The command bridge of Manuel's ship is steeped in oppressive silence.
Only the steady hum of the systems, the rare click of switches, and the muffled sound of breathing break the ringing tension. Dim instrument lights throw pale, shifting shadows across the walls— as if the bridge itself were holding its breath, listening for fate.
The air is thick, like before a storm. Not fear— but tension, and resolve.
At the center of the room hovers a hologram of the Platform.
It pulses blue and red— like the enemy's heart.
Its energy contours throb in rhythm— as though it's breathing, waiting for the strike, sensing betrayal.
**
Alex steps forward. His face is hollow, shadows of sleepless nights beneath his eyes. But his voice is sharp as a gunshot, cold as titanium.
Julia stands beside him. Just out of the cell, and already burning— with tense restraint, with a thirst for action. In her gaze— a blade-sharp awareness: they've gone too far to turn back.
"These nodes," Alex points to red-lit segments of the hologram. "This is where the load concentrates. If we hit them while the object is being withdrawn from the Platform— it'll trigger a chain reaction. The structure will collapse in on itself. Fast. Irreversibly."
Silence falls.
The hologram shudders. Its outlines distort, as if the Platform itself senses danger.
**
The key figures gather around the image.
Vikhar— stands like an obelisk. His face— focused. Eyes gleam with quantum light— not anger, only calculation.
Manuel— arms crossed, jaw tight. He's used to visible enemies and open fire, not to these precision games played milliseconds before annihilation.
Maria stands slightly apart. Her shoulders are tense, fists clenched. A storm swirls inside her.
"If they miscalculate... if even one move is off... we'll vanish into the vacuum."
**
Alex continues:
"We need a synchronized strike from three directions. We pierce the shield before full activation. Fast. Clean.
Otherwise, the defense impulse will burn us."
"Understood," Vikhar's voice is cold. "To get through, each ship must enter the Platform's zone under full cloaking.
No sensors. No impulses. Not a gram of error."
"But how?" Manuel's voice cuts sharper than usual. "We don't have the equipment. The Platform's sensors scan every layer. One stray impulse— and we're ash before we can even take aim."
"We use Hirota's maneuver," Vikhar replies as if he's already lived it.
"His saboteurs slipped through defense nets by hiding in the gravitational wake of cargo ships. We'll do the same.
We'll merge with the noise. Become echoes. Phantoms."
Julia nods.
"It'll work. We did something similar on Sigma-4.
Only then, the stakes were lower.
Now— precision. One chance. One shot. No 'what ifs.'"
Maria steps forward. Her voice cracks— not from weakness, but from compressed pressure inside:
"Time's running out. The Platform is prepping for launch. Its power systems have already shifted to combat mode."
**
Vikhar nods— sharp as a guillotine:
"Then we begin. No hesitation.
Manuel, issue the order.
All ships— close in.
Full cloak.
Target— Alex-red nodes.
The plan holds.
Alive or dead— carry it through."
**
Manuel straightens. His voice is a death command— cold and clear:
"Orders received, Chairman."
He turns to the terminal, enters a code. The hall rings with metallic echo:
"To all ships of the Shadow group— Level One alert.
Chairman Vikhar's directive.
Commence approach alongside cargo transports.
Activate full cloaking.
Repeating: move to coordinates 'Alex-red.'
Protocol— Ghost."
**
The hologram comes alive.
Two dozen ships appear, one by one. They move, weaving into the transports' trajectories. Their outlines fade, disappear.
Like a flock of shadows.
Like arrows aimed at a titan's spine.
**
Each ship— a shard of a blade.
Each pilot— the tip of the strike.
Alex looks at Julia. She says nothing, but her eyes burn with pre-fire heat.
Maria breathes heavily— as if the entire war is ending now, and everything will be decided in a single minute.
Manuel stands frozen at the terminal. His eyes locked on the projection.
He says nothing, but inside—
"If any of them die— that's on me."
"But if we hesitate— all will die."
And Vikhar…
Just watches.
He doesn't need to speak.
He already has.
**
The operation begins.
Time starts ticking.
And from this moment— every heart in the unit
beats in sync with the combat countdown.
Every second— a step along the blade.
Every decision— a sentence.
Either they strike.
Or vanish.
Without a trace.
Like shadows swallowed by flame.