"You've arrived. Sit down."

"I'm honored, Mr. President."

"Enough with the flattery. Just sit."

A deep night had fallen over New York.

In the dimly lit office of Central Park HQ, only two people were present, casting shadows under a soft glow: Adrian B. Solomon, Director of Icarus, and Henry Braton, the 48th President of the United States.

Two cups of coffee emitted gentle steam, filling the room with a strong hazelnut scent. Both men wore fatigue around their eyes, but neither seemed the type to mind.

Only after each took a sip of the dark liquid did the conversation begin.

"The Dagger Team has returned. They should be crossing the Western U.S. airspace as we speak."

"An operation you approved on your own?"

"Yes. This is a rare chance to shatter the enemy coalition's resolve completely, so I took it. If it's Task Force Dagger, I'm certain they’ll deliver results again."

Henry only chuckled in response.

Dagger Team had indeed accumulated a formidable record, though they were famously hard to handle. Known as Icarus's sharpest spear, they were anything but a tool for novices. Formed of unconventional geniuses and the few capable of managing them, Task Force Dagger had a unique trait: they rarely followed operational plans as scripted, but still produced stunning results. It was as though any plan expected to yield an A-level outcome would somehow, through them, end in an SSS-level success.

Adrian Solomon, therefore, allowed them full discretion once again.

Taking another sip, Henry added, "With Dagger Team in the field, we can count on bringing back San Francisco, San Jose, and Sacramento in addition to San Diego and Los Angeles."

"Haha, don’t worry. We also have a decontamination unit at the ready on our end."

"It's a sad time when we have to choose between decontaminating radiation or sending our troops into a deathtrap."

It was a painfully accurate statement.

As President, Henry held the power to send American citizens into battle, and Solomon was the one orchestrating that battlefield. But given the choice, Henry would rather be a president known for authorizing nuclear strikes on his soil than one remembered for sacrificing American lives in ravaged cities.

After all, he was the President, not a totalitarian general.

"But leaving those who dared invade the United States unpunished is unthinkable. When our forces cross the Bering Strait into northeast Russia, there should be no enemy forces to hinder us."

"Should I take that as a direct order from the President of the United States?"

"Absolutely. I'm sure a recording is running. If you'd like, I can issue an official directive to eliminate all enemy forces in a formal memo."

"That won’t be necessary."

Both exchanged a cold, steely glance.

Director Solomon, with his coffee no longer steaming, added, "I've been waiting for that order. We have ample ballistic missiles, Mr. President."

"Excellent."

Solomon activated a holographic screen, typing out a message transmitted directly through Icarus Gear. Henry, watching, finally showed a satisfied smile.

"All we have to do now is await the victory announcement."

"Or the missile launch signal."

"Either way, it’ll be something to look forward to."

The dark night outside didn’t feel quite as heavy tonight.

"May the United States be blessed."

Meanwhile, in San Jose, someone prayed for divine protection, while others claimed to spread it. For those involved, it was a typical day.

San Jose—a name not well-known outside the country, but mentioned alongside Silicon Valley, NASA’s Ames Research Center, Google’s Bay Area campus, and the tech giant Apple, instantly recognizable as a hub of American IT. Right in the heart of it lay Moffett Federal Airfield, where three Icarus operators had been deployed: myself, Marcus, and Rapier.

"Ugh, the smell here is awful. It reeks of stagnant water."

"That's because the water plant has shut down. Better focus, Marcus. You wouldn't want the youngest here to die on your watch."

"Geez, no need to be so grim."

With Marcus and Rapier bickering, we advanced.

Our drones were in the air, marking enemy positions and patrol routes in real-time—a standard setup for Dagger Team. We were split into three teams of three, with the tenth member stationed at a temporary hideout, consolidating intel and logging updates on a holographic map. In short, three teams would gather intel, and the tenth would piece together the map from the collected data.

Each group had an infiltrator, a sniper, and an observer. The infiltrator, of course, was another Manifested like me, while the sniper and observer roles rotated as needed.

We had no need to hunt down our targets meticulously.

"See that structure ahead?"

"That’s more than just a structure. It’s practically a hangar."

"They’ve repurposed computing equipment from nearby facilities—Amazon, Lockheed Martin, Google, NASA, Samsung—to build an immense data-processing center. Tactical ballistic missiles need such infrastructure."

Before us stood a massive building, which, given our location in Silicon Valley, appeared to function similarly to the U.S.’s Missile Defense Integrated Operations Center (MDIOC). Constructing such a facility likely took at least six months, and as the name suggested, it was one of the most heavily guarded sites.

But it was still just a temporary structure and couldn’t escape that limitation.

"I’ll plant the pulse sensor for audio detection. Prepare to intercept."

I swiftly planted the column against the wall, embedded with thermite to affix it easily. As it pulsed, mapping the interior and detecting conversations, we’d learn how they configured their server network.

Inside, several personnel were stationed, clearly tense—unsurprising, considering they’d recently dropped a firestorm on Los Angeles. There was no case of friendly fire quite like this.

Now, it was time to decide our next move.

We could wait and passively record their conversations, which would be auto-logged. But that could take too long—better to stir things up a bit.

I triggered a partial EMP. It would only disrupt a few network connections, maybe darken a monitor or two. Just enough to provoke some new dialogue.

• [Recording… // There it goes again. What an idiot. I keep saying we should set up a backup server nearby… ]

• [Recording… // Any anomalies? Any jammer misalignments or disconnections?]

• [Recording… // No issues. Besides, Cupertino still has the backup facility, right? That one’s intact.]

• [Recording… // Only this site can initiate missile launches. And stop naming specifics.]

 

"…Interesting."

"Hmm. Real-time monitoring of jammer activity and a backup facility. This is valuable information."

Exactly.

It felt like handling a magic box that yielded intel at a mere touch, like a mystical conch shell. I wasn’t the only one familiar with this tactic; it was standard Dagger Team protocol.

All gathered intel was transmitted to Owens at the hideout, who had already pinpointed the jammers’ positions and ports with far greater accuracy than I could.

As I absorbed the information, Owens’s voice came through the comms.

"A request has been submitted to change the current Type 3 recon mission to a Type 5 total destruction mission. Team Gamma’s thoughts?"

"Are they suggesting we unleash all available ballistic missiles on the area? That’s a bold idea, but we haven’t pinpointed the command vehicles’ positions or properly assessed the surroundings. It’s too radical."

"Fair point."

Then, after another minute of silence, an unexpected suggestion came through, calm yet filled with intensity.

"In Chinese strategy, there’s the concept of diversionary tactics. I’ll stir up the Cupertino backup facility while you devise a solution."

"Don’t just charge in recklessly. Dial it down, will you?"

"Understood."

As I expected from Dagger Team, their ingenuity was beyond ordinary. They wouldn’t question the feasibility of an operation if they’d already mentally calculated the outcome.

When proposing unique strategies within Dagger Team, only two questions mattered:

Can this produce better results than the initial plan?

Is it executable?

If both answers were affirmative, they became an unstoppable force.

I was no different.

"…The location of the Iskander command vehicle, the strike zone, and a method to intercept and alter the coordinates before transmission—without that, it may be better just to blow up all the jammers."

"Indeed. With 28 jammers spread across three cities, simultaneous destruction would be challenging."

"Hmm."

Assessing the situation, I realized that destroying the jammers en masse and guiding missiles would be ineffective. The enemy likely had bunkers prepared for nuclear strikes, so they’d hide before the missiles arrived.

Using the Russian Strategic Missile Forces' Iskander missiles was impractical due to the complexities and extraction difficulties. But leaving these ballistic missiles idle was a waste…

Wait.

"Do we really need to launch the missiles?"

"Seems our youngest has a brilliant idea. Anyone listening?"

"Instead of firing, we could send a jolt to the gyroscopes, causing a miscalculated G-force that triggers premature detonation."

A wave of realization swept through the team.

Essentially, what I proposed—and what others understood—was simple: convert the Iskander ballistic missiles into time bombs and blow up the base.

Immediately, Owens transmitted a file.

"…Schematics and operation protocols for the ballistic missile. We keep learning things civilians should never know."

"Connecting the circuits and setting a timer will drive that point home. Stay safe. Lorentina, your mission to hit Cupertino’s backup facility… may need reassessment if it risks the nuclear blast radius. Reconvene after a UAV check."

"Understood."

Without much choice but no complaints, I triggered another EMP pulse, shutting down the system monitoring the ballistic missiles. The ensuing chatter was noisy but predictable as the soldiers scrambled, ensuring the nukes were secure.

This enabled us to locate the command vehicles housing nuclear warheads.

The plan from there was obvious.

"Just secure an escape vehicle for me."

That was all.

Under cover of darkness, we advanced toward the hangar with the Iskander vehicles, hacked into the CCTV to freeze the cameras, and slipped past the guards using optical camouflage.

A long ladder on one side led up, which I climbed, using a thermite torch to cut through the roof. Descending by a makeshift rope, I landed on the steel balcony inside, taking just two minutes to incapacitate everyone present.

The real task was about to begin.

After using the thermite torch to open the missile casing, I carefully cut into the system based on Owens’s file. I felt like a surgeon as I sliced through two missile exteriors, attaching a timer to the gyroscope system. In 30 minutes, a signal would be sent, feeding the system artificial data on gravity acceleration, atmospheric friction, and re-entry angle.

Instantly, chaff and decoys would deploy. This facility would be in chaos.

By the time the enemy discovered the missiles’ unstable state, it would be far too late.

I backtracked through the escape route, slipping out through a concealed fence and into the vehicle Marcus and Rapier had prepared. Through hacked CCTV feeds, we could still monitor the hangar’s interior.

After about 27 minutes of driving, we reached Ed R. Levin County Park, dozens of kilometers away.

───Boom! Crash!

"It’s begun."

The vehicle carrying the ballistic missiles shook violently, like a beast gone wild.

"You've arrived. Sit down."

"I'm honored, Mr. President."

"Enough with the flattery. Just sit."

A deep night had fallen over New York.

In the dimly lit office of Central Park HQ, only two people were present, casting shadows under a soft glow: Adrian B. Solomon, Director of Icarus, and Henry Braton, the 48th President of the United States.

Two cups of coffee emitted gentle steam, filling the room with a strong hazelnut scent. Both men wore fatigue around their eyes, but neither seemed the type to mind.

Only after each took a sip of the dark liquid did the conversation begin.

"The Dagger Team has returned. They should be crossing the Western U.S. airspace as we speak."

"An operation you approved on your own?"

"Yes. This is a rare chance to shatter the enemy coalition's resolve completely, so I took it. If it's Task Force Dagger, I'm certain they’ll deliver results again."

Henry only chuckled in response.

Dagger Team had indeed accumulated a formidable record, though they were famously hard to handle. Known as Icarus's sharpest spear, they were anything but a tool for novices. Formed of unconventional geniuses and the few capable of managing them, Task Force Dagger had a unique trait: they rarely followed operational plans as scripted, but still produced stunning results. It was as though any plan expected to yield an A-level outcome would somehow, through them, end in an SSS-level success.

Adrian Solomon, therefore, allowed them full discretion once again.

Taking another sip, Henry added, "With Dagger Team in the field, we can count on bringing back San Francisco, San Jose, and Sacramento in addition to San Diego and Los Angeles."

"Haha, don’t worry. We also have a decontamination unit at the ready on our end."

"It's a sad time when we have to choose between decontaminating radiation or sending our troops into a deathtrap."

It was a painfully accurate statement.

As President, Henry held the power to send American citizens into battle, and Solomon was the one orchestrating that battlefield. But given the choice, Henry would rather be a president known for authorizing nuclear strikes on his soil than one remembered for sacrificing American lives in ravaged cities.

After all, he was the President, not a totalitarian general.

"But leaving those who dared invade the United States unpunished is unthinkable. When our forces cross the Bering Strait into northeast Russia, there should be no enemy forces to hinder us."

"Should I take that as a direct order from the President of the United States?"

"Absolutely. I'm sure a recording is running. If you'd like, I can issue an official directive to eliminate all enemy forces in a formal memo."

"That won’t be necessary."

Both exchanged a cold, steely glance.

Director Solomon, with his coffee no longer steaming, added, "I've been waiting for that order. We have ample ballistic missiles, Mr. President."

"Excellent."

Solomon activated a holographic screen, typing out a message transmitted directly through Icarus Gear. Henry, watching, finally showed a satisfied smile.

"All we have to do now is await the victory announcement."

"Or the missile launch signal."

"Either way, it’ll be something to look forward to."

The dark night outside didn’t feel quite as heavy tonight.

"May the United States be blessed."

Meanwhile, in San Jose, someone prayed for divine protection, while others claimed to spread it. For those involved, it was a typical day.

San Jose—a name not well-known outside the country, but mentioned alongside Silicon Valley, NASA’s Ames Research Center, Google’s Bay Area campus, and the tech giant Apple, instantly recognizable as a hub of American IT. Right in the heart of it lay Moffett Federal Airfield, where three Icarus operators had been deployed: myself, Marcus, and Rapier.

"Ugh, the smell here is awful. It reeks of stagnant water."

"That's because the water plant has shut down. Better focus, Marcus. You wouldn't want the youngest here to die on your watch."

"Geez, no need to be so grim."

With Marcus and Rapier bickering, we advanced.

Our drones were in the air, marking enemy positions and patrol routes in real-time—a standard setup for Dagger Team. We were split into three teams of three, with the tenth member stationed at a temporary hideout, consolidating intel and logging updates on a holographic map. In short, three teams would gather intel, and the tenth would piece together the map from the collected data.

Each group had an infiltrator, a sniper, and an observer. The infiltrator, of course, was another Manifested like me, while the sniper and observer roles rotated as needed.

We had no need to hunt down our targets meticulously.

"See that structure ahead?"

"That’s more than just a structure. It’s practically a hangar."

"They’ve repurposed computing equipment from nearby facilities—Amazon, Lockheed Martin, Google, NASA, Samsung—to build an immense data-processing center. Tactical ballistic missiles need such infrastructure."

Before us stood a massive building, which, given our location in Silicon Valley, appeared to function similarly to the U.S.’s Missile Defense Integrated Operations Center (MDIOC). Constructing such a facility likely took at least six months, and as the name suggested, it was one of the most heavily guarded sites.

But it was still just a temporary structure and couldn’t escape that limitation.

"I’ll plant the pulse sensor for audio detection. Prepare to intercept."

I swiftly planted the column against the wall, embedded with thermite to affix it easily. As it pulsed, mapping the interior and detecting conversations, we’d learn how they configured their server network.

Inside, several personnel were stationed, clearly tense—unsurprising, considering they’d recently dropped a firestorm on Los Angeles. There was no case of friendly fire quite like this.

Now, it was time to decide our next move.

We could wait and passively record their conversations, which would be auto-logged. But that could take too long—better to stir things up a bit.

I triggered a partial EMP. It would only disrupt a few network connections, maybe darken a monitor or two. Just enough to provoke some new dialogue.

• [Recording… // There it goes again. What an idiot. I keep saying we should set up a backup server nearby… ]

• [Recording… // Any anomalies? Any jammer misalignments or disconnections?]

• [Recording… // No issues. Besides, Cupertino still has the backup facility, right? That one’s intact.]

• [Recording… // Only this site can initiate missile launches. And stop naming specifics.]

 

"…Interesting."

"Hmm. Real-time monitoring of jammer activity and a backup facility. This is valuable information."

Exactly.

It felt like handling a magic box that yielded intel at a mere touch, like a mystical conch shell. I wasn’t the only one familiar with this tactic; it was standard Dagger Team protocol.

All gathered intel was transmitted to Owens at the hideout, who had already pinpointed the jammers’ positions and ports with far greater accuracy than I could.

As I absorbed the information, Owens’s voice came through the comms.

"A request has been submitted to change the current Type 3 recon mission to a Type 5 total destruction mission. Team Gamma’s thoughts?"

"Are they suggesting we unleash all available ballistic missiles on the area? That’s a bold idea, but we haven’t pinpointed the command vehicles’ positions or properly assessed the surroundings. It’s too radical."

"Fair point."

Then, after another minute of silence, an unexpected suggestion came through, calm yet filled with intensity.

"In Chinese strategy, there’s the concept of diversionary tactics. I’ll stir up the Cupertino backup facility while you devise a solution."

"Don’t just charge in recklessly. Dial it down, will you?"

"Understood."

As I expected from Dagger Team, their ingenuity was beyond ordinary. They wouldn’t question the feasibility of an operation if they’d already mentally calculated the outcome.

When proposing unique strategies within Dagger Team, only two questions mattered:

Can this produce better results than the initial plan?

Is it executable?

If both answers were affirmative, they became an unstoppable force.

I was no different.

"…The location of the Iskander command vehicle, the strike zone, and a method to intercept and alter the coordinates before transmission—without that, it may be better just to blow up all the jammers."

"Indeed. With 28 jammers spread across three cities, simultaneous destruction would be challenging."

"Hmm."

Assessing the situation, I realized that destroying the jammers en masse and guiding missiles would be ineffective. The enemy likely had bunkers prepared for nuclear strikes, so they’d hide before the missiles arrived.

Using the Russian Strategic Missile Forces' Iskander missiles was impractical due to the complexities and extraction difficulties. But leaving these ballistic missiles idle was a waste…

Wait.

"Do we really need to launch the missiles?"

"Seems our youngest has a brilliant idea. Anyone listening?"

"Instead of firing, we could send a jolt to the gyroscopes, causing a miscalculated G-force that triggers premature detonation."

A wave of realization swept through the team.

Essentially, what I proposed—and what others understood—was simple: convert the Iskander ballistic missiles into time bombs and blow up the base.

Immediately, Owens transmitted a file.

"…Schematics and operation protocols for the ballistic missile. We keep learning things civilians should never know."

"Connecting the circuits and setting a timer will drive that point home. Stay safe. Lorentina, your mission to hit Cupertino’s backup facility… may need reassessment if it risks the nuclear blast radius. Reconvene after a UAV check."

"Understood."

Without much choice but no complaints, I triggered another EMP pulse, shutting down the system monitoring the ballistic missiles. The ensuing chatter was noisy but predictable as the soldiers scrambled, ensuring the nukes were secure.

This enabled us to locate the command vehicles housing nuclear warheads.

The plan from there was obvious.

"Just secure an escape vehicle for me."

That was all.

Under cover of darkness, we advanced toward the hangar with the Iskander vehicles, hacked into the CCTV to freeze the cameras, and slipped past the guards using optical camouflage.

A long ladder on one side led up, which I climbed, using a thermite torch to cut through the roof. Descending by a makeshift rope, I landed on the steel balcony inside, taking just two minutes to incapacitate everyone present.

The real task was about to begin.

After using the thermite torch to open the missile casing, I carefully cut into the system based on Owens’s file. I felt like a surgeon as I sliced through two missile exteriors, attaching a timer to the gyroscope system. In 30 minutes, a signal would be sent, feeding the system artificial data on gravity acceleration, atmospheric friction, and re-entry angle.

Instantly, chaff and decoys would deploy. This facility would be in chaos.

By the time the enemy discovered the missiles’ unstable state, it would be far too late.

I backtracked through the escape route, slipping out through a concealed fence and into the vehicle Marcus and Rapier had prepared. Through hacked CCTV feeds, we could still monitor the hangar’s interior.

After about 27 minutes of driving, we reached Ed R. Levin County Park, dozens of kilometers away.

───Boom! Crash!

"It’s begun."

The vehicle carrying the ballistic missiles shook violently, like a beast gone wild.