Just moments after U.S. President Darris received the thunderous news of the accidental launch of nuclear missiles, an invisible black cloud seemed to descend upon the White House. The air grew heavy and oppressive. Suddenly, an ear-piercing red alert siren blared, tearing through the early morning silence like a doomsday bell ringing straight from hell.
The Secret Service detail guarding the White House immediately went into maximum alert. They were an elite unit—disciplined, battle-hardened, and trained for precisely such crises. Their leader, Walter, a seasoned veteran in his early fifties, remained eerily calm. His chiseled features and weathered expression bore the mark of countless storms weathered. In the midst of chaos, he stood firm like a silent reef bracing against a tidal wave.
Walter swiftly directed agents according to emergency protocol.
One team rushed to secure the White House perimeter, forming a defensive line with automatic rifles at entry points, across the lawn, and along the fence. Their eyes scanned for any threat, nerves taut as wire. Another team ascended to the rooftop, lying in sniper positions, scanning their scopes with icy precision.
The most critical team had already surrounded the President. Several sharply dressed agents with cold, unreadable expressions flanked her closely, sidearms drawn, ready to give their lives without hesitation. Their eyes showed no fear—only a silent, professional resolve.
President Darris had been startled awake just minutes earlier by urgent knocking. Still half-dazed, she was struck by the thunderous sentence: "Madam President, the intercontinental missiles have been launched." She threw on a coat—didn't even have time for shoes—before being rushed out of her room by the Secret Service.
By then, the White House was already in a state of high alert. Senior officials from the Department of Defense, CIA, and Homeland Security had also been summoned. Their faces bore the same expressions: confusion, anger, and an unmistakable sense of looming disaster.
Together with President Darris, under heavy protection, they were quickly escorted to the underground bunker beneath the White House—known as the Presidential Emergency Operations Center. Located roughly 35 meters below the East Wing, it was a hardened facility, designed to withstand certain levels of nuclear impact.
Their steps were fast but heavy, echoing through the narrow elevator descending deep underground via a private shaft linked to the Oval Office. The cramped elevator was thick with tension—each breath felt like swallowing lead.
Then, suddenly, President Darris turned to Walter. Her eyes were red from stress, and her voice trembled with urgency—there was even a hint of a sob: "My daughter is still upstairs... You must get her. bring her here. Now." In that moment, she wasn't the President. She was simply a mother.
"Understood," Walter replied immediately, raising his radio. "Nexim, retrieve the President's daughter from the bedroom and escort her to the bunker. Now."
"Copy, sir!" came the crisp, unhesitating reply from the other end.
Nexim was a new recruit—only 22 years old, fresh out of college, just days into his White House assignment. His youthful face still held a trace of innocence, but his eyes already sparkled with the reckless boldness of youth. Due to his inexperience, he had been assigned to internal posts within the White House. No one could have imagined that fate's wheel would spin so wildly today—and that this seemingly green, untested young man would one day play a role in rewriting the course of human history.
With a soft ding, the elevator doors opened. A cold, sterile light poured out, but it did nothing to dispel the growing sense of dread. The group stepped quickly toward the emergency command center, their footsteps echoing like a countdown through the empty corridors. At the front, President Darris walked with visible urgency, occasionally exchanging rapid, tense words with the cabinet members beside her. Her voice held a slight tremble.
As the first female President of the United States, she had been in office for less than two years. She had hoped to make her mark—carve out a legacy on the political stage. But now she found herself blindsided by a catastrophe of unprecedented magnitude. Her furrowed brow and clenched fists betrayed the crushing pressure bearing down on her.
"Madam President, I believe this may be the work of Russian or Chinese cyber forces," said CIA Director Remy, frowning. "We still don't know how they breached our firewall."
"They're pushing for the endgame. Looks like we underestimated just how far they're willing to go," added Defense Secretary James, his tone grim and angry, visibly frustrated by the situation.
President Darris cut them off sharply, her gaze piercing: "Gentlemen, this is not the time for speculation. Our first priority is to deal with those misfired warheads." Her voice wasn't loud—but it carried undeniable authority. Standing under the harsh light, her coat soaked with sweat and her fingers trembling slightly, she nonetheless spoke with remarkable calm. She understood: every word she said, every move she made, now held the fate of billions.
In that moment, she was no longer the subject of media ridicule for being "inexperienced." She was the Commander-in-Chief—at the top of the world's most powerful command chain, steering her nation through the eye of the storm.
As soon as they entered the emergency command center, the tense atmosphere reached its peak. Before anyone could sit down, President Darris strode straight to the command platform, her eyes locking onto the large screen. She quickly established communication with NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command) through the secure communication system. The central screen flickered briefly before displaying the image of General York, commander of NORAD.
General York's white hair stood out starkly under the harsh lighting. His face was etched with gravity and solemnity.
"General, where are the missiles now?" Darris asked, her voice edged with urgency.
"The missiles have just exited U.S. airspace and are currently flying over the Pacific Ocean," General York replied in a steady, commanding tone. Each of his words struck like a hammer to the hearts of everyone present.
"It's not a false signal? The targets really are China and Russia?" Darris pressed, frowning deeply.
"Yes. The flight path is stable, and the navigation signals show no deviation. We can't trace the command source from within the system, but the missiles are clearly locked onto major urban clusters within Chinese and Russian territory. Estimated time to impact: twenty minutes," the general answered calmly, though a flicker of helplessness and worry passed through his eyes. Despite all efforts at prevention, things had spiraled into full-blown crisis.
"Is there any way to stop them? Can we detonate them mid-air?" Darris's voice trembled slightly.
"Yes, Madam President," York replied immediately. "Our warheads are equipped with a secondary command control system. They can be remotely detonated in-flight under presidential authorization to prevent target impact." That statement was like a glimmer of hope in the darkness, and a visible wave of relief swept across the war room.
Just then, Secretary of Homeland Security Elio furrowed his brow, his face marked by deep concern. He adjusted his seat and leaned forward slightly, his voice hoarse as he cautioned, "If we detonate now, the nuclear debris could fall on U.S. territory. That could be catastrophic. We can't just think about solving the current crisis—we have to consider the long-term consequences."
The Secretary of Defense nodded solemnly, clearly agreeing. "He's right. We have to proceed with extreme caution. We must not throw the U.S. into a different kind of disaster."
Darris pressed her lips tightly together, her brows knitted as she paced back and forth across the command room. A storm of possibilities and consequences raced through her mind—each one a heavy weight on her chest. After a brief pause in thought, she stopped, and a flicker of resolve flashed in her eyes.
"Fine. then keep the missile away from the mainland of the United States before it detonates," she said decisively.
"Understood," General York replied at once. He pulled up a set of precise coordinates. "We can designate a detonation point two thousand kilometers north of the Hawaiian Islands, at high altitude. The missiles will reach that location in approximately eight minutes."
Darris gave a slight nod, her gaze sweeping over everyone present. Then she turned back to General York and said firmly, "Do it. Make absolutely sure it's foolproof." Her voice was calm, but it cut through the room with clarity, anchoring the chaos with her steadiness.
Though tension still thickened the air at NORAD, all personnel immediately began working in synchronized urgency, striving to seize this final sliver of hope.
And yet, even as the delicate calculations and coordination unfolded, another thread in Darris's mind was pulled taut to the breaking point.
She knew full well that despite the current tensions between the U.S. and China-Russia, a full-scale war—especially a nuclear war—was not inevitable. But if she couldn't explain the situation in time, if the missiles weren't neutralized before reaching the other side's radar threshold, China and Russia would certainly interpret it as an act of war and launch retaliatory strikes. That would mark the true beginning of doomsday.
She moved swiftly to a private communication terminal nearby and dialed the encrypted hotlines for both Chinese and Russian leadership.
The busy tone on the other end felt like a ticking clock. Each beep pounded at her heart like a countdown to the end. Finally, the line connected. Darris spoke with urgency, her voice trembling but striving to remain composed:
"Please listen to me—we've suffered a cyberattack. The missile launch was triggered by a false command. We are preparing to remotely detonate the warheads over international waters to prevent impact. Please do not misread this situation—this is not an act of war, but a catastrophic technical error."
She spoke quickly, almost choking on her words. Several aides nearby could clearly hear the pleading sincerity in her voice.
However, on the other end, the Chinese and Russian leaders had already been alerted to the missile launches via advanced long-range anti-missile radar systems. They fully grasped the gravity of the situation and were en route to their respective underground shelters.
By the time Darris's call came through, their fury had already been ignited. As they were rushed to safety—surrounded by bodyguards and flashing red alarms—the oppressive atmosphere only further inflamed their emotions.
"Madam President," came a cold, unyielding voice from the Chinese side, "regardless of the cause, if the missiles enter our airspace, the People's Liberation Army will initiate an equal and proportionate strategic retaliation. This is our national defense bottom line. It will not be compromised."
The Russian voice followed almost simultaneously: "If even a single warhead crosses into Russian territory—even for one second—we will respond in kind. There will be no negotiation."
"Please understand, this isn't an act of aggression—we are doing everything we can to regain control—" Darris pleaded, her voice thick with desperation.
"We do understand," came the dual reply from both leaders, almost in unison. "But we must also respond."
The line went dead. Only the busy tone remained.
Darris stood motionless, still holding the receiver, her hand trembling slightly. Her eyes no longer darted with urgency—they had instead sunk into a deep, hollow stillness.