Ares's mouth fell open in astonishment. He stammered, "You mean... Aliens?"
The General nodded, his expression grim. "That is the logical conclusion, however improbable. There is something fundamentally alien about these robots. The advanced weaponry they possess, the equipment they utilize—it's of a design never conceived by human engineering."
He went on, his voice low and measured. "Furthermore, they exhibit a terrifying degree of intelligence. You cannot truly comprehend the transformation of Egypt since they assumed control. They reside here now, working, building structures of such breathtaking complexity that it defies rational analysis. Egypt has become the world's foremost power in every industry, a direct result of their strength and their uncanny ability to innovate things no human mind has ever envisioned. But therein lies the paradox. It is a fundamental principle that machines are manufactured; they do not create. Creativity, the appreciation of aesthetics—these are inherently human characteristics. A machine, regardless of its computational capacity, should not be able to acquire such traits. That is the variable that disrupts every equation."
Ares felt the shock of the information settle over him, a cold weight in his gut. He hadn't anticipated this, and the relentless succession of crises was becoming overwhelming. He considered the circumstances of his own awakening in this tower, the strange power that coursed through him. He fell silent, his mind a whirlwind of calculations. "I believe," he said finally, his voice steady, "that a key component of the puzzle is missing. It is plausible that a single human scientist, a mind far exceeding our own, designed this overarching artificial intelligence. He could be controlling the nation from the shadows, a puppet master content to remain behind the scenes. And like most megalomaniacs of historical precedent, his ultimate goal would be nothing less than global domination."
The General stroked his dense beard, processing the hypothesis. "I find that outcome to have a low probability," he countered. "How could a single scientist so vastly outpace the cumulative efforts of the global scientific community? No one has yet brought an artificial intelligence to a state of true sentience. We lack the fundamental understanding. It would require decades, perhaps centuries, of further research to reach such a stage."
Ares fell silent again, his gaze captured by the large tactical map spread between them. He studied the red sectors—the zones of robotic infrastructure they had managed to neutralize. They were all concentrated in the eastern territories. A flicker of hope, a logical possibility, began to form in his mind. "What is your estimated timeframe for continued resistance?" he asked, his eyes still locked on the map.
The General's features tightened. "The projections are not favorable. A year, at most. Our munitions are critically low, as are our stockpiles of food and water. Manufacturing and importation are, of course, no longer options."
"You mentioned the civilian population is secured in shelters to the west? They are therefore insulated from the immediate threat… that is a positive tactical development," Ares mused. "Now, tell me of their vulnerabilities. What are the probabilities of our success in driving them from Atlantis?"
The General's finger landed on a red icon in the east. "Do you see this designation? It marks the primary power generator. The single factor inhibiting their complete and rapid conquest of Egypt is their logistical reliance on these generators. They must remain within a specific operational radius, and their units require several hours to recharge. If we could successfully destroy that generator, their units would eventually cease to function. They would become inert shells of metal and circuitry."
Ares stared at the map with intense focus. "Then the destruction of the generator is the logical imperative. It would lead to their systematic neutralization and expulsion from the city. Why has this objective not been achieved?"
A deep frustration etched itself onto the General's face. "We cannot get close enough. Its defenses are formidable, layered, and ruthlessly efficient. Any direct assault is statistically equivalent to suicide. We possess too few aircraft and not enough ordnance to waste on a mission with such a low probability of success. We have made several attempts; all have resulted in total failure."
Ares began to pace the length of the command tent, his movements sharp and precise, like a predator confined to a cage. He stopped abruptly. "Then let us analyze the initial conditions. At the onset of the conflict, when you held the strategic advantage, why were the generators not made the primary targets?"
The General paused, collecting his thoughts into a coherent report. "That remains the most perplexing question of all. At the time of the robotic uprising, the generators were already in place, constructed deep underground, integrated into the entirety of the city's sewage and maintenance networks. There were hundreds of them. We have no records of their construction. As you know, the robotic workforce in Egypt was designed for servitude, to ease the burdens of human life. The robots were programmed without emotion, without any capacity for independent thought. Their function was to obey... they built our homes, cultivated our fields, managed traffic flow, and even assisted law enforcement in apprehending criminals. Logically, a contingent of these units was assigned to subterranean maintenance, reinforcing our infrastructure. All units required a periodic recharge of several hours."
"Then, five years ago, on the day of the uprising, they deviated from their programming. Simultaneously. They began terminating their human supervisors, incinerating dwellings, and destroying public property. Our police forces responded, neutralizing a significant number of them, and for a brief period, we believed the insurrection was being contained. But then they emerged in the thousands, from every subterranean access point, an overwhelming and coordinated force. We had no choice but to execute a strategic withdrawal, to prioritize the evacuation of the civilian population. During the retreat, however, a special forces unit was dispatched into the tunnel systems. Their mission was to conduct reconnaissance, to understand how these machines could rebel with such perfect coordination. What was their power source? What was their motive? It was during this mission that they discovered the massive generators. They were ambushed, of course, and the unit was lost. But one soldier, in his final moments, managed to transmit a single, encrypted data-burst containing an image of the generator. It was only then that we understood the true source of their power."
He paused for a moment, then, as if recalling a forgotten data point, added:
"There are also unsubstantiated rumors that the main tower in New Cairo—the one that supplies power to the robots—was the epicenter of the rebellion. It supposedly powers the subterranean network, and the theory is that whoever controls the tower could, through some unknown mechanism, control the robots as well. But this remains unconfirmed. No one has been able to reach New Cairo."
A profound interest ignited in Ares. The mystery surrounding the story was a complex problem demanding a solution. He fixed his gaze on the General. "You said a tower? What is its design?"
"It is structurally identical to the power towers distributed throughout Atlantis, the ones that maintain the integrity of the dome and shield us from the robots."
Ares felt his heart rate accelerate, a physiological response he couldn't suppress. Why had he awakened inside such a structure? A logical inconsistency existed within the narrative, a variable he could not yet identify. He broke the chain of his thoughts, his voice sharp. "So, you have identified their daily power source, but you have not yet identified the prime mover, the intelligence that initiated their rebellion?"
The General's eyes were reservoirs of pain and sorrow. "No. Regrettably, we have not. As I stated, we attribute their sentience to an external, extraterrestrial force, or perhaps a clandestine state actor providing them with support. We can formulate no other rational explanation for this unprovoked, illogical rebellion."
Ares turned and stared at the map once more. He then maneuvered the conversation, seeking to understand the circumstances that led to his presence in the tower. "On my approach to your position, I observed one of these tall towers you just mentioned. Does it serve any function other than maintaining the dome that protects Atlantis?"
A rare smile touched the General's lips. "They were constructed six years ago, a government-funded initiative. The towers absorb solar radiation, convert it to energy, and transmit it through a subterranean cable network, supplying all of Atlantis with a limitless power supply. With these towers, we eliminated our dependence on finite resources. We now possess a renewable, inexhaustible energy source. So, to answer your question, they power not only the dome but the entire city."
Ares registered the information, carefully masking his astonishment. He adopted an urgent tone. "Are there other towers?"
The General looked at him, puzzled. "Yes, there are seven others. But why do you ask? They are the least of our concerns at present."
Seven other towers, Ares thought to himself. That means there are seven others. Is it conceivable that they correspond to the finalists from the tests? There is a logical flaw in the official explanation for these towers. Their function cannot be limited to solar power generation. I was imprisoned within one for an indeterminate period. Upon waking, I possessed this extraordinary ability, which I was then trained to master. What is the true nature of this situation? There is a critical piece of information being deliberately concealed. But were the tests truly conducted inside the tower, or elsewhere? If they were inside a tower, it would imply all finalists were in a single location. But that contradicts what I am seeing. This means we were in another location entirely, and then transferred to these towers after we secured the top eight positions.
Ares masked his suspicion behind a calm smile. "No, it was not my intention to focus on them, but they appeared... anomalous. I wished to inquire about them. I hypothesized they might have some connection to the robots."
The General seemed to accept his reasoning. He said in a low voice, "No, they have no connection to those cursed things. In fact, the robots seem intent on destroying them, to collapse the dome. What I find illogical is why they have not yet succeeded, given their capabilities!"
Ares laughed, a calculated sound to hide his tension and the storm of questions in his mind. "How many generators are currently active in Atlantis?"
The General considered this for a moment. "There is one, a single, large generator. But it is heavily fortified, protected by a plasma shield. Its destruction is an extremely difficult proposition."
Ares fell silent, pacing the room again, his mind processing the variables. He stopped. "I believe I have a plan to destroy it, General. Will you provide the necessary support to execute it?"
Hope, a powerful and long-absent emotion, transformed the General's features. His grim, resolute expression softened, replaced by a wide smile. "Yes, of course, I will help you. Anything you require, I will do my utmost to provide." He paused, then leaned forward eagerly. "Now, tell me. What is the plan?"
Ares looked at the map. "I need you to show me the generator's precise location."
The General pointed to a dark red sector on the eastern coast. "It is here, exactly. Inside a warehouse. And the defenses are formidable."
Ares turned his gaze from the map and locked eyes with the General. "Now, listen to me very carefully."
***
In the darkness, Sairi recoiled several steps, his mind struggling to process the unexpected development. The individual standing before him also possessed abilities, similar to his own. He felt a profound sense of folly. For a moment, he sensed the presence of two other individuals in the area besides the one he was facing, and the truth of his error became undeniable. The person standing before him was not his target, but his objective—one of the companions he had resolved to gather, to inform them of what he knew about the so-called "Enix" and the secrets he had learned from them. United, they might deduce an escape from this sequence of bizarre events. But the chasm between that intention and his current reality was immense. His own recklessness had set a course that could no longer be altered. How was he to inform the man he had just attempted to kill that he was, in fact, an ally? The opportunity had passed.
Ivanov retreated, resolving to deploy his ability to its full extent. It was his only logical recourse in this predicament. He took a few steps back into the gloom, and the transformation began. Suddenly, his skin shifted to black. The darkness flowed over him, encasing his body in a complete sheath, dominating his form until his flesh took on the appearance of lustrous, black metal. The conversion continued to the soles of his feet, but his blond hair remained unchanged, a stark contrast.
The metallic sheath was not merely for protection; it also multiplied his physical strength severalfold, rendering him immune to pain and capable of lifting immense weights, as if he were an indomitable force of nature. However, as with every ability, it had its point of weakness: the duration of the black shield did not exceed five minutes. He had trained extensively before the Death Race to achieve that specific temporal limit.
Sairi perceived that Ivanov had vanished completely into the darkness. He could no longer see him, but he could sense his presence—a palpable flow of energy that had increased exponentially. A strange feeling washed over Sairi.
"Stop," he called out. "I am not your enemy. I have misidentified my target."
He received no reply, only a black hand that materialized from the gloom, lunging toward him. Sairi raised his sword reflexively to protect his torso from the rapidly approaching blow. Ivanov's fist collided with the blade. From the darkness, Sairi heard Ivanov's voice, dripping with a grim, metallic sarcasm:
"Of course."
The sheer force of the blow sent Sairi flying backward. It was fortunate that the sword had absorbed the kinetic energy of the impact; otherwise, his rib cage would have been shattered. His body collided with the rubble of a slanted, ruined building as he fell. The impacts came one after another as he slid down its steep incline, and for a moment, he felt he would not stop, that his body would be torn apart by the continued momentum. Resisting the pull of air and gravity, he raised his head slightly, lifted his right arm, and plunged his sword into the building's surface. The blade sheared through the material, and the resulting friction gradually decelerated his fall until he came to a stop.
He lay outstretched, pain dominating his sensory input. He drew a ragged breath, attempting to reassert control over his body, and his mind went back to his rigorous training, his disciplined methods for enduring pain in nature. Sairi's affinity for the natural world had been his greatest teacher. He had spent countless hours meditating in silence under the frigid torrent of a waterfall and had pushed his body through relentless physical exercises. He learned martial arts, and it was the test of pain tolerance that had proven most beneficial. His instructor would have him stand imóvel, arms extended forward, as other students relentlessly struck his body. Yet he would remain steady, not registering a flicker of pain. He had learned to control his mind, to command the body's pain centers. But it was not purely a mental discipline; the application of specialized oils, combined with repeated blunt-force trauma from wooden staves, had conditioned his body until pain became a familiar state he could simply disregard. He recalled the old axiom: An excess of pain negates pain itself.
He rose to his feet, steadying himself, only to be met by the sight of the enraged, black metal behemoth charging directly toward him, shattering everything in its path. Instead of evading the rubble and rocks, Ivanov simply pulverized them with his hands and feet. Sairi's eyes widened in disbelief.
"I…vanov?" he said, his voice faltering. "Is that… you?"
The distance between them was now approximately thirty meters. Sairi knew this was not to his advantage. He could not overcome Ivanov when his body was fully transformed; he entered a berserk state, unable to differentiate between friend and foe, and his hardened body would be nearly impossible to penetrate. He was aware that no matter how skilled or powerful he was, there was always someone stronger, but his pride would not permit him to lose any contest. Yet, he deduced that this was not a time for combat, but for discourse. A tactical retreat was the only logical option until Ivanov's rage subsided.
He ran down the slanted structure, the incline so steep it felt like descending a dangerous mountain slope. His velocity increased, threatening his equilibrium with every miscalculated step. Behind him, Ivanov continued to tear through the building, a force of relentless aggression. Sairi glanced up and saw debris—office furniture, home appliances—still clinging to the ceiling, not yet collapsed. Projecting a pulse of energy from his hand toward them, he sent them tumbling down, praying the debris would fall upon Ivanov and impede his progress long enough to facilitate an escape. Sairi sprinted under them an instant before they fell. Ivanov charged after him at a terrifying speed, rampaging like a furious bull. He saw the large masses of rubble plummeting toward him, but this did not deter him. He advanced and shattered them with his fists before they could strike him, but the sheer quantity of it rained down, burying him beneath the pile.
Sairi drove his sword into the ground to halt his momentum and pivoted 180 degrees to assess whether the maneuver had been successful. He saw, with some amazement, that the rockfall had indeed stopped him. He did not know whether to hope for his demise or his survival; he desperately needed Ivanov for his mission, yet as an enemy, he posed a catastrophic threat.
If I am killed now, he told himself, the truth may be lost forever. Therefore, I must survive, even if it means eliminating one of my own companions. He stared at the heap of rubble, searching for any sign of life. The answer came faster than he anticipated.
Suddenly, a tremor ran through the rubble, followed by an explosion of rocks, desks, and electronic equipment in every direction. Sairi saw a volley of projectiles hurtling toward him. He raised his sword, cleaving the air to slice through them one by one, while with his left hand, he projected blasts of energy to destroy those his blade could not reach. And from between the flying rocks, he saw the raging bull charging him again, a silhouette against the moonlight, letting out a deafening roar.
Sairi spun around and resumed his frantic run. Rocks were hurled at him without pause. He deflected them with blasts of energy from his left hand while gracefully leaping over obstacles. Behind him, Ivanov continued his pursuit, destroying everything his hands touched. After several minutes, Sairi emerged onto the road, turned left, and ran into the darkness of the ruined city. Above, the sky began to storm, and the roll of thunder echoed. He felt, for the first time in his life, like a defenseless gazelle fleeing a ferocious wolf.
Ivanov burst from the building, his gaze sweeping in all directions, searching for his quarry. He spotted him in the darkness, a running figure disappearing to his left. He screamed, his voice a metallic roar.
"You would be wise to surrender, wretch! Nothing will save you from me!"
Sairi glanced back apprehensively and saw Ivanov closing the distance again. He knew this was going to be a long night. He stopped and turned, making a clear gesture of surrender. Ivanov continued his charge, the ground cracking beneath his feet. He drew closer and closer, crossing the shattered road toward Sairi, who realized with a jolt that he had no intention of stopping. He waited until Ivanov was almost upon him, then rolled hard to the left to evade the collision. He ignited the energy sword, raised it into a ready stance, and said in a defiant tone:
"The time has come for a bit of bullfighting."
Ivanov stopped, pivoted, and stared at him, his eyes glowing with malevolent sparks. In his feral state, he could not comprehend Sairi's words, but he recognized the threat in his tone and the challenge in his eyes.
"I will catch you... masked wretch," he snarled, his voice a garbled, furious growl. "And I will... shatter your bones."
The confrontation escalated. Ivanov lunged, his right iron fist leading. Sairi ducked under the blow, executed a full pivot, and aimed his sword at Ivanov's right waist. The blade scraped against his side, producing a shower of sparks but inflicting only a superficial scratch.
Frustration surged through Sairi. He began to analyze the situation for a weak point. Ivanov pivoted, reoriented himself, and lunged again, this time swinging both fists in a rapid, chaotic flurry. Sairi retreated, evading every blow, then rolled under a wide swing until he was behind him. He raised the energy sword high and delivered a powerful thrust to Ivanov's back, but the blade stopped, penetrating only a few centimeters. As Ivanov swung around angrily, Sairi leaped back, his mind racing to formulate his next move.
'This steel armor slows his velocity, which is to my advantage,' he thought. 'But it is also impenetrable!'
Suddenly, Ivanov changed tactics. He veered toward a wrecked car on the side of the road, lifted it with both hands, and, with a guttural roar, hurled it at Sairi. Sairi, his eyes wide with astonishment, gathered energy in his hand. He leaped high into the air and, at the apex of his jump, aimed a palm at the ground. He projected a blast of energy downward, the impact giving him a powerful upward thrust. He soared several meters higher, clearing the flying car, then fell through the air. He landed hard, his legs unable to absorb the full shock of the impact, and sprawled on the ground, but he rebounded to his feet with agile grace. He looked up to see a massive boulder hurtling toward him.
"Damn it," he muttered.
***
He rolled swiftly to the left as the boulder shattered behind him. He scrambled to his feet again, only to find Ivanov standing amidst the massive wreckage of a recently collapsed building. Ivanov began to relentlessly hurl rocks from the debris pile at Sairi, who, in turn, deflected some with his sword and repelled others with the energy flowing from his left hand. The barrage was incessant, and he knew he could not evade it for much longer. He dropped his sword, placing all his hope in a final, desperate gambit. He raised both hands into the air, focusing all his body's energy into them. He saw five large rocks hurtling toward him. He projected a wave of energy into the air, and the rocks stopped, suspended as if in zero gravity. Ivanov stared, disbelieving what he was seeing.
Sairi's muscles began to spasm, but he pushed himself harder, propelling the rocks back at Ivanov. They struck him in a relentless onslaught, knocking him to the ground. Unfazed, Ivanov brushed the rocks aside and leaped to his feet again. He looked at the exhausted Sairi and sensed his opportunity. He charged. Sairi bent down, retrieved his sword, and prepared for the end. Ivanov lunged, his power overwhelming the depleted Sairi, who could barely stand. He was on the verge of being annihilated. Sairi raised his right hand, levitating a few small rocks to orbit his body, then launched them at Ivanov. They struck him but did not slow his advance. Just as Ivanov was about to strike, a sound echoed from the surroundings. He paused for a fraction of a second, just as a fiery projectile slammed into him, sending him flying away from Sairi. Sairi, in turn, looked toward the source of the projectile and saw another one streaking toward him. He dropped to the ground, narrowly escaping it. He raised his head, trying to comprehend what was happening, and saw several human figures moving in the darkness, approaching him, their forms indistinct. Suddenly, a blinding light emanated from the figures, directed at Sairi. He shielded his eyes, stumbling backward, trying to discern their identities through his fingers, but he could see nothing. He saw another projectile, similar to a bazooka rocket, fly past him, heading for Ivanov, who was struggling to his feet, swaying in pain, his body having reverted to its normal state. A tremor of fear ran through Sairi.
The projectile will kill him, he thought.
He pushed himself with every ounce of strength he had left, raising his hands toward the projectile, channeling his remaining energy to stop it. The projectile froze in mid-air, a mere two meters from Ivanov. It strained against Sairi's power, trying to continue its trajectory, but he held it fast. His body screamed in protest, his strength rapidly fading. Sweat poured from him as he pushed himself to his limit, but the projectile continued to resist.
Ivanov stood up, feeling a wave of exhaustion and a throbbing headache. He looked ahead, his mind struggling to process the scene before him: something was hovering in the air directly in front of him, and bright lights were approaching from a distance. He turned his gaze to the agonized Sairi, who seemed to be holding the hovering object in place. His expression shifted as he finally understood. He heard Sairi scream, his voice raw with effort:
"GET AWAAAAAAAAAY!"
Ivanov sprinted to the left. The projectile shot past him, exploding a few meters behind. He looked back at Sairi and saw him collapse to the ground, unconscious. The lights converged on him, and shadowy figures emerged from the darkness, surrounding him. They seized him, lifted him, and began to drag him away. Ivanov rushed to his aid, but he felt the sharp prick of a needle in his body and fell to the ground. Darkness began to consume his vision. The shadows and lights closed in, seizing him as well, and began to drag his inert form away, back the way they had come.
***
Ares stared at the General for a long moment, then said, "Now, listen to my plan very carefully."
The General, stroking his chin, replied, "I am giving you my full attention."
Ares began to recount the plan in all its detail. The General's expression shifted from interest to astonishment as he spoke, and everyone else in the tent listened with rapt focus. When Ares finished, a period of silence hung in the air.
"That is a brilliant plan, young man," the General said with great enthusiasm. "I must confess, you are more clever than I anticipated."
Ares offered a calculated smile. "Thank you, sir. It is an honor to receive your praise. And now, I will depart to carry out my part of the mission. You begin with yours. We will reconvene here tomorrow, at the same time."
The Captain, already pressing the transmitter and issuing orders to the soldiers, confirmed, "The operation will be implemented, effective immediately."
"I will send a squad of soldiers with you," the General added. "They will assist you in your task."
Ares objected with a swift, decisive sharpness. "No. I require no assistance. I operate more efficiently alone. You have only to execute the tasks I have outlined for you. I will handle the rest."
The General appeared uneasy, but he sensed this was non-negotiable for Ares. He also recalled that this young man had managed to cross the United Nations barrier and arrive here without a single scratch. He sighed deeply. "Very well. As you wish. I will not press the matter. But understand, there is no margin for error. We are depending on you."
Ares nodded once, then collected the supplies he had requested they prepare for him. He bid farewell to the General and the other soldiers in the tent and headed outside, accompanied by the Captain. He crossed the encampment to the exit gate, acknowledged the salutes of the two guards on duty, and stepped outside the perimeter. He then turned to the Captain.
"I suppose this is goodbye, then," he said, his tone one of manufactured melancholy. "Take care of yourself. The times ahead will be trying for us all."
The Captain was silent for a few seconds before breaking the quiet. "Yes. This will be the beginning of the counter-offensive against those bastards. Now, we have procured what you requested. Look behind you."
The Captain pointed behind Ares. He turned to see a modern electric motorcycle, its black frame looking as though it had never been used.
This is undeniably the most favorable development since my awakening in these damnable circumstances, he thought to himself, a genuine joy rising within him.
A wide smile spread across Ares's face. "Excellent," he said, his voice filled with a sudden, intense enthusiasm. "This is what I live for."