Minutes later, White Elephant's underground command center descended into unprecedented chaos.
Alarms continued to blare through the hall. Red warning lights flashed overhead, casting every face in a dark crimson glow.
Some hurried between workstations, trying to restore severed communications links. Others slumped in their chairs.
They stared blankly at the satellite images on their screens, fingers suspended motionless above their keyboards.
Some braced themselves against the walls and slowly slid to the floor, covering their faces with both hands as their shoulders trembled.
The air was filled with frantic footsteps, hushed conversations, and overlapping radio calls.
Although the tremors had stopped, the cracks left in the walls and floor served as a reminder to everyone there.
They were dozens of kilometers from Delhi. If even this place had suffered such violent shaking, they could only imagine what had happened to the city.
Minutes later, White Elephant's president slowly opened his eyes with a military doctor supporting him.
His face was still pale, his lips nearly bloodless. A conspicuous scrape marked the side of his forehead-he had struck it when he slipped from his chair.
He sat slightly hunched against the backrest, a different man from the spirited figure who had raised his arms and shouted just hours earlier.
He struggled for breath for a while, his gaze slowly coming into focus. His voice was low and hoarse, yet still carried a trace of stubborn refusal to let go:
"Delhi... what happened to it...?"
His gaze swept across the silent faces around him. No one spoke. The generals lowered their heads, and the technicians avoided his eyes.
The military doctor silently released his supporting hand and stepped back half a pace. Not one person in the entire hall dared meet his eyes.
The silence lasted several seconds.
The president's pallor