A crackle of static, then the familiar, stern face of General Volkov filled screens around the globe. He stood before the glowing artificial sun of the Zarya Project, its warm light a stark contrast to his cold expression.
"People of the world," he began, his voice echoing with manufactured magnanimity. "Mother Russia is not without compassion. We have achieved what others could not we have brought back the light. And while our resources are precious, we will not hoard salvation while others perish in the dark. Effective immediately, we are opening a limited humanitarian corridor."
The announcement sent a shockwave of desperate hope across the planet. He detailed the process: a centralized online portal where individuals could apply for "Sanctuary Visas." Approval was not guaranteed, he warned. It would be based on "skills assessment, health status, and contribution potential." But for those approved, all they needed was a plane ticket. Russia would provide shelter, food, and most importantly, warmth.
In Tokyo, the news played on a small television in Hana's apartment. Elyra watched, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. "It's a trap," she murmured. "They're not being humanitarian; they're cherry-picking the best and brightest from the collapsing nations. They're bleeding the world dry of its talent."
Before anyone could respond, a new, more immediate knock came at the door. Hana opened it to reveal Detective Kaito Mori, his coat dusted with snow, his expression grim.
"Dr. Tanaka," he said, his eyes locking onto Elyra. "We need to talk. Now."
Hana ushered him in, her anxiety spiking. Mori didn't bother with pleasantries.
"What are you doing here, Elyra?" he demanded, his voice low and sharp. "And with him?" He gestured dismissively at Dr. Chen, who merely observed with detached interest.
"I'm here to help Naira," Elyra shot back, rising to her feet, her crutch forgotten in her defiance. "To protect her from people like you who only see a problem to be contained!"
"Contained? I've spent the last five years trying to protect that girl from the fallout of your discoveries!" Mori's voice rose, his composure cracking. "You unleashed a cosmic entity, your government collapsed, and now you waltz back in with a Chinese spy in tow, and you think you're here to help?"
"He is not a spy!" Elyra insisted, though a sliver of doubt, nurtured by Mori's intensity, wormed its way into her heart. "We're building a case to show the world that void children like Naira aren't threats! They're victims!"
"Victims?" Mori laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "And you think going public will protect her? It will paint a target on her back the size of a continent! The Americans will want to dissect her, the Chinese will want to weaponize her, and the Russians will probably stick her in a zoo next to their fake sun! Your 'help,' Dr. Tanaka, has always been a catastrophe!"
Their argument raged, a tempest of accusation and guilt within the small apartment. Hana watched, her head swiveling between them, her fear for Naira eclipsing everything. It was in a brief lull, as both Elyra and Mori paused to draw breath, that Hana noticed the silence from the hallway.
"Naira?" she called out. No answer. She hurried to her granddaughter's room. It was empty. Her heart plummeted. She rushed back to the living room, her face ashen. "She's gone! And... and Dr. Chen is gone too!"
The fight drained from both Elyra and Mori, replaced by a cold, shared dread. Chen had vanished, and he had taken Naira with him.
Deep in the Russian bunker, Amanda Reed knelt on the cold concrete floor. The proud, formidable woman was gone. In her place was a broken vessel, her spirit shattered by Niu's psychic vivisection and Orlov's relentless pressure. She had told them everything the full chemical structure of Void-Solve, the energy extraction protocols, the locations of the remaining hidden test subjects, the weaknesses in the stabilization matrix.
"There," she whispered, her voice a raw husk. "It's all yours. There is nothing left."
Orlov looked down at her, his expression one of pure, clinical disdain. "There never was," he stated. He nodded to Ivan, who stood nearby, a silenced pistol already in his hand. There was no ceremony, no final words. A single, soft phut echoed in the sterile room. Amanda Reed slumped to the floor, a small, dark hole in her temple, her life's work and her life itself extinguished in an instant. Orlov stepped over her body without a second glance. She had ceased to be a person the moment she ceased to be useful.
In a state-of-the-art laboratory, a place of chilling contrasts where gleaming chrome met the organic, pulsating glow of contained void energy, Dr. Anton Gregor worked with frenetic energy. He was a man with wild white hair and eyes that burned with a frightening, unholy zeal. Tubes and wires snaked from containment chambers holding terrified void children, siphoning their cosmic essence into grotesque, cybernetic assemblies.
"Behold, Dimitri!" Gregor exclaimed as Orlov entered, his voice a high-pitched shriek of triumph. "The next step in human evolution! No, the replacement for human evolution!"
Before them, suspended in nutrient-fluid tanks, were half-dozen humanoid forms. Their flesh was a patchwork of pale skin and gleaming metal, their limbs ending not in hands, but in emitter arrays that crackled with barely-contained destructive power.
"Using the Reed woman's data, we have stabilized the energy transfer!" Gregor cackled, tapping a screen that showed terrifying yield calculations. "Each one of these... 'Soldati Sol'... can project energy equivalent to a tactical nuclear warhead. They feel no pain, no fear, no pity. They are the perfect soldiers. And with the power source we harvest, they will never stop. They can conquer worlds, Orlov! We can build an empire that stretches to the stars themselves!"
Orlov watched, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face. This was power. Real, tangible, unstoppable power. Not the subtle manipulations of Niu, but pure, brute force. "How soon until the process is ready for a live subject?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
Gregor's eyes gleamed. "The prototypes are stable! We can begin the augmentation immediately. We simply need a subject with a strong will, a superior physical specimen, to be the vessel for our greatest champion."
Orlov didn't hesitate. He began removing his jacket. "Prepare the chamber," he commanded. "The world has had its gods and its monsters. Now, it will have its king."
The disappearance of Amanda Reed and the brazen unveiling of Russia's super-soldier program sent the remaining world governments into a frenzy of panicked diplomacy. Emergency sessions were held in the remnants of the UN, now operating out of a fortified bunker in Switzerland. The decision, born of utter desperation, was unanimous. They had to talk to Russia.
A summit was called. "The Moscow Concord," they called it. An emergency global summit to be held under the artificial sun of the Zarya Project. Invitations were sent to the shattered governments of the United States, the European Bloc, China, and a handful of other surviving nations.
The Russian response was swift and smugly welcoming. "The Russian Federation is pleased to host our global partners in this time of crisis," the state-run news agency announced. "We welcome all delegations to Moscow to discuss a collaborative path forward, under the light of our shared future."
It was a lie, everyone knew it. It wasn't an invitation to collaboration; it was a summons to surrender. They were being called to kneel before the new world power in the one place on Earth that still had a sun. As the various delegations, surrounded by their heavily armed, nervous security details, prepared to travel into the heart of the lion's den, a single, terrifying question hung in the dark, frozen air:
What choice did they have?
The world was broken, freezing, and desperate. And Russia held the only fire left.