Killing to silence and putting out a fire both have a "kill" in them

Time quickly came to a month later, and the air in the Hive seemed to carry the scent of anxiety.

As everyone had predicted, Martha's Silverthorn House made their move, completely cutting off the supply to the Mid-Hive Promethium Factory. More and more vehicles became useless, and public order collapsed along with it.

The Mid-Hive populace began hoarding supplies frantically, sparking multiple violent clashes over it.

Wade had no solution whatsoever.

What's more, if they dragged things out any longer, the Guard Regiment's armored vehicles would grind to a halt.

Right now, unless they could retake the Lower Hive Promethium Factory and break Silverthorn House's blockade, no other approach would work.

Yet instead of waiting for a countermeasure, Wade received orders to attack.

"Colonel Wade, we've got 3,000 men, and they have 200,000. Even if they're all rookies, one shot each and we'd all be dead."

"Besides, that's the Promethium Factory—12 watchtowers, 2 laser cannons. Every time we simulate a frontal assault, we end up wiped out!"

"Exactly. Even if we sneak in at night, the factory's Hive Auspex can detect heat sources within five kilometers. Even with vehicles, we're still sitting ducks. The moment we get close, we're locked on. What's the difference between that and suicide?!"

Wade didn't respond, lifting his gaze to the factory in the distance.

In the darkness, the structure looked like a crouching beast.

The only approach was a bridge thirty meters wide and a kilometer long!

Wade knew a frontal assault was hopeless, but he still growled, "What's all the noise for! The Governor said there's a backup plan, so what are you afraid of!"

Despite his words, the men's worries didn't fade.

Just then, ten cargo trucks rolled in slowly.

Fu Haoran jumped down from the first truck.

"Everything ready?" Fu Haoran asked.

"Yes, sir."

Fu Haoran nodded in satisfaction. "Alright, move out. When you see my signal, launch the full assault."

"Remember, your job is to lead the brothers across the bridge. Leave the rest to me."

"Yes." Wade didn't ask further.

Their Governor never let them down.

At dusk, the armored convoy set off slowly, headlights off, using the cover of night to head toward the Promethium Factory's bridge.

After watching the convoy leave, Fu Haoran didn't idle. He opened the cargo container, revealing rows of drones!

These drones had bodies made of engineering plastic, with "Firefighting Drone" printed on the fuselage, a big bulbous head, and a motorcycle engine mounted at the tail.

These were the drones built by Professor Wang and his team—the engine came from a motorcycle, the body from injection-molded engineering plastic, the flight controller from an open-source design they soldered themselves, and the warhead from a modified civilian gas canister... All the odds and ends added up to 9,800 yuan.

Less than ten thousand.

Five hundred drones cost under five million—less than half the price of a single American military drone, even the cheapest model.

Not even a fraction of the cost of an American MQ-9 Reaper drone. Fu Haoran figured he wouldn't flinch even if a hundred of them went down.

Operation was dead simple, using a black-and-white display. The image looked cheap, but the upside was built-in night vision.

Plus, Professor Wang and his team had thoughtfully programmed them for loitering and fixed-coordinate dives.

As for lacking autonomous recognition or evasive maneuvers... in Fu Haoran's eyes, those were minor issues.

After all, every shortcoming could be solved with numbers.

"Alright, the show tonight is about to begin. Move out."

At Fu Haoran's command, the 500 drones lifted off from the containers in waves.

They rose into the air, flying straight toward the Promethium Factory without any detours, the buzz of motorcycle engines merging into a single grating roar in the night.

Incidentally, to maximize control efficiency, all the pilots were servitors. Their cogitator units were just enough to handle simple flight commands.

They almost never made mistakes.

In a sense, this counted as "smart" automation.

Midnight sharp.

The armored convoy's engines rumbled as they drove toward the bridge.

Wade sat in the lead vehicle, staring at the tactical screen.

Six kilometers from the bridgehead—any closer and they'd be spotted.

"Slow down, stop." Wade ordered.

The convoy halted.

The soldiers gripped their weapons, staring at the fortress looming in the dark distance.

"The signal the Governor mentioned..." the adjutant started, but didn't finish.

The first explosion came.

"Why is the factory exploding?!"

No one could answer that question.

Just as everyone was still doubting whether the explosion was an accident, the second and third explosions rang out.

Alright, without Wade needing to say it, everyone knew this was the "attack signal" the Governor had mentioned.

"What are you standing around for?! Full speed to the factory!" Wade roared excitedly.

A few minutes earlier.

Scarface was a minor boss in the Iron Hand Gang, in charge of the factory's outer wall.

He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, bragging to his underlings: "The new Governor? Hah, I hear he's a green kid, got his position by selling out his brothers."

"And a guy like that dares to come at us? Tell me, isn't that overestimating himself?!"

His men chimed in: "Exactly, everyone knows this place is easy to defend and hard to attack."

"Back then, if it weren't for the insider secretly opening the gates, even the old Governor's fifty thousand regular troops couldn't have broken in."

Scarface was pleased with his lackeys' agreement, and he continued: "The boss is worrying over nothing too. An outsider Governor dares to touch our turf?"

"But it's fine, at least someone's sending us weapons and gear."

"Yeah, I heard they're from the nobles of the Upper Hive."

Just as Scarface was about to spill a bit more "inside info," a lackey suddenly shouted: "Boss, I hear a buzzing sound."

Scarface raised his hand and slapped him, cursing: "Paranoid! It's the wind. Keep yapping, and I'll throw you to guard the underground passage!"

But the buzzing grew clearer, like countless flies circling in their ears. Just as someone was about to warn again, the next second...

Boom!

An open-air watchtower exploded open, the gunner flung away by the blast wave, his corpse smashing heavily to the ground, blood and flesh indistinct. Debris splattered at Scarface's feet.

Scarface froze instantly, the cigarette dropping from his mouth as he yelled: "Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

Then another watchtower blew up.

It wasn't a ground attack—it came from above.

A drab little plane crashed into the watchtower's firing port, followed by a burst of flames. The explosion tore half the tower away.

The machine gunner inside didn't even have time to scream before turning into shredded meat.

Debris splattered at Scarface's feet—a twisted piece of engineering plastic.

"Damn it! Enemy attack!" Scarface roared as he grabbed the Auspex at his waist.

The screen lit up, showing over a dozen red dots charging in, not particularly fast.

"What the hell?" Scarface frowned.

He raised his Lasgun and fired wildly into the sky.

The surrounding gang members opened fire too, laser beams and solid rounds tracing light trails through the night sky.

They actually hit a few.

One drone took a hit, wobbled as it fell, and crashed into the wall.

Scarface was about to laugh when the plane exploded with a boom.

It wasn't an ordinary explosion.

The flames were mixed with blinding silver-white—aluminum powder burning.

The blast radius wasn't large, but it sprayed out countless metal fragments: fingernail-sized iron nails, glass shards, broken plastic, scattering like buckshot in all directions.

Screams erupted.

The three nearest gang members fell clutching their faces. One had an eye pierced by a shard, blood seeping through his fingers.

Another had an iron nail lodged in his throat, gasping hoarsely.

Scarface was stunned.

"This thing... explodes even when it crashes?"

He looked down at the Auspex.

The red dots on the screen had multiplied.

Not a dozen—dozens. No, hundreds.

The buzzing came from all directions, growing louder, like a hornet's nest had been kicked.

Scarface looked up and saw things flying in the night sky—many, many of them, thick and dense, like a migrating "flock of birds."

The problem was, they weren't birds at all!

It was an aircraft.

A small, ugly, crude aircraft.

"Fire! Everyone fire!" Scarface roared, his voice carrying a tremor he hadn't noticed.

He flashed back to the moment after the explosion, when a fragment of drone wreckage bearing the High Gothic script for "Firefighting Drone" had sent him into a complete breakdown.

"Firefighting my ass—this is a goddamn cover-up!"