"October 17—U.S. forces strongly condemned the African Union's military actions in the Indian Ocean and the Gulf of Aden, calling them a provocation against freedom and democracy."
"That afternoon, Atlas Group publicly warned the African Union that U.S. forces might launch an attack within twenty-four hours."
"The Middle Eastern Alliance stated that corporate intelligence was a joke, and that Atlas was nothing more than a mining company that should stick to mining."
"October 18—local residents reported large numbers of naval vessels passing through the Gulf of Aden, with fighter aircraft visible in the air."
"The United Nations has called on all parties to sit down and talk."
"Breaking news! Bosaso Port has suffered indiscriminate bombardment and has been reduced to ruins!"
"The U.S. First Unmanned Armored Division has been airdropped into Garoowe and has now occupied the area!"
"UN special envoy warns that the non-U.S. conflict is approaching full-scale war!"
"Breaking! Breaking! U.S. Nimitz-class aircraft carrier Truman has been sunk in Somali waters!!!"
For many people across the world, this all seemed like just another episode of international bullying—condemned loudly at first, then gradually normalized.
After all, it couldn't be stopped. What else could they do?
But when those last lines of news appeared, many people who had been sitting heavily in chairs and on couches jumped to their feet—
And at the same time, their office doors flew open and their internal phones started ringing.
The U.S. military had lost almost an entire carrier strike group.
Now this was trouble—trouble in every sense of the word.
But it also meant choices had suddenly multiplied.
In a single day, the world turned upside down.
The carrier had been deployed. The fighters had taken off. The bombs had fallen.
From the leaked footage, Hobyo Port had already been reduced to rubble—so many bodies that you could see one every few steps.
War correspondents advanced cautiously, surrounded by the constant sound of digging through debris.
African Union soldiers, wearing exoskeletons and equipped with large excavation tools, dragged bodies out of the ruins one after another.
Some were corpses. Some were still alive.
What they shared was that most of them were missing limbs.
Those who still had the chance to hold each other and cry were, without question, the lucky ones.
The unlucky ones were those placed in the tent zones—
Children stared blankly at the ruins, while adults wept uncontrollably.
The sea burned with flames. Leaking fuel, wreckage, and debris floated on the surface, mixed with human bodies.
What had once been a filthy, chaotic port had now become a blood-soaked one.
"…This is Hobyo Port. As you can see, it was once a small port city with fifteen thousand residents.
Strictly speaking, it could barely be called more than a fishing village. Its former tranquility and natural beauty have been reduced to ruins by violence.
It is estimated that this round of bombardment has caused more than two thousand deaths. Exact numbers are still being calculated.
In the more densely populated Bosaso, occupying forces have refused entry to war correspondents. It is reported that the area was attacked entirely by automated war machines—
I dare not imagine how severe the situation there is, because according to the African Union, they have done everything possible to prevent U.S. forces from landing.
However, in Bosaso and Garoowe, only the loosely organized Somali authorities are resisting."
The reporter walked up to the rubble. The camera captured two children and a man kneeling before separate piles of debris.
He hesitated, stepped toward the child—
Then hesitated again.
Instead of speaking, he silently gestured for the camera to focus on a charred arm protruding from the ruins.
"…We will continue bringing you coverage of the fighting, but we hope to find a solution to this crisis."
The live broadcast did not cut away, instead continuing to roam through the bombed remains of Hobyo Port.
In Juya City, Captain Carter—just awake—finished watching the last segment of the news and found herself unable to speak.
The scene was no different from World War II.
She felt like she was dreaming—believing one war had ended, only to wake up inside another.
And this time, her former allies had become enemies, and there were no soldiers to be seen on the battlefield—only machines.
The footage showed a dust-covered black child's hand, the entire arm no longer than Carter's forearm.
"…Was I really frozen for decades?"
"I'm sorry, Captain. Looks like you took quite a hit." Frank stood up from his hospital bed and rolled his shoulders.
He now had a new set of cybernetics. Atlas Group's second-generation prosthetic technology had already been successfully installed on members of Maelstrom, had been running for dozens of hours, and after some minor adjustments, was officially being deployed here.
Carter turned her head and saw herself reflected in the mirror.
Radiation and explosions had left horrific burns from her face down to her neck, but Atlas Group had repaired them with synthetic skin.
Still, something felt off.
"Sixty years… humanity could only stay at peace for sixty years? After the world united to defeat—after that, only sixty years of peace?"
Leo guided a robot past them and said, "Not quite that long. In 1946, Greece fired the first shot after World War II—a civil war."
Frank laughed instinctively—dark as it was, he still laughed.
"Boss, the way you put it sounds like Lexington's first shot."
Carter couldn't laugh at all.
Sixty years? One year.
"Frank, your physical condition isn't a major problem—just some radiation damage. I've amputated the limbs with the highest exposure. There's still residual radiation in your internal circulation, but it's manageable.
As long as you maintain regular medical checkups, it shouldn't be a big issue. After you return home, though, avoid prolonged close contact with your wife and children."
Leo finished, then looked at Carter.
"You're basically fine."
The radiation mainly came from radioactive dust at the Mkukuyu River deposit. For ordinary people, the dose would have been high, but Carter's super-soldier physiology metabolized part of it.
During the days she was unconscious, radiation levels around her dropped noticeably, and the isotopes in her blood were changing.
In other words, super soldiers could still be overwhelmed by massive radiation exposure—but if they survived, they could continuously metabolize radioactive substances.
Carter murmured, "I never imagined I'd wake up to a world like this.
I thought we had defended the world's freedom and security. That our descendants would create a beautiful world—a world where children wouldn't live in fear, where they could choose who they wanted to become."
"It's hard to say," Frank shrugged. "In America, at the very least, kids still have to worry about school shootings. If they make it to college, they worry about student loans. Then it's housing. Then how their own kids will deal with all that."
Carter felt lost.
She didn't fully understand Frank's words, but she understood their meaning.
Even without the war in front of them, countless problems still blocked the arrival of that "beautiful world."
"But first, what we need to worry about is the war right now. Listen, I need your help rushing the transport of something."
The African Union was at a disadvantage because of weak industrial capacity—something Leo couldn't fix overnight.
That said, producing this much equipment in such a short time was already far beyond normal limits. Without brain–machine interfaces and skill chips drastically reducing training costs, all of this would have been fantasy.
Energy remained a fundamental issue.
Africa could no longer import oil. Even if Leo could replace fossil fuels with nuclear and clean energy, oil was still essential as an industrial raw material.
The land wasn't without oil—but using it as feedstock was one thing. Energy would have to come from elsewhere.
The materials problem had to be solved.
Carter and Frank looked at the table.
On it lay a shattered shield.
Vibranium's natural sheen resembled that of high-strength steel—but now parts of it were stained with strange iridescent colors, like oil-slicked seawater.
Carter noticed the shield was incomplete.
"We've done everything we can excavating it, but a small piece is still missing.
I need you to rush this back. It might allow us a breakthrough in materials science."
Leo had many ideas about energy—but none could provide a long-term solution.
Except one.
Nuclear fusion.
Leo had tried every fusion approach, achieving short bursts of positive output. But in the end, all controllable, compact fusion shared one core problem:
No material could withstand the sustained temperatures and pressures produced by fusion.
And the universal material was right here.
"Let's win this war."
Leo tapped the board. The projector displayed a uniquely shaped vessel.
[Name: Secret Transport Vessel "Vibranium"]
[Description: Small yacht-sized vessel with a built-in compact reactor, capable of crossing oceans.]
[Special surface layers provide radar stealth. In certain conditions, internal armor panels deploy to fully seal the hull structure.]
[Armor panels use liquid-crystal camouflage derived from the "Eclipse" full-body cybernetic design. While imperfect for large vehicles, it is sufficient for long-range concealment and severely disrupts satellite imaging.]
[The vessel is equipped with an experimental sea–land–air hybrid propulsion system. Aerial performance is limited by the power system and is not recommended for prolonged use.]
[Note: Do not attempt takeoff directly from the ocean. Risk of propulsion system overheating.]
[Development Labs: Advanced Mechanics Laboratory, Advanced Materials Laboratory]
[Developers: Leo, Dr. Otto, Dr. Toomes]
[Technology Points Awarded: 1000]
[Current Technology Points: 15,500]
"Listen carefully. This ship is a specially designed transport vessel. It can help you avoid radar and direct optical detection—effectively providing limited invisibility.
If necessary, it can even fly—theoretically. I sincerely hope you never need to use that function."