Western Continent, United Government Headquarters.
The alarm tore through the afternoon calm.
Johnson was in his office signing a draft trade agreement. The moment his pen touched the paper, the door was violently thrown open.
The secretary staggered in, his face white as paper, his lips trembling, unable to say a single word.
Johnson frowned, about to rebuke him for his rudeness, when the secure phone on his desk suddenly rang.
Its shrill, urgent ring was more piercing than anything he had heard in his life.
He instinctively grabbed the receiver, and the voice that came through froze him completely.
"Mr. Chairman! Great Xia has launched at least ten thousand ballistic missiles at us! They are expected to arrive in twenty minutes!"
Ten thousand.
The receiver slipped from Johnson's hand and crashed onto the desk with a dull bang, bouncing twice before dangling in midair and swaying.
He collapsed back into his chair, staring fixedly at the blue sky beyond the window.
Then—
The piercing sound of air-raid sirens came from the distance, growing closer and closer.
The wail was so shrill it made people's scalps tingle. The entire city trembled beneath the alarms.
Hurried footsteps and panicked shouts echoed through the corridor. "To the basement! Get to the basement!"
Some were roaring, some screaming, some crying, some praying.
Before Johnson could react, two guards rushed forward, seized him from either side, and dragged him out of the office, sprinting madly down the corridor.
The stairwell was packed with people. Civil servants, secretaries, guards, and cleaners were crushed together, shoving and scrambling as they rushed downstairs. Terror spread wildly through the crowd.
The shallow underground shelters quickly became overcrowded. The air was foul and murky, while pale lights shone over terrified faces. Suppressed sobs rose and fell without end.
Escorted