Outer Belt of Civilization. Orbital Command Station.

  Beyond the panoramic window stretches a grand spectacle: dozens of ships — heavy cruisers, light interceptors, and supply shuttles — glide along precisely calculated trajectories, like stellar predators in a dance of disciplined fury. Starlight refracts off their hulls, tracing fine silver silhouettes against the black abyss. The sight is both mesmerizing and terrifying in its scale.

  President Marcus stands on the observation deck, hands clasped behind his back. His silhouette is sharply outlined against the cosmos, as if he is part of the command hologram itself. His gaze is fixed on the void, yet he remains focused on everything taking place. Behind him, holographic panels flicker, statuses blinking: “Formation Synchronization – 98%,” “Readiness for Departure – 76%.” All of it a reminder of the majesty and precision of the war machine about to come to life.

  “Impressive discipline among our pilots, Commander,” Marcus says, his voice calm but carrying something more than mere praise.

  Commander Alexander, just entering, freezes for a moment at the threshold, taking in the scale of what he sees. He straightens and moves forward with military poise, a flicker of pride barely visible on his face.

  “Always ready to serve, Mr. President,” he replies with a faint smile, his voice filled with confidence. “Behind the controls of those ships are the finest pilots of the Outer Belt. Each has gone through countless simulations and live combat duty.”

  Marcus turns, his eyes — deep with contemplation — scan the commander. In his gaze is more than observation; it is cold awareness, as if he sees beyond the limits of the station.

  “Ah yes…” he says, as though recalling something routine, but with a metallic edge to his voice. “Alexander, from this moment, command of the fleet is transferred to Admiral Tyler. You’re staying on Mars.”

  A pause. Alexander falls silent, as if unable to believe what he just heard. The president’s words hang heavy in the air. Tension rises.

  “Acting President, temporarily. All bureaucratic procedures are in place. Orders have already been signed.” Marcus steps forward and places his personal access card on a nearby panel — a holographic presidential badge. It immediately activates the power transfer protocol, like a high-tech weapon primed for battle.

  Alexander studies the card. It looks like an unfamiliar artifact, something far more significant than a mere token of authority. His eyes flash with confusion, then the dawning realization that his life is about to change — perhaps not for the better.

  “Are you absolutely sure about this decision?” His voice is quiet, tinged with disbelief.

  Marcus doesn’t respond. He turns back to gaze at the fleet, standing immobile, a personification of civilization’s iron will, poised for the next phase of war.

  “Begin at once,” Marcus adds calmly, his tone a sentence.

  Alexander’s face shows a trace of the disorientation he can’t hide. Masked by discipline, his lips tremble slightly. A storm rages within him: the fear of immense responsibility and the seductive whisper of ambition. He tries to collect himself, but the words get caught in his throat.

  “Mr. President…” he starts, but Marcus doesn’t acknowledge his hesitation.

  “Earth remains neutral for now,” Marcus says, as if thinking aloud, his voice cold and calculating. “A coward’s tactic… one that will doom them. While they hesitate, Mercury will fall. Their economy is tied to ergon. Without it — they’ll collapse fast. Then… we’ll deal with them.”

  Marcus turns back to Alexander. His gaze cuts like a laser, his voice sharp with intensity, almost fury.

  “But first — defense. Fortify the Outer Belt. Reinforce orbital defenses, ramp up weapons production. You’ll have everything — industry, resources, full authority. Use them. The blow must be met with a shield of technology and fire.”

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  Alexander nods, trying to remain composed, his jaw tightens. He knows: this is a chance, but also a noose.

  “Thank you for the trust, Mr. President.”

  Marcus steps closer, his face mere inches from Alexander’s. A shadow flickers across his features.

  “Remember,” he says slowly, each word weighted, “Earth is controlled by androids. Not just machines. These are top-tier executives — calculated for efficiency, precision, and ruthlessness. They won’t miss their moment when we’re most vulnerable. They will strike. And you, Alexander, are the barrier standing between them and Mars.”

  He lifts his personal gadget — a thin crystalline device shimmering with light, as if part of this high-tech reality itself. With every word, his grip tightens, the air around them growing taut.

  “You will not let them land. You will hold the Belt. We will arrive with the fleet. We will crush them — if you hold.”

  The device cracks in his hand, molecular glass splintering into glittering shards across the dark floor. A silent warning. Marcus doesn’t flinch, used to discarding anything that no longer serves him.

  Alexander stares at him, feeling the gravity of the moment. Marcus’s words carry more weight than any command. All Alexander can do is fulfill his mission and not let this risk drift into the void.

  He raises his right hand and presses it to his chest with a slight nod, as if pledging loyalty to his new duty.

  “For the living… for the future… It is my honor to serve, Mr. President.”

  Marcus nods. His gaze holds not just trust, but scrutiny. Behind him, the ships align, preparing for departure. Marcus falls silent, leaving Alexander alone with his new role and its crushing burden — already looming over him like the shadow of a coming storm.

  “Excellent,” Marcus says with a faint smile after a moment of silence. “I see our planet remains in strong hands. Now… activate the broadcast. I want to share the good news with our people.”

  Alexander nods briefly and signals the communications officer. Without a word, the officer activates the panel. Mechanisms hum — a transmission pylon rises from the wall, a holographic beacon ringed with signal emitters. It floats toward the president and hovers beside him like an obedient drone.

  Marcus wears a solemn expression. He steps into the camera's focal zone. At that moment, millions of holographic displays across the surface of Mars and on orbital stations freeze. All eyes turn to him. On their screens appears the living president, with the vastness of space and the armature of the flagship behind him — the fleet in perfect formation, ready to strike.

  “Brave citizens of Mars… and all its surroundings,” his voice rolls through the ether — powerful, confident, inspiring. He speaks as if delivering a verdict, a promise. “This is your rightful president speaking.”

  He pauses, letting the words echo across the void, as if each syllable carries the weight of fate.

  “For all living people, today is a special day. Believe me, it will go down in history. We have waited a long time. A very long time. And now — the moment has come. Today our fleet departs.”

  The dark depths of space and the shimmering lights of the fleet create a majestic and terrifying scene. Marcus continues.

  “We set out not only to defend Mars, but to show everyone who thinks we are weak that the time of the weak is over. The time has come for the strong and decisive! Our enemies, the androids of Mercury, tremble before us. They will beg for mercy. We will restore dignity and a future to all living beings in our civilization — no force will stand in our way!”

  The hall echoes with a deep, invisible roar. All of Mars and its orbital infrastructure erupt at once, receiving his words as hope. A storm of promises, decisions, and fury propels them into this dangerous era.

  For a moment, a trembling note enters Marcus’s voice — a joyous spark. He steps forward, feeling the sky and vacuum around him fill with his energy. Even here, in the silence of space behind the station’s multilayered glass, he seems to hear applause. Somewhere down on Mars, people pour into the streets, looking skyward, where the reflected light of the fleet’s engines shines like a beacon, inspiring them.

  “Thank you!” he bows his head, his eyes burning. “Tomorrow we reclaim the runaway androids and what rightfully belongs to us. We’ll take back our resources. Restore our pride. Build our bright future.”

  The camera zooms in on his face. In Marcus’s eyes gleams not just conviction, but something more — a flame capable of consuming everything in its path.

  “Because we are living beings. Created by God. We feel, we love, we suffer. We create. And we will not give it up without a fight.”

  He raises a clenched fist. Instantly, the whole world seems to slow. His words echo like thunder, rippling through communication channels, filling every corner of Mars.

  “For the living!”

  The phrase explodes like lightning, tearing through the void. It spreads across the planet, reaching every station, every dome and mine. People — Martians, children and elders, soldiers and engineers — all echo in unison:

  “For the living!”

  The voice becomes choral, a mighty orchestra, a wave of energy. The orange sky of Mars lights up with festive pulses. Signal flares launch somewhere. Miners wave from transport buckets. In kindergartens, children dance in circles, their eyes sparkling with pride.

  They send off their president, believing he leads them into a holy, righteous war.

  Commander Alexander stands on the viewing platform of the shuttle, listening to his leader. In his gaze is not just admiration, but weight. He understands that now he bears the cross. His jaw is clenched, lips tight — a silent acceptance of his new role.

  Alexander’s shuttle, docked to the flagship’s platform, detaches smoothly from the station. It does not rush. Its course: Mars. Its destination: power.

  In the Fleet Command Center, Admiral Tyler’s sharp voice cuts through:

  “Begin movement.”

  Seconds pass in dead silence. Then suddenly, space fills with the choir of engines. Dozens of reactors ignite with neon fire, like fearless eyes of a colossal beast. The fleet awakens — slow, precise, terrifyingly graceful — and begins its advance.

  They are heading to Mercury.

  They are going to war.