pawns to save the board. But we need Terminus to make it hurt. They’ve got the clout to turn our leaks into a diplomatic firestorm. It’s not clean, Victor, but it’s bloodless. Your raid would spark war, kill the fleet, and hand Shenzhen to Vietnam or the North. This way, we keep the fleet afloat.”

  Chan stepped closer to the hologram, the map’s glow casting shadows across his weathered face. “And if it fails? If HuaCent digs in, or New Unity’s playing us?”

  Lin’s voice dropped, a conspiratorial whisper. “Then we’re no worse off than now. The fleet’s still anchored, the evidence is still ours, and Iron Skull’s teams can regroup. But failure’s not the issue, Mr. Chan. Time is. Shenzhen’s a powder keg, and the South China Sea’s ready to blow. The longer we wait, the tighter the noose. This isn’t about winning; it’s about surviving. Let Terminus and New Unity carry the weight. We leak the evidence, let the world scream, and watch HuaCent crumble. We keep our fleet, our port, our legacy. Isn’t that worth a calculated risk?”

  Chan turned to the screen, the fleet’s distant lights flickering like stars on the edge of oblivion. His phantom foot ached, a reminder of wars fought and lost. “Alright, Director Lin,” he said, his voice low. His phantom foot ached, a scream from a war that had left him half-machine. “Stand down, recall the ground teams. No strike. We go with your plan—leak the evidence, lean on Terminus, let New Unity play their game. But I’m watching you. One misstep, and you’re done.”

  Lin’s smile was serene, but his eyes glinted with triumph. “You won’t regret it, Mr. Chan. The board’s ours to play.”

  Iron Skull’s face was a mask of frustration. “Sir—”

  “That’s an order,” Chan snapped. “Lin, coordinate with Terminus. Leak the evidence—South Africa, Vietnam, all of it. The national intranet to the north, international press, whatever it takes. Set up a backdoor to push HuaCent to release Lam and Li. Iron, prep a contingency. If this fails, we hit AbyssNet first—servers only. No rescue.”

  Lin nodded, his smile a fraction too smug. “Wise choice, Mr. Chan. I’ll handle Terminus and New Unity’s channels. The narrative will shift by dawn.”

  Chan lit another Marlboro, the smoke stinging his eyes. The South China Sea was a chessboard, every move a gamble. Ruoxi’s voice echoed from the interrogation, fierce and unbroken: “You’re just another suit, playing power games.” Was she right? He exhaled, the skyline blurring. “New Unity thinks they can buy us,” he muttered, a vow to himself. “Let’s see who owns the board.” The fleet swayed in the anchorage, a homeless navy on borrowed time. Chan’s hand grazed his naval academy ring, its weight a reminder of battles won and lost. The game wasn’t over. Not yet.