Raven Rock was gone.
But not everyone.
In an adjacent hardened bunker known only to a few—deep beneath the Appalachian range—another continuity node pulsed with flickering lights and dying purpose. This one, codenamed "Obsidian Crown," had remained in blackout since the Fall of Washington, intended only to reactivate if Raven Rock failed.
And now it had.
Inside the command chamber—more spartan than strategic—the atmosphere crackled with tension.
The table was old, its surface scratched by years of hurried fists and desperate hands. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as a small cluster of surviving officials argued behind closed blast doors. There was no President, no Congress. Only ghosts. The acting figurehead now was Rear Admiral Sylas Monroe, former STRATCOM liaison, now the highest-ranking military official left breathing.
He stood tall, voice razor-sharp, cutting through the room like a war drum.
