I woke up with a start, my eyes blinking against the dim morning light filtering through the curtains of my modest apartment in Vladivostok. For a moment, I could not remember where I was, why I was here, or how the world around me seemed both familiar and alien. Then the memory hit like a hammer—my life. No, not this one. The life before. The one where history knew my name with fear.
"My name… Joseph Stalin?" I muttered, voice hoarse. The words tasted strange in my mouth, a label I had carried in history books, newspapers, and nightmares, now applied to me in flesh and bone. Yet here I was, reborn in a time centuries after my previous death, in a world with airplanes that roared like steel dragons and technology that would have seemed sorcery in the 20th century.
Before I could process the reality, a metallic hum resonated in my skull, and the room seemed to vibrate with a cold, methodical presence.
System Activation:
"You are now equipped with the Weapon Selling System," a voice intoned—mechanical, emotionless, yet resonating with authority.
I froze. A system? What the hell was that?
"Weapon Selling System: Comprehensive knowledge of historical, contemporary, and experimental weaponry. Provides logistics, manufacturing blueprints, combat training protocols, and strategic guidance. System will notify operator of high-profit clients, optimal shipment paths, and tactical operations."
I staggered to the window, staring at the city skyline. Ships in the harbor, trains on the tracks, planes slicing the clouds—everything looked ordinary. Yet, in the recesses of my mind, I already calculated the possibilities.
The system displayed a holographic blueprint in the air, invisible to anyone else: nuclear arsenals, drones, stealth fighters, missile trajectories, and even experimental weapons projects that hadn't been revealed to the public. Every weapon I had ever studied—or would study—was now accessible with perfect understanding.
"Operator: Knowledge acquisition complete. Recommend immediate secure location for operations initiation."
Secure location. Island. Hidden. Unreachable. Remote. I thought of the coasts of Russia, the Sea of Japan, and the possibilities that lay beyond. Somewhere dense with jungle, steep cliffs, secret bays. Somewhere no one could track me. Somewhere I could build an empire unseen.
"Objective: Expand power through strategic weapon distribution. Survival probability: High if system guidance is followed."
High probability. Survival. Empire. Power. I had one chance in this life—not merely to live but to dominate. I could manipulate the flow of warfare, control nations indirectly, and reshape conflicts on a scale even history had not seen.
I ran my hand through my hair. For centuries, I had been a man of strategy, fear, and control. Now, reborn in the modern era with the Weapon Selling System, I had the ultimate tool—a chessboard with the entire world as pieces and weapons as pawns.
I spent the next few days in a whirlwind of calculations, maps, and reconnaissance. The Weapon Selling System didn't just give me knowledge—it simulated outcomes, plotted every potential route for shipment, and analyzed every conceivable threat. By now, I had already narrowed the search to a remote island in the Sea of Japan. Dense jungle, hidden coves, steep cliffs, and only a single airstrip large enough for light aircraft. Perfect.
I booked a commercial flight under a fabricated identity and arrived in Vladivostok harbor with nothing but a backpack, a laptop, and the system whispering logistics in my mind. The island was almost invisible on satellite scans, a small green speck surrounded by rocky outcrops. The moment I set foot on its shores, I felt the potential of it. This would be my sanctuary, my fortress, and the birthplace of an empire.
"Operator: Island suitable for operations. Recommend immediate construction planning and resource allocation," the system intoned.
I had blueprints waiting in my mind before the system even spoke. Factories disguised as civilian structures, an airfield camouflaged among cliffs, warehouses hidden beneath jungle canopies. I drew layouts on paper, then translated them into digital models with the system enhancing every design for optimal defense and efficiency.
Next came manpower. I needed soldiers. Not ordinary men, but elite, loyal, and versatile fighters—capable of operating drones, piloting aircraft, mastering hand-to-hand combat, and executing tactical strikes on land, sea, and air. Using the system, I recruited quietly, analyzing applicants for combat aptitude, intelligence, and loyalty. Every soldier underwent extensive simulations designed by the system before stepping foot on the island.
The first few months were grueling. We cleared landing zones, established makeshift barracks, and constructed the skeleton of factories. Soldiers trained under the sun and rain, mastering firearms, knives, and strategic positioning. I drilled them personally, teaching drone coordination, artillery targeting, and aerial combat maneuvers. Every failure was corrected immediately, every mistake logged in the system for analysis.
"Operator: Efficiency in combat simulations is 93%. Recommend further training in combined arms operations," the system advised.
We ran simulated attacks on convoys and enemy positions using drones, tanks, and makeshift artillery. The system guided my soldiers, showing trajectories, optimal angles, and potential ambushes. I marveled at their adaptability—they were like an extension of the system, executing plans faster than any conventional army could.
But an empire isn't built without secrecy. Every operation, shipment, and weapon prototype was hidden beneath layers of camouflage, misdirection, and digital masking. Satellites passing overhead would see only uninhabited jungle, while underwater drones monitored the coastlines for intruders. Any approaching ship or aircraft would trigger automated defenses, and my soldiers were ready to intercept without exposing the island's location.
The first weapons arrived in crates from factories I had acquired through covert shell companies. Drones, light armored vehicles, and experimental firearms were stockpiled under the warehouses. I inspected each crate personally, learning every mechanism and testing the system's guidance in real conditions.
"Operator: Weapon acquisition successful. Profit projection high if distribution is executed efficiently," the system reported.
Distribution. That was the next step. I needed clients—buyers who could afford advanced weapons and would not immediately expose my operation. The system provided profiles of black-market arms dealers, rogue militias, and governments seeking secret technological advantages. I compiled dossiers, analyzed risk versus reward, and prioritized based on profit and strategic influence.
By the time I had finished construction of the base and trained my soldiers, the island had transformed from an isolated speck of land into a self-sufficient fortress. Hidden bays held landing crafts and small submarines. Camouflaged hangars stored fighter jets and drones. Factories churned day and night, producing the next generation of weapons that would shift the balance of power in conflicts around the world.
As I stood atop a cliff overlooking the island, I allowed myself a brief moment of satisfaction. The Weapon Selling System had not only given me knowledge—it had given me control. Control over men, machinery, and fate itself. Yet I knew better than to relax. Every empire attracts attention eventually. Every weapon shipment carried risk. Every miscalculation could mean annihilation.
But for the first time in my reborn life, I felt unstoppable.
"Operator: First client acquisition recommended. Risk analysis: medium, profit: high. Suggested approach: demonstration of capability," the system reminded me.
I smiled faintly. The game had begun.
The sun barely peeked over the horizon when the hum of rotors echoed through the island's cliffs. My first client had arrived—a blacked-out helicopter cutting through the morning mist, moving silently toward the hidden bay. I watched from the control tower, soldiers standing at attention behind me, their eyes sharp, fingers hovering near trigger mechanisms.
"Operator: Client identity confirmed. High-value buyer. Risk assessment: moderate. Recommend demonstration of select weapons," the system advised.
I nodded. The demonstration had to be perfect. No mistakes, no slip-ups, and no revealing the island's secrets beyond what was necessary. This was the moment to establish credibility and trust—or, more accurately, respect.
The helicopter touched down on the hidden pad. Its doors opened, revealing a man in a tailored black suit, sunglasses reflecting the glint of early sunlight. He walked confidently, eyes scanning the island, calculating, measuring. I waited for his greeting.
"Joseph Stalin?" he asked, his voice smooth, careful.
I extended my hand. "Yes. Welcome."
He glanced around, suspicion etched into his sharp features. "I hear you have something… unique to offer."
I smiled faintly. "Unique, yes. Profitable, even more so. But only if you understand the risks and responsibilities."
We walked toward a hangar where a series of drones hovered silently. Each drone was sleek, black, armed, and calibrated to perfection.
"Drones?" the man asked, his gaze flicking upward as one performed a series of maneuvers above the hangar.
I tapped my tablet, and a video feed projected onto the nearby wall: drones intercepting moving targets, firing precision missiles, evading obstacles, and returning flawlessly to base.
"$500,000 each for the model with surveillance and attack capabilities," I said, my voice steady. "Delivery in five days. Fully operational, with training included."
He studied me carefully. "And fighter jets?"
I led him to the hangar doors, where two jets gleamed under artificial lighting. These were state-of-the-art models, equipped with modern avionics and weaponry. "$120 million each. Fully operational, weapons-ready. Pilot training included. I personally ensure the transition is seamless."
He raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. "And what about security? Delivery?"
I allowed a brief pause, letting the weight of my presence sink in. "The system ensures efficiency. Night deliveries, drones for reconnaissance, stealth escorts. Any interception attempt is met with overwhelming force. Not a single crate has ever been lost."
He swallowed, his expression unreadable. "Alright… we have a deal."
The handshake was firm, almost ceremonial. But the real work had just begun.
Over the next few days, preparations for the first shipment were meticulous. Soldiers loaded crates onto stealth-equipped ships, drones scouted every nautical mile, and automated sensors monitored the surrounding waters. The system coordinated every movement, predicting potential threats and calculating optimal routes down to the minute.
"Operator: Probability of interception: less than 2%. Risk: minimal. Recommend proceed," the system reported.
As the ships departed under cover of darkness, I observed from the command center, tracking their progress on digital maps. A rival militia attempted to intercept one of the shipments—a predictable move, easily flagged by the system.
"Prepare for engagement," I said calmly, almost detached.
Drones dove from above, automatic fire tearing through approaching boats. Soldiers coordinated ambushes on the shoreline, forcing retreat. Explosions illuminated the night, reflected in the waves like fireworks. Within minutes, the ambushers were neutralized. Not a single crate was lost.
The client received his weapons on schedule, as promised. Word of my efficiency spread quietly among clandestine networks. The first deal was a success, a demonstration of capability that few could question—and none could trace.
"Operator: Client satisfaction high. Profit margin: 35%. Recommend acquisition of additional clients," the system advised.
I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. This was only the beginning. The Weapon Selling System was more than a tool—it was a partner, a guide, a silent architect of war itself. With it, I could manipulate conflict, control supply, and turn the world's most dangerous instruments into assets under my command.
As the helicopter departed with the satisfied client, I turned to my soldiers. "This is how it begins," I said, voice low, commanding. "From here, we expand. Precision, control, and dominance. Nothing else matters."
The island hummed with activity, factories churning, drones buzzing, soldiers training relentlessly. Every element of the operation was synchronized, efficient, and unstoppable. I felt the weight of history pressing on me—not as a burden, but as a challenge. I had been reborn for this, given the tools and knowledge to reshape the modern world.
"Operator: Suggest next client acquisition. Potential profit and strategic influence: extremely high," the system prompted.
I smiled, already imagining the next deal, the next shipment, the next calculated strike that would expand my reach.
The empire was taking its first steps, and already, the world did not yet know the hand that would guide its wars.
The first shipment had barely reached its destination when new orders flooded in. The system displayed them one by one, each more lucrative than the last: rogue militias in Africa requesting light tanks, private security forces in the Middle East wanting drones, and a shadowy buyer in Eastern Europe asking for experimental artillery. The sheer scale of demand was staggering—but the system already had solutions mapped out.
I moved quickly, coordinating multiple operations simultaneously. Ships departed under the cover of night, escorted by stealth drones scanning the seas. Soldiers executed precision strikes when rival factions attempted interference. Every shipment arrived intact, every contract fulfilled, and every client left satisfied—and awed.
"Operator: Three continents now under indirect influence. Profit projections: exponential. Recommend scaling production facilities," the system advised.
Factories expanded almost overnight. Automated assembly lines, optimized by the system, churned out weapons with alarming speed. Drones patrolled skies above the base, while submarines monitored underwater approaches. My soldiers, now fully trained in combined arms operations, acted as the unseen hand of enforcement. Every move was calculated, every action anticipated.
Yet, with power came attention. Intelligence agencies in America, Europe, and Asia began noticing unusual spikes in black-market weapons acquisition. Satellite scans picked up unexplained maritime activity. Rumors circulated among military circles about a new, untraceable arms supplier capable of supplying entire armies with state-of-the-art weaponry.
"Operator: Potential threat detected. Agencies monitoring global conflict zones. Recommend proactive countermeasures," the system reported.
I didn't panic. Threats were expected. Challenges were necessary. I simply tightened security, increased drone surveillance, and implemented misdirection protocols. Satellites passing overhead only saw uninhabited jungle; any spy vessels approaching the island were neutralized or diverted. No one could find us—not yet.
As the weeks passed, the empire grew. Clients began referring new buyers, impressed by efficiency, discretion, and sheer capability. Each deal brought not only profit but also strategic influence: factions that once fought freely were now dependent on my supply lines. Wars shifted subtly, battles won or lost based on my decisions. I was no longer merely a seller—I was a puppeteer, a shadow guiding the chaos of global conflict.
Soldiers continued training relentlessly. New recruits arrived, each tested and analyzed by the system. I personally supervised advanced tactical drills, ensuring that my forces could counter any threat, conventional or unconventional. Drone swarms, coordinated airstrikes, and naval maneuvers became second nature to them. They were more than soldiers—they were extensions of the system, executing my plans flawlessly.
Despite the empire's growth, I remained vigilant. I monitored every shipment, every client, every rumor of detection. The system predicted potential interventions: covert naval task forces, drone reconnaissance, even assassination attempts. Each threat was cataloged, analyzed, and neutralized before it became real. The world was watching, but it saw nothing of me.
One night, as I walked along the cliff overlooking the bay, I allowed myself a rare moment of reflection. The island below hummed with life—ships docking silently, drones patrolling, factories operating under the cover of darkness. This was my creation, my fortress, my empire. And yet, I knew this was only the beginning.
"Operator: Recommend further expansion. Potential for global dominance within five years if current trajectory maintained," the system prompted.
I smiled. Global dominance. It sounded audacious, even impossible—but impossible had never been a word in my vocabulary. With the Weapon Selling System, my soldiers, and the hidden island as the foundation, I could manipulate conflicts, control supply chains, and bend the world's most powerful factions to my strategy.
Orders continued to pour in. Rival militias tried intercepting shipments, only to be decimated by drones and coordinated ambushes. Governments sent investigators and covert operatives, yet none could trace the origin of the weapons. Each successful operation solidified my reputation as a ghost—untouchable, unseen, unstoppable.
By the end of the first year, the empire spanned three oceans, influencing conflicts across continents. I had become the unseen hand behind modern warfare, shaping battles and outcomes from the shadows. The world had begun to feel the presence of a new power—but no one knew who I was.
I stood atop the cliff, watching the sun rise over the horizon. The Weapon Selling System buzzed quietly in my mind, already calculating the next wave of operations, clients, and expansions. I felt the familiar thrill of control, power, and anticipation.
The empire had taken its first year of steps, but the path ahead promised far greater conquests, far deadlier challenges, and far higher stakes. Wars, chaos, and the world's most powerful nations were now pieces on a board I alone could see. And I—reborn, armed with knowledge, strategy, and the system—was ready to move every piece.
"Operator: Recommend next phase: escalation. Strategic dominance within reach," the system concluded.
I nodded, eyes cold, mind sharp. The game had only just begun.