In the blink of an eye, time had arrived at November.
November 5, 2017
Current Origin Points: 8100
Beautiful Country, deep in the heart of Texas, inside the underground facility of Lone Star Chemical Plant.
The heavy blast door blocked out the howling north wind on the surface, but it couldn't block out the air in the command center, which was so still it was almost frozen.
The low hum of the generator was the only background sound, echoing the cold light flickering from several large holographic screens on the main console, illuminating faces etched with fatigue and confusion.
Mark Howard's hands were pressed firmly against the cold alloy control panel, his knuckles white and trembling from the excessive force.
His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the constantly scrolling international news summaries on the central screen; those headlines were like cold needles, piercing through his belief as a “prophet”:
“Historic Breakthrough! Great Dragon Country and Polar Bear Country Sign the 'Arctic Circle-Siberia Joint Energy Development and Ecological Protection Century Agreement'” – The screen showed the leaders of the two countries shaking hands with beaming smiles, against a backdrop of vast tundra and a model of an oil rig.
In Mark's memory, these two giants should have been at loggerheads over Far Eastern territories and energy pipelines at this very moment.
“Europa Alliance Announces Formation of Continental Shield Joint Ecological Emergency Force, Dedicated to Global Environmental Crisis Response” – The news displayed harmonious scenes of multi-national joint military exercises.
Mark remembered that Europa was currently in a heated dispute over refugee and financial issues.
“Middle East Fire Zone Declares Indefinite Ceasefire! All Conflicting Parties Sign Peace Framework Agreement in Geneva” – On the screen, once mortal enemies were sitting together.
This region, in Mark's memory, had never truly been peaceful until the eve of the apocalypse.
“Pan-Pacific Economic Bloc Reaches Ring of Prosperity Trade Agreement, Covering 60% of Global Economic Volume” – The screen showed busy and harmonious scenes of ports in Tokyo, San Francisco, Sydney, and other places.
The trade wars and sanction lists in Mark's memory seemed to have never existed.
Sarah Connelly pushed up her slightly slipping gold-rimmed glasses; the gaze behind the lenses was still sharp, but it couldn't hide the deep fatigue and a sense of powerlessness enveloped by a vast unknown.
She pulled up another internal brief projection: “Look at these, Mark. It’s not just the news. The number of abnormal incident reports within the FBI has surged by 300% in the past three months, but the proportion ultimately filed as exercise errors, natural phenomena, or technical malfunctions is as high as 97%! Last week at the California border, they mobilized an entire armored brigade and two tactical air force squadrons, publicly claiming it was a counter-terrorism exercise.”
She clicked open a few blurry satellite images and fragmented footage secretly recorded by ground agents, showing the wreckage of armored vehicles torn apart by immense force and scorched craters.
“And the result? The official report downplayed it, all participating units signed the highest level of confidentiality agreements, and the mainstream media was completely silent! It's as if an invisible hand is forcibly smoothing out all illogical ‘burrs’.”
Rick the tech geek, agitatedly ran his hands through his messy, bird's nest-like brown curly hair, his eyes bloodshot as he stared at his three secondary screens: “It’s not just military! There are also those Dawn Farms! So-called high-efficiency ecological cycle farms popping up globally like mushrooms after rain, boasting they can solve the food crisis. I hacked into the internal surveillance of three of them… guess what they’re raising?”
The screen showed a chilling scene: in a huge, temperature-controlled underground space, countless giant insects of various shapes, with glossy carapaces and sizes far exceeding normal, crawled densely.
They were frantically gnawing on some dark green viscous substance in specially designed feeding troughs, growing and molting at a visible rate.
“It’s all bugs! Thousands of tons of bugs! Packaged as future high-protein sources, this world… it’s gone completely insane!”
Jackson, responsible for external liaison and intelligence summary, looked worriedly at Mark's ashen profile: “Boss, this is completely contrary to the script you told us.”
“According to memory, at this time in 2017, the world should have been sliding towards the edge of a powder keg. Economic weakness exacerbated social division, resource competition surged beneath the surface, great power games entered a dangerous period, small conflicts were constant, and everyone was preparing for the impending panic and resource scarcity… not like this now…”
He pointed at the harmonious images on the screen, his voice bitter, “A strange, efficient, and cold unity. And that Special Administration Bureau that suddenly appeared, with terrifyingly high authority and a modus operandi… almost inhuman. Terrifyingly efficient, perfectly ruthless. This isn't right, it's too wrong. It feels like… we are the lunatics living in an illusion!”
Mark suddenly looked up, the sharp light in his bloodshot eyes, which once burned with the Rebirth's insight into the future and the power to turn the tide, was now covered by deep confusion, self-doubt, and a sense of absurdity almost like being abandoned by the world.
He stared intently at the news about “Dawn Farms solving the food crisis,” the futuristic vertical farm in the image being enthusiastically introduced by the host.
“Bang—!”
A dull, heart-stopping thud.
Mark's right fist, like an uncontrolled hammer, smashed heavily against the edge of the cold alloy control panel.
The immense force instantly dented the hard alloy surface with a clear fist print, and several cracks spread like a spiderweb.
Blood instantly seeped from the skin where his knuckles had fractured, dripping onto the smooth surface.
“Am I really Rebirth or not?!”
Mark’s roar was like the howl of a wounded beast, echoing in the empty command center, full of pain and anger on the verge of collapse.
“Or is it that the apocalypse I remember, the scene of San Francisco being trampled into a sea of fire by hundred-meter behemoths, humans desperately struggling behind steel walls… was just a nightmare too real, too cruel? Was it a hallucination produced after my mental breakdown?”
He suddenly grabbed his hair and pulled hard.
“Or… ”
His bloodshot eyes desperately swept over his comrades—Sarah, Tom, Rick, Jackson—whom he had dragged into this unknown vortex and who had entrusted their lives to him, his gaze filled with struggle and guilt.
“Or, because of my damned butterfly, flapping its wings, completely messed up the river of time? Making everything go in a completely unknown direction?! Will that damned door at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean still open on January 1, 2018?”
“If it never opens, then all our painstaking efforts! All our resources! Hiding like a bunch of rats in this broken chemical plant's basement! Building this Titan Guardian…”
He suddenly pointed to the heavy alloy door deep in the command center, requiring triple biometric authentication, leading to the mech bay, his voice suddenly rising, with a sob, “…What was it all for? What was it for?!”
